The day the Croft family hosted their sprawling Sunday estate dinner, my husband—in name only—Drew Croft, brought his mistress right through the front doors. The stares from the extended family felt like physical needles sinking into my skin, heavy with unfiltered mockery. Drew’s cousin, Blake, leaned across the mahogany table with a sickeningly sweet smile. “Bringing another woman to family dinner, Drew? Aren’t you worried Penny might actually get mad?” Drew offered a breezy, dismissive laugh. His tone was absolute. “Penny has a mild temper. She doesn’t let little things like this bother her.” It wasn’t that he thought I had a forgiving nature. He just knew I had absolutely zero leverage to leave him. And why would I? I was nothing but an orphaned girl taken in by the Crofts on a charity whim. How could I possibly go toe-to-toe with the newly crowned CEO of the Croft empire? But when the woman stepped fully into the chandelier’s light and I saw her face, the reason he had brought her here slammed into me. She was a carbon copy. A perfect, living replica of Drew’s dead first love. A sudden, crushing wave of exhaustion washed over me. I was so goddamn tired of this life. My hand moved almost involuntarily. I swept my arm across the side table, and the antique porcelain vase shattered into a thousand jagged pieces across the marble floor. The dining room went dead silent. Every eye locked onto me, faces painted with sheer, unadulterated shock. 1. “Drew,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “This dinner. It’s her, or it’s me.” Drew barely blinked. He looked at me, mildly annoyed, and drawled, “She’s just here for dinner, Penny. Relax. The title of Mrs. Croft is still yours.” My eyes stung, but I held his gaze with a fierce, burning clarity. “I’m serious.” It was probably the first time in my life I had ever openly defied him. For a fraction of a second, something like confusion flickered in Drew’s eyes. Right on cue, the replica shrank back, playing the doe-eyed victim perfectly. “Mrs. Croft, please… I begged Drew to bring me. If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll leave right now.” I didn’t even give her the dignity of a glance. I kept my eyes locked on the man I had loved for a decade. “Enough!” Drew snapped, his patience evaporating. “Your temper is getting out of hand lately. Sit down and eat, or get out.” He gestured for the woman to take the chair right beside his—my usual seat. A bitter, self-deprecating laugh pushed past my lips. He couldn’t have made it any clearer. Slowly, I reached for my wrist and slid off the heirloom white jade bracelet his grandmother had given me on our wedding day. I placed it gently on the table in front of him. “I’m giving this back to you.” Drew arched a brow. “What is this supposed to mean, Penny?” I stared dead into his eyes, enunciating every single word. “It means I am done being Mrs. Croft.” He let out a harsh, patronizing scoff. “You’re an orphan. Leave me, leave this family, and where exactly are you going to go? Stop throwing a tantrum. You’re embarrassing yourself. Sit down.” The relatives around the table immediately chimed in, their voices dripping with fake concern, urging me to quit while I was ahead. I tuned them out. I grabbed my phone and started walking toward the massive double doors. Just as my hand hit the brass handle, his voice, cold and sharp as a knife, hit my back. “Penny, if you walk out those doors today, the position of my wife goes to someone else. Don’t even think about coming back.” I paused for half a second. And then, without a single backward glance, I walked out of the only home I had ever known. 2. I was the orphan the Croft family took in out of obligation. My grandmother had been dear friends with Josephine Croft—Grandma Jo. When my grandmother passed away, she entrusted me to the Croft matriarch. To the outside world, I was the luckiest girl alive. I grew up in a mansion, wore designer clothes, and eventually landed the ultimate prize: marrying Drew Croft. But only someone drowning in it could understand the true misery of that life. A Mrs. Croft ignored by everyone. A Mrs. Croft whose husband’s heart belonged to a ghost. A Mrs. Croft in title alone. When we got married, Drew sat me down and told me he could only give me a ceremony. The legal papers—the actual marriage license—would remain blank. Because in his heart, and on paper, his only wife would ever be Cecilia. Cecilia. Drew’s high school sweetheart. His untouchable saint. She had died of cancer seven years ago. Nobody in the elite circles knew that the stars of the ten-million-dollar “wedding of the decade” had never actually signed a legal marriage certificate. But what could I do? From the moment he pulled my drowning, thrashing body out of the estate pool when we were kids, I had loved him. Back then, I naively thought my warmth could eventually melt his glacier of a heart. I forgot the cardinal rule of grief: the living can never compete with the dead. After fleeing the estate, I wandered the rainy streets of the city without a destination. Drew’s mocking voice echoed in my head: Where exactly are you going to go? He was right. It was my brutal reality. Eventually, I tucked myself into a shadowy corner booth of a dim, indie acoustic lounge. Back at the mansion, the phrase