At the police station, my husband Ethan’s mistress sobbed like she was the victim: “She attacked me, Ethan. It hurts so bad.” Ethan didn’t say a word in my defense. He just wrapped his arms around her and walked out. I was held for three days. The first text I got when I got out was: “Stay away from Wendy. You’re still my wife.” I couldn’t accept it. For six months I kept fighting back, and he personally had me sent to the station nine times. Then came the tenth time. He came to pick me up himself. He saw the bruises and cuts covering my body, and the corner of his mouth curved up in a smirk. “Learned your lesson yet, Jess? Your family’s bankrupt. You’re not daddy’s little princess anymore.” He even took a few steps back like he was disgusted, bracing himself for me to throw my arms around him and cry like I used to. But I felt nothing. I just calmly slid into the back seat. The front passenger seat belonged to Wendy now. That was just how things were. A flicker of surprise crossed Ethan’s face, then settled into a satisfied smile. “When we get home, apologize to Wendy properly. I’ll get that nursery set up like you asked.” My body went stiff. My hand drifted to my stomach without thinking. He didn’t know. The baby was already gone — lost the day I was locked up. A dead baby has no use for a nursery. And I had no more use for him.

Seeing me stay quiet, he reached into his pocket and tossed a jewelry box onto my lap like it was nothing. “Your anniversary necklace. Got it back for you.” “Isn’t that what you were throwing a fit about? Wendy just wanted to borrow it for a couple days. Don’t be so petty.” I slowly raised my eyes, and it took me a long moment to remember that a month ago had been our wedding anniversary. That same day, he’d taken me up the mountain to watch the sunrise. It was well below freezing. The middle of the night. And he left me there alone — all because Wendy had a bad dream. He abandoned me on that mountain. Didn’t come back for the entire night. The anniversary gift meant for me ended up around Wendy’s neck instead. Even now, I could still feel that bone-deep cold crawling up my spine. And he thought I was upset over a necklace. I opened the box. The ruby that had once glowed with a deep, rich red was dull and lifeless now. The chain was spotted with rust. It was obvious. This was a fake. I pushed the box back toward him. “Keep it. She can have it if she likes it.” My tone was distant, and Ethan’s expression darkened. He started to say something, then glanced down at the cheap knockoff in his hand. A brief flash of embarrassment crossed his face. “Wendy must have grabbed the wrong one by accident. I’ll get you a new one.” Then he let out a fond, indulgent little laugh. “She grew up without much. Doesn’t know the difference between a real one and a fake. Don’t be too hard on her.” The way he defended her was so obvious it was almost insulting. The old me would have flipped out right there in the car. But I just smiled along and nodded. “Right. Hard to know better when you’ve never had much to begin with.” Ethan blinked, caught off guard by how calm I was. Then he turned and reached back to ruffle my hair. “Why are you being so reasonable today? Finally coming around?” “As long as you stop going after Wendy, I’ll get you whatever you want.” “Everything in this family will be yours and the baby’s someday. You don’t need to fight with her. Learn to be the bigger person.” “I’ll have the nursery done by next month. This week’s just a little busy.” I turned my head slightly and let his hand fall away without making it obvious. This weekend was Wendy’s birthday. No matter what, her things always came first. “Forget the nursery. Just drive. I’m tired.” We’d been on the road for a little while when Ethan’s phone went off. Loud and shrill — the ringtone he’d set just for Wendy. My brow tightened before I could stop it. My stomach turned. For the past six months, that ringtone had been the sound of my nightmares. At all hours, without pause, filling the house — never letting me rest. Wendy was like a grown child who couldn’t function without Ethan. Power went out in the house. Thunder rumbled outside. A delivery driver glanced at her a second too long. She’d dissolve into tears and beg Ethan to come be with her. It was such a cheap, obvious act. And Ethan ate it up every single time. How many times had I cried and begged him not to go? He’d just give me that flat, cold look and say: “Grow up. Wendy’s not like you. She’s sensitive. She gets scared easily.” He’d forgotten that this “sensitive little thing” he was always making excuses for was six years older than me. Through the phone, Wendy’s crying came through loud and clear. “Ethan, I was trying to make a welcome-home dinner for Jess tomorrow. I’m so clumsy — I cut my hand while I was prepping.” “Don’t cry. I’m on my way.” His voice went tight with urgency. “No, take Jess home first. I’ll be fine on my own. It’s just — there’s so much blood. I’m scared.” The word blood made him slam the brakes. The sudden stop threw my body hard into the seat. The impact hit my injuries. I clenched my teeth against the pain. He was already starting to turn the car around. Then he remembered I was in the back seat. “Jess, maybe you could—” “Go. I’ll get a cab.” I didn’t wait for him to finish. I pulled the door open and stepped out. I walked to the curb and raised my hand for a ride, unbothered. Ethan hesitated, watching me for a moment, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Then Wendy’s crying pulled at him, and he pressed the gas and drove away.

I got home, showered, and changed. My phone lit up. A text from Wendy. “Jess, what do you want to eat tomorrow? I’ll make it for you.” “Don’t worry — I definitely won’t mess it up this time. After all, it’s not like you have a baby to lose anymore, right?” “No matter how much you fight back, Ethan always takes my side. Pathetic.” “If I were you, I would’ve asked for a divorce a long time ago.” My fingers hovered over the screen. The memories hit like a wave. A month ago, I came down from the mountain and walked through our front door. Wendy was sitting on the living room couch. She was wearing my silk pajamas. Around her neck was the ruby necklace that was supposed to be mine. Something snapped in me. I flew at her and grabbed a fistful of her hair. I never landed a single blow. My arm was wrenched back, and Ethan’s palm cracked hard across my face. “What the hell is wrong with you, Jess!” I hadn’t even touched Wendy, and they locked me up for three days. On the other side of the wall, every night, I could hear her. She was doing it on purpose. Loud enough to make sure I heard every sound. No matter how hard I pounded on the door. No matter how I screamed. Ethan ignored it. He would change positions just to make her louder. That was his punishment for me. Three days. I came close to losing my mind. When I pushed open the window and thought about stepping off the ledge, the baby moved inside me. It was the only thing that brought me back. I still had my baby. I wasn’t going to give up. But what I didn’t expect was that the very next day after I was let out, Wendy slipped abortion pills into my breakfast. I hemorrhaged. By the time I understood what was happening, it was already over. The baby was gone. I completely fell apart. I grabbed a knife and went straight to the small restaurant Wendy ran. I destroyed the place. I stood out front and told every neighbor, every passerby exactly what she was — the other woman who’d been tearing apart a marriage. I faced her with tears burning in my eyes and screamed, “Was it you? Why did you do this? Why did you kill my baby?” She just stood there shaking and kept repeating: “I didn’t mean to… don’t accuse me of something I didn’t do.” The knife was still in my hand, not yet raised, when the police arrived and pinned me down. Ethan showed up minutes later. He didn’t look at me once. He went straight to Wendy, gathered her in his arms, and kept murmuring comfort into her hair. He never asked her a single question about what she’d done. When he finally looked at me, his face was full of disappointment, his eyes like ice. “You hate her that much? You won’t stop until you’ve completely destroyed her?” “You can sit in a cell for a month this time. Learn some self-control.” While I was locked up, he arranged for a few of the other inmates to give me special attention. I was beaten every day. Fresh bruises layered over old ones. Through every blow, through every sleepless night, something inside me quietly went out. I stopped wanting his love. I stopped wanting anything from him. The memories faded. The taunting texts on my screen meant nothing to me anymore. I tossed my phone aside and didn’t reply. — I slept, and when I woke up, the smell of food was drifting through the house. I stepped into the hallway. Wendy was sitting in Ethan’s lap in the living room, holding a spoon to his lips, feeding him soup with exaggerated sweetness. They were sharing bites, making a whole show of it. Disgusting. The sound of my door caught their attention. Wendy jumped up like she’d been startled, putting on a look of wide-eyed alarm. “Jess! We were just goofing around. Don’t take it the wrong way.” Ethan watched me like he was waiting for me to explode and go for Wendy. The old me would have upended that soup on both of them. But my calm reaction unsettled him in a way he couldn’t explain. “You two continue. Pretend I’m not here.” I stepped around them and poured myself a glass of water. After I finished, I turned to head back to my room. Ethan caught my wrist. He searched my face like he was looking for something — some flicker of the emotion he expected to find. “When did you get home last night? Why didn’t you text me?”

I pulled my hand free. The question struck me as almost absurd. There was a time I couldn’t stop texting him. Fifty messages a day, easily a hundred. Our whole chat history was a wall of green — all from me. Messages he’d answer when he felt like it and ignore when he didn’t. And now he had the nerve to ask why I hadn’t texted. I let out a short, flat laugh. “Didn’t you tell me to stop bothering you unless it was important?” He went quiet. A little guilty. He had said that. He just hadn’t expected me to actually listen. And now that I had, something about it didn’t sit right with him — though he couldn’t say what. “That’s different…” Wendy slipped her arm through his and cut through the moment. “Ethan, Jess just got back. She’s probably not in the best mood. Don’t pile on with all the questions.” “I made food. Jess, come eat something.” She turned toward the kitchen, picking up a piece of fabric from the counter and bunching it in her fist to use as a pot holder. The fabric unfolded at one corner, and I recognized it instantly. It was my mother’s embroidery. My eyes went wide. I crossed the room in three steps and yanked it out of her hands. The tug made Wendy lose her grip on the pot. Hot soup splashed across her hands. She let out a sharp cry. Her eyes welled up immediately, tears spilling over. “Jess, even if you don’t want my food, you didn’t have to do that.” “I’ve already apologized for everything. Why won’t you just let it go?” Ethan rushed to her side and cradled her reddened hands in his, his voice low and worried. “Does it hurt?” Wendy leaned into him and kept crying. “I don’t understand why she keeps treating me like this. My hands are just good for cooking — I’m not some pampered heiress like her. But that doesn’t mean I deserve to be humiliated.” He soothed her in low tones. Then he turned to me, and the warmth in his face disappeared. “Jess, have you lost your mind? Are you trying to seriously hurt her?” I didn’t answer him. I was looking at the embroidery in my hands. It was ruined. Stained through with grease, the fabric fraying in pieces. There was no fixing it. I made myself breathe. Steadied myself. Then I held it out flat in front of Ethan, my voice not quite steady. “Do you remember what this is?” He glanced at it. His tone was impatient. “It’s an old piece of needlework. You seriously hurt Wendy over that?” I laughed, and it came out cold. He’d forgotten. This was the last piece my mother ever embroidered before she passed. Two swans. Her final blessing for our marriage. She had held my hand at the end and said: “Jess, Ethan is a good man. I can see how much he loves you.” “After I’m gone, he’ll take care of you. I can rest easy knowing that.” After she died, my family fell apart. My father ran off with his girlfriend in the middle of the night, taking everything with him. I was alone. An orphan with nothing. Ethan was the one who took my hand and walked me out of that cold, empty house. He said, “Don’t be scared, Jess. You still have me. I’ll give you a home.” What we had back then was so vivid, so warm — that I couldn’t let go even as it rotted away around me. But now, the two swans had been torn apart. Split by damage that couldn’t be undone. He and I had finally reached the end of the road. “Are you just going to stand there? Apologize to Wendy.” The embroidery was ripped from my hands. I came back to the present. I looked at the mess on the floor. Then at Wendy, still performing her tears beside him. Her hands were barely pink. The soup had been warm, not scalding. I met his eyes. My voice was flat. “Why should I apologize?” “She’s been the other woman in this marriage for years. Has she ever once apologized to me?” “And you — you’ve been cheating on me with someone who worked in our home. Have you apologized?” “Or is this where you tell me that if I don’t say sorry, you’ll have me arrested again? Go ahead. How long this time?” The directness of it stopped him cold. Even Wendy forgot to cry for a moment.

“You — you never change! You’re completely unreasonable!” “I’m taking Wendy to get checked out. Clean this place up. We’ll talk when I get back.” That was all he managed to say before he picked Wendy up and carried her toward the door. I got to my room before he could say anything else and shut his voice out. My phone lit up with a new email notification. My application for the Antarctic biological research expedition had been approved. At the same moment, my phone rang. A friend. “So? Did you get in?” “Yeah. I got in.” “Yes! We’re going to see penguins in Antarctica together! I kept trying to get you to join the overseas research team before and you always said no. What a waste of your talent. What finally changed your mind?” I laughed at myself a little. Seven years of marriage, and I’d almost forgotten that I used to be a serious biologist. A good one. Back in college, I had a strong record — several opportunities to work abroad came my way, but I turned them all down for Ethan’s sake, every time. In his eyes, I was always just a spoiled, stubborn girl with no real substance. He never saw my work. Never acknowledged what I was capable of. I used to tell myself he was just too busy. Now I understood the truth: he just didn’t love me enough to look. “Tell me everything when we meet up. See you at the airport tomorrow.” I hung up and bought a seat on the same flight as my friend. Then I stopped by a law office and had a divorce agreement drawn up. I hadn’t even had a chance to bring it to Ethan before his call came in. “Where are you? Come to my office. We need to talk.” I took a cab to his building. He was already sitting behind his desk with a document in front of him — a divorce agreement. “Jess, this weekend is Wendy’s birthday. The things you said about her — calling her what you called her in public — it’s affected her life.” “People in the neighborhood look at her differently now. You’ve done real damage to her emotionally.” “I’ve decided to have a small ceremony on her birthday. A symbolic wedding, just to counter the rumors.” “After one month, I’ll end it, and we’ll remarry. You’ll always be my real wife. That will never change.” I nearly laughed out loud. He’d just saved me the trouble. I picked up the pen and signed without a second thought. Out of guilt, maybe, he’d been generous with the asset division. My decisiveness made his own hand hesitate over the signature line. “Jess… you’ve changed so much lately.” “I haven’t given you enough attention. I know that. Once this is settled, let’s go to the Maldives — just the two of us before the baby comes. You used to always say you wanted to go.” Before I could respond, his phone rang again. “Ethan, the dress just arrived and I don’t know how to put it on. Can you come help me?” “I’ll be right there, sweetheart.” He paused at the door and looked back at me. “One month, Jess. Wait for me.” I said nothing. He signed the paper and left in a hurry. I went home, packed everything that mattered to me into a single suitcase, and headed straight for the airport. Inside the terminal, my friend Lisa spotted me and waved from across the crowd. The plane lifted into the air, and everything below it fell away. Ethan. I’m done waiting.

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The day I was set to leave the country with a full Ivy League scholarship, customs officers stopped me in front of everyone and declared my passport invalid on the spot. The officer coldly informed me that not only did I have a million dollars in overdue online loans under my name, but I was also involved in fraud lawsuits, listed as a debtor in default, and banned from leaving the country. My world collapsed. I rushed home like a madwoman, demanding answers. My mother, Brenda Hayes, was carefully feeding expensive imported cherries to my ten-year-old twin stepbrothers. When I confronted them, my stepfather, Richard Stone, leaned back in his chair and sneered, “So what if I used your ID to register a company and take out some loans? What’s the point of a girl studying so much? She’ll just get married eventually. This money is for your brothers’ private school tuition. You should be grateful.” Brenda nodded in agreement. When I threatened to call the police, she locked me in the basement and planned to sell me off to a sixty-year-old man to pay off the debts. They were clinking glasses and laughing in the living room, unaware that I had an old tablet in my hands, containing solid proof that my stepfather had a mistress and a five-year-old illegitimate son.

