Working on the retail floor of a luxury flagship, you see it all. I once had a pregnant client suffer a total psychological breakdown, tearing through our displays like a hurricane. To bring her back to earth and get her safely out the door, I ran to the bodega next door, using my own money to buy her a hot carton of milk. It worked. My store director, however, pulled a still frame from the security footage and dropped it into the district-wide Slack channel. She publicly eviscerated me, claiming that while the “disturbance” was handled, handing a VIP a two-dollar bodega beverage was a catastrophic blow to the prestige of our European heritage brand. Under the guise of “protecting our elite image,” she slapped me with a five-hundred-dollar disciplinary fine. At the time, I just touched the faint scratch on my cheek where the pregnant woman had frantically grabbed me. I didn’t say a word. I simply made a quiet vow to myself: from now on, I would follow their elite hospitality playbook to the absolute letter. I would never step out of line to do the human thing again. A week later, the corporate shadow-board of investors paid a surprise visit. Our newly appointed golden girl and the security guards stopped them at the door, treating them like vagrants. I stood ten feet away, hands clasped, wearing my perfectly practiced, brand-approved smile. I didn’t lift a finger to help. By midnight, the billionaire CEO was on a private jet, flying across the country to beg for his life. 1 The morning briefing. On the glowing projection screen, a high-definition security still loomed over us. In the frame, I was handing a cheap, generic paper cup of hot milk to a woman with disheveled hair and a swelling belly. Angela’s stilettos clicked against the flawless Carrara marble floor, a sharp, violent sound. “Nancy. Look at this absolute disaster,” she hissed, pointing a manicured finger at the screen. “We are a top-tier luxury house! Our clientele belongs to the one percent of the one percent. That psychotic woman comes in here, screaming and throwing merchandise, and you serve her a bodega-brand milk? You dragged our brand’s prestige through the mud!” I stared up at the digitized version of myself. The woman yesterday had been suffering from severe prenatal depression. When she pushed through our glass doors, she was in the middle of a full-blown panic attack. If I hadn’t de-escalated the situation immediately, she could have hurt herself, our staff, or the baby she was carrying. I bought the milk with my own cash, grounded her racing mind, and personally walked her out to a waiting Uber. “Say something! Are you deaf?” Angela slammed her hand flat against the glass display case. Next to her, Mackenzie let out a soft, mocking giggle, covering her mouth in a textbook display of mean-girl theatrics. “I’m sure Nancy meant well, Angela,” Mackenzie purred. “But Nancy, sweetie… that uniform you’re wearing represents the face of the maison. When you hand out street trash to a guest, if our other VIPs saw that, they’d think we were filing for Chapter 11.” I shifted my gaze to Mackenzie. She was Angela’s niece. Last month, she had been fast-tracked into the boutique through sheer nepotism, bypassing every standard HR protocol. “And your point is?” I asked, my voice flat. Angela scoffed, crossing her arms. “My point is that to rectify the damage you’ve done, you need to learn a hard lesson. You are fined five hundred dollars, payable to the store’s petty cash fund immediately. And I want a formal letter of apology emailed to the entire regional board, admitting your gross violation of our luxury hospitality standards.” The sales floor was dead silent. The other associates were practically holding their breath. I pulled out my phone, opened my banking app, and scanned the corporate QR code. I typed in the amount. Authorized. “The money is transferred. I won’t be writing the letter,” I said, slipping my phone back into my tailored blazer. Angela’s face flushed a deep, mottled crimson. “Are you daring to mutiny right now?” “No. I’m doing exactly what I’m paid to do.” “Fine! You don’t want to write it? Consider yourself stripped of your title. You are no longer the Senior VIP Liaison. From today, you are a junior greeter. You stand at the front door. Mackenzie is taking over your VIP portfolio!” Mackenzie immediately straightened her spine, puffing out her chest. “Thank you for trusting me, Angela. I promise to ruthlessly curate our clientele. We aren’t letting any more street rats through those doors.” I turned on my heel and walked back to my private office. Mackenzie trailed right behind me, her heels clipping in a rapid, annoying rhythm. “Hey, demoted. Pick up the pace. I really love the natural light in this office. Box up your junk and get out. Oh, and I’ll need your encrypted drive with all the high-net-worth client dossiers.” I pulled out a cardboard box from the supply closet and quietly packed my ceramic mug and a few industry books. Mackenzie leaned against the doorframe, looking down her nose at me. “Also, it’s Director Mackenzie to you now. Don’t think surviving here for five years makes you special. Luxury is about inherent taste, Nancy. Not whatever suburban soup-kitchen vibe you’ve got going on.” I ignored her. I sat down at my terminal and opened the encrypted master file. Inside were the intimate, closely guarded secrets of the top fifty whales in our district. Helen Carmichael is highly allergic to tuberose; ensure the boutique’s signature scent is neutralized before her arrival. Mr. Smith requires a pour-over coffee, exactly 180 degrees, before he will look at watches. Mrs. Betty has mild claustrophobia; never book her in VIP Suite B. I hit Command + A. Select all. Shift + Delete. Permanent erase. Next, I opened the heavy-duty paper shredder and fed my handwritten emergency medical protocols into the slot, page by page. The machine purred, consuming the thick cardstock. “What the hell are you doing?!” Mackenzie lunged forward. “Taking out my personal trash,” I said, dusting a speck of paper from my hands. I picked up my box and walked out. My new “station” was a drafty corner by the stockroom door. Not even a stool to sit on. I placed the box on the floor. Fine. From now on, I will follow your elite playbook. I will be a ghost in the machine. I will not lift a finger to do a single thing outside my job description. 2 Mackenzie completely colonized my old space. She requisitioned a blush-pink desk and draped a ridiculously overpriced shearling throw over the ergonomic chair. First thing the next morning, a twenty-page PDF dropped into the corporate Slack. The Global Prestige Client Protocol. Mackenzie’s voice note followed, her pitch shrill and self-important. “Everyone is to memorize this immediately. Starting today, walk-ins must undergo a soft client-history check before being offered an appointment. If they don’t dress to the standard of the maison, they don’t get past the vestibule. We sell dreams, people. We have to maintain an air of exclusivity. We aren’t a charity.” The main channel was dead. But my phone buzzed incessantly as the private associate group chat exploded. Is she insane? A background check at the door? Does she think we’re a bank? You can’t judge wealth by clothes! Half the tech billionaires in this city wear flip-flops and hoodies! She’s literally driving money away. When Nancy was running the floor, she never judged a book by its cover, and we were number one in the region. What is this garbage? I read the messages, then clicked my screen black. I changed into the standard, unadorned junior uniform and took my post at the furthest edge of the grand glass doors. It was a wind tunnel. The chill of the city street bit right through the thin wool. I stood perfectly straight, hands clasped over my stomach in the textbook resting posture. At 10:00 AM, a black Mercedes Sprinter van pulled up to the curb. The sliding door opened, and Helen Carmichael stepped out. She was wearing an oversized collegiate sweatshirt and faded Lululemon leggings. She was our number-one Black Card client, dropping upwards of eight million dollars a year. She despised pretentious retail theater. She bought high jewelry with the casual indifference of someone buying groceries. Helen walked straight toward the entrance. Mackenzie, spotting the sweatpants, practically sprinted across the floor, intercepting Helen right at the threshold. “Excuse me, ma’am. Do you have an appointment or a client profile with us?” Mackenzie asked, her chin tilted up defensively. Helen stopped, blinking. “Profile? I’m here to pick up the limited-edition Himalayan croc Birkin I ordered last week. Get Nancy for me.” Mackenzie dragged her eyes up and down Helen’s athleisure, a sneer tugging at her lips. “I’m afraid Nancy is just a junior greeter now. She isn’t qualified to handle VIP transactions. I am the Director of Client Relations, Mackenzie.” “Great. Then you get the bag.” “Actually,” Mackenzie said, lowering her voice into a condescending whisper, “we’ve implemented a new standard. Guests whose attire doesn’t reflect the prestige of the brand are strictly by appointment only. Furthermore, the piece you mentioned requires a one-million-dollar purchase history to unlock. Looking at you… I highly doubt you have the allocation for it.” Helen’s face turned to stone. “Allocation? I’ve shopped here for five years, and nobody has ever dared to talk to me about an allocation.” She raised her voice, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceilings. “Nancy! Nancy, where are you?!” I was standing fifteen feet away, tucked in the shadows, maintaining my perfectly serene, brand-approved smile. Helen spotted me and marched over. “Nancy, what the hell is going on? Who is this lunatic?” I gave Helen a precise, fifteen-degree bow. My voice was eerily smooth. “I apologize, ma’am. Pursuant to Article Three of the Global Prestige Client Protocol, your current attire does not meet the minimum requirements for entry. And per Article Seven, my current clearance level restricts me from processing luxury goods. Please direct your inquiries to Director Mackenzie.” Helen stared at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. Mackenzie strutted over and shoved her shoulder past mine. “Did you hear her? Even the floor staff knows the rules now. Stop making a scene. Security! Please escort this woman off the premises before she ruins the atmosphere for our actual clients.” The two burly security guards exchanged panicked looks. Neither moved. Helen let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. She pulled out her phone and hit a speed dial. “Cancel every standing order I have with this maison. Terminate my Black Card status immediately,” she barked into the receiver. She hung up, shooting Mackenzie a look that could strip paint. “If I ever set foot in this pathetic establishment again, you can institutionalize me.” She spun around, got back into the Sprinter, and the van peeled away. Mackenzie clapped her hands together, brushing off invisible dirt. “What a performance. If you can’t afford it, just say so. Good riddance. We needed to clean out the trash anyway.” I turned back to the glass, reassuming my rigid posture. Upstairs, on the glowing monitors, the store’s daily revenue metrics began to hemorrhage. I watched the red line drop off a cliff, and felt absolutely nothing. 3 I knocked once on Angela’s heavy oak door and pushed it open. I placed a formal leave of absence request on her desk. Thirty days of accrued PTO. Angela glanced at the paper, snatched it up, and ripped it in half, letting the pieces flutter into her wastebasket. “What kind of game are you playing, Nancy?” “The store’s numbers are in freefall. Everyone is pulling overtime to save our quarterly bonuses, and you want to go on vacation? Are you throwing a tantrum over your demotion?” I looked at the torn paper in the trash. “I have thirty days of legally accrued paid time off. I haven’t taken a vacation in five years. Requesting my time is entirely within my rights.” Angela slammed her hands on the desk and stood up, leaning so far forward I could smell her bitter espresso breath. “I’m telling you right now, it’s not happening! If you walk out those doors today, I will terminate you for job abandonment. I’ll make sure corporate blacklists you across the entire luxury sector. I’ll tell every recruiter in the city that you’re a liability with zero work ethic!” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a neatly folded medical certificate. Severe burnout and nervous exhaustion. The physician had mandated immediate, absolute rest. I smoothed the paper flat onto her desk. “Under the FMLA, you do not have the authority to deny a valid medical leave,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, yet sharp as glass. “If you try to fire me, my lawyers will see you in arbitration. And while we’re in discovery, I’ll be sure to submit the paper trail of the vendor kickbacks you’ve been quietly pocketing for the last three years directly to the global auditing team.” Angela’s face drained of all color. She looked like a ghost. Her lips trembled, but no sound came out. I didn’t wait for a response. I turned and walked out. I went to the subterranean locker room, stripped off the stifling uniform, and changed into my own clothes—jeans and a soft cashmere sweater. I pulled out the small carry-on suitcase I had packed that morning. As I zipped it up, Mackenzie breezed into the locker room. Seeing my luggage, she let out a piercing, triumphant laugh. “Oh my god, you got fired. You’re actually getting kicked out.” She leaned against the lockers. “I told you. Your low-rent energy doesn’t belong here. Hurry up and leave, you’re polluting the air.” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, walked right past her without a glance, and headed for the main exit. Just as my hand touched the heavy brass handle of the front door, a beaten-up yellow taxi pulled up to the curb. The back door opened. An elderly man stepped out. He was frail, wearing a faded, yellowing windbreaker and scuffed orthopedic loafers. He leaned heavily on a simple wooden cane. Behind him hurried a younger man in a sharp suit, clutching a leather briefcase. The old man looked up at the glowing logo of the maison, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, and began to ascend the stone steps. Mackenzie, smelling blood in the water, sprinted across the floor in her Louboutins. “Stop right there!” She threw her arms out, physically blocking the old man from the entrance. “Are you blind, old man? Do you have any idea where you are?” The old man paused, his brow furrowing. “I just wanted to take a look around.” “Take a look around? Do you think this is a thrift store?” Mackenzie pointed a manicured finger at his chest. “Look at what you’re wearing. Your whole outfit isn’t worth fifty bucks! The cheapest silk scarf in here is three thousand dollars. If you breathe on it wrong, you couldn’t afford to replace it!” The young assistant stepped forward, his face flushed with fury. “How dare you speak to him that way! Do you have any idea who this is?” “I don’t give a damn who he is!” Mackenzie put her hands on her hips, turning her back to them to yell into the store. “Security! Where the hell are you?! Get these panhandlers off my steps! Don’t let them contaminate the entrance!” The two guards came running out. Pressured by Mackenzie’s screaming, they roughly grabbed the old man and the assistant. “Alright, buddy, time to move along.” “Let’s go. Off the property.” Under the sudden physical force, the old man stumbled backward. His cane slipped on the polished stone. Mackenzie stood at the top of the stairs, laughing so hard she had to hold her stomach. “Imagine being completely broke and trying to wander into a flagship. The delusion is hilarious.” I stood just inside the glass doors, my hand gripping my suitcase. I knew exactly who that old man was. Jonathan Wallace. The phantom investor. The man who owned a fifty-one percent stake in the global conglomerate that owned our brand. I let go of my suitcase. I pulled out my phone and checked the time. It was exactly 5:00 PM. My shift was officially over. I took a step back, crossed my arms, and watched. 4 The security guards’ shoving escalated. The old man, already frail, lost his footing entirely. He fell backward. A sickening, hollow crack echoed as he hit the hard stone. Instantly, Mr. Wallace’s face turned an ashen gray. His hands flew to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his cheap windbreaker. A terrible, ragged gasping sound tore from his throat. “Mr. Wallace! Mr. Wallace!” The assistant dropped to his knees, screaming, sheer terror ripping through his voice. “Pills… my pills…” the old man wheezed, his eyes rolling back. The assistant frantically tore open his briefcase, sending confidential corporate documents flying across the sidewalk in the wind. Mackenzie didn’t step forward to help. She actually took a step back, covering her nose in disgust.