I heard most often was, “Madam, you cannot do that.” Because my face represented the Crofts. My actions reflected on Drew. My entire twenty-five years of existence had revolved entirely around them. And my grand reward was becoming a glorified placeholder. Listening to the girl on stage croon a heartbreaking indie-folk song, I threw back shot after shot of whiskey. Right before the room spun out of control and everything went black, I heard a soft, melodic voice. “Hey. Are you okay?” I tried to speak, but the darkness pulled me under. When I finally woke up, my head was pounding so hard I couldn’t even focus on where I was. I massaged my temples, wincing at the harsh morning light. “Oh, you’re awake!” I looked up. Standing in the doorway of a bohemian, sun-drenched apartment was the singer from the bar. “I’m so sorry,” I rasped, mortified. “I was a disaster last night.” She flashed a brilliant, unrestrained smile. “Hey, it’s fine. Consider it fate! I’m Zoe. Who are you?” I stared at her. At how easy and bright she was. For a moment, I almost forgot my own name. “Penny.” “Well, Penny, I made oatmeal. Get up, wash your face, and come eat.” I just sat there, completely utterly lost. Zoe marched over, grabbed my hands, hauled me out of bed, and shoved me toward the bathroom. “Brand new toothbrush and towel on the counter. Chop chop! I’m starving.” She gave me this exaggerated, wide-eyed look, silently threatening to brush my teeth for me if I didn’t move. I went through the motions like a zombie, and before I knew it, I was sitting at a tiny, mismatched kitchen table. “Eat up, Penny! We’re going hiking after this!” Looking at her—radiating this raw, chaotic, beautiful youth—it suddenly hit me like a physical blow. I am twenty-five years old. In the Croft house, I had to be poised. Composed. Perfect. I had aged myself by decades just trying to play the part. I want to be her friend. It was the first time in my life I had ever felt such a desperate, spontaneous urge. I swallowed hard and asked quietly, “Zoe… could I rent your couch for a little while? I can pay.” She didn’t even hesitate. “Sure.” “You don’t even know me. What if I’m a psycho?” She waved a hand dismissively. “I have excellent radar. Eat your oats.” And just like that, I ate. True to her word, she dragged me out to a state park trail an hour north of the city. As we hiked up the steep, muddy inclines, we talked like we’d known each other in a past life. We talked about our pasts, our fears, our weirdest habits. Zoe’s life was a kaleidoscope compared to mine. She wandered. She’d move to a new city, rent a cheap room, sing at local dive bars until she got bored, and then pack up and do it again. While she was conquering the world, I had been locked in a gilded cage for ten years. 3. When we finally breached the summit, the wind whipping through our hair, Zoe turned to me out of nowhere. “You know, love isn’t about the promise of forever. The fact that things end doesn’t erase the beautiful moments that happened. But it has to actually be beautiful, Penny.” I offered a bitter, hollow smile. Between Drew and me, there had been no shared beauty. Just my own exhausting, one-sided delusion. She linked her arm through mine. “You’re dragging around so many chains, Penny. You have to smash them. You need to figure out who you are, define yourself, choose yourself. That’s what it means to actually be alive.” She looked me dead in the eye. “If you want someone to love you, you have to love yourself first.” Then she pulled out a vintage film camera and ran off to photograph the treeline. I stood there, watching her chase the light, her words echoing in the vast, open space of my mind. The Croft family had sanded down my edges until I was perfectly smooth and entirely invisible. I hadn’t had the luxury of being reckless. Running away from Drew was the very first choice I had made solely for myself. Yes, I felt like driftwood—homeless, untethered, floating without a compass. I had survived purely on a fleeting burst of adrenaline. But I was only twenty-five. Even if I had to admit the dark had swallowed me whole for a decade, I could still choose to live the rest of my life in the light. Zoe came bounding back, tugging me down to sit in the damp grass and watch the clouds. We spent an hour just pointing out shapes in the sky, talking absolute, wonderful nonsense. In that quiet space, I made a silent vow. I was going to step into the unknown. I had left the cage; now it was time to learn how to fly. “Zoe,” I said softly. “I want to see the world.” She threw her arm around my shoulders, her eyes lighting up like fireworks. “Let’s do it! Seriously, let’s start a travel channel. We’ll hit the road, document everything, and make some cash while we’re at it!” She was practically buzzing. “I’ll handle the camera, you’re gorgeous on film, we’ll go viral!” Listening to her spin this wild fantasy, for the first time in years, my chest fluttered with anticipation. “I was an English Lit major,” I offered. “I can write our copy, do the storytelling. And whatever else we need, I’ll learn.” Zoe clapped her hands together. “Yes! A match made in heaven.” I actually laughed. A real, chest-deep laugh. Zoe was a creature of intense momentum. She immediately dragged me down the mountain, declaring we needed to start