My wife, Chloe, didn’t believe I was severely allergic to penicillin. She purposely mixed it into my IV drip when I was sick at home, claiming I had been faking it for two years just for attention, and it was time to “cure” me. By the time the IV finished, I broke out in severe hives. My throat began to close up. I frantically grabbed my emergency allergy medication, only to pop the cap and find it entirely filled with breath mints. “I threw all the pills away,” Chloe said casually. “Adam has low blood sugar. He needs to carry candy with him everywhere, and I didn’t have another bottle.” I clutched my chest, gasping for air. “That was my emergency EpiPen medication! You couldn’t just buy him a tin of mints at the gas station?!” Chloe remained completely unfazed. She grabbed her car keys and headed for the door. “Adam is my stepbrother. Stop being so jealous of him. Keep this up, and one day you’re actually going to have an allergic reaction and die without anyone knowing why.” I grabbed her arm, begging her to drive me to the ER. She violently yanked her arm away and slammed the front door behind her. I slumped against the wall, sliding slowly to the floor. … My face and throat were swelling rapidly. My breathing grew shallow and erratic. I was panicking, unable to force a word out. These were the textbook precursors to anaphylactic shock. My mother-in-law sat nearby, cracking pistachio shells with a look of pure disgust. “Ethan, honestly. I don’t know what your problem is. Adam and Chloe might be distant cousins, but they grew up together. They’re practically siblings. What kind of grown man competes with his wife’s little brother?” I had already scratched my arms until they bled. Panting heavily, I forced the words out with everything I had. “Mom… anaphylaxis can kill… please… call an ambulance…” Instead, my mother-in-law turned and walked into the kitchen. “Alright, knock it off. You’re a terrible actor. Chloe isn’t even here, who are you putting on this show for?” She walked back, grabbed me by the jaw, and shoved a massive amoxicillin capsule into my mouth. “Since you love acting so much, I’m going to cure this disgusting habit of yours today.” I shoved her away and scrambled on my hands and knees toward the bathroom to induce vomiting. The second I threw up the capsule, the bathroom door slammed shut behind me. I grabbed the door handle, only to find she had locked it from the outside. “You said penicillin would kill you, right? Let’s see if you actually die today.” My body felt like it was on fire, burning and aching simultaneously. My eyelids and neck were so swollen I looked deformed. I started frantically pounding on the door. I pounded and screamed. “Fire! Someone call 911! Fire!” When we bought this condo, we didn’t upgrade the soundproofing. If you yelled, the neighbors above and below could hear you. The second I yelled, my mother-in-law stomped over to the door. “Are you trying to get us killed?! Shut the hell up! You can go to jail for filing a false police report! If you ruin my grandson’s future, I’ll kill you myself!” Grandson? When did Chloe get pregnant? Why didn’t anyone tell me? But I didn’t have time to process it. The swelling in my throat was suffocating me. My voice faded to a raspy wheeze, leaving me only able to beat on the door with my fists. My mother-in-law’s voice grew distant. “I have a bridge game with the neighbors. Scream all you want.” The heavy thud of the front door closing echoed through the condo. My heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice. In sheer desperation, my hand brushed against my pocket. My phone! I immediately pulled it out and FaceTimed Chloe. “Chloe… your mom locked me in the bathroom… I’m going into anaphylactic shock…” Through the screen, Chloe looked at me with absolute, freezing apathy. “I told her to lock you in there. Nice acting, but you’re overdoing it. I heard the doctor at your last physical. He said you were perfectly fine.” I tried to tell her that they didn’t run an allergy panel during that physical. But Chloe just scoffed and hung up. “I’m shopping with Adam. Bother me one more time, and I’m filing for divorce!” After hanging up, she blocked my number, probably assuming I was going to spam her. I forgot to tell her something. I had proof she was embezzling money from her company. And… my legs were starting to hurt in a terrifyingly strange way. I clutched my legs, rolling on the bathroom tiles in agony. Due to the violent allergic reaction, my legs began to spasm uncontrollably. With every single twitch, every nerve in my lower body fired with blinding pain. Within seconds, I was sweating so profusely it looked like I had been thrown into a swimming pool. With trembling, clumsy fingers, I managed to dial 911. I gasped out my address before the darkness took me. I don’t know how much time passed, but I faintly heard banging on the front door. “Is anyone home? EMTs!” I wept tears of joy. I was going to live. I used the last ounce of my strength to pound on the bathroom door. “I’m in the bathroom! Help! Help me!” But my hands were bruised and bleeding, and from outside, I only heard a faint, annoyed murmur. “Why the hell did someone call 911 if nobody’s home? What a waste of resources.” It hit me—my throat was so swollen, they couldn’t hear my muffled screams through the walls! I desperately looked around for something that would make a loud noise. The heavy glass ashtray on the counter! I smoked occasionally, and my mother-in-law hated the smell, so she always made me do it in the bathroom with the vent on. I never thought my bad habit would literally save my life. I dragged my body up the vanity cabinet. My fingers just grazed the heavy glass. Suddenly, I heard Chloe’s voice. She had come home. “What are you doing crowding my front door? Creeping around like this, I could have you arrested for trespassing.” My blood ran cold. What was she saying? “Ma’am, we received a 911 call from this address reporting a severe allergic reaction, potentially involving nerve damage. We responded immediately.” I grabbed the ashtray and hurled it at the bathroom tile. CRASH! The voices outside paused. Then, Chloe spoke again. “You have the wrong apartment. No one in my family has allergies.” “If you damage my door trying to get in, I’m suing the city for the repair costs.” The sound of the EMTs’ heavy boots grew fainter as they walked away. The front door unlocked, and footsteps echoed in the hallway. Chloe unlocked the bathroom door. The second she saw me, she snatched my phone off the floor and smashed it against the wall. “Ethan, you actually called 911 just to guilt-trip me into coming home?! Do you want the entire neighborhood to think we’re a joke?!” “Look at yourself! A grown man using makeup to fake an illness. Pathetic.” Chloe raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. But my face was already so numb from the anaphylaxis that I didn’t feel a thing. The swelling in my throat and the agonizing pain in my legs allowed me to force out only a strangled whisper. “Chloe… I’m really having a reaction… believe me… hospital…” Chloe ignored me completely, grabbing a broom to sweep up the glass shards. “Enough! Because of your stupid 911 stunt, Adam is out there getting called a homewrecker! Do you have any idea how humiliating that is for a young kid?!” Looking at her screaming face, my heart completely died. I didn’t say another word to her. I just focused everything I had on dragging oxygen into my closing airway. I had to conserve my energy. I had to find a way to get help. From the knees down, my legs were entirely dead. No feeling whatsoever. Chloe finally noticed my contorted, agonizing expression, and her eye twitched. She took a step toward me, but stopped when she saw the bloody glass shards on the floor. “You almost had me fooled. You actually cut yourself up just to play the victim. You really committed to the bit, didn’t you?” Her eyes turned viciously cold. “If it hurts, good. Sit here, think about what you did, and learn your lesson!” She spun around and slammed the door shut again. Before I could even process it, I dragged my body toward the small bathroom window that opened out toward the balcony. We were on the third floor. The EMTs had to still be in the parking lot. I took the deepest breath my swollen airway allowed and screamed toward the parking lot. “HELP! THIRD FLOOR BALCONY! HELP!” My scream caught the attention of the paramedics loading back into the ambulance. But just as they looked up, Chloe lunged at me, clamping her hand brutally over my mouth. She dragged me back into the living room by my shirt collar. “Are you insane?! Do you want everyone in this building to know you’re throwing a tantrum over my little brother?! Have you no shame?!” “Ethan, you’ve already ruined his day once. Are you trying to destroy his life?!” She suffocated my last intake of air. Unable to break her grip, I bit down on her fingers with everything I had. Just then, heavy knocking pounded on the front door. “Hello, ma’am? Fire Rescue. I heard someone screaming for help. Are you sure you’re the only ones who called from this building?” “I… I’m in the living room!” I tried to yell. Before the words fully left my mouth, Chloe hauled me up and dragged me into the spare room we used for the dog. My legs were completely useless dead weight. I panicked. She shoved me into the large wire crate we used for our Border Collie, her voice dripping with venom. “A little blood won’t kill you. Stop pushing my buttons.” With that, she slammed the door to the spare room shut. I lay paralyzed in the dog crate, my hands shredded and bleeding from clawing at the wire mesh. I could hear the muffled voices from the hallway. “Ma’am, we heard someone yelling from the balcony…” “I was watching an action movie. Stop harassing me, or I’m calling the police to report you for harassment.” Chloe’s tone was incredibly annoyed. The paramedics clearly suspected something was wrong and pressed her. “Ma’am, why is your dog barking so aggressively?” “Dogs bark when they’re hungry. If you guys would stop bothering me, I could have fed him ten minutes ago.” The voices faded. The front door closed. My hope evaporated entirely. Were my legs going to be permanently paralyzed because of this? Chloe walked back into the room. Seeing my dead, motionless legs, she flinched. “What’s wrong with your legs?” “Are you actually hurt?” Just as she crouched down to check, the doorbell rang again. Chloe grabbed a decorative wooden stick from the hallway, looking furious. “If those paramedics don’t back off…” But when she looked through the peephole, her voice instantly melted into sugar. “Adam? What are you doing here?” Adam’s voice drifted in from the hallway. “Hey, sis. I was worried Ethan might misunderstand, so I came over to clear the air. Plus, he looked pretty bad on FaceTime. I figured I should check on him.” Chloe looked slightly embarrassed and waved him off. “He’s fine. He’s just pouting in the pet room playing with the dog.” Hearing that, Adam paused, then put on a perfectly calculated, distressed expression. “Sis, maybe we should keep our distance from now on. I don’t want Ethan throwing a fit like this again. It makes both our families look bad.” Chloe’s face fell instantly. “Did your brother-in-law say something to you behind my back?” “Don’t worry about him. I might be married, but I’m still your sister. What kind of sick person tells siblings to stay away from each other?!” Adam shook his head, his eyes welling with fake tears. “Sis, I don’t want people pointing fingers and calling me names. Just… abort the baby. Let’s just pretend none of this ever happened. I’m leaving. Don’t contact me again.” My blood froze in my veins. The “grandson” my mother-in-law was talking about. It was Chloe and Adam’s. I violently threw my body against the wire crate, making the metal rattle loudly. Adam looked even more pitiful. “Tell Ethan he doesn’t have to worry. I won’t come around anymore. I’m leaving right now!” He spun around and walked toward the elevators. Chloe didn’t hesitate for a microsecond. She sprinted after him. SLAM! The deafening crash of the front door masked the sound of the crate latch breaking. Max, the Border Collie, grabbed my shirt collar in his teeth and desperately tugged me forward. I clenched my jaw and dragged myself across the floor, inch by agonizing inch. From the spare room to the living room, it took every last shred of energy I possessed. To keep myself from passing out, I bit my own lip until I tasted copper. I hauled myself along the baseboards. A distance that would normally take five seconds took me twenty excruciating minutes. The front door was right there! I reached up and grabbed the handle. Click. The door swung open. Chloe was in such a panic to chase Adam that she forgot to lock the deadbolt! I carefully dragged myself out into the hallway, but because I had absolutely zero control over my legs, my upper body pitched forward. My head slammed violently against the metal stair railing, and my vision exploded into static. Right before I blacked out entirely, I saw a blur of white uniforms rushing up the stairs. “Officer, that’s him! He’s the one who called 911!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “574823”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I found a side hustle as a customer service rep for an online “confession room” app. It paid ten bucks a session. One evening, a guy booked ten sessions back-to-back. “The biggest regret of my life,” he said, “is how I treated my first love.” “She went through hell with me. By the time she was seventeen, she was already dealing with chronic health issues. Later, she even fell off a pier into the ocean trying to save me. She survived, but she’s been in a wheelchair ever since.” “We’ve been married for ten years now. We live paycheck to paycheck, but we’re happy.” He took a deep breath. “But I don’t have the guts to tell her that our marriage certificate is a fake, and so is our poverty.” “While she’s stressing over rent in a tiny, run-down apartment, my actual wife is complaining that the Wagyu beef flown into our penthouse is too rich.” “While she’s terrified to have kids because we can’t afford them, my son was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He owned multiple properties before he was even a month old.” His voice was trembling. My heart gave a little jolt, too. I recognized the voice on the other end of the line. It was Julian, the man I’d spent the last ten years struggling to survive with. My husband. But the shock only lasted a moment before a strange calm washed over me. Because I had a secret of my own. One I’d kept from him for a decade. … I turned off the voice changer on the app and said, perfectly calm, “Julian, let’s talk face-to-face.” The line went dead silent. All I could hear was his ragged breathing. “Don’t forget to leave a five-star review.” I hung up, walked into our tiny kitchen, and made a bowl of instant ramen. I added two eggs. Usually, I wouldn’t waste the eggs on myself; I saved them for Julian. But today, I figured I deserved a treat. Just as the noodles were done, Julian walked through the door. I almost didn’t recognize him. For years, he’d told me he worked construction out of state, only coming home every few months. Whenever he walked in, he looked like a vagrant—exhausted, unshaven, covered in drywall dust. But the man standing in the doorway was wearing a flawlessly tailored suit and expensive-looking glasses. He looked polished, elite. I didn’t say a word. I just sat down at our wobbly table and started eating my ramen. Julian stood by the door for a long time before he finally walked over. “Maya, why are you working as a customer service rep?” His voice was hoarse, probably from the adrenaline. I looked down at my chipped bowl and let out a dry laugh. “Because we’re broke, obviously. Who else would listen to people dump their emotional garbage for ten bucks a pop?” “I’m sorry, I…” “I don’t want excuses. Just give me the truth,” I interrupted. He looked down, his lips pressed into a thin line. After a long silence, he finally spoke. “I’m actually the estranged son of a billionaire family in New York. They found me seven years ago.” “My wife is the heiress to the Sterling Group. Her name is Eleanor. It was an arranged marriage to merge the companies.” “We have two kids now. A six-year-old and a four-year-old.” “The reason I kept it from you is… I just never found the right time to tell you.” My fingernails dug into my palms. “You couldn’t find the right time in seven years?” He went silent again. A dull ache spread through my chest, and I stopped talking too. I just took a massive, aggressive bite of my noodles. “Maya, let me take you out to get something good to eat,” Julian said, reaching for my arm, his eyes full of what looked like genuine pain. I shook his hand off. “Julian, you used to tell me my ramen was the best thing you’d ever tasted. You’d eat a huge bowl every time you came home.” “Now that you’re used to eating Wagyu with Eleanor, is my cooking not good enough anymore?” He clenched his fists. “Maya, I didn’t want to marry Eleanor! But I couldn’t refuse a corporate merger of that scale! I feel absolutely nothing for her; you’re the only woman I love!” No feelings, just two kids. I laughed. And as I laughed, the tears started falling. “You made me the other woman for seven years, and you call that love? How uniquely romantic.” And I was the poorest, most miserable ‘other woman’ in existence. Julian scrambled to wipe my tears. “Maya, please don’t think of it like that. In my heart, you’ve always been my real wife.” “Then divorce Eleanor.” He stiffened, his tone dropping. “Maya, I told you, I don’t control the corporate arranged marriages.” “I swear, I’ll make this up to you. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to one of my private villas.” Buzz. The screen of Julian’s phone lit up. An incoming call. The contact name was “Wifey❤️”. Seeing it felt like a needle jamming straight into my eye. It stung. Panic flashed across his face. He quickly grabbed his phone, walked over to the balcony, and covered the receiver. “Hey, honey. I’m still tied up with work. You and the boy go ahead and eat without me.” As he spoke, his entire demeanor softened instinctively. I fought back the burning in my nose and forced down huge mouthfuls of ramen. It tasted bitter. A few minutes later, Julian hung up. “Maya, something came up. I have to head back.” My grip on my spoon tightened until my knuckles turned white, but my voice remained steady. “Julian, aren’t you afraid I’ll track Eleanor down?” He frowned. “Maya, she’s pregnant. She can’t handle stress right now.” “Once the baby is born, I’ll explain everything.” The word pregnant hit me like a sledgehammer. A sudden, overwhelming exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t even have the energy to fight anymore. “Just go. Let me cool off.” “Get some rest. I’ll come check on you tomorrow.” The apartment fell silent. After a long time, I stood up from my wheelchair, walked into the bedroom, and pulled out an old photograph. It showed two identical girls leaning against each other, smiling brightly. For ten years, I had kept this from Julian. I wasn’t paralyzed. And I wasn’t Maya. I was just loving him for a decade, pretending to be her. My name is Autumn Hayes. Maya was my twin sister. When we were six, our parents divorced. I went with Mom, and Maya stayed with Dad. Eleven years ago, Maya and I unexpectedly crossed paths in a coastal town. She was unrecognizable—her face scarred, her body shattered with multiple fractures. The only reason she survived the accident was sheer willpower. She couldn’t bear to leave Julian behind. In the hospital room, we recognized each other instantly. When she found out I had a severe congenital heart defect and was waiting on a transplant list with no matches, she volunteered to give me hers. “If you give me your heart, you’ll die,” I told her. “What about Julian?” She touched her scarred face and looked at her paralyzed legs, offering a sad smile. “Looking like this, I’d only be a burden to him anyway.” “Autumn, live a good life for both of us.” The night before my surgery, she told me everything about her and Julian. “Julian is the best thing that ever happened to me,” she said. “If it wasn’t for him, I would have been assaulted, sold off to some old creep by my gambling-addict father, or probably just wound up dead.” “I wish I could stay with him forever.” To fulfill her dying wish, and to repay the ultimate debt, I took her place by Julian’s side. From that day on, Autumn Hayes ceased to exist. Only Maya remained. As the memories faded, I pressed the photograph against my chest. In three days, it would be the anniversary of my sister’s death. I was going to tell Julian the truth, and then I was going to leave forever. That night, I found Eleanor’s public Instagram account. She had posted thousands of photos, and Julian was in almost every single one. The sheer, undeniable happiness radiating from the screen made my eyes burn. July 12, 2025: Hubby skipped an international board meeting just to come with me to get my nails done! He says a woman’s hands are her second face. 💅✨ There were three photos attached: one of their hands intertwined, one of her playfully tugging his tie, and one of her cupping his face. Julian was just smiling softly, but the sheer adoration in his eyes was unmistakable. I instinctively looked down at the back of my own hand. There was a long, dark reddish-brown scar. On that exact same day, July 12th, I had been bitten by a venomous spider in our crappy apartment. My skin blistered terribly, and it hurt like hell. But to save fifty bucks on prescription ointment, I just washed it with soap and water. It left a permanent scar. I sniffled, pushing past the ache in my chest, and kept scrolling. March 23, 2024: Hubby is away on a business trip and can’t be with me today, but he knew better than to come home empty-handed! Gifts accepted, all is forgiven! 