It was the day my parents were vetting prospective husbands for my sister—the girl who had spent eighteen years living the life that should have been mine. I had spent the entire night hand-washing dozens of her delicate couture silk gowns. Exhausted and running on empty, my hand trembled as I reached across the table, knocking over a cup of boiling tea. The scalding water drenched the back of my hand, turning the skin a violent, angry red. I foolishly thought my biological parents might show a sliver of concern. Instead, my mother shoved me aside in front of all our wealthy relatives, her face twisted in utter disgust. “You can’t even serve a simple cup of tea without ruining it. You almost burned Virginia! Honestly, we should just find any decent bidder to marry you off to and take whatever dowry we can get.” She sneered, looking down her nose at me. “And stop looking so pathetic, trying to play the victim. I am sick to death of your low-class, country-bumpkin act.” I was a good girl. I always did what I was told. So that night, I went to the pile of discarded bachelor cards left over from the matchmaking gala—the ones everyone else had rejected. I picked one at random. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number printed on the back. “My parents want me out of the house,” I whispered into the receiver. “They want me married. Your card says you’re looking for a girl named Maisie. Is that true?” … On the day of the matchmaking salon, Virginia wore a pastel yellow couture dress. My mother, Doris, held her hand, guiding her through the crowd of high-society matriarchs and eligible bachelors, introducing her with pride. Everyone showered her with praise. “Virginia is growing into such a stunning young woman.” “Look at her poise. You can tell she’s the true princess of the Sunset family.” “Whoever marries her will be the luckiest man in the city.” Virginia kept her chin tucked, offering a shy, perfectly practiced smile as she murmured her thanks. Every movement was flawless, calculated to charm. Meanwhile, I was tucked away in the humid laundry room in the basement, kneeling on the cold tile, scrubbing her delicate silk garments by hand. One after another. The night before, Virginia had pushed open my bedroom door. Her eyes were rimmed with red as she claimed the laundry maid had ruined several of her dresses, leaving her with nothing to wear for the gala. The maid hadn’t ruined anything. But the moment Doris heard Virginia cry, she stormed into my room. “Maisie, go wash your sister’s dresses. You grew up in the sticks anyway; your hands are rough enough to handle the scrubbing.” There were dozens of them. All pure silk. They couldn’t be wrung out or spun in a machine. I had to submerge them in lukewarm water, gently working out the imaginary stains with my bare fingers. I scrubbed until four in the morning. By the time I finished, my fingers were shriveled and pruned, and my wrists shook at the slightest movement. At the gala the next afternoon, the sleep deprivation caught up to me. I could barely keep my footing. Doris ordered me to help in the pantry, claiming the caterers were short-staffed and needed an extra pair of hands to serve tea. I loaded a silver tray and carried it into the main parlor. My hand gave a sudden, violent spasm. The boiling water splashed directly onto the back of my right hand. The pain was immediate, a searing white-hot flash that made my entire arm shake. But I didn’t have time to process the pain. My instinct, honed by a lifetime of survival, was to crouch down and pick up the shattered porcelain. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” I whispered, desperately trying to gather the pieces. When Doris rushed over, she didn’t look at my hand. She grabbed Virginia, checking her up and down, ensuring not a single drop of hot water had touched her precious dress. Only then did she turn her furious glare on me. “You can’t even serve a simple cup of tea! You almost burned Virginia!” The parlor fell into a dead silence. Every relative and guest turned to look at me. I stood in the center of the room, my right hand swelling and red, my left hand still clutching the silver tray. Doris gave me a harsh shove. “Honestly, we should just find any decent bidder to marry you off to and take whatever dowry we can get.” She didn’t care who heard. “And stop looking so pathetic, trying to play the victim. I am sick to death of your low-class, country-bumpkin act.” My father, Lawrence, sat in the high-backed armchair, frowning deeply. “That’s enough. Stop embarrassing us. Get out of here.” Virginia stood behind Doris, gently tugging at her mother’s sleeve. “Mom, please don’t yell at her. She didn’t mean to…” Her voice was sweet, dripping with sisterly concern. But when she looked up at me, there was a quiet, malicious triumph in her eyes. It was a look reserved only for me, unseen by anyone else. I kept my head down and retreated to the laundry room. I shut the door, turned on the tap, and thrust my hand under the freezing water. The cold bit into the burned skin, making my entire body shudder. But I didn’t cry. I had been back with the Sunset family for a year. In that year, I had learned never to cry in front of them. Because every time I did, Doris would accuse me of “manipulating them with my tears.” The party dragged on late into the night. Before the guests departed, I overheard them speaking to Doris in the foyer. “That eldest girl of yours… she really doesn’t fit in with the Sunsets. No wonder you prefer Virginia.” Doris didn’t defend me. She simply smiled. I squatted by the door, clearing away empty glasses, swallowing their words one by one. By the time I returned to my room, it was past eleven. I had applied a layer of cheap burn ointment to my hand, something I had scavenged from the housekeepers’ supply closet. The family’s medicine cabinet was stocked with expensive imported burn sprays, but those were reserved for Virginia. I didn’t dare touch them. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring into the dark, Doris’s words echoing in my mind. “Since you can’t be useful, we’ll just marry you off to someone. A decent dowry is the only contribution you’ll ever make to this family.” I was a good girl. I had always been a good girl. I grew up in a quiet, forgotten town in Maine. My adoptive mother told me that sending me to school was a waste of money, so I stopped going when I was nine. When she fell ill, she told me I needed to find a way to bring in cash. So, I started working at a local bakery, earning fifty dollars a day. When both of my adoptive parents passed away, I rented a tiny room and washed dishes at a diner, surviving on scraps until the Sunsets finally tracked me down. On the day they brought me to the Sunset estate, I stood at the grand entrance and called Doris “Mom.” She had looked me up and down, her face entirely devoid of warmth. From that day on, she forced me to take etiquette classes, ordered me to cater to Virginia, and warned me never to mention my rural upbringing to outsiders. I kept my mouth shut. I did everything she asked. And now, she wanted me to marry. So, I would marry. I stood up and walked down the hall to the storage closet near the grand ballroom. It was filled with leftover party favors, floral arrangements, and miscellaneous junk from the gala. In the corner lay a discarded deck of “blind-match bachelor cards.” It was a trend among the young elite—wealthy bachelors would print their credentials and contact info on custom cards, leaving them at high-society events for prospective matches to find. Virginia had flipped through a few, deemed them boring, and tossed them onto the floor. The cards were covered in exaggerated text: Eight-figure salary. Private island wedding. Choice of supercars. Five properties as dowry. They were the leftovers. The rejects. No one knew if the claims were even real. They were just like me. I knelt on the floor, sorting through them with my trembling hand, until my fingers brushed against a thick, heavy card at the very bottom. It was matte black with gold lettering, sturdier than the rest. It bore only a single line: “I am looking for a girl named Maisie. If you are her, please call me.” Below it was a phone number. I stared at the words, a cold sense of absurdity washing over me. It felt like a joke. But then again, nothing could be more absurd than my own parents trying to sell me off. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number. The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Then, someone picked up. The background was dead silent. I gripped my phone tightly, my sweaty palms slipping against the screen. “Hello,” I started, my voice shaking. “My parents… they want me to marry someone. Your card says you’re looking for a girl named Maisie. Is that true?” There was a long silence on the other end. It lasted so long that my cheeks began to burn with embarrassment. I was being stupid. Of course the card wasn’t real. It was probably a prank. Just as I was about to hang up, a voice came through the line. It was deep, resonant, and incredibly steady. “What is your name?” I blinked, momentarily lost. “Maisie. Maisie Sunset.” A sharp, sudden intake of breath sounded from the receiver. A few seconds of absolute silence followed. When he spoke again, his voice had softened into something unrecognizable. “Maisie.” He said my name. No one had ever said my name like that before. It wasn’t dismissive, it wasn’t burdened with disappointment. It carried a weight of something I couldn’t quite identify. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Don’t hang up.” “I’m coming to get you.” I thought the phone call was nothing more than a midnight hallucination. But twenty minutes later, the low rumble of multiple high-performance engines echoed outside the Sunset estate. A flustered housekeeper ran into the living room, her face pale. “Sir, Ma’am, there are over a dozen black luxury SUVs parked outside. They all have restricted municipal plates, and some of them are models I’ve never even seen…” Lawrence and Doris were in the study, discussing Virginia’s potential match with a wealthy heir. Hearing the commotion, they rushed out. I stood at the corner of the second-floor landing, looking down as the grand double doors swept open. A man in a long, tailored black wool coat stepped out from the center of the convoy. Behind him followed a small entourage of assistants, legal aides carrying leather briefcases, and security personnel. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a sharp, commanding presence. The hallway lights caught the clean, severe angles of his face. He walked at a measured pace, but with every step, his security detail automatically cleared a path. Lawrence recognized him instantly. The color drained from his face. “Mr…. Mr. Marshall?” Adrian Marshall. The undisputed head of the Marshall Group. The Sunsets were, at best, second-tier players in the city’s social registry, occasionally receiving courtesy invitations to large galas. But the Marshalls were different. They didn’t need invitations. They owned the venues. Virginia stepped into the hall, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the security convoy. She instinctively smoothed her hair. Doris recovered first, quickly nudging Virginia and whispering, “Stand up straight. Mind your manners.” Adrian stepped into the foyer. Lawrence rushed forward to greet him, while Doris and Virginia stood to the side, presenting their most polished, welcoming smiles. Virginia offered a delicate tilt of her head. “Good evening, Mr. Marshall—” Adrian didn’t even look at her. His gaze swept past Lawrence, past Doris, past Virginia, and past the lingering guests, landing squarely on the shadowed corner of the staircase. I stood there, wearing the faded cotton dress I had ruined while doing laundry. My hair was a messy nest, my face bare of makeup, and my right hand was tucked defensively into my sleeve to hide the burn. He walked past the sofas, past the tea tables, and past the stunned silence of my family, stepping toward me. He stopped at the foot of the stairs. He looked up, his gaze dropping to my hidden right hand. Without a word, he reached out, gently took my wrist, and drew my hand out from the sleeve. When he saw the blistered, angry burn across my skin, his expression didn’t change. But the grip on my wrist tightened ever so slightly. He looked into my eyes and asked a single question. “Does it hurt?” I froze. I had waited all day. Through the laundry, the tea service, the boiling water, and my mother’s harsh words—I had waited for someone to notice. No one had asked. Yet this stranger, whom I had spoken to for less than a minute on the phone, looked at me and asked if it hurt. A sudden, sharp ache bloomed in my chest. Doris rushed over, inserting herself between us. The room was dead silent. My relatives exchanged bewildered glances, and Lawrence forced a strained, deferential smile. “Mr. Marshall, surely there’s been a misunderstanding. Did you call the wrong name?” He spoke with extreme caution, terrified of causing offense. “Maisie just returned from the country. She’s… unrefined. She doesn’t know our ways. Virginia is the daughter we are presenting today. If you are looking for an alliance with the Sunset family, Virginia is—” He nudged Virginia forward. Doris chimed in immediately. “Yes, Mr. Marshall. Virginia is the one we raised. She is trained in the arts, she’s attended the finest preparatory schools, and she is well-acquainted with the city’s prominent families. She would represent the Marshall name flawlessly.” Virginia stood beside them, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she bit her lip. She looked vulnerable and incredibly graceful. “Father, Mother, please don’t speak of my sister that way,” she murmured, playing the peacemaker. “She’s just adjusting. She didn’t grow up with much, but she means well.” She turned her soft gaze to Adrian. “Mr. Marshall, my sister is tired. Perhaps she should go rest. If you’d like, I can brew you a fresh cup of tea.” Adrian remained silent, standing before me, letting them finish their speeches. Then, he finally spoke. “Are you finished?” Lawrence blinked, taken aback. Doris’s smile faltered. Adrian’s gaze brushed past Virginia without a second of hesitation. He looked back up at me. “Maisie.” I met his eyes. His voice was steady and absolute. “I came here tonight for you. Only you.” The room plunged into a suffocating quiet. Lawrence’s face turned pale. “Mr. Marshall, please consider this carefully. Virginia is far more suited—” “Was I unclear?” Adrian interrupted. His tone wasn’t loud, but it carried an undeniable weight that cut Lawrence off instantly. “I was looking for Maisie Sunset.” “I am marrying Maisie Sunset.” “This has nothing to do with Virginia.” The color drained from Virginia’s face. Doris, desperate, tried one last time. “But Mr. Marshall, Maisie knows nothing of high society. How could she possibly manage the expectations of a family like yours?” Adrian looked at her coldly. “She doesn’t need to support the Marshall family.” “The Marshall family supports her.” My fingers trembled in his grasp. I didn’t know how to process those words. It felt like I had been standing in the dark for so long that I had forgotten what it was like to be seen. And suddenly, someone had stepped into the light, placing himself between me and the cold. Adrian’s assistant stepped forward, opening a leather portfolio. “The prenuptial assets registered under Miss Maisie Sunset’s name are as follows.” Lawrence’s eyes widened. Doris straightened up. But the assistant’s next words shattered their expectations. “All assets are strictly registered under Miss Maisie Sunset’s sole name. The Sunset family has no claim, no right of transfer, and no authority over any of these holdings.” Silence blanketed the room. The assistant continued reading. “A private estate in the Hamptons.” “A five percent equity stake in Marshall Tech.” “An independent offshore trust.” “Assorted jewelry, historical estates, and liquid capital, all of which have undergone independent title transfers.” With every item read, Lawrence’s expression grew grimmer. When the assistant closed the folder, Lawrence couldn’t help but speak up. “Mr. Marshall, we are a family. Isn’t this division a bit extreme? Maisie is our daughter, so the dowry should naturally—” “A family?” Adrian remarked, his eyes locking onto Lawrence. “Didn’t you just say she was a country bumpkin who didn’t belong?” Lawrence’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Adrian’s voice grew colder. “If you refuse to give her respect, do not expect to receive her dowry.” Doris’s polite facade crumbled completely. Beside her, Virginia clutched her dress so hard her knuckles turned white. Adrian turned to me, offering his hand. “Maisie.” “Everything I said is true.” “If you are ready, come with me.” I looked at his open palm. I looked at the familiar, cold faces of the people who shared my blood. Then, slowly, I placed my hand in his. His palm was warm and dry. His grip was gentle, yet entirely secure. “I’m ready,” I whispered. Adrian closed his fingers around mine. He led me toward the door, walking past Lawrence, past Doris, past Virginia, and past every relative who had spent the last year looking down on me. Someone called my name from behind. “Maisie—” I didn’t turn around. Not once. We had been driving for fifteen minutes when Adrian instructed the driver to pull into a private hospital. The clinic’s examination room was bright and sterile. The doctor set to work treating the burn on my hand—cleaning the wound, applying ointment, and wrapping it in clean gauze. The antiseptic stung sharply, making my arm twitch. But I kept my mouth shut, refusing to make a sound. Adrian sat in the chair beside me. He didn’t rush the doctor, nor did he offer empty platitudes. He simply held my other hand, his grip tightening whenever the doctor applied pressure. “You can cry if it hurts,” he said softly. I shook my head, my throat tight. “I don’t cry. My mother says crying is just playing the victim.” He didn’t reply, but I noticed his knuckles whitening as his hand clenched the armrest of the chair. By the time we arrived at his private residence, it was past two in the morning. The car moved through a quiet, gated neighborhood. Inside the house, an older housekeeper greeted us, speaking briefly with Adrian before leading me upstairs. The guest suite was vast. The sheets were a soft blue, and the comforter was thick and inviting. On the nightstand sat a glass of warm water and a small plate of pastries. When I opened the wardrobe, I found rows of brand-new clothes, all with tags attached, and all in my exact size. In the bathroom, a tube of high-end burn ointment sat on the counter—not the cheap brand I had scavenged from the housekeepers. I stood in the center of the massive room, unsure of what to do. Adrian leaned against the doorframe, watching me. I turned to face him. “Is there something you want me to do?” “No,” he said. I thought for a moment, trying to be helpful. “I know how to do laundry. I can clean, and I can cook. I don’t eat much. If you don’t have enough rooms, I can sleep on the couch.” He didn’t answer right away. After a few quiet seconds, he walked over, kneeling slightly to meet my eyes. “Maisie.” “You didn’t marry me to be a maid.” I blinked, confused. “Then… what am I here for?” He looked at me, his gaze incredibly soft. “To be loved.” The tears came before I could stop them. It wasn’t a loud, dramatic sob. My eyes simply filled, and the tears began to spill over, hot and silent down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop them. I didn’t even know why I was crying. He hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t hurt me. His words weren’t sharp. But I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. “Why are you being so good to me?” I choked out. Adrian handed me a tissue. “Do you believe in fate, Maisie?” “What do you mean?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “461685”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’m high-maintenance. I admit it. I only drink water from custom-etched Baccarat crystal tumblers, and I refuse to sign any contract unless it’s with a pastel-pink Montblanc pen. Everyone in the office, from the interns to the executives, had long since accepted my quirks. That was until a short-haired, steel-faced woman was parachuted in as our new Director of Sales. Rumor had it she’d spent fifteen bitter years clawing her way up from the absolute bottom of the corporate ladder, eating dirt and collecting scars just to survive. The very second she laid eyes on my workstation, she blew a fuse. “I cannot stand women like you,” she hissed, her voice vibrating with a decade of resentment. “Who exactly are you putting on a show for at work?” “Back in my day, I drank until my stomach bled just to close my first major contract. And you? What do you do—just glide by on that face?” I didn’t even look up as I buffed my nails. “Don’t stress, Director. This princess has been the company’s top producer three years running.” The sneer on her face didn’t falter until she actually opened my performance report. The disbelief on her face was almost poetic. “You? Top producer? Are you sure you didn’t climb your way to these numbers by some… less-than-respectable means?” “A trophy is a trophy,” she scoffed, slamming the folder shut. “Keeping someone like you on the payroll is an insult to every single person in this industry who actually worked for their success. You’re fired.” I blew a speck of dust off my French manicure. “Oh, please. What’s wrong with being a princess? At least my contracts aren’t fragile.” If she wanted to kick me out of my own kingdom, she’d have to go through the king first. … “My name is Diane,” she announced, standing at the head of the conference room. Her voice had the booming, unyielding gravel of a drill sergeant. She swept her gaze across the bullpen, looking at us as if we were recruits failing basic training. “Let’s establish some ground rules. Effective immediately, no personal decorations on your desks. No loud, distracting clothing. No non-standard beverage containers in the workspace.” She paused, letting the silence heavy up the room. “When I was an associate, I was out on construction sites in sub-zero weather. I didn’t have time to stop for a sip of warm water, let alone curate an aesthetic. Young people today treat their offices like boudoirs. Your mind isn’t on the work.” The female associates exchanged uneasy glances, shrinking back into their ergonomic chairs. No one dared to make a sound. Except for the soft, melodic clink of my crystal tumbler. I was currently sipping an iced lavender latte through a reusable pink glass straw. Diane’s eyes locked onto me like a heat-seeking missile. She marched over to my desk and came to a dead stop. She stared down at the Baccarat tumbler, the matching set of pink leather desk organizers, my mini white-tea diffuser, and the neat row of shimmering, high-end nail polishes lining my monitor riser. Her brow knitted into a tight, disgusted knot. “What is your name?” I looked up, moving with deliberate, unhurried grace. “Gwen.” “Gwen,” she repeated, tasting the name like it was spoiled milk. “Figures. It matches the attitude.” Without warning, she snatched my crystal glass off its coaster and threw it straight into the trash can. Clack. The heavy crystal hit the metal bin, ringing loudly through the quiet office. Every head in the bullpen snapped in our direction. “From now on, you use the company-branded paper cups. Nobody gets a hall pass under my watch.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t even blink. I simply opened my bottom drawer, pulled out an identical backup Baccarat tumbler, inserted a fresh pink straw, and took another slow sip. Diane’s chest rose and fell in sharp, angry hitches. “Are you mocking me?” I blinked up at her, my expression utterly innocent. “A princess always has a backup plan, Diane. What are you going to do about it?” A few desks away, someone stifled a laugh. Diane threw a lethal glare toward the noise, instantly silencing the room. My assistant, Molly, kept her head down but slipped me a silent thumbs-up beneath the edge of her desk. Diane took a deep, trembling breath, turned on her heel, and marched back to the front of the room. She flipped open the quarterly sales ledger, trying to channel her fury into authority. “Fine. If you want to be difficult, let’s see if your numbers justify your arrogance.” She started reading the rankings from the bottom up, pairing each woman’s name with a sharp, public dig. “Tiffany, third from the bottom. Maybe if you spent less time on your makeup and more time on cold calls, you wouldn’t be drowning.” “Megan, fifth from the bottom. When I was your age, I was hospitalized with a bleeding ulcer from wining and dining clients to secure my first account. And what are you doing? Posting selfies on Instagram?” Megan’s cheeks burned crimson as she stared at her lap. The other women in the room instinctively pulled their shoulders in, trying to make themselves invisible. The men in the department, however, received a pass. Diane’s tone softened significantly when she hit their names. “Tyler, upper-middle tier. Good work. I can tell you’re a grinder.” Tyler was Diane’s golden boy, a junior associate she had brought over from her previous firm. He was a perfect, mini-me version of her: humorless, cheap suits, and a permanent scowl. Finally, she reached the top of the list. “Gwen—top producer, three years running?” She stopped, looking up as if she’d read a typo in a serious document. “You? You’re telling me you have the highest volume in the department?” She looked down at the paper, then back at me, as if trying to reconcile the pastel-pink stationery and glittery nail polish with the massive, seven-figure revenue numbers on the page. “You treat this office like a boutique. Your nails are more detailed than most people’s slide decks. How exactly are you closing these deals?” She flipped the page, her eyes scanning the data points. “Three consecutive years at number one? Your annual volume is double the rest of the team combined?” “Yep,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Math doesn’t lie.” She slammed the ledger onto the podium, the loud bang echoing off the glass walls. “I don’t buy it. A trophy is a trophy. Good numbers don’t always mean good business practices.” She looked out at the rest of the room, raising her voice to address the entire team. “I’ve seen this story a hundred times. A young woman uses her… aesthetic assets to charm clients, coasting on luck and brief infatuations. But beauty fades, clients get bored, and then you’re left with absolutely nothing.” I ignored her, picking up my pink rollerball to doodle a tiny, perfect crown in the margin of my notepad. Diane’s mouth twitched with anger, but she forced herself to maintain a cold, professional composure. She took a slow breath and delivered her strike. “Starting today, we are restructuring the accounts.” “Gwen’s top three clients—Matthew Enterprises, Evergreen Industries, and Vesper Technologies—are being reassigned to Tyler.” The silence in the room became absolute. Those three accounts alone made up forty percent of our department’s annual revenue. Diane looked around the room, entirely self-assured. “Enterprise accounts require grit and endurance. Tyler works until midnight, never takes a weekend off, and knows how to grind. That is the kind of dedication our legacy clients deserve.” She looked back at me, her lip curling slightly. “We cannot risk our most valuable relationships on someone who might be in the middle of a manicure when a client has an emergency.” The room remained dead silent. A few of the girls shot me looks of deep sympathy, but fear kept them quiet. I set my pink pen down and looked Diane dead in the eye. “Director, reassigning enterprise-level accounts requires a formal audit and approval from our CEO, Douglas. You don’t have the authority to make that call unilaterally.” Diane let out a harsh, dry laugh. “Authority?” She pulled out her phone, dialed a number on speakerphone, and let it ring in front of everyone. “Philip, it’s Diane. I’m restructuring the sales assignments to optimize our high-value accounts.” A deep, smooth male voice came through the speaker. Philip, the Executive VP. “Go right ahead, Diane. You have my full support. Let me know if anyone gives you any pushback.” Diane hung up, her face glowing with triumph. “Any other questions, Gwen?” Behind me, Molly gently tugged at my sleeve, whispering anxiously. “Gwen, Philip is her old mentor from her previous company. He’ll always side with her. Be careful.” I looked down at my freshly manicured nails, letting the light catch the subtle shimmer. Then I looked up and smiled. “Honestly? This princess doesn’t mind a little vacation.” The next morning, Philip himself showed up in the sales department. He stood at the entrance of the bullpen, adjusting his tie, and cleared his throat. “I brought Diane into this company because of her proven track record. Her structural decisions represent the direction of this firm. If you have objections, you can file them, but the execution of her directives is non-negotiable.” With the executive VP backing her up, Diane didn’t waste any time. She walked straight to my desk, picked up a cardboard box, and swept everything on my desk into it with one swift, violent motion. It was clean, efficient, and brutal—like a sanitation worker clearing a sidewalk. Finally, she noticed the small hand-drawn crown sticker I’d put on the corner of my monitor. She peeled it off, crumpled it into a tiny ball in her palm, and tossed it into the box. “This is a place of business, not your personal playhouse.” She carried the box to the hallway and dumped it onto the carpet. “Being top producer for three years doesn’t make you untouchable. Under my leadership, nobody gets special treatment. If you want to work here, you play by my rules.” She looked back at the bullpen. “I’ve run teams for fifteen years, and I’ve never tolerated a diva. You’re the first, and you’ll be the last.” Philip stood beside her, his arms crossed, his silent presence offering her absolute immunity. A few of the newer associates, sensing where the power lay, quickly chimed in. “Honestly, it’s about time. The desk was getting a bit ridiculous.” “Yeah, some of us are working eighty-hour weeks while others are getting blowouts. How is that fair?” “I always wondered how she landed those accounts anyway. The clients are all men, right?” That last comment cut through the air like a knife. Several of the female associates winced, their faces turning pale. But no one spoke up. Because Philip was standing right there, and his silence was as good as an endorsement. I didn’t say a word. I looked at my empty desk, then calmly picked up my phone. “Director, those items you just threw into the hall weren’t cheap. I hope you’re prepared to cover the cost.” Diane didn’t even look at me. “If they’re so precious, you shouldn’t have brought them to work.” Philip stepped forward, delivering the final blow. “Gwen, you are on a one-week administrative suspension for insubordination. Your accounts will be managed by Tyler in the interim.” “When you return, you will fall in line. If not, you can hand in your resignation.” Suspension. The word fell like an anvil. The only sound left in the room was the low, electric hum of the air conditioner. I stood up, slung my pink leather tote over my shoulder, and smoothed down my skirt. I wasn’t angry. I actually smiled. A suspension? Perfect. I had been working on a ten-million-dollar strategic partnership with Matthew Enterprises for the last six months. Next week, the CEO, Mr. Matthew, was scheduled to come in person to finalize the terms. He had personally requested that I handle the closing. And they were sending Tyler? Tyler didn’t even know that Mr. Matthew liked to spend the first ten minutes of every meeting talking about his daughter’s equestrian competitions. I adjusted my collar and let my voice drop into its sweetest, softest register. “Of course, Philip. This princess is going home to rest. My hands were getting dreadfully dry from all this office dust anyway.” Without a backward glance, I walked out. I didn’t care about their little triumph. I was happy to let them celebrate. For now. The minute I left, Diane completely erased my presence from the desk. The Baccarat glass was replaced with a generic gray paper cup. My pink desk pad was swapped for stacks of manila client folders. She even took the plush pink velvet cushion from my chair and threw it in the breakroom trash. She gestured for Tyler to take the seat. “From this point on, Gwen’s portfolio is entirely yours.” Tyler nodded eagerly, opening the folders and picking up the desk phone. He dialed the first number on the list: Mr. Matthew. “Mr. Matthew, hello. This is Tyler. I’m taking over the account from Gwen, and I’ll be your primary point of contact moving forward—” Click. Mr. Matthew hung up before Tyler could even finish his sentence. Tyler’s smile froze. He cleared his throat and dialed the second number: Evergreen Industries. “Hi, this is Tyler—” Click. Another dial tone. The third call went to Apex Solutions. This time, someone actually stayed on the line, but their voice was freezing. “Where is Gwen? We’ve partnered with your firm for three years because of her. You expect us to just accept a random replacement without notice?” Tyler’s face flushed a deep, blotchy red. He opened his mouth to reply, but the line went dead. His hand was trembling slightly as he set the receiver down. Diane patted his shoulder, her voice steady. “Don’t let it get to you. Clients don’t buy from people; they buy from the brand. Your work ethic is what matters. Call them back. Show them what real grit looks like.” Tyler swallowed hard and nodded. “Thanks, Diane. I’ll get them.” A couple of the male associates cheered him on. “You got this, Tyler! Gwen just coddled them. Once they realize we mean business, they’ll fall in line.” “Exactly. The world keeps turning without her.” Diane smiled warmly, turning back to address the room. “You see that? That is what real salesmanship looks like.” “No shortcuts, no vanity. Just hard work and resilience.” “When I was starting out, I carried a thirty-pound sample case on a three-day train ride to meet a client. I couldn’t afford bottled water, so I drank from the station tap.” Her voice rose, filling with a practiced, dramatic passion. “Don’t fall for the easy path like Gwen did. Relationships built on… superficial charm are fragile. They shatter at the first sign of trouble.” “But relationships forged through sweat and grit? Those are ironclad.” She scanned the room, satisfied by the compliant nods of the staff. “Tyler is going to be pulling some late nights to get these accounts sorted. Anyone who stays to help him tonight gets dinner on my tab.” Silence met her offer. Just then, the elevator doors chimed open. Douglas, the CEO, stepped out. Beside him was a tall, distinguished man in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. Mr. Matthew. Douglas was practically beaming, gesturing warmly as he guided Mr. Matthew toward the bullpen. “Mr. Matthew, it’s an absolute honor to have you visit our offices. Right this way to our premier sales suite.” Mr. Matthew offered a polite nod. “Douglas, after reviewing the numbers, we’ve decided to move forward with the ten-million-dollar strategic partnership.” He stopped, his eyes scanning the busy bullpen. “But I have one condition. I will only sign the agreement with Gwen. The girl with the pink pen. She’s the only one I trust with our business.” Douglas didn’t hesitate. “Of course! Let me get her for you.” He turned to the bullpen, his voice booming cheerily. “Gwen? Mr. Matthew is here to see you!” The entire sales floor fell into a sudden, icy silence. Diane and Philip locked eyes, panic flitting across their faces. Philip recovered first, forcing a wide, artificial smile as he hurried forward to greet them. “Mr. Matthew! Douglas! What a wonderful surprise. Unfortunately, Gwen is… out on sick leave today. She’s been feeling under the weather.” Diane nodded rapidly in agreement, her voice losing its usual gravelly edge. “Yes, she had a terrible fever. I insisted she go home to rest so she wouldn’t expose the rest of the team.” Mr. Matthew’s warm expression vanished instantly. “Sick? That’s unfortunate. I came here specifically to finalize this with her.” He looked at Douglas, his tone turning serious. “Douglas, this partnership requires a deep understanding of our custom infrastructure. Gwen’s tailored proposal was brilliant—our board approved it unanimously.” “In fact, I came today to discuss expanding our initial commitment. We want to double the scope of the contract.” Double the scope. A ten-million-dollar deal was already massive. Twenty million was unprecedented. A quiet gasp rippled through the bullpen. Douglas’s eyes lit up, but his smile lasted only a fraction of a second. His gaze drifted to my old desk. He saw the gray paper cup. He saw the cold, black pens, the stacks of generic manila folders. It looked completely different from the vibrant, pink, sparkling workstation he knew. Then he saw Tyler sitting in my chair, sweating through his polyester suit. Douglas’s face darkened. “Gwen has never taken a sick day in three years,” Douglas said, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. “She once walked into a pitch with a hundred-and-three-degree fever and still closed the deal.” “Why would she suddenly be sick today?” Just then, a voice spoke up from the corner of the room.