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I stood there, a cold smile playing on my lips, watching this father and son put on a spectacular display of grief for our late, “beloved” nanny. They didn’t know yet. They had no idea that the nanny, who had supposedly died in a “tragic accident,” was very much alive. She had faked her death for one simple reason: she was pregnant with my father-in-law’s child. And yet, right in front of me, my husband was preparing to bury my custom, limited-edition Mercedes-Maybach in the dirt. He wanted to use it as a grave offering for her. When I demanded to know what the hell he thought he was doing with my car, he turned to me, his eyes bloodshot, and screamed that Mia had only ever been able to sneak drives in it while she was alive. Now that she was dead, he was going to let her drive it for eternity. If I stopped him, he said, he would divorce me. But the thing that truly froze the blood in my veins was my ten-year-old son. He charged at me, kicking me hard in the shin, screaming at me to stop fighting a dead woman over a stupid car. He called me cruel. He said if I kept being so evil, he wouldn’t be my son anymore. Seeing their true faces in the harsh light of day cleared my head entirely. I had the divorce papers drawn up that very night. 1 “Excuse me? Care to repeat that?” I honestly thought the wind had distorted his words. “I said, I’m burying the Maybach. It was Mia’s favorite. She’s taking it with her.” Theo stood at the edge of a massive, gaping trench in the wasteland just outside the Chicago city limits. His knuckles were white around the handle of a shovel, his eyes rimmed with a manic, bloodshot grief. Behind him, the diesel engine of an excavator idled loudly. My custom Maybach—one of only a handful ever manufactured in that specific pearl finish—was already suspended in the air by heavy industrial straps. “Theo, that is my vehicle. What gives you the right?” “What gives me the right?” He whipped around. The sorrow in his eyes instantly boiled over into absolute fury. “Victoria! It’s a piece of metal! Are you really going to put a material object above Mia’s eternal peace?” “When she was alive, she could only sneak behind the wheel to feel the leather when you were out of town on business! She adored this car, but she was terrified to even leave a fingerprint on it!” “She raised our son for five years! Now she’s gone! And you can’t even part with a single damn car for her?” “Did you think of her as just a dog?” I stared at the man I had married, and a laugh escaped my throat. “A dog?” “Theo, have you completely lost your mind?” “She was an employee. I paid her a premium salary, on time, with full benefits, every single month. Raising my son was her job description, not an act of martyrdom.” “That car is worth half a million dollars. It’s a global limited edition! Why on earth would I bury it for a nanny?” I had hit a nerve. Theo flinched, then doubled down. “Half a million? So what? How much do you pull in every quarter, Victoria? It’s just a car! Mia poured her heart and soul into this family, doesn’t she deserve at least that?” “Is money the only thing you’re capable of seeing?” I took a slow step toward him. My eyes trailed over the Patek Philippe on his wrist, the bespoke Italian wool of his suit, and finally rested on his self-righteous, indignant face. “Before you say another word, I suggest you take a long look in the mirror. From the shoes on your feet to the watch on your wrist—which piece of it didn’t come from my bank account?” “You play the role of the ascetic, starving-artist literature professor at the university so well that you’ve actually started to believe it yourself. That Bentley you drive to campus every day to impress your undergrads? I bought that, too.” Theo looked as if I’d backhanded him. The color drained from his face, leaving him a sickly, ashen gray. Even the roar of the excavator cut out. The operator poked his head out of the cab, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Keep digging!” Theo roared over his shoulder, the veins in his neck bulging against his collar. “This car goes in the ground today! I gave the order!” He turned back to me, chest heaving. “If you don’t agree, we’re getting a divorce!” 2 I didn’t even get a chance to open my mouth. A heavy, breathless figure launched itself out of the SUV parked nearby. It was my son, Oliver. Ten years old. And fed to nearly a hundred and sixty pounds by the “loving” hands of Mia. He barreled up to me, lifted his heavy leg, and kicked me viciously right below the knee. “You’re a bitch! Why couldn’t it be you who died!” “She bought me fried chicken and milkshakes! She played video games with me! All you do is starve me! You call me fat! You make me do diets! You don’t even love me!” “She’s dead! And you’re fighting her for a car! Can’t you just be a good person for once? If you keep being mean, Dad and I are leaving you!” He wailed as he screamed at me, snot and tears mixing on his flushed cheeks. He looked exactly like a boy who had just lost his mother. No. He looked more heartbroken than if he had lost me. I looked at the two of them. My husband. My son. Over a nanny. One was red-eyed, ready to bury my prized possession in the mud. The other was ready to disown me over junk food and screen time. Suddenly, the absurdity of it all washed over me, and I smiled. A genuine, terrifyingly calm smile. “Alright then. Let’s get a divorce.” 3 Theo froze. He clearly hadn’t expected me to agree, let alone with such chilling ease. “What… what did you just say?” “Divorce,” I repeated, my tone as conversational as if I were ordering a coffee. “Isn’t that what you wanted? I agree.” His lips trembled. For a second, the great professor was entirely out of words. Looking at him standing there in the dirt, I just felt a profound sense of secondhand embarrassment. Did he really think he could use divorce as a bargaining chip against me? Fine. Let him play his hand. I looked at his dumbfounded expression and the corner of my mouth ticked up. “I do have one condition, though.” “What condition?” “You leave with nothing.” I held his gaze, unblinking. “You sign a post-nuptial agreement voluntarily forfeiting all marital assets. The penthouse you live in, the cars you drive, the joint accounts—all of it.” “Do that, and you can do whatever you want with this car.” Theo’s face flushed a violent, ugly purple. “Victoria, are you insane? I am your husband! Oliver is your son! You’re going to throw us out on the street with nothing?” “You were the one who asked for the divorce,” I said, a cold laugh escaping me. “I’m giving you exactly what you asked for. Are you complaining about the terms now?” “You—” I looked at his sputtering, panicked face, and let my disappointment show. “Theo, I always thought you were above it all. I didn’t realize you were this greedy.” “You want to bury my car, divorce me, and still take my money?” “Is your profound spiritual connection with Mia really that cheap? It can’t even hold a candle to some real estate and cash? Where is your pride, Professor?” 4 Truthfully. Dealing with hypocrites who wrap themselves in intellectual superiority is child’s play. It only took a few well-placed strikes to his fragile ego to make him throw everything away just to save face. Right on cue, Theo began to shake with righteous indignation. “Fine! I’ll leave with nothing! Do you think I care about your filthy money? Keep your penthouse, keep your cars! I don’t want a dime from you. All I want is Oliver!” “Victoria, look deep inside yourself. Do you even deserve to be a mother? Aside from throwing money at him, what have you ever given Oliver? In your cold heart, your quarterly earnings reports will always matter more than your own flesh and blood!” His voice took on a vindictive, almost euphoric edge. “Mia might have been a nanny on paper, but she had a Master’s degree! She understood literature! She talked to Oliver about Rimbaud and Keats, about the meaning of life. She had depth. She had a soul!” “And you? Your brain is nothing but contracts, profit margins, and cold calculation. You reek of corporate greed!” “How could you ever compete with Mia?” “Since we’re getting divorced anyway, I don’t care if you know the truth—” “In my heart, me, Mia, and Oliver… the three of us were the real family!” A family? Technically, he wasn’t wrong. If Mia had lived to give birth to my father-in-law’s baby, she literally would have been Theo’s stepmother. What a beautifully twisted little family tree. Thinking about that, I actually had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. 5 Mia had worked in our home for five years. Three days ago, she abruptly packed a bag, claiming there was a family emergency back in her hometown down south. That same evening, I received a hysterical phone call from her sister. She told me Mia had slipped and fallen at home, and hadn’t survived. The next morning, Theo and I flew down to pay our respects. But her family was incredibly evasive. They claimed it was a strict local tradition to scatter the ashes at sea immediately upon death. They refused to hold a service. They practically shoved us out the door and told us to fly back to Chicago. The whole thing reeked. My intuition flared. I put my lead investigator on it immediately. I didn’t expect much. But what he uncovered? It was an absolute masterpiece. 6 Mia wasn’t dead. She was pregnant. My investigator sent me a clipped file of security footage from inside my own home. The timestamp was from a month ago, during the three weeks I had taken Oliver to a specialized health and fitness camp in Switzerland. I had given Mia paid time off. But the footage showed her and Theo in my living room. They had opened a five-thousand-dollar bottle of my Bordeaux. They were drinking, quoting 19th-century poetry at each other, the tension thick and heavy. Eventually, they both got blackout drunk. Theo stumbled off toward the master bedroom first, swaying dangerously. Mia, her eyes glazed and a lovesick smile on her face, stared after him. “Oh, Theo… I love you so much… I’ve been waiting to give myself to you…” She dragged herself up from the carpet. She meant to follow him into the master suite, but the wine had completely wrecked her equilibrium. She took a wrong turn down the hall and stumbled right into the guest bedroom. The guest bedroom where my father-in-law, Richard, happened to be staying for the weekend while he was in the city running errands. The next morning, the hallway camera caught it in high definition. My father-in-law carried a disheveled, half-dressed Mia out of the guest room and dumped her onto the living room sofa. He didn’t even leave a note. He packed his bag and took the first train back out of the city. My investigator attached several medical documents to the video file, his accompanying message brief and professional: “Shortly after this, Ms. Mia discovered she was pregnant.” “Based on the HCG levels in her clinic reports, the conception date aligns perfectly with the night of the security footage. The father… is unequivocally Mr. Richard Wright.” “However, it appears Ms. Mia genuinely believes the child belongs to your husband, Theo.” “My working theory is that she panicked, assuming you would find out and force her into an abortion. She staged her death to go off the grid, intending to have the baby in secret, and likely planned to return later to force Theo’s hand using the child as leverage.” I had sat in the dark of my office last night, staring at those files in absolute silence. Today, my original plan had been to hand this folder to Theo and let him see the truth. But now? Now, I had a much better idea. 7 The courthouse. The heavy thud of the judge’s stamp. Two copies of a divorce decree, the ink still fresh. Theo’s mouth worked silently, as if the reality of it was finally snagging in his throat. “Let’s go,” I said, sliding my copy into my Birkin bag and turning on my heel. “I’m taking you somewhere.” “Victoria, it’s too late for regrets now,” he said, trying to maintain his icy facade. I opened the door to my chauffeured car and looked back at him, an amused glint in my eye. “It’s about Mia. Are you coming or not?” The color drained from Theo’s face. He hesitated for two agonizing seconds before grabbing Oliver’s hand and climbing in. The car glided into a run-down, working-class neighborhood on the outskirts of the city, pulling up to a bleak apartment complex. Theo frowned at the peeling paint. “Why the hell did you bring me to a place like this?” I didn’t answer. I just walked up the concrete stairs to the third floor and knocked on a battered metal door. The moment the door opened. Theo froze, looking as though a bolt of lightning had struck him squarely in the chest. Because the person holding the door open was Mia. “Mia… you… you’re alive?” Oliver let out a shriek of pure joy and threw his heavy body forward. “Mia!” But Mia instinctively flinched and stepped out of his way. She stared at me, all the blood leaving her face. She immediately scrambled past the boy and buried herself in the arms of a still-paralyzed Theo, trembling violently. “Ms. Croft, please! Please let me go! Have mercy on the baby in my belly! I won’t ask for a single penny, I swear!” 8 “What?!” Theo snapped out of his shock, staring down at the woman cowering against his chest. “Mia, you’re pregnant?” “Whose is it?” Tears spilled from Mia’s eyes instantly. She played the tragic heroine to perfection. “Theo, my love… that night… we were both so drunk…” A flicker of confusion crossed Theo’s face. “But… I was so blackout drunk that night, I didn’t even think I…” “You are the only man I have ever been with!” Mia cried, cutting him off with a sob. “Theo, do you really not believe me?” Whatever fragile thread of logic Theo was holding onto snapped under the weight of her devoted tears. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her as if she were made of spun glass. His eyes were fierce with protective rage. “I believe you! Of course I believe you!” “Mia, you are my soulmate. How could I ever doubt you?” A microscopic flash of triumph crossed Mia’s face before she turned back to me, her eyes wide and pleading. “Ms. Croft, I only faked my death because I was terrified you would use your power to force me to get rid of Theo’s baby!” “But Theo and I truly love each other. I don’t care about the money or the status…” I was already sick of the community theater performance. I cut her off. “Relax. Theo and I finalized our divorce an hour ago.” I paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to ensure the next words hit with maximum impact. “He gave up all his assets. He has nothing but the clothes on his back and custody of Oliver. Since you love him so much, he’s all yours.” 9 The face of the ethereal, poetry-loving muse cracked right down the middle. She yanked her head up from Theo’s chest. The tears were still on her cheeks, but her voice hit a shrill, panicked pitch. “What? He gave up all his assets?” “Why would you do that?! How am I supposed to feed my baby? Dirt?” Theo hurriedly tried to smooth things over. “Mia, sweetheart, don’t panic. I’m a tenured professor. I have a stable salary. I would never let you or our child starve.” Mia shoved him away, a look of pure disgust twisting her features. “Provide? With your miserable professor’s salary? Do you know what diapers cost?” “Mia, have you forgotten?” Theo pleaded, desperate to prove his worth. “I don’t just teach! I have my avant-garde ceramics gallery!” “My sculptures sell for tens of thousands of dollars each! It’s more than enough to give you a beautiful life!” He looked deeply into her eyes, making a solemn vow. “Just focus on a healthy pregnancy. When the baby turns one month old, I’m going to host a massive gallery exhibition! Every single dollar I make that night will be my gift to you and our child!” I actually had to bite my tongue to stop myself from laughing in his face. The only reason anyone ever stepped foot into that pretentious little gallery was to kiss the ring of Victoria Croft. Those so-called “art pieces” were just polite bribes from businessmen trying to get a meeting with me. Did he honestly think his lumpy clay pots had actual market value? God, he was stupid. I turned and walked away. As I descended the dark, smelling stairwell, I pulled out my phone and called my PR director. “Put an absolute embargo on the news of my divorce.” “Keep it out of the press until the opening night of his little art exhibition.” “I want them to feel exactly what it’s like to fall out of the sky and hit the concrete.”

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Reunion is a word for lovers in movies. For me, it was a car crash in slow motion. It was New Year’s Eve. The circus tent smelled of sawdust, cheap popcorn, and the stale sweat of a thousand strangers. I was mid-act, balancing on a unicycle, the clown makeup itching against my skin, when the ghost of a career-ending injury screamed back to life. My left leg—the one held together by spite and bad memories—gave way. I hit the stage hard. The impact sent my oversized plastic mask skittering across the boards, exposing my face to the harsh spotlight. The audience roared with laughter. To them, it was part of the show. But in the front-row VIP section, the laughter died in one woman’s throat. Hedy Lennon stood up, her face draining of color until she looked like a marble statue in her silk Dior coat. She didn’t just walk; she stormed the stage. She stared down at my mangled left leg, her voice a shrill, jagged thing that pierced through the muffled music. “Trace? Silas Trace? The world-class fencer? What the hell happened to you?” “The day you got out of prison, I was standing at the front gates in a wedding dress,” she screamed, her confusion turning into a volatile brand of rage. “I waited for hours. Why did you sneak out the back like a coward?” Her best friend, a woman whose name I’d buried years ago, stepped up behind her, sneering at my tattered costume. “Hedy spent seven years tearing this city apart looking for you, Trace. And all this time, you’ve been hiding in the dirt, playing the fool? You’re pathetic. You don’t deserve her.” Deserve her? The word tasted like copper in my mouth. I looked at Hedy—the woman I once thought was my North Star—and felt a wave of nausea. Seven years ago, her “soulmate” and childhood best friend, Patrick, lost the national fencing finals to me. In a fit of psychopathic pique, he set the arena on fire. People died. Lives were incinerated. And Hedy? She knelt at my feet and begged me to take the fall. “Patrick is fragile, Trace. Prison will kill him. You’re strong. You’re a hero. Just help him this once.” What she didn’t know—what she never cared to find out—was that on my very first night in that cell, the guards Patrick had bribed broke my leg with a lead pipe. They didn’t just break the bone; they pulverized my future. 1 Hedy grabbed my collar, her knuckles white, and hauled me upward. The movement was violent, jarring the old nerves in my hip. I broke into a cold sweat, my body trembling with a rhythmic, uncontrollable tremor. “Let go,” I wheezed, pushing feebly at her expensive sleeves. “I don’t know who you think I am. Get off me.” My defiance was a match tossed into a pool of gasoline. Hedy’s hand flashed—a sharp, stinging crack against my cheek. My head snapped to the side. “Don’t know me?” she hissed, her eyes wild. “Look at me, Trace. Say that again. You’d rather live like a stray dog than be with me? You’d rather be a literal clown than face your life?” The irony was a physical weight. She was mourning my “fall” while forgetting she was the one who pushed me off the cliff. “Hedy, darling, please. Everyone is watching. Let’s give the man some dignity.” The voice was smooth, like expensive bourbon poured over glass. Patrick approached, draped in a bespoke charcoal suit that probably cost more than the circus tent. He looked radiant, healthy, and entirely untouched by the fire he’d started. “Trace. It’s been a long time. Look at you… what a tragedy.” He spoke with the feigned sympathy of a saint, but as he leaned in, the heel of his polished Italian loafer ground down onto my fingers where they braced against the floor. I felt the skin break, the small bones of my hand groaning under his weight. “Get… away!” I gasped, the pain lancing up my arm. I shoved him with everything I had left. It wasn’t much of a push, but Patrick played his part perfectly. He gasped, clutching his chest, and stumbled back into the velvet curtains. “Trace… your strength… it’s still so much…” he wheezed, sliding to the floor. Hedy’s face transformed instantly. The fury she had for me turned into a desperate, frantic terror for him. She dropped me like trash and lunged for Patrick. “Patrick! Oh my god, breathe. Is it your heart?” She fumbled in her clutch for a pill bottle, her eyes darting back to me with pure, unadulterated loathing. “Trace, you monster! Patrick has had a heart condition ever since the stress of that fire. Didn’t you know? You’ve been gone for years and you’re still trying to hurt him!” I wanted to laugh. Heart condition? The man had run like a gold-medalist sprinter the night he lit the match. Patrick and I were once the “Golden Pair” of the fencing world. Partners. Brothers. And he had dismantled my life piece by piece, only to have the woman I loved hand him the tools. The circus owner, seeing the wealthy Lennon heiress in a state of distress, rushed over to wash his hands of me. “Miss Lennon, I am so sorry! This cripple is just a temp worker. If he’s laid a hand on your friend, he’s fired. Do whatever you want with him!” “What did you call him?” Hedy snapped, rounding on the owner. “You don’t get to insult what belongs to me.” The owner paled, stammering an apology. I tried to crawl away, my ruined leg dragging behind me like a dead weight. But Hedy’s security team moved faster. Two men in black suits pinned my shoulders to the mud-slicked ground, shoving my face into the grime. Hedy walked over, looking down at me. Her expression was a terrifying blend of tenderness and psychosis. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve become, Trace,” she whispered. “You’re mine. I’m taking you home. The Lennon estate can afford to keep a pet.” “Let me go! I’m not going anywhere with you!” My protests were muffled by the dirt. They hauled me up like a carcass and threw me into the back of a black limousine. As the privacy glass slid up, I saw Patrick standing behind Hedy. The “weakness” was gone. He offered me a slow, predatory grin and ran a thumb across his throat. 2 The Lennon estate was exactly as I remembered it—monumental, cold, and dripping with old-money arrogance. Seven years ago, I walked through these doors as an honored guest. Now, I was cargo. “He reeks,” Hedy said, wrinkling her nose as she gestured toward the fountain in the center of the courtyard. “He smells like animals and failure. Clean him before you bring him inside.” The guards didn’t hesitate. They stripped the tattered clown suit off me, leaving me shivering and exposed in the freezing midnight air. My left leg, twisted and scarred, was laid bare under the floodlights. The shame was a sharper blade than the cold. “Turn it on,” one of the guards muttered. A high-pressure hose hit me with the force of a physical blow. The water was near freezing, laced with bits of ice that stung like buckshot. I gritted my teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a scream. As the grime washed away, the map of my imprisonment was revealed: the jagged scars across my back, the cigarette burns on my ribs, the legacy of Patrick’s paid thugs. “You really did go to hell, didn’t you?” Hedy stared at the scars, her eyes flickering with something like confusion. “How many prison brawls did it take to ruin you like this? Where is the man I used to know? The one who was gentle, the one who was strong? You’ve turned into something ugly, Trace.” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t tell her that her “soulmate” had ordered those scars. To her, I was just a fallen idol who had chosen to be broken. After thirty minutes of freezing torment, when my lips were blue and my heart felt like a dying bird, she signaled them to stop. They tossed me a set of clothes and a long wooden box. “Patrick went out of his way to have a custom prosthetic made for you,” Hedy said, her voice softening. “He’s so forgiving. After everything you’ve done to him, he still wants you to walk again. Stop being so ungrateful.” Patrick doing something out of the goodness of his heart? I’d sooner believe in ghosts. “I won’t wear it,” I rasped. “It won’t fit.” “You’ll do what you’re told,” Hedy snapped. The guards pinned me down, forcing my stump into the prosthetic. “AGH!” The scream ripped out of me before I could stop it. The interior of the socket wasn’t padded. It was lined with hard, sharp ridges—it wasn’t a medical device; it was an iron maiden for a leg. Every inch of it ground into my sensitive nerves. Hedy flinched at the sound, but she didn’t stop them. “Stop being dramatic. You’re just not used to it. You used to be so graceful, Trace. Now you walk like a monster. Fix it. Walk for me.” “Guards, take him around the courtyard. A hundred laps. Don’t let him stop.” The next hour was a blur of agony. Blood began to seep from the edges of the prosthetic, staining my pants. I was shaking so hard I could barely see. Hedy watched from the porch, her brow furrowed as she noticed the red trail I was leaving. “Patrick? Is that supposed to happen? It looks… wrong.” Patrick stepped out, wrapping a cashmere throw around her shoulders, blocking her view of my blood. “It’s a high-performance athletic model, Hedy. It requires a ‘break-in’ period. Like new shoes, but more intense. The skin has to toughen up. Once the scar tissue forms, he’ll be back on the fencing strip in no time. I’m doing this for him, honey. I want my friend back.” Hedy sighed, leaning into him. “You’re too good to him, Patrick. Truly.” She looked at me, her voice cold again. “Keep going, Trace. Don’t waste Patrick’s kindness.” 3 I collapsed on lap sixty. When I came to, I was lying on a Persian rug in the formal dining room. My leg had been crudely bandaged, and the metallic prosthetic sat like a dead limb beside me. Hedy and Patrick were finishing a steak dinner. “Oh, he’s awake,” Patrick said, setting down his wine. “Perfect timing. Why don’t you join us, Trace? Hedy, maybe he can help serve the soup? It’ll help with his balance.” Hedy didn’t even look up from her plate. “Good idea. Trace, go to the kitchen. Bring out the tureen of tomato bisque.” I hauled myself up, using a chair for leverage. Every movement felt like a hot knife twisting in my hip. I took the heavy ceramic tureen from the chef, my hands trembling. I walked toward the table, one agonizing step at a time. As I reached Patrick, I looked into his smug, beautiful face. And I flipped my wrists. CRASH. The scalding red soup poured directly over Patrick’s head, soaking his white shirt and burning into his skin. “AAAHHHHH!” Patrick shrieked, clutching his face as he fell backward off his chair, writhing on the floor. “Patrick!” Hedy screamed. She lunged forward, shoving me out of the way to get to him. I didn’t have the balance to catch myself. I hit the floor hard, my bandages tearing open. Blood blossomed across the cream-colored rug. “You did that on purpose!” Hedy screamed, her eyes red with fury. “He tries to help you, he tries to give you a life, and you try to disfigure him? You’re sick! You’re absolutely vile!” I lay there in the mess of soup and my own blood, and for the first time in years, I laughed. It was a hollow, jagged sound. “Yeah,” I spat, looking her in the eye. “I’m vile. I’m a piece of trash. So why keep me? If I’m such a lost cause, Hedy, let me go. Let me rot in the street where I belong. Don’t let me stain your perfect house any longer.” Something in her expression broke. She looked at me not with pity, but with a terrifying, obsessive ownership. “You want to leave? You think it’s that easy?” She took a deep breath, her voice dropping to a whisper. “If you want to act like an animal, I’ll treat you like one.” “Security! Put him in the kennel. And don’t let him out until I say so.” I was dragged out and shoved into a narrow, rusted iron cage in the back of the estate. Then the Seattle rain began—a torrential, freezing downpour. My leg began to swell, the infection throbbing in time with my heartbeat. I curled into a ball, my fever rising until the world started to tilt. Through the haze, I saw a pair of polished shoes. Patrick stood there with a black umbrella, a bandage over half his face. He signaled the guards to leave. “Look at you,” he hissed. “The champion. The prodigy. Now you’re just a dog in a cage.” I looked up, my vision blurring. “Why, Patrick? Why do you hate me this much?” “I hate you because she looked at you the way she should have looked at me,” he snarled. “But don’t worry. By the time I’m through, you won’t even remember your own name. And Trace? In this rain, with that fever… let’s see if you even make it to morning.” 4 When I opened my eyes again, a cool hand was pressed to my forehead. I was in a sterile hospital room. Hedy was sitting by the bed, looking exhausted but strangely relieved. “Trace… thank god. You’ve been out for two days. You scared me.” She sounded so much like the girl I used to love that for a split second, I forgot. I forgot the cage, the fire, the prison. I thought I was home. “Hedy… I…” “I know,” she whispered, stroking my hair. “I shouldn’t have put you in the cage. But Trace, you were so stubborn. I only asked you to take the fall because I wanted to break that pride of yours. I wanted you to need me. To stay with me forever.” The sweetness of her voice made my skin crawl. It was the logic of a kidnapper. “But Patrick is right,” she continued. “Your disability has made you bitter. We’re going to fix it.” The door clicked open. Patrick walked in, followed by a man in a white lab coat. My blood turned to ice. Dr. Crane. He was the same doctor who had “treated” me in the prison infirmary. The one who had purposefully delayed my surgery until the tissue died. “What is this?” I tried to scramble back, but I was tethered to an IV. Patrick smiled, a look of pure, saintly concern. “Trace, the infection in your stump was bad. Dr. Crane says the bone is uneven, which is why the prosthetic hurts. We’re going to do a revision surgery. We just need to… take a few more inches off. Clean up the bone. Then you’ll be able to wear that ‘high-performance’ leg I bought you.” They wanted to cut me again. More of me, gone. “No! Get him away from me!” I screamed. “He’s in your pocket, Patrick! He’s the one who crippled me in the first place! Hedy, listen to me—they’re trying to kill me!” I tried to throw myself off the bed, but Hedy’s hands were like iron on my shoulders. “Trace! Stop it!” she yelled. “Patrick flew in the best orthopedic specialist in the country for you! And you’re accusing him of murder? You’re delusional!” “I’m not! Search his records! Look at the prison logs!” I grabbed her wrists, begging. “Hedy, please. Just this once, believe me. He’s lying to you!” “Enough!” She shoved me back. My head hit the headboard, and the room spun. “The prison has rotted your brain, Trace. You’re not well.” She took the surgical consent form from Dr. Crane. Her pen hovered over the paper. “No… Hedy, don’t. Please…” She signed it with a flourish. “It’s for your own good. When you wake up, we’ll start over. A clean slate.” She waved her hand. Two orderlies moved in, strapping me down to the gurney with thick leather belts. “No! You’ll regret this! Hedy, I swear to God, you’ll regret this!” My screams echoed down the hallway as they wheeled me away. She didn’t look back once. The heavy doors of the OR swung shut. The surgical lights flared to life, blinding me. Dr. Crane began to slowly put on his gloves, humming a tune. “Don’t take it personally, Silas,” Crane whispered, leaning over me. “Patrick paid a lot of money for you to ‘accidentally’ never wake up from this one. A shame, really. You should have picked a different girl.” The surgical saw roared to life, a high-pitched whine that filled my skull.