🎁❤️ She posted a photo of an entire luxury Armani vanity set and a Patek Philippe watch. I glanced at the tiny, sample-sized tube of Armani lipstick sitting on my cheap dresser and let out a bitter laugh. That day was my birthday. Julian had bought me a small grocery-store cake and two bubble teas. After I blew out the candles, he presented that tiny sample tube to me like it was a grand prize. He looked so guilty, apologizing that it was all he could afford, but promising he’d buy me the real thing one day. I had actually felt bad that he spent money on it. Looking back now, it was so pathetic it was almost funny. Tears splashed onto my phone screen. I pressed my hand against my chest, right over my heart. It felt like a hollow, agonizing void, making it hard to breathe. Even though I had spent a decade acting as a stand-in, I knew deep down I wasn’t in love with Julian. Every tear I shed was for my sister. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. Just as the sky began to lighten, Julian texted. “I’m so sorry Maya, something urgent came up at the office. I can’t come see you today, but I promise I’ll be there tomorrow.” I didn’t reply. Just as I was about to close the app and try to sleep, a friend request popped up. “Hi, I’m Julian’s wife, Eleanor. Do you have time to talk today at 2 PM?” I accepted Eleanor’s invitation. She picked a high-end designer boutique downtown. I arrived exactly at 2:00 PM. The moment I wheeled myself through the doors, I saw Eleanor trying on handbags. Julian was right there with her. My grip on the wheels tightened, and I froze in my tracks. “Honey, which of these three do you like best? Pick one for me!” Her baby bump was just barely visible. She had a sweet, radiant smile and a soft voice. She didn’t look like a mother of two at all. “My wife has such effortless class, any bag looks perfect on you.” Julian casually pulled out a matte black Amex card. “We’ll take all three.” “You’re the best!” Eleanor beamed, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Julian touched his cheek, smiling with absolute indulgence. They looked like newlyweds still in their honeymoon phase. Even the sales associate couldn’t help but gush, “Mr. Sterling treats you so well, Mrs. Sterling! Dropping tens of thousands on gifts without batting an eye.” Eleanor soaked it up. “My husband always says money is meant to be spent on his wife. As long as I’m happy, that’s all that matters.” My breath hitched. It felt like barbed wire was tightening around my heart, slicing into it with every beat. I had heard those exact words before. Except back then, the bag Julian bought me was a knockoff from a discount bin that cost less than twenty bucks. “Excuse me, miss, please don’t block the entrance.” A security guard approached me. “Sorry.” I lowered my head, fighting back tears, and quickly wheeled myself out of the store. It was pouring rain outside the mall. I bought a cheap umbrella from a kiosk and was about to head toward the bus stop when Eleanor’s voice called out behind me. “Miss Hayes, do you need me to call you a cab? I imagine you can’t afford the fare yourself.” She stared at me, her perfectly manicured eyebrows raised in blatant mockery. I kept my face blank. “Mrs. Sterling, did you ask me here just to force me to watch how in love you two are?” Eleanor didn’t answer immediately. She looked me up and down like I was damaged goods on a clearance rack before scoffing. “Honestly, when I first found out Julian was keeping a mistress, I wanted to kill him. But seeing you like this… you’re so pathetic, you live worse than my rescue dogs.” “And your point is?” She lifted her chin, her tone dripping with arrogance. “My point is that you should have realized today that Julian loves me. The only reason he hasn’t completely cut you off is out of some misguided pity for your past.” “Do yourself a favor and get the hell out of New York.” My nails bit into my palms. “And what if I refuse to give you what you want?” Eleanor sneered and shoved my wheelchair hard. “You’re decent looking, but your legs are useless. If I had my security throw you into a homeless encampment full of men, what do you think would happen to you?” The rain-slicked pavement was treacherous. The shove sent my wheelchair careening backward, and I tumbled down four concrete steps, slamming onto the ground. My forehead and elbow immediately split open, bleeding freely. The freezing rain battered my body, and agonizing pain flared in waves. My vision went black, and I nearly passed out. “Eleanor, why did you walk so fast? I turned around after paying and you were gone.” Right at that moment, Julian walked out of the mall. Seeing me crumpled on the wet concrete, he stopped dead in his tracks, his expression freezing. Eleanor casually pointed to a sleek Maybach idling at the curb. “Your assistant texted that he pulled the car up, so I came out first.” Then, she put on a mask of deep concern, staring at me. “As soon as I walked out, I saw this poor woman fall down the stairs. She looks in such bad shape… since we’re heading that way, why don’t we drop her off at the hospital?” Julian frowned, a flicker of genuine pain crossing his eyes. But a second later, he masked it with disgust. “Just call her an ambulance. Don’t let her bleed all over the upholstery.” I clenched my bleeding hands into fists and forced the words out, my voice raw. “Julian… are you really worried about me dirtying your car, or are you terrified I’ll scream to the world that we’ve been ‘married’ for ten years?!” “I’m telling you right now, you can stop the act! Eleanor already know—” “WHAT?!” Eleanor sharply cut me off, her voice pitching into a hysterical shriek. “No wonder you’re always working late! You’ve been hiding a whole second family from me?!” Her eyes went wide, and she stumbled backward dramatically, suddenly clutching her stomach. “Ah! It hurts!” “Eleanor!” Panic overtook Julian. He rushed forward and caught her as she feigned a faint, then whipped his head around to glare at me, his eyes bloodshot with rage. “Maya, if anything happens to Eleanor or the baby, I will destroy you!” “Julian, she’s faking it! She already knew everything! She’s the one who pushed me!” But no matter how loud I screamed, he never looked back. By the time I managed to drag myself back to the apartment, it was pitch black outside. The scrapes on my elbow and knee were throbbing, the blood and rainwater mixing into a gruesome mess. My phone had been buzzing nonstop. Every single notification was from Julian. “Maya, you did that on purpose, didn’t you?!” “I told you Eleanor was pregnant, and you still deliberately showed up to harass her!” “You better pray to God she and the baby are okay!” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I powered off my phone, collapsed onto the cheap sofa, and immediately passed out from exhaustion. Sometime after midnight, I woke up to a severe fever. Through the haze, I heard a deafening crash as the front door was kicked off its hinges. A group of men in sharp black suits stormed into the tiny apartment. The man leading them was tall, with a face carved from ice. “So you’re Maya? The b*tch who upset my sister so much she almost miscarried?” Before I could even open my mouth, he grabbed me by the throat and viciously slapped me across the face, twice! “You homewrecking trash, I’m going to kill you!” My cheeks burned with agonizing pain. His grip on my throat was so tight my eyes rolled back, and blood began to trickle from my split lip, but I couldn’t break free. Looking at me with pure disgust, he threw me to the floor like a ragdoll and delivered a brutal kick directly to my stomach. “AGH!” Blinding, piercing pain ripped through me. I let out a bloodcurdling scream as I felt a sudden, warm rush of fluid pour from between my legs. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Julian burst into the apartment. “Maya! Why is there so much blood?!” His eyes widened in terror as he frantically scooped me up into his arms. I couldn’t form a single word. The pain was too intense, and I blacked out entirely. When I woke up, the sun was shining through the blinds. I was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV drip. Julian was sitting in the chair next to me. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent; he clearly hadn’t slept at all. “Are you feeling any better?” I gave a weak nod, but didn’t speak. He reached out and took my hand. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” “I didn’t know.” The room fell into a heavy silence. After a long pause, he sighed heavily. “Don’t cry. We can try again.” “I’ll hire a private nursing team to make sure you recover fully.” I let out a weak, raspy laugh. “So… that’s it? We’re just going to sweep this under the rug?” Julian frowned. “If you hadn’t purposely sought out Eleanor and stressed her out to the point of nearly miscarrying, her brother wouldn’t have lost his temper! You brought this on your—” “JULIAN!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “Eleanor has known about us for a long time! She threatened me yesterday! She pushed me down those stairs! This whole thing was orchestrated by her!” Suddenly, the hospital room door flew open. Eleanor stormed in and delivered a stinging slap across my face. “Maya, I actually felt sorry for you at first, but now you’re trying to frame me?!” Julian immediately jumped up and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back. “Eleanor, please, calm down! Remember the baby! The doctor said you need to avoid stress!” “Julian, you bastard! I want a divorce!” She pounded her fists against his chest, crying beautifully, like a tragic heroine in a movie. Julian’s eyes welled with immediate sympathy. He spun around and roared at me, “Maya, Eleanor is kind and forgiving! She would never do something so vile!” “The way you casually slander people makes me sick!” His words hit me like daggers, but strangely, I didn’t feel the pain anymore. It just felt entirely absurd. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and looked at him. “Julian, I actually have a secret I’ve been keeping from you for ten years.” “I’m not Maya.” Julian let out an exasperated, disbelieving laugh. “Have you completely lost your mind?! Are you seriously resorting to ghost stories now?!” “She hasn’t lost her mind, she’s just saying crazy things to get your attention!” Eleanor sneered contemptuously. I yanked the IV needle out of the back of my hand and slowly, steadily walked right up to them. “The real Maya passed away ten years ago.” “Today is the anniversary of her death.”

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The year I caught Julian cheating, I became the most famous “crazy wife” in the city. I smashed his car windows. I shredded his contracts. I caused a massive scene at his firm, forcing him to fire the female assistant he was sleeping with. He hated me for it, but honestly, he was just as unhinged. When I threatened him with a razor blade, screaming about divorce, he just sat on the edge of the bed. For every cut I made on my arm, he made one on his own. We tortured each other for five grueling years. Everyone in our social circle agreed our marriage was beyond saving. Until the day my best friend, Maya, slapped him across the face, sobbing hysterically. She screamed at him, “Julian, after pushing her to the brink of insanity, how do you even sleep at night?!” After that day, Julian suddenly changed. He gave me every ounce of security I demanded. He came home exactly on time. He left his phone unlocked for me to check. Even for business dinners, he’d send me his live location beforehand. When I threw tantrums, he coaxed me. When I smashed plates, he swept up the pieces. I asked him if he had finally realized how much he hurt me. He was silent for a long time before he pulled me into a tight hug. “Clara,” he whispered. “Let’s just try to be happy. Let’s make this work.” I almost believed he had finally come back to me. Until the afternoon I came home early and caught Julian with his hands bruising Maya’s waist, kissing her deeply, the room filled with the unmistakable, heavy sounds of their passion. I stood frozen in the doorway, listening to his voice, thick with suppressed agony. “Maya, how long are you going to keep punishing me?! You told me to go back and play house with her, and I did it!” “She can’t have kids! But our baby is innocent! Please don’t abort this baby…” Maya pushed him away, sobbing, only for him to press her back against the mattress even harder. “It’s been five years. We’re the ones who have been wronging Clara this whole time…” The ultrasound printout in my hand fluttered to the hardwood floor. I suddenly started laughing so hard that tears spilled down my cheeks. So he had forgotten why it was so hard for me to conceive. And the woman he had been cheating on me with all those years ago… was my best friend. The sister I chose. Julian. The love I could never quite grasp? I finally decided I didn’t want it anymore. … I stood in the doorway, feeling like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. Julian had Maya pinned against the edge of the bed, his fingers digging into her hips like he was terrified she’d vanish if he let go. I stared at Maya’s tear-stained, beautiful face, and a wave of absolute absurdity washed over me. So, while I was pathetically crying on her shoulder about my failing marriage, she was already standing behind my back, tangled up in the sheets with my husband. She used to curse Julian’s name with me. She’d drink wine with me and hold me while I cried until the sun came up. She had even held my face and promised, “Clara, don’t be scared. No matter what happens, I will always be on your side.” Turns out, “being on my side” just meant sitting front-row to watch me slowly lose my mind. I wanted to laugh, but my throat felt completely blocked. Only a broken, breathless gasp managed to escape. The two people on the bed finally froze. Maya looked back first. The moment she saw me, every drop of color drained from her face, leaving her ghost-white. “Clara…” She frantically pushed Julian away, haphazardly pulling her clothes together, and stumbled toward me barefoot. Julian saw me, too. In that split second, the look in his eyes wasn’t guilt or remorse. It was absolute defensiveness. Maya practically collapsed in front of me, grabbing my wrist. “Clara, I’m so sorry… I’m so, so sorry…” She sobbed, gasping for air. “I didn’t mean to. I swear I didn’t mean to hide this from you.” I looked down at her. I knew this face so well. When I woke up in the hospital after slitting my wrists, everyone called me a psycho. She was the only one who hugged me with red, swollen eyes. She had said, “Clara, you just love him too much.” Thinking back on it now, when she was holding me, was she laughing on the inside? While she was comforting me, was she secretly celebrating the fact that the woman Julian truly loved was her? “Clara, I was wrong. I was so wrong.” She suddenly let go of my wrist and dropped to her knees. “I don’t want this baby.” She looked up at me, a pathetic, weeping mess. “I’ll go to the clinic right now. I’ll abort it, okay?” “If you can just forgive me, I’ll do anything you want.” As she spoke, she raised her hand and slapped herself hard across the face. “I’m trash. I betrayed you.” “Clara, please don’t hate me.” But the moment the words “abort it” left her mouth, Julian’s demeanor entirely shifted. “Maya!” He lunged forward, grabbed her off the floor, and violently yanked her behind him, shielding her with his body. The movement was so fast and aggressive, like he honestly believed I was about to strike her. Watching him instinctively protect Maya, my mind flashed back to five years ago. I was screaming in his corporate office, demanding he fire the assistant he was sleeping with. Everyone looked at me like I was a completely irrational, hysterical madwoman. Julian had stood in front of that assistant just like this. His eyes were glacial, his voice dripping with disgust. He had said, “Clara, that’s enough.” And now, here we were again. Same exact words. Julian glared at me, suppressing his rage. “Clara, are you done throwing a tantrum?” “Haven’t you played the crazy wife long enough? Smashing my car, trashing my office, slitting your wrists, threatening to jump off the roof—every single time, you push everyone around you to the absolute breaking point. Aren’t you tired?” With every word he spat, my face grew paler. Maya grabbed his sleeve, crying and shaking her head. “Julian, stop. We’re the ones who hurt her.” “Hurt her?” Julian let out a cold, cynical laugh, as if he had finally reached his limit. “Maya, we owe her absolutely nothing! Even if we did, we paid that debt in full years ago!” “It’s not my fault she’s barren, is it?!” The moment that sentence dropped, a deafening explosion went off in my ears. The entire world went silent. Barren. He said it so casually. So effortlessly. Three years ago, I was pregnant. I got into a horrific car crash on a rainy night, desperately trying to chase his car down. That night, he abandoned me on the side of the road to go pick Maya up from the airport. I was on the operating table for nine hours. The doctors told me the trauma to my body was so severe, I would likely never be able to conceive again. He knew. He knew exactly what happened. But now, standing right in front of me, shielding Maya and the baby growing inside her, he looked me in the eye and said: It’s not my fault she’s barren, is it? I stared at him. Suddenly, the man standing before me felt like a terrifying stranger. “Julian.” My voice shook uncontrollably. “Say that again.” Maya’s face was ashen. She frantically tugged at his arm. “Stop talking, Julian. Please, just stop.” But Julian was already blinded by his own self-righteous fury. He looked at me the way you would look at an unforgivable, irredeemable monster. “Did I say something wrong?” “Clara, for the last five years, you’ve used the fact that I married you to drag everyone into your psychotic drama.” “Maya held you while you cried, dealt with your screaming fits, and cleaned up your messes. Whatever she owed you, she’s paid it back tenfold.” “This baby is mine. And it’s hers.” “If you want to hate someone, hate me. Don’t you dare touch her, and don’t you dare touch my child!” I looked at him, my fingernails slowly digging into my palms. Just this afternoon, I had walked out of my OB/GYN’s office. The doctor had smiled warmly and told me that while the odds were incredibly low, miracles still happen. I was pregnant. I had planned to tell Julian tonight over dinner. Looking back on it now, I felt like an absolute idiot. I gently rested a hand on my stomach. It was still completely flat. There was nothing to see. But a sudden, overwhelming wave of relief washed over me. Thank God. Thank God I hadn’t told him yet. A father like Julian didn’t deserve to know this baby existed. Maya dropped to her knees again, sobbing. “Clara, hit me. Scream at me. Do whatever you want.” “Just please, don’t hate Julian…” I looked down at her, my expression dead. “Maya, you are genuinely disgusting.” The next second, the sharp, cracking sound of a slap echoed through the bedroom. My head snapped to the side, and I lost my balance, crashing hard onto the floor. A high-pitched ringing pierced my ear. Julian stood over me. His hand was still suspended in the air. The raw, unfiltered rage in his eyes hadn’t completely faded yet. “CLARA!” He ground the words out through clenched teeth. “What gives you the right to talk to her like that?” “Newsflash: the world does not revolve around you! We owe you absolutely nothing!” The room went dead silent. Maya was stunned. She clearly hadn’t expected Julian to actually hit me. She scrambled forward, grabbing his arm, sobbing. “Are you crazy?! How could you hit her?!” Julian’s chest heaved violently. When his eyes dropped to the rapidly forming, angry red welt on my cheek, he seemed to freeze for a fraction of a second. But he didn’t apologize. I slowly raised my hand and touched my burning cheek. That single slap finally, violently woke me up from the delusion I had clung to for five years. I stood up, turned around, and walked out the door. Julian called after me. “Where do you think you’re going?” I leaned heavily against the wall, taking it one step at a time, moving toward the front door. As I reached the entryway, I heard Maya’s muffled, frantic crying. “Julian, go after her…” Julian didn’t move an inch. Maybe he thought I was just throwing another crazy tantrum. Maybe he was terrified I would turn around and hurt his precious baby. Maybe, in his eyes, the only thing Clara Hayes was good at was using love as a weapon and threatening suicide to keep him trapped. But this time, I didn’t want him anymore. I pushed the front door open. The cool night air hit my face. I looked down at my stomach, and the tears finally broke, sliding down my cheeks. “Baby,” I whispered into the dark. “Mommy’s taking you away.” I walked down the sidewalk, aimlessly, until I dug my phone out of my purse. In my contacts, besides Maya, I only had one other close friend I had grown up with: Olivia. Her mother passed away when she was young, so she practically grew up in my house. My mother treated her like a second daughter. When she got her first period, it was my mom who washed her stained sheets for her. In college, Olivia, Maya, and I shared a dorm. We were inseparable. She was a corporate lawyer now. Over the years, when things with Julian got violent and toxic, everyone else told me to just “let it go” and “work it out.” Olivia was the only one who would sit me down, stone-faced, and analyze my assets, shares, and legal options. She always said, “Clara, whenever you’re ready, come to me. I will get you out of this marriage.” The phone rang for a long time before she finally answered. “Clara? It’s late. What’s wrong?” Hearing her voice, I almost broke down sobbing again. “Liv.” “Maya betrayed me.” The line went silent for a few seconds. I gripped the phone tight, clinging to it like a life preserver. “She’s pregnant with Julian’s baby.” “They’ve been lying to me for five years.” “Liv, I want a divorce.” “Will you draft the papers for me? I don’t want anything. No alimony, no assets. I just want to get away from him.” After I finished, a soft, almost imperceptible scoff came through the speaker. “Clara.” Olivia let out a long, heavy sigh. “Why are you still acting like such a child?” I froze. “What did you just say?” It was as if she couldn’t be bothered to keep up the act anymore. Her tone was laced with exhaustion, and a sickening, condescending pity. “I already knew about Maya’s pregnancy.” “Actually, to be precise, it’s not just me.” “The Vance family knows. Maya’s family knows. Our entire friend group knows.” “You were the only one left in the dark.” “Why?” I heard my own voice ask, sounding hollow and distant. Olivia paused for a moment before replying softly. “Clara, think about it. Look at how you’ve been acting the last few years. Slitting your wrists, threatening to jump, screaming in his corporate lobby… who the hell would dare tell you the truth?” “Maya is almost three months along.” “If you found out and lost your mind, what if you hurt her?” I suddenly let out a dry, cracked laugh. “So all of you teamed up to protect her.” “And you all just sat back and watched me look like an absolute idiot, crying on her shoulder while she comforted me and told me to ‘make it work’ with my husband?” Olivia’s voice turned colder. “Clara, don’t make it sound so malicious.” “Maya has been in agony over this.” “She’s spent the last five years drowning in guilt.” My hand was shaking so violently I could barely hold the phone to my ear. “She’s in agony?” “What about me?!” The line was quiet again. “Clara, when it comes to love, it’s not about who got there first.” I finally couldn’t hold it in. I burst out laughing, harsh and bitter. “Not about who got there first?!” “Olivia, I am Julian’s wife!” “I am his legally married spouse!” “Maya slept with a married man, destroyed my home, and you’re telling me ‘it’s not about who got there first’?!” Olivia took a sharp breath, clearly losing whatever patience she had left for my “delusions.” “Clara. You aren’t his wife anymore.” My laughter stopped instantly. “What does that mean?” Her tone was terrifyingly calm and clinical. “You and Julian are already divorced.” “Legally speaking, Julian and Maya signed their marriage license yesterday morning.” “So, in the eyes of the law, they are the married couple. You are the mistress.” The streetlights blurred into a dizzying smear of yellow. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision. A pedestrian bumped my shoulder, and I stumbled, grabbing onto a streetlamp just to keep from collapsing onto the concrete. “You’re lying…” My voice was trembling so badly I could barely form the words. “I never signed divorce papers. How could I possibly be divorced?” Olivia let out a soft, amused chuckle. “Did you forget?” “Last month, Julian told you he was transferring several of his properties into your name. He had you sign a stack of legal documents.” I stood paralyzed. The memories crashed into me like a tidal wave. Last month, Julian and I had just celebrated our wedding anniversary. He had placed a thick stack of papers in front of me, telling me it was a post-nuptial asset protection agreement. He said, “Clara, I know you struggle with feeling secure.” “Sign these. No matter what happens in the future, the houses and the money will always be yours.” I was so overwhelmed with emotion and gratitude that I didn’t even read the fine print. I just signed my name wherever he pointed. Olivia’s voice echoed relentlessly through the phone: “Hidden in that stack of asset transfers was a divorce petition and a final settlement agreement. I drafted them myself.” “Clara, Julian just wants to start fresh. He wants a new life.” I bit down on my lower lip so hard I tasted copper. “Olivia. You are my lawyer. You knew exactly what those papers were. Why didn’t you warn me?” She completely dropped the friendly facade. Her tone turned sharp and mocking. “I am a lawyer. Which is exactly why I knew dragging this out was completely pointless.” “Julian doesn’t love you. Literally everyone can see that.” “Clara, we were doing you a favor. We helped you end things with dignity.” With that casual, dismissive statement, she hung up. I felt like every drop of strength had been drained from my bones. I was sliding down the trunk of the streetlamp, about to collapse onto the pavement, when my phone suddenly started ringing frantically. “Hello? Is this Ms. Hayes? Your mother was involved in a severe hit-and-run. She is in critical condition. You need to get to General Hospital immediately!” I scrambled into the ER lobby, wild-eyed, and grabbed the first triage nurse I saw. “Where is my mother?! Sarah Hayes! The hit-and-run victim!” The nurse checked her computer, her expression turning grim. “Are you family? The patient is currently in emergency surgery. Her vitals are extremely unstable.” “You need to go to the billing department immediately. The trauma surgery requires an upfront deposit of at least $50,000.” Fifty thousand dollars. A month ago, that amount of money wouldn’t have even registered as a problem for me. But after Julian manipulated me into signing those documents last month, every single joint account and line of credit I had access to was frozen pending the divorce settlement. My hands shook violently as I swiped card after card at the billing terminal. Declined. Declined. Declined. Just then, a nurse rushed over to me. “Ms. Hayes, your mother regained consciousness for a brief moment in the trauma bay. She kept asking for you.” I whipped my head around. “She’s awake?!” “It was only for a second. She’s unconscious again.” The nurse hesitated, then handed me a shattered cell phone in a plastic evidence bag. “These are the patient’s personal effects. There was an active phone call right before the accident. We aren’t sure if it’s relevant to the crash.” I looked down at the cracked screen. The last incoming call on my mother’s phone… was from Maya. Call duration: Six minutes and twenty-three seconds. The blood in my veins turned to ice. The nurse lowered her voice. “The paramedics who brought her in said the patient was standing on the corner, talking on the phone. She was incredibly distressed, crying and screaming, ‘That’s impossible, my daughter is not a homewrecker!’ Then she stepped into the crosswalk against the light and was hit by the SUV.” A deafening, high-pitched ringing filled my ears. Maya. Getting pregnant with Julian’s baby wasn’t enough. She stole my husband. She stole my friends. And then she had the absolute malice to call my mother—the woman who treated her like family—and tell her I was the mistress destroying her marriage. My mother spent her entire life prioritizing dignity and grace. She couldn’t stand seeing me suffer even the slightest injustice. How could her heart possibly handle a vicious, humiliating attack like that? I gripped my phone, my fingers trembling so badly I kept hitting the wrong numbers. Finally, I managed to dial Julian. He answered, his tone dripping with impatience. “Clara, what do you want now?” My throat felt like it was packed with shattered glass. “Julian. My mom was in a car crash.” The line went dead quiet for a second. I clung to that silence like a lifeline, speaking rapidly, desperately: “She’s in emergency surgery. I need fifty thousand dollars right now, but all my cards are locked. Can you please just wire the hospital the deposit? Please.” “I’m begging you, Julian.” “I will pay you back. I swear to God I will pay you back.” Julian let out a cynical, mocking laugh. “Clara, do you honestly think I’m a complete idiot?” I froze. “What?” “You just caused a massive scene at the house, and now suddenly your mom is in a life-threatening car crash?” His voice was absolute zero. Cold, hard, and merciless. “Can’t you come up with a better lie?” Tears poured down my face, hot and fast. “I’m not lying.” “You can call the police. You can call General Hospital and ask them! Julian, please, I’m begging you, she doesn’t have time—” He cut me off. “Clara, have you lost your mind entirely?!” “You find out Maya is pregnant, and magically your mom gets hit by a car, and you desperately need a massive wire transfer.” “Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing? You’re just trying to force me to come to the hospital to see you.” I couldn’t speak. In his eyes, I was so sick, so twisted, that I would use my own mother’s life as a prop in a pathetic lie. I choked back a sob. “Julian, I am begging you. For the last time. Please save my mother.” But he just sounded exhausted, annoyed, and deeply disgusted. “Clara, stop using these pathetic, toxic manipulation tactics. It makes me sick.” “I am not giving you a single cent.” The call disconnected. The dial tone echoed in my ear, and it felt as if my soul had been completely ripped from my body. Half an hour later, the heavy double doors of the OR swung open. The trauma surgeon pulled off his surgical mask. His eyes were heavy with defeat. “Who is the family for Sarah Hayes?” “I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.” In that moment, I didn’t cry. I just watched the nurses push the metal gurney out of the OR. The body on the table was covered entirely by a stark white sheet. Beneath that sheet was my mother. Just last night, she had texted me, asking what I wanted for dinner on Sunday. Now, she was lying there, and she would never open her eyes to look at me again. I leaned against the wall, taking slow, mechanical steps toward the gurney. The second my fingers brushed the cold white fabric of the sheet, a sharp, agonizing cramp violently ripped through my lower abdomen. I looked down. Blood was soaking rapidly through the fabric of my dress, dripping onto the pristine hospital floor. The next second, the world went completely, terrifyingly dark. Right before I lost consciousness, I heard someone scream. “She’s pregnant! Get a crash cart!” In the chaos, a nurse picked up my dropped cell phone. The screen was still open to Julian’s contact profile. She immediately hit redial. When the call connected, the frantic nurse practically shouted into the receiver: “Hello? Is this Mr. Sterling?” “Ms. Clara Hayes is hemorrhaging in the ER. She is suffering a severe miscarriage and her vitals are crashing. We need you down here immediately!”

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I was the official, legal wife of Julian Vance, the undisputed boss of the city’s criminal underworld. Normally, he treated me like royalty. He’d massage my feet, pamper me like a queen, and whisper that he wanted me to give him ten babies. But when my face was smashed in, bleeding like a torn punching bag from a brutal beating, and my amniotic fluid mixed with my blood, dripping onto the gym floor… He didn’t recognize me. He turned his head and spoke softly to the woman standing next to him, Vanessa. “Using a pregnant woman as a live punching bag. Interesting. Hit her as hard as you want, baby. I’ve got your back.” That was the moment I realized my husband had a mistress. As soon as the words left his mouth, he grabbed a pair of boxing gloves and threw a vicious punch directly into my swollen, pregnant belly. His words were freezing cold, dripping with disgust: “Don’t worry. When you’re dead, we’ll notify your husband to come pick up your corpse!” Through my blurred, blood-filled vision, I stared dead at the man in front of me. He looked so familiar, yet like a complete stranger. Just last night, this man in his tailored suit had been holding my feet, kissing me endlessly, whispering sickeningly sweet “I love yous” into my ear. Today, he was brutally beating me to death. It hurt! My arms, strung up by ropes, felt like they were being torn from their sockets. Blood streamed down my face, stinging my eyes. The pain was so agonizing I could only grit my teeth. I couldn’t even force a scream out of my throat. “This pregnant woman looks like she’s about to pop, and she’s getting beaten half to death! Serves her right for crossing Mrs. Vance…” “Who brought her in? Where’s her husband?” The guys hanging around the gym shook their heads, their eyes full of a helpless, sick pity. None of them knew that the man who was currently trying to beat me to death with boxing gloves… Was my husband. I had only come here to bring Julian his signet ring, but I accidentally stumbled into a private anniversary party he was throwing for his mistress. The moment I saw Julian, I thought he would definitely recognize me. I thought he would save me from Vanessa’s clutches. But he just glanced at me indifferently and turned away. She just casually remarked, “I ate too much for lunch, need to burn some calories. Her belly is so huge, she’d make a great punching bag, don’t you think?” And so, without giving me a second glance, he grabbed the gloves, stood beside her, and landed blow after blow on my body. The heavy, metallic stench of blood pooling beneath me seemed to act like adrenaline for them. They hit me harder, a sick, bloodthirsty gleam in their eyes. I hung suspended in the air, half-dead, swaying back and forth like a broken ragdoll. Beneath me, a pool of crimson blood was spreading rapidly. Gritting my teeth, I used every ounce of strength left in my shattered body to force out a raspy scream: “Julian… Vance!” His eyes hardened, and he stopped mid-punch. My heart leapt. I thought he had finally recognized me. A wave of overwhelming, bitter relief surged in my chest. But the next second, he raised his leg and delivered a brutal kick to my stomach, spitting out in pure disgust: “You’re half-dead and you’re still trying to seduce me! You are absolutely disgusting! Beat her!” Countless punches and kicks rained down on me, mixed with his cruel orders. My body felt like it had been run over by an eighteen-wheeler a thousand times. The vicious, demonic look on his face made me shudder uncontrollably. I was supposed to be the treasure he held carefully in the palm of his hand. The baby in my stomach was the child he had prayed for day and night. I had stood by his side for five years, watching him rise from a low-level street thug to the man he was today. Legally and publicly, we were husband and wife. How did I suddenly become a random woman trying to seduce him? Why was he trying to beat me to death? The tearing agony radiating from my lower body felt like it was ripping me in half. I watched Julian and Vanessa walk away, laughing intimately. My breathing slowed, and the world faded into darkness. The guys running the gym were terrified of a murder investigation bringing cops sniffing around, so they anonymously called an ambulance for me. While we waited, they kept asking me: Who is your husband? I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. The man who just walked out holding Vanessa’s hand… that was him. This morning, right before he left the penthouse, Julian told me he had a major contract to sign at an exclusive country club. He had softened his expression, kissed the corner of my mouth, and promised he’d be home early for dinner. He had business dinners like this all the time. I never gave it a second thought. When I turned around and realized he had forgotten his signet ring on the nightstand, I frantically rushed out to bring it to him. When my car pulled up to the gym, I thought it was strange. But I was in a hurry to give him the ring, so I didn’t overthink it. I rushed inside, only to be grabbed by a woman named Vanessa. Without a single word of explanation, she had her men string me up by my wrists. I struggled violently, screaming at the top of my lungs that I was Julian Vance’s wife. But Vanessa and the thugs behind her just laughed mockingly. “Julian Vance’s official wife is named Clara. His second wife is Mrs. Vance, who is currently standing right in front of you.” “Who the hell do you think you are? Don’t tell me you’re the official wife!” “Just another delusional psycho obsessed with my husband. Since you love him so much, let’s have him personally send you to hell, shall we?” Vanessa grabbed my chin, her smile dripping with malice. As soon as she finished speaking, the entire room erupted in mocking laughter. It was only then that I realized… every single night Julian claimed he was out “signing contracts”… He was actually in bed, passionately entangled with this mistress, Vanessa. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t accept that the husband who loved me so deeply was nothing but an illusion. He had spent millions renting out the city’s skyline for a massive fireworks display just to make me smile. Last year for my birthday, he bought me a private island, telling me it was just a “toy” for me to play with. This year, to celebrate my pregnancy, he bought two commercial high-rises overnight, telling me the rent would be “pocket money” for our child. He had even unhesitatingly donated his own kidney to me after a horrific car crash. All the evidence of his profound love was right there. How could he possibly be screwing around behind my back? I gritted my teeth, desperately shaking my head. But my absolute certainty crumbled into dust the moment I saw him intimately wrap his arm around Vanessa’s slender waist. “Hubby, I want to use this pregnant cow as a human punching bag to practice on.” “Of course, whatever you want, baby. As long as you’re happy!” Julian affectionately stroked her hair, his eyes shining like a galaxy of stars just for her. Through my sweat-and-blood-soaked bangs, the blood in my veins turned to ice, inch by agonizing inch. Vanessa wasn’t lying. She really was Julian Vance’s “wife.” Then, Julian put on the boxing gloves. Even then, I held onto a pathetic, flickering hope that he would recognize me. If he just looked closely at my face, he would realize the punching bag he was destroying was the love of his life. But his eyes were entirely focused on Vanessa. I was beaten down, punch after punch, bleeding profusely, every breath tearing at my ribs. Yet, my mind kept flashing back to the image of him pressing his ear against my pregnant belly, listening to the baby’s heartbeat. “Wifey, I hope it’s a girl. If she looks just like you, I’ll make sure she’s the most spoiled little princess in the world…” Only now did I realize that his “spoiled princess” was just another lie. My consciousness faded. Every inch of my body screamed in agony. I felt like I was floating on a ship adrift in a violent storm. A frantic voice shouted in my ear: “Ma’am, hold on! The baby still has a heartbeat!” Hearing that last sentence, I fought through the darkness and forced my eyes open. The EMT was a young woman. Seeing my massive, blood-soaked belly, she was terrified, helplessly repeating words of comfort: “Ma’am, we just have to get past the Vance family’s outdoor banquet, and we’ll be at the hospital! Stay with me!” I stared dead ahead at the lavish outdoor banquet. Vanessa, dressed in a stunning red gown, was held tightly in Julian’s arms. The way they looked at each other… the sheer, undisguised romantic devotion. Tears rolled down my bruised cheeks. I closed my eyes. Then, I reached out and grabbed the EMT’s wrist with an iron grip, my voice a raspy croak: “You have to save my baby!” The next second, a commotion at the banquet blocked the street. The ambulance was stuck, unable to move an inch. The blood pouring from my lower half felt like a busted dam. The panicked EMT jumped out of the ambulance, screaming at the crowd: “Someone is dying! Move out of the way!” But the crowd was completely drowning her out with cheers: “Congratulations to Mr. Vance and Mrs. Vance on their 5th wedding anniversary!” Every single word struck my head like a thunderbolt. No wonder he never celebrated our wedding anniversary with me. He saved this day specifically for Vanessa. It was hilarious. I was kept in the dark for five years, believing his excuse that a mob boss needed to keep a “low profile.