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Right before I went under the knife, my best friend asked me: “You and Regina are practically married. Why the sudden breakup?” I handed him my phone. “Because of a text.” The chat history ended around noon. I had sent Regina a photo of my sad-looking lunch, complaining about how terrible the DoorDash place was. Four hours later, she replied with a single word: “K.” But on my Instagram feed, I saw she had liked a picture of the lunch Wayne posted. Her comment read: Eating takeout is so bad for you. I’ll cook for you every day from now on, just like today. Underneath was a thread of their inside jokes, a lively, back-and-forth banter that seemed to go on forever. I stared at that post for a long time. Then, I deleted the unsent text in our chatbox: What did you have for lunch? I scrolled up through our message history. Over the last seven years, I loved sharing the tiniest details of my day with Regina. I’d send her pictures of weird flowers, overgrown lawns, the stray cat behind our apartment. In the beginning, Regina would match my excitement, typing out paragraphs. Lately, it had dwindled to dry, one-word replies. Because Wayne was back in town. Love is entirely about the desire to share. If she wasn’t talking to me, she was talking to someone else. “Logan, they’re ready for you in the OR.” The nurse called my name. I glanced out the window at the sky, then stood up and walked toward the doors. Regina, the sunset is beautiful today. But I don’t want to take a picture for you anymore. 1 I didn’t get back from the hospital until past eight in the evening. Standing in the entryway, before I could even kick off my shoes, I heard Regina’s laughter filtering down the hall. She was on the phone with Wayne, her voice bright and animated. “I know, right? That movie was incredible. We definitely have to see it in theaters again. That ending scene was just wild, especially when…” Regina looked up and saw me standing by the door, pale and exhausted. Her expression didn’t flicker. She simply covered the microphone with her hand and said over her shoulder: “I’m talking to Wayne right now. I’m going into the study. I was too tired to cook today, so just order yourself some UberEats.” “Your stomach is a mess, and isn’t your surgery in a couple of days? Make sure you order from a chain so it’s clean.” Before I could even answer, she put the phone back to her ear. “Anyway, Wayne, there’s this other documentary you have to see. Have you heard of…” She turned on her heel and walked straight into the study, clicking the door shut behind her. I stared at the empty hallway, then looked down at the post-op discharge papers crumpled in my hand. A bitter, quiet laugh slipped past my lips. I shook my head. I had wanted to sit down and have a real conversation with her. To explain the breakup, to give our seven years the decent, respectful ending they deserved. I hadn’t expected that she wouldn’t even have five minutes to spare for me. Fresh out of surgery, my body felt hollow, aching and spent. I had absolutely no appetite. Instead of ordering food, I took a long, hot shower, hoping that once she finished her call, we could finally talk. But I waited. And waited. I had booked my flight out of the city before her voice in the study finally quieted down. She was still deep in her marathon catch-up with Wayne. It made me think of when we first started dating. We used to talk for hours about a single commercial we saw on TV. Now, I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d spoken more than five sentences to each other. Actually, I could. It was last week, when we were choosing the menu for our wedding rehearsal dinner. It was a rare moment where we actually talked—until it devolved into a screaming match over the lobster tail. I had insisted on taking it off the menu. “Regina, I have a severe shellfish allergy. I can’t even be around steam from lobster!” Regina had rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with irritation. “Then just don’t eat it. Wayne loves lobster. Why do you have to be so selfish?” Her words left me stunned. I couldn’t comprehend how wanting to remove a dish that could literally kill me from my own wedding menu made me selfish. Naturally, the night ended in cold silence. The menu was never finalized. Looking back, I should have walked away that very night. But I was holding on, stubborn and desperate, waiting until today—waiting until she completely forgot I was even having surgery—to finally let the hope die. At 1:30 in the morning, Regina finally crawled into bed. The heavy drowsiness that had been pulling at my eyelids instantly cleared. I sat up, leaning against the headboard, and looked at her in the dim light. “Regina, we need to talk.” 2 Regina sat on the edge of the mattress, glancing at my solemn face. She let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Logan, I’ve had a brutal day at work. I really don’t have the energy for your endless daily dramas right now.” “Let’s just sleep. Whatever it is, we can talk tomorrow.” She pulled the blanket over her shoulders, turned her back to me, and closed her eyes. The silence in the room became heavy, almost suffocating. All I could hear was the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing. The words I wanted to scream remained trapped in my throat, aching like a physical bruise. Silent tears slipped down my cheeks, soaking into the pillowcase. It was the soft buzz of my phone that finally broke the trance. A confirmation text from the airline. My flight was booked for tomorrow night, just after midnight. I was going to leave Regina, and the last seven years of my life, behind in this city. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, curled beneath the sheets, and eventually fell into a dreamless sleep. The next morning, Regina was up surprisingly early, bustling around the kitchen in her apron. When she saw me walk out, she gave me a warm, rare smile. “Morning.” “I made breakfast. Eat it while it’s hot.” For a second, I was disoriented. I managed a small, tentative smile. “Thanks. I’ll eat every bite.” “What did you—” The words died in my throat. Sitting on the kitchen island were two hard-boiled eggs with the yolks neatly scooped out, a pile of dry, burnt sourdough crusts, and a few wilted pieces of romaine lettuce. Regina untied her apron, talking quickly. “Wayne said he wanted one of my breakfast sandwiches, so I whipped some up since we had the ingredients. He loves egg yolks and the soft part of the brioche, so I saved those for him.” She pointed to the plate of scraps. “I know your stomach is sensitive right now, but you shouldn’t be picky. Just eat the rest of this.” As she spoke, she grabbed two bottles of the high-calcium milk I had specifically bought for my post-op recovery and stuffed them into her tote bag. “Looks like we’re almost out of milk, so I’m taking these. Remember to grab some more later. Oh, and do you mind doing the dishes? I have to drop Wayne off at work or he’ll be late.” The front door slammed shut. I stood by the dining table, staring at the pile of scraps on the plate. Maybe it was a complication from yesterday’s surgery, but a sudden, sharp pain flared in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I sank into a chair, crying with a raw, agonizing grief. When my eyes were swollen and dry, I finally stood up. Without touching a single bite, I scraped the plate into the trash. I went back to the bedroom to pack. I didn’t own much. When you strip away seven years of history, your life fits quite easily into two large suitcases. By noon, a dull hunger finally set in. After debating with myself, I sent Regina a text. [Are you free for lunch?] [I’ll come to your office. We can grab a bite, I have something really important to tell you.] Predictably, there was no reply. I opened Instagram. She had commented on one of Wayne’s posts literally three minutes ago. Gritting my teeth, I copied my text and pasted it directly into her public comment section. Regina replied instantly. [Busy. No time.] A bitter ache spread through my chest. I didn’t bother replying on the app. Instead, I dialed her number. “Logan, I told you—” “Twelve-thirty. I’ll be at the Italian bistro across from your office.” I hung up before she could argue. I didn’t want to give her a chance to back out, nor did I want to give myself a chance to hesitate. I sat in the bistro until 1:10 PM. She still hadn’t shown. Just as I assumed she was ghosting me and reached for my phone to call her, Regina finally walked through the door. But before I could speak, Wayne popped out from behind her shoulder. “Hey, Logan! I saw your comment on Regina’s post, so I decided to crash. You don’t mind, right?” 3 I didn’t say a word. I just stared at Regina, waiting for her to say something. Sensing my coldness, she offered a dismissive explanation. “I had to pick Wayne up, that’s why I’m late.” “Sorry.” “It’s fine,” I said, my voice flat as I opened the menu. Regina looked at me, slightly taken aback. She had clearly expected a fight, but I had let it slide without a word. I raised my hand to wave down the waiter. “I’ll have the lunch combo A. Just swap the white wine for warm water, please.” Across the table, Wayne leaned forward, pointing at a section of the menu with a pout. “Oh, this couples’ tasting menu looks amazing! Too bad Logan can’t eat seafood, but Regina and I love it. Why don’t we get the couples’ menu instead?” “Is that okay, Logan?” Regina frowned. After our massive blowout over the rehearsal dinner menu, even she knew this was crossing a line. No matter how close she was to Wayne, this was inappropriate. “Wayne, maybe we shouldn’t—” “Go ahead,” I interrupted, not even looking up. Regina’s gaze grew even stranger. In the end, she didn’t let Wayne order the couples’ menu, and she kept stealing glances at me, trying to gauge my reaction. But I didn’t have one. I wasn’t pretending. I genuinely just didn’t care anymore. Throughout the entire meal, Regina looked like she wanted to say something to me, but her attempts were constantly drowned out by Wayne’s endless chatter. I ate my food in silence, listening to them talk about movies, work, and recent jokes. Their easy, warm banter looked exactly like how Regina and I used to be seven years ago. It wasn’t until we were getting ready to leave that Regina finally remembered to ask: “So, Logan, what was that important thing you wanted to talk about?” I wiped my mouth with a napkin and grabbed my bag. “It’s a private matter. We should talk about it alone.” “Go on, you should get back to the office.” Guilt flickered in her eyes, and she looked at me sheepishly. “About that… Wayne’s office is pretty far, and it’s hard to get an Uber around here right now. I have to drop him off first, so…” I understood exactly what she was trying to say. I held up my phone screen to show her my active ride-hailing app. “I already booked a ride. It was easy.” “Go ahead and take him.” A wave of remorse seemed to hit Regina. She stepped closer, reaching out to hold my hand, probably wanting to offer some sweet reassurance. I quietly stepped back, letting her hand fall through the air. “My ride is here.” I turned and walked out the door. Regina followed me for a couple of steps, calling out: “Logan, I promise I’ll leave work early today. I’ll come straight home to be with you.” I nodded. It was the last time I would choose to believe her. When I got home, I finished packing the remaining essentials. My suitcases were lined up neatly in the entryway. They were impossible to miss, ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice. At five o’clock, the front door clicked open. It was Regina. I was surprised. She usually didn’t get off work until 5:30. Coming home this early meant she had left ahead of schedule. Had she actually come home early for me? 4 I stepped out of the bedroom, but before I could even find my footing, Regina rushed past like a whirlwind, slamming hard into my shoulder. The impact knocked me back against the wall, a sharp pain radiating through my spine. She didn’t even look back. She sprinted straight into the master bedroom, frantically throwing open drawers and closets. I braced myself against the wall and stood up. “Regina, what are you looking for?” Without looking up, she snapped impatiently: “Wayne’s at the clinic getting an IV. I need to go over and keep him company.” “The AC in there is freezing, and I need to grab a blanket. Where did we put the throw blankets?” I didn’t answer her. Instead, I asked, “Didn’t you say you were coming home early to spend time with me today?” Regina finally pulled out a blanket and began searching through another cabinet, her tone growing increasingly frustrated. “What is wrong with your ears? Are you still out of it from the anesthesia?” “I just told you Wayne is hooked up to an IV. I don’t have time today. We’ll do it another time.” But Regina, we don’t have another time. The resentment and heartbreak I had been suffocating finally broke free. I raised my voice, my throat tight. “What if I want it to be today?” “Wayne is sick, but he has parents. He has coworkers, friends. Regina, who are you to him? Why are you abandoning your own fiancé to run to his side?” Regina froze. She turned to me, her eyes filled with disgust, looking at me as if I were a hysterical child. “Wayne and I grew up together. He calls my mother his godmother. Is it really that awful of me to take care of a friend?” “Logan, can you grow up and be reasonable for once?” “Stop letting a little stomach bug make you completely paranoid!” She stuffed the items she had gathered into a duffel bag and turned toward the door. I couldn’t stop myself from stepping into her path. “Regina, please don’t go.” “Just stay and talk to me. Please. I’m begging you.” Regina looked at my bloodshot eyes. She hesitated for a second, but there was no pity in her gaze—only the sheer annoyance of being held back. She brushed past me, her foot kicking one of my suitcases out of the way. With an irritated wave of her hand, she muttered: “I don’t know what kind of tantrum you’re throwing…” “Fine, fine. I’ll be back early, okay?” The door slammed shut. Bang! The apartment fell into a heavy, dead silence, save for the sound of someone crying. It was me. I sat on the couch, waiting for her to return. An hour passed. I sent her a text: [Are you coming home?] — Read. She didn’t reply. Two hours passed. I sent another: [I really have something important to say to you.] — Read. Three hours passed: [This is the last time. Are you coming back?] This time, the message didn’t even go through. Regina had blocked or deleted me, tired of the notifications. Looking at the bright red exclamation mark, I felt like the punchline of a cruel joke. My tears had already dried. At the four-hour mark, I sent her a final SMS: [Regina, let’s break up.] The moment I hit send, the red exclamation mark popped up again. It didn’t matter. I grabbed my suitcases and walked out the door. By the fifth hour, as I was boarding my flight, I received a follow request from Regina on Instagram. I hit decline and posted a single text post to my feed: [Regina and I are over. Just wanted to let everyone know.] I flipped my phone to airplane mode, leaned back in my seat, and closed my eyes. As the plane lifted off the tarmac, I drifted into a deep sleep. When the sun rose tomorrow, it would be a fresh start.