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Mag and I were more than just best friends; we were sisters by choice. We had walked into the Whitman family together, marrying brothers in a joint ceremony that felt like a fairytale, and by some miracle of timing, we both fell pregnant within weeks of each other. Mag’s husband, Derek, was a rising star in the local police department—brave, handsome, and dedicated. I had married Simon, a brilliant orthopedic surgeon with hands that could mend shattered bones. On our first wedding anniversary, I went to the medical center to pick up our prenatal screening reports. On the way back, the world splintered. A massive collision turned my car into a cage of twisted metal. Mag had been with me but had stepped out just minutes before to grab us a couple of iced lattes. She was the lucky one; she missed the impact by a heartbeat. The aftermath was a blur of red. I was hemorrhaging, the lower half of my body soaked in a terrifying warmth as I lay on the asphalt, the life draining out of me. My face went ghost-white as the realization set in. With trembling fingers, I reached for my phone and dialed Simon. I needed him. I needed my husband, the doctor. He declined the call. Twice. On the third attempt, he finally picked up. His voice was a jagged edge of impatience. “Jane, can you stop for once? You just had your checkup this morning, I know you’re fine. Don’t waste hospital resources on your drama. Lucy is here; she sliced her wrist open trying to fix a pipe at her place, and I’m right in the middle of cleaning the wound. Stop bothering me!” He didn’t wait for a reply. The line went dead. In the end, it was Mag who saved me. She came running back, lattes forgotten, screaming for help as she saw me in the wreckage. She called Derek, sobbing, begging him to get an ambulance and find the hit-and-run driver. Derek’s response was a bucket of ice water. “Do you have any idea what the penalty is for filing a false police report, Mag? Enough. I’m at Lucy’s helping her with a plumbing emergency. Stop wasting my time!” The bystanders were too shocked by the carnage to move. Mag, eight months pregnant and terrified, didn’t wait. She dragged me. She literally hauled me toward the hospital, fueled by a desperation that defied physics. Because of that grueling journey, she lost her baby. After the emergency surgery, she insisted on being my blood donor. When I finally woke up and saw her pale, hollowed-out face, we didn’t need words. We looked at each other and shared a bitter, broken smile. “Mag,” I whispered. “I’m divorcing him.” “Me too,” she said. 1 The moment I woke up and found my resolve, I sent Simon a one-sentence text: I want a divorce. The phone that he had ignored during my dying moments suddenly rang within seconds. It was a miracle. When I pressed ‘accept,’ his voice exploded in my ear, thick with fury. “Jane! Just because I won’t indulge your tantrums, you’re jumping straight to divorce? The baby was fine this morning. You’re telling me you had a miscarriage right after I hung up? Do you think I’m an idiot? Do you think this is a game?” “I have a job to do! I save lives, Jane. I don’t play house. It just so happens that today, my patient was Lucy!” “Use your head! She cut her wrist. Do you know how easily that can turn into a fatal hemorrhage? That is a human life!” “My child and this marriage aren’t bargaining chips for you to use when you’re feeling insecure. Stop trying to compete for my attention like we’re in some twisted drama!” He slammed the phone down before I could even draw a breath to speak. My hand, still connected to an IV drip, fell weakly to the bedsheet. Three years of dating. One year of marriage. A baby we had almost met. I never imagined it would all end because of Lucy Fontaine—the girl who had haunted our marriage under the guise of being his “childhood best friend.” I remembered seeing her at the hospital earlier that morning. She’d seen me struggling with my bags and offered to call me an Uber. I hadn’t thought twice about it. I’d even thanked her for being kind. But the ride had been wrong from the start. A sudden, violent swerve into oncoming traffic, and then the world exploded as a semi-truck plowed into the passenger side where I sat. The driver had walked away with a few scratches and fled the scene, leaving me to bleed out in the middle of the road. I had never been so scared. Scared of dying, but even more scared for the life inside me. I had cried, I had begged, and my husband had hung up on me three times. Usually, he answered even when he was in clinic because he was paranoid about the pregnancy. But today, when the nightmare was real, I only got a cold text: [In clinic. Do not disturb.] I knew Lucy was his “patient” because I’d seen her name on the triage screen before I left. Through the tears and the pain, I had tried one last time. When he finally answered, I could feel the life slipping away. I could barely find my voice. “Simon… there was an accident… outside the hospital… please, help me… the baby…” I could feel the heat of the blood. It was everywhere. There was a long silence on the other end, punctuated by Lucy’s soft, melodic giggle in the background. Ten seconds. It felt like a century. Finally, Simon spoke. “I’m finishing Lucy’s bandages. Being a doctor means prioritizing injuries, Jane. Can you please stop being so manipulative?” He hung up, protecting his time with her like it was sacred. Since when did a minor laceration require a top-tier surgeon to do the bandaging personally? The physical agony went numb, replaced by a cold, hollow realization. A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat, mixing with the salt of my tears. At the moment I was ready to give up, Mag had appeared. She had seen the texts. She had heard his voice. She had grabbed my phone and screamed into a voice note: “You don’t deserve to be a father! Go to hell! You and your ‘precious’ Lucy deserve each other. Don’t you dare ever show your face to Jane again!” Mag saved me. But the cost was her own son. 2 Now, she sat by my bed. Her surgery was over, but she looked like a ghost of herself. Her lips were trembling, and her face was drained of all color. Her tears splashed onto my hand, heavy with a guilt she didn’t deserve. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “If I hadn’t been so selfish… if I hadn’t wanted that coffee… I should have been in the car with you. I should have protected you.” I reached out to her, my heart breaking for her more than for myself. Before I could speak, her husband Derek called. She put it on speaker. “Did you just scream at my brother?” Derek’s voice was sharp, accusatory. “What is wrong with you, Mag? He’s a doctor; he doesn’t choose his patients. Stop letting your delusional friend brainwash you.” “And a miscarriage? Really? That’s the lie you’re going with? You were eight months along, Mag. You don’t just ‘have a miscarriage.’ You couldn’t lose that baby if you ran a marathon. It’s pathetic.” “If I wasn’t busy fixing Lucy’s plumbing, I’d come over there and give you both a reality check. You don’t throw around the word ‘divorce’ unless you mean it. You want out? Fine. Let’s do it. See who blinks first.” He hung up. Mag stared at the black screen for a long time. I looked at her, seeing my own reflection in her shattered eyes. “It’s over, Mag. Maybe the universe is telling us that these men were never ours to keep. You’ve lost so much blood… you need to rest. Your health is the only thing that matters now.” We clung to each other, two broken women in a sterile room, letting out the screams we had kept muffled for years. Our devotion had been a weapon, and in the end, it had pierced us both through the heart. Looking back, the end was written into the beginning. Simon had insisted on getting married on Lucy’s birthday. It was a petty, transparent move to get a reaction out of her after she’d moved away. The Whitman brothers hadn’t married us for love; they had married us to fill a void Lucy left behind. We were placeholders. Trophies to show her what she was missing. And we were fools. We believed them when they said she was just “like a sister.” We even followed their instructions to post our wedding photos on Instagram, making sure the privacy settings were adjusted so that only Lucy could see how “happy” they were. Even now, even though we were literally in the hospital where Simon worked, he couldn’t be bothered to type my name into the patient registry to see if I was telling the truth. Trust wasn’t just broken; it had never existed. I realized that too late. And the price was far too high. 3 I lay in bed, scrolling through social media. Predictably, Lucy had already posted her “victory” lap. It was a photo of the three of them—Simon, Derek, and Lucy—grinning. There was a picture of a fixed pipe and a shot of her wrist, wrapped in a perfect, surgical bandage tied with a literal bow. Caption: [So grateful for my guys. Friendship really is thicker than blood. Another one for our book of memories! #TrioForLife #Blessed] I took a shaky breath and showed it to Mag. She looked at it for two seconds before let out a dry, mocking laugh. “Three’s a crowd, right? I guess their ‘special memories’ don’t include the two wives they left bleeding in the street.” She wiped her eyes. “When we divorce them, they’re going to need a custom-made bed for the three of them, aren’t they?” Lucy had cross-posted to every platform. The comments were nauseating. [I’d kill for one guy like that, and you have two?] [Tell me your secrets! I must have been a villain in a past life, because you’re clearly the main character.] My throat felt like it was filled with glass. I couldn’t even cry anymore. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, my voice rasping. “I’m calling the lawyer. We’re drafting the papers today.” I had the documents printed and sent to the hospital. I asked a nurse I knew to hand-deliver Simon’s copy to his office. I sent Mag’s copy via courier to Derek’s precinct. The tracking showed they were delivered and signed for. Twenty-four hours passed. Silence. Four years of our lives didn’t even warrant a phone call in return. The bitterness settled into my bones as the sun began to set. Eventually, I lost my patience and called Simon. It rang for a long time before he picked up. Before I could say a word, he snapped. “What now? I haven’t even finished with you yet, and you’re calling me? Why the hell did you send those papers to my office? Do you want the whole hospital to know you’re having a jealous meltdown?” I sighed, a deep, weary sound. “If you had bothered to ask the nurse who delivered them, Simon, you would have known I’ve been a patient here for two days. You would have known about the surgery.” He didn’t listen. He wasn’t even focused. In the background, I heard Lucy’s playful voice. “Adrian! This lipstick you bought me is gorgeous! I love it so much, can I get the red one too?” Simon quickly covered the receiver, but it was too late. I let out a cold laugh. “I see why you haven’t had time to sign. You’re busy. I won’t keep you.” “Wait!” he shouted, sensing I was about to hang up. “Don’t start this again! I’m only doing this because I didn’t want you to overthink things. I’m with my brother! He was fixing her plumbing, and she’s just thanking us with dinner. Are you really this paranoid?” “She’s a single woman living alone; she can’t even change a pipe without calling my husband? And you’re calling me immature? I’m exhausted, Simon. You’re telling me I’m ‘corrupting’ Mag? Derek is just as much of a coward as you are.” His voice rose to a roar. “You’re acting like a child! Grow up!” Then, Lucy’s voice drifted in again, sweet and poisonous. “Don’t be mad, Simon. Pregnancy hormones make women so sensitive. I only learned to be independent because I had no one to lean on. I wish I could be a soft little girl like Jane, but I have to be strong.” Simon’s voice softened instantly as he spoke to her. “It’s okay, Lucy. If you ever need anything, you just text me. I’ll be there in a heartbeat. We’ve known each other forever; don’t let outsiders get to you.” Outsiders. The word hit me like a physical blow. Four years. A child. And I was the “outsider.” I hung up. I didn’t say goodbye. I just sat there, shaking, as the reality finally, fully sank in. Mag saw me spiraling and grabbed my hand. “Don’t cry for that piece of trash,” she hissed. “I’ve already texted Derek. The second we’re discharged, we’re going to the courthouse. No more excuses.” 4 We spent two weeks in the hospital. In those fourteen days, neither of them called. Neither of them came by the house to see why we weren’t there. Our hearts, already shattered, turned to stone in the face of their indifference. We got our answer when Lucy posted a new album. Dozens of photos from a spontaneous beach trip. They looked like a happy, sun-drenched family. The contrast to our sterile hospital room was violent. The caption read: [Always remember, we are family by choice, not by blood. Forever.] I looked at Simon’s beaming face in the photos and felt… nothing. The love had finally died. I sent him a final text. I’m out of the hospital. Meet us at the courthouse tomorrow morning. Tell Derek to be there too. He tried to call immediately. I blocked him. Mag and I checked out of the hospital together. Our first stop wasn’t home; it was the police station to report the hit-and-run from two weeks ago. When we explained the situation, the officer behind the desk frowned. “It’s been two weeks? Why are you just now reporting this? The trail is cold, ma’am.” I looked him in the eye, my voice steady. “My husband is a surgeon who told me I was ‘faking it.’ My friend’s husband is a detective who told her the same. We’ve been in surgery and recovery. We had no one else.” The officer’s expression shifted to one of deep, simmering anger on our behalf. “I see. We’ll do our best.” Mag and I moved into the small apartment I’d owned before the wedding. We were weak, our bodies still healing, but we managed. Simon finally realized he was blocked and called me from Derek’s phone. His voice was a thunderclap of rage. “Where the hell are you? The house is a mess! You’re pregnant, Jane, you shouldn’t be running around. Hasn’t two weeks been enough time for you to calm down? How long is this act going to last?” “And even if you’re mad at me, why are you dragging Mag into this? She and Derek were fine until you started this ‘divorce’ nonsense! How can you be so toxic? You’re so miserable that you have to ruin everyone else’s happiness?” Mag snatched the phone from my hand. “You’re the toxic one, you prick! Being married to you was the biggest mistake of our lives. Tell Derek: if he isn’t at the courthouse tomorrow, he’s a dead man. We’re done. We’re making room for you and your ‘sister’ to finally be the happy family you want.” She hung up and blocked that number, too. The next morning, we were the first ones at the courthouse. But we weren’t met by the brothers. We were met by Lucy. She was dressed in a soft, white sundress, her eyes red and watery. She walked up to us, looking like a wounded bird. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I came to apologize for them. I know you’ve misunderstood everything. It’s not what it looks like.” “The trip… it was a promise we made five years ago. I wasn’t there to finish it then, so we did it now. I told them to check on you before we left, I had no idea they hadn’t messaged…” Even now, she was marking her territory. Five years ago. Longer than you. Mag’s grip on my hand tightened until it hurt. I looked Lucy up and down and gave her a thin, lethal smile. “Is that so? Tell me, Lucy, did you give them permission to get divorced today? Are they allowed to be here?” “Or are you here to sign for them?” Lucy’s phone buzzed in her hand. Her eyes flickered, and suddenly, she lunged toward me. It was a clumsy, obvious move. Instinctively, I put my hands out to push her away. Lucy collapsed onto the sidewalk, her palms scraping against the concrete, a tiny bead of blood appearing. I reached out to help her, confused, but then I heard a roar from across the parking lot. “JANE! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” Simon was charging toward us. Before I could process it, he shoved me aside with enough force to send me crashing into Mag. He didn’t check on me. He went straight to Lucy, cradling her “injured” hand. Only then did he look at me—and his eyes dropped to my stomach. The color drained from his face. “Where… where is the baby, Jane?” Derek was walking up behind him, phone to his ear, looking distracted. “Listen, I can’t do this today. The precinct just called. Someone reported a major hit-and-run from two weeks ago—they’re calling it attempted murder. I have to go.” Then he looked at Mag. He looked at her flat stomach. He stopped dead. His phone slipped from his hand, the screen shattering on the pavement. “What’s going on? Mag? Honey, what happened?”