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to celebrate. It was that I wasn’t worthy of the celebration. My eyelids fluttered shut. My breathing grew weaker. The young EMT was crying in frustration. Seeing that I was about to bleed out and die right there in the street, she begged a bystander to lend her an electric scooter and sped me away from the blockade. We passed so close to the banquet that I could hear Vanessa’s voice asking: “Hubby, what’s that gross thing on the scooter? It’s disgusting…” “It’s just a dead pig, baby. Don’t look at it, it’ll ruin your mood…” Julian’s voice was gentle, the exact same tone he used when he proposed to me years ago. Except back then, he had said: “Clara, I love you to death. Marry me! I promise I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life!” Only now did I understand. Julian’s “taking care of me” was a literal death sentence. By the time the scooter rushed into the emergency room, I had almost bled out entirely. I was on the verge of cardiac arrest. The trauma doctors grabbed bags of O-negative blood and sprinted into the operating room. “How much more blood do we need?” “1600ml, the hospital blood bank just barely has enough!” a nurse answered, wiping sweat from her forehead. The next second, the OR doors were kicked open violently. A swarm of men in black suits flooded the room, drawing their guns and pressing them hard against the doctors’ heads. Julian strode in from behind the doors, his brow deeply furrowed, his expression frantic: “I want all the O-negative blood in this hospital brought to the operating room across the hall! Nobody touches my wife’s blood!” My blood-stained hand reached out, wanting to grab his sleeve, to tell him his wife was lying right in front of him. But clearly, the “wife” he was talking about wasn’t me. It was Vanessa. The doctors exchanged terrified glances. A brave nurse even spoke up to remind him: “Sir, that woman just has a small cut on her pinky finger. She doesn’t need a blood transfusion…” He wasn’t listening. He just waved his gun, demanding the blood. Thinking of the baby in my stomach, I swallowed the agonizing pain in my heart, struggling to croak out: “I am…” He backhanded me brutally, sending me crashing against the operating table, his eyes venomous: “Shut your mouth! One more word, and I’ll drain you dry and use you as a live blood bag for my wife!” After hitting me, he looked down in disgust at his hand, which was now stained with my blood. He sneered, grabbed the blood bags, and stormed out of the room. I covered my face, lying there completely numb. I felt like I had been ripped to shreds. Three years ago, he was the man who spent three million dollars buying a rare blood source for me at a private hospital. Now, he was the man pointing a gun at doctors, robbing me of the very blood I needed to survive. The exact same man. The exact same situation. But the woman he was protecting had changed to Vanessa. The doctors were too terrified to breathe, but they couldn’t just let me die. Just then, a nurse ran in, panting heavily, dragging a volunteer behind her. She yelled between gasps: “Found one! He’s O-negative…” The entire surgical team let out a collective sigh of relief. They rushed to draw his blood and prep me for transfusion. As the fresh blood entered my veins, my ghostly pale face finally regained a little color. But just as the doctors were prepping to induce labor, the OR doors were kicked open once again. Julian glared at me with eyes colder than ice. He looked at me like I was already a corpse. “I want this pregnant woman’s placenta. My wife is having chest pains, and she needs the nutrients!” I stared at him with cloudy, unfocused eyes. My lips trembled uncontrollably. I felt like a complete, absolute joke. After a long moment, I gathered every ounce of strength left in my broken body, pointed a shaky finger at the door, and squeezed out a single word: “Get… out!” He looked at me with pure revulsion, then kicked the operating table so hard that the bed—and me with it—slammed violently into the opposite wall. I crashed to the floor, vomiting a mouthful of blood. He didn’t even flinch. He just cursed viciously: “You worthless bitch! It is an absolute honor for my wife to consume your placenta!” The doctors cowered in terror, clutching their heads, not daring to make a sound. “What the hell are you waiting for?! If anything happens to my wife, none of you are making it out of here alive!” Julian yelled, glancing anxiously toward the OR across the hall. One doctor, unable to stand seeing me lying in a pool of my own blood, mustered his courage. “Sir, this is Clara…” “Shut the hell up! Extract the placenta now! One more word, and I’ll put a bullet in your head!” Julian’s eyes burned with raging fury as he aimed the black muzzle of his gun directly at the doctor. Even though the doctors knew that performing a forced C-section to extract a placenta prematurely would result in the death of the infant… Faced with a loaded gun, no one dared to speak. As the OR doors slowly closed, I heard his voice echoing through the hallway, speaking into his phone, tenderly coaxing Vanessa: “Don’t worry, baby. The placenta from a fresh birth is incredibly nutritious. It will definitely cure those chest pains you’ve been having.” “I’ll be right there. Wait for me, I love you…” Every word, every syllable, was a sledgehammer smashing my heart to pieces. The memories of his past affection now felt like a raging inferno, burning everything we had to ash. I stared dead at his retreating back. My soul felt like it was being carved apart with a rusty blade, over and over again. Sacrificing the life of his own unborn son to make a nutritional supplement for his mistress… Julian Vance truly was a devoted lover. The anesthesia worked quickly. A moment later, I lost consciousness. In the dark void of my coma, I thought I heard a faint, tiny whimper. It sounded like a baby crying: “Mommy, it hurts…” Tears slid silently from the corners of my eyes. I wanted to grab him, to hold him tight, but there was a thick fog, and I couldn’t see anything… Maybe God took pity on me, allowing me to see my child one last time. The moment they removed the baby, my eyes snapped open. The doctor, feeling immense pity for me, gently brought the tiny, blood-covered infant—no bigger than a kitten—close to my face. “Ms. Clara… the baby was forcibly extracted. He’s not breathing…” Looking at his silent, still little body, every organ in my chest twisted in excruciating agony. I desperately wanted to reach out and touch his soft, fragile skin. But my shattered arms refused to move. I had imagined his birth a thousand times. What name we would give him, the toys I would buy for him, the moment he would finally call me “Mommy.” I had imagined it so many times, but I never, ever imagined he would leave me like this. Ordered to be cut out of me by his own father… reduced to medicinal soup for a mistress. He didn’t even get the chance to open his eyes and see the world. I watched helplessly as he was taken away. The only sound I could make was a muffled, agonizing whimper from the back of my throat. At that moment, the surgeon preparing to suture my incision was violently grabbed by another doctor who rushed into the room: “Don’t stitch her up! This woman is probably… going to need another incision…” The surgical team stared in horror. “She… if you cut her again, she’ll die!” A freezing voice drifted in from the hallway: “Dying for Vanessa is the greatest honor this bitch and her bastard could ask for. Cut her!” “Besides, you idiots dragged your feet and ruined the freshness of the placenta.” “Is that why Vanessa’s heart palpitations are getting worse? Stop wasting time, prep her for the heart transplant!” The lead surgeon asked quietly, “Mr. Vance, we don’t have a donor heart available in the hospital right now. If we take hers…” Before he could finish, Julian cut him off impatiently: “If there’s no donor heart, put her on a mechanical pump! I’ll pay whatever it costs.” “If she doesn’t survive it, then it’s just her own bad luck!” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of my face, stained with a grotesque mix of blood and tears. He pinched his nose and stepped back in disgust. A kind-hearted nurse gently brushed my sweat-soaked hair behind my ear, revealing half of my face. At that exact moment, he turned his head to answer a phone call: “Hey, Vanessa. I’m securing the donor heart for you right now. Wait for me, baby.” His assistant, who had followed him into the room, suddenly went wide-eyed when he saw the exposed half of my face. He turned to Julian, trembling violently, and stuttered: “M-Mr. Vance… your wife… she…” It was as if a golf ball was lodged in his throat. He pointed at me, stuttering so badly he couldn’t form a complete sentence. Julian hung up the phone and snapped aggressively: “Shut the hell up! You watch things here, I’m going to get Vanessa!” The assistant took one last look at me, shivering in terror, completely unable to speak. Listening to the fading sound of Julian’s footsteps, the last tear I had left finally dried on my cheek. As the doctors implanted the mechanical pump into my chest, my actual, beating heart was being transplanted into Vanessa’s body. We lay just two doors apart. Julian Vance’s two “wives.” My palms were a bloody, mangled mess. I forced my eyes open, glaring fiercely as Julian showered her with frantic concern: “Baby, this heart is a perfect match for you. You’re going to be fine.” “Don’t worry about the baby. When Clara has her kid, he’ll call you ‘Mom’ too.” Vanessa agreed sweetly, but her eyes shot straight toward me, barely concealing a triumphant, gloating smirk. She had every right to smirk. Because of her, my baby and I had been utterly destroyed by Julian. One dead, one critically wounded. And that baby had stopped breathing right under his own father’s nose. I struggled to breathe, my fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into the wounds. I really, really wanted to know what kind of face Julian would make when he realized he had ordered the death of the child he had been anticipating for so long. Would he still be able to maintain this sickeningly sweet, affectionate demeanor? Thinking of that moment, an uncontrollable, dark chuckle escaped my lips. Julian’s face darkened, his eyes glaring at me as if he wanted to eat me alive. Just as he opened his mouth to curse me, the Vance family butler stumbled into the room, shoving the doors open, panicking: “Sir! Your wife… she’s missing!” Julian’s body went completely rigid. The next second, he violently shoved Vanessa’s hand away and shot to his feet. “Where is Clara?!” His voice carried a microscopic, almost imperceptible tremor. The butler wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Madam said she was going out this morning to bring you your signet ring, and she never came back…” Instantly, an unknown thought struck Julian. He began to tremble slightly. A few seconds later, he forced his voice to remain steady. “Find her! Find her right now!” The butler nodded. He was just about to turn and leave, but as his eyes swept over me lying on the operating table, he let out a horrified scream: “Madam!” Julian frowned, annoyed. “What madam? I’m not talking about Vanessa, I’m talking about Clara!” The butler’s hand shook violently as he pointed behind Julian, whispering in terror: “Sir… that is Clara…”

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My best friend, Chloe, always said, “Not meeting proves you guys are soulmates. It makes it more meaningful.” So, for three years, she acted as our messenger, passing notes back and forth between us. Until the day we graduated high school. The school’s star quarterback, the most popular guy in our class, confessed his love to her in front of everyone. Lines of text suddenly began floating in front of my eyes, like a live-stream chat.[Oh crap! The male lead got it wrong! He thinks the best friend is the one writing the letters!][He finally makes a move, and it’s the wrong girl! This is going to be so angsty!][Girl, go up there and clear it up! Tell him YOU’RE the one who wrote the letters!] In my past life, I did exactly what those floating comments said. I found the quarterback, Liam, and explained everything. The next day, we made our relationship “Facebook official.” Chloe was humiliated. Walking home that day, completely devastated and distracted, she was hit by a car and killed. Liam blamed me for the rest of his life. He used every method imaginable to torture and humiliate me. That was when I realized—he had fallen in love with Chloe at first sight the very first time she delivered one of my letters. Given a second chance, I stood back. I watched from a distance as Chloe accepted his massive bouquet of flowers. Standing in the crowd, I joined the cheering, chanting with the rest of them, “Say yes! Say yes!” 01 On the walk back to our cars, Chloe clutched the vibrant bouquet of roses tight against her chest. Her eyes were incredibly bright, her cheeks flushed. Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something, but in the end, she just grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly. Her palm was sweaty, damp, and burning hot. “Maya…” Her voice trembled. The rest of her words caught in her throat. I squeezed her hand back and offered a gentle smile. “Congratulations, Chloe.” Her eyes instantly welled up with tears. After that day, Liam’s pursuit was relentless. The newest iPhone, limited-edition designer bags, runway-fresh couture, and even an Amex black card with no limit. Gifts poured into Chloe’s hands continuously. The guys dropping them off would always smile and say, “Liam said these are for his future girl. If you don’t like ’em, just exchange ’em.” Chloe would just stare at the mountain of insanely expensive, dazzling things. She ran her fingertip over the leather of a Birkin bag, then quickly pulled her hand back like she had been burned. “Why me?” She frowned, the joy in her eyes buried beneath a heavy layer of anxiety. “I’ve never even talked to Liam. We don’t run in the same circles. This confession came out of nowhere. Do you think there’s been some kind of mistake?” Yeah. In my past life, I wondered the exact same thing: Why Chloe? So, guided by those floating comments, I had tracked Liam down privately. I told him I was the one who had been writing to him for three years. I told him Chloe was just the messenger. I even repeated the exact phrase I had written to him:”Not meeting proves we’re soulmates. It makes it more meaningful.” He looked stunned. “It was you.” I nodded, tears in my eyes. At the time, I was so desperate to clear up the misunderstanding that I completely missed the deep flash of regret in Liam’s eyes. The next day, the whole school knew I was Liam’s new girlfriend. Chloe became a laughingstock. A few days later, in a daze, she was hit by a car and died on her way home. From that day on, Liam hated me. He forced me to stay by his side just to mock and torment me, constantly demanding to know why I had to come forward and tell the truth.”Why did you have to come find me?””Chloe died a horrific death because of you.””My biggest regret is listening to you that day and breaking Chloe’s heart.” I lowered my eyes, gently fixing a strand of hair that had fallen across Chloe’s face in her excitement. “Maybe Liam saw you somewhere and just fell for you.” Seeing that I not only didn’t expose the truth but was actively comforting Chloe, the floating text in my vision started scrolling frantically:[Why is the female lead acting like this? Doesn’t she want to be with the male lead?!][Nooo! My favorite ship can’t end in tragedy!] Chloe looked up at me, clearly confused. “You’re gorgeous, you have a great personality. It’s totally normal for someone to have a secret crush on you.” I completely ignored the translucent, hovering words and smiled at her. “He’s probably been noticing you for a long time and just used graduation as an excuse to finally shoot his shot.” A deeper blush spread across Chloe’s cheeks. Her fingers nervously twisted the hem of her shirt. “Stop it. I’m not that great.” “Are you kidding?” I kept my tone light, injecting a bit of best-friend playfulness into it. “You are the prettiest, sweetest person I know. It would be weird if Liam didn’t have a crush on you.” She swatted my arm playfully, though there was no force behind it. She couldn’t stop her lips from curving upward. The anxiety was quickly being swallowed up by an overwhelming, intoxicating mix of shyness and hope. 02 The next few weeks were a whirlwind. Liam’s pursuit was aggressive and constant. One day it was VIP tickets to a sold-out concert, the next it was reservations at a Michelin-star restaurant. He even picked her up in his sports car for weekend road trips and movie dates. The rumors spread like wildfire. Everyone in our graduating class “knew” that Liam had harbored a secret crush on Chloe for years and finally got his girl. Half the girls in school were insanely jealous. And as I continued to do absolutely nothing about it, the strings of floating text in my vision eventually disappeared without a trace. One afternoon, Chloe’s mom came over to my house. “Maya, I hope I’m not bothering you,” she said, her voice soft, carrying a hint of nervous politeness. “I made some iced tea, figured it might help beat the heat.” I thanked her and took the pitcher. She rubbed her hands together, her eyes scanning my face, clearly hesitant to speak. “Mrs. Miller, is there something you wanted to ask me?” She let out a sigh of relief. “Maya… is there a boy from your school pursuing Chloe lately?” I nodded. “Yes. He confessed to her in front of everyone on graduation day.” A flash of worry crossed Mrs. Miller’s face. “I see the things that boy sends over… they’re so expensive. It makes me really uneasy. Do you know him well? What kind of person is he?” I was silent for a moment before shaking my head. “I don’t know him personally, Mrs. Miller. But he’s very well-known at school.” “He comes from a wealthy family; his parents own a massive tech company. He’s also a straight-A student, valedictorian actually. He’s basically a lock for the Ivy League.” Mrs. Miller’s eyes lit up, but then immediately dimmed again. “He’s so successful… does he have a lot of girlfriends? Could he actually be serious about Chloe?” Serious. Flashes of my past life crossed my mind. Even when he became a highly successful, wealthy CEO, Liam never lacked temptation, but he kept everyone at a freezing distance. He didn’t even bother looking at other women. He saved all his obsession and loyalty exclusively for torturing me, all in “memory” of Chloe. “He hasn’t dated anyone in the three years I’ve known of him,” I said, my voice completely flat. “That’s good. Focus is good,” Mrs. Miller murmured, the worry finally melting away into a genuine smile. “As long as he’s a decent boy and treats Chloe right, that’s what matters.” “I think Chloe really likes him too. She’s always giggling at her phone these days.” She looked like a massive weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She suddenly remembered something and asked, “Maya, how did your finals go? Have you decided on a college yet? You should go to the same city as Chloe, so you girls can look out for each other.” I shook my head, my gaze shifting toward the open sky outside the window. “Mrs. Miller, I’m not staying in the States for college. I’m going to study in the UK.” Mrs. Miller paused, surprised. “Going abroad is good. Broaden your horizons.” 03 While Chloe was busy falling in love with Liam, I successfully secured my acceptance letter to a top-tier university in London. My future academic advisor sent me an email, mentioning that an older student of his was currently back in my hometown for the summer. He gave me the guy’s contact info and suggested I reach out to him for some syllabus materials. After adding him on Instagram, I realized this “older student” looked much younger than I expected. His profile picture was candid. Under bright, clean sunlight, he was walking down a street holding a coffee cup. His tall, athletic build was incredibly striking. On the day we agreed to meet, I had just walked out of my neighborhood gates when I heard the unmistakable roar of a sports car engine. A sleek, silver Aston Martin pulled up to the curb right in front of me. The passenger door opened, and Chloe stepped out. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and her eyes were sparkling with happiness. Seeing me, her face lit up. “Maya! Where are you headed?” “Just grabbing coffee with a friend.” I looked up, and my eyes unavoidably locked with Liam’s. He was wearing a simple, casual outfit today, but his posture was straight, and he still possessed that devastatingly handsome, aloof, old-money aura I remembered. His eyes were bottomless. When he looked at me, there was absolutely zero warmth. Only a chilling, freezing indifference. In that single glance, I knew instantly—Liam had been reincarnated, too. I lowered my eyes, breaking eye contact. Chloe didn’t notice a thing. Still smiling, she turned back to Liam. “Liam, this is my absolute best friend, Maya.” Only then did Liam tear his gaze away from my face. He looked at Chloe, his tone perfectly, politely moderate. “Yeah. I know.” It was an incredibly distant response. Chloe seemed to sense that his reaction was a bit too flat, and shot me a slightly apologetic look. After Chloe walked through the gates and disappeared. The polite, moderate curve of Liam’s mouth vanished instantly. He didn’t drive away immediately. Instead, he stepped out of the car and walked slowly toward me. He stopped three feet away, looking down at me from his superior height. His gaze carried actual physical weight, pressing down heavily on the top of my head. “Maya. Did you finally learn your lesson this time?” He spoke softly, but his voice carried a terrifying, icy calm. I dug my fingernails into my palms. The slight sting helped me maintain my composure, and I didn’t say a word. “You figured out how to hide? You figured out how to keep your mouth shut?” He let out a low chuckle, completely devoid of warmth. I looked up, meeting his stare. The hatred and disgust swirling in his eyes were so intense they were practically overflowing. It was the exact same look he had every time he tortured me in our past life. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I heard my own voice, perfectly calm, even injecting a hint of appropriate confusion. “I have somewhere to be. Please excuse me.” Liam stared at me, as if trying to calculate exactly how much of what I just said was true, and how much was a lie. After a long moment, he leaned in slightly. His voice dropped to a whisper only the two of us could hear. He enunciated every single syllable: “It’s better if you don’t understand. Just remember your place right now: Chloe’s friend.” “Stay the hell away from her. She’s innocent. She cares about your ‘sisterhood.’ But I don’t tolerate a single grain of sand in my eye.” “If I find out you’ve tried to play any pathetic little games with her, or said anything you shouldn’t have…” He paused. His tone became feather-light, yet lethally sharp. “I would have absolutely no problem letting you experience what happened in your last life all over again.” He straightened up, instantly reverting back to his aloof, aristocratic persona. As if the terrifying, threatening whisper from a moment ago was nothing but a hallucination. Without sparing me another glance, he got back into his car. The sports car roared to life and sped away. I stood frozen on the sidewalk. It wasn’t until the stinging in my palms brought me back to reality that I realized my hands and feet were ice cold. I slowly unclenched my fists, leaving deep, crescent-shaped indentations in my skin. 04 At the window seat of the coffee shop, Julian was already waiting. Hearing me approach, he stood up. His light-colored button-down shirt highlighted his tall, lean frame. His features were sharp and clear, his nose straight, and the corners of his mouth seemed to naturally rest in a gentle, warm curve. “Maya, right?” He smiled as he greeted me. His voice was steady, clear, and incredibly pleasant to listen to. I sat down across from him. “Hi, Julian.” Julian slid a large manila folder across the table toward me. Inside was a thick stack of documents and a few heavy textbooks. “The professor asked me to bring these. It’s best if you can skim through them before the semester starts. The old man’s standards are pretty high.” “Thank you.” I took the folder. The texture of the paper under my fingertips felt incredibly grounding. “He’s actually a great guy, just a little…” Julian paused, thinking for a second, his eyes crinkling into a smile. “He’s a bit of a hoarder. He’s obsessed with collecting weird, vintage coffee mugs. If you ever go to his office during office hours, make sure you compliment his mugs. He’ll never fail you if you do.” I froze for a second, then couldn’t help but burst out laughing. It was hard to imagine the professor, known for his ruthless, meticulous academic papers, acting like that in private. “Noted. Thanks for the tip.” With that icebreaker, the atmosphere relaxed significantly. We talked about academics, the professor, and the upcoming coursework. Julian was sharp and incredibly patient, breaking down complex concepts until they were easy to understand. Gradually, the conversation drifted to more casual topics. We talked about the red autumn leaves in London, and a tiny, hole-in-the-wall pub in Chinatown that served the best authentic food. Looking at him, I honestly shared my first impression. “Julian, you’re not really what I expected.” He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “What did you expect me to be like?” I chose my words carefully. “Maybe a bit older. Wearing rimless glasses, never smiling. Like a strict, old-school gentleman straight out of a British period drama.” Julian looked surprised for a second, then let out a low, genuine laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly. “I guess I need to pick an older profile picture.” He finished laughing, the starlight still lingering in his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you, Maya. I’m probably about ten published papers and at least five years of tenure away from being a ‘gentleman.’” When we parted ways, Julian insisted on driving me home. His car pulled smoothly into my neighborhood. He got out and opened the passenger door for me. “Thank you for today. The materials and the survival guide were a lifesaver,” I said, hugging the folder, genuinely grateful. He stood by the car, the evening breeze catching the loose hair on his forehead. “If you ever need anything, just let me know.” “I will.” After that day, we started texting much more frequently. At first, it was mostly about school. Asking for his opinion on a research paper, or clarifying a concept. Julian always provided insightful, thought-provoking answers. Eventually, fragments of our daily lives started slipping into the conversations. Bit by bit, even though we didn’t see each other often in person, the constant exchange of messages and small, thoughtful gestures built a quiet, unspoken warmth and anticipation between us. 05 When Chloe came over to visit, I was in the middle of debating with Julian via text about why the squirrels in the UK were so incredibly fat. I was laughing so hard I was rolling around on my bed. Chloe pushed my bedroom door open right at that moment. Seeing me clutching my phone and dying of laughter, she paused. “What’s so funny?” I immediately sat up. “Just talking to a guy from the university I’m going to. He’s hilarious.” I had been spending the day packing up my room, so there were a few donation boxes sitting on the floor. Seeing them, and the suitcases piled in the corner, Chloe asked, “Are you really leaving?” I nodded. “Everything’s booked. My flight is next month.” She sat down next to me and let out a soft sigh. I had heard through the grapevine that Chloe had been turning down Liam’s dates for the past few days. I looked at her. “What’s wrong, Chloe?” She frowned slightly. “I just… I don’t think Liam actually likes me.” “Why would you say that?” Chloe bit her lip. “When he takes me out, the places are amazing. The gifts are insanely expensive. It’s just…”

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I unexpectedly inherited a fortune from my aunt. Ten billion dollars. At the probate lawyer’s office, I was so excited I nearly dropped my pen. While verifying my identity, the paralegal suddenly stopped, looking at me with a pained, awkward expression. “Ma’am… are you aware that your current marital status is listed as single?” My brain completely short-circuited. “That’s impossible. I’ve been married for eight years.” She pulled up the official records and turned the monitor toward me. Black and white. Seventy days ago. Divorced. An uncontested, mutual divorce decree. Then, it hit me. Seventy days ago, my husband told me his company was updating its health insurance policies for dependents, and he needed me to sign a stack of paperwork. I didn’t even read it; I just signed where he pointed. I closed my eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. When I opened them again, the corners of my mouth were uncontrollably twitching upward into a smile. “Are… are you okay, ma’am?” the paralegal asked nervously. “I’m fine,” I laughed, tears actually pricking the corners of my eyes. “I was just thinking… God is one hell of a screenwriter.” 01 The paralegal printed out the official court records and placed them in front of me. The date of dissolution, the case number, both of our signatures—everything was crystal clear. Petitioner: Clara Hayes. Respondent: Julian Vance. I stared at my own signature, remembering two specific afternoons seventy days ago. The first time, Julian said his company was overhauling its employee benefits package and needed spouses to confirm household information. The second time, he said they were missing a form, and I needed to go down and sign one last thing. When the clerk handed me the tablet to sign digitally, Julian kept rushing me. “Hurry up, Clara. I have a board meeting at two.” “It’s all standard boilerplate stuff. Just sign the last page.” After eight years of marriage, I had zero reason to suspect him. I was so worried about making him late for work that I didn’t even scroll up to read the text. It turns out those two trips weren’t for health insurance. The first trip was filing the initial petition for divorce. The second trip, after the mandatory state waiting period, was to finalize the decree. The senior probate attorney, Mr. Shaw, finished reviewing the documents and asked, “Do you need me to pause the inheritance proceedings?” “No.” I picked up the pen and signed my name on the inheritance confirmation documents. My aunt’s will was incredibly explicit: every single share of stock, mutual fund, piece of real estate, and cent of cash was bequeathed solely to me, as my separate, individual property. And even more coincidentally, the legal transfer of these assets was initiating exactly seventy days after I became a legally single woman. Julian had meticulously schemed to kick me out of our marriage, and in doing so, perfectly insulated himself from my new ten-billion-dollar net worth. Mr. Shaw warned me, “An estate of this magnitude… news like this won’t stay quiet for long. I highly advise you to retain private security and a dedicated legal team immediately.” “I understand.” After finishing the first round of paperwork, I walked out of the law firm. I had twelve missed calls on my phone. My mother-in-law, Martha, had called seven times. My sister-in-law, Chloe, had called three times. Julian had called twice. Before I could even dial back, Martha called again. “Clara, where the hell are you?!” “We have guests coming over, and you haven’t even bought the groceries yet! Julian wants homemade clam chowder tonight. Get your ass home right now!” She paused for a second, then added: “Oh, and Chloe found a car she wants, but she’s short twenty grand for the down payment. Sell that dump of a house your dead aunt left you and cover the difference for her.” My aunt had passed away twelve days ago. Martha hadn’t asked a single question about the funeral arrangements, nor had she offered a single word of condolence. The only thing she remembered was the old, run-down house in my aunt’s name. In their eyes, my aunt was just a lonely, childless old woman who maybe left behind a few thousand bucks and a dilapidated property. They had absolutely no idea that the corporation my aunt helped found in her youth had recently gone public. After a full audit, the total value of her assets was staggering: 10.3 billion dollars. “Are you deaf?!” Martha screeched through the phone. “I hear you.” “Then hurry up and get back here!” “I’m not selling the house, and I’m not giving her a dime.” Dead silence on the other end of the line. “What did you just say?” I watched the traffic passing by on the street, my voice perfectly calm. “If Chloe wants to buy a car, she can get a job and pay for it herself.” “Clara Hayes, have you lost your damn mind?! We are family! Your money is our money!” Family. Hearing that word come out of the mouth of a woman whose family had secretly divorced me seventy days ago was genuinely hilarious. “Martha. I am not your family.” “How dare you call me by my first name?! Does Julian know you’re acting like this?!” “He knows exactly what he did.” I hung up the phone and blocked her number. Then, I dialed the number of the attorney my aunt had specifically listed in her will. Half an hour later, I met Arthur Sterling at his firm downtown. He read through the divorce decree, his brow furrowing deeply. “This agreement stipulates that you forfeit all claims to marital assets and leave with only your personal clothing. Your husband retains the marital home, all bank accounts, and all vehicles.” “My aunt paid the entire down payment on that house,” I told him. “Do you have the bank transfer receipts?” “Yes.” “The circumstances under which you signed this agreement constitute blatant fraud. You can file a lawsuit to have the asset division clauses voided.” I shook my head. “Keep the divorce valid. Void the asset division.” Arthur looked up at me, surprised. “Are you sure?” “I’m positive. If he wanted out of this marriage that desperately, I’m happy to oblige.” I placed my phone on his desk. A new text from Julian had just popped up. “Mom said you lost your mind today. Get home tonight, apologize to her, and don’t make me angry.” Immediately following that text was a photo. In the photo, he had his arm wrapped tightly around a young woman. They were standing inside a bridal boutique. The woman was wearing a massive diamond ring on her finger. I recognized the ring. It was the exact style I had fallen in love with for our eighth anniversary but hadn’t bought because it was too expensive. Another text from Julian popped up. “Since you clearly already know, come pack up your trash tonight. Tomorrow, Mia and I are going to City Hall to get married.” Arthur read the messages and looked at me. “How do you want to handle this?” I hit the ‘save photo’ button. “First, I’m going back to the house I lived in for eight years.” “To get your luggage?” “No.” I stared at Julian’s smug face in the photo. “To get evidence.” 02 At seven o’clock that evening, I arrived at the Oakwood subdivision. The passcode on the front door hadn’t been changed yet. I pushed the door open. The living room was packed. Martha, Chloe, a few of Julian’s extended relatives, and the woman from the photo. Her name was Mia. She was the accounting manager at Julian’s tech startup. She was wearing my house slippers, sitting in my usual spot on the sofa. Scattered across the coffee table were wedding favors and glossy brochures for luxury reception venues. Seeing me walk in, Julian kicked an empty suitcase across the floor. It stopped right at my feet. “Perfect timing. Pack your crap and get out.” Martha glared at me coldly. “You can take your cheap clothes. Leave the jewelry. My son paid for all of that with his hard-earned money.” Chloe crossed her arms, looking smug. “Don’t make a scene, Clara. It’s embarrassing. You and my brother haven’t loved each other in years, and Mia is already pregnant. Do everyone a favor and just leave quietly.” I shifted my gaze to Mia’s stomach. She was resting a hand on her belly, failing to hide a triumphant smirk. “I’m sorry, Clara. Julian said your marriage has been dead for a long time, he just couldn’t find the right time to tell you.” “So you decided to trick me into signing divorce papers?” I asked. Julian’s face darkened. “What trick? You signed the papers yourself. You went to the clerk’s office yourself.” “You told me it was paperwork for my health insurance.” “If you’re too stupid to read what you sign, whose fault is that?” The relatives sitting in the living room chuckled. “Clara never was the sharpest tool in the shed.” “She’s been leeching off Julian for eight years. What is she going to do now that she’s divorced? Starve?” “A woman on her own shouldn’t be so stubborn. She should just take the L and leave.” I didn’t argue with them. I discreetly opened the voice memo app on my phone and placed it face down on the entryway console table. No one noticed. Martha pointed a bony finger toward the master bedroom. “We already stuffed your trashy clothes into garbage bags. Don’t touch the bed or the vanity. Mia is moving her things in tonight.” I walked into the master bedroom. Inside the closet, all of my clothes had been unceremoniously shoved into black trash bags. The photo frame on my vanity had already been swapped. The new photo showed Julian holding Mia from behind, a tropical sunset glowing in the background. The timestamp on the photo was from nine months ago. I pulled open the bottom drawer of my desk. The property deed and mortgage documents were gone. Julian leaned against the doorframe, watching me. “Looking for something?” “The deed to the house.” “This is my house. It has nothing to do with you.” “Who paid the down payment?” He scoffed. “That eighty grand your dead aunt gave us was a gift to the marriage. The divorce decree clearly states the house goes to me.” “And the mortgage?” I asked. “Paid during the marriage. You signed away your rights to it.” I nodded. “Are you done?” “What do you mean?” “Just verifying the facts,” I said smoothly. I walked into the storage closet and pulled out a battered old lockbox my aunt had given me years ago. They didn’t know this, but my aunt was meticulous. She kept receipts for absolutely everything. The eighty-thousand-dollar wire transfer receipt had a specific memo line attached to it: Gifted exclusively to Clara Hayes for the purchase of her pre-marital residence. The original purchase agreement for the house only had my name on it as the buyer. The house was contracted two months before Julian and I officially got married. I only added his name to the deed later so we could utilize his VA loan benefits. Arthur had already confirmed that this documentation was more than enough to void the asset division clause of the fraudulent divorce. I shoved the lockbox into my tote bag, then walked over and unplugged my old laptop from the desk. Mia immediately blocked the doorway. “That’s Julian’s laptop. You can’t take that.” “The purchase receipt has my name on it.” “There’s highly confidential company data on there!” I stopped what I was doing and looked at her. Julian shot her a furious glare. Mia suddenly realized she had just let a massive secret slip. “What company data?” I asked. “Nothing,” Julian said, stepping forward quickly. “Put it down.” “And if I don’t?” He reached out to physically snatch it from me, but I stepped back. Just then, Arthur walked through the front door, flanked by two legal assistants. “Mr. Vance, I strongly suggest you think twice before laying a hand on my client. The hallway cameras are rolling, and so are we.” Julian’s hand froze in mid-air. “You brought a lawyer?” “If I’m coming to retrieve stolen property, obviously I’m going to come prepared.” Martha charged forward, her face purple with rage. “What stolen property?! You ate our food, lived under our roof, and couldn’t even give us a grandchild in eight years! You have some nerve trying to steal our money!” I looked at her coldly. “For the last eight years, the three thousand dollars a month required to run this household came directly from my aunt. I paid the mortgage. And I paid every single one of your medical bills.” “You’re lying!” “The bank statements say otherwise.” Martha’s face paled significantly. She knew I kept meticulous accounting of the household finances. I didn’t press the issue. Today wasn’t about winning a screaming match. It was about securing the evidence. I walked toward the front door. Julian called out after me. “Clara, don’t think hiring some flashy lawyer is going to scare me. That divorce decree is legally binding. You aren’t getting a single dime.” “Is that so?” “Tomorrow, Mia and I are going to the courthouse. This is our marital home now. Don’t ever show your face here again.” I looked back at him one last time. “Congratulations on the wedding.” Mia let out a triumphant little laugh. The relatives visibly relaxed, assuming I had finally accepted defeat. I picked up the laptop and walked out. Just as the elevator doors were closing, Chloe sprinted out into the hallway. “Wait! What about the twenty grand for my car?!” I hit the ‘Close Door’ button. “Ask your new sister-in-law for it.” Back at Arthur’s firm, a forensic tech booted up the old laptop. It still had Julian’s cloud drive synced to it. Wire transfers, hidden contracts, encrypted emails—it was all there. Arthur opened a folder labeled “Pre-Nup Planning.” The first document was a private, notarized contract between Julian and Mia. The second was a spreadsheet detailing a meticulously executed siphoning of Julian and my joint savings accounts. The third was a real estate purchase agreement. The buyer was listed as Mia. The purchase price was $860,000. The funding account, however, was my and Julian’s joint marital checking account. Arthur kept scrolling, then suddenly stopped. On the screen was a corporate wire transfer authorization form. The requesting signature was Mia’s. The final executive approval was Julian’s. The amount: 4.8 million dollars. Arthur looked up at me, his expression grim. “Clara… this has escalated far beyond a messy divorce.” 03 The next morning, I executed three distinct maneuvers. First, I filed an emergency injunction to freeze all of Julian’s assets. Second, I filed a civil suit to void the asset division clauses of the fraudulent divorce decree. Third, I handed the 4.8 million dollar corporate wire transfer documents over to a specialized forensic auditing firm. I did not contest the dissolution of the marriage itself. I wanted Julian to remember forever that he had schemed, lied, and manipulated his way out of this marriage all by himself. At noon, the first tranche of cash from my aunt’s estate cleared into my accounts. 120 million dollars, sitting cleanly in my personal checking. The remaining assets—including a 31% controlling stake in Zenith Holdings, various offshore hedge funds, prime commercial real estate, and a labyrinth of trust accounts—would take a few more weeks to fully transfer. My aunt had lived her entire life completely under the radar. Wall Street knew Zenith Holdings had a mysterious, silent majority shareholder, but almost no one knew her actual identity. Now, those shares belonged to me. The CEO and Chairman of Zenith Holdings, Richard Hayes, personally visited Arthur’s law firm to meet me. He was in his late fifties. The moment he walked into the conference room, he offered me a deep, respectful bow. “Ms. Hayes. Before she passed, Director Vance explicitly instructed us that you are welcome to take your seat on the Board of Directors whenever you feel ready.” “Did my aunt leave any other specific instructions?” I asked. Richard handed me a heavy, wax-sealed envelope. “She said you should only open this when you need to protect yourself.” I broke the wax seal. Inside was a single, yellowed promissory note from a decade ago. Borrower: Robert Vance (Julian’s father). Amount: 1.2 million dollars. Collateral: 100% equity in Vance Construction Supply, and the deed to the Oakwood property. Ten years ago, the Vance family business was on the brink of total bankruptcy. Julian had always told me his father single-handedly saved the company through sheer grit and business acumen. It turns out, the person who actually saved their family from utter ruin was my aunt. When the loan matured, Robert Vance never paid it back. And my aunt never sent collections after him. “Director Vance told me she only ignored the debt for your sake,” Richard explained softly. I gripped the promissory note, my chest tightening painfully. My aunt never breathed a word of this to me. For years, she quietly subsidized my life, paid my mortgage, and financially supported the Vance family. And in return, the Vance family constantly mocked her behind her back, calling her a lonely, bitter, barren old spinster. Martha even refused to attend her funeral. “Why should our whole family have to put on black suits and pretend to care about some crazy old lady who isn’t even blood-related?” she had sneered. I slid the promissory note across the desk to Arthur. “Execute the collection clause.” “Immediately?” “Immediately.” Arthur nodded. “With a decade of accrued interest and breach-of-contract penalties, the total debt is going to be somewhere north of three million dollars. If the Vance family cannot produce the cash, we have full legal authority to liquidate the collateral.” “Do it.” That afternoon, a court-ordered asset freeze notice was delivered directly to the Oakwood house. Julian was in the middle of a meeting with a high-end wedding planner. The court bailiff informed him on the spot that the property was now under a hard legal freeze—it could not be sold, mortgaged, or transferred. Mia’s new $860,000 condo was also slapped with an identical freeze. Julian called me in an absolute panic. “Clara, have you lost your damn mind?!” “Not at all.” “What right do you have to freeze my house?!” “I have the wire transfer receipt for the down payment. I have eight years of bank statements proving I paid the mortgage. And I have proof you committed fraud to coerce me into signing that divorce decree.” “You signed the papers yourself!” he yelled. “Then you can explain that to the judge.” He lowered his voice, trying a different tactic. “Clara, do you really have to go nuclear like this?” “You’re the one who defrauded me.” “Look, we can negotiate. I’ll give you half the equity in the Oakwood house, just drop the freeze on Mia’s condo.” “You bought her condo using stolen marital funds. Why shouldn’t I freeze it?” “She’s pregnant, Clara!” “Is that my problem?” Julian’s breathing grew heavy and ragged through the phone. For the past eight years, anytime he raised his voice, I would immediately apologize to keep the peace. This time, he waited in silence for a very long time, but my apology never came. “Clara, you’re going to regret this.” “The only thing I regret right now is trusting you.” I hung up. Ten minutes later, Vance Construction Supply received a formal demand letter from Arthur’s firm. Three million dollars in outstanding debt. Immediate payment required. Martha called me from a completely different phone number shortly after. This time, there was no screeching or insults. “Clara, honey… I know I said some harsh things yesterday, but please don’t take it to heart.” “Martha. Get to the point.” “What do you mean, ‘Martha’? We were mother and daughter for eight years! We can’t just become enemies overnight! This whole loan thing… it has to be a misunderstanding, right?” “The promissory note has Robert Vance’s signature and thumbprint on it.” “But your aunt has passed away! Why are you coming after us for this money now?” “I inherited her estate. The debt belongs to me.” “But we’re family!” “We stopped being family seventy days ago.” She went quiet for a moment, then started dramatically crying into the receiver. “Julian was just confused! He made a mistake! I’m apologizing on his behalf, Clara. Please, come home. We’ll kick Mia out today. You and Julian can go to City Hall, get remarried, and everything can go back to normal!” I actually laughed out loud. She didn’t even know about the ten billion dollars yet, but a three-million-dollar debt was enough for her to immediately throw her pregnant future daughter-in-law out onto the street. She didn’t miss me. She just didn’t want to go bankrupt. “Remarried?” “Yes! Julian told me he still loves you deeply!” “Tell him to say that to my face.” “Okay! Yes! Come over tonight, we’ll all sit down and have a nice family dinner and talk this out.” I agreed. Arthur looked at me, concerned. “Are you really going over there?” “Yes.” “They’re almost certainly going to try and secretly record you.” “I know.” “Then what exactly are you planning to discuss with them?” I slipped the court-ordered asset freeze manifest into my designer bag. “I’m going to discuss the 2.6 million dollars Julian secretly siphoned out of our joint accounts.” At 6:00 PM, I pulled up to the Oakwood subdivision. My phone buzzed with an anonymous text message. “Don’t go upstairs. Mia is planning to instigate a physical altercation with you and fake a miscarriage.” Attached to the text was a short audio file. I hit play. Martha’s raspy voice came through crystal clear. “As long as the baby dies, we just tell the cops Clara pushed her. Once we have an aggravated assault charge hanging over her head, you think she’ll still dare to sue us for that three million?” 