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I scrolled past a post. “What’s the most thrilling thing couples do?” I paused for a moment, about to type: “We both grew up in the foster care system, and at 18…” But a shocking comment suddenly caught my eye. “I’m his intern, and now I’m his mistress.” “We’re true love. He’d do anything for me…” “The most thrilling thing, you ask? His wife has a unique condition. Whenever she gets emotional and feverish, cherry blossom-like red marks appear on her skin.” “He always says he loves watching her ‘bloom’ for him, but he’s actually making bets with me on how long those marks will take to fade.” “The most exciting part is, whenever his wife is most emotional, her skin covered in the fullest ‘bloom,’ he’ll quietly pull back the curtains, letting me watch everything clearly from outside the window.” I looked down at the cherry blossom-like red marks still visible on my own skin. My blood instantly froze. The comments section exploded with outrage, netizens expressing their condemnation. But the woman remained completely unfazed, her replies brimming with blatant pride. Someone asked, “Watching from outside? Aren’t you afraid of being discovered?” She instantly replied, “His penthouse apartment has floor-to-ceiling windows leading out to a small balcony. No one goes out there but him. His wife thinks it’s reflective glass and that you can’t see anything from outside, tee hee.” “Haha, she looks so pathetic and funny crying and calling his name when she’s emotional.” “Can’t chat anymore, I’m going to put on his favorite white T-shirt now. He said it’s a reward for me guessing correctly how long the marks would take to fade last night.” My fingers clutched the phone until they were white, a cold dread seizing my heart. Last night, Ethan said a company project was wrapping up and we should celebrate. He prepared a candlelit dinner, uncorked an expensive red wine. In the throes of passion, he carried me to the giant floor-to-ceiling window. Outside were the city’s dazzling lights. He whispered, “Mia, look at all these city lights. They don’t hold a candle to even a fraction of the cherry blossoms blooming on your skin for me.” I was so touched I couldn’t think straight. Now, remembering it, my stomach churned with nausea. All those words of love I thought were for me were actually meant for someone else outside that window. Calming myself, I followed the woman’s account, then sent Ethan a message. “Ethan, are you still working late tonight?” He replied almost immediately: “Yeah, still some loose ends to tie up with the project. What’s up?” I didn’t reply again, instead heading straight downstairs to the security office. Our years of shared history couldn’t be dismissed by a single anonymous post. The security guard on duty, Carl, looked surprised when he saw me. “Mrs. Ethan, what brings you down so late?” I forced a stiff smile. “I suspect someone might have tried to climb onto our balcony last night. Could you help me pull up the surveillance footage from outside our balcony between ten and twelve last night?” Carl nodded, immediately bringing up the footage. “Of course.” But I caught a flicker of something in his eyes. Just as I expected. On the monitor, everything appeared normal. “Could you also pull up the footage from the main entrance?” I asked. His hand trembled slightly, but after a moment’s hesitation, he clicked. A slender figure, dressed in a white shirt and short skirt, furtively appeared at the main entrance. That face, I knew all too well. It was Chloe, the intern Ethan had hired six months ago. The tension that had coiled in me finally snapped. A tidal wave of hurt, anger, and disgust instantly washed over me. My first instinct was to confront him. But my feet were rooted to the spot. “Don’t do anything rash.” A deep male voice came from behind me. I spun around. Liam was standing there, a box of medicine in his hand. I hadn’t even noticed him. “You have a sensitive stomach. Don’t drink cold water this late.” He handed me the medicine and a glass of warm water, his eyes full of concern. I fought desperately to suppress my trembling, just to keep the tears from falling. “I’m fine, just feeling a little unwell. I should go.” Without waiting for Liam’s reaction, I turned and ran. Back home, I locked myself in the bathroom. I turned on the shower, letting the ice-cold water pour over my head. My phone buzzed. It was a new post from Chloe.

She posted a selfie. The caption read: “My man is amazing, my legs are shaking.” In the photo, she was wearing Ethan’s shirt, the collar wide open, her collarbone bearing ambiguous hickeys. I bit down hard on my lip. A sharp pain and nausea twisted in my stomach. I rushed to the toilet, vomiting until I saw stars. Ethan and I both grew up in the foster care system. I’ve always had a weak constitution, especially with this unusual condition of mine. When I get emotional or feverish, cherry blossom-like red marks appear on my skin. The other kids used to call me a freak. Only Ethan would carefully cup my face and say, “Mia, you’re not a monster. This is a gift from God. It’s so beautiful.” To help me with my condition, he worked his fingers to the bone to earn money. In the early days of his startup, he once drank himself to a perforated stomach for a project. Lying in the hospital bed, he still held my hand and said, “Mia, when we have money, we’ll buy a big house with the best glass, so you can see the most beautiful scenery every day.” Now, those vows felt like the most cynical joke. I hugged the toilet, laughing and crying like a lunatic. After I’d vented, I wiped my tears and lay on the bed, scrolling through Chloe’s account. She hadn’t created the account long ago, and most of her posts were about luxury goods. Only a few posts were related to Ethan. One was from six months ago. She showed off her job offer from Ethan’s company, with the caption: “Now I can see my crush every day!” Another was from a month ago. That day was my birthday. Ethan said he had to work late and ordered takeout for me. But I saw in Chloe’s post that he had taken her to the mountaintop restaurant I’d always dreamed of, for a candlelit dinner. The screen went dark, reflecting my bloodless face. Ethan came home very late. “Why aren’t you asleep yet? You look terrible.” His hand had just brushed my forehead when I flinched away. He paused, then frowned, a hint of impatience in his voice. “I’ve had a long day. I’m not in the mood to guess what’s on your mind. Let’s talk about it tomorrow.” After he fell asleep, I picked up his phone. Instinctively, I typed in my birthday. Incorrect password. I didn’t give up, trying our anniversary next. Still wrong. Finally, on a strange impulse, I typed in the date Chloe started her internship. It unlocked. The pinned chat was with Chloe. I opened it, revealing sickening messages. “Playing flight attendant tonight, Master. When are you coming?” “On my way. Make sure you put on your toys like a good girl.” “Got it, Master.” I scrolled through every one of their messages. My jaw clenched tight, but tears still flowed uncontrollably. Ethan, sleeping beside me, seemed to sense it. He instinctively pulled me into his arms, gently stroking my back. “Mia, don’t be scared, your husband’s here.” His embrace was still warm, his voice as gentle as ever. In a daze, my mind drifted back to when I was eighteen. I had a high fever, and the cherry blossom marks on my body erupted in a large area for the first time. I was completely delirious. The staff at the children’s home were at a loss. It was teenage Ethan who carried me on his back for several miles, taking me to the hospital. The road was bumpy, and he fell several times, bruising and bleeding his knees and elbows. But he didn’t say a word, just kept whispering in my ear, “Mia, don’t fall asleep, please don’t fall asleep. We’re almost there.” “If you dare to fall asleep, I’ll never buy you your favorite chocolate again.” Back then, he truly loved me with his whole being. I lay stiffly in his arms, wide awake until dawn. The next day, after Ethan left for work, I contacted a private investigator. The detective was efficient. Three days later, I received the first batch of information. Among them was an audio recording.

“Ethan, what do you even like about Mia? She’s always so cold, like a statue.” Ethan chuckled softly, his voice laced with the familiar tenderness I knew so well. “I like the way she blooms beneath me, like a living painting.” “But even the most captivating painting eventually loses its charm if you stare at it every day.” The recording ended with their unbearable lewd laughter. I clutched my phone, but not a single tear fell. That evening, Ethan came home with my favorite cake. He lit the candles, gazing at me with deep affection. “Mia, this is our twentieth year. Thank you for being with me.” I looked at his face and suddenly smiled. Yes, from six to twenty-eight, we had been through so much. “Ethan, do you remember? You used to say the marks on my skin were a gift from God.” He paused, then nodded. His eyes overflowed with tenderness. “Of course, I remember. In my heart, they’re more beautiful than any star.” “Are they?” I picked up the red wine from the table and walked to the giant floor-to-ceiling window. “But lately, I keep having nightmares. I dream that someone is watching me from outside this window.” I turned back, staring into his eyes. A flicker of panic crossed Ethan’s face. He frowned, walked over, and pulled me into a hug. His voice held both pity and reproach. “What are you thinking?” But then, his tone shifted, and he chuckled softly. His fingers idly twirled my hair, a smile spreading in his eyes. “Mia, actually, there’s something I’ve been keeping from you for a while.” “Six months ago, at a party, someone drugged me, and I ended up sleeping with an intern.” “The girl was quite something, but I hurt her. She cried all night.” He withdrew his hand, patting my head. “She’s different from other women who only wanted something from me, so I kept her around.” “Lately, the girl got insistent. She really wanted to know my secret, so I told her about the cherry blossom marks.” “She didn’t believe me and insisted on seeing it with her own eyes. So that day, I let her watch from outside.” Even though I already knew the truth, hearing him say it with his own lips, a piercing pain spread through my entire body. My nails dug into my palms, and I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood. I grabbed Ethan’s collar, slapped him across the face with all my strength, my voice trembling. “How could you be so disgusting?” Unconsciously, tears streamed down my face. Ethan’s face darkened. He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “If you’re still upset, I can show you a video of us.” “You can learn a thing or two. She’s got quite a few tricks up her sleeve.” I looked at him, my eyes burning with unshed tears. “Let’s get a divorce.” Ethan’s entire body stiffened, his eyes instantly filled with rage. “Because of this? In our circle, who doesn’t have a few on the side?” “I’ve been good enough to you. All these years, it’s only been you.” “Besides, the girl knows her place. She won’t threaten your position. Can’t you stop being so selfish?” “Don’t forget who risked everything to get your condition under control!” With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. I collapsed onto the floor, a sharp, twisting pain in my chest. My condition. That was the deepest thorn in my heart. Over the years, to control my symptoms, I had taken countless medications, suffered immeasurable pain. Ethan was the one who had walked me through those darkest days. I thought he was my savior. I never imagined that the boy who had pulled me from the abyss would now personally push me back into hell. And then use my most painful scar to torture my heart. I wiped my tears, walked into the study, and began drafting the divorce papers.

This time, no one could save him. I didn’t intend to get too entangled. But some people just had to provoke me. Chloe sent me a friend request. The verification message contained only four words. “Let’s talk about the baby.” I accepted. Immediately, she sent an ultrasound report. It was a pregnancy test. “I’m pregnant, six weeks. The doctor says the baby is very healthy.” “Mia, you know, with your unique condition, it’ll be hard for you to ever have your own children.” “Ethan really loves kids. We can’t let him be without an heir, can we?” “Ethan said that once the baby’s born, you can raise it.” “Tomorrow, he’s hosting a celebration party for me at the company, where he’ll officially announce my identity.” “It’s in the top-floor ballroom, at 8 PM. You’re welcome to come, Mia.” She sent another photo. Ethan was gently stroking her belly, his eyes filled with a tenderness and anticipation I had never seen before. I clenched my fists, hatred spreading through every fiber of my being. I remembered when Ethan and I got married, we didn’t even have a proper ceremony. He said, once the company was stable, he’d give me the grandest wedding in the world. I swallowed the bitter taste in my throat. That night, I called Liam. He answered instantly. After hanging up, I sat in the living room all night. I didn’t leave until 8 PM the next evening, heading to his top-floor restaurant. In the ballroom, Chloe wore a custom gown, her arm linked with Ethan’s, smiling brightly and radiantly. They looked like the perfect couple, a match made in heaven. In that moment, the emotions I had suppressed for days finally exploded. I rushed onto the stage, and in Ethan’s shocked gaze, I slapped Chloe across the face with all my might. “Mia, are you insane?!” Ethan reacted, shoving me hard, then turning to shield Chloe in his arms. I fell to the floor, ignoring the sharp pain of glass shards digging into my palms. I scrambled back up and rushed forward again, slapping him across the face. I laughed. “What? Does it hurt?” “Everyone, look closely! This woman is Chloe! She stole my husband and is pregnant with a bas—” Slap— I was struck, falling to the ground, my ears ringing. “Mia, shut up!” Ethan’s hand was still raised in the air, his other hand clenched, veins bulging, as he roared at me. “What the hell are you doing?! This is my project celebration party, what kind of nonsense are you spouting here?” Ethan grabbed my arm, forcing me to kneel on the shattered glass. A searing pain shot through my knees. Chloe cowered timidly in his arms, but when she looked at me, her eyes were filled with undisguised triumph. Someone must have called the police, and when they arrived, Ethan glanced at me coldly. “Officers, she’s my wife, but today she intentionally caused a scene and ruined my celebration. I won’t protect her.” “Please handle it according to regulations. Whatever fines or compensation are due, they should be paid.” “Oh, and she seems emotionally unstable. After you’re done, it might be best to contact a mental institution.” I was led away in handcuffs by two police officers. The people around me were pointing and whispering, their faces full of disdain and mockery. I didn’t struggle. I just stared fixedly at Ethan. Watching him gently wipe away Chloe’s tears. Watching him carefully protect her. I let out a bitter laugh. “Ethan, your surprise will be delivered soon.” The game has just begun.

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I never worried about any suitors circling my fiancée, Antoine. Everyone in our social circle knew who she was connected to, and no one dared cross that line. But after six months studying abroad, I returned to find a young man sitting in Antoine’s front passenger seat as she pulled up to the office. I didn’t confront them then. Instead, I had my secretary arrange a dinner, inviting Antoine and all her close confidantes. How can I put it? A woman who betrays me is easily disposable. But anyone who dares to tempt her, even just thinking about it, will pay the price. “Mr. Williams, Antoine has arrived with seven guests, but there’s one more… not on the list.” Sarah, my secretary, lowered her voice, subtly glancing towards the VIP private dining room. “Who?” I put my phone in my pocket and gestured for her to lead the way. “It’s… the man from the passenger seat.” I let out a soft laugh. It was exactly what I expected. Seven or eight people sat along the long table. When I walked in, they all stood up in unison. Antoine was seated in the middle. She looked startled when she saw me, then instinctively slid one seat over. The young man next to her looked to be in his early twenties, dressed meticulously but plainly. Everyone at the table was silent, the atmosphere thick with tension. Yet the young man, seemingly oblivious, picked up the glass in front of Antoine and took a sip. He even smiled playfully at her. “Antoine, aren’t you going to eat anything tonight? No way, I’m keeping an eye on you.” I stood by the doorway, unmoving. Noticing the unusual tension in the room, he finally noticed me. He tilted his head, gave me a quick look, then surveyed the silent, terrified people in the room before turning back to Antoine. “Who’s this guy? Shows up so late without a word. Antoine, the rules around here are way too lax, aren’t they?” Seeing no one respond, he spoke again, his tone innocent yet self-righteous. “No matter how high your position, basic manners are still required, right? Antoine, you spoil everyone too much; this dinner feels so awkward because of it.” Mark, Antoine’s assistant, went completely white with horror. He finally couldn’t hold back and tugged on the young man’s sleeve. “Chris, this is Mr. Williams. He’s Antoine’s fiancé, and also… the actual power behind the entire corporation.” The private dining room fell silent for a long moment. Chris’s hand, holding the glass, froze mid-air. The playful smile on his face slowly solidified. He put the glass back down. Before Antoine could speak, he piped up. “Oh, her fiancé. Well, you should have come earlier then. Everyone’s been waiting for you.” I sat down, my gaze fixed on Antoine. “Antoine, your intern is quite… interesting.” She finally looked at me, her expression utterly cold. “He’s just a kid, Alexander. Don’t mind him.” “Since when do I concern myself with those who ‘don’t know any better’?” I picked up the menu and turned a page. “Go scrap that car. Get a new one.” Her brow immediately furrowed. “What?” “I don’t want a car that’s had someone else in the passenger seat.” Chris muttered something under his breath. I didn’t catch it, and I didn’t need to. “And,” I closed the menu and looked at her. “Chris needs to be terminated by tomorrow. You’ll personally inform all our partners in the industry: he’s never to be hired again.” Chris’s face finally changed. He abruptly looked up at me. “How dare you!?” “Because I’m Alexander Williams.” Antoine’s face tightened as she started to speak, but she bit back whatever she was going to say. Everyone at the table breathed a collective sigh of relief. I stood up and patted Antoine on the shoulder. “Antoine, you’d better remember why you’re in the position you are today.” Her voice came from behind me, clearly laced with suppressed rage. “Alexander, why do you have to be so ruthless?” “Ruthless?” I pushed the door open, and a gust of wind swept into the corridor. “Seems you still don’t know me well enough.”