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A bone-deep chill swept through me, settling into my marrow. In that moment of clarity, I realized the man I truly needed to find—the real father of my child—was the last person I ever wanted to see. The fuse for this explosion was lit at a high-school reunion dinner, where my husband, Mark, had spent the last hour treating me like a sideshow attraction. He’d had too much bourbon, his arm draped possessively yet dismissively over the back of my chair as he described my “genetic gifts” to a table of leering men. He boasted about my “maternal constitution,” claiming my breast milk was a miracle elixir—part beauty secret, part performance enhancer for men who wanted to “regain their edge.” The table erupted. Drunk on expensive scotch and toxic entitlement, the men began to hoot and holler, demanding to see the “liquid gold” for themselves. That’s when Tinsley, Mark’s lifelong “best friend” and the woman who had been a thorn in my side since our wedding day, stood up. She swirled her wine, a predatory glint in her eyes as she sauntered over to me. “Andie, sweetie, Mark shows us the photos of you pumping every day,” she purred, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “He says we’re all family, so there’s no harm in sharing. I have to say, those pictures are… quite provocative.” She turned to Mark, her tone shifting to a playful, mocking lilt. “Why don’t we let the boys have a taste of the real thing? A live auction for a fresh bottle. Who’s the highest bidder, Mark? Where do we start the opening price for your wife’s… services?” The room dissolved into a roar of crude laughter. Tinsley stood there, basking in the attention, waiting for Mark to shut it down. Instead, Mark took the glass from her hand, his expression unreadable. “Drinking isn’t good for your health, Tins. I’ll finish this for you.” Then, he leaned back, his eyes cold as they landed on me. “It’s all in good fun, right? Let’s start the bidding at a penny.” … 1 “Looking at those photos, it’s not just the milk—the wife is a total knockout!” “Mark, you lucky bastard. No wonder you’re always so full of energy.” “A penny for a miracle cure? Count me in for the charity drive!” “I’m gonna bid high, take it home, and pretend my old lady looks like Andie for once…” The sounds of their muffled, greasy laughter scraped against my eardrums like sandpaper. I sat there, frozen, watching the scene play out like a car crash in slow motion. Tinsley was practically sitting in Mark’s lap now. She’d pick up a piece of food she didn’t like, take a tiny bite, and then drop the remains into Mark’s bowl. Without a second thought, Mark would pick it up and eat it. It was a small gesture, but it cut deeper than the insults. When we first started dating, Mark told me he was a germaphobe. He said he couldn’t stand the thought of “bodily fluids.” On the night of our first kiss, he made me use antiseptic mouthwash three times before he’d let his lips graze mine for a fraction of a second. He had maintained that cold, sterile distance for years. But with Tinsley, the rules didn’t apply. “Andie, why are you just sitting there?” Tinsley asked, her voice cutting through the noise. “You’re the girl who’d do anything for Mark, right? Everyone knows the story—how you have a paralyzing fear of heights, but the moment Mark said he’d only marry a woman who’d skydive with him, you jumped without a second thought. This is just a little game.” “Yeah, don’t be a buzzkill,” one of the men added. “If Tinsley hadn’t told us to call you ‘Mrs. Dalton,’ we wouldn’t even know who you were.” “Tinsley was always the one meant for that seat,” another voice muttered, loud enough for me to hear. “If you hadn’t snuck your way in…” The malicious whispers were cut short when Tinsley glanced at Mark with a look of practiced modesty. “Stop it, guys,” she sighed, though her eyes were dancing. “Even if I do send Mark my bikini photos every night to help him… ‘unwind,’ Andie is still his wife. I’m just his little sister. That’s all I’ll ever be.” The longing in her voice was palpable. Mark reached out and placed a bowl of hand-peeled shrimp in front of her. “If they want to speak the truth, let them. In this circle, Tinsley, your word is law.” The men exchanged knowing smirks. Under the table, my fingernails dug into my palms until I drew blood. She’s just a sister, Andie. She’s high-strung, she’s a tomboy, you need to be more understanding. That had been Mark’s mantra for three years. Today, the lie finally fell apart. Tinsley reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a breast pump. “Well, Andie? Since you’re being shy, let me help you.” She reached for the collar of my silk blouse, her movements aggressive. I shoved her away instinctively. Tinsley let out a sharp cry, stumbling back and falling perfectly into Mark’s waiting arms. She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, then shot me a look of pure, triumphant malice. Mark’s face contorted with disgust as he shielded Tinsley. “Andie, have you lost your mind? It was a joke! A game!” “She’s my sister,” he hissed. “The least you could do is show her some respect.” Sister. The word tasted like ash. “Since you’re so reluctant to play along with Tinsley’s kindness,” Mark said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy register, “we’ll skip the pump. We’ll just go straight to the auction. Highest bidder gets it fresh, right from the source. After all, you’re so ‘generous’ with me, what’s the difference doing it in front of the boys?” He let out a short, harsh laugh. “Opening bid: one cent.” 2 “I’ll bid five cents!” one man shouted, leaning forward. “After all, when I was short on cash for that merger, Andie emptied her personal trust to lend me five million. She hasn’t even asked for it back. It’s the least I can do!” “Ten cents!” another yelled. “Mark gave me the rights to that downtown development project—the one worth a hundred million—just for being a ‘good brother.’” My heart stopped. That land… Mark had told me his company was on the verge of bankruptcy. He said he needed that deed to save the Dalton legacy. I had poured every cent of my own company, Becket Global, into securing that bid, only to hand it to him on a silver platter. He told me we lost the bid to a competitor. He didn’t lose it. He gave it away to his drinking buddies. “That’s nothing,” a third man laughed, his voice oily. “Mark gave me the deed to that private cemetery plot—the one where Andie’s father is buried. We cleared out the old man and the rest of her ancestors last week. Dug ’em up and tossed ’em in a ditch somewhere out in the sticks. For that kind of friendship, I’ll bid a whole dollar. But not a penny more. She isn’t worth the extra change.” The room erupted in a bidding war of insults. Tinsley giggled, leaning her head against Mark’s shoulder, watching me bleed out emotionally. She stood up slowly, her eyes locking onto mine. “Since everyone wants a taste, I shouldn’t be the villain. Why don’t we just forgo the bidding and let everyone share? Andie is such a ‘giving’ person, I’m sure she won’t mind.” She looked back at Mark with a playful wink. I was shaking so hard the water glass in my hand shattered against the floor. The sound was like a gunshot. I looked at the man I had loved, the man who had sat silently through this entire nightmare. “Mark,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Are you really okay with this?” Mark frowned, but when Tinsley gave his hand a little squeeze, his expression hardened into a mask of indifference. “Why not? If it wasn’t for that ‘heirship contract’ you signed with my mother, Tinsley would be the one standing here. You’ve given me the child. But you haven’t even begun to pay back what you took from her.” Took from her? If his mother hadn’t drugged me and locked me in a room with him, I would never have been in this position. And Mark hadn’t been drugged. He knew exactly what he was doing that night. I fought back tears, my jaw aching from the tension. “Mark, your mother told me the company was failing. She told me I was signing a medical release for your surgery. She said she’d only sign the consent forms for your life-saving operation if I stayed and took care of you.” Mark’s face stiffened for a split second, a flicker of unease crossing his eyes, before he shouted over me. “Lies! All of it! This is just another one of your schemes to drive a wedge between me and Tinsley. When I was in that accident, Tinsley was the one who paid the bills! You were out spending the money my mother got from liquidating the company! You drugged me to get pregnant and secure your spot in this family. Tinsley is the only one who ever defended you, and now I see exactly who the monster is.” His gaze softened as he looked at Tinsley, then turned back to me, frigid. “My child will be raised by a woman like Tinsley. As for you and that little brat… you can both rot for all I care.” Tinsley stiffened slightly at the mention of the baby. Her voice turned unnaturally sweet. “Mark, the baby is innocent. He’s yours, after all. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of. But… with Andie’s ‘unstable’ mental state, I worry she might hurt him in private. If it were me…” She let the sentence hang, heavy with implication. I knew what she wanted. Tinsley was infertile; she wanted my son to complete her image of the perfect life. And Mark’s mother wanted my bloodline to inherit Becket Global. They wanted the money, the legacy, and the child—but they wanted me gone. “Andie,” Mark said, his voice flat. “For the sake of the boy, you’re handing him over to Tinsley. Only a woman as pure as her can raise a son of mine to be a decent man.” 3 I felt the blood drain from my face. My legs felt like lead. The men were still circling, waiting for their “prize.” I lowered my head, my voice barely a whisper. “And what if Toby… what if he isn’t yours, Mark? What if he’s only mine?” The words were lost in the roar of the room. Mark saw my lips move, and for a moment, a flash of genuine terror crossed his face. Tinsley, sensing the shift, took a jade bracelet from her wrist and dropped it. Clink. The pale green stone shattered into two pieces on the hardwood floor. My heart stopped. That was my mother’s bracelet—the only thing she gave me before she died. I remembered her thin, frail hand clutching mine in the hospital, her eyes burning with a final, desperate light. “Andie, if you’re ever in trouble, send this to 187 East Bay. Keep it safe. Promise me!” I had kept it in a biometric safe. Only two people knew the code. The coldness in the room turned into a blizzard. “Oops!” Tinsley cried, feigning shock. “I’m so clumsy. Mark said this was just some piece of junk he found, so I thought I’d play with it. Now that it’s broken, I guess it belongs in the trash. You don’t mind, do you, Andie?” I dropped to my knees, gathering the shards. The sharp edges sliced into my fingers, but I didn’t feel the pain. I just held them tight. Mark’s eyes flickered to my bleeding hands, but Tinsley’s voice pulled him back. She pointed at the front of my blouse, where my milk was starting to leak through the silk—a physical reaction to the stress and the thought of my baby. “Look! She can’t wait!” Tinsley laughed. “I won’t keep the boys waiting any longer. Let’s see how ‘miraculous’ she really is.” Mark looked at me, a flash of genuine revulsion crossing his face at the sight of my damp clothes. The men began to close in like wolves. I scrambled back, pulling my phone from my pocket. I’d been dialing a number for twenty minutes. It finally connected. I threw the phone onto the table in front of Mark. “You love being ‘Mr. Dalton,’ don’t you, Mark? But let’s remind everyone who owns the chair you’re sitting in. Becket Global is 99% mine. And your mother is on the line.” Mark froze at the sight of the caller ID. He picked it up with trembling hands. The background noise of a high-stakes bridge game on the other end went silent. “Mother?” “Get home. NOW,” a sharp, authoritative voice barked through the speaker. At least, in this one moment, Beatrice Dalton would protect what was hers—the “propriety” of her family name. Mark’s face was a study in repressed rage, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone. In total silence, flanked by a smug Tinsley and a phalanx of disappointed men, we left. The moment we stepped into the Dalton manor, Beatrice was there, a forced smile on her face. She pulled me toward the dining table, her voice thick with maternal manipulation. “Andie, dear. Your mother and I were best friends. She wanted this marriage for you. She wanted you to have a good life with Mark.” She leaned in, her eyes narrowing. “Mark is a successful man. There are temptations everywhere. If a woman can’t hold her husband’s heart, what use is she? And Tinsley… she’s like a daughter to me. You need to stop being so paranoid. It’s unseemly. Mark saved your life once; you should be showing him your gratitude.” “A man is the head of the house, Andie. You need to lean on him. And since you aren’t doing anything with those shares, you should transfer them to Mark. Prove to him that you’re a devoted wife.” Mark sat to the side, looking like a pouting child. Beatrice kicked his leg under the table, and he looked away with a huff. 4 I stayed silent. But a different kind of silence was bothering me. The house was too quiet. Beatrice kept talking, her voice droning on until… “Andie, if you won’t think of yourself, think of the baby. Do you really want him raised by a mother who’s a—” The baby. Toby was usually a whirlwind of noise by this time. He should have been crying for a feeding. My stomach dropped. I sprinted toward the nursery and threw open the door. My vibrant, happy boy was lying in his crib, his breathing shallow, his face swollen and red. I gathered him into my arms, his tiny body limp. As I turned to run, I collided with Mark in the doorway. I fell to the floor, curling my body around Toby to protect him. “Mark, please!” I screamed, looking up at him with pure desperation. “Take him to the hospital! Something is wrong!” Beatrice stood behind Mark, placing a hand on his shoulder, pulling back the hand he had instinctively reached out toward me. “Mark, a house needs order,” she said coldly. “Andie was very disrespectful tonight. She needs to learn her place.” She looked down at me, a cruel smirk playing on her lips. “I gave him a little peanut butter before you got back. Just a taste. I figured a little ‘lesson’ would remind you who runs this house. It’s just a minor allergy, Andie. Stop being dramatic.” “A minor allergy?” I gasped. Toby was gasping for air. “He’s anaphylactic, you monster!” “Mark,” Beatrice said firmly. “Think of how much Tinsley has suffered because of this woman.” Mark looked at me, then at his mother. Slowly, he withdrew his hand. The hesitation in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, stony resolve. I gathered every ounce of strength I had and tried to bolt past them, but Mark blocked the way. He shoved me back into the nursery and locked the door from the outside. I screamed. I begged. I threw myself against the wood until my shoulders were bruised and my voice was gone. Mark stood on the other side, his silhouette visible through the frosted glass, silent and unmoving. When the house finally went quiet, I heard his footsteps fade away. I slumped against the door, my heart shattered. Toby’s tiny hand reached out from his swaddle, feebly grasping my finger. Even in his distress, his little face tried to form a weak, innocent smile, as if trying to comfort me. I looked at my son, his life slipping away, and I looked at the large floor-to-ceiling window. I stripped the silk curtains and the heavy bedding, knotting them together into a makeshift rope. I strapped Toby to my chest with my scarf and climbed out into the night. I hit the ground hard. I didn’t realize I’d lost my shoes until I was running down the asphalt of the gated community, my bare feet bleeding. I flagged down the first car I saw. The window rolled down, revealing a sharp, elegant jawline and a pair of eyes that seemed to see right through me. He looked at me, then at the baby in my arms. “Miss Becket?” he asked, his voice a rich baritone. “What happened?” Before I could answer, he was out of the car. He didn’t ask questions. He took Toby from my arms and sprinted to the passenger side. “Get in. Now.” At the hospital, he was a blur of motion, carrying my son into the ER while I stumbled behind him. I waited outside the ICU, clutching the business card he had pressed into my hand before he stepped away to handle the paperwork. Zavier Knight. Watching Toby through the glass, hooked up to a dozen tubes, a tidal wave of fury rose within me. If they wanted a war, I would give them a massacre. I pulled out my phone and sent a single encrypted message. Then, after a moment of hesitation, I put the broken shards of the jade bracelet into an envelope and addressed it to the address my mother had given me years ago. 187 East Bay. The next morning, every official social media account for Becket Global posted the same message: “Celebrating the return of our CEO. We are giving away $1 million to 100 random followers who share this post. The Queen is back.”