“Elara Reed, I’m sorry, you cannot board this flight.” The harsh fluorescent lights of the airport customs office glared in my eyes, making it hard to keep them open. The officer typed my passport information into the system, then declared it invalid without any expression. “Why?!” I lunged at the counter, my voice hoarse and unrecognizable. “My visa is legal! I have a full Ivy League scholarship! I have to leave today!” I had worked myself to the bone for four years for this day. For four years, I slept only four hours a night, juggling the library and my restaurant job, all to escape that leeching family, that suffocating swamp. Now, I was one step away. The officer looked up coldly and slid a printed sheet across the glass. “Why? See for yourself.” “You have a shell company registered under your name, involved in multiple cases of contract fraud. You also have a total of one million dollars in overdue loans across twelve online lending platforms.” “You are currently a debtor in default. Not only are you restricted from leaving the country, but you’re also banned from flying or taking long-distance public transport.” “Ms. Reed, please leave immediately, or we’ll have to call security.” One million dollars? Shell company? Fraud? I stared at the paper. Name: Elara Reed. ID Number: … The photo was mine. But I couldn’t even bring myself to buy a twenty-dollar milkshake. How could I start a company? How could I borrow a million dollars?! “Impossible… this is absolutely impossible! You’ve made a mistake! Someone stole my identity!” I pounded on the glass, tears streaming down my face. Other passengers stopped and whispered. “Look at her, dressed so shabbily. Turns out she’s a fraudster.” “A million in debt and she wants to run abroad?” “You never truly know a person.” Every word felt like a knife twisting in my heart. My Ivy League dream. My new life. All gone. I sank onto the cold marble floor, shaking uncontrollably. Then something from six months ago flashed through my mind. Brenda had shown up at my college, crying that she’d lost her ID and needed to borrow mine to complete some paperwork. I was busy with finals and gave it to her without thinking. She returned it the next day. No one else had touched my ID but her. I scrambled up, grabbed the crumpled credit report, and ran out of the airport like a madwoman. Home. I had to go home and get to the bottom of this.

The rain poured down. My spending was restricted. I couldn’t even get a ride-share, so I braved the downpour and squeezed onto the oldest, most dilapidated bus. I was soaked to the bone, shivering so hard my teeth chattered. Memories of my years in that house flooded back. Ten years ago, my biological father died in a car accident, and my mother, Brenda Hayes, took all the insurance money. She immediately married Richard Stone, a worthless man. Soon after, she gave birth to twin sons, Liam and Noah. From then on, I was treated worse than a dog. The twins ate imported seafood and wore designer clothes, while I wore hand-me-downs and ate their leftovers. I paid for my tuition and living expenses by collecting recyclables, handing out flyers, and earning scholarships. I thought that if I worked hard enough, if I flew high enough, I could escape them. But I never imagined they could be this cruel. Bang! I kicked open the front door. Inside was a stark contrast to my drenched, pathetic state outside. In the warm living room, a huge crystal chandelier cast a soft glow. Brenda Hayes sat on the leather sofa, carefully peeling expensive imported cherries and feeding them to Liam and Noah. My stepfather, Richard Stone, lounged in his massage chair, a glass of red wine in his hand, humming along to the TV. They both turned at the sound of the door crashing open. “Are you crazy?! If you break the door, can you pay for it?!” Richard’s beady eyes widened, and he started swearing. Brenda frowned, looking at my dripping clothes with disgust. “What the hell is wrong with you? Weren’t you supposed to leave for school today? Why are you back? You’re getting dirt all over your brothers’ rug!” Liam and Noah threw their toy cars at me, laughing and making faces. “The loser’s back! The loser couldn’t leave!” A toy car hit my forehead, raising a large bump. But I felt no pain. I strode forward and slammed the rain-soaked, crumpled credit report onto the expensive coffee table. My chest heaved as I glared at them. “Brenda Hayes! Richard Stone! Explain to me what this one-million-dollar loan and the shell company involved in fraud are all about?!” My voice was a raw, ghostly shriek that echoed through the living room.

The air froze for a second. Richard glanced at the paper on the table. Guilt flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by arrogance. He calmly took a sip of red wine, then crossed one leg over the other. “What are you yelling about? Is someone dead?” Brenda didn’t even look at the paper, continuing to wipe her precious son’s mouth. “Oh, that? Richard used your ID for it.” Boom— Even though I’d suspected it, hearing her admit it made my brain explode. “Why?!” My eyes burned with rage. I lunged forward and swept the fruit bowl off the table, sending cherries flying everywhere. “How dare you use my ID for loans?! How dare you use my name to register a fraudulent company?! Do you even realize customs stopped me?! My education is ruined! My entire life is ruined!” Smack! Brenda shot up and slapped me hard across the face. The slap was full-force, and I tasted blood immediately. “Elara Reed! How dare you knock over your brothers’ fruit bowl?! You’re out of control!” She pointed at my nose, swearing self-righteously. “So what if I used your ID? You eat my food, wear my clothes! I gave birth to you and raised you, so isn’t it only right that I use your things?!” I clutched my burning cheek, staring in disbelief at the woman in front of me. Was this really my biological mother? “Eat your food, wear your clothes? I haven’t taken a dime from you since junior high! Even when I had a fever of 104 degrees, you wouldn’t buy me medicine!” I screamed, my voice raw. “That’s one million dollars! And a fraud record! You’re breaking the law! I’m going to call the police and have you arrested!” At the mention of “calling the police,” Richard sprang out of the massage chair. He rushed over, grabbed my hair, and slammed me to the floor. “You little bitch, you dare call the police?!” He kicked me in the stomach, and I curled up in pain. “Let me tell you! This money is for your two brothers to go to private school! What’s the point of a loser like you studying so much? You’ll just get married and serve some man anyway!” “So what if your credit is ruined? Your husband will provide for you! But your brothers are the future of the Stone family. They must go to the best schools!” Richard’s face was twisted in a sneer, spit flying onto my face. Sweat poured down me from the pain. I turned to Brenda, my eyes holding one last plea. “Brenda… that’s my entire life… you’re a woman too, how could you do this to me…” Brenda looked down at me, her eyes devoid of warmth, filled only with disgust. “Stop playing the victim. Richard is right. Girls like you, with big dreams but fragile fates. What’s the point of going to America? I’ve already found you a good match.” She coldly delivered my death sentence. “Mr. Henderson from the East side. He’s sixty, and his previous three wives passed away, but he’s rich! He’s willing to pay a five hundred thousand dollar dowry to marry you.” “You’ll pack your bags tomorrow and marry him. That five hundred thousand will cover your brothers’ private school tuition, and Mr. Henderson can slowly pay off the rest of your online loans.”

I felt like I’d fallen into an ice pit. Sixty years old. Three deceased wives. They weren’t just ruining my future. They wanted to drain me dry and sell me off to some perverted old man. “Dream on!” I found a surge of strength, shoved Richard away, and scrambled toward the front door. “I’m going to the police station! I’m going to report you for fraud! I’m going to put you in jail!” “Grab her! Don’t let that little bitch escape!” Richard roared. Brenda, with surprising speed, grabbed the back of my dress and yanked hard. I fell heavily, hitting my chin on the doorframe, blood gushing out. Richard rushed up and started punching and kicking me again. “Liam! Noah! Get the rope!” Brenda shouted at her two sons. The two ten-year-old devils weren’t scared at all. Instead, they clapped their hands excitedly and ran to the balcony to fetch a thick nylon rope. “Tie her up! Tie up the loser!” they shouted, spitting on me. With my own mother and stepfather working together, I was tied up tightly, and a foul-smelling rag was shoved into my mouth. “Throw her in the basement! Starve her for three days, let’s see if she’s still so defiant!” Richard dragged me by my hair like a dead dog toward the dark, damp basement. Slam! The heavy iron door was locked tightly. I was thrown onto the cold concrete floor, surrounded by endless darkness. Faintly, I could hear the happy chatter of the four of them upstairs. “Richard, you always know what to do. Once Mr. Henderson pays the dowry tomorrow, Liam and Noah’s private school tuition will be settled!” “That’s right! That little bitch thinks she can cause trouble? I’ll mess her up for good!” “Brenda, I want lobster!” “Alright, alright, I’ll buy it for you tomorrow!” Listening to those voices, my tears silently streamed down, mixing with the blood from my chin, dripping onto the dirty floor. Even a tiger doesn’t eat its own cubs. But my own mother, to please my stepfather and her two precious sons, was skinning me alive. Despair drowned me like a surging tide. Was my life, Elara Reed’s life, truly destined to rot away in this dark, sunless basement? No. I wouldn’t accept it. I gritted my teeth, struggling frantically in the dark, trying to saw through the ropes on my wrists. The coarse nylon rope bit into my wrists, making them bleed, but I felt no pain. A fire of hatred raged in my chest. I had to get out. I had to make them pay.

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The night I had drunken sex with Aaliyah, she’d just broken up with her boyfriend Logan. In the end, she married me. My marriage was quiet and happy. I once thought we’d be together forever. Until Logan died of illness, and she went to his funeral. That’s when she found out Logan had originally wanted to get back together with her—but he’d walked in on us having sex, so he gave up. Aaliyah hated me to the bone after that. She insisted on divorcing me and humiliated me in every way she could. As I lay dying, she leaned in and whispered in my ear: “Your love disgusts me.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the night she and Logan broke up. This time, when she tried to seduce me, I grabbed my coat, ran out of the room, and knocked on her ex-boyfriend’s door. Logan froze when he saw me. His eyes were red and swollen—he’d clearly been crying. “Charles? What are you—” “Logan.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Can I come in and talk?” The living room was a mess. Half a birthday cake sat on the table. I gave him a small smile and got straight to the point: “I came to apologize for my sister. She forgot your birthday—that was her fault.” Logan pressed his lips together, silent. “It’s not that she doesn’t love you. She’s just never been good at expressing herself. After you said you wanted to break up, she went to a bar to drink alone.” I paused. “Logan, go find her.” In my last life, even after Aaliyah married me, she’d drink alone every year on Logan’s birthday. She never got over him. Logan looked at me, then suddenly smiled—though his tears fell harder. “Aaliyah’s so cold and distant. How did she end up with such a sweet brother like you?” “I’m going right now.” “Thank you, Charles.” After I told Logan which bar Aaliyah was at, he changed clothes and headed out. I watched him leave and let out a long breath. In this life, that night would never happen. When I got home, I dug out the diary I’d hidden in the back of a drawer. I’d been on the streets at ten years old, when eighteen-year-old Aaliyah found me. She was cold to outsiders, but gentle with me. When I first started understanding love, I knew—I was in love with her. But it was a feeling I could never speak aloud. I took out the diary and tore it apart, page by page. The shreds dropped into the toilet, and I flushed them down myself. About two hours later, the door opened. Logan helped a very drunk Aaliyah inside. She was clinging to him, mumbling: “Logan… don’t break up with me… I was wrong… I really was…” Logan sighed helplessly, agreeing over and over: “Okay, okay, we won’t break up.” When he saw me, he looked relieved. “Charles, could you pour her a glass of milk? Let me get her to her room first.” “Sure.” Logan helped her into the bedroom. I stood in the kitchen waiting for the water to boil, listening to the sounds drifting from the bedroom. She was being playful. He was laughing. The first time Aaliyah brought me to meet Logan in my last life, I knew—they were perfect for each other. Logan was gentle and thoughtful. Good family, good upbringing. He’d always been kind to me too. He was a good man. If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t have died. They would have been happy. In this life, I’d make it right.

Logan stayed the whole night taking care of Aaliyah. The next morning, when I went downstairs, Aaliyah was busy in the kitchen. She’d fried eggs, warmed milk, and cut toast into triangles, arranging them neatly on a plate. Then she carried it over to Logan, her voice soft: “Eat up while it’s hot.” Logan grinned and poked her. “Since when did you become so good at taking care of people?” Her eyes settled on his face. She didn’t reply, but her lips curved up. In my last life, after we got married, she used to cook for me too. When I was sick, she’d clumsily make me plain rice porridge. I stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Charles, come have breakfast.” Logan waved me over. Aaliyah glanced up at me, her gaze flat. No extra words. No expression. I sat down at the table, and she got up, leaving an empty seat between us. She looked at me like I was a stranger. It reminded me of the cold cruelty in her eyes when she forced me out of our marriage with nothing. After I shoved a piece of bread into my mouth, I stood up. “I’m full. I have class. I’m heading out.” Logan said, “Already? You haven’t even finished your milk—” “I’m running late.” I grabbed my backpack and escaped out the door. I spent the whole day at the library, researching study-abroad programs and filling out applications. In my last life, I’d given up the chance to study abroad just to stay near Aaliyah. This time, I was going far, far away. I’d live for myself. That night, I’d planned to stay at the dorm, but Logan called. “Charles, come home for dinner! I have big news!” When I got home, Aaliyah opened the door. She frowned when she saw me. “Why are you back?” Clearly, she hadn’t been the one to invite me. “Logan said he had something to tell me,” I said quietly. Logan poked his head out of the kitchen. “Charles is back!” He pushed me onto the couch and shoved the remote into my hands. “Watch some TV—dinner’s almost ready!” Aaliyah was helping him in the kitchen. Through the glass door, I could see her tilting her head down to listen to him talk, the corners of her lips lifted slightly, her eyes so soft they could melt. She’d cooked for me before, too. On my birthday, she’d canceled her work plans and made an entire spread of dishes for me. “What are you spacing out for?” Logan caught me staring and pushed Aaliyah out of the kitchen. “Go keep Charles company. I’ll handle the soup.” Aaliyah wiped her hands and sat down on the single armchair across from me. There was a wide gap between us. The silence stretched. Some boring variety show was playing on the TV. The canned laughter sounded grating. “Charles.” Aaliyah suddenly spoke. I looked over. She met my eyes, her gaze heavy. “Focus on your studies. Stay grounded. Don’t think about things you shouldn’t.” My heart clenched hard. Things I shouldn’t think about. In her eyes, my feelings for her were something I shouldn’t even have. In my last life, when she found my diary, she’d said: “Charles, you really disgust me.” She thought I’d schemed against her, that I was greedy for what wasn’t mine. But I’d only loved her. I never said a single word to Logan to come between them. She didn’t believe me. “I understand,” I heard myself say calmly. “I won’t.” At dinner, Logan announced excitedly: “Aaliyah proposed to me today!” He held out his hand—the engagement ring sparkled under the light. “Congratulations,” I said with a genuine smile. “I hope you two are happy.” Aaliyah’s hand paused mid-air, fork hovering. She looked up at me. I kept my head down and pretended not to notice. After dinner, I volunteered to clean up. Faint laughter drifted from the living room. Logan was talking about his vision for the wedding, and Aaliyah’s voice answered low and indulgent. After washing the dishes, I dried my hands and went to tell them I had to head back to school. Just as I reached the living room doorway, I heard Aaliyah’s voice: “…After he graduates, let’s have him move out. I’ll buy him an apartment near his school. He’s a grown man—it’s not really appropriate for him to keep living with us.” Logan disagreed: “But it’s not safe for Charles to live alone.” “And you’re his sister—what’s wrong with him living with us?” Aaliyah’s voice was flat. “He’s grown. He should have his own life. We need our own space too.” I stood frozen for a moment, then didn’t listen to any more. I turned, slipped quietly upstairs, grabbed my bag, and left. After I’d walked far enough away, I sent Logan a message: “Logan, something came up at school, I had to head back. Goodnight.” I took a deep breath. Moving out was for the best. The farther away, the safer.