It was nearly eleven when I got home. I leaned back on the sofa. Not long after, Antoine returned. “Why are you sitting here by yourself?” “Waiting for you.” She walked over, loosening her cuffs, a barely suppressed irritation in her voice. “You went too far tonight, Alexander. Chris is just an intern, a twenty-two-year-old kid who doesn’t know any better. Was all that really necessary?” “He’s ‘naive,’ and you’re just as naive?” I looked at her, slowly lowering my legs from the sofa. “Antoine, you know what kind of man I am, don’t you?” “Of course I do.” She tugged at her collar, then her voice slowly rose. “You’re just too controlling. An intern sat in my car, and you react like this? What will people outside think?” “Do you think I care what people outside think?” She paused. “I have to take people with me for many things at the company. Giving him a ride when it’s ‘on the way,’ what’s wrong with that?” “On the way?” I chuckled. “Our villa stands on its own private estate; everyone around here knows it. Antoine, what ‘convenient route’ are you talking about?” Her face fell. She didn’t speak for a long time. After a good while, she finally spoke in a low voice. “I’ll take care of the car tomorrow. About Chris… can’t you reconsider? He just graduated.” “What I’ve said stands.” “Alexander!” “If you feel so bad for him,” I interrupted her, getting up and walking towards the bedroom. “You can go comfort him right now. But if you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back.” A long silence followed behind me. When I woke up the next morning, there was a vehicle disposal receipt on the coffee table, next to a copy of Chris’s termination paperwork. The signature block bore Antoine’s handwriting. I picked it up, glanced at it, then put it back down. She wasn’t foolish enough to directly defy me. A short voice message came through on my SnapChat from Sarah. “Mr. Williams, Chris’s termination paperwork is finalized. Antoine signed it herself. But he cried for half an hour at reception when he left, though. Said you’d regret this eventually.” I replied: “Noted.” I’d heard words like that too many times. Not a single person who said them had ever made me regret anything. I’m not someone who enjoys utterly destroying people. But I have one flaw: the harder someone tries to hit me, the harder I hit back. I’ll make sure they know regret will never be mine. During lunch, I received a SnapChat from Antoine. “Car’s replaced, Chris is gone. Is that enough?” I typed a few words back: “Depends on your performance.” She didn’t reply again, and the matter seemed to be over. But a month later, I realized something was off. Antoine had been too quiet lately, uncharacteristically so. That night, lying in bed, I scrolled through my company’s project records for the past six months, focusing on projects she had overseen. I found a new supplier I didn’t recognize, took a screenshot, and sent it to Sarah. “What’s the story with this company?” Sarah’s SnapChat reply came three minutes later. It was long, but one sentence was all I needed to see: “Mr. Williams, I need to check further. The registered legal information for this company is a bit strange.” I stared at the company name for a long time, then placed my phone screen down on the pillow. Before I went to sleep, I sent Antoine a SnapChat: “Breakfast together tomorrow.” She replied quickly: “Okay.” I turned off my phone, closed my eyes, and muttered, “Antoine, you’d better not disappoint me.”

“Mr. Williams, Antoine has been spending a lot of time with a particular company recently. The projects aren’t that significant, but she’s there at least twice a week, not even counting video calls.” Sarah handed me her tablet, showing Antoine’s schedule for the past month. I took it, scanned through, and said, “Continue.” “There’s one more thing…” Sarah hesitated. “After Chris was fired, he started working for *this* company. His position? Assistant to the Business Development Director.” My hand, scrolling the tablet, stopped. “A fresh graduate, blacklisted from the entire industry, suddenly becomes an Assistant Business Development Director?” “That company isn’t on our core partners list; they’re a second-tier supplier. So… we don’t usually pay much attention to smaller operations like that.” I put the tablet down and leaned back in my chair, silent. Sarah stood nearby, not daring to move. After about two minutes, I finally spoke. “How many active projects does that company have with us right now?” “Three. Two are still under contract, and one was just signed.” “Terminate all of them.” Sarah’s pen froze mid-air. “All of them? Mr. Williams, one project already received an advance payment…” “Forget the advance payment. I recall the breach clauses in the contract are in our favor. Have Legal send out the official notice today.” “Okay, anything else?” I picked up my phone, scrolled through my contacts one by one. “Get me a list of all suppliers who work with that company. You call them yourself. Every single company connected to our corporation in this industry will cut ties with them.” “Mr. Williams, isn’t that too big a move?” “This isn’t ‘too big a move’ at all.” I tossed the tablet onto the desk. “When I make someone disappear, I don’t expect them to resurface under a new name. Anyone who built him a bridge will see it immediately torn down. And if it can’t be torn down, I’ll bury the bridge and everyone on it.” Sarah took a deep breath, nodded, and left. That afternoon, Sarah was on the phone non-stop. She later reported back that not a single person dared to refuse. When Antoine returned that evening, her face was grim. Her phone wouldn’t stop ringing. She hung up countless times, only to answer another call, her voice now barely containing her frustration: “I get it! Just don’t panic!” I sat at the dining table, eating. She hung up and looked at me. “Did you do this?” “Yes.” “Do you know that project also impacts us?” “I know.” “Then why?” “Antoine.” I put down my silverware and looked at her. “I told you to fire him and scrap the car, and you did. But then you immediately found him a new spot, using company business as a cover. Did you think I was stupid?” She opened her mouth, but no words came out. “You can call me jealous, controlling, or heartless. But you can’t treat me like an idiot.” I stood up and walked over to her. “This is my last reminder to you: no more petty games.” Antoine stared at me for a long time, complex emotions swirling in her eyes. She finally looked away, her voice raw. “Alexander, can’t you just let people live?” I chuckled. “Who are these ‘people’ you’re talking about?” She didn’t answer. I turned and went into my study. Before closing the door, I dropped one last line. “Antoine Loris, if you defend him one more time, next time it won’t be this simple.”

The news reached Georgina Loris, the family matriarch, faster than I expected. That afternoon, I was in a meeting when Sarah urgently whispered in my ear. “Georgina threw a major fit at the Loris estate. She’s planning to ground Antoine and make her reflect on her actions.” I showed no emotion after hearing that and continued the meeting. Afterwards, Sarah came back. “Antoine… she slammed the door and stormed out. Her father, Christopher, couldn’t even stop her.” “Understood.” “However, Christopher himself issued a Loris family-wide industry blacklist, firing Chris on the spot. This time, the Loris family acted directly, and their methods were even more severe than ours.” I nodded, but I wasn’t worried about the Loris family’s attitude. I was worried about Antoine. Sure enough, Antoine returned at ten that night. The door swung open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. “Alexander.” Her collar was loose, and her eyes were bloodshot. I expected her to come find me tonight, but her disheveled appearance genuinely disappointed me. “Did you go tell my mom?” “I wouldn’t do that.” I didn’t even bother to open my eyes. “Then how did she know?” “You’ve done too much, Antoine. Someone was bound to find out.” She walked up to me, barely suppressing the urge to strike me. “My mom wants to ground me. Are you enjoying this?” “I think you deserved it.” She scoffed, then suddenly slapped her palm on the back of the sofa. “Alexander, what do you want from me? Is an intern really worth all this? You fired him, had every industry connected to you blacklist him, and now even my dad is helping you! He’s just a twenty-two-year-old kid. Can’t you just leave him alone?” I put my teacup down and slowly stood up. “Leave him alone? Antoine, the Loris family’s annual revenue doesn’t even amount to a fraction of my company’s quarterly earnings. Do you honestly think I, Alexander Williams, can’t ‘tolerate’ an intern?” Her expression froze for a moment. “You think I’m jealous?” I took a step forward, and her resolve weakened. “I’m giving you one last chance to maintain your dignity. You know better than anyone how you got where you are. If you dare to throw that dignity away, I’ll flip the whole damn table.” Her throat moved, but she didn’t step back, her hands clenched tightly into fists. “You only ever threaten me.” “I’m not threatening you. I’m reminding you not to lose sight of reality.” The air thickened. She suddenly turned, grabbed the car keys from the coffee table, and headed for the door. “Where are you going?” “Don’t ask.” She didn’t look back. The door slammed shut behind her. I stood there, sighing. Then I sent Antoine one last SnapChat: “Antoine, my patience has run out.”

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My husband Kian’s female graduate student Lila sent me a photo. In the picture, my Alpha lay naked beside her, with a message that screamed defiance: “Luna Elara, Professor Kian was so passionate, he’s tired and asleep. He asked me to tell you he won’t be home tonight.” I stared at the photo for three seconds, then lightly tapped my screen, taking a screenshot of the photo and chat history. I immediately sent it to both the Blackspire Pack’s Council SnapChat group and the entire Chicago University faculty and student SnapChat group. “Congratulations, Lila, on successfully claiming your spot by Alpha Kian’s side.” Sent, powered off, all in one swift motion. When I switched my phone back on two days later, the entire North American werewolf community was already in an uproar. 0In the photo, Kian lay naked, sinking into the hotel’s down pillows, with Lila, equally unclothed, sleeping beside him. I zoomed in on the picture, my gaze falling on the red marks on his neck, and a smile touched my lips. No reply, just a screenshot saved. Then I tapped into the two most active group chats and sent it with one click. “Congratulations, Lila, on successfully claiming your spot by Alpha Kian’s side.” The moment the message popped up, I silenced all notifications and placed my phone screen-down on the table. The world outside abruptly fell silent. Beyond the apartment’s floor-to-ceiling windows, Chicago’s city lights stretched out like a silent, endless sea. I walked to the liquor cabinet, pulled out an unopened bottle of whiskey, and poured myself half a glass. The amber liquid clung to the glass, leaving slow, tear-like trails. Today was Kian’s and my third wedding anniversary. Kian had sent a voice message via FaceTime that afternoon, saying the closing dinner for the academic conference was unavoidable, with several elder researchers attending, so he had to be there. He said he’d try to come home early to “make up” for tonight. So, his “dinner” was this. His “make up” was this kind of make up. I carried my glass to the dining table. The black wolf figurine on the cake stood with its head held high, proud and solitary. I reached out a finger and gently pushed it. The black wolf toppled into the cream, its head snapping off. What a shame. I drained the glass in one gulp, the pungent liquid burning my throat. Good. Years ago, the Blackspire Pack was severely hit by a winter blizzard. Our supply lines completely collapsed, so we proactively sought an alliance marriage with the Frostveil Pack, hoping to use their resources to overcome the crisis. My father had planned to pick just any Omega, but I’d seen Kian once at a Pack summit and was drawn to him. I personally canceled a territory cooperation agreement with the Ironclaw Pack that had been in discussion for six months. For three consecutive months, I flew to the Blackspire Pack’s territory three times, pulling all-nighters to rework their winter supply chain plan, helping them reduce winter losses by thirty percent. I proved to all the Elders that I wasn’t just there to be a figurehead Luna. Kian had held my hands then, swearing before the Elders, “Elara, I’ll protect you for life. We’ll govern the Pack together.” Vows, the more solemnly they’re made, the more cheaply they’re broken. Since he broke our pact first, this marriage, bound by Pack interests and youthful infatuation, should end here. I didn’t cry or make a scene. I pressed the intercom and called Ethan, my guard captain, whom I’d brought from the Frostveil Pack. “Organize and load all my personal belongings and research data,” I instructed, pointing to the study and walk-in closet. “Leave Kian’s personal items untouched. Register all the gifts he gave me and place them in the living room storage. They’ll be returned to the main villa tomorrow.” I walked into the study myself, collecting my authored papers and the original alliance documents into a fireproof safe. The photos from our Rocky Mountains expeditions, our picture from when he became a tenured professor – I simply placed them neatly in a file box. No need to destroy anything, just as there was no need to be hysterical over a relationship that had turned sour. The break needed to be clean, dignified, and absolute. Two hours later, everything was loaded into the SUV convoy. I took one last look at the villa. Our wedding photo still hung on the wall, him holding my hand, his gaze earnest and passionate. I nodded to Ethan: “Let’s go.” The cars drove out of the community, merging into the late-night traffic. I didn’t look back. My new residence was a secluded cabin I’d bought long ago on the edge of the Blackspire Pack territory, always left empty. One always needed a fallback. Now, it seemed, that decision was absolutely correct. By the time we arrived at the cabin, the sky was already growing light. Ethan and his team helped me settle my belongings. I sent them back to rest, keeping only one trusted aide for external liaison. I took a hot shower, then sat at the solid wood table and opened my laptop, quickly sorting through the entire situation in my mind. Lila, Kian’s second batch of graduate students, had been enrolled for a year and a half. Young, beautiful, always wearing sweet white peach perfume, impressive academic performance, and always knew how to work a room. That was everyone’s assessment of her in the department. Every time she saw me, she’d say, with just the right amount of reverence, “Luna Elara, your model is truly incredible. Professor Kian often says you’re the most talented ecologist he’s ever met.” Before, I’d simply taken it as a junior’s respect for a senior. Now, looking back, every seemingly casual consultation was a probe into Kian’s and my core research progress. Every act of thoughtfulness in front of Kian subtly made me seem bossy and cold in comparison. 0

My friend Brynn had warned me then that Kian and Lila were getting too close, but at the time, I’d just laughed it off. I thought, “How much trouble could one girl stir up?” Now, I realize I was too naive, too confident, so confident that I ignored all the early warning signs. Like Kian coming home later and later from field research, his jacket occasionally carrying a faint, almost undetectable hint of white peach. Like him subconsciously starting to overturn my territory ecological plans, his tone familiar, as if repeating someone else’s words: “Elara, this migration corridor design is too idealistic. Lila’s model data is more reliable.” “Lila checked it, the prey density in this forest area has discrepancies. We’d better observe it for another quarter.” Lila, Lila, Lila. Her name appeared in his mouth with abnormal frequency. And I, foolishly, kept attributing all this to normal teacher-student communication and academic discussion. Until that photo, like a poisoned dagger, tore through all the fabricated peace. I closed my eyes, and that image reappeared in my mind. Kian’s sleeping face, and Lila’s provocative caption. Why did she dare to do it? She was certain I wouldn’t make a fuss. She calculated that as Luna, I valued the Pack’s reputation above all else and would never air our dirty laundry publicly. She calculated that I cherished my academic reputation and wouldn’t let private matters affect the core cooperative projects between our Packs. She calculated that I would confront her privately, or cry and argue with Kian, and in the end accept a perfunctory explanation of “lost control after drinking, merely being cared for.” Then she would play the innocent victim, gaining Kian’s sympathy and making me appear jealous and overbearing, slowly eroding my position. Too bad. She miscalculated. I, Elara, was never one to grit my teeth and bear it. If she wanted to play dirty, I’d play with my cards face up. Let the entire Pack, and all the faculty and students, bear witness to your “love.” I don’t know when I fell asleep, only that it was an unusually deep sleep. Two days later, I woke naturally. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting dappled shadows on the wooden floor. A new room, but the air was filled with my usual pine incense, a familiar sense of calm. I sat up and picked up the phone beside my pillow. Two days off, it was time to turn it on and see how far the storm had escalated. Taking a deep breath, I pressed the power button. The phone vibrated, and the screen lit up. The next second, it vibrated wildly, “Buzz—buzz—buzz—” almost flying out of my hand. Hundreds of missed calls, dozens of unread messages. I scanned the call list; Kian was at the top, with 99 missed calls. Below him were Pack Elders, colleagues from the department, my friends, and some unfamiliar numbers. I silenced my phone and tossed it aside. I got up and went to the kitchen, making myself a simple breakfast: fried eggs, toasted whole wheat bread, and a cup of hot cocoa. I ate slowly, methodically, as if the world-shaking storm outside had nothing to do with me. After breakfast and washing the dishes, I picked up the hot phone again. I ignored all of Kian’s messages and first clicked into the Blackspire Pack’s Council SnapChat group. Two days was enough for many things to ferment. The group messages had exploded. My congratulatory message was like a bomb. Below it was several minutes of dead silence, then the first to jump out was an Elder, posting a shocked emoji. Immediately after, various whispers began to flood the screen. “What the hell? What’s going on?” “Has Luna been hacked?” “Is that Alpha Kian in the photo?” “Oh my god, the information is overwhelming.” “Did that student go too far?” 0

Public opinion quickly split into several factions. Most people adopted a wait-and-see attitude, waiting for more definitive proof, while a few added fuel to the fire, eager for drama. A few Pack members who were usually close to Lila were the first to jump in and defend her. “Everyone, let’s not spread rumors. I’ve known Lila for almost a year; she’s not that kind of person. There must be some misunderstanding.” Someone immediately echoed: “Exactly. Alpha Kian and Luna Elara’s relationship has always been stable, and with the Pack alliance in place, how could something like this happen?” “Maybe it’s someone maliciously Photoshopping or spreading rumors to intentionally sow discord between the Packs.” Such flimsy defenses didn’t last long, quickly buried by a flood of emerging details. “Rumors? A hotel room photo has leaked, and it’s still rumors?” “The person above hasn’t looked closely, have they? The post even shows her pearl hairpin left on the bedside table. Can that be fake?” “I’ve always thought something was off with her. She’s always holed up in her professor’s office, her mind not on experiment data at all.” “During the last territory expedition, she kept trying to shield Alpha Kian from drinks, getting completely drunk herself. Kian even had to take her home!” Once the tide turned, everyone piled on. Lila’s carefully cultivated “pure academic” image was shattered in that moment. After nearly an hour of the incident fermenting, Lila, as the other party involved, finally appeared. She posted a lengthy message simultaneously in the Pack Council channel and the department-wide email list, full of tearful indignation. “To all my Pack members, teachers, and classmates, I apologize for occupying public resources with my private matters.” “Last night at the academic closing dinner, Professor Kian was plied with a lot of strong liquor by several colleagues from a neighboring university and ended up too drunk to stand.” “As his student, I had a responsibility to ensure his safety, so I took a taxi and brought him to a nearby hotel to rest.” “The professor vomited all over himself, so I helped him change out of his dirty clothes.” “After settling him in, I left. I originally wanted to call Alpha Kian’s Beta to inform them, but the phone was unanswered. In a panic, I messaged Luna Elara to explain the situation.” “My message might have been ambiguously worded, causing everyone to misunderstand. It truly wasn’t what everyone thinks.” “I’m still shaking with fright, not knowing who would want to ruin my reputation like this.” “Professor Kian and I are completely innocent, just a pure teacher-student relationship. Please stop spreading rumors.” “Luna Elara, if you see this message, could you please explain the situation? As a young Omega, if my reputation is ruined, I truly don’t know how I’ll be able to survive in academia and the Pack.” Finally, she specifically @-mentioned me. What a fragile, innocent-looking manipulator. This PR statement was watertight, portraying herself as a dutiful but innocently wronged victim, shifting all the blame onto me, saying I misunderstood, that I made a mountain out of a molehill, ruining a young woman’s reputation. As expected, after her statement, the mood in the channel quietly shifted. Several well-meaning but naive individuals immediately stepped forward to mediate. “So that’s what happened. I knew there must be a misunderstanding.” “I wonder who was so heartless, taking things out of context to ruin a young girl’s reputation.” “Luna Elara did seem a bit impatient this time. She should have at least clarified things before letting the message spread. It’s truly damaging to Lila.” “Exactly, she’s a young Omega. How will she face people now?” “Poor Lila, she’s so innocent.” I looked at these words, and the cold sneer on my lips grew wider. Playing a public opinion war? Lila, you’re still too green. Just then, a call came in. The name flashing on the screen made my eyes turn cold. It wasn’t Kian; it was Kian’s mother, Mara. I let it ring for a long time, picking it up only in the last second before it would automatically hang up. “Hello.” My voice betrayed no emotion. On the other end, Mara’s sharp, furious roar immediately erupted. “Elara! You finally picked up! Are you insane! What exactly are you trying to do!” 0