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The two-week cold war finally fractured at dinner when my husband, Zack, walked through the door. He sat down, and his first words were a seismic shift in my reality: “I’ve fallen in love with my assistant.” “All these years, and Jessica is the only one who makes me feel that spark again—like the very first time,” he added, a flicker of excitement dancing in his voice that he didn’t even try to hide. I remained expressionless. I stood up, poured him a glass of lukewarm water, and sat back down to continue my meal as if he’d just commented on the weather. Zack seemed caught off guard by my silence. He blinked, staring at me for a few seconds before finding his voice again. “Don’t get any ideas. Your place as my wife—as the mistress of this house—is secure. That’s never going to change.” I picked up a piece of glazed rib and placed it in his bowl. After a long beat of silence, I said three words: “Just eat dinner.” He didn’t touch his fork. Instead, he pushed an elegantly boxed cupcake toward me, his tone bordering on a recommendation. “Try this. Jessica insisted I bring it home for you. She’s an incredible baker.” “You’ll love it,” he emphasized. I set my chopsticks down and looked him straight in the eye, my gaze steady and cold. “Zack, I’m severely allergic to eggs. You’ve known that since the day we met.” 1 The air in the dining room turned brittle. Zack rubbed the bridge of his nose, a tell-tale sign of his fleeting guilt. “I’ve been so busy lately. I forgot. I’m sorry.” A bitter, jagged laugh threatened to spill out of me. He hadn’t forgotten; he just hadn’t bothered to remember. Our first anniversary: he bought a cake. I spent the night in the ER, my throat closing up. The second year of our marriage: I was recovering from a miscarriage. He made “healing” custard. I went into anaphylactic shock and nearly died on our kitchen floor. Every year, he ‘forgets.’ Every year, I pay the price. This year was the seventh. I forced a thin smile and pushed the plate back toward him. “The food’s getting cold. Eat.” He reached out, pinning my hand to the table. His eyes searched mine, flickering with something like irritation. “Evelyn, I’m trying to talk to you about Jessica.” “After dinner,” I said. Zack suddenly slammed his hand against the wood, the sound echoing through the house. “There’s nothing to eat, Evelyn! It’s always the same. Ribs and eggplant, night after night. No variety, no life. I am so damn tired of this routine.” I looked down at my plate, a dull ache blooming in my chest. I remembered when we lived in that cramped studio apartment, counting pennies just to survive. Meat was a luxury we saved for weeks to afford. I’d make ribs; he’d make roasted eggplant. Back then, he’d scrape the plates clean and swear he wanted to eat that meal every day for the rest of his life. It turns out “forever” had an expiration date I wasn’t told about. Watching his chest heave with frustration, I spoke softly, my voice barely a whisper. “If that’s how you feel, then we should get a divorce.” “Di… Divorce?” His brows knitted together, his anger replaced by a sharp confusion. “No. I don’t agree to that.” “Yes, I love Jessica. But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving you. You’re throwing a tantrum, Evelyn, and it’s not going to work.” I turned away. I couldn’t even remember when the man I loved had vanished. I only remembered that after the money came, so did the endless parade of “other women.” I had screamed, I had fought, I had even confronted them. He never cared. Once, in a desperate, broken moment to keep him from walking out, I had even picked up a blade. He just looked at me like I was a theatrical nuisance. But Jessica, his secretary, was different. She was the one he truly curated. He poured money into her, gave her resources, took her to high-level meetings, and personally refined her proposals. He had essentially announced to our entire social circle that she was “his.” When I had tried to make things difficult for her, he froze my credit cards for the first time. He was marking his territory. And I, the wife, was no longer part of it. Seeing my silence, Zack pulled out his phone. “Is there something you want? That Hermès bag you were looking at? I’ll get it for you.” His tone was casual, a peace offering wrapped in leather. This was our cycle: he buys a gift, I accept the apology, and we pretend to be the golden couple again. I opened my mouth to speak, but the doorbell rang. Jessica stood there holding a tiered bento box, looking small and fragile. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, Evelyn. Zack didn’t eat all day at the office, and I was worried about his stomach, so I brought him some dinner.” The irony was a physical weight in my gut. “He’s already eating.” I moved to close the door, but Jessica stepped forward, a subtle smirk playing on her lips before she intentionally tipped the container, letting the hot food spill over her own hand and dress. “Oh! Evelyn, I… I just didn’t want him to go hungry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Her eyes welled with practiced tears. “It’s okay if you hate me, but the food… it’s such a waste…” Zack was there in an instant, pushing past me to shield her. “Are you okay, Jessica? Did you burn yourself?” She shook her head, leaning into him. “It’s nothing, Zack. Please, don’t let me come between you two. Your relationship is more important.” “Relationship?” Zack spat the word at me. “She doesn’t care about us. If she did, she wouldn’t be bullying you in my own home. Evelyn, she just brought me a meal. Do you have to be this cruel?” They looked like a portrait of tragic lovers, and it made my eyes burn. I remembered going to his office months ago, only to be blocked by Jessica at the door. She had “accidentally” spilled coffee all over me then, too. Zack had watched and told me to “stop being dramatic” and “let it go.” Now, the roles were reversed, but I was still the villain. He looked at me with a profound, chilling disappointment. Then, without a second thought, he picked Jessica up in his arms and walked out the door. 2 At the threshold, he paused. He didn’t look back. “Evelyn, I remember when you used to be a kind person. What happened to her?” What happened to her? She spent every waking moment loving you. She underwent three grueling rounds of IVF, desperate to be a mother, to build a family with you. And what did she get? A lost child, a body mapped in surgical scars, and a husband who treated her like a ghost. He had driven her to the edge of madness and now had the nerve to ask why she wasn’t “kind.” As the sound of his car faded, I clutched my chest, gasping for air as the panic clawed at my throat. I calmly dumped the remains of our dinner into the trash. I went to my office and pulled out my old portfolio—the life I’d abandoned to be his wife. I dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “Professor?” My voice broke. “Does your offer still stand?” I booked a one-way flight for the following week. Looking around the house we’d built, I finally felt the tether snap. I was leaving. Zack didn’t come home that night. In the early hours of the morning, my phone buzzed. The background noise was a chaotic thrum of a nightclub. He sounded drunk. “Evelyn… come get me. My stomach hurts. It’s the ulcer.” “Call a doctor, Zack.” I gripped the phone until my knuckles turned white. “No. I want you to come,” he slurred. I didn’t answer. I turned the phone off. I remembered another night like this. I had rushed to a bar with medicine and warm ginger congee, only to find him using Jessica to block shots of tequila. When he saw me standing there, he’d smirked and kissed her right in front of me. “She came,” he’d whispered against Jessica’s lips. “I win the bet.” The congee had shattered on the floor. I was nothing but a punchline to them. My thoughts were interrupted by a notification. Jessica had sent me a photo. Zack’s head was buried in her lap, his eyes closed in a drunken stupor. “He says only I give him that spark, Evelyn,” the caption read. “It’s not that you aren’t beautiful. It’s just that he can’t breathe without me.” It had been ten minutes since his call. One moment he was begging for his wife; the next, he was in his “sweet escape.” It was a tired script. Every time I reached my limit, Jessica would find a way to twist the knife. The last time I confronted Zack with her recordings and photos, he hadn’t even looked up from his desk. “She just took those to make herself feel better, Evelyn. The angles are misleading. You just had a miscarriage; you’re hormonal and overthinking.” He knew. He knew I’d lost the baby while he was busy driving Jessica back to her hometown because “the mountain roads were too dangerous for her to drive alone.” When he finally saw me gasping for air that day, he’d pulled me onto his lap. “Evelyn, it hurts that you don’t trust me. No matter what I do with them, you’re the one who matters.” He’d kissed my neck, his voice thick with a promise. “Just get healthy. Get your strength back, and we’ll try for another baby. I promise I’ll be home every night.” And he had been. For two weeks, he was the perfect husband. I, the fool, had softened. I had forgiven him. But the “perfect” life lasted fifteen days. I found a video online of him at a karaoke bar, cradling Jessica, singing the lullaby I used to sing to him. I checked our home security footage. Every night after I fell asleep, Zack would slip out of bed, drive to Jessica’s apartment, and return before dawn. When I slapped him, screaming about how disgusting he was, his eyes went dark. “Jessica is afraid to sleep alone,” he said, opening the door to leave. “I have to go to her.” 3 Every time I remembered that moment, a chill settled in my bones. His heart hadn’t just strayed; it had been transplanted. I didn’t call him for the next three days, and he didn’t reach out. On the fourth morning, he walked into the bedroom carrying a designer shopping bag. I handed him the divorce papers I’d prepared. “The terms are set. Just sign them, and we can go to the courthouse.” He didn’t even look at the folder. He held up a dress. “This just hit the runway. Put it on. We’re going to my mother’s for lunch.” I looked at the label. It was a brand I loved. Years ago, when we were poor, he’d skip meals just to buy me a scarf from that house. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry that he still remembered my taste while actively destroying my soul. When I didn’t move, he stepped forward to help me dress. “Zack, I’m talking about a divorce.” “I heard you. I’m not signing.” He stiffened for a second, then took my hand with forced normalcy. “Let’s go. Mom is waiting.” When we pulled into his mother’s estate, I realized Jessica was already there. She was wearing a piece from a recent high-end auction—a dress I had pointed out months ago. Seeing me stare, Jessica looked down sheepishly. “Zack, I’ve never worn anything this expensive. I feel like I don’t belong in it… maybe I should give it to Evelyn? I can wear her outfit. I don’t want her to be angry with me.” I felt a surge of nausea. “If you don’t belong in it, take it off.” Zack shot me a warning glance and patted Jessica’s shoulder. “Ignore her. Keep it. You’re my executive assistant; you need to look the part. You both go sit with my mother. I’m going to check on the kitchen.” Jessica flashed a triumphant smirk and brushed past me to the table. I ignored her and poured a bowl of soup for Zack’s mother. She took two sips, and suddenly, she collapsed. Her eyes widened, staring at me in shock. “Evelyn, you…” I froze. Jessica was on the floor in an instant, kneeling by the old woman. “Mrs. Sterling! Oh god, what’s happening?” Jessica screamed, then turned her tear-filled eyes toward me. “Evelyn, I know you hate me, but how could you take it out on his mother?” Zack rushed in, lifting his mother in his arms. He looked at me, his face a mask of cold fury. “What did you do?” Jessica sobbed, pointing at the soup. “She drank the soup Evelyn gave her and just… Evelyn, you can kill me if you want, but don’t hurt innocent people! She’s Zack’s mother!” Zack was checking Jessica’s arms, noticing small scratches she must have given herself earlier. “I didn’t do anything! I don’t know what happened!” I cried. Zack didn’t hesitate. He swung his leg, kicking me hard in the ribs. The force sent me reeling. “Evelyn! My mother has been nothing but kind to you! How could you be this twisted?” He spat. “No wonder your parents abandoned you at birth. You’re malicious. You tried to force Jessica to lie for you, and when she wouldn’t, you did this!” The pain was blinding. I tried to reach for his mother. “I swear, I didn’t—” Zack pushed me away with a sneer. “Still lying? My mother is lying there half-dead. Jessica is the kindest soul I know; you think she’d make this up?” I stumbled, hitting a pedestal. A heavy porcelain vase shattered, and I fell backward onto the shards. I felt the sharp sting of ceramic piercing my skin, followed by the warm, sticky sensation of blood soaking through my dress. Zack’s pupils contracted. He reached out as if to catch me, then stopped himself. Jessica grabbed his sleeve, trembling. “There’s so much blood… will she be okay?” “Don’t worry about her,” Zack snapped, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and something else. “She’s rotten to the core. Whatever happens, she deserves it.” He barked an order to his driver. “Take her back to the house. Lock her in her room. No food, no way out until she’s ready to crawl on her knees and apologize. Watch her. I won’t have her hurting anyone else.” He turned to Jessica, softening his voice. “Come with me to the hospital. If I leave you here, she’ll find a way to torment you again.” ——– I was dragged back to the house and locked in. My consciousness flickered, and it took hours for the fog to clear. The cameras. There had to be a way to prove it. I pushed through the pain, using every contact I had left to remotely access the Sterling estate’s security feed. There it was. Clear as day: Jessica slipping a powder into the bowl when I turned to grab a napkin. I pounded on the bedroom door, screaming for someone to listen. The door finally opened, but it wasn’t a guard. It was Jessica. “Move,” I hissed. Jessica tilted her head, a mocking grin on her face. “Got your little evidence? Going to tell on me?” She laughed and landed a sharp slap across my face. She gripped my chin, her nails digging into my skin. “You want the truth out? Think about your best friend in the hospital first.” I recoiled. “What are you talking about?” I grew up in an orphanage. I had no family. Only Becca. She was the one who protected me, the one who shared her food with me. Now, she was battling leukemia, waiting for a bone marrow transplant. Jessica smiled. “Isn’t it a coincidence? Becca’s lead oncologist? He’s an old college friend of mine.” I stared at her, horror dawning on me. “Don’t you touch her!” She toyed with a lock of her hair, leaning in to whisper against my ear. “Then what is the great Mrs. Sterling going to do to keep me happy?” 4 My knuckles turned white as I clutched the phone with the evidence. Slowly, I deleted the video in front of her. I immediately arranged for Becca to be transferred to another hospital, but it was too late. That very afternoon, a “dosage error” occurred. Becca was gone before I could even say goodbye. I found Jessica at a café, looking serene. “Evelyn, come sit. Have some tea.” She was smiling. Around her neck was the locket I had given Becca for her birthday. My hand shook with a rage so primal I couldn’t speak. “Jessica. I will make you pay for this with your life.” She didn’t flinch. Instead, she grabbed the balcony railing and leaned dangerously backward. “Evelyn, please don’t kill me! I didn’t do anything to Becca, I swear—” Zack came charging in, lunging to pull her back. “I’ve got you, Jessica. You’re safe.” He turned to me, his eyes burning. “Evelyn, you’re still at it? You want to kill her now?” “Zack, she murdered Becca!” Zack’s gaze was freezing. “Where’s your proof?” “I have a recording! I have—” “Enough!” He stepped up to me and delivered a blow that sent me spinning. “Poisoning my mother, framing Jessica… how long are you going to play this insane game?” “Are you going to keep going until we’re all dead?” I tasted blood in my mouth. I closed my eyes, a profound sense of hopelessness washing over me. Seeing me swaying, Zack’s expression shifted for a fraction of a second. He pulled a black credit card from his wallet and tossed it on the table. “There’s enough on here for a lavish funeral for Becca. Consider it my final respect to her. Just stop hounding Jessica, and we can still go back to how things were.” Even now, he thought I was just being “difficult.” Even with a life lost. I looked at him and began to laugh—a hollow, broken sound. “Zack. Just you wait.” ——– I hadn’t even decided on my next move when Zack broke down my door the next morning. “You are going to apologize to Jessica. Today.” He dragged me to a hotel suite, forcing my head down against the carpet until my forehead bled. The room smelled of sex and expensive perfume. Jessica was huddled on the bed, wrapped in a sheet, sobbing. When she saw me, she crawled over and hugged my knees. “It’s okay, Zack. I don’t blame her. I did what she said… I went to see Mr. Vaughn. I even… I gave him my body, but he still won’t sign the contract with you. I’m so useless. I’d do anything for you, Zack. Even die.” I looked at the open window and let out a dry rasp of a laugh. “Is that so? Then do it. Jump. Show us how much you love him.” Jessica scrambled toward the window ledge. “Jessica!” Zack turned pale, rushing to pull her down. “Don’t do something stupid!” He turned and kicked me squarely in the stomach. “Evelyn, she’s fragile! Why are you so bent on destroying her?” “You’re both women. Why do you have so much malice in your heart?” “I’m so disappointed in you.” He carried Jessica out without looking back. But I saw it. Over his shoulder, Jessica flashed me a sharp, victorious smile. After that, Zack stopped going to the office. He spent every hour with her. He, a man who detested animals, even went out and bought her a kitten because she said she was lonely. I had begged for a dog for years. He’d always said no. It didn’t matter anymore. My flight was in two days. I lay down to rest, but suddenly I felt a jolt. Everything went black. When I woke up, my clothes were torn. My body ached with a familiar, violated pain. I closed my eyes and wept. Jessica stood over me with a camera, grinning. “Imagine if these go viral, Evelyn. What will happen to the ‘prestigious’ Mrs. Sterling then?” “It’s time for a new wife to take the throne.” The last string of my sanity snapped. I lunged at her, dragging her by the hair toward the door. We collided with Zack in the hallway. He looked horrified, then stepped in front of Jessica. “Evelyn! What now?” “Zack, look at me!” I screamed, my voice raw. “She did this to me! She destroyed me! Are you still going to protect her?” Zack grabbed my shoulders, his voice a low growl. “Calm down! Jessica was just upset; she lost control. You’ve hurt her so many times… let’s just call this even.” “Even?” I pushed him away, tears streaming down my face. “What do you mean, even? Becca is dead! I’ve been assaulted! And you call it even?” I couldn’t believe these words were coming from the man I had loved for a decade. The man I had treated as my sanctuary was the one who had sharpened the knife and driven it into my heart. “Evelyn, I didn’t hold you accountable for my mother or for what you did to Jessica. Don’t be so petty. Stop playing the victim. You brought this on yourself.” I laughed, a jagged, terrifying sound, and grabbed Jessica, shoving her into my car. “Then let’s all die together.” I floored the accelerator, weaving through traffic until Zack’s SUV forced me onto the shoulder of a high bridge. I dragged Jessica out and pinned her against the railing. “Go to hell!” “No!” Zack sprinted forward. In his desperation to save Jessica, he lunged at me, his arms extended to shove me away from her. I let his momentum carry me. I didn’t fight it. As I fell backward over the edge, a small, serene smile touched my lips. Zack looked up, his face contorting in slow motion as he watched my body descend into the dark water below.

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The neighbor across from me doesn’t like to close his curtains. Every evening, I can see him working out in his living room. Black compression shirt, gray sweatpants. V-shaped torso, lean muscles, long legs, and a face with perfect bone structure. I’d been secretly watching for a solid two weeks, and just as I was about to work up the courage to ask for his contact info… Suddenly, comments appeared: 【Keep staring and I’ll gouge your eyes out!】 【This crazy supporting female character—the male lead is clearly trying to seduce the female lead next door, but she’s watching so intently. It’s infuriating!】 【The supporting character is so shameless. Peeping is illegal. Can’t someone call the cops on her?】 【Don’t worry, don’t worry. The male lead is pulling out all the stops tonight, but the supporting character gets so absorbed in watching that she accidentally falls out the window and dies…】 I sucked in a sharp breath. That very night, I installed safety bars and replaced my curtains with thick blackout ones. I didn’t dare look even once after that. A few days later, my neighbor knocked on my door with a tone that was both aggrieved and self-righteous: “Why did you stop watching me? Is it because you think I’m out of shape?” Me: ? 0

Those words hit me like a bolt of lightning. What did he mean by that? The comments were just as confused: 【That sounds almost… flirty?】 【The male lead is polite, so he can’t directly call out the supporting character’s rude behavior. He can only remind her indirectly not to peep anymore!】 【Damn, those pecs, those abs, that… he’s clearly got serious stamina! No wonder the supporting character was watching. I wouldn’t be able to resist either!】 【As expected of a cultured and graceful male lead—he’s a perfect match for our gentle and kind female lead!】 So that was it. He seemed like a pretty decent guy, actually. I couldn’t help but feel some gratitude toward the man in front of me. If I put myself in his shoes—if some creep had been secretly watching me for two weeks straight, I’d definitely call the cops. But he just came over to gently remind me. He’d already given me plenty of dignity. As I was mulling this over, Ethan suddenly introduced himself: “Hi, I’m Ethan. I’m from the capital. I own dozens of properties and have liquid assets in the hundreds of millions. I’m twenty-five this year, but I’ve been working out consistently. I’m in great health, and my parents have a harmonious relationship…” Me: ? 【The male lead is showing off his wealth to make the supporting character back off.】 【Male lead: This is a simple warning. Next time won’t be so easy.】 Me: ! I immediately bowed ninety degrees to him and apologized sincerely: “I’m so sorry, Mr. Ethan. I know my behavior caused you distress. It was wrong of me. I promise I’ll never watch you again!” Ethan: ? The aggrieved expression on his face suddenly froze, and his tone turned a bit flustered: “No, that’s not what I meant…” I understood completely. He still didn’t want to call me out directly because he was afraid of hurting my self-esteem. What a good person! I felt even more guilty and apologized repeatedly. 【Wait, why isn’t the supporting character following the script?】 【Admitting mistakes and changing behavior makes her a good girl. I hereby declare I won’t curse at the supporting character anymore.】 【Who knows if the supporting character is just pretending to lower the male lead’s guard so she can peep more effectively later?】 Heaven and earth could bear witness—I truly knew I was wrong and would absolutely never watch again. Falling from the tenth floor—how much would that hurt? I shivered, my face turning pale. But Ethan lowered his head, his ears turning completely red: “I just wanted to ask… do you girls like my body type?” Hearing this, I discreetly scanned him from head to toe and quietly swallowed. Damn, the black compression shirt was even pilling. His pecs were so full they were about to burst through the fabric. If I accidentally bumped into them, I wondered how good it would feel… The comments promptly interrupted my fantasy: 【The male lead hit a wall pursuing the female lead and doubts his own charm, so he’s trying to figure out what the female lead likes.】 【He’s too embarrassed to ask the female lead directly, so he’s asking the supporting character instead.】 I got it again. So he was trying to find out what the female lead liked. I was almost shipping them myself. To make up for my mistake, I decided to help them out: “Don’t worry, you have a great body. No one wouldn’t like it.” The female lead and male lead were made for each other—how could the female lead not like him? The corners of Ethan’s mouth instantly lifted high. I quickly added: “You can rest completely assured—I’ll never watch you again. If I do, I’ll… I’ll never get rich my whole life!” After making this vow, I didn’t wait to see Ethan’s expression. I went straight inside and closed the door. 0