04 I forwarded the audio file directly to Arthur. He replied with two words. “Stick to the plan.” I walked into the building flanked by two aggressive female litigators and an official public notary. I also stopped by the lobby desk and requested that a security guard escort us to the door and wait outside. When the front door opened, Martha’s face was plastered with a terrifyingly fake, eager smile. “Clara! You’re home! Come in, come in!” The living room had been scrubbed clean. The wedding brochures and party favors were nowhere to be seen. The dining table was covered with all of my favorite dishes. Julian stood up and actually pulled a chair out for me. “Have a seat, Clara. I admit, I handled things poorly in the past.” The words sounded like they were physically paining him to say. Mia was sitting on the sofa, her eyes aggressively red, playing the tragic victim perfectly. “Clara… Julian told me he wants to reconcile with you. I’m stepping aside.” She slowly stood up, picked up a glass of water from the coffee table, and began walking toward me. There were absolutely zero obstacles on the floor, but suddenly, her ankle “twisted.” The glass shattered on the hardwood. She lunged forward, her hand desperately grabbing for my wrist, throwing her entire body weight backward. I didn’t move an inch. I didn’t even flinch. Before she could even make contact with me, one of the female litigators behind me moved with lightning speed, catching Mia securely by the waist. The other litigator already had her phone out, recording the entire incident in 4K resolution. Mia hung suspended in the lawyer’s grip, her exaggerated expression of agony completely freezing on her face. “Let me go!” The lawyer effortlessly helped her stand upright. “Ms. Mia, the floor is perfectly level. You intentionally lunged toward my client and purposefully threw yourself backward. We have the entire sequence of events clearly recorded.” The security guard, who had been watching from the open doorway, stepped inside. “Do you folks need me to call the police?” The living room descended into absolute, suffocating silence. Martha was the first to recover her wits. “It’s just a misunderstanding! Pregnant women lose their balance all the time! It’s totally normal!” My eyes drifted toward the coffee table. Hidden just behind a large decorative vase was a smartphone. The camera lens was aimed directly at the entryway where I was standing. Chloe panicked and lunged to grab it. The notary stepped forward, blocking her path. “Please do not tamper with an active scene.” Julian’s face turned completely black with rage. “Clara, you brought an entire legal team here just to humiliate us?” “Didn’t you invite me over to talk?” “If we’re going to talk, talk! What is the point of all this theatrical garbage?!” “Because I was worried someone might suffer a sudden, tragic miscarriage.” Mia’s face drained of all color. I pulled out my phone and hit play on the audio file. Martha’s voice echoed loudly through the silent living room. “As long as the baby dies, we just tell the cops Clara pushed her…” When the recording finished, no one dared to breathe. Martha’s jaw hung open, her fingers trembling violently. “That’s… that’s a fake! It’s AI!” “Great. Let’s call the police and have their cyber unit authenticate it.” “NO COPS!” Mia shrieked, completely losing her composure. Every eye in the room snapped to her. She immediately crossed her arms protectively over her stomach and took a step back. I calmly pulled out my chair and sat down at the dining table. “Are we done performing?” Julian ground his teeth together. “What exactly do you want, Clara?” “I want my money back.” “What money?” I pulled a thick stack of bank statements from my bag and tossed them into the center of the table. “2.6 million dollars. You systematically drained our joint accounts, then funneled the cash through Mia’s personal accounts to buy real estate and offshore mutual funds. You have exactly seven days to return every single cent.” Julian glanced at the first page, and his face completely collapsed. “It is perfectly normal for spouses to transfer money between accounts.” “Twenty days before the divorce was finalized, you made twelve massive, sequential transfers to accounts outside the marriage. And in the final divorce decree, you explicitly hid these assets. In the eyes of the law, that is malicious concealment of marital assets.” “The money is gone. I already spent it.” “I know. That’s why the courts froze Mia’s condo and her investment portfolios this afternoon.” Mia whipped her head around, staring at Julian in absolute horror. “You told me that was your personal, pre-marital cash!” Julian refused to look at her. “Julian, look at me! Why did the court freeze my condo?!” Mia’s voice escalated into a hysterical screech. “Shut up!” Julian snapped. “You lied to me?!” I sat comfortably at the table, watching them tear each other apart without saying a word. Letting the enemy destroy themselves from the inside was always more efficient than fighting them myself. Martha aggressively slammed her hand on the table. “Enough! Both of you, shut up! Clara, give me a number. How much is it going to take for you to drop the lawsuits?” “The three-million-dollar loan, repaid in full with interest. The 2.6 million in stolen marital assets, returned entirely. And the equity in this house will be reapportioned based on my documented financial contributions.” “You are literally robbing us blind!” “I’m just taking back what belongs to me.” “You lived in this house for eight years! You ate our food, used our electricity! How do you calculate that?!” I pulled a second, smaller ledger from my bag. “Total household expenditures over the last eight years: 2.34 million dollars. Of that, 2.09 million came directly from my salary and my aunt’s subsidies. Julian contributed exactly $250,000.” I slid the ledger toward her. “Your $430,000 surgical bills. Chloe’s $670,000 study abroad tuition. And the $350,000 emergency bridge loan to keep Robert’s company afloat. I paid for all of it.” Chloe hung her head in shame. But Martha stubbornly refused to concede. “We are family! What does it matter who paid for what?!” “Then pay it back.” “Why the hell should we?!” “Because we aren’t family anymore.” I gathered my documents and stood up. “If the funds aren’t cleared into my accounts in seven days, the liquidation proceedings for Vance Construction Supply will begin immediately. And regarding your little stunt tonight? My legal team will be exploring criminal charges for conspiracy and attempted extortion.” Julian rushed forward, physically blocking the front door. “Stop right there.” The security guard immediately stepped between us, his hand resting on his radio. Julian had no choice but to back off. As I reached the hallway, Mia broke down into loud, ugly sobs behind me. “Julian! You promised me that money was clean! You swore there wouldn’t be any problems!” “Mia, please, just calm down.” “What about our wedding?!” I paused in the doorway and looked back at them over my shoulder. “Oh, right. Just a friendly heads-up.” They both froze, staring at me. “Julian committed federal perjury and malicious concealment of assets during our divorce. During the discovery phase of this lawsuit, every single asset attached to his name is going to be subjected to a brutal, forensic audit.” “What does that mean for me?” Mia demanded, her voice shaking. “It means you can absolutely still marry him.” I looked pointedly at the massive diamond ring on her finger. “But just know that every single dollar he spends on you after you say ‘I do’ can—and will—be legally seized and clawed back by my attorneys.” Mia let out a horrified gasp. She ripped the diamond ring off her finger and hurled it directly at Julian’s face. At 10:00 PM that night, my phone buzzed with another text from the anonymous number. “Do you want to know who sent you the warning tonight? Meet me tomorrow at 3:00 PM. Zenith Hotel, 2nd-floor VIP lounge.” The next afternoon, I pushed open the heavy mahogany doors of the VIP lounge. The person sitting inside looked up at me. It was Chloe.

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I had cooked for Liam ever since college. Six years, straight. The job was easy, though occasionally, I had to handle things outside of my job description—like picking up condoms for him. A woman wrapped only in a bath towel leaned against his door, eyeing me with a mocking smirk. “Wow, you’re pathetic. You’re still chasing after him even when things are like this?” The door wasn’t shut completely. As I walked away, I heard Liam’s voice drifting into the hallway. “I wouldn’t dare touch her. A woman like that… if I slept with her, she’d probably threaten to kill herself if I ever tried to leave. I’m not dealing with that kind of crazy.” Later, Liam’s mother tracked me down. She slid a sleek, black debit card across the table. “There’s a hundred grand on this card. Leave my son alone.” I swallowed the words I originally wanted to say. But in the end, I couldn’t resist the temptation of cold, hard cash. I just nodded and said, “Okay.” When I went to interview for a new job, I ended up face-to-face with Liam’s best friend. He looked at me, a half-smile playing on his lips. “How much was Liam paying you?” I answered cautiously: “A thousand…”

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Ever since I was a kid, I hated taking things I hadn’t earned. When I was seven, the lunch lady at my foster home shorted me half a scoop of meat and still had the nerve to call me greedy. “You little bottomless pits are going to eat this whole foster home into bankruptcy!” I actually thought we were eating too much. So, for a whole month, I secretly weighed every single portion of food served to the kids. The purchasing logs showed 100 pounds of meat. But only 70 pounds ever made it onto our plates. It turned out the kids she constantly yelled at hadn’t taken an extra bite. The missing 30 pounds were going straight into the deep freezer at her own house. The day I handed my ledgers over to the state auditors, she was fired. And so was the director who had been helping her cook the books. When I was fourteen, I got accepted into the most elite private high school in the city, ranking number one in the admissions exams. But on orientation day, the daughter of a major school board donor threw her backpack hard into my chest. “If my dad didn’t donate half a million dollars to the endowment fund, trash like you wouldn’t even be allowed in the building. From now on, you’re my personal assistant.” If you take someone’s money, you play by their rules. I couldn’t argue with her logic. So, I neatly folded my brand-new uniform, packed it up with my enrollment papers, and handed them right back to the admissions office. That exact same night, the principals of the top ten public high schools in the state were lined up outside my foster home, aggressively outbidding each other to offer me full-ride academic scholarships. When I was twenty-two, my biological, ultra-wealthy family finally found me and brought me home. During my very first welcome-home dinner, the girl they had raised instead of me—the fake daughter—suddenly let out a soft, teasing laugh. “Oh, sister! Those shoes you’re wearing… my older brother bought those for me. They were a half-size too small, so I let you have them. Does that mean you’re taking my hand-me-downs?” Instead of correcting her, my biological mother smiled, looking visibly relieved. “I’m so glad Maya is finally learning how to protect her own things.” I nodded. I slipped off the designer heels, stepping barefoot onto the freezing marble floor. “Here. You can have them back.” As everyone at the massive dining table stared at me in stunned silence, I looked Maya dead in the eye. “So, you took my identity. You lived by my parents’ side, sleeping in my house, for eighteen years.” “When exactly are you planning to pay me back for that ‘hand-me-down’?” … The smug smile vanished from Maya’s face. The entire dining room plunged into absolute silence. My older brother, Liam, was the first to react. He stood up abruptly. His eyes dropped to my bare feet on the marble, and his brow furrowed deeply, as if the sight physically irritated him. The next second, he took off his expensive suit jacket and threw it onto the floor right at my feet. “Step on that for now. You look ridiculous standing there like that.” I didn’t move an inch. That was his jacket. If I stepped on it and got it dirty, that would just be another thing I owed him for. My mother frowned and gestured to the butler. “Go get Clara a pair of house slippers.” After giving the order, she immediately reached out and grabbed Maya’s hand. Her tone was soothing, clearly meant to comfort Maya—but also serving as a thinly veiled explanation directed at me. “Maya has always been too soft. She gives up everything for everyone else. It’s actually a good thing she’s finally learning to protect what belongs to her.” I looked down at the shoes I had just taken off. “But why were they in my closet for me to put on?” My mother paused, caught slightly off guard. “I saw you didn’t have any formal shoes to match your dress for tonight, so I had the maid grab a pair from Maya’s closet.” “Did you know they were a gift specifically for her?” “They’re just a pair of shoes, Clara. Why would I overthink it?” “You didn’t overthink it. But she clearly remembered.” My mother’s expression grew cold. “What exactly are you trying to say?” “Nothing. I’m just establishing the facts. I didn’t actively take them from her.” Maya’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. “Sister, I really wasn’t mad at you. I just spoke without thinking…” “Well, I’ve already returned them. Why are you crying?” Liam slammed his fork down onto the table. “She already apologized! What more do you want?!” “I don’t want anything.” I stood on the freezing floor, looking at them with total seriousness. “She was the one who asked if I was taking her hand-me-downs. I paid my debt, and then I asked her the exact same question. Is that not allowed?” “The hospital mix-up wasn’t her fault! Maya didn’t intentionally steal your life!” Liam snapped. “And I didn’t intentionally steal her shoes.” Liam was rendered speechless. My mother immediately pulled a sobbing Maya into a tight, protective embrace. “Clara, we brought you home because you’re our daughter. Not so you could launch an inquisition against Maya.” “She has been by our side for eighteen years. Blood or no blood, she is our daughter.” “And what about me?” The second the question left my mouth, I regretted it. It sounded too much like I was begging for scraps of affection. My mother didn’t hear the vulnerability in it. She just rubbed her temples, looking exhausted and annoyed. “Of course you are too. But in life, there’s a natural order of things. First come, first served. You can’t just walk through the door on day one and demand the entire family prove who they love more.” Ah. So even biological children operate on a “first come, first served” basis. I nodded. I didn’t ask any more questions. The butler returned with a pair of thin, flimsy, hotel-style disposable slippers. The soles were paper-thin. When I put them on, I could still feel the biting chill of the marble seeping into my skin. The welcome dinner resumed. No one touched the dishes placed directly in front of me. Meanwhile, the lazy Susan was constantly spun to ensure Maya’s favorite foods were always within her reach. Liam peeled shrimp for her. My father asked her if she had been sleeping well lately. My mother was busy whispering apologies to the extended family, explaining that my personality was “a bit blunt” and asking them not to mind my lack of manners. Not a single person at that table asked me what my life in the foster system had been like. After dinner, it was time for the official family portrait. The photographer instructed me to stand in the center, right between my parents. Maya took a single, hesitant step to the side, looking entirely pitiful. My mother instinctively reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her back. “Maya, stand right here next to Mom. Clara, you stand next to your dad.” Liam naturally and effortlessly positioned himself right behind Maya, resting a hand on her shoulder. When the camera flashed, I looked at the preview on the monitor. This was supposed to be my welcome-home party. But in the photo, I looked like an awkward, uninvited guest they had reluctantly allowed to stand on the edge of the frame. In the preview image, my mother’s hand was resting affectionately on Maya’s shoulder. But between my father and me… there was a very clear, very deliberate half-step of empty space. On the car ride back to the estate, my father finally broke his silence. “Just to find you, I had to cancel two massive corporate dinners today. Your mother has spent years running herself ragged chasing down leads for you.” “And the second you walk through the door, you throw a massive tantrum and ruin the entire night. Does that seem fair to you?” I understood exactly what he was saying. Them looking for me… was a debt I owed them. I pulled out my phone and opened my notes app. “How much money did the search cost?” My father’s face darkened instantly. “What the hell does that mean?” “Exactly what it sounds like.” I started typing, creating a new, blank invoice in the app. “Whatever money you spent on me, I will pay it back in full.” “That way, no matter what I do in the future, I won’t ever have to feel like I owe you.” My first night in the Hayes estate, I was placed in a guest room at the very end of the third-floor hallway. The room was massive, but absolutely nothing in it matched my habits or preferences. The closet was packed full of pastel, ruffled dresses. I checked the tags—every single one was a size too small for me. On the nightstand sat a strong, cloying gardenia-scented diffuser. I hated the smell of heavy floral perfumes. The moment I pulled the reeds out to cap it, my mother knocked and walked in. “Why did you close that? Maya said that scent is the absolute best for helping you sleep.” “I don’t use fragrance diffusers.” “Just try it, you’ll get used to it. Maya spent her entire afternoon picking that out for you, don’t throw her kindness in her face.” I uncapped the bottle and dropped the reeds back in. “How much did it cost?” My mother froze. “We are family. Why are you asking about money?” “If I don’t ask clearly now, I’m afraid someone is going to accuse me of stealing her things again.” The strained smile on my mother’s face slowly vanished. “Clara, do you really have to assume the absolute worst of Maya at every turn?” I wasn’t assuming she was a bad person. I had just been burned by her “gifts” once today, and I had absolutely no intention of owing her a second time. My mother pulled a sleek black Amex card from her purse and placed it on the desk. “If you need anything, buy it yourself. The PIN is Maya’s birthday.” I stared at those six digits printed on the sticky note. “Can I change the PIN to my birthday?” My mother looked taken aback. “There’s no need for that. All the secondary cards for the household have used that PIN for years. Everyone is used to it.” “But isn’t this card supposed to be mine?” “It’s for you to use. That doesn’t mean we have to upend the entire household and change everything just because you arrived.” After she said it, she must have realized how harsh she sounded. She softened her tone slightly: “Clara, does it really