“Are you trying to ruin Kian?!” Mara’s voice was hoarse and cracked with rage, mixed with the crisp sound of porcelain shattering in the background. I could feel her hysteria even through the phone. I twirled a pen between my fingers, my phone flat on the desk on speakerphone, without even a flicker of an eyebrow. After she finished her tirade, I slowly spoke, my tone as calm as if discussing the weather: “Mom, please speak slowly, I’m listening. I just don’t understand what I’ve done to make you so angry.” “You’re still playing dumb with me!” Mara’s volume shot up another eight octaves, making the speaker vibrate slightly. “Look at the post you sent! Now it’s spread throughout the Pack, even to several neighboring Packs! Where does Kian put his face? Where do we Blackspire Pack put our face?!” I didn’t interrupt, casually flipping open the book on my desk, patiently waiting for her to vent. Her reaction was entirely within my expectations. Valuing reputation over right and wrong, and fiercely protecting her own to the point of irrationality—this was the disposition I’d figured out on my first day of marriage. When she finally stopped, breathing heavily, I slowly began: “Mom, instead of questioning me, why don’t you first ask your precious son if he had me in mind while he was lying next to another woman.” “An Alpha out socializing, getting drunk and being looked after—isn’t that perfectly normal?” Mara’s tone was self-righteous. “Lila, a young girl, kindly took care of his safety. You don’t appreciate it, and you’re letting rumors fly around, ruining her reputation! Where are your manners? Where is your graciousness as Luna?” I gently tapped the desk with my fingertips, a cold sneer in my heart, but my face remained calm: “My manners dictate that my mate does not sleep in another woman’s hotel room on our wedding anniversary.” “And certainly not that the woman has sex with my man and then sends me photos to flaunt it.” There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone. Then, Mara’s tone shifted from anger to righteous favoritism: “So what! Which Alpha doesn’t have a female confidante outside? Do you have to make such a public spectacle of it? Can’t you just tolerate it for Kian’s future, for the sake of the Pack?” “Tolerate?” I sounded as if I’d heard the biggest joke. “Mom, a Luna of the werewolf Pack never tolerates such things.” “You! What kind of attitude is that!” Mara was clearly choked by my words. “Elara, I’m telling you, we Blackspire Pack will absolutely not tolerate a jealous Luna!” “You immediately go to the Pack Council SnapChat group, and to Kian’s department group, and explain clearly that it was a joke you made! Apologize to Lila, and this matter will be over!” “Apologize?” The curve of my lips grew colder. “Does she even deserve it?” “You ungrateful woman! Don’t think Kian can’t live without you! I’m telling you, there are plenty of women who want to be Luna!” “That’s wonderful,” I replied casually. “Have him replace me immediately; I certainly won’t stand in his way.” “You just wait! I’ll make Kian divorce you right now! Women like you should be cast out with nothing, sent back to your Frostveil Pack!” “Fine,” I said. “I’ll wait for the subpoena.” With that, I hung up the phone and blocked her. All in one swift motion. Muddying the waters, twisting the truth, and always, always defending her precious son. That was my dear mother-in-law. I had experienced it before. My phone vibrated again; this time it was Brynn, my best friend and the Pack’s chief physician. I answered. “Elara! You finally turned your phone on! Are you okay?” Brynn’s anxious voice came through. “I’m fine.” Hearing her voice, my taut nerves relaxed slightly. “Good, you scared me to death! That move of yours was brilliant! Now the entire Northern werewolf community is talking about it.” “Kian’s department probably can’t even get any experiments done today; everyone’s too busy gossiping.” Brynn’s voice held a hint of gleeful excitement. “I’m fine, and I’m doing great.” “The more attention, the better. I want it to be a spectacle.” 0

“Well done!” Brynn didn’t hide her support. “You can’t be soft on a muddle-headed man like that and a scheming homewrecker!” “But what are you going to do next? I heard that Lila is no easy opponent.” Her tone became somber. “She’s telling everyone she was wrongly accused, that you can’t tolerate her as a junior, making many unsuspecting people think you’re a jealous, evil Luna.” “I know, I read her long post.” I picked up the organized file folder from the table. “Don’t rush, let her perform for now.” The biggest mistake in a public opinion war is to let the opponent control the narrative. She wants to play the victim and gain sympathy, so I’ll give her enough stage to perform. The harder she plays the victim now, the more innocent she portrays herself, the harder she’ll fall when the undeniable proof comes out. “I’m never interested in just a war of words with her,” I tapped the file folder. “What I want is for her academic qualifications to be revoked, for her to be completely blacklisted from the North American werewolf research community, with no chance of even touching core projects.” “So, what are your plans for today? Just staying in the cabin?” Brynn asked. I looked at the bright sunshine outside the window and slowly said: “No. I’m going to the university. There are some things I need to retrieve personally. And, it’s time to meet the two main characters.” “Alright!” Brynn’s voice was excited. “Do you need me to come with you? To back you up! I’m free today and can come anytime.” “No need,” I declined her kind offer. “This is my battle, and I’ll fight it myself.” Hanging up the phone, I walked into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. I chose a charcoal-gray suit skirt, sharp in its cut and full of presence, paired with black ankle boots. Then I sat at the vanity and applied sophisticated, sharp makeup. Looking at the radiant woman with cold eyes in the mirror, I smiled with satisfaction. Elara, welcome back. This show has just begun. I grabbed my car keys and left, my destination the Chicago University administration building. I wanted to see just how far they’d taken this act without me, the “vicious shrew,” present. My car was a black Land Rover, a gift from the Blackspire Pack Elders to us the year Kian became Alpha. Thinking about it now, it was ironic. The car drove steadily towards the campus, where I had shared a research lab with him, and where a veritable trap awaited me. The Land Rover pulled into the exclusive faculty parking spot. I turned off the engine but didn’t immediately get out. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror: lips red as blood, eyes cold as ice. Good, this was the battle attire I needed. I pushed the door open and stepped out, my boots clicking crisply on the polished floor, the sound amplified in the empty garage like war drums. Entering the elevator, I pressed the top floor directly; the department head’s and Kian’s offices were both on this level. The elevator doors opened to a familiar hallway, familiar lab signs. But today’s atmosphere was entirely different. The usually quiet and orderly office area was now filled with an eerie silence. Everyone sat at their workstations, pretending to read literature or conduct experiments, but their wandering eyes, perked ears, and occasional furtive taps on their keyboards betrayed them. The air was thick with gossip and speculation, mingled with a faint, almost imperceptible trace of white peach perfume. When I appeared in their field of vision in a striking black suit skirt, the entire office area seemed to be paused. All eyes simultaneously fixated on me. Shock, curiosity, sympathy, schadenfreude… a complex web of emotions converged, enveloping me. I walked straight ahead, chin slightly raised, my pace unwavering, heading directly towards the end of the hallway. There was no need to care about the onlookers’ gazes. My objective was clear, and had been all along: to retrieve what was rightfully mine. 0

The sound of my boots was the only noise in the oppressive silence, each step landing like a strike on everyone’s raw nerves. They watched me as if I were the leading lady making a grand entrance in an annual drama. I walked past them expressionlessly. The closer I got to the office, the clearer the whispers became. “Oh my god, Luna Elara is really here!” “Dressed like that… is she here to declare war?” “This is going to be good. Quick, open a SnapChat group and start a live stream!” “Lila’s still in Professor Kian’s office. I saw her go in crying this morning, and she hasn’t come out since.” I heard these voices, and a cold sneer flickered across my lips. Excellent, the audience was all in place. I reached the tightly closed wooden door. The door’s soundproofing was good, but I could still faintly hear suppressed, intermittent sobbing from inside. It was Lila’s voice. I didn’t knock. Under everyone’s gaze, I simply turned the doorknob and pushed the door open forcefully. The moment the door swung open, the scene inside clearly reflected in my eyes, and in the countless peeking eyes in the hallway. Inside the office, Kian stood by the sofa. And Lila sat on the guest sofa, crying piteously, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Kian held a tissue in his hand, leaning slightly forward, about to offer it to her. His face was filled with annoyance and reluctance. Hearing the door open, both of them simultaneously looked towards the entrance. Lila saw me, and her crying ceased abruptly, like a cat whose throat had been squeezed. A fleeting look of panic flashed in her eyes, quickly replaced by deeper grievance and tears. The moment Kian recognized me, his whole body froze. His outstretched hand remained suspended in mid-air, the tissue hovering, creating an almost comical awkwardness. I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, observing the “deeply moving” scene before me. I smiled, breaking the silence. “Professor Kian, busy, are we? I hope I’m not interrupting.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “415478”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

“Three years, Ethan. Isn’t it time this charade ended?” I heard the words from behind the partially ajar emergency exit door. “Pretty much. Her birthday is in ten days. I plan to make it unforgettable for her. Let her experience what it’s like to fall from heaven to hell at the peak of her happiness.” That was Ethan’s voice. He was my husband. The man who knelt beneath a sky of fireworks and told me his feelings for me were real. “The cruelest part is, you’re playing the loving husband while secretly teaming up with her ex-fiancé to dismantle the Davis Group’s foundation.” Blake was there too. My ex-fiancé who betrayed me, the same guy now having an affair with my husband’s sister, was casually chatting and laughing with Ethan. “Watching her treat her enemy as a savior, blindly devoted… Chloe, when you humiliated me back then, did you ever imagine this day?” I bit my lip hard, tasting blood. So from start to finish, I was just a pawn on their chessboard, waiting to be slaughtered. If that’s the case, then don’t blame me for being ruthless.

Chloe’s POV When I was twenty-three, I witnessed my fiancé’s betrayal firsthand. I didn’t yell or make a scene. I calmly gathered evidence and, the day before our families were set to merge through marriage, I publicly tore up the engagement contract, leaked a video of his infidelity, and made Blake and his family the laughingstock of our social circle. For the next three years, I stopped believing in any promises or genuine feelings. I poured all my energy into my family’s business, becoming a respected, even feared, figure in the corporate world. I thought my life would go on like this forever. That I would never have another weakness. That I would never fall for anyone again. Until Ethan appeared. The city’s most mysterious and low-key financial magnate. He patiently pursued me, a woman known for my cold demeanor and detached nature. He understood me, tolerated me, and slowly melted the icy wall around my heart. The day he proposed, he lit up the entire city with fireworks for me, kneeling before me with eyes only for me. He said, “Chloe, I can’t promise to heal all the pain you’ve suffered, but I will spend the rest of my life proving that my love for you is real.” I believed him. I carefully placed my long-sealed heart into his hands. It was a lavish, “wedding of the century” affair. The media said I must have saved the galaxy in a past life to have someone like Ethan devote everything to me. I transitioned from a powerful businesswoman to Ethan’s cherished wife. I gradually let down my guard, feeling incredibly fortunate that after freezing myself off, I could be enveloped by such fervent love. Until one day, Ethan took me to a charity auction. I had a headache from days of exhaustion, so I left early to wait for his driver in the underground garage. When I reached the car, I realized I had left my handbag, which contained my mother’s heirloom necklace, in the lounge. I went back to retrieve it, but as I passed the partially ajar emergency exit door, I heard hushed voices from inside. “Three years, Ethan. Isn’t it time this charade ended?” “Pretty much.” Ethan’s voice was as steady as ever, but it carried a coldness I had never heard before. “Her birthday is in ten days. I plan to make it unforgettable for her at the party I’m throwing. Let her experience what it’s like to fall from heaven to hell at the peak of her happiness.” I froze, my mind suddenly blank. Isn’t my birthday in ten days? Are they talking about me? “Heh, you spent three years setting this up. First, you secretly shorted the Davis Group’s overseas projects, causing her father to fall critically ill. Then, when she trusted you most, you had her sign that flawed betting agreement. The cruelest part is, while you played the loving husband, you teamed up with her ex-fiancé to dismantle the Davis Group’s foundation. Ethan, you have played a grand game to avenge your sister.” “She publicly broke off the engagement and leaked that video, ruining my sister’s reputation. It led to public humiliation and ultimately drove her to suicide.” Ethan let out a cold laugh. “How could I ever let her off easy?” Every word, like an ice pick, stabbed into my limbs, instantly freezing my blood. The woman my ex-fiancé cheated with was Ethan’s sister? And he approached me, married me, all to avenge his sister? While I was still in shock, the conversation in the emergency exit continued. I heard someone ask again, “And after that? Once the Davis Group is taken care of, will you finally rekindle your relationship with your little darling, Serena?” Serena… The dancer, so delicate and ethereally beautiful, like she didn’t belong to this world, whom I’d met several times at parties, always looking at Ethan with a hesitant, unsaid longing in her eyes? So, Serena was the woman he truly loved? “Of course.” Ethan’s answer held no hesitation. “I’ve made her suffer enough these past years. Once this is over, I’ll marry her.” “Right. If it weren’t for your sister, you and Serena would have been married long ago.” There was a pause. Then the accomplice turned to another person, a hint of playful mockery in his smile. “But Blake, aren’t you bothered by playing this act with Ethan, pretending in front of your ex-fiancée?” “Does it feel good, watching the woman who once rejected you now blindly devoted to her ‘current’ man?” Blake scoffed, the malice in his laugh undisguised. “Bothered? I’m loving it.” Blake said gleefully. “Watching her get played by Ethan and me, treating her enemies as saviors, as her redemption, loving him blindly, completely unaware that she is about to be devoured until there’s nothing left. Chloe, when you humiliated me back then, did you ever imagine this day?” I clenched my jaw, tasting the metallic tang of blood on my tongue, my nails digging hard into my palms. My entire heart felt like an invisible hand was squeezing it, mercilessly crushing it. I didn’t dare move until their conversation stopped, and their footsteps faded away, finally disappearing from the emergency exit. Only then did I slide down the wall, utterly drained. Unbelievable. My most trusted husband was the brother of the person I indirectly caused to die. He approached me, married me, to destroy me! He sabotaged my family’s business, causing my father to fall critically ill! He tricked me into signing a deadly agreement, making me personally bury our family’s legacy! He even involved my most detested ex-fiancé in his revenge, turning me into a complete joke! And I, utterly unaware, was immersed in the beautiful dream he wove for me, believing true love had finally found me. A chill enveloped my body and soul. I don’t remember how I left. I stumbled back to the parking lot, each step feeling like I was walking on knife-edges. I pulled open the car door and sat inside. “To the mansion.” My voice was hoarse. The driver acknowledged and started the car. However, just as the car was about to pull out of the parking space, the other car door was pulled open. A tall, upright figure got in, closed the door, and instructed the driver, “Drive.” “Yes, Mr. Kingston.” Seeing Ethan sitting beside me, my breath hitched, my hairs stood on end, and I instantly froze.

Chloe’s POV Ethan turned his chiseled face towards me, looking at me quizzically. “What’s wrong? Is there something on my face?” “The auction isn’t over yet,” I struggled to steady myself, pulling the corners of my lips into a slight smile. “Why did you leave too?” “You weren’t there, so I had no desire to stay.” Ethan’s eyes were filled with tender affection and obvious concern. “You look so pale. Are you feeling unwell?” As he spoke, he leaned closer, raising a hand to feel my forehead. His touch, at that moment, felt like a snake’s tongue licking my skin. I fought the urge to push him away, forcing out a strained smile, and lowering my gaze to avoid his scrutinizing eyes. “I’m fine, probably just tired from the past few days.” Ethan examined me closely. Just as I thought he was about to press for more, he suddenly spoke. “Let’s have a baby.” I looked up, startled, meeting his deep, unfathomable eyes. A baby? Before I could recover from the shock, Ethan suddenly lowered the car’s partition. The next second, he cupped my chin with one hand and leaned in to kiss me. His kiss was as forceful and tender as always, carrying his familiar possessiveness. In this moment, I knew exactly what he wanted. My hands instinctively pressed against his chest, pushing him away with repulsion. Ethan paused. “What’s wrong?” My breathing was a little unsteady. I turned my face away, hastily fabricating an excuse. “I’m a bit tired. I’m not in the mood today.” “You’ve never refused me like this before, no matter how tired you were. What’s gotten into you today?” Ethan’s deep eyes stared intently at me, his scrutinizing gaze making my heart skip a beat. He raised a hand, his fingertips gently tracing my lips. “Did I do something wrong to upset you?” He paused, then his gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, captured my dodging eyes. “Or… did you hear something?” My heart nearly stopped in that instant. He can’t find out! He absolutely cannot find out that I heard their entire conversation! If I confront him now, I’ll be utterly defeated, and the Davis Group will be completely ruined. I have to keep up the act. Just like him, I have to play it perfectly. I desperately suppressed all the churning emotions. When I looked up again, my face showed a thin layer of annoyance and embarrassment. “I just feel… doing this in the car isn’t quite right.” “After all, the driver is still up front.” Ethan chuckled. “Don’t worry, the partition is down; he can’t hear us.” Before his words finished, he lowered his head and kissed me again. My body stiffened for a moment, then I forced myself to relax, trying to respond to him as naturally and passionately as usual. Ethan seemed satisfied with my compliance. He kissed me deeper, more intensely. In the height of passion, his scorching lips pressed against my ear, his husky voice softly whispering my name. “Chloe… I really like you, I love you.” Every word was like poison-laced honey, pouring into my ears, seeping into my bloodstream. I closed my eyes, letting him take what he wanted. Like me? Love me? If I hadn’t heard his conversation with someone else firsthand, I might still have been deceived by his exquisite acting, drowning in this false affection, believing how genuinely and devotedly he loved me. My body temperature was rising, but my heart was chilling, inch by inch. My thoughts drifted back three years. At that time, I publicly tore up my engagement with Blake, trampling on the dignity of Blake’s family and that scoundrel couple. A month later, Blake seemed like a changed man, appearing remorseful, relentlessly pursuing me. He tearfully confessed that he had just been foolish and made a mistake, that he loved only me, begging for my forgiveness. But I only felt immense disgust and extreme annoyance. Just as Blake blocked me at a restaurant entrance yet again, Ethan appeared and rescued me from Blake’s persistent harassment. That was our first meeting. But back then, I only saw him as a helpful stranger. To my surprise, the next day at an important project collaboration meeting, I attended as the Davis Group’s representative, only to discover with astonishment that the mysterious, low-key major shareholder and decision-maker of the other company, who had never appeared in the media, was none other than him. In the meeting, he was composed and incisive, with unique insights, offering fair and strong support for my proposed plan. After the meeting, he specifically walked over to me and said, “Ms. Davis, I’ve heard much about you. I hope the previous incident didn’t cause you too much trouble.” He was courteous and charming, a stark contrast to the cold sternness he showed when he drove Blake away. Later, due to business dealings, we interacted more frequently. He gave me admiring glances, timely assistance, and concern that went beyond professional partnership. And Blake continued to haunt me. Every time Blake came to bother me, Ethan just happened to be there. For my sake, he didn’t hesitate to get into conflicts with Blake. Once, outside a club, two men of significant status even came to blows, disregarding their dignity. Ethan’s eye was injured, but he successfully made Blake much more restrained afterward, no longer daring to approach me easily. At the time, I thought Ethan and Blake were truly two completely different kinds of men. One was composed and powerful, offering me respect and protection; the other was despicable and shameless, only capable of harassment. My frozen heart was slowly pried open by Ethan, little by little. I began to believe that there might still be true feelings in this world, and someone worth trusting. I thought I had finally emerged from the shadow Blake cast, and found true salvation and love. But today I learned that everything, absolutely everything, was just a grand play they put on for me, together! One pursued me relentlessly, annoying me; the other appeared just in time, acting as my protector. All for the purpose of making me fall deeply for Ethan, winning my trust, so they could slowly devour the Davis Group.

Chloe’s POV In the car, Ethan seemed intent on devouring me whole, leaving me utterly exhausted. The car stopped steadily outside the mansion gates. Ethan scooped me up in his arms, carried me directly upstairs, and laid me on the large bed in the bedroom. “Still tired?” He leaned over, his hands braced on either side of my body, his thumb caressing my slightly swollen lips. I turned my head away, my voice a little hoarse. “I want to take a shower.” “Together?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with a hint of seduction. My heart tightened. Just as I was about to find an excuse to decline, Ethan’s phone, tucked into his suit pocket, rang. He frowned, a fleeting look of annoyance at being disturbed crossing his face. “Hold on, I need to take this.” But as he pulled out his phone and glanced at the caller ID, I clearly caught the receding tide of desire in his eyes. “What is it?” Ethan turned and walked towards the floor-to-ceiling window, lowering his voice as he answered the call, his back to me. I don’t know what the person on the other end said, but he responded, “I’ll be right there.” He hung up and walked back to me. “Something urgent came up at the company. I’ll probably be back very late. Get some rest, don’t wait up for me.” He leaned down, pressed a kiss on my forehead, and then, without giving me a chance to speak, turned and left in a hurry. I pushed myself up on the bed, watching his retreating back coldly. When he answered the phone just now, that soft murmur was indistinct, but I heard it clearly. It was “Serena.” Serena. She was indeed the woman he cherished most; one phone call was enough to make him abandon me instantly, rushing impatiently to her side. Yet, just moments ago, he was still insatiably demanding on me. The aches in my body were everywhere, reminding me of what had just happened, and also reminding me what a meticulously designed deception there was between us. No, I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I have to do something. Otherwise, in ten days, an endless hell awaits me. The next day, I did three things. First, I went to the pharmacy and bought an emergency contraceptive pill. I absolutely could not get pregnant with Ethan’s child. Second, I retrieved the betting agreement from the safe in the study and went to a reputable law firm for consultation. The lawyer carefully reviewed the agreement, his expression grave. “Ms. Davis, the terms of this agreement are extremely unfavorable to your side, almost entirely predatory clauses. The other party clearly hired a top-tier team that cleverly hid all the loopholes.” “Is there still room to salvage it?” “According to the stipulated deadline, if the project’s profit targets are not met, the controlling stake in the Davis Group will automatically transfer to the other party of the agreement. As for the agreement itself, within the legal framework, it’s impossible to overturn or annul it.” My last shred of hope was extinguished, and my heart turned chillingly cold. Ethan had coaxed me into signing this betting agreement with sweet talk. What did he say back then? “This project has excellent prospects, but there’s a funding shortfall.” “Sign this agreement, and my funds will be immediately available. The Davis Group won’t just overcome its current difficulties, it’ll reach new heights.” “Don’t worry, with me by your side, you’ll never lose.” Looking at this agreement now, those hidden traps and harsh clauses embedded deep within the legal jargon were simply shocking. It seemed the Davis Group couldn’t be saved. I clenched my hands, trying hard to suppress my emotions. Then I proposed the third matter to the lawyer. “Please help me draft a divorce agreement.” Before Ethan realized the truth, while he was still playing the loving husband, I needed to escape this terrifying marriage as quickly as possible. Otherwise, when he finally closed his net, what awaited me might not just be bankruptcy and humiliation. After getting the divorce agreement, I went straight to the Kingston Corporation building. The receptionist recognized me as Mrs. Kingston and respectfully guided me to the CEO’s private elevator, taking me straight to the top floor. I walked to the office door. I raised my hand to knock, but through the crack in the door, I caught a glimpse of something that instantly froze my blood. Behind the desk, a woman in a white chiffon dress with flowing dark hair sat on Ethan’s lap. She was intimately wrapped around Ethan’s neck, her lips pressed tightly against his. They were kissing intensely and passionately, as if everything around them had ceased to exist. Just then, Ethan seemed to sense something. His gaze inadvertently swept toward the door. The next second, his movements suddenly stiffened. “Chloe?” Ethan almost instinctively pulled Serena off his lap, stood up, and hurried toward me, a rare look of panic on his face. “Don’t misunderstand. Serena just accidentally twisted her ankle and stumbled into my arms.”