That night, I added another layer of blackout curtains to make absolutely sure no light could get through. This should let me escape the tragic fate of accidentally falling from the building. I’d first noticed Ethan over twenty days ago. I’d been tortured to tears by a work proposal and went downstairs, wanting neither to take the stairs nor the elevator. I casually glanced out the window. Instantly, my headache was gone, my depression lifted, and I didn’t want to die anymore. In the unit across from mine, there was a gorgeous man working out, and he wasn’t even closing his curtains! From my angle, I could see everything. Black compression shirt, gray sweatpants. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs, perfect facial structure… he fulfilled all my fantasies about the ultimate hottie. I clung to the window and watched for a full hour. The next evening, with an excited heart, I secretly looked across again. He still hadn’t closed his curtains! I didn’t know if it was my imagination, but the lighting seemed even brighter. This time his upper body was bare, and the gray sweatpants had been switched for athletic shorts. I was immensely grateful for my good eyesight—I could even clearly see the veins bulging on his abs. I scolded myself for my shameful peeping behavior while convincing myself that as a grown woman, I needed to look at these things to have the energy to make a living. After secretly watching for two weeks straight, I was sleeping with a pillow clamped between my legs. I couldn’t help fantasizing—if I could get him, I’d first give him a few light slaps on his chest, then have a good time on top of him. But the comments that suddenly appeared gave me a harsh wake-up call. The comments said he had someone he liked—the girl living next door to me—and that he worked out without closing his curtains just to attract her attention. I’d run into that girl a few times. She was gentle and beautiful. The thought that a fellow woman was secretly enjoying such a treat without telling me broke my heart. But heartbreak aside… I sincerely wished this young couple could be together forever, until they were old and gray! I stopped thinking about them and went back to enjoying videos of hot guys. The consequence of indulging in eye candy was that I nearly overslept for work the next day. When I got to the office, contrary to my expectations, there was no dead, dull office atmosphere. Everyone was as excited as if they’d taken drugs. After some quick investigating, I learned that the company had suddenly been acquired by a big shot, and we were getting a new boss. I sat at my desk feeling a bit worried. The old boss might have had a bald spot and tended to spray spit when he talked, but he was generous! He gave out bonuses on holidays, gave out bonuses when he was in a good mood, even gave out bonuses for occasional overtime… bonuses, bonuses, bonuses until you got sick of them. Where else could I find a boss who randomly handed out bonuses like that? I sent him a message with a heavy heart: 【Boss, if someone’s threatening you, just blink.】 The boss replied instantly: 【Not telling, not telling.】 【You have no idea what I got out of this!】 I was about to try to extract more information when a chorus of gasps suddenly erupted throughout the office. My lunch buddy kicked my chair hard. Me: … Following her gaze, I looked up and my eyebrows shot up in shock. Ethan? The new boss was actually Ethan? Ethan looked over at the same time. Our eyes met, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a high arc, his eyes shining impossibly bright. 【Oh no, that expression—the supporting character doesn’t think the male lead came here for her, does she?】 【Actually, the female lead has a partnership with this company, which is why the male lead acquired it.】 【Nothing else to say—everyone type these four words right now: OLDER MAN SUPREMACY!】 The office erupted. “Ahhhhh he’s so handsome and stylish!” “I heard he’s a young master from the capital. Wonder if he’s here to gain experience or for someone special.” “Boss, look at me! I don’t want to work hard anymore!” “…” Listening to all this gossip, I could only feel amazed. The title of most devoted CEO had to go to Ethan. To pursue his woman, this capital circle young master was willing to live in a small one-bedroom apartment, show off his body every day without closing the curtains, and even directly acquire a company. How wonderful. Another day of shipping a couple. The office gradually quieted down, and I recovered from my excitement over this couple and started working seriously. I don’t know how much time passed before my lunch buddy kicked my chair hard again. I looked up—it was Ethan again. He’d taken off his suit jacket, rolled his white shirt sleeves up to his forearms, and unbuttoned the top two buttons. His fingers were so long, and his nose bridge was so high… Stop it! I immediately shook those unhealthy thoughts from my mind and put on a fake smile: “Boss, can I help you with something?” 0

Ethan’s lips pressed into a straight line: “I need a secretary. Haven’t found the right one yet, so I’ll have to trouble you to fill in temporarily.” I froze: “But…” Before I could finish, Ethan had already picked up my entire desk and computer together. Me: … Helplessly, I could only follow. His legs were long and he walked fast. I had to jog to keep up with his pace. From the exertion, the muscles in his arms tensed, forming perfect muscle lines that were quite enticing. The comments started drooling: 【I feel like the male lead is the type who could toss a wok for cooking for days on end.】 【Serious stamina! Serious stamina!】 Stunned by these shocking comments, I fell silent. A few seconds later, watching Ethan place my desk directly in front of his own desk, I fell silent again. So close that if I stretched my legs, I could touch his calves. Extremely lacking in boundaries. Wait, was this okay? The comments were equally confused: 【Am I detecting a hint of ambiguity?】 【Maybe he thinks the supporting character knows the female lead and wants to butter her up so she’ll put in a good word, like how guys pursuing girls try to befriend their besties.】 【If I remember correctly, the female lead and supporting character aren’t even close, right?】 【But the male lead thinks they know each other! He’s just too in love!】 So Ethan thought I was the female lead’s best friend. But the female lead and I were at most nodding acquaintances. We weren’t close at all. I was about to explain when a comment suddenly floated by: 【This works out well. Let the supporting character see firsthand how much the male lead values the female lead and completely give up her delusions!】 Me: … Fine then. I stopped worrying about it and immediately started cramming on the job duties of a CEO’s personal secretary. On the other hand, Ethan seemed like he had ants in his pants. One moment rolling his shirt sleeves up to his arms, the next buttoning and unbuttoning his collar, revealing his delicate collarbones. Like a mischievous child trying every way to get an adult’s attention. Was he fishing for evidence against me? I worked even harder, not daring to give him even half a glance. A few minutes later, an impatient “tch” came from above my head. Sure enough, he was fishing for evidence. He was unhappy he couldn’t catch me in the act. He suddenly stood up and went into the lounge. A clattering sound came from inside. Me: … Sighing quietly, Ethan emerged from the lounge and placed several small cakes on my desk: “I accidentally bought too many today. Could you help me finish them?” After a while, he placed peeled pomelo segments on my desk. Then a bit later, a warm cup of bubble tea… This must be how guys treat their girlfriend’s best friend—alternating between annoyance and trying to win them over. My heart completely settled back into my stomach. After ending this inexplicably strange day, I waited for the bus outside. My lower abdomen suddenly felt a pulling sensation. I hurriedly ran back to the company restroom to take care of it. When I came out, a red sports car was arrogantly parked right in front of the company building. It was Ethan. “It’s about to rain. I’m heading your way—let me give you a ride.” I was about to decline when lightning flashed across the sky and the ground shook. I jumped in fright and stopped refusing. Ethan drove a sports car, so I had to open the door and sit in the passenger seat. We drove in silence. The moment I stepped through my front door, rain came pouring down. I secretly felt grateful I’d taken Ethan’s car home, otherwise with the rain, thunder, and my period, I would have been miserable. I pulled open the curtains to check the windows and inadvertently glanced across. Ethan was working out again. I silently marveled at how he never forgot his original intention. He suddenly looked up. Through the pouring rain, his gaze found me precisely. 0

I quickly pulled the curtains shut. After tapping an electronic prayer bell for a minute to absolve my sins, I collapsed on the bed to relax. Strange—my period usually left me in agony, but this time there was only a slight aching sensation. Could it be because I’d secretly watched Ethan for two weeks? So I felt completely justified scrolling through videos of hot guys for two hours before falling into a deep, satisfied sleep. Today was my second day as temporary secretary. I didn’t dare be late and got up ten minutes early. When I opened my door, I came face to face with the female lead, who was also heading out. She smiled at me kindly, and I returned a big smile. After going downstairs, I saw that familiar, flashy sports car again. 【Who understands—to get one more glimpse of his precious female lead, the male lead has been waiting downstairs for an hour.】 【The male lead is wearing a casual outfit in the same color scheme as the female lead today. They’re so in sync!】 【Serious stamina! Serious stamina!】 I wanted to pretend I hadn’t seen it. The car window slowly rolled down, revealing that handsome, perfect face. Ethan called out: “Sophia~ Get in~” I hesitated for a moment, but he’d already gotten out and opened the car door for me. Getting in the car, I noticed he’d changed his watch. Yesterday it was a Rolex, today a Patek Philippe. My back teeth were about to crack. Why couldn’t the world have one more rich person—me! Just as I was about to buckle my seatbelt, Ethan suddenly leaned over and fastened it for me. A pleasant, faint citrus scent swirled around my nose. I instinctively held my breath. The comments filled with question marks: 【Why is the male lead being so intimate and ambiguous with the supporting character?】 【This action makes me feel like he’s not waiting for the female lead, but the supporting character.】 【The male lead is being so improper with women. Deduct points! Must deduct points!】 I also felt this behavior wasn’t quite appropriate. What if the female lead saw and misunderstood? Wouldn’t I become a homewrecker struck down by heaven? No way, absolutely not! Everything Ethan was doing now was to get closer to the female lead. I couldn’t be a stumbling block on his path to winning his wife! I clutched the seatbelt and thought hard for a while, then suddenly turned to Ethan very seriously and said: “Mr. Ethan, I have a boyfriend.” His fingers, which had been tapping the steering wheel, suddenly stopped. Ethan stiffly turned his head, his dark eyes full of disbelief, something seeming to shatter in their depths. “A boyfriend? You have a boyfriend?” I nodded obediently. A creaking sound echoed in the car. It went on for quite a while before Ethan’s eyes began to redden slightly: “I don’t believe it!” I was a bit puzzled. What was with this “my wife doesn’t want me anymore” expression? “Why don’t you believe it?” “I’ve never seen any men around you.” Me: … I patiently lied: “He’s usually busy with work…” “No matter how busy, that’s no excuse to neglect you!” He raised his voice, looking like he was about to cry. 【Who understands—the male lead thought everyone was single, and finding out the supporting character is in a relationship instantly broke his defenses.】 【It’s like thinking we’re all struggling students, then you get first place in the whole school on finals. Total betrayal.】 I thought for a moment, opened my phone’s photo album, found a picture with my brother, and shoved it in Ethan’s face. In the photo, I was hugging the guy’s neck from behind, smiling brilliantly. “Look, my boyfriend’s handsome, right? Everyone says we look like a married couple.” Ethan stared at the photo for a long time, his lips trembling violently several times before he finally closed his eyes, his tone very light. “I’m sorry. My recent behavior has caused you trouble.” “But this is just a boss’s concern for an ordinary subordinate. Please don’t take it to heart.” With that, he silently started the car. I looked out the window, vaguely feeling something was off. When we entered the company, Ethan walked very quickly, as if dogs were chasing him.

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The year I hated Lucas Carter the most was also the purest. Lucas Carter tortured and killed my dog that I had raised for ten years, all for his little secretary. To get revenge, I stabbed the little secretary five times, relishing her crazed screams. Everyone thought Lucas Carter would take my life. Instead, Lucas Carter just threw me a divorce agreement and said coldly, “You’re nothing but a dog of the Carter family. Since you want to go mad, then get lost.” After that night, I never appeared again. Until five years later, I attended a gala in my father’s place and ran into Lucas Carter’s little secretary. The little secretary splashed red wine on me. “Well, well, look who it is. The dog the Carter family didn’t want.” I grabbed a champagne bottle and smashed it on the little secretary’s head. “Five years and they still haven’t taught you how to be human. Today I’ll teach you myself.” Yolanda’s screams echoed through the room. Several lackeys standing beside Yolanda immediately positioned themselves in front of her and shouted at me. “Who the fuck are you!” “Do you know who you just hit!” “Let me tell you,” the loudest one pointed at me, “she’s the fiancée of the Carter Corporation’s heir! You’ve crossed her! Mr. Carter won’t let you go!” Someone else blocked my path, speaking mockingly. “I’d like to see which blind fool dares to offend Mr. Carter’s precious darling. Everyone knows Mr. Carter is crazy about his wife. Normally, if Miss Yolanda loses even a single hair, Mr. Carter would turn half the city upside down, let alone crack her head open!” Yolanda covered her bleeding forehead, glaring at me viciously. “Let me tell you, Gardenia, I was kind enough to let you go five years ago, but that doesn’t mean I’ll still be afraid of you five years later! You were nothing but a dog Asher kept at home! Five years ago I could destroy you, and now that you dare to show up, I can destroy you again!” I looked at how Yolanda had changed over five years. I had to admit it. Lucas Carter really had raised her well. The woman who could only timidly call me “Mrs. Carter” back then could now publicly threaten me to disappear, using words like “destroy.” Unfortunately, I’ve never been a pushover. Not five years ago. Not five years later either. Surrounded by a crowd, I looked at the shattered fragments on the ground, bent down, and under everyone’s shocked expressions, picked up a shard and smiled. “Yolanda.” I walked toward her step by step. “Five years ago,” I held the bloodstained shard, “I gave you too much face.” “What.” I stared at Yolanda’s lower abdomen, tracing the shard from her face downward. “I stabbed out your uterus back then, and you still haven’t learned your lesson.” “In that case.” My smile turned vicious, and before anyone could react, I raised the shard and stabbed it fiercely toward Yolanda’s abdomen. But. Before I could stab Yolanda’s belly, someone suddenly grabbed my wrist. I heard screaming in my ears, and Yolanda’s tearful voice. “Asher.” “I’m scared.” Five years ago, when I had pressed Yolanda to the ground and stabbed her again and again, Yolanda had shown the same terrified eyes, calling out vulnerably. “Asher, I’m scared.” Time overlapped. Behind me came a long-lost yet familiar voice. “Gardenia, it’s been five years.” “What,” Lucas Carter’s voice was gloomy, “still haven’t learned to behave?” My wrist was forcefully pulled outward. The pain made me frown, but instead of admitting defeat and giving up like I did five years ago, it ignited the blood in my veins that couldn’t be contained. I gripped the shard tightly, feeling it pierce my palm, and at the same moment Lucas Carter was about to seize the shard from me. I quickly turned my head and smiled at Lucas Carter. “Long time no see.” “Asher.” The shard stabbed viciously into Lucas Carter’s arm, blood spattering and blurring my vision.

The scene descended into complete chaos. I heard countless screams in my ears, someone shouting for security, and people whispering in discussion. “Who is this woman? Does she have a death wish? She actually dared to stab Mr. Carter!” “I just heard Miss Yolanda mention five years ago. Five years ago, didn’t Mr. Carter drive away a Carter family orphan girl, his wife in name only! Holy shit, could it be her!” “She doesn’t look like it though.” “I heard that orphan girl had no one, just a dog that was tortured to death all night because it offended Miss Yolanda! Everyone in high society has seen that torture video! They even skinned the dog alive!” “Look, Mr. Carter is actually smiling!” Blood kept seeping from Lucas Carter’s arm. Yolanda shouted, “Asher!” Then, ignoring her own forehead wound, Yolanda rushed over to Lucas Carter like a madwoman, shielding him and yelling at me. “Gardenia! What gives you the right to hurt Asher!” “The Carter family raised you for twenty years and raised an ungrateful wretch like you! Apologize to Asher right now!” Watching Yolanda act like the mistress of the Carter family, ordering me around imperiously, I found it laughable. I met Lucas Carter’s eyes. “After raising her for five years, you’ve raised a dog that stands up for you. Lucas Carter, you must feel pretty satisfied.” Yolanda’s face paled. Lucas Carter immediately shielded Yolanda behind him, just like five years ago. “Gardenia, things between us ended five years ago.” “I’ve already told you, Yolanda is the only one in my heart. I won’t fall in love with you and I could never like you,” Lucas Carter looked at me coldly. “I don’t care how you’ve spent these five years, or how you got an invitation to this gala and snuck in.” “But I will never let you return to the Carter family and continue to harm Yolanda.” “Gardenia.” Lucas Carter looked down at me from above. “Originally today I could have ignored you and pretended you didn’t exist, but since you hurt Yolanda, you have to pay the price.” Lucas Carter clapped his hands, and a group of security guards surrounded me. “You can choose to do it yourself, or I’ll do it.” A security guard handed over a knife. Lucas Carter took it, waiting for my answer. I just laughed outright. “Lucas Carter, do you think the whole world revolves around you?” I pointed at the knife in his hand. “If you’ve got the guts, you’d better finish me off today,” I walked closer step by step. “Otherwise, when it’s my turn to finish you off.” “You’d better not,” I leaned close to Lucas Carter, enunciating clearly, “beg for mercy on your knees.” “Hahaha.” My laughter echoed through the silent banquet hall. Lucas Carter’s expression darkened. Watching Lucas Carter tremble with rage, I couldn’t help but recall five years ago when he did the same thing, using Rusty to force me to kneel and kowtow in apology. He locked Rusty in an iron cage, had someone seal Rusty’s mouth, and as long as I refused to beg for mercy, the blade would mercilessly slice across Rusty’s body. All my pride was completely shattered. Watching Rusty in agony, I knelt and begged for mercy. “Lucas Carter!” I cried and pleaded, “Don’t hurt Rusty.” “I’m sorry!” I kowtowed forcefully, banging my head hard on the ground. “I was wrong! I know I was wrong!” Rusty was all I had. My only hope was to take Rusty and leave the Carter family. I desperately begged. “Let Rusty go, let Rusty go!” I’ll never forget Rusty’s eyes full of heartache for me, nor will I forget the hatred carved into my bones that still fills me with rage when I remember it. Looking at Lucas Carter now, only the hatred that hasn’t completely burned out remains. “Lucas Carter, you’re nothing but a dog being played by Yolanda,” I said word by word. “Old Master Carter handed the Carter family over to you, and he’ll probably crawl out of his coffin to demand your life!” “After all, the Carter family is completely finished!”