plotting our route that exact night. I gently reminded her that I had fled a mansion with nothing but the clothes on my back. I needed to replace my ID, my bank cards, everything. We had to stay put for a few weeks. Halfway down the trail, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, popped the SIM card tray, and flicked the tiny chip into the dense woods. Goodbye, Croft family. Goodbye, Drew. 4. While I waited for my new documents in the mail, I enrolled in intensive online video editing courses. Zoe still sang at the bar every night. During the day, she’d beg me to cook for her, and we’d sit on her floor surrounded by maps, debating our first destination. The first time I made her a proper homemade dinner, she practically inhaled it, talking with her mouth full. “That toxic trash bag of an ex you had is an absolute idiot. Where else is he gonna find a girl this stunning who can throw down in the kitchen like this?” She pointed her fork at me. “If I were a guy, I’d put a ring on it immediately.” Since leaving the estate, my days were packed, exhausting, and completely fulfilling. Drew hadn’t come looking for me. Not once. One afternoon, I caught a business news segment on TV. A reporter ambushed him, asking about the rumors of a sudden separation. Drew’s face was an emotionless mask as he flatly denied it. Before the reporter could press further, his PR team shut the interview down. The consensus in the tabloids was that the “Cinderella” Mrs. Croft had finally been iced out for good. Exactly one month after I walked out, Zoe and I boarded a plane to Alaska. Our target was the deep wilderness, a brutal, awe-inspiring trek up a glaciated peak in the Chugach Mountains. By the time we neared the summit, the altitude and the freezing air had completely wrecked me. At one point, it felt like an invisible hand had wrapped around my throat. I couldn’t pull air into my lungs. My vision blurred into white static, and a high-pitched ringing drowned out the howling wind. My knees hit the ice. I truly thought my life was going to end right there on that frozen rock. But then, the clouds broke. And there it was—the Alpenglow. The sun hit the highest peak, turning the brutal, deadly ice into a towering beacon of pure, blazing gold. Kneeling in the snow, staring at that terrifying beauty, I started to sob. The tears just wouldn’t stop. Our trail guide rushed over, fumbling with a portable oxygen canister. Zoe dropped beside me, wrapping her arms around my shaking body. “Penny, hey, it’s okay! Your oxygen levels are coming back up, you’re not dying, I promise! You’re safe.” I shook my head, gasping for air, trying to smile. I wasn’t crying out of fear. With their help, I stood up on the mountain. I looked at that burning golden peak and saw the rest of my life stretching out in front of me. Alaska was my crucible. It was the birth of my courage. When we got back to civilization, we edited the footage, layered my voiceover narrating the struggle and the awe, and uploaded it. We didn’t expect it to explode. But it did. Thousands of comments flooded in from women saying the video made them cry, made them feel seen, made them believe in starting over. I felt the exact same way. During our travels, I bought a sketchbook. Grandma Jo had been a celebrated painter, and growing up at her feet, I had fallen deeply in love with oils and canvases. But when I got together with Drew, he made me pack away my brushes. The reason was cruel and simple. Cecilia had been an artist. At first, I thought he couldn’t bear to see me paint because it triggered his grief. But one night, standing outside his study, I overheard him talking to a friend. “When Penny paints, I just see Cece. And Penny doesn’t have the right to even be compared to her.” Cecilia had been dead for years, yet Drew weaponized her memory to keep me small. He enforced her presence in that house. The estate staff burned Cecilia’s favorite cedarwood incense. We ate off the ceramic dishware she had picked out. The gardens were choked with the jasmine she loved. And on the second floor, right next to the master suite, was a locked room. Cleaned by the head housekeeper once a week. Drew spent half his month sleeping in there. Two years after her death, Grandma Jo finally ordered the staff to clear it out. When Drew came home and found the room empty, he completely lost his mind. He shattered glass, screamed at the staff, and delivered an ultimatum to his own grandmother: “If that room is gone, I will never set foot in this house again.” He personally drove to the estate’s waste facility, dug through the garbage with his bare hands, and put every single item back exactly where it belonged. After that, the room became a shrine. And Cecilia became the patron saint of his heart, untouchable and immortal.