Three days later, while researching at the library, something hit me like a thunderbolt. In my last life, Logan had died of bone cancer. By the time it was found, it was already terminal. Which meant—right now, the cancer cells might already be in his body. I shot to my feet, knocking over my chair. People around me turned to stare. I didn’t bother apologizing. I rushed out of the library, calling Logan as I ran. “Logan, are you free this afternoon? I want to take you out for coffee.” At the café, when I told him I wanted him to come with me for a physical, he laughed. “Charles, why the sudden interest in a checkup? Are you not feeling well?” I made up a reason. “School’s organizing it. Logan, I’m scared to go alone—will you come with me?” He looked at me skeptically. “Really?” I tried to look as sincere as possible. “Really. And I’d like you to get checked out too. Think of it as… a pre-marriage physical? You’re going to marry my sister, after all.” Logan’s ears turned red. He sighed helplessly. “You…” Just then, his phone rang. It was Aaliyah. “Where are you?” “Having coffee with Charles.” There was silence on the other end. “Come home soon.” After hanging up, Logan teased her, “She’s so clingy.” I forced a smile, made an excuse about class, and arranged to see him on the weekend. Just as I reached the school gate, I saw Aaliyah’s car parked there. She got out, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me to the corner. Before I could react, she shoved me away. I stumbled, fell to the ground. My knee and elbow burned. I looked down—the skin was scraped raw, blood oozing out. She stood over me, eyes cold as ice. “Charles, I’m warning you. Stay away from Logan.” “Don’t say things you shouldn’t say. Don’t do things you shouldn’t do.” I pushed myself up, my voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t.” “I just wanted him to come with me to a physical.” She paused. “Are you sick?” The words slipped out almost without thought. I blinked, stunned, then shook my head. “No. School requires it.” She stared at me for a long time, her expression slowly shifting. Like she’d remembered something. Or was trying to confirm something. After a moment, she crouched down and looked at the cut on my knee. “Get in the car.” She took me to a pharmacy, bought iodine and bandages, and crouched on the curb to clean my wound. She wasn’t gentle, but she was careful. Her voice was low. “This weekend, I’ll take both of you for the checkup.” I stared at the tip of my shoe, my vision blurring. The day the results came in, Logan cried so hard his whole body shook. Early-stage bone cancer. The doctor said, “We caught it just in time. The cure rate is very high.” Aaliyah hugged Logan, her hands trembling with delayed fear. Logan looked at me with red eyes. “Charles, thank you… really, thank you.” I shook my head and patted his back. Aaliyah’s gaze passed over Logan’s shoulder and landed on me. Deep. Heavy. I remembered the day Logan died in my last life. It had been pouring rain. After Aaliyah found out he’d left her because he saw us spend a night together, she stood at his grave for an entire day, soaked through. When she got home, she smashed everything she could—then found the diary I’d hidden at the bottom of my drawer. She decided I’d told Logan on purpose. I tried to explain. She didn’t believe me. She divorced me, kicked me out with nothing, made sure I couldn’t find a job anywhere. In the end, I died of illness in a rented room. With no one beside me. Now, there was still time. Logan would live. Aaliyah wouldn’t blame me. And me—I’d leave. A weight finally lifted from my chest. By the time we left the hospital, the sun was setting. Aaliyah went to handle the admission paperwork. Logan and I sat in the lobby waiting. Logan whispered, “Charles, I’m scared.” I patted his shoulder. “Don’t be. My sister’s here. She’ll stay with you.”

Logan was admitted to the hospital. The surgery went well. Next came chemotherapy. Aaliyah cleared her entire work schedule, staying at the hospital with him every day. I was running between school and the hospital, while also preparing my study-abroad applications. I barely had time to breathe. One day, after coming back from the hospital, Aaliyah stopped me. “Charles.” I paused and turned to look at her. She held out a key. “I bought an apartment near your school. Two bedrooms, already furnished. You should… move in as soon as possible.” I froze for a second, then took it and nodded. “Okay.” No questions. No hesitation. She watched me, like she was searching my face for something. But I just calmly pocketed the key and turned to go upstairs. The next day, I started packing. Most of my stuff, I planned to donate or throw out. In the new apartment, I’d buy everything new. Start a brand new life. I came home later and later. I was barely at the dinner table. Things in my room dwindled day by day. The bookshelf empty. The closet empty. Only a single jewelry box left on the desk. That night, I didn’t get home until past ten. Aaliyah was sitting on the living room couch, no lights on. In the dark, the tip of her cigarette glowed and faded. “You’re back late,” she said, voice cold. “Where were you?” My hand paused as I changed shoes. “Something at school.” After putting my shoes on, I walked straight to my room. Behind me came the sound of a glass hitting the table. Logan’s chemo went smoothly. Three months later, the doctor said he was recovering well and could go home, with regular checkups. The day he was discharged, I went too. He’d lost a lot of weight, but he was in good spirits. Aaliyah went to handle the discharge paperwork. Logan and I waited in the room. “Charles.” Logan suddenly said. “Did you and Aaliyah… have a fight?” I froze. Logan sighed. “She’s been in such a bad mood lately.” “People at the company complain to me—they avoid her whenever they see her.” I didn’t say anything. Logan took my hand. “I know about her making you move out.” “I gave her hell for it. Don’t worry—as long as I’m here, that’s still your home.” I gripped his hand back, looking at him seriously. “Logan. I’ve grown up. I should have my own life. And I’m already filing my study-abroad paperwork. I might leave next year.” Logan’s eyes went wide. “Study abroad? Where? For how long?” “England. Grad school. Probably two or three years.” His eyes welled up again. “Then… you’ll be alone over there. Take good care of yourself. Tell us if anything comes up, okay?” “Mm.” Logan wiped his eyes, then suddenly grinned. “Charles, let me set you up with a friend of mine. She’s a junior from my old school, an architect, super sweet.” I shook my head. “It’s okay, Logan.” “What do you mean it’s okay? You’ll be so lonely all by yourself.” I hesitated, then told him the truth. “Actually… I’m already seeing someone.” “What?” Logan’s eyes went wide again. “We met when I was filing my paperwork. We’re applying to the same school.” Logan’s eyes lit up, and he clapped his hands. “That’s great! I have to tell your sister! We’d better check this girl out first—can’t have anyone playing you!” “You don’t need to—” I tried to stop him, but he’d already picked up his phone. “Oh, she’s back.” Logan put his phone down and looked at the door. Aaliyah pushed the door open, discharge papers in hand. When she saw the two of us getting along so well, her gaze darkened. “What’s got you two so happy?” She walked over and naturally hooked her arm through Logan’s. Logan tilted his head up at her, his eyes shining. “I was just saying I should set Charles up with someone. Guess what?” She glanced at me, her tone certain. “He turned you down.” “You’re right—he didn’t agree.” She gave a flat little hum. “He’s been clingy to me his whole life. He didn’t even want to live in the dorms in college. You think he’d want a girlfriend?” Logan chuckled and added, “But he says he already has a girlfriend! And he’s going abroad with her!”

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After enduring three years of bullying from Christine, the most popular girl in school, I used her photos to start an online relationship with a powerful CEO. He was gentle and generous, his only flaw being how clingy he was. Soon, with my quick wit, I managed to get a considerable amount of living expenses from him. The day I decided to disappear, I casually asked, “What would you do if I suddenly vanished?” He fell silent for two seconds, then said in a low voice, “You really shouldn’t try.” I didn’t think anything of it. I just blocked him and deleted his contact. Later, Christine and I both got internships at a multinational corporation. The day I reported for duty, the Chairman of the corporate headquarters happened to be on an inspection tour. I stood at the back of the crowd, looking up, and saw a face that shouldn’t have been there. My mind went blank for about three seconds. Then I saw his gaze fall on Christine. He paused for a moment, then strode towards us. His name was Maximilian. Maximilian, 32 years old, was the current CEO of the Maximilian Group, with a net worth exceeding ten billion dollars. He was wearing a dark gray suit I’d picked out for him myself. His broad shoulders were straight, cuffs meticulously folded, steps steady and controlled. He was like an unsheathed blade. I lowered my face slightly, my heart pounding a bit too fast. Mr. Davies, our manager, whispered to us, “Mr. Maximilian rarely visits. Just act normal; he won’t bother with interns.” Before he could finish, Maximilian slowed his pace. A cufflink suddenly came loose from his sleeve, bounced twice on the floor, and rolled to Christine’s feet. Maximilian stopped. More accurately, he stopped right in front of Christine. They stood face to face, one cold, one captivating, no more than an arm’s length apart. His secretary, Mr. Stone, was already bending down to pick it up. Maximilian raised a hand to stop him. Christine’s eyelashes fluttered. She understood, bent down, picked up the cufflink, and, blushing, handed it over. “Mr. Maximilian, your…” Maximilian wasn’t in a hurry to take it. He lowered his eyes and took a small step closer to Christine. A fragrance that blended oud and citrus wafted over. I knew that scent. Last fall, I’d tried it bottle by bottle at a duty-free counter, eventually bought it, and sent it to him by mail. I pursed my lips, subtly averting my gaze. Maximilian stared at Christine’s face for a long time. Something churned in his eyes. It was hard to tell, like rediscovery mixed with a hint of hurt. Christine held out the cufflink, waiting for a while, then couldn’t help but softly call out, “M-Mr. Maximilian?” Maximilian snapped out of it, took the cufflink, his fingertips brushing her palm, and said in a low, slightly hoarse voice, “Christine.” Christine’s face turned completely red. “Yes, I’m Christine, Mr. Maximilian…” Maximilian didn’t speak, just stared at her face for a moment longer before turning and walking away. Only then did I dare to exhale, my back drenched in sweat. I slumped back into my desk chair, pulled out my phone, and searched “Maximilian.” My screen filled with financial news. I slowly took a breath. I’d been in an online relationship with Maximilian for two whole years, using Christine’s photos and name. In high school, Christine had loudly spread rumors that my mom, who worked as a housekeeper for her family, had stolen things from them. It caused a huge stir throughout the school. My mom lost her job too. I hated her guts. So, I stole Christine’s photos and started messing around online using her name everywhere. Got caught cursing someone out? I’d say my name was Christine. Reported for idling in an online game? I’d say my name was Christine. Basically, if anything went wrong, I’d throw Christine under the bus. But Maximilian was an unexpected twist. By the time he found me, I was already deeply involved. For two years, he’d call every night. His voice was deep, and he spoke slowly, able to sweet-talk anyone into submission. Many times, his voice changed, and he’d say things that made my ears burn, and I’d call him shameless. He’d just chuckle softly and sweet-talk me. Later, when he suggested we meet, it suddenly hit me: I was using Christine’s name and Christine’s face. I scrolled through our SnapChat messages, finding that first “My name is Christine.” I couldn’t sleep that night. Tossing and turning, I eventually pulled the blanket over my head and cried for a long time. After crying, I looked at my swollen eyes in the mirror and realized something. I was plain-looking, from an ordinary family. I didn’t have Christine’s face or her background. Someone like Maximilian could never be interested in someone like me. I sent a “Sorry” and deleted him. On the third day of no contact, he sent an email: “Christine, don’t leave me.” But I wasn’t Christine. I closed the email and didn’t reply. A colleague next to me tapped my shoulder. “Hey, what are you thinking about?” I snapped back to reality. Christine had already come over to my side, her voice soft. “Kaitlyn, everyone wants coffee from that new place. Could you run out and get it?” “It’s just three blocks away. You can bike there, it won’t take long.” It was standard for senior employees to pick on interns. Christine had managed to get the senior employees on her side on the very first day, no doubt because of Maximilian’s obvious attention to her earlier. I looked at her, then at the others behind her, all watching expectantly, and nodded. “Okay.” Christine smiled, satisfied, and turned to everyone. “Don’t be shy, guys.” “Kaitlyn’s mom used to be our housekeeper, and Kaitlyn’s been with her mom since she was little. Running errands is second nature to her.” “If you need anything later, just ask her.” I didn’t say anything. I stood up to grab my bag and bumped into someone. I looked up. It was Mr. Stone, Maximilian’s secretary. He impatiently shoved me aside. I wasn’t prepared, and my knee hit the corner of the desk, making me gasp in pain. He didn’t apologize. He strode over to Mr. Davies. “Which one is Ms. Christine? Mr. Maximilian needs to see her.” Christine rushed forward. “I am! I’m Christine. What is it?” Mr. Stone sized her up, becoming a little more polite. “The CEO’s private office needs a temporary assistant. Mr. Maximilian wants you to fill in for a while.” Christine froze for a second, her voice rising. “Me? Mr. Maximilian sent you for me? He said it himself?” “Yes. Pack your things and come with me.” Christine covered her mouth, then couldn’t help but walk around me in a circle. “Kaitlyn, move aside. I’m going up to the thirty-sixth floor!” “You keep working hard. Maybe in another ten years or so, we can be colleagues on the thirty-sixth floor.” I moved aside, my knee still throbbing with pain. Christine walked away in her high heels, and the colleagues behind me erupted in chatter. “Could this Christine be the future CEO’s wife?” “Hey, Kaitlyn, you came with Christine. Do you know what her relationship is with Mr. Maximilian?” I shook my head. “No idea.”

By the time I returned with the coffee, it was almost eleven. My knee had scraped raw, and my pants rubbed against it when I biked, causing a searing pain. I went in and handed out the coffees one by one. Not a single person said thank you. I returned to my desk, lifted my pant leg for a look, and saw a patch of blood seeping through. I casually pulled a bandage from my bag, put it on, and lowered my head to continue organizing files. At two in the afternoon, Mr. Davies assigned a task. Organize five years of supplier interaction records into a table, due before closing today. Skylar, the intern sitting opposite me, rolled her eyes. “That’s too much work. One person can’t finish it.” Mr. Davies glanced at me. “Kaitlyn, you do it.” There was no room for discussion. I nodded, opened a folder, and started flipping through. The data was messy, the timelines all wrong, and some files were scanned images, impossible to directly copy. I bent my head, typing it in, word by word. Nothing played in my headphones; all I could hear were my colleagues chatting in the office, occasionally punctuated by talk of Christine being moved to the thirty-sixth floor. “I heard Christine went to a meeting with Mr. Maximilian this afternoon.” “Really? How could an intern understand anything sitting in there?” “Well, Mr. Maximilian is clearly interested in her. What she understands isn’t important.” I didn’t look up, continuing to input data. Around six, the table was done. I sent it to Mr. Davies, who didn’t reply. I shut down my computer and walked out. When I reached the elevator, the doors opened, and Maximilian stood inside. Two assistants were with him, holding files, heads bowed as they spoke to him. My steps paused for half a second. Maximilian looked over too. The moment our eyes met, I lowered my head, quickly stepped in, and stood in the farthest corner, my back to him. The elevator was silent for a few seconds, then the assistants resumed their report. Maximilian’s voice resonated: “Mhm.” Low, concise, a tone I knew so well. I stared at my reflection in the elevator doors, unmoving. Seventeenth floor, thirteenth floor, ninth floor. “Stop.” Maximilian spoke. An assistant pressed the stop button. My back tensed. “What’s your name?” I didn’t move until an assistant nudged me. Only then did I realize he was asking me. I turned around, not looking at him. “Kaitlyn.” Maximilian was silent for two seconds. “Which department?” “Operations, intern.” “Look up.” I pursed my lips, looked up, met his gaze for a second, then immediately looked down. In that single second, I saw his expression clearly: he hadn’t recognized me. His eyes showed no ripple of emotion, just the ordinary gaze one would give a stranger. It made sense. I had used Christine’s face, Christine’s voice, Christine’s name. He had never known what I looked like. “Mhm.” Maximilian retracted his gaze. “Continue.” The elevator resumed its descent. On the first floor, he walked out first. I stood in the elevator for a few more seconds before stepping out. When I reached the company entrance, the night breeze swept over me. I stood there for a while, pushing down that heavy feeling in my chest, then got on my bike and rode back to the dorm.