Chloe’s POV Serena twisted her ankle and fell into his arms, and then they just happened to kiss? Was he trying to fool me with such a clumsy lie? Did he think I was an idiot? Well, in his eyes, I was probably already a fool blinded by love. And now, I had to continue playing that “fool.” “Really?” I nodded. “Oh, I see.” Ethan eyed my eyes suspiciously. “You don’t believe me, do you?” “I do.” I smiled and met his gaze sincerely. “Between a husband and wife, trust is the most important thing, so I trust you.” Ethan’s tense nerves relaxed, and he let out a silent sigh of relief. “Of course.” He stepped forward and took my hand, his touch so gentle it seemed to drip with affection. “It’s good that you understand. I would never do anything to betray you.” Listening to his utterly hypocritical words, my heart filled with cold mockery. Just then, Serena gracefully walked towards us. “You must be Mrs. Kingston? Ethan often mentions you.” She wore a flawless, sweet smile and extended a slender hand towards me. “I’m Serena, Ethan’s friend.” The kind of friend you kiss? I didn’t take her hand. Instead, I raised an eyebrow at Ethan and asked, “You have such a beautiful friend? Why have I never heard you mention her before?” A flicker of unnaturalness crossed Ethan’s face. “Serena is a dancer; she’s often on international tours and rarely comes back. We… haven’t seen each other in a long time, so I didn’t specifically mention her.” After speaking, he turned to Serena, signaling with his eyes. “Didn’t you say you have a rehearsal for your next tour later? If you have something to do, go ahead and take care of it.” His dismissal was obvious, and the smile on Serena’s face faded. But she didn’t say anything in the end, just let out a cold huff and left the office in her heels. Ethan’s gaze unconsciously followed her retreating figure, a quick flash of guilt and helplessness in his eyes. This subtle emotion did not escape my notice. I felt as if my frost-covered heart had been sharply pierced by an invisible needle again. I hadn’t expected that, to get revenge on me, he would even make the woman he loved suffer like this. He truly was a man with a deep and terrifying mind. Ethan resumed his gentle expression, turning back to ask, “Why did you suddenly come to the office to see me?” I lowered my gaze, concealing all emotions in my eyes. Just as I was thinking about what excuse to use to make him sign the divorce agreement, Ethan’s secretary rushed in, looking anxious. “Mr. Kingston, bad news! Ms. Serena was just hit by a car that suddenly swerved out at the parking garage exit downstairs!” “What?!” Ethan’s face changed drastically, filled with alarm and panic. He forcefully pushed me out of his way, like a gust of wind, and rushed out. Pushed unexpectedly, I stumbled sideways, hitting my forehead hard on the doorframe. A sharp, intense pain shot through me, accompanied by waves of dizziness. I held onto the doorframe, barely steadying myself. When I looked up again, Ethan had already vanished from outside the office. See, this is the man who swore his feelings were real, who would spend his life proving how much he loved me. This is the man who said he would never betray me. In front of the person he truly cared about, I, Mrs. Kingston, was nothing more than an obstacle to be casually pushed aside. I didn’t follow to check on Serena’s injuries. I figured Ethan wouldn’t be back today, so I didn’t linger. I drove back to the mansion. However, less than half an hour after I returned to the mansion, Ethan suddenly pushed open the door, radiating a chilling aura. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me out. “Come with me!” Forcibly put into the car, I was utterly bewildered. “Where are we going?” “Serena has a coagulation disorder. She’s bleeding uncontrollably after the car accident and urgently needs a blood transfusion to save her life, but the hospital’s supply for her blood type is critical.” Ethan’s face was ashen. He started the car and said in a deep voice, “I remember, you’re also AB negative.”

Chloe’s POV The car sped, running several red lights, finally stopping at the city hospital entrance. Ethan pulled me without explanation, heading straight for the emergency blood transfusion unit. “Doctor, I’ve brought her. Give her a transfusion immediately!” The nurse quickly prepared the equipment, motioning for me to sit in the blood collection chair. I looked at the needle and finally spoke. “I had a physical a few days ago, and I haven’t been feeling well recently. My doctor advised me to get more rest and said I wasn’t suitable for blood donation.” Ethan frowned tightly. “It’s just a little blood; it won’t kill you. Serena is in critical condition. You’ll have to bear with it for now.” “A little blood?” I looked up, meeting his gaze calmly. “Are you sure it’s just a little blood? She has a coagulation disorder; she’ll likely need a significant amount.” “Whatever amount can be saved!” Ethan was filled with anxiety and urgency. “Chloe, when did you become so heartless? This is a human life!” I almost scoffed. Heartless? Who was more heartless? “What if I say no?” I asked faintly. Ethan’s eyes instantly turned cold. He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t throw a tantrum now. Donate blood this one time, and I’ll compensate you. You can have anything you want.” “Anything I want?” I repeated. “Yes, anything.” “Okay.” I changed my attitude. “Then I want a three-month extension on the Davis Group’s betting agreement.” Ethan’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me. “Why bring that up suddenly?” “The company project hasn’t been going smoothly lately. I need more time.” I said, “If you agree, I’ll donate blood now.” Ethan was silent for a few seconds, seemingly weighing his options, then finally nodded. “Okay, I agree.” I scoffed inwardly. Sure enough, for Serena, he would agree to any condition. “Then you sign first. I have the agreement all ready.” I slowly took out the agreement from my bag. “Once you sign, I’ll donate blood immediately.” Ethan had always been cautious, meticulously reviewing every contract, big or small, before signing. But today, perhaps anxious to save Serena, he only roughly skimmed the first few pages of this betting extension agreement before signing his name without hesitation. Ethan handed me the signed contract. “Done. Now, donate the blood.” He didn’t know that I had secretly tucked our divorce agreement into this contract beforehand. He had signed not only the betting extension agreement but also our divorce papers. After putting away the contract, I sat in the blood collection chair and extended my arm. The nurse began to draw blood. As the blood slowly flowed from my body, I watched the crimson liquid pass through the tube into the blood bag, and suddenly found the scene utterly absurd. I was his wife, the woman he had meticulously plotted to deceive and relentlessly pursued for three years. But now he needed my blood to save the woman he truly loved. He had played the role of a loving husband for so long in front of me, but with Serena facing life and death, he couldn’t keep up the act any longer. The moment the needle was pulled out, I felt a wave of dizziness. The nurse asked with concern, “Mrs. Kingston, are you alright? Do you need to rest?” I shook my head, pressed the cotton ball to my arm, and stood up. Ethan’s attention was no longer on me; he was anxiously asking the doctor about Serena’s condition. “Don’t worry, Mr. Kingston, Ms. Serena is out of danger. The transfusion was very timely.” The doctor’s words visibly relieved Ethan. Only then did he remember me. He turned to look at me. “I’ll have the driver take you home to rest.” “No need.” I refused curtly. “I can manage myself.” I turned and left, my steps steady, my back straight. Only when I reached outside the hospital and sat in the car did I allow myself to lean back against the seat, close my eyes, and take several deep breaths. The weakness after drawing blood began to set in, but my mind was racing. Three months. I exchanged a blood donation for three months’ time. It wasn’t much, but at least it was a breathing room. I had to find a way to preserve the Davis Group’s assets as much as possible within these three months, to secure a fallback for my father and myself.

Chloe’s POV I contacted my assistant, gave him the signed divorce agreement, and asked him to expedite the process. After that, I drove back to my father’s place. Mr. Davis, my father, had been recuperating at home almost exclusively since his recent critical illness; his health was not what it used to be. “Why are you here?” Mr. Davis looked surprised to see me. “Your complexion looks terrible.” “I have something to tell you.” I sat opposite him. Mr. Davis sensed something serious was amiss and dismissed all the household staff. I handed him a document. Mr. Davis put on his reading glasses and flipped through a few pages, his face growing increasingly grim. “This is…” “This is the betting agreement Ethan made me sign. He tampered with it, intending to swallow the entire Davis Group.” Mr. Davis was utterly shocked. “Why would he do that?” “Because he is the brother of the woman Blake once cheated with.” I said, word for word. “He approached me, married me, all to avenge his sister.” Mr. Davis was struck as if by lightning, looking significantly older in an instant. After a long while, he asked in a trembling voice, “What are you going to do now?” I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “First, you must pretend to know nothing, continue to recuperate, and not let Ethan become suspicious. Second, I will secretly contact a reliable legal team to divest the Davis Group’s core assets as much as possible. Third…” I closed my eyes, then opened them again. “I need to investigate the truth behind his sister’s incident back then.” I never knew that because I exposed the video of Blake cheating with his sister, she actually committed suicide due to depression. I had a feeling something was off about that. “Also, I’ve already figured out a way to divorce him. We can’t stay in this city anymore, or he definitely won’t let us go.” I said seriously, “So, before my birthday, we’ll leave together.” Mr. Davis nodded approvingly. “Okay, I’ll listen to you.” In the following days, I behaved as if everything was normal. I continued to go to the company to handle affairs, continued to attend social events, and continued to play the role of Mrs. Kingston. At the same time, I was also looking for someone to investigate the truth behind Ethan’s sister’s death, and secretly contacting lawyers and accountants to carry out asset transfers and property preservation. Ethan was often not home due to Serena’s injuries, which gave me a lot of room to operate. But I knew Ethan wouldn’t completely let down his guard. Sure enough, that evening at dinner, Ethan casually asked, “What have you been busy with lately? The people at home say you’ve been leaving early and coming home late every day; they rarely see you.” I had already prepared an excuse, responding smoothly, “I’m in talks for an overseas project, so I’ve been quite busy.” “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Is it going smoothly?” “Not very. The other party’s conditions are very harsh, and I’m still considering it.” “Do you need my help?” “No, I can handle it myself.” I looked up and gave him a faint smile. “Didn’t you always say you hoped I could stand on my own?” Ethan gazed at me for a moment, then smiled too. “Yes, my wife is becoming more capable.” His smile was still gentle, but I caught a hint of scrutiny deep within it. I tried my best to maintain a normal, natural demeanor, not letting him see any hint of a clue. After a moment, Ethan seemed to finally dismiss his suspicions and suddenly said, “By the way, Serena has recovered and been discharged. She’s very grateful that you donated blood to save her life that day and said she would like to invite you to dinner tomorrow night to thank you.” He paused, then added, “If you find it troublesome, I can decline for you. After all, you’re not very familiar with her.” I could tell he didn’t want me to have any contact with Serena. He was only relaying Serena’s invitation because she had asked him to. I originally felt there was no need for this dinner. But after a moment’s thought, I smiled and accepted. “No, I should go. Ms. Serena is your friend, and if she has extended such a gracious invitation, I shouldn’t disappoint her.”

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The office door was slightly ajar. I stood there holding the bouquet of bellflowers I had specially arranged for him, my hand raised to knock. Then I heard it. A woman’s soft, breathless voice drifting through the gap. “Ethan… it hurts. Be gentle…” Through the narrow crack in the door, I saw the most bitter thing I had ever witnessed in my life. The man I had been married to for three years, the man who would tear off his own shirt and throw it in the trash if I so much as brushed his sleeve, was holding a woman in a white dress tightly in his arms. He was kissing her. He didn’t stop. “Easy now. It’ll only hurt for a second. You’ll feel better soon.” The bellflowers slipped from my hands. Petals scattered across the floor. He looked up. The moment he recognized me, every trace of warmth drained from his eyes. What replaced it was cold, pure contempt. “Who let you up here?” His first instinct was to straighten the woman’s clothes. I pulled the corners of my mouth into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I’m just a flower delivery girl, right?”

Summer’s POV When the rose thorn pierced my finger, a bright bead of blood surfaced instantly, vivid red against pale skin, impossible to ignore. I didn’t give it much thought. I grabbed a paper towel, pressed it down, and kept working on the enormous floral arch in front of me. Today was the ten-year anniversary gala for Gordon Capital. As New York’s largest investment firm, the celebration was nothing short of lavish. I was a florist here, the one in charge of all the floral arrangements for tonight’s event. I also had a secret identity: the wife of Ethan Gordon, CEO of Gordon Capital. Three years of marriage. Five years of knowing each other. I stared at the lush red roses in front of me and felt my mind drift. For five years, I had spun like a top that never got to stop, always orbiting Ethan. Ethan had severe haphephobia. How severe? He wore gloves whenever he went outside. If anyone touched even the hem of his clothing, he’d strip it off on the spot and throw it away. Three years of marriage. Three years of sleeping in separate rooms. No hugs. No kisses. Certainly nothing more. I had tried not to believe it once. I tried approaching him. I got two weeks of silent treatment in return, plus the sight of him washing his hands until they were raw and peeling. After that, I stopped trying. As long as I could be near him, I told myself a platonic marriage was still something. Still enough. He was cool, untouchable, like a god on a pedestal. And gods were never meant to be stained by ordinary things. “Summer, did the exclusive bouquet for the top-floor executive suite get sent up yet?” My assistant Mia came jogging over. I snapped back to the present and wiped the blood from my fingertip. “I’ll take it up myself.” It was a bouquet of bellflowers I’d put together specifically for Ethan. The meaning of bellflowers: hopeless love. And eternal love. I wanted to give him a surprise on this special day. I took the private elevator to the top floor. The hallway was perfectly quiet. Ethan didn’t like crowds. His floor was always off-limits. I carried the flowers to the slightly open door of the executive suite. I was about to knock when a sound through the gap froze my hand in midair. “Ethan, I’m scared.” The woman’s voice was soft, thick with tears. My heart clenched. I peered through the gap. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, Ethan, who always kept everyone at arm’s length, who would frown if someone even breathed too close, was holding a woman tightly against his chest. She was wearing a white dress, slender and fragile, her whole body buried in him. And Ethan wasn’t wearing his gloves. His long, lean fingers moved slowly through her hair, stroking it over and over again with a gentleness I had never once seen from him. His chin rested on top of her head. His voice was low and soft in a way I didn’t recognize. “Don’t be afraid, Wendy. I’m here. As long as I’m here, no one can touch you.” Wendy Shaw. Something detonated inside my head. Like a bomb going off and leaving nothing behind. Wendy Shaw was Ethan’s first love. The girl he had supposedly loved to his bones, and who had left him behind to study abroad. I had always known that name. But I thought she was the past. Turns out the untouchable god could come down from his pedestal after all. His haphephobia was selective. He was allergic to the entire world. But not to Wendy. I stood outside that door as the blood slowly drained from every part of me. Like something vital was being pulled out all at once. The bellflowers in my arms turned impossibly heavy. I could barely breathe under the weight of them. It hit me then. Every version of myself over the past five years had been a complete joke. I’d folded in every sharp edge I had, terrified of touching him, terrified of annoying him. I’d kept the house spotless every single day. I’d been afraid to even breathe too loudly around him. I had told myself he was just a block of ice that hadn’t thawed yet. But right now, that block of ice was melting, pouring itself out for someone else. The bellflowers fell from my hands. Petals spread across the floor. The small sound was enough. Ethan raised his head. His sharp gaze cut straight to the doorway. The instant he recognized me, every drop of warmth left his eyes. What filled them instead was ice and suspicion. He instinctively moved Wendy behind him, like I was something dangerous. “Who let you up here?” Ethan’s voice was cold enough to cut. I watched that protective gesture. My heart felt like an invisible hand had reached in and crushed it. The pain was so complete I could almost taste blood. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. My throat was too dry. Wendy peered out from behind him, eyes red-rimmed, like a startled doe. “Ethan, who is she…?” “The florist.” He cut her off without a second’s hesitation, his cold gaze fixed on me. “Drop off the flowers and get out. From now on, no one steps onto this floor without my permission.” The florist. I pulled the corners of my mouth up. I was trying to smile. Instead, tears fell first. Three years of marriage, and in his mouth, I was just the flower delivery girl. “Okay.” I heard my own voice, dry and hollow, echo down the hallway. I didn’t pick up the flowers. I didn’t look at either of them again. I turned and walked toward the elevator, one step at a time. Every step felt like walking on the edge of a blade. When the elevator doors closed, I finally gave out. I pressed my back against the cold metal wall and slid to the floor. So that’s how it is. No love means no love. No psychological condition. No haphephobia. The only reason was simple: I wasn’t her.

Summer’s POV By the time the gala ended, it was deep into the night. I was in the flower shop reconciling the last of the accounts when the rain outside picked up. Hard, driving rain. The kind New York gets in late autumn, cold straight through to the bone. A black Maybach pulled up in front of the shop. The window slid down, and there was Ethan: sharp jaw, frost-cut features, expression carved from stone. “Get in.” It was a command. No room for question. I stood under the awning, watching the car through the rain, and didn’t move. In the old days, I would have run to that car without a second thought. Just sitting in the passenger seat, watching him from across the console, that alone would have felt like happiness. Now I just felt tired. “I’ll get a cab.” My voice came out even. Ethan’s brow pulled tight. Impatience flickered across his eyes. “Summer, I don’t have time for this. Get in the car.” I looked at him quietly for a moment. Something about it almost made me laugh. A tantrum? In his mind, I didn’t even have the right to be hurt. Every emotion I had was just making a scene. I opened my umbrella and walked straight to the curb, flagging down a passing cab. Ethan watched the taxi pull away. His expression darkened like a storm rolling in. He pressed the accelerator and followed. By the time I got back to the house, I was soaked through. I walked past Ethan, who was already sitting on the couch radiating cold fury, and went straight upstairs to shower and change. When I came back down, towel-drying my hair, he was standing with a glass of water, watching me with that familiar icy stare. “Would you care to explain that little performance at the office today?” He opened with an attack. His tone carried the weight of someone who’d already decided he was in the right. I paused, then met his eyes. “I’m just the florist. Who exactly do you think I was performing for?” Ethan’s expression shifted. “Wendy just got back. She’s not stable right now. She’s been through trauma. I was only comforting her. Stop making this into something it isn’t.” “Comforting her?” A short, quiet laugh escaped me. Nothing warm in it. “Ethan, weren’t you the one with severe haphephobia? Weren’t you the one who used hand sanitizer three times if I accidentally brushed your sleeve?” Ethan’s face changed. He’d been hit somewhere real. He shot to his feet. “Summer! What exactly are you trying to say?” “I’m saying your condition is apparently very selective.” I held his gaze. Every word deliberate. “You don’t have a problem with being touched. You just find me repulsive. Isn’t that right?” “Shut up!” Ethan’s voice cracked through the room. His chest heaved. “Wendy is different. She’s sick!” “I’m a living person too!” My voice rose to meet his. “Ethan, for five years I treated you like something sacred. You hated mess, so I cleaned this house three times a day. You couldn’t stand being touched, so I made myself small enough that I barely existed near you. I thought you were sick. I felt sorry for you. But you, you gave every last bit of warmth you had to her, and left nothing for me but cold shoulders and locked doors.” The room went dead quiet. Ethan looked at me. “Calm down.” His voice slid back into its usual detachment. “Wendy and I are just friends. If you insist on being this unreasonable about it, I don’t know what to tell you.” He turned and walked into the study. The door clicked shut. I stood there staring at that closed door until the last of my energy drained away. Unreasonable. Five years of my life, and that’s what I got in return. Unreasonable. You can’t wake someone who’s pretending to sleep. And you can’t warm a heart that was never open to you. I turned and went back to my room. It was quiet in there. Sparse. No sign that Ethan had ever set foot inside. He never did. He said I had a smell he couldn’t stand. I sat down at the desk and opened my laptop. I created a new document. The sound of keystrokes was sharp in the silence. Divorce Agreement. I typed the words. My fingertips were trembling slightly. Under the asset division section, I wrote: No claims. I leave with nothing. I hadn’t married him for money. And now that I was letting him go, I didn’t want any of it. The printer whirred. Two thin pages slid out. I picked up a pen. In the space marked Wife’s Signature, I signed my name without hesitating. Every stroke of every letter cut through five years of blind, stubborn hope. Ethan. You’re free now. So am I.