matter whose birthday the PIN is? Is it going to stop you from spending the money?” “No.” The money would still work. But from the room I was shoved into, to the clothes that didn’t fit, right down to a simple six-digit password… absolutely nothing in this house had anything to do with me. My mother finally lost her patience. “We earned this money. We decide which of our children gets to spend it, and how they spend it.” “You just walked through the door. You have absolutely no right to dictate how we run our lives.” I nodded and pushed the black card back across the desk toward her. “You’re absolutely right.” She stood completely paralyzed. She clearly never expected me to just accept that logic. They earned the money. The emotional attachment was theirs to give. Who they wanted to give those things to was entirely up to them. I had no right to demand it. The only thing I had the power to do… was refuse to take it. At breakfast the next morning, my father had his corporate accountant email him an itemized invoice of the search expenses. Private investigators, national newspaper ads, travel expenses… it totaled exactly $48,000. He slid his phone across the mahogany table, stopping it right in front of my plate. “You wanted to do the math? Look closely. We spent a small fortune trying to bring you home.” My mother shot him a fierce glare. “She just got here! Why on earth are you showing her that?!” Despite her harsh words, she made absolutely no move to reach out and take the phone away from me. I AirDropped the PDF file to my own phone. “Understood.” Liam scoffed from across the table. “You aren’t seriously planning on paying that back, are you? On your little college stipends, it’s going to take you thirty years.” “I’ll pay it off eventually.” “Stop acting so self-righteous. Mom and Dad don’t give a damn about the money. They just want you to stop bullying Maya the second you walk through the door.” Maya gently tugged on Liam’s sleeve, looking entirely innocent. “Liam, stop it. Clara grew up in a foster home. She probably just never learned that real families don’t keep score like this.” I looked directly at her. “Did you learn that?” “Of course.” “Then why did you feel the need to keep score over a pair of shoes last night?” All the color drained from Maya’s face. Liam was just about to explode at me when my phone started buzzing loudly on the table. It was Professor Davis from Northern University. During my undergrad, I had spent two years working directly under him, building predictive algorithms for his lab. Last month, he asked if I wanted to join his elite Ph.D. fast-track program in Northern.”Clara, your housing and full-ride fellowship have been approved by the board. If you come, your tuition is completely covered, and the living stipend is more than enough.” I looked down at the $48,000 invoice sitting on the breakfast table. “If I accept, can I join the lab projects immediately after graduation?” “Absolutely. And the project bonuses are calculated separately from your fellowship stipend.” “Let me think about it.” When I hung up, my father demanded, “Who was that?” “A professor from my university.” “You’ve already graduated. Why is he calling you?” “He’s offering me a spot in a Ph.D. program in Northern.” My mother’s brow furrowed deeply. “You literally just got home, and you’re already trying to leave again? People are going to think we drove you out of the house!” Liam chimed in immediately: “Maya turned down an acceptance letter from Juilliard just so she could stay close and take care of Mom and Dad. You, on the other hand, haven’t even learned where the bathrooms are yet, and you’re already trying to run away.” Maya lowered her head modestly. “Sister is different from me. She’s brilliant and capable. She doesn’t need to be tied down to family.” She said it so sweetly. So considerately. But everyone at the table fell dead silent, the implication hanging heavily in the air. I didn’t bother trying to explain myself. That night in my room, I did the math for a long time. Over my four years of college, I had meticulously saved every penny from national math competitions and research lab stipends. It totaled $31,000. I was exactly $17,000 short. Northern City was on the opposite side of the country. But every single dollar waiting for me there was earned through my own hard work. The terms were clear. I knew exactly why I was getting paid. I actually hadn’t planned on accepting the Northern offer immediately. Because my college graduation ceremony was in exactly three days. From elementary school all the way through undergrad, the “Parents” section on every single one of my invitations had been completely blank. This time, my mother had proactively asked for two tickets and carefully placed them in her designer handbag. “Dad and I will both be there.” Liam had excitedly chimed in: “I’m coming too! Even if I don’t have a ticket, I’ll wait outside the auditorium. I’m taking you out to a massive dinner to celebrate afterward.” I double-checked with them. “It’s this Friday at 9:00 AM sharp. You can’t be late.” My father laughed, waving me off. “It’s a huge milestone. Do you really think we’d flake on you?” I didn’t say anything. But for the very first time in my life, I felt like maybe… just maybe… I didn’t need to reply to the Northern acceptance letter right away.

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My younger brother has always been called “girly.” He’s twenty-four years old, and he still can’t open a tight water bottle. He just hands it to me with big, pathetic eyes. He sprays designer cologne before he leaves the house, his nails are always immaculately painted with clear gloss, and he carries lip balm and a compact mirror in his bag. My husband, Julian, despised him. Every time Julian hit me, he would always mock my brother: “Don’t even think about running to your family for backup, Clara.” “What is that little fairy going to do if he shows up? Cry and stick rhinestones on my fingernails?” Until the night I finally broke down after a beating and secretly called my brother. “Oliver… I want to come home.” Half an hour later, my front door was kicked open. My brother rushed in, sobbing, his eyeliner completely smudged. His legs were physically shaking, but he still stepped in front of me, holding his phone up like a shield. Julian raised his hand to slap him. Oliver squeezed his eyes shut in terror and screamed at the top of his lungs: “That’s him! Babe, hit him!” The next second, the man who had followed my brother into the apartment stepped through the doorway. He grabbed Julian’s wrist, twisted it violently behind his back, and slammed him hard against the wall. Chapter 1 Since the day he was born, my brother was considered the useless one in the family. He was the weakest, the most easily scared, the one who always needed to be taken care of. When we were kids, if a moth flew into the house, he would scream and jump onto the sofa. Once, my dad told him to take out the trash. He pinched his nose, walked halfway down the driveway, and came running back crying: “There’s a cockroach looking at me by the trash can!” My mom yelled at him for being pathetic. He argued back, his eyes red: “It’s black, and it has wings!” He didn’t get much better when he grew up. After college, he didn’t try to get a corporate job or go into government work. He went to cosmetology school and learned how to do nails, lash extensions, and makeup. The extended family constantly gossiped behind his back. “A grown man doing makeup and nails? He looks like a freak.” Oliver heard them once and hid in the bathroom, crying for fifteen minutes. When he came out, his eyes were still red, but he muttered quietly: “I make an honest living with my own hands. I don’t steal from anyone.” I had protected him my entire life. But even I had to admit, he didn’t exactly fit the mold of a tough, protective younger brother. Especially not after I married Julian. Julian ran a successful construction and remodeling company. He was thirty-two, incredibly handsome, and very charismatic. When he was courting me, he was unbelievably gentle. My mom said, “He’s a solid guy. He has his own business, and he treats you like a queen.” I thought so, too. In our first month of marriage, he told me he didn’t like it when I wore spaghetti strap dresses. “My wife is too beautiful. I don’t like other guys looking at you.” In the second month, he told me to quit my job and become a full-time housewife. He said he made more than enough to support us both. “I hate seeing you stressed out by your boss. Just stay home. If you want to buy something, just tell me and I’ll transfer the money.” I hesitated. He looked hurt. “Do you not trust me?” I hated arguing, so I compromised. After I quit, my world rapidly shrank. If I went to visit my parents for more than three hours, he would text me, demanding to know where I was. “Are you done gossiping yet?” “You have your own family now. Stop running back to your parents’ house every day.” The more I tried to explain, the more volatile he became. The first time he hit me was because Oliver came over to drop off a birthday cake for me. The icing on the cake said: To my sister, forever 18. Julian kept a tight lid on his temper while Oliver was there. The second Oliver left, Julian picked up the cake and smashed it into the trash can. “Your brother is disgusting. A grown man clinging to his older sister like a needy little kid.” I defended him. “He’s my brother.” Julian slapped me across the face. My ear rang loudly. He even looked shocked by his own action. The next second, he dropped to his knees, wrapped his arms around my legs, and sobbed. “Clara, I’m so sorry.” “I just love you so much. It drives me crazy thinking you care about anyone else.” “I promise, I’ll never do it again.” Chapter 2 The second time, he smashed my phone. Because Oliver texted me, asking if I could hang out with him over the weekend. When Julian saw the words hang out with me, his face darkened instantly. “Does he not have any friends?” I replied, “He’s just asking if I’m free.” He took my phone and hurled it at the hardwood floor. The screen shattered into a spiderweb. When I crouched down to pick it up, he stepped on it. “Clara, don’t forget, you are a married woman now.” A piece of shattered glass sliced my finger. A bead of blood welled up. When he saw the blood, he panicked again. “I didn’t mean to.” “Don’t cry, I’ll buy you a new one. The most expensive one they have.” That night, he held me and talked for hours. He told me his parents had a toxic, abusive marriage when he was a kid, which left him with deep abandonment issues. He said he worked himself to the bone just so he could give me a perfect home. He told me that if I truly loved him, I needed to be more understanding of his temper. Listening to him, my heart actually softened. But the incidents became more frequent. If he drank too much, he would choke me. If a business deal fell through, he would hurl glass ashtrays at my feet. He would scroll through my phone, and if he didn’t find anything suspicious, he would accuse me of deleting my messages. Once, while he was out of town on a business trip, I went to visit my parents. Oliver saw the dark purple bruising around my wrist, and all the color drained from his face. “Clara, who did that?” I quickly pulled my sleeve down. “I bumped into a doorframe.” Oliver’s lips trembled, and tears immediately welled up in his eyes. “You’re lying.” My heart ached. But he was crying so hard that I actually ended up having to comfort him. “It’s really nothing.” “All married couples fight sometimes.” That was the exact phrase my mother-in-law, Martha, had taught me. Every time she saw the bruises on my face, she would just frown and sigh: “Clara, Julian has a quick temper, but he has a good heart.” “Men are under a lot of pressure providing for the family. As his wife, you need to be more forgiving.” My father-in-law, Robert, was even better at spinning it. “A peaceful home brings prosperity.” “If you make a big deal out of this, both our families will look bad.” “You young people shouldn’t blow every little argument out of proportion.” I thought about leaving. But I didn’t have a job. I didn’t have access to my bank accounts. My ID, passport, and social security card were locked inside Julian’s safe because he said he was “afraid I’d lose them.” He also constantly used my family as leverage. “Your brother just opened that new salon, right? Do you want me to make sure his business goes under?” I was terrified. So, I secretly bought a cheap, prepaid phone and hid it, just in case. I never actually thought I’d use it. Until that night. Julian came home from a networking dinner reeking of cheap whiskey. The second he walked through the door, he demanded: “Who was here today?” I told him no one. He picked up my regular phone and tossed it onto the sofa. “Then explain this UberEats receipt. Two bubble teas and a slice of cake?” I froze. That afternoon, Oliver was worried I was lonely, so he ordered me some treats. The delivery note said: Sis, have something sweet so you feel better. Julian stared at the delivery note and let out a dark, mocking laugh. “Your little fairy brother again.” “Does he think I can’t control my own wife?” I tried to explain. “He just ordered some food.” The next second, he grabbed the half-empty bubble tea cup and hurled it at the wall. The plastic shattered, brown liquid splattering across the white paint. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me toward the entryway. “Clara, are you literally incapable of understanding me?” I struggled, which only made him pull harder. When the back of my head slammed against the sharp edge of the entryway console table, my vision went completely black for a second. Warm liquid started trailing down my neck. Julian actually looked startled. But a second later, he reached past me and locked the deadbolt. Chapter 3 I sat slumped on the hardwood floor in the entryway, the only sound in my ears my own ragged breathing. Julian paced the living room, smoking a cigarette. Then he lit another. Finally, he pulled out his phone and called his parents. “She’s throwing another fit.” “I barely even touched her, she threw herself into the cabinet.” “You guys need to come over and talk some sense into her, otherwise she’s going to threaten me with divorce again.” My head was pounding. I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. While he was out on the balcony talking on the phone, I used the wall to pull myself up and stumbled into the bedroom. There were only three numbers saved in my hidden phone. Dad, Mom, and Oliver. My parents were older, and my dad had a bad heart. I didn’t dare ask them to rush over in the middle of the night. I stared at Oliver’s name, hesitating. He was so cowardly. So fragile. When I finally hit the call button, my only thought was: Whatever. I’ll just ask him to call me an Uber. The phone rang three times. He picked up. It was loud in the background, like he was cleaning up his salon after closing. “Hey Sis! It’s super late, did you miss me?” I opened my mouth. My throat felt like it was lined with shattered glass. I only managed to croak out one sentence: “Oliver… I want to come home.” The background noise on his end instantly stopped. A few seconds later, he asked, his voice tight: “Clara… are you crying?” I didn’t answer. Oliver’s breathing became erratic. “Did that bastard hit you again?” I could hear his voice trembling violently. “I’m coming to get you.” I panicked. “Oliver, don’t try to be a hero. Just call 911 for me.” He sniffled loudly. “I already called my boyfriend, Leo. He’s driving over to pick you up right now.” “Sis, wait for me.” I was stunned. He was speaking incredibly fast, his voice thick with tears. “And I called a lawyer friend of mine. She said you absolutely have to document the evidence of the abuse.” It felt like someone had driven a fist directly into my chest. He was so terrified, yet he was spending the car ride frantically researching how to save me. I heard Julian’s heavy footsteps walking back into the living room. I quickly hung up and shoved the phone deep into the pocket of my pajama pants. Just as I walked back out, the doorbell rang. It was Martha and Robert, my in-laws. The second Martha walked in and saw the blood covering my neck, she quickly pulled the door shut behind her. “Oh my god, what happened here?!” Julian ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “She threw herself into the cabinet.” Martha immediately latched onto the excuse: “Right, right. Couples argue, sometimes things get physical, it’s totally normal.” “Clara, honestly, why didn’t you just get out of his way?” I looked up at her. “He dragged me by my hair and smashed my head into the corner.” Martha’s face stiffened. Robert sat down heavily on the sofa and cleared his throat. “Clara, this is not the time to throw a tantrum.” “Julian is in the middle of closing a massive commercial contract. If word of this gets out, it ruins everything for everyone.” My head was spinning. “But I need to go to the hospital.” Martha quickly interjected: “Hospital? Why do you need a hospital? I’ve got iodine in my purse, I’ll clean it up for you, you’ll be fine.” Just then, there was another knock at the door. Julian walked over and opened it. A woman in her mid-forties stood outside, wearing a neighborhood association badge and holding a clipboard. It was Brenda, the community mediator. She didn’t look the least bit surprised when she saw me. “Clara, honey, have a seat.” “When couples have disagreements, calling the cops is the worst thing you can do. Once the police are involved, your marriage is permanently damaged.” She pulled a pre-printed form from her clipboard and slid it across the coffee table toward me. “Just sign this incident report.” I looked down at the paper. It read: Both parties engaged in a verbal disagreement over household matters. The female party became emotionally volatile and accidentally collided with furniture, sustaining minor injuries. The male party has apologized. The female party voluntarily agrees not to press charges or involve law enforcement, and both parties agree to continue cohabitating. The words accidentally collided felt like physical daggers in my eyes. I shook my head. “I’m not signing that.” Chapter 4 The living room fell dead silent for a few seconds. Then, Julian let out a dark laugh. “Clara, I’m giving you a way out here.” “Don’t push your luck.” Martha quickly tugged his sleeve. “Calm down, don’t scare her.” But when she turned back to me, her tone was even colder. “Clara, Julian gives you everything you could ever want. You don’t even have to work. What more do you want?” I pointed a shaking finger at my bleeding forehead. “You call this giving me everything?” Brenda sighed heavily. “I’ve mediated hundreds of domestic disputes. You fight at night, you make up in the morning.” “If you put him in jail today, you’re going to regret it tomorrow.” My voice shook. “I will never regret it.” Robert’s face darkened. “Your brother just opened that new salon of his, didn’t he?” “If your extended family finds out you got divorced because your husband beat you, how is your family going to show their faces in public?” I felt like I had been plunged into an ice bath. They didn’t care if I was in agony. They only cared about protecting Julian’s reputation. Brenda shoved a pen into my hand. “Just sign it.” “Sign it, get some sleep, and everything will be fine in the morning.” I stared at the pen, my fingers completely numb. Right at that moment, the doorbell rang again. This time, Julian didn’t open it immediately. He stared at me, realizing what was happening. “You called someone, didn’t you?” I didn’t answer. He sneered, walked over, and yanked the door open. Oliver was standing in the hallway. When Julian saw him, he actually burst out laughing. “Well, well.” “The little fairy came for a midnight stroll?” Oliver was terrifyingly pale. When he saw the blood covering my forehead and neck, tears instantly poured down his face. “Clara…” My heart ached unbearably. “Go away, Oliver, just go!” Oliver shook his head. He stepped inside the apartment, his voice trembling violently: “I’m taking you home.” Julian leaned against the doorframe, a mocking smirk on his face. “Taking her home?” “How exactly are you going to do that? Hit me with your little designer purse?” Martha frowned deeply. “Oliver, this is between a husband and wife. Don’t interfere.” Oliver completely ignored her. He walked right past her and stood in front of me. Even though I could see his legs physically shaking, he still used his body to shield me. Then, he pulled his phone out of his bag. He opened the camera and hit record. He pointed the lens at every single person in the living room. “My sister is not signing that paper.” Brenda’s face paled. “What are you recording? Put the phone down.” Oliver sniffled loudly. “No.” “My sister is injured. We’re going to the hospital, and we’re calling the police.” Julian’s smirk vanished. “Say that again?” Oliver’s fingers were trembling so badly he could barely hold the phone steady. But he still said it: “You hit her. That is domestic violence.” Julian took a slow, menacing step toward him. “Oliver, do you honestly think I won’t lay you out?” Oliver instinctively flinched backward. But he kept the phone held high. “Stay away from me, I’m recording you.” Julian sneered. “Recording? I’ll give you something to record.” He lunged forward, trying to snatch the phone. Oliver screamed and dodged to the side. “Oliver!” I tried to jump up and pull Julian away, but he violently shoved me back onto the sofa. Another sharp spike of pain shot through the back of my head. Oliver was crying, his eyes completely bloodshot, but he refused to let go of the phone. “Get off of me!” Julian ground his teeth. “Stop trying to act like a man!” “Get the hell out of my house.” Oliver winced in pain. Suddenly, he swung his other arm, using his heavy, rhinestone-studded clutch bag to smack Julian right in the face. Julian completely lost his mind. He raised his hand, winding up to deliver a massive blow. Oliver squeezed his eyes shut in terror and screamed at the top of his lungs. “Babe! Get in here and hit him!”