The next day, Christine came back to get her things, looking like a completely different person. She was wearing a new light pink dress, her hair freshly styled, makeup more elaborate than yesterday. Standing next to her desk, she made the surrounding female colleagues fade in comparison. “Where did you all go for dinner last night? Why didn’t you invite me?” she asked, her tone sweet, as she sat down in her chair. “You’re on the thirty-sixth floor now. How could we dare invite you?” Christine smiled, a hint of restrained pride in her voice. “Oh, I was just helping out. Mr. Maximilian’s schedule is too packed, and the secretary’s office is understaffed.” “You attended a meeting with Mr. Maximilian yesterday?” “Mhm. I was sitting outside taking notes, and Mr. Maximilian came out, looked at me, and told me to come in and observe for a while.” “Wow…” I didn’t look up, continuing to organize the files in my hand. Christine’s voice came closer. “Oh, by the way, Kaitlyn, Mr. Davies said that table you made yesterday had the wrong format. Could you redo it today?” I stopped and looked at Mr. Davies. He nodded. “Refer to last quarter’s template for the format, and redo it.” I didn’t ask what was wrong with the format. I had checked that table three times yesterday; there were no issues. But Mr. Davies had already averted his gaze. I closed the file and reopened yesterday’s table. Christine was happily chatting with someone next to me. At ten in the morning, she took a call, stepped out, and returned with a smile on her face, tidying her desk. “I’m going up now. I probably won’t be back this afternoon, so don’t wait for me.” “Mr. Maximilian called you?” “Mhm. He’s going to discuss a contract and he’s taking me with him.” She turned and left after that. I watched her retreating figure, then brought my gaze back to my work. After redoing the table, I sent it again. This time, Mr. Davies replied, “Okay.” I saved and closed the file, then took a sip of water. My phone vibrated. It was a new email, sender: MO. My finger paused on the screen. MO was Maximilian’s old email alias. I knew it because I had sent him dozens of emails. But I had a new email address; he couldn’t possibly know my new address. I opened the email. The content was short. “Yesterday in the elevator, you had a small mole behind your left ear when you looked down.” “Christine doesn’t.” My phone almost fell to the floor.

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I was Mom’s favorite. The one she spoiled rotten. On her deathbed, she lay propped up against the hospital pillows, surrounded by my older sister, my brother, and a room full of relatives. With trembling hands, she pressed a bank card into mine. “Quinn, you’re the one I worry about most. There’s a million dollars in this account — everything your father and I saved over a lifetime. I’m leaving it all to you.” I stared at that card, my face drained of color. I couldn’t bring myself to take it. It felt less like a gift and more like a death sentence. The next second, in front of everyone, I slapped her hand away. “Drop the act,” I said, my voice cold with disgust. “You think I want anything from you?” “You hand me an empty card and expect me to fall for it? Save the performance.” The card hit the floor. Mom scrambled, dragging her frail body to the edge of the bed, reaching down to pick it up. She dusted it off, blowing on it like it was something precious, then looked up at me with frightened eyes. “Quinn, what’s wrong with you?” “Is it not enough? Honey, this is everything I have. Please don’t be angry with me…” My brother Liam was the first to snap. He crossed the room in two steps and slapped me across the face. “Quinn! Have you lost your mind?!” “That’s our mother. She has given you everything since the day you were born — treated you like you were made of glass. Grace and I together don’t add up to half the love she’s shown you. And this is how you repay her?” From across the room, my sister Grace stood with her arms crossed, watching with a cold smile. “Quinn, don’t play the victim when you’re the one who won.” “Everyone in this family knows Mom’s world revolves around you. Every time she came to visit me, she’d leave with something — my son’s school supplies, my husband’s briefcase, my jewelry. And she’d bring it all straight to you, like some kind of offering.” She rolled her eyes. “She wants to give you the money? Fine. Take it. I’m not going to fight over it.” “Honestly, after all these years of watching her play favorites, I’m used to it.” I stared at Grace’s sneering face. She wasn’t wrong. Every time Mom visited Grace’s place, she’d find something — an expensive pen set, a designer bag, a gold necklace — and carry it back to me like a prize. Grace never talked back to our parents, so she just swallowed the resentment and aimed it at me, greeting me with barely concealed hostility every time we were in the same room. I kept my expression flat. “Fine,” I said. “If you all think it’s such a valuable gift, then you can have it. I don’t want it.” Grace looked up, surprised. Liam’s throat moved. He watched me carefully. “Quinn, what exactly are you trying to say?” Before I could answer, Mom grabbed my sleeve. She tilted her head back, tears streaming down her face. “Quinn… do you not love me anymore?” “Please don’t push me away. I don’t have much time left. Don’t do this to me…” She was crying so hard, this frail old woman working herself into a state over me, and the whole room shifted. Nobody could watch it without feeling something. “Quinn.” Aunt Patricia had reached her limit. “Today I’m going to say what needs to be said — for your mother’s sake.” “When you were three years old, your mother went out to run errands and left Liam home to watch you. He ran off to play, and you fell. You could have been seriously hurt. Not a scratch on you — but when your mother came home, she punished Liam so severely that people thought she’d gone too far.” “When you were twelve, your sister got married. The groom’s family gave a substantial dowry contribution — over two hundred thousand dollars. Your mother held onto every cent of it. Didn’t let Grace take a single dollar back to her new home. Said she was saving it for your future wedding. Grace started her marriage with nothing but a few sets of bedsheets.” “I truly don’t understand what got into my sister-in-law. She put that ungrateful child on a pedestal and neglected two perfectly good kids in the process.” The room went quiet after that. Liam exhaled slowly, his jaw tight. Grace’s eyes glistened — not quite tears, but close. Mom sat red-eyed and silent, crying without making a sound. I let out a short, humorless laugh and looked at her. “So I’m supposed to thank you for all of that?”

Those seven words detonated something in the room. Liam lunged forward and knocked me to the ground. Aunt Patricia grabbed a broom from the corner and came at me with it, striking me across the back. “You ungrateful little — after everything she’s done for you!” “Today I’m doing what your father would have done if he were still here!” The broom came down again and again. My back burned. Grace watched from a few feet away, arms still folded, and turned to Mom with a bitter smile. “See that? That’s what you raised, Mom.” “I genuinely don’t understand you. How can you be so blind? Am I not your daughter? Is Liam not your son? Why does every good thing in this family go to her, and we’re invisible?” Mom shoved herself upright and pushed Grace aside, her face set. “Back off. Your sister is being attacked and you’re standing there making comments?” She pushed past everyone and threw herself over me, arms outstretched. “Stop! Stop it!” “My baby — my baby…” Aunt Patricia froze mid-swing and let the broom drop to the floor. “What are you doing? I was trying to help you! If she were my daughter, I would’ve done a lot worse!” Mom held me against her chest, crying, rubbing my back. “Are you hurt, sweetheart… let me see…” I sucked in a sharp breath and shoved her away. She went down hard. “Get off me. You miserable old woman. What’s taking you so long to die? Don’t act like you care about me.” “You—!” Liam went ballistic, trying to get to me, but Mom grabbed his leg and held on. “Son.” She was sobbing. “Don’t hurt her. She’s my heart. She’s my heart…” I pulled myself to my feet, scanning the room. “What is this?” I said. “What are all of you doing?” I turned to Mom. “Your performance is impressive. I mean it. Academy Award level.” Then I looked at my brother. “And you, Liam. Between the two of us — who’s really playing the victim here?” “You’ve all been at this long enough. Don’t start believing your own act.” I looked straight at him. “Of everyone who’s ever come at me, you’re the last person who gets to.” Liam went still. Then his face darkened. “What does that mean? Mom just gave you her entire life savings and you treat her like this. Am I wrong about you?” “You know exactly why I’m acting this way,” I said. “You just don’t want to admit it.” He hesitated. Something flickered in his expression. “Quinn. What are you saying?” I smiled, reached over, and took the bank card from Mom’s hand. I pressed it into Liam’s palm. “You’re the man of the family, right? Mom said she wanted me to have this. But I’m just her daughter — I shouldn’t be the one making these decisions.” “So why don’t you handle it? Right here, in front of everyone. Split the money three ways between the siblings. Fair and square.” Liam stood holding the card, his face cycling through shades of pale and red. Grace stirred. Her eyes locked onto the card with barely disguised hunger, though her voice came out slow and casual. “He’s right, Liam. If Quinn’s offering, then let’s divide it properly.” “We’ve got the whole family here as witnesses. Better to settle it now, so there’s no confusion later.” Mom sank back against the pillow, weeping softly. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault… I haven’t left enough for my children. And now I’m watching you all turn against each other…” Uncle Robert, who hadn’t said a word this whole time, finally had enough. He drove his cane against the floor with a crack. “Enough. All of you.” “Your mother is still alive. She’s right there in that bed. And you’re already negotiating her estate?”

“Grace. Quinn. I’ve seen a lot in my years, but today takes it.” “The old saying holds true — when it matters, it’s the son you can count on.” Grace’s jaw tightened, but she looked down and said nothing. I smiled. “Uncle Robert, that’s an interesting take. Mom just handed me this card in front of everyone and named me specifically.” “And now I’m the one voluntarily offering to hand it to Liam and split it fairly between the three of us — and somehow that makes me the ungrateful daughter while Liam’s the reliable son?” Uncle Robert sputtered, clutching his chest. “Quinn, stop this!” Aunt Patricia rushed to steady him, then turned on me. “Everyone can see what you’re doing. You came in here to start a fight.” “Yes,” I said. “I did.” I turned to Mom. “But the reason I did — you know better than anyone. Why don’t you explain it to them?” Mom looked up. Her eyes were red. “My darling, I know I haven’t done enough. I know I can’t give you more than this.” “But I put that money in your hands because I was worried about you. You’re not married yet. Your sister has a husband, a family — she’ll be okay. Your brother has a wife, they just had their second child.” “You’re on your own. I was afraid that after I was gone, you’d have no one in your corner. That you’d get pushed around. That you wouldn’t get your fair share…” She dabbed at her eyes. “I did it because I love you…” A murmur moved through the room. Heads shook. Tongues clicked. “She pours everything into that girl, and this is what she gets back—” “Honestly, it would’ve been better if—” I tuned it out. I watched my mother cry her practiced tears, listened to the chorus of condemnation around me, and felt nothing. “Okay,” I said. “Mom — I’m sorry. I was out of line. The way I spoke to you was wrong, and I apologize.” Mom blinked. She looked at me like she didn’t recognize me. Like she couldn’t figure out why I’d suddenly softened. Aunt Patricia sniffed. “First sensible thing she’s said all day.” I turned to Uncle Robert. “But Uncle, it isn’t fair. Mom handing everything to me leaves Liam and Grace with nothing.” “When Dad passed, he said his estate should be divided equally among the three of us. I have no right to take it all. That’s why I wanted to settle this clearly, in front of the family.” “So that after Mom is gone, there’s no room for conflict.” Uncle Robert went quiet. Aunt Patricia murmured, “She’s not wrong, actually…” He cleared his throat. “Well then. Perhaps it would be best to—” “No.” Mom sat straight up. The word came out sharp and final. The whole room turned. She caught herself. Smiled awkwardly. “Quinn, you…” “Mom.” I cut her off. “I love you, and I love Liam and Grace. So why won’t you let me share this with them?” The color drained from her face. She opened and closed her mouth several times. “Because… because, Quinn, wait until after I’m gone, and then you can divide it however you want. If you do it now, I won’t be able to rest…” It was a weak excuse. Even Uncle Robert and Aunt Patricia, who’d been firmly in Mom’s corner all afternoon, looked uncertain. I let out a short laugh, stepped forward, and grabbed the phone off Mom’s nightstand. She lunged for it. I caught her wrist and forced it unlocked. “Quinn!” The room erupted. “What are you doing?” “Aren’t you curious?” I said. “Why does Mom need to wait until she’s dead before I divide this money?” I held the screen out toward them. “That’s why.” Everyone leaned in. And the moment they saw it, the room went silent — and then exploded.

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I’d spent a lifetime eating fish heads. My son actually believed I loved the damn things — all bones, no meat. Every time the family sat down to a nice dinner, they’d pick through the tender fish flesh together, then shove the bony scraps and the head across the table to me like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Mom, this is your favorite part. It’s all yours.” Watching my husband and son wear those smug, unbothered expressions, I suddenly thought: I can’t keep doing this to myself. So this time, I tipped the fish head into the trash. Right in front of them, I pulled out my phone and ordered sashimi delivery. When it arrived, I looked at my two stunned men and smiled, dabbing my mouth with a napkin. “That little blessing is all yours from now on, boys.” This family — whoever wants to wait on the others can knock themselves out. I’m done. They both stared as I dumped the fish head in the trash. My husband, Gary, frowned and froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. “What the hell’s gotten into you now?” “That fish cost over thirty bucks. You’re just throwing it away?” My son, Marcus, rolled his eyes and flipped his phone face-down on the table. “Mom, is it that time again? The mood swings?” “If you want attention, at least come up with something new.” In the old days, I would have fished it out of the trash and rinsed it off. No matter how hurt I felt, I’d have laughed it off — “Oops, slipped right out of my hands” — then snuck into the kitchen to cry where no one could see. But today, I just wiped my mouth and looked at my sashimi. I’d bought it with my own money. Money I’d quietly set aside for myself. For the first time, I hadn’t saved a single bite for them. “Buy your own fish heads from now on,” I said. “And if you want what’s in that trash can, help yourself.” I didn’t wait for a response. I walked to the bedroom and shut the door behind me. Bang. Through the door, I heard Gary’s lowered voice. “Ignore her. She’s just bored.” “Give her a couple days with nobody fussing over her and she’ll come crawling back.” “Seriously, Dad, don’t baby her.” “I’ve got an interview tomorrow. I’m not dealing with her drama.” I stood with my back pressed against the door and slowly slid down until I was sitting on the floor. A cramp twisted through my stomach. With trembling hands, I reached into the back of the nightstand drawer and pulled out an unlabeled pill bottle. I shook out two pills and swallowed them dry. The bitterness spread down my throat. That night, I didn’t go out to make peace the way I always had before. The next morning, I woke to the sound of Gary ransacking the apartment. “Laura! Where’s my blue dress shirt? Why didn’t you iron it last night?” “Mom! Where’s my phone charger? Did you move it when you cleaned?” I lay in bed and listened to every word. I didn’t move. I didn’t even open my eyes. I used to have breakfast ready by now, shirt ironed and laid out flat. I would have even put the toothpaste on their toothbrushes. But this morning, I just watched the light come through the window. After a good while of banging around, the front door slammed. The two of them left cursing under their breath. I got up and walked to the window. Down on the street, I watched them stop at the breakfast place on the corner and buy buns and juice. That greasy little diner with its thick dough and stingy fillings — they used to love it. I remembered the day I was diagnosed with stage four stomach cancer. I’d been watching them walk into that same diner. I had just come from the hospital. I was clutching the papers, my mind completely blank. I went home hoping for something — some comfort, some warmth. Instead I saw them through the window, laughing over breakfast. Marcus had just landed a job at his dream company. Gary had gotten a promotion. The two of them were celebrating. Through the glass, I watched Gary pick the meat out of his bun and put it on Marcus’s plate. And I stood on the sidewalk, holding those papers in both hands, watching them. My phone buzzed, pulling me back. It was a notification. I opened it. Marcus had posted on Instagram. The photo was a stray cat on the side of the road. “Living with a drama queen is exhausting.” “Woke up to attitude this morning for absolutely no reason.” Gary had liked it. A few relatives had commented. “Women just can’t be spoiled — give them an inch and they take a mile.” “Probably just hormones. Ride it out, she’ll be fine.” I read every word and felt nothing. No anger. If anything, I almost laughed. I liked the post from my secondary account, then saved a screenshot. It would probably be the last time I checked in on them.