My throat was violently seized. My breath was stolen. Oxygen gradually depleted. I met Lucas Carter’s bloodshot eyes and heard his voice, vicious to the point of madness. “Gardenia, don’t think I won’t dare kill you!” “You’re nothing but the Carter family’s dog.” Lucas Carter forcefully threw me to the ground. Champagne glass shards all pierced my skin, creating countless small wounds. The pain made me shudder, and then Lucas Carter grabbed my hair. “When I tell you to kneel, you kneel!” “When I tell you to die! You die!” Lucas Carter smiled at me. “But today, I don’t really want you to die.” “After all,” Lucas Carter patted my face, “such a good plaything, how could I let it die so easily? Don’t you agree!” I looked at Lucas Carter so close. I remembered that day when Yolanda sent me a video, her tone boastful. [I just told Asher that Rusty scared me, and Asher skinned Rusty alive.] [You know what, next time I’ll tell Asher that you’re actually scary too. Will Asher skin you alive too?] [So funny!] [You’re nominally Mrs. Carter, but you’re actually worth less than a servant.] Now, meeting Lucas Carter’s expression, a sweetness rose in my throat. As Lucas Carter raised his hand to slap my face again, I spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm onto his face. Watching his expression shift from brief shock to disgusted revulsion, I smiled. “That’s right, Lucas Carter.” “How could you die so quickly?” I used his tone and smiled too. “After all, such a fun game, how can we not play it to the end?” Since I came back. I never intended to let Carter Corporation go. Those who killed Rusty back then, I want them all to pay the price one by one. Rusty died so cruelly. How could I let them go? Seeing my stubborn defiance. Lucas Carter suddenly released my hair and wiped the bloody phlegm from his face. “That’s right.” “Some things, if you don’t torture them slowly, how can you be satisfied?” “Since you’ve come back,” Lucas Carter looked at me, “then let’s play properly.” Lucas Carter stopped looking at me and ordered the security guards. “Watch her.” “Don’t let her escape.” Then Lucas Carter returned to his gentle and considerate demeanor toward Yolanda. “Does it hurt?” He gently wiped away Yolanda’s tears. “I’ll take you to a private room.” Yolanda cried into his arms. “With you, I don’t hurt.” “With you here,” Yolanda sobbed, “I’m not afraid of anything.” I watched Lucas Carter carry Yolanda horizontally out of the room. I slumped to the ground, the tiny wounds all over my body making me frown in pain. Those sycophants around me started spewing. “Who knows where this thing came from, daring to hurt Mr. Carter. Mr. Carter not taking half your life today is already mercy. Get lost.” “Exactly! I heard before that you’re just an orphan girl Old Master Carter picked up from outside. Old Master Carter raised you, but you repaid kindness with enmity and went after Miss Yolanda. You deserved to be kicked out.” “Not gonna lie,” someone smiled and opened their phone, “I still have that dog’s torture video saved.” That person opened their album and found the torture video. The others gathered around saying, “Let me see.” “I want to see too.”

Rusty’s screams rang out. But I seemed stimulated, directly picked up a shard from the ground, grabbed that person’s hair, and stabbed it viciously into his eye. Screams pierced my ears. I was like someone appreciating a work of art, turning my head to see those who had just been pointing fingers at me all fall silent. No one dared to provoke a lunatic. Moreover, a lunatic like me who dared to take the life of the Carter family’s heir. Even the security guards didn’t dare to really lay hands on me. I looked at this group of sycophants, spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm, threw out the word “trash,” and headed in Lucas Carter’s direction. Lucas Carter brought Yolanda to a private room and called his personal doctor. The doctor carefully examined Yolanda’s wound, but Yolanda cried and said, “Don’t look at me, check Asher.” “I really didn’t expect,” Yolanda choked up, “that Gardenia would be even crazier five years later. We shouldn’t have been soft-hearted back then. She’s appearing here now because she can’t let you go.” “Back then, Gardenia loved you so much that the whole city knew. Just because you were a little nice to me, she publicly embarrassed me and even slapped me.” Yolanda wiped away her tears. “Asher, don’t let her destroy our relationship anymore, okay?” Lucas Carter sat at the bedside, held Yolanda’s hand, and softly comforted her. “I won’t. Don’t worry.” “To me,” Lucas Carter scoffed, “Gardenia is nothing but a toy. When we were young, I found her boring and would always lock her in the dark room, scare her with snakes and insects and rats, and found it interesting to hear her cry.” “Later, I discovered Gardenia fed stray dogs every day, so I poisoned several of them. She actually pulled a knife on me over some beasts.” Lucas Carter gritted his teeth. “That dog deserved to die.” I walked to the private room door and heard Lucas Carter say this. I remembered that time when Lucas Carter chained me up. For three whole days, Lucas Carter left me covered in injuries. Even so, Lucas Carter had the audacity to grab my throat and demand. “Don’t take medicine!” I still clearly remember Lucas Carter’s sick and obsessed eyes. “Since playing with you isn’t enough, then give birth to my spawn. I want to see if you’ll still have such a hard backbone when you’re carrying my spawn!” Later, it was Rusty who found the old master to rescue me. It was Rusty who accompanied me to the hospital, completely eliminating the possibility of me becoming a mother. Even if I could never be a mother for the rest of my life. I would never give birth to spawn carrying Lucas Carter’s blood. It was also then. Lucas Carter completely developed murderous intent toward Rusty. My phone vibrated. I looked at the caller and my expression softened. “You went to the gala in place of your father-in-law?” That person’s tone was gentle. “I heard your ex-husband is there too. Why didn’t you wait for me?” Hearing that person’s voice, I couldn’t help but complain. “I’m about to be killed! Before I die, come save me quick!” I hung up the phone. I heard Yolanda ask him, “What if Gardenia still wants to be with you?” Before Lucas Carter could answer. I kicked the door open directly, met Yolanda’s shocked face, and Lucas Carter immediately shielded Yolanda. “Gardenia! You really are shameless!” “Chasing us here!” Lucas Carter looked at me with satisfaction. “What, want to come back and be Mrs. Carter? Who do you think you are—” I picked up the knife in my hand, rushed quickly to Lucas Carter, stabbed it into his abdomen, and looked at him coldly with a sneer. “Lucas Carter!” “Go to hell!”

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On the day I got out, two people were waiting at the gate. One was my fiancée, Sophia Kane—the industry’s youngest female CEO of a publicly traded company. The other was my sister, Lucy. Five years ago, they personally sent me to prison. Sophia wore a black coat, standing ramrod straight, as if she were here to pick someone up. My sister kept her head down, not daring to even look at me. “Ethan…” Her voice was tight. I ignored her. A black Maybach was parked by the curb. I got straight in. **1** I’d been hearing that sound—the iron gate closing behind me—for five years. Hearing it from inside versus hearing it from outside—it wasn’t the same. The sunlight was blinding. I squinted, standing at the prison entrance, taking a deep breath. The air smelled of dust, mixed with greasy smoke drifting from a roadside barbecue stand. Five years. I’d almost forgotten that smell. I carried a clear plastic bag containing the phone, wallet, and stopped watch I’d had on me the day I went in. The phone had long since died. The wallet still held three hundred and twenty dollars, along with a photo of Sophia. I pulled out the photo, glanced at it, and shoved it into a nearby trash can. Then I looked up and saw them. Sophia stood on the opposite sidewalk wearing a black cashmere coat, her hair pulled into a flawless bun, makeup immaculate, feet in stiletto heels. She stood perfectly straight, expression calm, like she was picking up a colleague returning from a business trip. No—even more indifferent than that. Lucy stood beside her. She was thinner than five years ago. Face pale, head down, fingers twisted together, knuckles red. She didn’t dare look at me. I had no desire to look at her either. Sophia spoke first. She called out across the street: “Ethan.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but loud enough for me to hear clearly. It carried a kind of condescending composure. I didn’t respond. I was looking at the car parked by the curb. A black Maybach. I didn’t recognize the license plate, but I recognized the business card pressed under the windshield. Three words in gold embossing: Sterling Whitmore. The old man had kept his word. “Ethan…” Lucy finally raised her head, voice tight, eyes reddening. She took half a step forward, then stopped. Five years ago in court, she hadn’t worn that expression. Back then she’d stood in the witness box, voice clear and composed, systematically nailing her own brother to the defendant’s seat sentence by sentence. “I saw with my own eyes that Ethan attacked someone. After the victim fell, he kept kicking.” Every word had been a nail. I’d looked at her then. She’d looked back. Her gaze had flickered for one second. Just one second. Then she’d looked away and continued with her rehearsed testimony, sending me to prison. And now she stood at the prison gate, head bowed, saying “Ethan.” As I walked past her, I caught the scent of her perfume. Expensive. Five years ago she’d used ninety-nine-cent floral water from the supermarket. Apparently that fifty thousand dollars had served her well. I didn’t stop, heading straight for the Maybach. Sophia’s expression changed. She hurried across the street, heels clicking urgently on the asphalt. “Ethan, wait.” I pulled open the car door. “Ethan! I need to talk to you.” I bent down and slid into the back seat. The car had a faint sandalwood scent. The leather seats were warm from the sun. A man in his fifties sat in the passenger seat, salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a dark gray Mandarin-collar suit, back perfectly straight. He turned to look at me and nodded slightly. “Mr. Hayes, my name is George. Mr. Whitmore arranged for me to wait here for you before he passed.” He took a black document bag from the glove box and handed it over with both hands. “Everything Mr. Whitmore left for you is here.” I took it and unzipped the bag. Inside was a stack of documents. On top was a will with a notary seal still visible. I flipped to the second page and saw a string of numbers. My fingers paused. Then I closed the document bag and looked out the window. Sophia still stood beside the car, bent over, one hand tapping the window, mouth opening and closing. Through the glass, I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I didn’t need to. “Let’s go,” I said. George started the engine. The Maybach pulled smoothly away from the curb, gliding past Sophia. In the rearview mirror, her hand hung suspended in midair, body frozen. Lucy chased after us for a few steps, then stopped and crouched by the roadside, hands covering her face. I pulled my gaze back, leaned against the seat, and closed my eyes. Five years. One thousand eight hundred and twenty-six days. Every single day inside, I’d thought about one thing. Not revenge. Accounting. Who owed me what. How much. How to calculate the interest. Now the ledger was open. Time to collect. **2** The Maybach stopped in front of a luxury apartment building in the east district. The elevator went straight to the top floor. When the doors opened, the entire floor was the apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked half the city’s skyline. The setting sun turned all the glass facades golden. In the center of the living room sat an unopened bottle of premium liquor, with a letter beside it. The envelope read: *For Ethan*. Sterling Whitmore’s handwriting. The strokes were still strong, but the line endings showed slight tremors. He’d written this in his final months. I didn’t rush to open the letter. First I sat down and spread the contents of the document bag across the table one by one. George stood beside me, poured me a cup of tea, then began explaining each item. “The overseas trust fund for Summit Holdings. Thirty-five percent equity stake, current market value approximately one hundred twenty billion dollars. This equity is held through a three-tier offshore structure. Mr. Whitmore’s biological son, Sebastian, still has no idea this asset exists.” I flipped to the next page. “Switzerland, Singapore, and the Cayman Islands. Seventeen accounts total across all three locations. Cash and equivalents totaling approximately thirty-eight billion dollars.” Next page. “Prime commercial real estate in eleven locations across major cities. Estimated value approximately twenty-six billion dollars.” George finished listing these figures and paused. “Mr. Hayes, your current personal assets are conservatively estimated at over one hundred eighty billion dollars.” I picked up the teacup and took a sip. Three years ago, on the metal bunk in prison, he’d coughed so hard his whole body curled into a ball. I’d put my own blanket over him and gone to the infirmary to get him cough medicine. Back then, no one paid him any attention. A seventy-something old man, hair completely white, gaunt, hunched over, voice weak when he spoke. Everyone assumed he was just an ordinary fraud convict. He didn’t explain. I didn’t ask. I just gave him half my egg at every meal. When he coughed, I got him hot water. When someone gave him trouble, I stood in front of him. No particular reason. I just felt an old man shouldn’t be treated that way. Half a year later, one evening, he suddenly spoke to me. “Ethan, why did they send you here?” I told him what had happened. My business partner set me up. My fiancée betrayed me. My sister gave false testimony. He listened in silence for a long time. Then said one sentence: “My son did the same to me.” Later I learned that Sterling Whitmore was the founder of Summit Holdings. Self-made. Forty years building a street-corner workshop into a hundred-billion-dollar commercial empire. Then his own son Sebastian, working with board members, forged a psychiatric evaluation, and on grounds of “senile dementia and incompetence,” sent him to prison. The charge was embezzlement. All evidence fabricated. Just like mine. We shared that cell for three years. He taught me to read financial reports, analyze business models, speak the language of capital. Three months before he died, he called in his overseas lawyers. One by one, he transferred every hidden asset Sebastian didn’t know about into my name. “Ethan, I have no other requests.” He lay on the infirmary bed, gripping my hand. His strength was already fading. “Take this money. Live a good life.” “As for Sebastian…” He paused. His eyes held no hatred, only weariness. “Help him if you want. Or don’t. Either way.” The night he died, heavy rain fell outside. I sat by his bed the entire night. That was the first time I cried after going to prison. Also the last. After that, I no longer needed tears. What I needed was patience. The first night after my release, I sat in the living room of this apartment and had George pull up everything about Derek Ford and Sophia from the past five years. Derek Ford. My former business partner. Now CEO of Ford Tech, a company on the verge of going public. Built on the core algorithm I’d written years ago. Sophia Kane. My former fiancée. Married Derek, leveraged the Ford family resources to start her own PR firm, and took it public. “The industry’s youngest female CEO”—she loved that title. Five years ago she slapped me, then climbed into Derek’s car using my dignity as a stepping stone. Now she had fame and fortune, living a glamorous life. While I’d spent five years eating moldy bread in prison. George handed me a detailed financial analysis report. “Mr. Hayes, Ford Tech’s largest client is Summit Cloud Data, a Summit Holdings subsidiary. Annual orders around eight hundred million dollars, representing forty-two percent of Ford’s total revenue.” Forty-two percent. I smiled slightly. “Tomorrow, set up a dinner meeting with whoever’s in charge at Summit Cloud Data.” George nodded. “Also,” I set down my teacup, “what’s the biggest supplier for Sophia’s PR firm?” “Stellar Media. Also owned by Summit.” “Schedule that meeting too.” I stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city’s lights spread out below me—dense, scattered, countless points of light. Five years ago when I was ripped from this city, I’d taken nothing with me. Now I was back. With one hundred eighty billion dollars. And a very long bill to collect. **3** Three days after my release. Sophia called me. The number was newly changed. After I’d charged my old phone, her number had come through. “Ethan, let’s meet up. There are some things we need to discuss in person.” Her tone was flat, even carrying a hint of condescension. I said fine. She chose the location—East Lake Manor, the most expensive private restaurant in the city. When I arrived, two people were already sitting in the private room. Sophia occupied the head seat, wearing a dove-gray suit dress, pearl earrings, perfect lipstick. Derek Ford sat beside her. Five years later, the man had gained a good twenty pounds. His suit stretched tight, a Patek Philippe on his wrist, wedding ring on his left ring finger. Seeing me enter, he didn’t stand. Just lifted his chin and pointed to the chair across from him. “Sit.” One word. I sat. Sophia spoke first, voice unhurried: “Ethan, you’re out. That’s good. The past is the past.” She pushed a document toward me. “These are your original shares in the company. After you went in, we did an equity restructuring. Your shares were diluted. This document needs your personal signature for confirmation.” I opened the document and looked. I’d originally held thirty-five percent of Ford Tech as co-founder. In this document, my shares had become point-three percent. The company was currently valued at five billion dollars. Point-three percent meant fifteen million. Derek spoke up, legs crossed, spinning a pen between his fingers. “Brother, keeping those shares safe for you these five years hasn’t been easy. The company has hundreds of people to feed. R&D, marketing, fundraising—everything burns money. Having your thirty-five percent sitting there inactive affected our fundraising valuation.” When he said “brother,” the corner of his mouth lifted. “This fifteen million—Sophia and I discussed it. Honestly, it’s not bad. You get out, take this money, rent a place, open a small shop. You can make it work.” Sophia picked up the thread, tone gentle but every word laced with barbs. “Ethan, I know you might feel uncomfortable. But you have to face reality. Your current situation… someone with a criminal record, returning to the workplace—it’s difficult. This money will at least help you transition.” She even smiled. “Of course, if you need any help, Derek and I can make some introductions through our network.” The room fell silent for two seconds. Outside the window, bamboo leaves rustled in the wind. Derek’s pen spun rapidly between his fingers, metal glinting reflections on the ceiling. I kept my head down, reading the document, turning page by page. “Where’s the pen?” I said. Sophia froze for a moment, then undisguised satisfaction crossed her face. She handed over a Montblanc. “Here, page three and the last page. Signature and date.” I took the pen. Derek leaned forward, eyes fixed on my hand. I signed. Name, date, stroke by stroke. Then I put the pen down and stood. “Text me the wire transfer information.” I turned and walked out. Behind me came Derek’s laughter, voice lowered but loud enough for me to hear. “See? I told you. Five years in the can breaks a man.” Sophia didn’t laugh. But she didn’t stop Derek’s laughter either. Silence was consent. I pushed open the door and stepped into the corridor. At the corner, I stopped, pulled out my phone, and dialed. “George.” “Mr. Hayes.” “Is Summit Cloud Data settled?” “Settled. All of Ford Tech’s orders for next quarter have been cancelled. Reason given is strategic direction adjustment. Stellar Media also confirmed they’ll stop supplying all media resources to Kane PR starting next week.” “Good.” I hung up and pocketed my phone. Walking out of the restaurant, night wind hit my face. Cool. Fifteen million. They wanted to buy out my thirty-five percent stake for fifteen million. Buy out five years of imprisonment. Buy out all the rights of a business partner, a fiancé, a brother. Fifteen million. I exhaled softly. Derek was right. It really wasn’t bad. Enough for him to regret it for the rest of his life. **4** The next two weeks, I did nothing. More precisely, I didn’t personally do anything. Week one, Ford Tech received formal notice from Summit Cloud Data that all next quarter collaborations were terminated. Eight hundred million in orders, gone just like that. Derek blew up the phone of the Summit Cloud Data executive. The response: “Corporate strategic adjustment. Not my decision.” Same week, Ford Tech’s partner bank suddenly began reviewing loan qualifications. Three loans totaling two hundred million were demanded for early repayment. Reason: “Risk assessment anomaly.” Derek panicked. He started reaching out everywhere, calling in favors, treating people to meals. But he discovered something strange—the business contacts who usually called him brother were suddenly all busy. No answer on calls. No reply to messages. Secretaries blocking. Week two was worse. Three of Ford Tech’s core technical staff resigned simultaneously. These three managed the company’s most critical algorithm architecture—the system I’d written five years ago. Without them, projects ground to a halt. Derek exploded. He smashed a laptop in his office and screamed at the CTO for forty straight minutes. George told me all this. Summit’s intelligence network covered every corner of this city’s business world. Derek couldn’t escape this net. Sophia wasn’t doing much better. After Stellar Media cut her off, her PR firm lost sixty percent of its media channels in one stroke. Several major clients’ annual PR campaigns couldn’t be executed. Penalty fees accumulated to forty million dollars. She scrambled for replacement suppliers, but in this industry, Stellar was the absolute leader. Other firms were either too small to handle the volume or quoted triple the price. Sophia’s complexion worsened day by day. One of her employees told George’s people over drinks that Ms. Kane had been working until two or three AM every night, temperamental, firing two assistants in a row. I listened to all this while sipping tea. “Did Derek figure anything out?” “He hired a business investigation firm, but all leads point to strategic adjustments within Summit Holdings. No one’s pointed at you.” “What about Sophia?” “She’s more perceptive than Derek. Had lunch with a friend two days ago and mentioned the timing seemed suspicious.” “She suspects me?” “For about one second. Then she dismissed it herself. Her exact words were—’He’s just some guy who spent five years in prison and signed away fifteen million without a fight. How could he have that kind of pull?’” I laughed. “Continue.” George handed me another document. “Mr. Hayes, someone’s been buying up Ford Tech shares on the secondary market. At the current pace, in another two weeks the stake will approach the disclosure threshold.” “Who’s buying?” “The three shell companies you had me set up.” “Mm.” I flipped to the last page. A line of numbers. Ford Tech’s stock price had dropped from thirty-eight dollars per share last month to twenty-nine. Negative news plus major client losses—market confidence collapsed fast. The more it fell, the more I bought. The more I bought, the more Derek panicked. Friday evening of week two, Derek’s assistant called me. “Mr. Hayes, Mr. Ford would like to invite you to dinner tomorrow. To catch up.” Ten times more polite than two weeks ago. I said: “No thanks. I’m busy.” Then hung up. That evening I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, holding the seal Sterling had left me. Soapstone. Cool, heavy. Four characters carved on it. *Immovable as Mountains.* Sterling had said that in business, the most important thing isn’t acting fast. It’s staying calm. I put the seal back in its box and turned off the lights. Outside, ten thousand lights. Among them, one belonged to Derek’s home. I guessed he wouldn’t sleep tonight. **5** Fourth week after release, Lucy found me. She somehow discovered where I lived. Maybe she’d tracked the Maybach’s license plate. Maybe bribed the security guard. Either way, she came. Three PM, George called my intercom: “Mr. Hayes, your sister is in the lobby downstairs. Security’s blocking her. She won’t leave.” I was silent for five seconds. “Let her up.” When the doorbell rang, I sat on the living room sofa with a Summit Holdings quarterly report spread before me. The door opened. Lucy stood in the doorway, stunned. Her gaze swept from the marble entryway floor to the crystal chandelier, from the cityscape beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows to the unopened liquor bottle on the coffee table. Her mouth opened, then closed. “Come in and talk.” I didn’t look up. She entered, standing across from the sofa, both hands clutching her purse strap, knuckles white. “Ethan, um… there’s a problem with the house.” Of course. Three weeks ago I’d had George arrange for lawyers to file a property rights dispute on that house. That house was left by our parents, with both my and Lucy’s names on it. After I went to prison, Sophia used “authorized disposal” to transfer my half of the property rights to Lucy’s name—for a price, naturally. The price was that false testimony in court. Now the property rights were disputed. My lawyers filed for a freeze on grounds of “unauthorized action by unauthorized party, invalid agency.” Lucy panicked. That house was her only asset in this city. “Ethan, the property rights issue, was that you…” Her voice grew quieter until the last words were nearly inaudible. I set down the report, looked up at her. Five years later, Lucy was much thinner. Sunken eye sockets, prominent cheekbones, no flesh on her face. But she wore a jade bracelet on her wrist and a gold necklace. Poor, but vanity intact. “That’s why you came?” “Ethan, that house is what Mom and Dad left for us. You can’t…” “Left for us?” I repeated it. “Five years ago in court, what did you say? You said you saw with your own eyes that I deliberately hurt someone. Did you know that person was hired by Derek for twenty thousand dollars to act?” Lucy’s face went white. “Do you know that because of your testimony, the judge added two years to my sentence?” Her lips trembled. She couldn’t speak. “It should have been three years. Because of the ‘eyewitness’ supplementary testimony, it became five. Those extra two years were a gift from you.” I stood and walked toward her. She backed up a step, lower back hitting the chair. “That fifty thousand—is it spent yet?” At those words, Lucy’s tears fell. She crouched on the floor, hands covering her face, shoulders shaking. “Ethan, I know I was wrong… I didn’t know then… Sophia told me you’d just be in for a few months… said you’d get out soon… I didn’t know the sentence would be so long…” “Didn’t know?” I crouched down to her eye level. “Lucy, you didn’t not know. You didn’t want to know. Fifty thousand plus a house—you thought it was worth it. As for how many years your brother spent inside—that wasn’t your concern.” She cried harder, snot and tears covering her face. “Ethan, please, that house is all I have… I really don’t have anything else…” I stood, stepped back. “Leave.” “Ethan!” “I said leave.” I turned and walked back to the sofa, picking up the report again. Lucy stood behind me for a long time. Her crying gradually quieted. Finally she wiped her face and walked toward the door on unsteady legs. At the door, she paused. “Ethan, this apartment… where you’re living… where did you get the money…” I didn’t answer. The door closed. George emerged from the study, glancing at me. “Mr. Hayes, are you all right?” I turned to the next page of the report. “When’s the next move?” George checked his watch. “Ford Tech’s stock price dropped another four percent today. According to plan, we can issue a takeover bid next Monday.” “Change it.” “Sir?” “Wait until next month’s business summit. Announce it in front of everyone.” George paused, then nodded. “Understood.”