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“I’m going to sue you.” At the Vance family dinner, six-year-old me gripped my spoon tightly and looked right at my stepmother. My oldest uncle, Liam, chuckled. “Three generations of lawyers in the Vance family, and even the six-year-old has caught the bug.” I was the only one who knew I wasn’t joking. I didn’t talk much, but I had a memory like a steel trap. When my stepmother first moved in, she praised me in front of everyone, calling me an angel. “Mia is so well-behaved. Here, sweetie, have a piece of candy.” But when she cornered me in the hallway later, she snatched the candy right out of my hand and threw it on the hardwood floor. “You think a little mute freak like you deserves candy? Who’s going to believe a freak who can’t even talk?” It was true, I struggled to express myself. But that night after dinner, when my dad asked me if I had a good day, I held up my bright red, swollen hand. I reported in my tiny, high-pitched voice: “Your Honor, Dad. I want to file a lawsuit.” “The defendant is the mean lady. She murdered my white rabbit candy. Charge: Robbery!” “Witness is Mia. Evidence is the candy. Prosecution demands… demands she is banned from my house forever!” I tried so hard to hold back my tears. The littlest lawyer in the Vance family couldn’t cry in court. My dad, who was holding me, completely froze. At the same time, across the long dining table, five uncles—all absolute sharks in the legal world—slowly set their forks down. Ever since my stepmother, Sarah, moved into the Vance house, I turned into a little mute. Everyone thought I was sick. But the truth was, I was secretly building a death penalty case file against her. That afternoon, she claimed she was helping me wash my hands, but she dug her nails into my skin until I bled. Uncle Liam was the first to speak. “Mia, let Uncle see your hand.” I opened my little palm. Three distinct red indentations at the base of my fingers were already turning purple. My dad’s face went dark. He turned to look at Sarah. Sarah’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “Mia… does Mia just not like me?” Her voice trembled. She looked more wronged than I did. “I was just trying to help her dry her hands today. She jerked away from me, and I grabbed her so she wouldn’t fall…” She looked at my dad, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “Julian, I know she hasn’t accepted me yet. I don’t blame her. It’s my fault.” My dad held me, his brow furrowed. He looked down at me gently. “Mia, did Sarah accidentally hurt you when she was wiping your hands?” I shook my head. “Not wiping hands.” I looked right into Sarah’s eyes and repeated her exact words. “She said, ‘If you ever complain to your dad again, next time it won’t just be your hand.’” The expression on Sarah’s face shattered. Then, she started sobbing even louder. “How could Mia say something like that?! I never! Julian, you have to believe me, I treat her like my own flesh and blood!” She cried until her eyeliner smudged, dabbing at her face with a tissue, making it look like she was the true victim. My dad was silent for a few seconds. He turned to my uncles. “It’s probably just a misunderstanding. Sarah isn’t that kind of person.” Not that kind of person. My dad said that a lot. When she shoved me at the top of the stairs, he said, “Sarah isn’t that kind of person.” When she threw my sketchbook in the trash, he said, “Sarah didn’t do it on purpose.” Uncle Liam looked at my dad. He didn’t say a word. But I recognized that look. It was the same look Uncle Liam gave defendants when he was cross-examining them in court. My youngest uncle, Leo, crouched down in front of me. His voice was incredibly low. “Mia, is this the first time this has happened?” I shook my head. Sarah immediately chimed in. “Mia has never liked me touching her since day one. Sometimes she bumps into things and scrapes her knee, and she says I did it…” She kept glancing at my dad as she spoke. My dad didn’t look at her. After dinner, Grandpa didn’t say a word. He just set down his napkin and headed straight for his study. My five uncles followed him inside. The heavy oak door clicked shut. I didn’t know what they said in there. But Uncle Leo told me later that Grandpa only said one sentence that night. “Investigate thoroughly. Until I give the word, no one breathes a syllable to spook her.” Late that night. Wearing my little ducky slippers, I climbed into bed. I reached under my pillow and pulled out a small pink notebook. My mom bought it for me a long time ago. It had a bunny on the cover. I flipped to a fresh page, took a red crayon, and drew a crying face. Underneath, I wrote three words: “Doesn’t believe me.” I shoved the notebook back under the pillow and curled up under the blankets. I didn’t cry. Vance family lawyers don’t cry. Sarah brought a glass of warm milk into my room. She had a sweet smile on her face, but the second the door clicked shut, the smile vanished. She leaned down and whispered in my ear: “You little brat. Learn your lesson. Your dad only believes me.” I didn’t flinch. I just stared at her. There was a security camera in the corner of my room, so she didn’t dare leave a mark. When she slammed the door and left, I threw off my covers and pulled out my pink notebook. I grabbed my red crayon. Stroke by stroke, I drew her pinching me earlier that day. Next to it, I wrote the timestamp: September 14, 11:00 PM. Verbal threat. I didn’t speak. Because my mom used to tell me: In a courtroom, verbal testimony is the weakest form of evidence. Chapter 2 The next morning, Sarah was making breakfast in the kitchen. She wore an apron, her hair tied in a low ponytail. She looked incredibly gentle. “Did Mia sleep well last night?” she asked me with a smile. As if nothing had happened. My dad kissed my forehead before leaving for work. “Be a good girl, Mia. Listen to Sarah.” I grabbed the hem of his suit jacket and refused to let go. He thought I was just being clingy. He smiled and gently pried my little fingers off one by one. “Daddy will be home tonight.” The front door clicked shut. And just like that, the smile on Sarah’s face switched off. Like someone flipped a light switch. She snatched my backpack off the chair and hurled it onto the floor. “Who taught you to say those things yesterday? Was it your uncles?” “No one taught me.” She crouched down. Her hand clamped hard around my jaw. “You listen to me. I run this house now. Your dead mother can’t help you, and your uncles can’t help you either.” “Your dad believes me. Not you.” My jaw throbbed with pain. I stared right into her eyes, repeating every single word she said in my head. Over the next two weeks, she got worse. But she also got smarter. She knew exactly where every camera in the house was, and she always dragged me to the blind spots. That day, she boiled water for tea. Holding the mug, she walked toward me and deliberately bumped into me. The scalding water splashed over my wrist. It hurt. It hurt so much. She immediately dropped the mug, grabbed my arm, and shoved it under the cold tap, snapping a photo with her other hand. “I’ll send this to your dad to show him how much I care about you,” she sneered. I gritted my teeth and forced the tears back into my eyes. I jammed my good hand into my pocket. I pressed the button on the “Judge Bear” voice recorder Uncle Leo had given me. As long as I pressed the bear’s tummy, it recorded everything. I tilted my head back and screamed as loud as I could: “Mean lady! Stop pouring hot water on me! It hurts!” Sarah jumped in shock. “What the hell are you screaming about?!” She frantically clamped her hand over my mouth, but I knew Judge Bear had already heard everything. Every night, after I was sure she wouldn’t come back into my room, I pulled out my pink notebook. I didn’t know how to write well. I didn’t know a lot of words yet. But I knew how to draw. The characters were stick figures. The tall one was her. The short one was me. The timestamps were wobbly numbers. Every page had a location—”Study corner,” “Stairs turn,” “Kitchen blind spot.” I had counted. There were seven cameras in the house. Every time she hit me, it was where the cameras couldn’t see. She knew where they were, and where they weren’t. On the weekend, Uncle Leo came to visit. I dragged him to my room to play “Courtroom.” It was a game he taught me. He was the judge, and I was the lawyer. I set up my stuffed animals. The bunny sat at the plaintiff’s table. The bear sat at the defendant’s table. I put a little paper hat on Judge Bear. I crossed my short legs on the floor and opened my pink notebook. I pointed to each page, one by one. Then I said, “The bear pleads not guilty. Because there is no evidence.” Uncle Leo’s smile vanished. He forced his voice to sound light. “Well, what should we do then?” I extended a chubby little finger and tapped the notebook. “Uncle Leo, in court, you have to build a case file. Mia is building the chain of evidence.” Uncle Leo took the notebook. He flipped to the first page. He didn’t speak. He flipped to the second page. His hands started to shake. On the third page, a tall stick figure was pouring water onto a short stick figure’s hand, with a sun drawn next to it to mean “hot.” He closed the notebook. I could feel his hands trembling. “Mia, can Uncle Leo borrow this notebook for two days?” I thought about it. “You have to give it back.” “That’s Mia’s evidence.” I didn’t know what Uncle Leo sent to the family group chat that night. But he told me later that he only sent one message. “Mia is six. She used drawings to build a chain of evidence documenting her own abuse. When did the Vance family sink so low that we force a six-year-old baby to preserve her own evidence?” The group chat was dead silent for three minutes. Uncle Liam replied with three words: “Meeting. Tomorrow.” Chapter 3 I didn’t know about my uncles’ meeting. I only knew that on Monday, the way Sarah looked at me completely changed. She started being “extra nice” to me in front of my dad. Petting my head, putting food on my plate, braiding my hair. My dad was thrilled. “See? Sarah loves you so much.” But when my dad wasn’t around, she was crueler than ever. On Wednesday afternoon, my dad sent a message to the family group chat. I didn’t know about it at the time; Uncle Leo told me later. My dad wrote: “Sarah said Mia has been emotionally unstable lately, crying for no reason. She suggested taking Mia to a child psychologist. I think she has a point.” Uncle Leo said when he read that message, he clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. I understood. “Psychological issues.” Once those words were attached to me, nothing I ever said would be taken seriously again. That same night, Sarah uploaded a video to the family group chat. In the video, I was sitting on the living room floor, screaming. She was crouching next to me, speaking in a soft, soothing voice. The caption read: “Mia is throwing another tantrum. I’m really worried about her.” In the video, she looked helpless and maternal. But no one saw what happened right before she hit record. She had locked me in the storage closet. For almost twenty minutes. It was pitch black inside, with no windows. I wasn’t afraid of the dark, but I was terrified of being locked behind a door. Because the day my mom died, someone had locked me out of her hospital room and wouldn’t let me in. I wasn’t screaming out of anger. I was screaming, “Don’t close the door! Don’t close the door!” It was pure terror. But the video made her look like a saint, and me like a monster. Three days later, she took me to see a psychologist. She sat right next to me the entire time, “filling in the gaps.” “Mia doesn’t like playing with kids her age.” “She mutters to herself a lot.” “She’s physically aggressive toward me.” For every lie she spun, the doctor scribbled a note on his pad. I sat in the oversized leather chair, my short legs dangling in the air. The doctor delivered his verdict: “Suspected adjustment disorder.” I didn’t say a word. It wasn’t because I was sick. It was because right before we walked into the office, I saw Sarah slip an envelope into the doctor’s lab coat pocket. Uncle Liam told me once: Never trust a bribed witness. As we walked out of the clinic, I heard her talking to my dad on the phone in the hallway. “The doctor said Mia might need a specialized school. Julian, please don’t blame yourself too much…” I understood what “specialized school” meant. She wanted to send me away. She wanted my house all to herself. That night, I sat in bed, using a crayon to draw on the very last page of my notebook. I drew a little stick figure in a black robe holding a gavel. Next to it, in wobbly handwriting, I wrote: “Mom, Mia misses you so much. But Mia can’t cry right now.” The bunny on the cover was worn out. It was the last thing my mom had ever bought for me at the stationery store. Mom, Mia wasn’t drawing pretty pictures anymore. Mia was drawing evidence. And the case file was almost complete. Chapter 4 On Monday morning, my dad crouched down in front of me. “Mia, I’m taking you to see a new school this weekend. There will be lots of other kids there.” His tone was light, like he was delivering good news. But I knew exactly what kind of place it was. It was Sarah’s “specialized school.” I wasn’t going. “I’m not going! Mia isn’t going!” Sarah sighed from behind him. “See? She’s acting out again… Julian, you can’t be too soft on her. The doctor said we need a gradual transition.” My dad gently wiped my tears away. He was hesitating. I could see the conflict in his eyes. “Your Honor, Dad! Mia has evidence! Mia really has evidence! Look at Mia’s notebook!” My dad let out a heavy sigh. “Mia, be a good girl. We’ll talk about this when Daddy gets home.” He gently peeled my fingers off his sleeve. Once again. He left. I stood in the entryway, watching his car pull out of the driveway. Sarah walked toward me. Her hand reached for the pink notebook clutched in my hands. I gripped it tighter. She ripped it out of my hands, page by page. Then, she tore every single page to shreds. Pieces of paper fluttered to the floor like snow. My stick figures. My dates. My locations. Everything, reduced to confetti. “See? The evidence is gone.” She crouched down to my eye level. “Court is adjourned, little lawyer.” She smirked and walked into the kitchen. I stared at the shredded paper on the hardwood floor. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I crouched down and started picking them up, piece by piece. I stuffed the fragments into my pockets. Then I stood up and walked up the stairs toward the second-floor study. My dad’s scanner and printer were in there. Uncle Leo told me once—”Things uploaded to the cloud can never be deleted.” I dumped the shredded paper from my pockets onto the study floor and started piecing them together. Like a jigsaw puzzle. I was really good at puzzles. My mom used to praise me for it. The study door suddenly flew open. Sarah stood in the doorway, her face pale with panic. She lunged at me to snatch the papers. I refused to let go. She slapped me hard across the face. The force sent my tiny body flying backward. The back of my head slammed directly into the sharp marble corner of my dad’s desk. Sarah stared at her own hand hovering in the air, stumbling backward in horror. “No… I didn’t push you that hard… You tripped!” I lay in a growing pool of blood, closing my eyes. Well, that completed the evidence for aggravated assault. Downstairs, the front door burst open. Footsteps thundered up the stairs. The study door was kicked wide open. My dad, Uncle Liam, Uncle Leo, Grandpa—they all rushed in. When my dad saw the blood soaking into the rug, his knees buckled. He collapsed onto the floor. My six-year-old body shook with agonizing pain. But I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to shed a single tear. I turned my head and looked at Sarah, who was cowering in the corner. I delivered the closing statement of the Vance family’s fourth-generation lawyer: “Your Honor, Dad. I am filing a lawsuit!” “The defendant is the mean lady! She destroyed my case file, she cracked my head open! Charge: Aggravated assault!” “Witness is Mia. Physical evidence… the evidence is right here!” “Prosecution demands… demands she be locked in a cage, and never allowed in my house again!” I pushed my little pink chain of evidence forward. I shoved the taped-together papers into my dad’s violently trembling hands. “Prosecution demands… demands she be locked in a cage, and never allowed in my house again!” The moment I finished that sentence, I blacked out completely.

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