That evening they came home from work and dropped two takeout containers on the coffee table without breaking stride. Gary loosened his tie as he talked. “Alright, enough of the attitude.” “Brought you some braised pork — your favorite. Still warm.” I opened the boxes. A few pieces of meat. Half a container of leftover rice. These were clearly what they hadn’t finished at some dinner out. And they’d brought it home like they were doing me a favor. Old me would have reheated those leftovers and eaten them for lunch the next day. But instead, I picked up both containers, walked to the front door in full view of them, and dropped everything — containers and all — straight into the hallway trash. “Leftovers belong in the trash. Simple as that.” Gary’s face went red. His pointing finger was shaking. “Laura! Have you lost your mind?” “If you want out, just say so. Stop playing these little games!” I looked at him, and I let the corner of my mouth curl. “You’re right. I do want out.” “I don’t want any of this. Not for one more day.” My throwing out the food must have actually rattled them, because the next two days were quiet. Gary seemed to realize this was different from my usual complaints. He softened a little. On the third evening, he came home carrying a gift box. “Honey, I was out of line this past week. Work’s been brutal.” “Don’t take it to heart.” He set the box on the table and slid it toward me. “Had a buddy track this down. Latest model. A peace offering.” Looking at that ribbon-tied box, I felt something stir inside me. All these years, he had never once given me a real gift. He couldn’t even remember our anniversary. Was this it? In what might be the last chapter of my life, had he finally changed? Had he finally learned to care? My hands trembled as I pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the lid. Maybe a scarf. Or perfume. But when I saw what was inside, my fingertips went cold. A blender. A high-end one, gleaming under the light. Gary was already explaining its features. “High-powered motor. Perfect for smoothies, soups. Doesn’t even leave chunks.” “Make our morning routine so much easier.” “And you can make Marcus fresh juice.” Of course. This was his peace offering. This was him caring about me. It was just a way to make me — this machine he lived with — run more efficiently. I stared at that blender, and then I started laughing. And then I started crying. Gary watched me with unease, brows pinched. “What’s funny? You don’t like it?” “Like it? Why wouldn’t I like it?” I wiped my eyes and pushed the blender back into his arms. “But it’s way too nice for someone like me.” “A worn-out housewife who only knows how to cook? I don’t deserve it.” “Why don’t you save it for that new intern at your office.” Gary’s expression collapsed. He jumped to his feet. “What are you talking about?! There is nothing going on between me and Lily — nothing!” “Stop making things up!” Honestly, I didn’t know any Lily. I was fishing. But the way he reacted told me my instincts were right. Not that it surprised me. A woman who was aging and always sick — I’d stopped being interesting to him a long time ago. Gary shoved the blender onto the couch, ego bruised. “You’re unbelievable.” “Sitting at home all day has scrambled your brain!” He grabbed his jacket and slammed out the door, leaving behind nothing but silence. Not long after, Marcus came home lugging a dry-cleaning bag with his interview suit. He didn’t ask why the apartment felt like a cold front had moved in. Didn’t ask what happened between me and his dad. First words out of his mouth: “Mom, where’s my white dress shirt? I need it for my second-round interview tomorrow.” I sat on the couch without moving, the unlabeled pill bottle in my hand. “In the laundry hamper.” My voice was flat. Marcus stared at me like I’d said something absurd. “In the hamper? Mom, you know that shirt can’t go in the machine. It needs to be hand-washed!” “My interview is first thing tomorrow. If you don’t wash it tonight, you expect me to show up in a dirty shirt?” He was scolding me. I looked up at my son — this boy I had spent twenty-four years protecting from every sharp edge in the world — and felt my heart split open. “You have two working hands. You’re twenty-four years old.” “You can’t wash one shirt?” “It’s your interview, not mine.” “If you want clean clothes, wash them yourself.” Marcus grabbed his bag off the floor and hurled it down again, pointing at me. “Mom, are you seriously losing it?” “You’ve been making everyone’s lives hell for two days straight — isn’t that enough?” “It’s one shirt. One. Why does everything have to be such a big deal with you?” Something turned over in my stomach, and a hot, metallic taste rose in my throat. I didn’t want him to see me fall apart. I pressed my hand over my mouth and lurched into the bathroom.

I locked the door. Blood slipped between my fingers and dripped into the white sink basin. I turned on the tap and watched the red rinse away. Marcus knocked on the door from the other side. “Mom, what are you hiding in there? Don’t think you can just disappear and get out of this!” “Hurry up! I need to shower! I swear, you are unreal!” I looked at myself in the mirror. There was still blood at the corner of my mouth. Tears and water ran down my face together. I wiped away the blood. They can’t know. They can’t know I’m dying. If they knew, I’d just become a heavier burden to carry. I wouldn’t even be allowed to die in peace. I took the folded papers from under my pillow — the diagnosis — and slipped them inside an old book on the shelf. One of the fairy tale books Marcus had loved as a little boy. He hadn’t touched it in fifteen years. Then I started packing. The inexpensive jewelry. The pair of gold earrings from our wedding day. I put them all in a bag. Tomorrow I’d sell them. The money would go to a children’s charity — or I’d simply throw it all away. Either way, I wasn’t leaving a single cent to these two. I suppose Gary and Marcus finally decided I was too much trouble to push around, because on Friday night, Marcus came home with a girl. “Mom, this is Sophie. My girlfriend.” He was wearing a proud little grin. Sophie looked nervous and gave me a polite smile. Before I could react, Marcus had already steered her to the couch, then leaned down and murmured in my ear: “Mom, this is her first time here. Don’t embarrass me.” “Make the braised fish, the sweet and sour ribs — all your good stuff.” “I want to impress her.” He knew I’d been sick for days. That I could barely stand up straight. But for his pride, for the image he wanted to project, he didn’t care what it cost me. “I’m not feeling well. Just order in tonight.” I leaned against the wall, too weak to stand on my own. Marcus’s face hardened. He dropped his voice to a tight, controlled hiss. “Mom. Can you read the room?” “You’re pulling this right now? On purpose?” “I’m asking you. Just this once. Please.” “Don’t make me look bad in front of Sophie.” I looked at his face, and despite everything, something in me softened. Maybe that’s the curse of being a mother. Still crawling back, even at the edge of everything. I forced myself through the pain to the grocery store. The smell of raw fish hit me so hard I nearly vomited on the spot. Back in the kitchen, I worked through the haze. My vision kept blurring. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the knife. The blade slipped and caught my left index finger. Blood welled up immediately. It dripped onto the cutting board and mixed with the fish. Gary walked in just then to grab a beer from the fridge. He glanced at my bleeding hand without stopping. “How can you be so careless?” “Run it under water. And don’t get blood in the food. That’s disgusting.” I put on a bandage and kept cooking. Eventually, the meal was done. I carried a pot of fish soup out to the table. My stomach seized without warning. My vision went black at the edges. My knees buckled. The pot slipped from my hands and hit the floor with a crash. Scalding soup flooded across the tiles, splashing up onto Sophie’s dress. She screamed and jumped back from the table. The whole room smelled like fish. Marcus leapt up and shoved me hard. “Mom! What is wrong with you? You did that on purpose!” The push sent me stumbling backward into the sideboard. Pain cracked through my lower back. But I had nothing left — I could only slump against it, gasping. “If you didn’t want to cook, you didn’t have to! Who are you trying to gross out?” Marcus shouted, his eyes red. Sophie looked at my face — whatever color had drained from it — and seemed to hesitate. She touched Marcus’s arm. “She didn’t mean to — I think she just lost her grip—” “Lost her grip! She’s just mad I brought you home!” Gary stepped in from the side. He tossed a pack of tissues to Sophie for her dress and didn’t look at me once. “I spoiled her rotten. Gets worse every year. Just ignore her.” Father and son flanked Sophie on either side, sheltering her from the drama. “Come on, Sophie. Dinner’s ruined. Let’s go out.” Marcus grabbed his keys, and without a backward glance, walked out the door with his girlfriend and his father. The door slammed shut. The noise went with them. The apartment was quiet now, except for the mess on the floor. The overturned pot. The fish head lying in the spilled soup. I slid down slowly until I was sitting on the floor beside it, in that spreading puddle going cold. I picked up a piece of fish — dusty, soaked — and put it in my mouth. The piece they always fought over. I chewed it and tasted nothing. Only bitterness. And that thick, clinging, nauseating smell. So this was the family I had given my life to. This was the love I had nearly destroyed myself to protect.

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At my own engagement party, the man I’d spent three years loving hurled a lab report at my face. The words “High-Risk HPV Positive” blazed across the giant screen behind him. In front of the entire city’s elite, I was reduced to nothing. A slut. A dirty woman no decent man would want. My best friend rushed onto the stage and pulled me into her arms, eyes red, screaming at him to stop. But in the very next second, a vicious, triumphant voice exploded inside my head — one only I could hear. Cry all you want, you stupid little fool. Your fiancé? I had him last night. That positive test result? Consider it my engagement gift to you. The blood drained from my body. Hell is empty. The devils are right here beside you. Fine. If this is the game you want to play, I’ll make sure you regret ever starting it. That thin slip of paper hit me like an open-handed slap across the face before drifting down to land on the expensive Persian rug below. The banquet hall, loud and glittering just moments before, went dead silent. Hundreds of pairs of eyes locked onto me like searchlights. The slideshow on the massive screen behind the stage — the one that was supposed to show our love story — had been replaced by a blinding medical report. High-Risk HPV 16/18 Positive. The words, in red, were blown up to an enormous size. They seared into my eyes like a white-hot brand. Ethan stood in front of me. His face, the one I’d always thought was so handsome, was twisted with disgust and fury. He still held the microphone, and his voice reached every corner of the room through the high-end speakers. “Do you have any shame, Serena?” His voice was quiet but it cut like a serrated blade, every word designed to pin me to the spot. “I’ve given you everything, and this is how you repay me? You’re walking into my family carrying a disease like that? What do you think we are — a charity for broken, used-up women?” The room exploded. “She always looked so innocent. And she has that kind of disease…” “Disgusting. How many people has she been with?” “Ethan got so lucky he found out in time. Almost married that trash.” The contempt and cruelty from every direction pinned me to that stage like nails through flesh. My whole body was shaking. I bent down desperately, not caring how I looked, reaching for the paper on the floor. I didn’t understand. I had barely held a man’s hand before. How could this be real? There had to be a mistake. My fingertips were nearly touching the paper when a warm hand covered mine. It was Vivian. My roommate through all four years of college. My best friend. The girl who was supposed to be my maid of honor today. She yanked me up from the floor and wrapped her arms around me in a way that felt almost possessive, squeezing hard enough that I could feel her fingernails through the fabric of my dress. She turned toward Ethan and snarled like a lioness. “Have you lost your mind, Ethan? You know exactly who Serena is. That report is fake. How dare you humiliate her like this in front of everyone!” The scent coming off her was my Jo Malone Blue Agapanthus perfume — the bottle I’d just opened. Normally I loved that smell. Right now it was making my chest feel tight. “Serena, don’t be scared. I’ve got you. We’ll get this sorted out. The hospital must have made a mistake.” Her voice was soft and trembling in my ear, perfectly calibrated, warm in exactly the right way. I hugged her back, grateful. The tears finally broke through. And then a breath of warm air grazed my ear. A cruel, casual voice — one only I could hear — detonated inside my skull. God, you’re pathetic. Look at you cry. There’s no mistake. Because that report had my name on it — until I had it switched to yours. Everything that’s yours, I’ve already used. Your towel. Your mug. And… your fiancé. You’ll never know how good he was last night. The spot beside Ethan belongs to me. Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice. The tears stopped mid-fall. I went rigid and looked down at Vivian’s hand on my arm. Even through the thin fabric of my dress, I could feel the exact shape of her fingernails. She was wearing my nude nail polish. The one I’d bought two days ago. I’d said that shade made your hands look fair. Perfect for the engagement party. She’d laughed and asked if she could borrow it. The three-carat diamond ring Ethan had put on my finger was digging into my knuckle, sending a sharp, stabbing pain up my hand. I shoved Vivian away. Hard. Hard enough that she stumbled backward with no warning and fell onto the stage with a cry. “Serena… what are you doing?” She looked up at me with wide, glassy eyes, the picture of hurt and disbelief. What is wrong with this crazy girl? That actually hurt. The voice in my head rang out again. Clear. Merciless. I wasn’t going crazy. I had just, finally, woken up. I looked out at the crowd drinking in every second of this spectacle, then let my gaze settle on Ethan’s face — that carefully constructed mask of a face — and said, clearly and quietly: “The engagement is off. Ethan, you make me sick.” I gathered my dress in both hands and walked out of that banquet hall without looking back.

I don’t know how I made it home. It was pouring outside. I didn’t bother with an umbrella. I let the cold rain wash away every trace of the careful makeup I’d spent hours on. My dress soaked through and hung heavy on my body, dragging at my steps, the way my heart was dragging as it sank. The key scraped against the lock for a long time before the door finally clicked open. The apartment was silent as a tomb. Vivian and I had lived here for three years. After graduation, to save money and look out for each other, we’d split the rent on this two-bedroom. I used to think we were each other’s anchor in this cold, indifferent city. When she ran a fever, I stayed up all night pressing cool cloths to her forehead. When I worked late, she’d leave the hallway light on and keep a bowl of soup warm on the stove. The first time I introduced Ethan to her, she’d looped her arm through mine and jokingly promised to vet him thoroughly, to make sure he was good enough, to protect me from any man who might hurt me. Now, every one of those memories felt like a barb turning inward, shredding tissue with every breath I took. I walked barefoot to the bathroom. Two towels hung side by side on the wall. Blue and pink. The pink one was mine. I remembered folding it into a neat square before I left this morning. Now one corner drooped loose, still damp, the fabric holding the vague imprint of someone else’s use. On the edge of the sink, the inside of my pink cup held a smeared, blurred stain near the rim. Lipstick. The rotten-tomato red that Vivian always wore. I lurched toward the toilet and heaved, my stomach turning itself inside out until my eyes were streaming. Every detail had been there the whole time. I just hadn’t wanted to see it. My phone started vibrating violently in my pocket. The name on the screen read: Ethan’s Mom. His mother. Linda Crawford. I swiped to answer. On the other end of the line came ten, fifteen seconds of loaded silence — just the weight of someone’s controlled breathing. “Our family has always had a spotless reputation.” Linda’s voice finally came through. Cold and hard as iron. “We don’t bring in filth.” “What happened tonight at the party made us the laughingstock of this entire city. We agreed to this engagement because we thought you were a decent, respectable girl. I had no idea you were this kind of person.” “You’ve seen the prenuptial agreement. Misconduct on one party’s part constitutes absolute fault.” “You leave with nothing. The gifts, the cost of tonight’s event, the jewelry — Ethan will come to collect them tomorrow. You’d better have every single item accounted for and ready. If anything is missing, we’ll see each other in court.” The line went dead. Silence rushed back in. I sat holding the phone. The screen lit up on its own. A new message. From Ethan. Five words: Give me back the ring.