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My son had his leg broken at school by the chairman of the school board’s son, all because he accidentally spilled soda on his limited-edition sneakers. To smooth things over, the school gave my son a suspension instead. The other party’s mother, that woman dripping in designer labels, pointed at me in the principal’s office and said: “Do you know how much those shoes cost? Forty-two thousand dollars! Your son’s entire college fund couldn’t cover it! The fact that we’re not demanding his immediate expulsion shows how generous our family is being.” The principal nodded along beside her. “Mrs. Williams is absolutely right. We will handle this strictly according to school policy.” I suppressed my rage, looking at their self-righteous faces. That woman pulled out her phone and contemptuously brought up a photo. “Take a good look. This is Commissioner Williams from the State Education Committee. My uncle. You think you can go against our family?” In the photo, that commissioner was slightly bowing as he shook hands with my husband. I pulled out my phone and called my husband. “Honey, that Commissioner Williams in your committee—his niece just had someone break our son’s leg.”

When I rushed to the hospital, my legs were so weak I could barely stand. My son Lincoln lay in the hospital bed, his right leg wrapped in thick plaster, elevated high. That face that always wore a sunny smile was now pale as paper, his lips cracked and dry. The doctor held up the X-ray, his tone grave. “It’s a comminuted fracture. We’ve performed surgery, but the bone was shattered quite severely.” “The recovery will be very long, and it may affect his height development.” After staying with my son all night, the next morning I received a call from the school principal. On the phone, his tone was formal, saying that the offending student’s parents were willing to “negotiate amicably” with me. I rushed to the principal’s office. A woman in a Chanel suit, wearing a diamond ring the size of a pigeon egg, was impatiently scrolling through her phone. She was Zachary’s mother, Quinn Williams. The principal was serving her tea and water. When she saw me enter, Quinn barely lifted her eyelids, the contempt in her eyes unconcealed. “You must be Lincoln’s mother. Sit.” She pushed a document in front of me. “This is a settlement agreement. Sign it.” “We’ll cover all medical expenses, plus an additional three hundred thousand in compensation.” “Don’t waste my son’s time. He has an equestrian lesson this afternoon.” Her tone was like she was giving alms to a street beggar. My mind exploded. The image of my son lying in the hospital bed moaning in pain overlapped with her arrogant face. I grabbed that agreement, tore it to shreds, and threw it hard in her face. “In your dreams!” The mockery on Quinn’s face grew thicker. “Three hundred thousand—for ordinary families like yours, that would take years of saving every penny, wouldn’t it?” “Your son just has a broken leg. It’s not like he died. People need to know when they’re well off.” The principal rushed over to mediate. “Mrs. Lincoln, please calm down. Mrs. Williams is being very sincere.” Sincere? I was shaking with rage. “My son was beaten by your son and had his leg broken. The school doesn’t punish him, but instead gives my son a disciplinary mark. This is your sincerity?” Quinn calmly smoothed the wrinkles on her clothes and smiled. “The disciplinary action—I told him to give it.” “Who told your son to be so blind and spill Coke on my son’s new shoes?” “Those shoes are globally limited edition, worth three hundred thousand! You couldn’t afford them even if you sold your son!” “The fact that I’m not having him expelled shows how charitable our family is!” The principal nodded and bowed beside her. “Mrs. Williams is absolutely right. Rest assured, we will definitely handle Lincoln’s case seriously.” I looked at their vile faces singing in harmony, my anger nearly consuming me. Quinn took out her phone from her Hermès bag, contemptuously pulled up a photo, and shoved it in my face. “Look closely. This is Commissioner Williams from the State Education Committee. My uncle.” “You think you can fight me? Are you even worthy?” In the photo, that so-called Commissioner Williams was bowing respectfully to a tall figure, his posture humble. That figure—I knew it all too well. It was my husband, Hudson. I took out my phone and, right in front of them, called Hudson. When the call connected, my voice was ice cold. “Honey, that Commissioner Williams in your committee—his niece just broke our son’s leg.”

On the other end of the line, Hudson was silent for two seconds. Then his steady voice came through. “I understand.” “Where are you? I’ll be right there.” Quinn heard my words and froze at first, then burst into laughter. “Hahaha, this is killing me! Commissioner in your committee? You think you’re in a TV drama?” She pointed at my nose, tears of laughter streaming down her face. “Which committee is your husband an advisor for? Tell me so my uncle can look after him!” The principal also wore a pitying expression, sighing as he tried to persuade me. “Mrs. Lincoln, stop talking nonsense. The Williams family’s power is beyond our imagination.” “Just sign the papers, take the money and get your son treated. That’s what matters.” I hung up the phone and looked at them coldly. “I told you, I won’t sign.” “That disciplinary action must be withdrawn. Zachary must publicly apologize, then get out of this school.” Each of my words fell heavily in the silent office. Quinn’s laughter stopped abruptly, her face instantly darkening. “Getting cocky, are we?” “Looks like three hundred thousand doesn’t satisfy your appetite. Fine, I’ll add another hundred thousand. Four hundred thousand—is that enough?” Her eyes were full of disdain. “Don’t refuse a toast only to be forced to drink a forfeit. If you piss me off, you won’t get a single penny, and I’ll have your son expelled immediately!” The principal was sweating profusely, grabbing my arm. “Mrs. Lincoln, why make things difficult for yourself! You can’t win against them! For your child’s sake, just back down!” I shook off his hand and stared directly at Quinn. “Keep your money to buy your son a coffin.” “You!” Quinn’s chest heaved violently with rage, her pointing finger trembling. “Fine, just fine! I’ll show you today what power really means!” She immediately made a call and put it on speaker. “Uncle Williams, I’m at the school. There’s a parent here causing trouble who doesn’t know her place. Tell the principal to kick her son out!” An oily male voice came through the phone—it was Commissioner Williams from the photo. “Quinn dear, do you even need me for such a small matter? Just have the principal handle it directly.” “Who’s so blind they’d dare to offend my precious niece?” Quinn smugly lifted her chin and held the phone toward the principal. The principal immediately put on an ingratiating smile, nodding and bowing to the phone. “Hello, Commissioner Williams. Rest assured, I will handle this properly and make sure your niece is satisfied!” After hanging up, the arrogance on Quinn’s face was practically overflowing. “Did you hear that? Now, even if you kneel and beg me, it’s too late.” She turned to the principal and commanded imperiously, “Right now, immediately, process Lincoln’s expulsion!” The principal wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked at me with difficulty, ultimately yielding. “Mrs. Lincoln, this… there’s nothing I can do. You…” I ignored him, only quietly watching the office door. Hudson said he’d be right here. He never spoke empty words. Under Quinn’s urging, the principal tremblingly picked up the phone on his desk, preparing to notify the registrar’s office. My heart rose to my throat along with that lifted receiver. Just then, Quinn’s phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and a doting smile appeared on her face. It was her son Zachary. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Missing mommy?” The voice on the other end was arrogant and domineering. “Mom, has that poor kid’s mom shown up yet? You didn’t waste time talking to her, did you? Tell her to get lost. Just looking at her is annoying.” “Oh, and the latest gaming console is out, globally limited edition. Remember to buy it for me!” Quinn beamed. “Okay, okay, okay. Mommy will buy it for you as soon as I’m done here. Be good in class now.” After hanging up, she glanced at me contemptuously. “Did you hear that? That’s the difference.” “My son has had everything he could want since childhood. And your son? He’s dragging his parents down and getting kicked out of school.” “I guess that’s just fate.” Her words stabbed into my heart. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my flesh. The office door was suddenly knocked. The principal’s secretary poked her head in frantically, her face pale. “Prin… Principal, this is bad!” “Several major shareholders of the school, and… and Director Clark from the board, they’ve all suddenly arrived!” “They’re in the conference room, saying they’re calling an emergency board meeting!” The phone in the principal’s hand clattered to the floor. “What? Director Clark? Why is he here? Why didn’t I receive any notice?”

Quinn frowned impatiently and waved her hand. “What nonsense. A bunch of old men having a meeting—what’s the big deal?” “Principal, what are you standing there for? Hurry up and process the expulsion!” The principal was completely dazed, standing in place, at a loss. The atmosphere in the entire office instantly became strange. Just then, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Hudson. “I’m downstairs. The new school director wants to meet you. I’m sending him up.” I raised my head, looking at Quinn’s face twisted with impatience, and slowly held up my phone. The call connected. I put it on speaker, my voice not loud but clearly filling the entire office. “Honey, are they here yet?” “Yes, they’re here.” Hudson’s voice was as steady as always. I looked at the ashen-faced principal and the stunned Quinn, and said word by word: “Good. Send him up.” “It’s time to replace the principal.” As my words fell, the entire office became deathly silent. The principal stared at me with wide eyes. Quinn froze at first, then burst into even more piercing laughter. “Replace the principal? You? Who do you think you are? God almighty?” She laughed so hard she was bending over, the disdain in her eyes almost tangible. “Let me tell you, this school’s principal got his position because my uncle put in a word for him! No one can replace him!” The office door was suddenly pushed open forcefully. Hudson walked in. He wore a well-tailored dark gray suit, his posture upright, his aura powerful. As soon as he appeared, the air in the entire space seemed to be sucked out. Behind him followed a white-haired but vigorous-looking elderly man, and several middle-aged men with equally impressive presence. The moment the principal saw that elderly man, his legs went weak and he nearly collapsed to his knees. “Dir… Director Clark! Why… why are you here?” The man called Director Clark didn’t even glance at him, walking straight toward me. He bowed slightly, his attitude respectful to an unbelievable degree. “Mrs. Hudson, I’m sorry you and your child have been wronged.” Hudson walked to my side, took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders, asking gently, “Are you okay?” I shook my head. Quinn’s laughter was still frozen on her face. She looked at me, then at Hudson, then at Director Clark who was being so respectful to us, her brain completely crashed. “You… who are you?” she stammered. Only then did Hudson turn his gaze to her. “Weren’t you just showing off your uncle?” He said lightly. “He’s right outside the door. You can ask him right now who I am.” As soon as he finished speaking, two black-suited bodyguards dragged in a sweating fat man. It was none other than Commissioner Williams from the photo. The moment Williams saw Hudson, his face turned deathly pale, sweat pouring down like rain. He broke free from the bodyguards and crawled on his hands and knees to Hudson’s feet. “Mr… Mr. Hudson! It’s a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding!” “I didn’t know… I really didn’t know it was your son!” This dramatic scene left everyone in the office petrified. Quinn was even more thunderstruck, staring blankly at her uncle kneeling on the ground in such an undignified state. “Uncle Williams… you… what are you doing?” Williams heard her voice and turned to slap her across the face. “You idiot! Are you trying to get me killed!” He pointed at Hudson, his voice trembling. “Do you know who he is? He’s Hudson! He’s the chairman of Apex Capital! He’s the Governor’s honored guest!” “And you dared to offend his family?!” Chairman of Apex Capital, Hudson. The principal’s eyes rolled back and he collapsed limply in his chair. Quinn’s face instantly drained of all color. Quinn stood there stupidly, covering her face, completely stunned. Williams kept kowtowing to Hudson, begging for mercy. “Mr. Hudson, I was wrong, I was really wrong! My niece was blind. Please, in your magnanimity, spare me this once!” Hudson didn’t even glance at him, only saying to Director Clark, “Director Clark, it seems both the State Education Committee and this school need a thorough cleaning.” Director Clark immediately understood, nodding seriously. “Mr. Hudson, rest assured. I will give you and Mrs. Hudson a satisfactory resolution to this matter.” He turned, his gaze sharp as a knife as it fell on the principal slumped in his chair. “You, as principal, have distorted the truth and aided evil. Effective immediately, you are fired.” Then he looked at the trembling Williams. “As for you, Commissioner Williams, I believe the State Attorney General’s office will be very interested in your activities over these years.”

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