Summer’s POV The next morning I went to the flower shop as usual. When you finally make the decision to let go, even the pain goes quiet. It just goes numb. At ten o’clock, a familiar black sedan pulled up outside. Ethan’s assistant came through the door, looking visibly uncomfortable. “Ma’am…” “Summer is fine.” I cut him off, polite but distant. He cleared his throat and pressed on. “Ms. Summer, Mr. Gordon would like to place an order. The finest Ecuadorian white roses available, delivered to the Champs-Élysées apartment on the south side of town.” The Champs-Élysées apartment. One of Ethan’s properties. My hand paused mid-trim. The pruning shears slipped and caught the webbing between my thumb and forefinger. A thin line of red. White roses. Wendy’s favorite. So he did know how to be romantic after all. He just never aimed any of it in my direction. “Got it.” I blotted the cut with a paper towel and made a note on the order form. “Delivered before two o’clock.” The assistant looked at me like he wanted to say something. In the end, he just exhaled and left. That afternoon, I had a run to a greenhouse out past the city limits, a shipment of rare moth orchids coming in. The greenhouse was hot and thick with humidity. The air smelled like wet soil and blossoms. I was up on a stepladder, carefully transferring a high-shelf orchid down, when the greenhouse door swung open. I turned. Ethan and Wendy walked in side by side. Wendy was in a long floral dress, her hand looped through Ethan’s arm, smiling like a girl who’d fallen completely and willingly in love. “Ethan, the orchids in here are gorgeous. I want a few for my balcony.” Her voice was all soft edges. Ethan let her hold his arm. His expression was something I had never seen him wear for me, easy, indulgent. “Take whichever ones you want.” I stood on the ladder and watched. My stomach turned. I forced my eyes away and went back to moving the planter in my hands. Maybe I shifted too fast. Maybe the rack had been loose for years. The stepladder suddenly swayed. The heavy metal shelving unit beside it lost its balance and started to fall, straight down toward Wendy. Wendy screamed. I didn’t think. My body moved before my brain did. I lunged forward and grabbed for the shelving unit, trying to catch it. I’d overestimated myself. The metal rack came down hard, taking a row of ceramic planters with it. In the same instant, a dark shape threw itself across the room. Ethan grabbed Wendy and pulled her in, taking the impact on his back as they rolled together onto clear ground. And I was left behind entirely. The rack came down on my arm. The force of it knocked me flat. Ceramic pots exploded across the floor. Sharp shards drove into my forearm and shin. Blood came fast. The pain hit like a wave. I gasped. My vision went dark at the edges. I lay face-down in the broken pottery and dirt, and somehow managed to lift my head. A few feet away, Ethan was checking Wendy over frantically, his voice completely undone. “Wendy! Are you hurt? Tell me where it hurts.” Wendy was sheet-white, clutching his shirt, crying. “Ethan, I was so scared. I thought I was going to die…” “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” He held her tightly, whispering it over and over. I lay in the wreckage and watched them. Blood dripped from my arm into the dark soil beneath me, spreading red in a slow, wide ring. My body was in agony. It felt like something had broken. But it wasn’t the worst pain I was feeling. It was like being stabbed with thousands of needles at once, a pain so complete it made even breathing feel like a luxury. “Ethan…” I forced the word out through clenched teeth, barely a sound. Ethan heard it. He turned. He saw me lying in the blood. His eyes widened for just a second. But he didn’t let go of Wendy. Wendy caught sight of me and screamed, pressing deeper into his chest. “Ethan, the blood. There’s so much blood.” Ethan’s jaw locked. He looked at me, covered in blood and soil, and what crossed his face wasn’t concern. It was disgust. “What are you standing around for? Call an ambulance.” He shouted it at the greenhouse owner, then lifted Wendy in his arms and started walking toward the door. When he passed me, he stopped for just a moment. His voice had no warmth at all. “Get yourself a cab to the hospital. You’re covered in blood. You’ll ruin the car. Wendy’s had a shock. I need to take her now.” Then he was gone. I lay on the cold ground and watched him go. And then I started to laugh. The laughter kept going. Tears cut through the mud and blood on my face. You’ll ruin the car. At the moment I was closest to dying, what he was worried about was his upholstery. I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me.

Summer’s POV The hospital smelled like disinfectant. Cold and clean and clinical. I sat on an ER bed and watched the doctor work a pair of forceps through my forearm, pulling out slivers of ceramic one by one. No anesthesia. The doctor said the wound was too deep. Numbing it would compromise the stitches. The forceps dug through torn flesh and I didn’t flinch once. I just stared at the white wall. “Hang in there, sweetheart. Almost done.” The older doctor glanced at me, something like pity on his face. “Where’s your boyfriend? How’d you end up going through this alone?” I turned the corner of my mouth up. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” Just a man who’s about to be my ex-husband. Might as well be a stranger. Twelve stitches. My forearm disappeared under a thick wrapping of gauze. I thanked the doctor and made my way out of the ER, dragging my feet. My shin had been treated too, and every step came with a limp. I was heading to the payment window when I passed the VIP ward. Through a half-open door, I recognized the silhouette. Ethan was sitting beside the hospital bed, holding a small cup of warm water, carefully guiding it to Wendy’s lips. “Slow down. The doctor said you’re fine, just shaken up.” His voice was so gentle it could have melted something. Wendy was propped against the pillows, pale and soft-eyed. “Ethan, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with all this because of me. Is Summer okay? She was right there when the rack fell.” Ethan’s hand paused. Something went cold in his expression. “Don’t worry about her. She’s tougher than she looks. You, on the other hand, stay away from places like that from now on.” Tougher than she looks. I stood outside the door and listened to those four words and felt something inside me being sawed apart very slowly. I looked down at the gauze around my arm. Then I pushed the door open and walked in. The room went quiet. Ethan looked up. His expression collapsed into a tight scowl. “What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to go take care of yourself? Why are you in here bothering us?” He didn’t ask how I was. Not once. I didn’t answer him. I walked unevenly to the bedside, reached into my bag with my good hand, and pulled out two neatly folded sheets of paper. I held them out to him. “What is that?” He didn’t take them. Just looked at them with barely-contained impatience. “Divorce papers,” I said evenly. “I’ve already signed. Take a look, and if everything’s fine, sign yours.” The room went still as a held breath. Wendy’s hand flew to her mouth. But behind the shock in her eyes, there was something else, a flash of something she couldn’t quite hide. Relief. Ethan stared at me. “Summer. What is this, another scene?” He stood up and knocked the papers out of my hand. “Wendy is in the hospital. You’re really going to do this right now?” The pages drifted to the floor. I looked at the anger on his face, and found it almost funny. I bent down slowly, one-handed, and picked them up. Then I held them out again. “I’m completely calm, Ethan. I’ve been tired for a long time. I don’t want to keep pretending anymore.” “You don’t want me near you. You can’t stand to be touched. Fine. I’m stepping aside. You can have the life you actually want. So what’s the problem?” Ethan stared at me, something dangerous in his eyes. Then he laughed, short and sharp, and snatched the papers from my hand. He didn’t read a word of it. He pulled a pen from his pocket and signed his name in the husband’s signature line. He pressed hard. Like he wanted to go through the page. “Take your papers and get out.” He threw them at me. I caught them. I looked at his signature. And whatever last small light had been living somewhere in my chest went out completely. I turned around. I walked out on my injured leg, one step at a time. Behind me, I heard Ethan’s voice, certain, almost bored. “Don’t worry about her. She just wants money. She’ll be back in a few days.” But he didn’t know. Some walks away are forever.

Summer’s POV I didn’t go back to the flower shop after leaving the hospital. I went straight to the house where I had lived for three years. It was big and empty and had never felt like a home. The whole place ran cold. I pushed the door open and stood there looking at the living room, all black and white and grey, minimalist to the point of sterility, and felt suddenly like I couldn’t breathe. For three years, I’d tried to make this place feel like home. I’d brought in warm-toned throw pillows, a hand-woven rug, a dozen different green plants full of life. Ethan had taken one look and said it annoyed him. He had the housekeeper throw everything away. I was the clown in a beautiful cage, performing a one-woman show for an audience that had already left. I went to the guest room, pulled out a large suitcase, and started packing. There wasn’t much, honestly. The card Ethan had given me access to over these three years, I had barely touched it. My clothes were all simple, comfortable, cheap. Once I had packed my things, I walked into Ethan’s study. In the corner there was a large storage box. It was full of five years’ worth of gifts I had given him. A cashmere scarf I had knitted by hand. He said the fibers irritated him. Never wore it once. A limited-edition pen I had had a friend bring back from overseas. He said the grip felt wrong. Tossed it aside. A three-dimensional architectural model I’d stayed up for several nights building piece by piece. It was covered in dust. I stood there looking at it all and smiled a little. I found some large black trash bags and started putting everything in. One by one, every last thing I’d given him with everything I had. No hesitation. No grief. I was about to drag the bags downstairs when the front door opened. Ethan walked in, expression dark. He stopped when he saw me, suitcase at my feet, trash bags in both hands. “What are you doing?” His eyes landed on the luggage. “Moving out,” I said flatly. “We signed the papers. There’s no reason for me to stay.” Ethan crossed the room in a few quick strides and tore open one of the black bags. Things spilled across the floor. “Why are you throwing all of this away?” “It’s clutter. And you love things clean, don’t you? I’m just helping.” My tone was mild. Ethan’s gaze swept over the pile. And then something shifted in his face. He dropped to his knees and started digging through the trash bag frantically. His pristine suit jacket picked up dust and grime. Those hands of his, the ones he sanitized if anyone so much as breathed on them, were plunging into garbage without a second thought. “Where is it? Where’s the box?” His voice was fast, edged with something almost panicked. I watched him lose it. I didn’t move. Then he shot to his feet, eyes bloodshot, locked on me. “The pen Wendy gave me. Where is it? What did you do with it?” I went still for a moment. Then I remembered. An ordinary Parker pen, the barrel slightly chipped. Wendy had given it to him before she left for abroad. Ethan had kept it in his desk drawer like it was a relic. He wasn’t looking for anything I’d given him. He was looking for her broken little keepsake. “I didn’t touch it.” I almost wanted to laugh. “Maybe the housekeeper threw it out by mistake.” “You’re lying!” He completely snapped. He closed the distance between us in two steps, grabbed my wrist and caught the injured arm. I sucked in a sharp breath. The color left my face instantly. The wound split open. Blood soaked through the white gauze. “Let go! I told you I didn’t touch it!” I pulled hard. Ethan looked at the blood spreading through the bandage. And didn’t let go. He actually laughed. “Save the act, Summer. You make me sick.” He shoved me away. I couldn’t catch my balance. I stumbled back into the display shelf behind me. The shelf shook hard. Something on the top fell. It hit the floor with a clean, sharp crack. Everything stopped. I forgot about my arm. I stared at what was on the floor. Broken glass. And inside the ruins of it, a single dried rose. My grandmother had made it for me. Before she died, she spent her last good days building that glass dome by hand, a preserved red rose inside. Her final gift to me. Her blessing. It was the most precious thing I owned in the world. And now it was gone. Glass and dried petals mixed together on the floor, the same way my five years of love had been crushed and scattered without a second thought. Ethan blinked. Then his expression hardened. “It’s just a glass case. It broke. I’ll have my assistant order you ten more tomorrow. Now tell me where Wendy’s pen is.” I got up slowly from the floor. I didn’t look at him. I crouched down and started picking up the pieces with my good hand. The glass cut my fingers. Blood dripped onto the withered rose petals. It was almost too vivid to look at. “Ethan.” I didn’t raise my head. “We’re done now.” You broke what mattered most to me. I don’t owe you anything anymore. I stood up, picked up my suitcase, and walked out into the rainy night without looking back.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “415476”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Eight months into my pregnancy, Jason’s first love, Mia, shot me in the stomach. Blood spread from beneath me. Jason called in the best doctors he knew. The anesthesia had barely worn off when I struggled to sit up — and caught the tail end of his conversation with the doctor. “Captain Jason! Caitlin is hemorrhaging. She needs surgery now!” Jason glanced over at me, barely conscious, and spoke in a voice that was completely calm. “Caitlin’s organs weren’t hit. She’s not in immediate danger. Mia is injured — she has a congenital clotting disorder. Even a minor scrape could be fatal for her. Her case is more urgent.” He gave the order on the spot. Every unit of blood reserved for my delivery was transferred to his first love, Mia. On the edge of death, I used the last of my strength to grab the hem of his jacket. He frowned down at me, his voice cold. “Mia has depression. She was in the middle of an episode. You studied medicine — you know she didn’t mean it.” Then he pulled out a pre-written liability waiver, seized my blood-soaked hand, and pressed my fingerprint onto the signature line by force. “Hang on a little longer. I’ll have the doctors take care of you after.” The moment the words left his mouth, he gathered Mia in his arms and walked out of the operating room. The empty hallway filled with nothing but cold wind. No one looked back. The baby inside me kept kicking. Once. Then again. —

“Move! Get two IV lines in, pressure infusion — get on the phone with the blood bank!” “Doctor, the patient’s blood pressure just dropped to fifty. Blood loss is over two thousand milliliters!” “Where are those two units of packed red cells we had on reserve?” I drifted above the operating room, watching a team of people work frantically around my body. Dr. Brown’s surgical gown was soaked through with my blood. I tried to touch my stomach. My hand passed through the air. Mia’s shot was nothing like the graze Jason thought it was. She had timed it between the nurse’s rounds and slipped the handgun into her sleeve. After pulling the trigger, she pressed her lips to my ear and whispered: “Once you and the baby are gone, Jason will only have me.” “The blood bank just called back. Those two reserve units — Captain Jason signed them out five minutes ago.” The nurse’s voice cracked. “Signed them out? Is he out of his mind? That blood is for a high-risk delivery!” The veins on the back of Dr. Brown’s hand stood out sharp against his skin. “Captain Jason said Miss Mia has a severe clotting disorder. A scrape on her arm. He said she needed the blood as an emergency precaution.” The operating room went still. Only the monitor kept screaming. I watched Dr. Brown pack gauze in desperately, trying to find the bleeding. I wanted to tell him: “Don’t bother.” I never got the next shipment of blood Jason had promised. The fetal heartbeat on the monitor slowed from frantic — to sluggish — to a single, unbroken tone. The baby who had been kicking me just minutes ago went completely quiet. “Fetal heart rate: absent.” “Patient in ventricular fibrillation — prepare to defibrillate!” “Two hundred joules. Charging. Clear.” A heavy thud. My body jolted off the table, then dropped back down. The ECG line flickered a few times, then went flat. “Captain Jason said the next blood shipment from the city blood bank is ten minutes out.” The head nurse pushed open the door, eyes red. Dr. Brown set down the defibrillator. His voice came out barely recognizable. “We won’t need it. Time of death: 8:07 PM.” I watched a nurse lift the white sheet and draw it over my face, covering the eyes that would not close. Just on the other side of the wall, in the VIP room, Jason was dabbing antiseptic on the scrape at Mia’s elbow. “Jason — did I kill someone?” Mia curled up on the hospital bed, shoulders trembling. Jason tossed the cotton swab into the waste bin, his voice steady. “No. She just had a surface wound. You were in an episode — you couldn’t control yourself. There’s no legal liability.” “But she bled so much. The way she looked at me was terrifying.” “That was amniotic fluid mixed with blood. It looked worse than it was. She has a medical background — she knew how to avoid the vital areas.” Jason leaned down and blew gently on Mia’s arm, which had already stopped bleeding. “You’re the one I’m worried about. You know your clotting is bad — why were you running around? What if that scrape hadn’t stopped?” Mia leaned into his chest, her tears soaking into his jacket. On the hem of that jacket, the bloody handprint I had left in my last moments was still there. “I was scared that once the baby came, you wouldn’t want me anymore. I couldn’t stop myself.” “Don’t think like that.” Jason ran his hand over her hair. “I already had her put her fingerprint on the waiver. Once she delivers and her emotions settle down, I’ll have her come tell you herself that everything’s fine.” He spoke as though he were scheduling a meeting for the next morning. The door to the trauma room swung open. Dr. Brown pulled off his blood-covered mask, his voice scraped hollow. “We lost them both. The mother and the baby.” And in the room next door, Jason was still bent over Mia, gently blowing on that shallow little scrape on her elbow. —

“Captain Jason, the emergency record from the maternity ward needs your signature.” Nurse Maggie stood at the door of the VIP room, clipboard in hand. Jason tested the temperature of a cup of water and handed it to Mia. He didn’t turn around. “Just leave it at the nurses’ station. Can’t you see Miss Mia needs someone with her right now?” “But sir, this record is different — it’s about last night’s patient, the one who—” “Different how? The maternity ward has emergencies every day.” Jason cut her off. Then he tore a tissue from the box and wiped a drop of water from the corner of Mia’s mouth. “I was up all night with Mia. I don’t have the energy for anything else right now. Have the deputy director sign it.” Maggie opened her mouth. Her eyes went red. She clutched the clipboard and said nothing. She turned and left. I followed her out and watched her slide my death record into a drawer. The little pink ID anklet — the one that never got put on — went in with it, tucked into my patient file. The morgue was so cold. I lay in the refrigerated drawer beside my baby, whose eyes had never opened. No one had come to claim us. All I could do was drift back to Jason’s side. Mia finished her water and reached out to tug at Jason’s sleeve. “Jason, the way she looked at me last night — it was so hostile. Like she wanted to kill me.” “Is she still angry with me? Is she hiding somewhere on purpose to avoid you?” Jason pulled out his phone and looked at our empty Instagram chat. His brow creased slightly. Normally, if he was gone for more than two hours, my messages would come in one after another. Asking when he’d be home. Asking whether Mia was having another episode. But from last night until now, there was nothing. “She’s just stubborn. She thinks I favor you, so she’s pouting.” Jason’s long fingers tapped against the screen. I drifted closer and read what he’d typed. “When you’re done throwing your fit, respond. Mia’s been through enough. Stop making it worse for her.” “The baby isn’t a bargaining chip. Did you really think going silent would make me cave?” He hit send and locked the screen. Mia watched him, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her eyes. She bit her lip, and the tears started again. “What if she calls the police and has me arrested? I’m so scared.” Jason pulled out the copy of the liability waiver. “With this, she can’t touch you legally. And she’s a military doctor — she knows when to let things go.” “Once she cools down, I’ll have her apologize to you. She did provoke you last night, after all.” I watched him quietly. Listened to him use his most measured voice to pass judgment on a dead woman. Two nurses walked past in the hallway, speaking in low voices. “That poor woman last night — she just bled out completely.” “I know. And the baby didn’t make it either. A little girl, they said. Fully formed.” Jason’s hand paused on his water cup. He suddenly remembered — today was my due date. He stood up, a strange heaviness settling in his chest. “I’m going to check on the maternity ward.” He’d barely taken a step when Mia suddenly grabbed her arm and screamed. “It hurts! Jason, I’m so dizzy — am I bleeding again?” Jason turned immediately and sat back down beside her, pressing his hand over hers. A nurse murmured nearby: “That woman who died last night — the name on the baby’s ID anklet, listed as the father… it was Jason, wasn’t it?” Jason had just started to turn when Mia let out a sharp cry and threw herself against his chest. —