I didn’t reply to Ethan. I didn’t shed another tear. All the rage and grief seemed to have evaporated somewhere in that downpour, leaving behind only a hollow shell packed with cold, hardening hatred. I walked into my bedroom and pulled open the closet door. My clothes hung in a neat row. At the far end was a piece I’d treasured more than anything else — a Chanel haute couture dress. I’d bought it last year when I won the company’s top sales award. A gift to myself for something I’d worked incredibly hard for. Last week, it vanished. I tore the apartment apart looking for it, panicked and sweating, while Vivian said with a shrug: Haven’t seen it. Maybe you put it somewhere and forgot. Now it was hanging right there. Perfectly still, perfectly in place. But at the neckline, there was the faintest trace of something I knew immediately — the cold cedar scent of the men’s cologne Ethan always kept in his car. I picked up my phone. My fingers pressed down so hard the blood left my fingertips. I opened a mutual friend’s Instagram. A post from three days ago. A grid of photos, captioned: Weekend yacht party — best time!! In one of the group shots, Ethan and Vivian were standing side by side. Vivian’s smile was radiant. She was wearing my Chanel dress — the one I’d been desperately searching for. Ethan’s arm was resting on the railing behind her in a way that looked casual but wasn’t. It formed a loose circle around her, the kind of posture that says mine. I zoomed in. Then zoomed in again until the image broke into pixels. On Vivian’s pale neck was a delicate white gold chain. The pendant was a small, simple star. It was my mother’s. The only thing she’d left behind. I kept it at the very bottom of my jewelry box like something sacred, too precious to ever wear. A short, cold laugh came out of me. It sounded strange in the empty apartment. My towel. My clothes. My mother’s necklace. My man. Vivian. You really outdid yourself.

A little past ten that night, I heard the lock turn. Vivian was home. She came in carrying two large bags of my favorite snacks, wearing an expression of perfectly calibrated concern and exhaustion, like a hero who had dropped everything to rescue me. “Serena, look what I got you — dried mango and those yogurt bites you’re obsessed with.” She set the bags on the coffee table with a rustling crash that ripped through the silence in the room. “Please don’t take what happened today to heart,” she said, moving toward me, arms already opening out of habit. “Ethan is such a jerk. You’re way too good for him. Good riddance. I already chewed him out for you!” I was sitting on the couch. I shifted back slightly without thinking about it, just enough that her arms closed around empty air. She froze in that awkward half-embrace, and the perfect mask of concern cracked just slightly. “Serena? Are you okay? Are you still upset?” I didn’t answer. I just looked at her. Took her in, slowly — her face, her eyes, the nude polish on her fingertips. Seven years I’d looked at this face. Right now it made me feel physically ill in a way I couldn’t suppress. She recovered quickly. The mask resettled. She pressed on with her performance, her voice thick with manufactured warmth. “I know you’re hurting right now, and that’s okay. I’m here. Once the dust settles, I promise I’ll introduce you to someone ten times better than Ethan. Someone who actually deserves you.” Oh, shut up. Still sitting there with that dead-fish expression. Ethan’s fiancée — that’s going to be me. He was so worried about me after I fell on that stage. Spent the whole car ride home comforting me. Once you’re gone, the first thing I’m doing is throwing out every last thing of yours. Can’t stand looking at it. And that tacky little necklace from your dead mother — I’ve been sick of it for a while. Tomorrow I’m having Ethan buy me a real one. Each thought was more vicious than the last. More certain. More smug. And each one left me a little clearer. A little colder. A little more ready.

I reached over and picked up the bag of dried mango. Tore it open, unhurried. The sticky sweetness coated my fingers. I pinched a piece and held it out toward her — right in front of her startled face. “Isn’t this your favorite?” My voice was soft. Almost tender. Completely flat. Vivian’s body went rigid. Clearly she hadn’t expected this. What is she doing? Is she trying to poison me? Please. She doesn’t have the nerve. She’s probably just shaken up and trying to get on my good side. She pushed down the suspicion, forced a smile. “Thanks, Serena. You always know what I like.” She leaned forward, opening her mouth to take the piece of mango. A half-second before it reached her lips, I turned my wrist. The mango slice grazed her cheek and dropped to the floor. Then I raised that same sticky hand and, with just my fingertips, slowly — deliberately, insultingly slowly — patted her smooth cheek, right over her expensive foundation. “Vivian.” I watched her pupils contract. I breathed the next word out, barely above a whisper. “Dirty.” The smile collapsed off her face. She knows? Impossible. I was so careful. I even paid someone to swap the names on that hospital report. She’s too stupid to figure this out. She’s having a breakdown. That’s all this is. She’s losing it. I pulled my hand back, the way you’d pull it back after touching garbage. I turned and walked to the balcony, picked up the used litter box in the corner — the one I’d been meaning to throw out — and carried it back into the living room. In front of her wide, furious eyes, I upended the entire box into both bags of snacks. Gray clumping litter, along with the damp, reeking clumps it had already absorbed, cascaded down over the neatly packaged snacks in a gray, stinking avalanche. The sharp smell of ammonia hit the room like a wall. Vivian’s face went from white to green, then from green to a deep, mottled purple-red. “Serena! What is wrong with you!” She finally dropped the act and screamed, stumbling backward, desperately protecting her shoes from the mess. I dropped the empty box at her feet. The plastic hit the floor with a hollow, sharp crack.

“Wrong with me?” I smiled for the first time. But the smile didn’t reach my eyes. It was colder than the floor under my bare feet. I ignored her screaming and walked straight into her bedroom. I yanked open her closet. The smell hit me first — an unfamiliar expensive perfume. And then the things hanging inside: several pieces of luxury clothing I had never seen before, still carrying the soft gleam of new fabric. I reached in and pulled one out. A silk jumpsuit, still with the tags on. She’s touching my things?! Ethan bought me that last week. It was over two thousand dollars. I was going to wear it for our date tomorrow. I didn’t register her shrieking. I walked back out to the living room holding the slippery, beautiful fabric. “Vivian, your monthly take-home after rent barely covers groceries. How exactly are you buying any of this?” I threw the jumpsuit at her. The tag swung out, the price printed clearly: $2,880. “That alone would take you half a year to save for.” She stumbled catching it, clutching it to her chest like a lifeline. “I — it’s a knockoff! I found a deal. It’s a replica, it was super cheap!” Her eyes darted everywhere but at me, her voice losing air with every word. She can’t know. She absolutely cannot know. If she figures out Ethan paid for it and makes a scene with his family, his mother will destroy me. “Is that right?” I nodded, keeping my expression deliberately neutral, as if I’d swallowed her terrible lie whole. Then I unlocked my phone and opened my banking app right in front of her. “Funny timing — I’ve been wanting to treat myself too. Why don’t you pass me that hookup of yours?” “Actually, I just remembered — when we first moved in, we opened a shared account for splitting utilities and household expenses. It’s registered under your name, but the monthly statements have been going to my email this whole time.” My finger scrolled slowly down the screen. My eyes stayed on her face, cutting across it inch by inch. “Let me just pull up this month’s statement…” Vivian stopped breathing. She stared at my phone like it was a live grenade. The screen cast its pale light across my face. The statement was long, every large transaction recorded in precise, unforgiving detail. Not one of them was from any so-called deal-finder. But there was a charge of $2,880 at a luxury retailer. And a charge of $1,200 at the Park Hyatt — one of the most expensive hotels in the city. The timestamp: last Friday night. The night my Chanel dress disappeared. I enlarged the hotel charge so it filled the screen, centered it, and took a screenshot. The small click of the shutter cut through the room like a blade. “The Park Hyatt Presidential Suite.” I looked at her. “Does your deal-finder include a room for the night?” Vivian’s lips were shaking so badly she couldn’t form a single word.

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For seven years, Hudson Calloway — the crown prince of the capital’s elite circle — had spoiled me rotten. On the day we were supposed to walk into the county clerk’s office with the whole city’s media watching, he didn’t show up. Instead, he issued twelve lockdown orders at the airport to keep his childhood sweetheart from leaving — the girl who’d been diagnosed with depression. Everyone laughed and said my fairy tale had shattered. Hudson was convinced I’d wait for him like a loyal dog. He didn’t even bother hiding the condescension when he tried to smooth things over: “Sophia, Evelyn is sick. You’re perfectly healthy — can’t you be the bigger person here? The title of Mrs. Calloway will be yours eventually.” What he didn’t know was that I walked away and tore up the engagement contract on the spot. Then I dialed the number of the man who actually ran things in this city. “Mr. York,” I said. “That alliance marriage you mentioned — is the offer still on the table?” Later, Hudson Calloway ended up on his knees outside the York estate, kowtowing until his forehead bled, begging for just one chance to see me.

September in the capital. The autumn wind carried a bone-deep chill. Outside the county clerk’s office, the plaza was packed wall to wall with reporters and camera crews. Today was the seventh anniversary of my relationship with Hudson Calloway, CEO of Calloway Group. It was also supposed to be the day we officially made things legal. I was wearing a white custom couture dress, sitting quietly on the leather sofa in the VIP waiting room. The clock on the wall ticked steadily. The hour hand had already slipped past ten in the morning. Hudson hadn’t arrived. My phone screen lit up. It was a photo sent by Hudson’s personal assistant. The photo showed the crowded main terminal of an airport. Hudson had a frail woman pulled tight against his chest, her face buried against him, while he barked orders at the bodyguards around him, clearing the crowd. Then a voice message from Hudson popped up. “Sophia, Evelyn’s depression hit her out of nowhere. She’s insisting she wants to leave the country and disappear forever. There are too many people at the airport and she panicked. I have to get her to the hospital right now.” His voice was soaked in barely-contained urgency, but at the end he forced it down and shifted into something softer — the tone of someone doing you a favor. “I’ll have the PR team handle the media outside. They’ll say the company had an emergency international call. Be good and head home for now. That pink diamond necklace you liked yesterday — I already had someone set it aside. I’ll make it up to you tonight. We’ll take care of the paperwork tomorrow.” Tomorrow. Over the past seven years, I’d heard those two words more times than I could count. “Sophia, Evelyn is afraid of the dark. I need to stay at the hospital with her tonight — let’s do our New Year’s together tomorrow.” “Sophia, Evelyn doesn’t have any family. It’s Christmas Eve and she’d be completely alone. I’m bringing her to the house for dinner. Please don’t take it personally.” “Sophia, Evelyn made a mess of that project. Can you take the blame for her? You’re capable — the board won’t come after you too hard.” I looked down at the plain band on my ring finger. I’d worn it for seven years. Suddenly I found the whole thing almost funny. So this was all my seven years of waiting had been worth — crumbling the moment Evelyn White threw a tantrum. I didn’t reply with my usual “okay, I’ll wait.” I didn’t scream at him either. I just calmly saved the photo, then dragged Hudson’s number — along with every other way to reach him — straight into the blocked list. “Miss Sutton, Mr. Calloway isn’t—” The staff member eased the door open with a pained expression. “He’s not coming.” I stood up, smoothed out a wrinkle in my skirt, and my voice came out completely flat. “Please let the media outside know — there’s no registration today. There’s a broken engagement instead.” The staff member stared at me, stunned. I pushed past her, clicked across the floor in my heels, and walked out of the county clerk’s office without a single backward glance. Blinding camera flashes swallowed me the moment I stepped outside. Microphones came at me from every direction. “Miss Sutton — why didn’t Mr. Calloway show up? Did the relationship fall apart?” “Miss Sutton — there are rumors Mr. Calloway shut down part of the airport for another woman. Is that true?” I stopped. My eyes swept across those eager lenses. A thin, cold smile touched the corner of my mouth. “Since Mr. Calloway has someone who needs him more, I won’t be sticking around. As of today, we go our separate ways. It’s over.” I pushed through the crowd and got into a black Maybach that had been waiting at the curb. The moment the car door shut, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I’d only saved once — but had memorized completely. Three rings. Someone picked up. “Sophia Sutton?” A man’s voice. Low and unhurried, carrying the effortless ease and quiet pressure of someone used to being in charge. “Mr. York.” I watched the street blur past the window. My voice was steady. “The alliance marriage you mentioned at the charity gala — is that offer still open?” A brief silence on the other end. Then a soft, low laugh. “Where are you?” “Outside the county clerk’s office.” “Stay right there. I’m coming to pick up my future wife.”

Adrian York. The real crown prince of the capital’s inner circle. Head of the York financial empire, with its fingers in the arteries of the global economy. Hudson Calloway might have commanded respect in this city, but in front of Adrian York, even he had to bow his head and say “Mr. York” like everyone else. Half an hour later, I was back at the downtown penthouse I’d shared with Hudson for five years. The moment I pushed the door open, a familiar cool fragrance drifted over me. Traces of our life together were everywhere. Matching slippers at the entrance. The antique oil painting he’d paid a fortune for at auction because I loved it. And in the dressing room, rows of couture gowns he’d had custom-made from all over the world, all cut to my exact measurements. He’d once covered my eyes and pressed a set of keys into my palm — keys to this apartment worth thirty million dollars — and said with all the tenderness in the world: “Sophia, this is the cage I built just for you. Don’t even think about flying away.” I used to believe that was the deepest kind of love. Now I understood it for what it was. A leash. I pulled out a black rolling suitcase and started packing. I only took my own documents, a few outfits I actually wore, and the belongings my parents had left me. Everything Hudson had bought me — the jewelry, the bags, the clothes — I didn’t touch a single piece. Halfway through packing, the digital lock on the front door beeped. Hudson’s assistant, Liam, walked in. His face went pale the moment he saw the suitcase on the floor. “Miss Sutton — what are you doing? Mr. Calloway just went to check on Miss White at the hospital. Please don’t act out over this.” “Act out?” I set down what I was holding and looked at him. “Liam, you’ve worked for Hudson for years. Can’t you tell? I’m leaving.” Liam blinked. Then a helpless, pained smile crossed his face. “Miss Sutton, please don’t joke like that. Everyone in this city knows how much Mr. Calloway loves you. Today was genuinely unexpected. Miss White has severe depression — she had a piece of broken glass in her hand. He didn’t have a choice—” “Didn’t have a choice?” I cut him off. My voice held no warmth at all. “He had a choice to lock down an airport. He had a choice to abandon me in front of the entire city’s media. He had every choice in the world except the one that mattered — keeping his word to me.” I shoved the last piece of clothing into the suitcase and zipped it shut. “Miss Sutton!” Liam panicked and stepped in front of me. “Mr. Calloway said to ask you to wait at home. He’ll be back soon. If you just leave like this, I don’t know how I’m going to explain it to him.” “That’s your problem, not mine.” I pushed past him and wheeled the suitcase toward the door. Right then, Liam’s phone rang. Hudson. Liam answered fast and hit speakerphone. “Liam, is Sophia home? Tell her I’ll be there soon. Tell her not to look at the news online — I’m handling it.” Hudson’s voice was tired, but underneath the exhaustion was the same unshakeable certainty he always carried. “Mr. Calloway…” Liam shot me a glance. His voice came out shaky. “Miss Sutton is — she’s packing to leave.” Two seconds of dead silence on the other end. Then Hudson laughed. Cold and short. “Sophia, what is this now? I already explained everything. Evelyn’s life was at stake. You’re completely fine — why do you have to make this into something with a sick person?” His voice shifted, turning sharp. “Do you have any idea what the media is printing about me right now? You pull a stunt like this and what — you think I’m going to come crawling to you?” His self-righteous anger hit like a sledgehammer, knocking loose the very last piece of whatever I’d still been holding onto. Seven years. He’d always been exactly like this. The moment Evelyn cried, the fault was always mine. “Hudson.” I spoke toward the phone. My voice was so calm it surprised even me. “I’m done. You don’t need to come crawling anywhere.” “What is that supposed to mean?” His tone dropped, edged with cold fury. “Exactly what it sounds like. We’re finished.” “Sophia!” Hudson’s voice exploded through the speaker. “Don’t push your luck! You think walking out that door means you’ll find someone better than me? I’m telling you right now — if you take one step out of this apartment, I don’t care if you get on your knees and beg me later. I will never look at you again.” “Fine.” I said it quietly. Then I took the phone right out of Liam’s hand and smashed it against the wall. The screen shattered. Hudson’s shouting stopped cold. I slipped the apartment key off my keyring, then pulled the plain band off my finger — the one I’d worn for seven years. I set them both on the console table by the door. “Liam, please tell Mr. Calloway something for me. I don’t do recycling. Especially not garbage.” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and walked out the door without looking back, leaving behind the apartment that had kept me caged for five years. Downstairs, a black Rolls-Royce Phantom sat waiting at the curb. The window came down. Adrian York’s profile appeared — clean, sharp, almost carved. His dark eyes found mine. A faint, unreadable smile curved his mouth. “Didn’t waste any time, did you, Mrs. York.” I walked over, handed my suitcase to his bodyguard, and got in. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. York.” Adrian turned his head. His gaze dropped to my bare ring finger. Something shifted behind his eyes. Then he leaned toward me — slow, unhurried — until his presence surrounded me completely, warm and overwhelming. My breath caught. Every muscle in my body pulled taut. But he didn’t do anything else. He simply reached across and pulled my seatbelt over, clicking it into place. “Sophia.” His voice was low, rough at the edges, somewhere between a warning and a promise. “You got in my car. There’s no getting out.”

The car smelled faintly of sandalwood. Calming, and somehow invasive at the same time. Adrian didn’t take me to his private estate. He had the driver head straight to Pinnacle — the most exclusive private club in the city. The panoramic suite on the top floor looked out over a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. The capital’s nightline stretched endlessly below. Adrian shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over the arm of the sofa. Underneath he wore a black dress shirt, the collar open just enough to reveal the hard line of his collarbone. He walked to the bar, poured two glasses of whiskey, and held one out to me. “Drink. It’ll warm you up.” I took the glass. The cold liquid slid down my throat and left a trail of fire behind it — but my head felt clearer for it. “Mr. York.” I met his eyes directly. “Why me?” The head of the York empire could have had anyone. So why approach me — Hudson Calloway’s fiancée — at a charity gala with a marriage proposal? Adrian carried his glass to the window and looked out over the city below. “Because you’re ruthless.” He turned back to face me. His gaze was steady and direct. “Seven years. You ended it without blinking. Sophia, you’re sharp. The York family needs a woman with a clear head, real instincts, and the nerve to act on them — not someone whose whole world revolves around keeping a man happy.” He paused, then closed the distance between us and looked down at me. “And honestly — I’ve never liked Hudson Calloway. Taking what he values most? I find that very satisfying.” I looked at the ambition and possessiveness sitting openly in his expression, and I laughed. “You’re straightforward. I can work with that. But I have conditions.” “Name them.” “I want full controlling interest in Sutton Group.” I said it one word at a time. Sutton Group was everything my parents had built. When they died in a car accident, Hudson had folded it into Calloway Group under the pretense of protecting me. For seven years, while I stayed quietly in the background for him, he’d hollowed out everything my parents had left behind. Now I was taking it back. Adrian studied me. Something like approval moved through his eyes. “Done. My legal team will bring the transfer papers to you first thing tomorrow morning.” He reached up — long, deliberate fingers — and let them skim lightly across my cheek. A small shiver moved through me. “Then we have a deal, Mrs. York.” I didn’t pull away. I raised my glass and touched it to his. “Deal.” Across the city, at the Calloway estate. Hudson sat on the couch, his expression dark enough to fill the room. The phone he’d thrown lay shattered on the floor. Liam stood nearby, not making a sound. “She actually left?” Hudson asked, his jaw tight. “Yes, sir. She barely took anything — a few of her own clothes. She left the key. And the ring.” Hudson let out a sharp laugh and kicked the coffee table over. “Classic move. She thinks playing hard to get is going to break me? Seven years under my roof — everything she had came from me. Without me, Sophia Sutton is nothing.” He yanked at his tie, restless and irritated. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop seeing the look in her eyes when she walked away. The way she hadn’t hesitated. A knot formed somewhere in his chest, one he couldn’t name. Then, from upstairs — the sound of something ceramic shattering. A housekeeper’s startled cry. “Miss White, please — don’t do this!” Hudson’s expression shifted. He was up the stairs in seconds. In the guest room, Evelyn White stood in a thin nightgown, a piece of broken glass pressed against her wrist, tears streaming down her face. “Ethan, this is all my fault. I ruined everything between you and Sophia. Just let me go — if I’m gone, she won’t be angry with you anymore.” Hudson’s chest clenched. He crossed the room in two strides, pulled the glass from her hand, and wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t do that, Evelyn. This isn’t on you. Sophia’s the one being unreasonable.” He held her, rubbing slow circles on her back. But his eyes went cold. “If she wants to throw a fit, fine. Cancel all her cards. Put the word out — no one in our circle helps her. I want to see how long she lasts out there on her own. When she’s desperate enough, she’ll come back. She always does.”

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1 During the Winter Carnival, my worst enemy kidnapped my husband and my son. The psychopaths packed two tons of TNT right under their seats, broadcasting the hostage feed directly onto the massive jumbo screen in the Grand Plaza. “Everyone says Captain Pamela is the bedrock of the bomb squad, a hero who has saved countless lives!” “So today, I want to see what our great expert will do. Cut the red wire, and your husband dies. Cut the blue wire, and your son dies. How will you choose, Captain?” Every citizen in the city knew this was a trap designed to destroy me. No matter which wire I chose, I would be branded a monster forever. Amidst the terrified screams of the thousands of onlookers in the plaza, I casually posted a comment in the live chat. “A human firework show should be spectacular. Make sure to record it for me!” On the giant screen of the Grand Plaza, the faces of my husband, Raymond, and my son, Toby, were magnified to an agonizing degree. The barrels of explosives beneath them were hooked up to two brightly colored wires, one red, one blue. A woman wearing a grotesque clown mask stared back at the camera, her voice digitally altered to a high-pitched, mocking screech. The live-stream chat cascaded down like a waterfall. “Is this real? Is this some insane movie promo? Who pulls a stunt like this on New Year’s?” “Look at their faces! That’s not acting! Their mouths are duct-taped, and they’ve cried themselves dry!” “I just looked it up! Captain Pamela is the head of the city’s bomb squad! Her family has really been taken!” My father-in-law, Ron, grabbed my arm, his fingernails digging deep into my skin. “Pamela! You’re always so damn capable! Why are you just standing there? Say something!” I peeled his fingers off my arm and calmly adjusted the cuffs of my jacket. “Dad, what’s the rush? They aren’t asking for money, they’re only forcing me to choose. It’s obviously a setup.” “A setup? What kind of setup is more important than your husband and son’s lives? Is your heart made of stone?” His chest heaved violently with rage. “If you make the wrong move, you’ll destroy this family! Do you understand?” My mother-in-law, Beatrice, rushed over, swinging her hand to slap me. “You cursed woman! It’s because of you that our family is being targeted! If anything happens to my son, I will kill you myself!” I stepped aside, dodging her hand, my eyes cold and empty. “So, by your logic, I should choose my son, right?” The moment those words left my mouth, it was like a bucket of ice water dumped over their heads. The elderly couple exchanged a panicked look, neither of them daring to speak. On the screen, the clown woman’s voice rang out again, dripping with sadistic amusement. “Captain Pamela, it seems your family knows how to choose better than you do!” “Don’t waste time. Come on, tell the whole city, do you love your husband, or do you love your son?” The chat comments began to turn. “Holy hell, this kidnapper knows exactly how to tear someone’s soul apart.” “Yeah, Captain Pamela is a hero. She’s saved so many people, and now she has to decide who dies. That’s brutal.” “I believe in Captain Pamela! She’ll find a way!” Seeing the comments, the clown woman seemed to grow irritated. She ripped the duct tape off my husband’s mouth. Raymond’s hoarse, sobbing voice immediately echoed through the plaza. “Pamela! Forget about me! Save Toby! He’s our only son!” Tears streamed down his face, his eyes shining with the tragic light of noble fatherly love. The citizens watching the stream were deeply moved. My father-in-law burst into tears, nearly falling to his knees. “Pamela, did you hear him? Raymond wants you to save Toby! Tell the kidnapper right now!” “Tell her what?” I pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and blew a slow ring of smoke. “Dad, your son has already made peace with his sacrifice for his boy. We shouldn’t let his noble gesture go to waste, should we?” The clown woman seemed highly entertained by Raymond’s heroic performance. She panned the camera down to show a close-up of the detonator. It was a device linked directly to the central control system of the city’s holiday fireworks display. “Captain Pamela, see this? When the midnight bells ring, it will toll the death knell for your family!” “The countdown is less than twenty minutes.” She paused, letting out a wild, screeching laugh. “Oh, and I forgot to mention. This detonator works both ways.” “Not only can I blow them up from here, but I’ve installed a voice-activated receiver in the chandelier of your living room. The moment you say ‘I choose’ followed by a name, the other person will explode instantly!” I looked up at the ornate crystal chandelier hanging above me and sighed softly. Then, I turned to my mother-in-law. “Mom, you heard her. It’s not that I don’t want to save them, but the kidnapper isn’t giving me a real choice. One is my husband, the other is my son. Both are my own flesh and blood. How do you expect me to say those words?” Beatrice’s face flushed red, then went pale. Her lips trembled, but she couldn’t find a single word to say. Before I could say anything else, the front door was kicked open, and a squad of tactical officers swarmed in. Leading them was my deputy, Captain Briggs. His face was grim as he hurried over to me. “Captain, the situation is critical. We can’t locate the kidnapper in time, and we can’t disable the link to the city’s fireworks system.” He glanced at me, lowering his voice. “The brass has issued a strict order. We must guarantee public safety and avoid mass panic, so…” Before he could finish, Ron lunged forward, shouting. “Did you hear that? Even your colleagues are telling you to choose! What are you waiting for? Do you want to kill everyone in this city?” I stubbed out my cigarette and slowly stood up. “Captain Briggs, officers, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you. I’m not making a choice. The life or death of the hostages should be determined by us, the police, not a criminal!” The room fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Everyone stared at me as if I had completely lost my mind. Beatrice’s eyes rolled back, and she collapsed, caught just in time by a nearby officer. “Pamela! You heartless monster!” Ron pointed a shaking finger at my nose, his voice cracking with rage. “Those are your own family members! How can you… how can you just stand there and watch them die? Do you have any humanity left?” Briggs tried to reason with me. “Captain, we know how hard this is. But under these circumstances, saving one is better than losing both.” “Yes, Captain, no matter who you choose, we will understand. The public will understand.” Faced with their well-meaning advice, I let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Easy for you to say.” “If you were in my shoes, forced to choose between your wife and your child, who would you kill?” My gaze swept across the room, and one by one, they lowered their heads, unable to meet my eyes. “I’ve been a cop for ten years. I’ve defused more bombs than you’ve had hot meals! My duty is to save lives, not to decide who gets to die! And today is no different!” Ron completely snapped, raising his fist to strike me. But just before his fist could connect with my face, Briggs’s radio crackled to life. “Captain Briggs! We’ve got a lock on the kidnapper’s location!” Briggs immediately led his men and rushed out the door. I didn’t move. I just kept my eyes on the screen. Seeing that I still hadn’t made a move, the clown woman on the screen lost her patience. She pulled out a taser, the crackling blue electric arc buzzing menacingly in the dim background. “Captain Pamela, it seems you won’t make a choice until you see some blood!” With that, she violently jammed the taser into Raymond’s ribs. Raymond let out an agonized, inhuman scream. His body convulsed violently, curling into a tight ball. The crowd watching the broadcast gasped in horror. In the corner of the screen, Toby was sobbing hysterically, terrified out of his mind. The clown woman’s voice grew twisted and manic behind her mask. “Captain Pamela, you should have received the remote by now!” “Oh, wait, I forgot, there is no remote this time!” “We have fifteen minutes left before the fireworks show. From now on, for every minute you stay silent, your husband gets another shock! Until you open your mouth!” Watching my husband writhe in agony on the screen, Beatrice, who had just regained consciousness, rushed at me. “Pamela! Choose! Do you want to watch him get tortured to death?” I looked down at her calmly and spoke in a soft, even voice. “Mom, instead of begging me, why don’t you make a call and ask him?” I raised my hands, mimicking the shape of a phone. “Ask him if he’s actually in that much pain.” Beatrice froze, clearly baffled by my words. “What… what do you mean? Are you wishing death upon your own husband?” I smiled. “My husband studied finance. He can barely lift a suitcase. But look at that man on the screen. He’s been tasered for so long, yet his screams are still incredibly loud and full of energy. Don’t you find that strange?” “Besides, he doesn’t seem to have that mole on the back of his neck that we all know so well.” My words struck the room like a thunderbolt. Even Beatrice stopped her hysterical crying, her eyes locking onto the screen. Several young officers began to sweat, and Ron stood frozen, unable to move a muscle. Seeing this, an officer remaining in the room snatched my tablet, trying to zoom in on the video. “Captain Pamela, lives are on the line here! How can you play games like this?” I watched my husband still screaming in agony on the screen, the corners of my mouth curving upward. “Playing games?” “Either way, one of them has to die. Why should I care which one it is?” The officer was left speechless, his brow furrowed in disbelief. “Captain Pamela, those are your family members! Aren’t you worried at all?” I flashed him a bright, cold smile. “Why should I be?” “If my husband dies, I get to inherit half the estate. If my kid is gone, I can always have another. But if I actually say the words, I become an accomplice to murder.” The technical department’s call came through, Briggs’s voice frantic. “Pamela! The hospital network was rigged! The signal source is a spoof! We can’t find them!” The last shred of hope vanished. Seeing that I was completely unfazed, the clown woman on the screen flew into a homicidal rage. She tossed the taser aside and dragged a metal bucket from behind her, pouring a thick, yellow liquid all over my husband. The overwhelming stench of gasoline seemed to drift right through the screen, filling the living room. “Pamela! I’m giving you one last minute! If you don’t choose, I’ll turn him into a human torch!” The clown woman produced a lighter, the pale blue flame dancing before the camera lens. The live stream’s viewer count hit an unprecedented peak. The comments surged so fast the feed began to lag. “She’s insane! The kidnapper has completely lost it!” “What is the Captain waiting for? He’s going to burn!” “You don’t get it, she can’t choose! Choosing makes her a killer! This is a nightmare!” The clown woman roared at the camera. “Pamela, I’m counting to three! If you don’t open your mouth, get ready to collect his ashes!” “Three!” “Two!” I took a deep breath, and under the horrified gazes of everyone in the room, I dialed a number. The call was answered instantly. My voice, broadcasted through the speaker, echoed clearly through the room and the city’s live stream. “Captain Pamela, speak your choice! Let everyone see who you love most!” On the other end, the clown woman’s voice was filled with a sick, ecstatic thrill. “No, no, I think you’ve misunderstood,” I let out a soft laugh, speaking slowly and deliberately. “I called to tell you one thing.” “Those two people you kidnapped have nothing to do with me. Burn them, blow them up, do whatever the hell you want.” The clown woman froze, entirely caught off guard by my answer. A second later, she let out a piercing, screeching howl, flicked the lighter, and threw it onto my husband. A massive, deafening explosion erupted as the screen was engulfed in a wall of fire. The entire room fell into a dead, horrified silence. “No!” Beatrice let out a blood-curdling shriek and fainted once more. “Pamela! You murderer! You killed my son! I’ll kill you!” Ron grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from the coffee table, his face contorted in a demonic rage as he lunged at me. The scene descended into utter chaos. But I, the catalyst of it all, simply sat back down on the sofa, completely unbothered. “Dad, what’s done is done. My condolences.” I stood up, dusted off my coat, and looked at the hysterical room. “Alright, stop shouting. You guys can keep playing your games. I’m going to take my son out for some pancakes.”