When Jason got home, the small nightlight in the nursery was still on. Soft light fell across the brand-new crib, made up with sheets I had washed and dried myself. The hospital bag sat open on the couch, folded with tiny onesies and diapers. My prenatal file was still on the entryway shelf. A sticky note was pinned to the kitchen table — a list of postpartum meals I had written out in advance. Jason changed his shoes and stood in the silence of the apartment, frowning. He probably expected to find me on the couch waiting for him, eyes red, demanding to know why he had saved Mia first. But the only sound in the apartment was the ticking of the wall clock. He walked to the kitchen table and picked up the sticky note. On the back, in my handwriting, was an emergency birth plan. “If I hemorrhage, please prioritize saving the baby.” “If I don’t make it off the table, please tell Jason — don’t let Mia anywhere near our child.” Jason let out a cold laugh, crumpled the note, and dropped it in the trash. “Always with the dramatic threats.” He took out his phone and tried my number again. A recorded voice told him it was out of service. He opened Instagram and typed hard. “You’ve made your point. Come home. The due date is any day now — don’t do this with your body.” “I handled the situation with Mia. She’s just a patient. Let it go.” “Once the baby’s here, you can take your maternity leave at home. Actually, it would be a good time to spend some time with Mia — help her with some of her anxiety.” He sent the messages. No response. Jason tossed his phone on the couch and pressed his fingers to his temple. His other phone rang. The caller ID showed Dr. Helen — my mentor from medical school, the woman who had always treated me like a daughter. Jason answered and slipped back into his usual formal tone. “Dr. Helen. What can I do for you?” “Jason, where are you right now?” Dr. Helen’s voice was shaking. She was holding something back. Jason glanced at the crumpled note in the trash and assumed I had put her up to this. “I’m home. If she sent you to plead her case, there’s no need.” “If she wants me to come to her, she can walk back here herself. She’s about to be a mother — she’s too old for this kind of thing.” A sharp intake of breath on the other end. “Too old for this? Jason, do you have any idea what happened last night?” “Of course I do.” His voice dropped. “Mia had an episode and accidentally hurt her. I made sure Mia apologized. What more does she want?” “If she feels wronged, I’ll buy her that jewelry set she’s been looking at once the baby’s born. Consider it made up.” “You have no heart.” Dr. Helen’s voice broke into a shout. “I look the other way when you favor that woman — fine. But last night was her due date! You—” Before she could finish, Jason’s second phone lit up. A video call from Mia. Jason didn’t hesitate. He ended Dr. Helen’s call and switched over. Mia’s face filled the screen, streaked with tears. “Jason, come quick! I dreamed about her!” “She had a knife — she said she was going to kill me! I’m so scared!” Jason was already on his feet, keys in hand. “Don’t be scared. I’m on my way.” At the door, his eyes landed on a small velvet box, wrapped neatly on the side table. He had picked it up the week before at a medical conference — a sterling silver baby bracelet, an impulse buy. Engraved on it was the nickname he’d offhandedly chosen: “Annie.” He had probably meant it as a peace offering for after the delivery. He dropped it in his pocket and pulled the door shut behind him. By the time Jason reached the hospital room, Mia was pressed into the corner of the bed, pointing at the window and screaming. “She’s here! She’s holding the baby and she came for me!” —

The curtains were drawn shut. On the nightstand, her phone looped the sound of a fetal heart monitor alarm on repeat. Scattered across the floor were several torn ultrasound photos — the ones I had waited alone in line for, at six months. Mia pressed her hands over her ears and thrashed across the bed. “It’s her! She texted me a curse!” “She said she and the baby are never going to let me go. She said she’s dragging me to hell with her!” Jason crossed the room in a few long strides and pulled her tight against him. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just in your head.” “It’s not in my head! Look at the phone!” Mia’s hand shook as she pointed to the floor. Jason picked it up. On the screen was a text from an unknown number. “You took my husband. Me and my baby will haunt you.” Jason’s expression darkened instantly. He knew that tone too well. When I’d been pushed to the edge, I had used that same desperate register before. “She’s lost her mind.” He said it through his teeth, eyes full of disappointment. “Scaring a sick person with the baby — is this what kind of doctor she is?” I hung in the air above them and watched Mia bury her face against his chest, the corner of her mouth curling into a quiet smile. She knew, of course. She had known since last night that I was dead. When she fired the shot, her eyes had been frighteningly clear. She had even pressed the gun handle into my hand afterward, calm and deliberate, staging the scene to look like a struggle. And now, using a dead woman’s name, she was still playing the victim in front of Jason. Jason raised his phone and dialed the medical administration office. “Dr. Carter, it’s me. About Caitlin’s fellowship placement next year — put it on hold for now.” “She’s been emotionally unstable throughout the pregnancy. Paranoid tendencies, signs of aggression. She’s not in a position to work with patients.” “Yes. I’ll submit a psychiatric evaluation form.” In a few sentences, he had erased three years of my work and labeled me mentally unfit. He hung up, then sent me an ultimatum. “You have ten minutes to get to the hospital and apologize to Mia in person.” “Otherwise, after the baby’s born, I’m not letting you behave like this anymore. I’ll pull you from the military hospital and have you stay home with the baby.” Message delivered. No response. Mia clutched his sleeve, crying so hard she could barely breathe. “Jason, I’m never going to have children. Why would she use the baby to hurt me like this?” Jason looked at her pale face, and something flickered across his eyes — a trace of guilt. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the velvet box he had meant to give me. It clicked open. The silver bracelet caught the light. The name “Annie” engraved on it looked suddenly unbearable. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going anywhere.” Jason took Mia’s hand and placed the bracelet — the one that belonged to my daughter — into her palm. “This is for you. Call it her way of making it up to you.” Mia’s tears gave way to a soft smile as she closed her fingers around it. Then a crash shook the room. The door slammed open from the outside. Dr. Helen stood in the doorway, out of breath, hair loose, eyes so red they looked raw. She stormed across the room and swung her hand hard across Jason’s face. The crack of the slap rang through the hospital room. Dr. Helen’s voice broke as she said it: “Caitlin and the baby are dead — and you’re giving her daughter’s bracelet to the woman who killed her?”

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When my fiancé Ethan was picking out wedding jewelry, he bought two pieces — and let my sister Ava choose first. One was a pink diamond necklace he’d tracked down across three cities, paying a fortune at auction. The other was a cheap black brooch that came free with the necklace. It clashed completely with my wedding dress. For once, I pointed at the necklace. “This time — can I choose first?” Ethan ruffled my hair. “Ava’s always been picky. She has to have the best of everything. You’re not like that — whatever’s left is still fine.” I didn’t respond. I just felt hollow inside. Twenty years of growing up side by side with Ethan, and in his eyes, I would always be the one picking up what Ava left behind. Eventually, even love was no different. He’d had feelings for Ava. But Ava chose to chase her career. Heartbroken, Ethan turned to me and confessed. I stared at that black brooch, and suddenly reached out and gave it a small push. “Keep both. I don’t want to choose.” I was done choosing leftovers.

Ethan let out a helpless sigh. “Olivia, this brooch could never suit Ava.” I looked at him steadily. “Then why does it suit me?” Ethan froze for a moment, then smiled. “When you two were little and stood next to each other, everyone said you looked like her scrawny little sidekick.” “Pink diamonds aren’t your style. Black is good — understated, suits anyone.” Sidekick. Ava and I were twins. But I couldn’t match her in a single thing. At school, Ava was always number one. I’d pull all-nighters until my eyes were red, and still only hovered somewhere in the middle. Mom would press a finger to my forehead and sigh. “Same womb, same family — how are you this slow? Oh well. One smart kid is enough.” I trailed behind Ava everywhere. Carrying her bag, peeling her fruit. Ten years of being called her sidekick. I’d told Ethan more than once that I hated that nickname. He kept using it anyway. I looked at him calmly. “Ethan, let’s break up.” Ethan stared at me, laughing like he was humoring a child. “Alright, if you don’t like the brooch, just pick something else. You don’t need to say things like that.” “We’ll go to the mall right now. You pick until you’re happy. Deal?” Ava slid the pink diamond necklace across the table toward me. “Olivia, take my necklace. You’re practically married — you’re an adult now. Stop acting out.” But Ethan stopped her. “That one was specially picked for you. It wouldn’t suit Olivia — it’d be wasted on her.” So it wasn’t a choice at all. He’d always intended it for Ava. Ethan put his arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the door. But the moment we reached the ground floor of the mall, Ava said she wanted to check out a new perfume. Ethan nodded immediately. “Then we’ll go with Ava first. We can pick your gift after. There’s no rush.” Again. Ava spent a long time at the counter, testing different scents. She narrowed it down to two and couldn’t decide. Ethan noticed her hesitation. “Just get both. You pick one to use now, and the other one goes to Olivia. When you want it back, just swap with her.” He paid, then turned and handed a bottle to me. “See? Now you don’t even have to choose your own gift. Ava has great taste. You should be happy.” I didn’t take it. I stared at that bottle and almost laughed. Wasn’t I supposed to be choosing for myself today? “I’m going back to your place to get my things. I won’t be coming back after this.” Ethan’s hand froze mid-air. For the first time, he looked genuinely serious. “Olivia, stop this.” That same evening, he called my parents over. Mom walked in and immediately went for my temples with her finger. “Are you out of your mind? Breaking up? Over what?” “You tell me — what do you think you have that’s good enough for Ethan? You’re average-looking, you’re not the sharpest. If Ava weren’t busy with her career, you think you’d even be in the picture?” My temples throbbed with every word. I’d heard all of this so many times. Not a single word was new. I was slow. I was plain. I wasn’t Ava. Ethan stepped in front of me then, smiling, smoothing things over. “Don’t say that. Olivia is the sweetest — she’s more than good enough for me.” Mom immediately turned to Ethan with an approving look. “See? He’s defending you. Where are you going to find someone like him again?” “If you break up with him, don’t bother coming home.” Right. Such a wonderful man. I should be grateful. I breathed in slowly. “Okay.” Everyone let out a quiet breath of relief, like a difficult child had finally come to her senses. I went to my room. I called my friend and let the tears fall without a sound. “Lily, is there still room for me at that pottery studio?” On the other end, she was careful with her words. “Aren’t you about to get married? Will your family even let you go?” I looked out at the dark night beyond the window, and a small smile crossed my face. “Lily — what would you say if I told you I was going to skip the wedding?”

Lily couldn’t believe it. In her eyes, I was the good girl — obedient, easygoing, never pushed back. Eloping was the last thing she’d expect from me. But if I wasn’t good, no one would love me. Growing up, Ava blazed with a light that made everyone run toward her. I stretched onto my toes as hard as I could. Being obedient, being agreeable — that was the only way to make Ethan and my parents notice me at all. But I was tired of being good. The next day, Ethan took me to see how the new house was coming along. I moved toward the passenger seat, but he pulled me back. “That’s Ava’s seat.” Ava had just come in. Ethan stepped around me and opened the passenger door for her. “Ava’s thinking about buying a place too — might as well check this one out.” I sat down in the back without a word. “Sure.” It was a small standalone house. The moment Ava stepped into the master bedroom, her eyes lit up. “The light in here is amazing. The humidity is just right — perfect for the bacterial cultures I’m growing for my research.” Ethan stood beside her. “If you like it, this room’s yours whenever you want to stay.” “I’ll get our best designer in to set it up for you.” I stood in the doorway. When we were choosing this house — from the location to the layout to every design detail — Ethan had never once got involved. He always said, “It’s just a house. As long as it works, it works.” But now he stood shoulder to shoulder with Ava in front of the window, talking about how to redesign the room. Like a couple planning their own home together. Ava turned and gave me a playful look. “Olivia, would you mind if I took this room?” I looked at Ethan. “Do you remember this is the main bedroom? The one we set aside for the two of us?” Ethan’s expression was unbothered. “A bedroom label doesn’t mean anything. It’s not a lab experiment that needs special conditions. Pick another one.” I unclenched my hand — the one I’d been digging my nails into. “You’re my sister. Stay in whatever room you want.” Ethan patted my head. “That’s my girl.” After the house visit, we got a call from the bridal boutique. The three gowns for the wedding had been finalized. Ava linked her arm through mine. “Olivia, let me come help you choose.” It really did look like something a caring older sister would do. But while I was trying on the gowns, she got a phone call and came back with a pained expression. “There’s been a problem with the dress I was supposed to wear to an important event tonight. I can’t find anything suitable on such short notice…” Ethan’s eyes swept the boutique. “Then find something here.” Nothing caught his eye — until he looked at what I was wearing. “Ava’s fair-skinned. This one would look great on her. Why don’t you let your sister have this one?” The stylist stepped in on my behalf. “Sir, Olivia came in over thirty times for this dress. She designed it herself, made sketch after sketch to get every detail right. It was custom-made specifically for her.” “Besides — you can’t just lend out a wedding gown.” Ethan glanced at me like it was a perfectly reasonable request. To him, it probably wasn’t even a question. But strangely, my chest didn’t hurt the way I expected it to. I stepped out of the gown and handed it to Ava. “It’s fine. You’ll look beautiful in it.” Ethan looked mildly surprised for a moment, then softened. “Olivia, you’re so sweet. Come on, I’ll take you to find something even better.” But his eyes were already fixed on Ava in my dress. He knelt down and carefully smoothed out every fold of the skirt around her feet. I had imagined this scene once. I’d come to this boutique over thirty times. He had come with me exactly once. The stylist smiled and said something about how romantic it was to have your partner fix your dress for you. He hadn’t even looked up. He’d said: “That’s not romance, that’s fuss. They’re being paid to do exactly that.” Now I watched his back as he knelt at Ava’s feet, and I finally understood the price of that fantasy. Everyone had always liked Ava more. My parents. Ethan. Everyone. And still, I couldn’t stop loving him. Because there was only him — when Mom and Dad would grab my ear and call me slow, say I didn’t seem like their child at all — who would quietly slip a strawberry candy into my hand. “Being a little slow is kind of cute, you know.” I kept that love folded up somewhere small. Until the day he told Ava how he felt, and Ava said her heart only had room for her work. He was lost after that. Then he turned and confessed to me. I knew it was out of heartbreak. I said yes anyway. I put aside what I actually loved — art — and stayed by his side as his assistant. I taught myself to read dense data sets and technical reports the way Ava could. But I could never become Ava. And he would never love me the way he loved her. My phone buzzed. The pottery studio is all set up. When are you coming? Ava had already changed out of the dress. Ethan picked up a black gown from the rack without much thought and held it out to me. “Olivia, just grab one — we’re keeping Ava waiting.” “This one’s fine. Simple, classic. Very you.” Black again. My least favorite color. I looked down and typed back a reply. Wedding day. I said I was going to skip it. I meant it.

That night, when we all went to my parents’ house for dinner, I suddenly remembered — today was mine and Ava’s birthday. The cake had been chosen by Ethan. “You two share the same birthday. One cake does the job. So much easier.” It was a beautiful cake. But when I looked closer, I could see thick slices of mango tucked between the layers. Ava loved mango. I was allergic to it. Nobody seemed to notice anything wrong. Ethan was busy with the candles. He placed the birthday crown on Ava’s head. “Ava, make your wish first.” I sat looking at that mango cake, looking at the crown on Ava’s head, looking at the warmth on Ethan’s face — and something in me snapped loose. “Ethan.” “You always buy two of everything. How come there’s only one cake?” “And why is it always me who goes last?” The room went quiet for a moment. Ethan frowned slightly. “It’s been like this for years. What’s gotten into you tonight?” Mom shot me a look. “She’s Ava. And Ava is better than you in every way — of course she goes first. If you were half as capable as her, I’d let you blow them out first.” The words dried up in my mouth. Ava began to make her wish. The whole family gathered around her and sang. By the time it was my turn, the candles had burned almost all the way down. Ethan glanced over. “There aren’t any extras. A birthday wish is just a birthday wish — you can make yours next year, it’ll be the same thing.” Twenty years. Every year, next year. And next year never came. Do children who aren’t exceptional really not deserve to be loved? I sat quietly while they cut the cake, my mind drifting somewhere far away. Somehow the conversation turned to the wedding. Mom looked up and asked me: “How are the reception arrangements going?” I opened my mouth to answer, but she had already turned to Ethan. “Actually — Ethan, most of the guests on your side are from business circles, right?” “Ava’s new research product just launched. The wedding reception would actually be the perfect place to introduce it.” Ethan didn’t even hesitate. He smiled and nodded. “Sure, no problem. We can cut the part where the MC talks about our love story — have Ava present instead.” Ava smiled and said, “We don’t have to cut it. I’ll just say a few words. I don’t want to take over Olivia’s wedding.” Ethan looked at her seriously. “No, if we’re doing it, we do it properly. Don’t worry about that — I’ll take care of everything.” The three of them talked excitedly — where to set up the display table, when she should take the stage, whether they needed a banner. It was supposed to be my wedding. And it was turning into a product launch. Not once did anyone ask what I thought. It didn’t matter. The wedding wasn’t going to happen anyway. I couldn’t breathe in that room. I slipped back to my old bedroom. Out in the living room, Ethan and my parents were gathered around the TV. Ava was competing in a national competition tonight. The results were being announced live. Everyone stared at the screen, too tense to speak. I moved through the old house, quietly collecting my things. There wasn’t much to take. I only wanted one thing — a sketchbook buried in the back of the drawer. Drawings I’d made as a kid. Then the result came in. Ava won first place. The living room erupted. I heard cheers, applause, screaming. Then I heard Ava’s voice, a little playful, a little wistful. “The awards ceremony is on the same day as Olivia’s wedding. You won’t be able to come with me. Such an important moment — and I’ll be there alone.”

A second of silence in the living room. Then Ethan’s voice. “You won’t be alone.” A knock at my door. Ethan stood in the doorway, his tone careful. “Olivia — an award like this only comes once in a lifetime for Ava. It really is a big deal.” “What if we moved our wedding to the evening?” I almost wanted to laugh. As if a wedding only comes around more than once. One of the housekeepers muttered under her breath: “Who has a wedding in the evening?” Mom immediately snapped at her. “Don’t talk nonsense. And you — don’t go believing old superstitions like that.” Ethan looked at me with that soft, certain expression. “Olivia — what do you say? You’ve always been the understanding one.” I looked at him. And I thought of something from a long time ago. I had won a small art competition — the first time I’d ever placed. I was so proud, I counted the days until my parents could come see me collect the award. They told me Ava’s speech competition was more important, and went there instead. Ethan saw how crushed I was. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there. I promise.” But in the end, he went to Ava’s competition too. I stood on that stage alone. In the audience, every face belonged to someone else’s family, and the applause belonged to someone else. And here I was, still alone. “Fine. Move it to the evening. I don’t mind.” There was no point. A wedding without its real center — it didn’t matter when it was held. The moment they had their answer, the celebration started back up. Laughter rolled through the living room, one wave after another. By the end of the night, Ethan had drunk too much. They say people tell the truth when they’re drunk. I looked at his unfocused eyes and, before I could stop myself, I asked: “Ethan — are you looking forward to our wedding?” He didn’t answer. The wind passed between us, cold and thin. “Then why did you confess to me? Why did you ask me to be with you?” I knew the answer. I needed to hear him say it. His voice came out thick and blurred. “In this life… you aim for the top, and you settle for the middle. Finding someone five percent like her… that’s already the best I could do.” “And you’re her sister. Being with you, I still get to be close to her…” The wind stung my eyes. I didn’t know when the tears had run out. There were none left. The truth was crueler than I had imagined. The morning of the wedding. Before dawn, the whole house was in motion — but not for my wedding. Everyone was choosing outfits, doing hair and makeup, mapping out the route to Ava’s awards ceremony. I came out of my room, fully dressed and ready. “I’ll skip the ceremony. I need to get to the venue and make sure everything’s in order.” Ethan didn’t look up. He was helping Ava run through a last-minute checklist. “Okay, go ahead. Don’t keep the guests waiting.” I picked up a small bag and walked out the front door. Then I headed to the airport. As the car pulled away, I caught a glimpse in the rearview mirror — Ethan’s car, the whole family climbing in, laughing, heading off toward Ava’s ceremony. The awards show ran four hours. Four hours later, I landed in Millhaven. My phone buzzed. A message from Ethan. Olivia — the wedding’s in the evening anyway. Skip the reception prep for now. I’ll be there later. Ava needs me here. Go wait at the hotel. Be good. I stared at those words for a long time. Then I blocked his number and locked my phone. Lily wrapped her arms around me. “Let’s go.” Meanwhile, back at the venue. By the time Ethan’s group finally arrived, the wedding hall was chaos. A friend grabbed his arm. “Wasn’t the bride supposed to be here already? Where is she?” Ethan went still. The wedding coordinator spotted the groom and rushed over. “Mr. Carter — we’ve been trying to reach the bride all evening. She’s not picking up. We can’t get hold of her.”

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