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1 The day I got laid off from the tech firm, I suddenly realized I could see everyone’s real-time net worth. The guy in the cubicle next to mine who always complained about living paycheck to paycheck had a glowing green number hovering right above his head. It read exactly 5.2 million dollars. I thought the stress of losing my job was making me hallucinate. That is, until I went home that night, stared into the bathroom mirror, and saw a string of digits above my own head that matched my bank balance down to the last cent. While I was still reeling from the shock, my girlfriend of three years, Sally, pushed open the door and slipped a heavy, gold luxury watch onto my wrist. “Don’t let the layoff get you down, babe. I got this just for you. A little something to change your luck.” My heart swelled. I reached out to pull her into a hug, but my eyes flicked back to the mirror. The glowing number above my reflection had plummeted. Without any warning, twelve thousand dollars had just vanished from my net worth. Confusion hit me like a physical blow. I turned my head to look at Sally. The second my eyes locked onto the space above her forehead, I froze completely. The number floating above Sally’s head had just jumped by exactly twelve thousand dollars. I stared down at the gold watch gripping my wrist. I had been eyeing this exact piece for six months. I knew the retail price by heart. Twelve thousand dollars flat. “What’s wrong, honey? You don’t like it?” Sally noticed my pale face. Her smile faded into a look of genuine hurt. “I know twelve grand isn’t pocket change, but you just lost your job. I only wanted to cheer you up. If you hate it, I can take it back tomorrow.” Her eyes welled up with tears. She reached out, pretending to unbuckle the leather strap. “No, I love it.” I snapped out of my daze and clamped my hand over hers. Cold sweat slicked my palms, sticking to her warm skin. I forced the biggest smile I could muster and pulled her into a tight embrace. “I’m just overwhelmed. Thank you, Sally. Seriously.” She melted into the hug, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I’d spend every dime I have if it makes you smile.” “I’ve been sweating all day. Let me grab a quick shower.” I let go of her, mumbled a weak excuse, and practically bolted into the bathroom. The lock clicked shut. I immediately yanked my phone from my pocket and opened my banking app. The harsh glare of the screen reflected in the mirror. My checking account balance matched the floating digits above my head perfectly. It was exactly twelve grand lighter than it had been this afternoon. My breathing turned ragged. I frantically tapped into my transaction history. Checking accounts, savings, credit cards, digital wallets. I scoured every single receipt and statement from the past twenty-four hours. Nothing. Not a single notification. The money had simply evaporated into thin air. And at the exact same moment, Sally’s net worth had increased by the exact same amount. I stared at my pale, terrified face in the mirror. A creeping chill crawled up my spine. The transfer happened the very second the watch touched my skin. This was no hallucination. But how was this even possible? Sally and I had been together since college. We had a rock-solid relationship. Our wedding was set for the seventeenth of next month. The down payment on our new house was split down the middle, and both our names were on the deed. If she needed cash, she would just ask me. She had absolutely no reason to siphon my funds like a ghost in the machine. Plus, the incredibly expensive watch was physically sitting on my wrist. “A coincidence. It has to be a glitch.” I turned the shower dial all the way to cold. The icy spray pelted my face, forcing my racing thoughts to slow down. Wedding expenses had been bleeding us dry lately. Caterers, venue deposits, floral arrangements. Maybe that twelve grand was a delayed charge from the wedding planner. And the bump in Sally’s net worth? Maybe her corporate office finally paid out those third-quarter bonuses. Yes. That had to be it. I stepped out of the bathroom feeling marginally saner. The bedroom was dark, lit only by a single bedside lamp. I just wanted to crawl under the covers and sleep off the insanity of the day. Then Sally lunged at me with a massive hug. She spun around and pulled a sleek, black garment bag from the closet. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement. “Surprise! I had a friend custom-make your wedding suit. Try it on!” I looked at the sharp edges of the black fabric, catching the soft light. It screamed high-end luxury. The blood in my veins turned to ice. The watch had already drained twelve thousand from my accounts. Now a bespoke suit? “Let’s do it tomorrow, babe. I’m completely wiped out.” I backed away instinctively, pasting another fake smile on my face. “Just put the jacket on.” Sally grabbed my arm, her eyes pleading. “It’s handmade. If the tailoring is off, we still have time to send it back to the studio. The wedding is only a month away. What if it doesn’t fit?” She unzipped the bag and held the jacket out, boxing me in. There was no escape. The large bedroom window acted like a dark mirror, reflecting everything in the room perfectly. I locked eyes with my own reflection, staring intensely at the glowing numbers above my head. Gritting my teeth, I reached out. The very millisecond my fingertips brushed the premium wool, the numbers in the glass violently shifted. Another eight thousand dollars, gone. My neck cracked as I stiffly turned to look at Sally’s head. Her net worth, which had just absorbed my twelve grand, instantly ticked up by another eight thousand. Twelve for the watch. Eight for the suit. Twenty thousand dollars vaporized in under two hours. This was no glitch. “Looks amazing, right? I knew it would.” Sally smoothed out the lapels, looking at me with pure adoration. “You really get what you pay for. You’re going to be the most handsome groom on the planet.” Looking at her blissful, radiant smile, I felt like I was drowning in a frozen lake. As a shred of logic returned to my panicked brain, an even more terrifying thought surfaced. Sally might not even know these gifts were bought with my money. She came from a wealthy family, worked at a top-tier international firm, and made double my salary. She could easily afford these things herself. She had zero motive to steal. More importantly, my phone and my physical cards never left my sight. I never set up any joint digital wallets, and my passcodes were locked in my own head. Even if she wanted to secretly drain my accounts to buy me presents, she lacked the means to do it. “Cat got your tongue? Or are you just exhausted?” Sally waved a hand in front of my face, chuckling. I swallowed hard, trying to sound casual. “Where did you get this made, Sally?” “Zanetti’s. That bespoke place down at Oakwood Galleria. Why? Is the cut weird?” She tilted her head, confused. “No, it’s great. Fits perfectly. Just curious.” The words tasted like ash. Looking into her clear, innocent eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else. How could I even begin to explain something this insane? Tell her I had developed a mutant ability to see bank balances? Tell her that her romantic gifts were magically draining my life savings? She would think the layoff had triggered a psychotic break. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. The missing twenty grand was a cold, hard fact. Whatever sick magic trick was playing out, I had to get to the bottom of it. At the first crack of dawn, I slid out of bed. I carefully packed the gold watch back into its velvet box and shoved the suit into its garment bag. I was going to see exactly what kind of scam these stores were running. I marched straight into Oakwood Galleria and slammed the velvet box onto the luxury watch counter. “Hi. I need you to pull up the purchase history for this piece. Check under the name Sally, or use my phone number.” The saleswoman maintained her polished retail smile. She took the box and opened it. But the moment her eyes landed on the gold casing, her expression shifted. She didn’t type anything into her tablet. Instead, she slipped on a pair of white cotton gloves, grabbed a jeweler’s loupe, and studied the face of the watch in absolute silence. When she finally looked up, her eyes were filled with a very specific kind of pity. “Sir, are you absolutely certain this was purchased at our boutique?” “My fiancée bought it here yesterday. Is there a problem?” A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. The clerk placed the watch back in its velvet cradle. Her tone dropped an octave, turning frosty. “I’m sorry, sir. This specific piece is a limited run. Due to microchip shortages, it sold out completely across all city branches last month. Furthermore, the item you brought in…” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “The craftsmanship is sloppy. The serial stamp on the movement is incorrect. It’s a counterfeit.” “Impossible!” I slapped the glass display case, my voice echoing through the quiet mall. “I saw her bring it home yesterday! The packaging, the warranty cards, everything is intact!” “Please lower your voice, sir.” She turned her tablet around to face me. “This is our global inventory system. The absolute last piece in this state was transferred out over forty days ago. As for the warranty card, these underground counterfeit rings can forge a receipt that would fool a bank teller. You are welcome to take it to the official service center upstairs for authentication, but I assure you, we have no record of this sale.” The glowing red “INVENTORY: 0” on the screen burned my retinas. But the twelve grand was undeniably missing from my account. If the watch was fake, where the hell did my money go? I took a shaky breath, grabbed the garment bag off the counter, and pointed at the embroidered logo. “What about Zanetti’s? The bespoke tailor. Where are they located in this mall?” The clerk glanced at the bag and shook her head. “They pulled their investments from this region two years ago. The shop closed down and vacated the premises last winter.” Closed down a year ago. A discontinued fake watch. A phantom tailor. I stood under the blinding fluorescent lights of the mall, feeling like the floor had just dropped out from under me. Sally was lying. But why construct such a bizarre, easily disproven web of lies? If she was handing me cheap knockoffs, was she also the mastermind draining my bank accounts? What kind of dark-web technology was she using to vaporize my money the exact second she handed me a gift? A tidal wave of questions crashed over me, threatening to pull me under. Before I could catch my breath, my phone vibrated violently in my pocket. Sally’s contact photo flashed on the screen. I took a deep breath, fighting the tremor in my hands, and hit accept. “Hey babe!” Sally’s bright, beautiful face filled the screen. She was beaming, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she winked at the camera. “Guess what massive surprise I have for you today?” Before I could spit out a single word, she flipped the camera around. The screen filled with the aggressive, aerodynamic curves of a brand-new Porsche. It was sitting on a showroom floor, complete with an absurdly large red silk bow on the hood. Sally’s voice practically vibrated with joy through the speaker. “You’ve been obsessing over this exact model for years! We’re getting married next month, so I used the trust fund my parents gave me to pay it off in full! Are you freaking out right now?” Staring at a machine worth well over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and hearing Sally’s sweet, loving voice, a wave of pure terror violently crashed over me. Twelve grand for the watch, twelve grand vanished. Eight grand for the suit, eight grand vanished. If she handed me the keys to a six-figure sports car… I couldn’t even stomach the thought. “Return it! Cancel the transaction right now!” I screamed into the phone, the veins bulging in my neck. The camera jerked wildly. Sally’s face reappeared, the color draining from her cheeks. Her smile was completely gone. “Cole, what’s wrong? It’s the Porsche. You always wanted…” “I said cancel the damn car! How long are you going to keep lying to me?!” I roared, my chest heaving. “Stay exactly where you are. Don’t move. I’m coming to you!” I killed the call, sprinted out of the mall, and threw myself into the back of a taxi, barking the address of the dealership at the driver. My heart hammered against my ribs the entire ride. If that car was finalized, my entire life savings would be wiped out instantly, and I’d likely be slammed with massive, unexplainable debt. When I shoved the heavy glass doors of the dealership open, Sally was standing alone next to the Porsche and its ridiculous red bow. She looked small and terrified. A few sales reps hovered nearby, sharing uncomfortable glances. She rushed toward me the second I walked in. “Cole, what is going on? You’re scaring me.” I threw the velvet watch box and the garment bag onto the polished showroom floor. The plastic hangers clattered loudly against the tiles. “When does the act end, Sally?!” I yelled, completely ignoring the staring crowd. “The watch is a fake! The boutique sold out a month ago! And Zanetti’s went out of business last year! Why the hell are you playing these twisted games with me?!” Sally stared at me, trembling. Her face was paper-white. Frantically, she dug into her purse, pulled out her phone, and shoved the screen an inch from my face. “I’m not lying to you! I swear to God I’m not!” Tears streamed down her face. The screen showed a photo of Sally holding the gold watch. The background was unmistakably the luxury boutique inside Oakwood Galleria. The timestamp at the bottom clearly read yesterday afternoon. She swiped to her messaging app, opening a thread saved as ‘Zanetti Master Tailor’. It was filled with months of dense, detailed conversations about my measurements, fabric choices, and shipping logistics. I froze, completely paralyzed. A man in a sharp suit, clearly the floor manager, stepped between us. “Sir, I don’t know what kind of domestic issue you’re having, but whatever you’re arguing about is pocket change. Your fiancée just swiped her card and paid for this vehicle in full. Why would she forge receipts for a few pieces of clothing when she’s dropping six figures on a car for you?” Paid in full. Swiped her card. The words hit me like a sledgehammer. My vision blurred. “No. No, that’s impossible.” I grabbed fistfuls of my own hair. If she really bought them, why did the saleswoman tell me the shop was gone? Why did she say the watch was discontinued? Who was lying to me? I looked at Sally’s tear-streaked face and finally cracked. I spilled the insane secret I had been hoarding since yesterday. “Every single time you give me something, my bank account drains at the exact same second. You gave me the watch, I lost twelve grand. You gave me the suit, I lost eight. If you give me the keys to this car right now…” The sales reps were openly staring at me like I was an escaped mental patient. Sally looked utterly bewildered. Seeing me having a total breakdown, she grabbed my arm. “Cole, look at me. My account was charged. I have the bank notifications right here! If your money is actually disappearing, someone has hacked your accounts. This is wire fraud. We are going to the police station right now.” She dragged me out of the dealership and flagged down a passing cab. Halfway to the precinct, my phone pinged loudly. It was an email from the HR department of my former tech company, sending my final severance breakdown and offboarding documents. I took a deep breath and opened the PDF attachment. I was looking for the severance payout amount, but as I zoomed in on the document, a line of bold text slammed into my line of sight. My pupils dilated. A bomb went off in my head. “Driver, turn around!” I shouted. Sally jumped in her seat and grabbed my jacket. “What are you doing? We’re two blocks from the station!” I looked her dead in the eye, my voice deadly calm. “Cancel the police, Sally. I know exactly what’s happening.”

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