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The security footage from two in the morning cleared the sleep from my brain like a shot of pure adrenaline. There, on the glowing screen of the property manager’s tablet, was my brand-new, eighty-five-thousand-dollar Winnebago RV. And there was my neighbor, Penny, sitting in the driver’s seat. Behind her, loading into the cabin like they were boarding a tour bus, were her husband, her daughter, and her elderly parents. The brake lights flared in the grainy black-and-white video. And then, my RV pulled out of the complex, heading straight for the interstate. The fuse for this entire nightmare had been lit a few days prior. I had just dropped a small fortune on that custom Class C motorhome. My plan for the Fourth of July weekend was simple: drive down the coast, park by the ocean, and embrace the absolute, unbroken quiet of solitude. I hadn’t accounted for Gary. Gary lived next door. When he saw the rig parked in my spot, he showed up on my porch with his wife, his eight-year-old kid, and his in-laws, pitching the idea that they should “tag along” to save on travel expenses. I had politely, but firmly, shut the door on that idea. It wasn’t until the following morning that I walked outside and found a rectangular patch of empty asphalt where my sanctuary used to be. When I finally got Gary on the phone, the sheer entitlement vibrating through the receiver made the blood roar in my ears. “Look, man, you’re flying solo. You can crash at any cheap motel,” he’d yelled over the highway wind. “This thing is perfect for a family. We’re finally comfortable.” I didn’t hesitate. The second the call disconnected, my thumb tapped 9-1-1. You want to steal my rig? You want to be comfortable? Get comfortable with the idea of a holding cell. 1 “Hey, Jack! Heard you got yourself a land yacht!” I had been lying on my couch, endlessly scrolling through my phone, when the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Gary from next door standing on my welcome mat, grinning like he’d just scratched a winning lotto ticket. He hadn’t come alone. He’d brought the whole circus. His wife, Penny. His daughter, Mia. His father-in-law, Frank. His mother-in-law, Helen. Five of them, packed onto my porch, radiating expectant energy. “Hey, Gary,” I said, keeping my hand on the doorknob. “What’s up?” “Word on the street is you’re taking that new RV out for the Fourth of July weekend,” Gary said, clapping his hands together. “That’s fantastic. We’re coming with you. Saves you from being all by your lonesome!” I blinked, waiting for the punchline. When none came, I shifted my weight. “I’m driving down the coast by myself. That’s kind of the point.” Gary waved his hand, dismissing my reality entirely. “Ah, come on. Road trips suck when you’re alone. No one to talk to, no one to pass the time with. We’ll keep you company. It’ll be a blast.” “Gary,” I said slowly, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “The RV is just for me.” “I know, I know,” Gary pushed on, entirely unfazed. “But that thing is huge! You can’t possibly need all that space. The five of us can just squeeze into the back. We won’t be in your way at all.” Down around my knees, little Mia started jumping. “I wanna ride in the big car! I wanna ride in the big car!” I let a heavy, uncomfortable silence fall over the porch. Penny finally chimed in, offering a tight, appeasing smile. “Jack, look, we aren’t trying to take advantage. You can just drop us off at the first national park on your route, and we’ll get out and do our own thing. It just saves us the gas money. We’re neighbors. It’s what neighbors do.” “No,” I said. “I can’t do that.” Helen, the mother-in-law, instantly soured. Her face pinched together. “Well, aren’t you a stingy young man? We live right next door. What does it cost you to do a simple favor?” “Helen,” I kept my voice flat. “It cost me eighty-five thousand dollars. I literally haven’t even driven it off the lot for a trip yet.” Frank cleared his throat, adjusting his baseball cap. “Son, don’t be so selfish. Put some good karma into the world. It comes back to you.” A dry laugh scraped the back of my throat. “So, let me get this straight. I buy a vehicle with my own money, I don’t want to chauffeur five people I barely know, and I’m the selfish one?” Gary quickly held up his hands, playing the peacemaker for the fire he’d started. “Alright, alright. If Jack doesn’t want to help out, we’ll leave it. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” He corralled his family, turning them back toward their unit. But just before he stepped off my porch, Gary glanced back over his shoulder. It wasn’t a look of disappointment. It wasn’t anger. It was a look that said, We’ll see about that. I locked my door, brushing it off as suburban absurdity. Sometime around midnight, floating in that heavy space between waking and sleeping, I thought I heard a faint rustling outside my front door. A quiet clinking, like metal on metal. But the exhaustion of the workweek pulled me under before I could investigate. The next morning, I walked out with my coffee mug. The parking pad was empty. My RV was gone. I stood there, the warm morning air suddenly feeling like ice against my skin. A high-pitched ringing started in my ears. Impossible. I rubbed my eyes. The concrete was still bare. A small oil stain from my old sedan was the only thing left. I pulled out my phone, opening my camera roll to the picture I’d taken yesterday. The pristine white Winnebago, the sleek awning. It had been right there. Now, there wasn’t so much as a tire mark left behind. My first, frantic thought: Did the HOA tow it? I jogged down to the community clubhouse, pushing open the glass doors. Barb, the property manager, looked up from her desk. “Barb,” I said, a little breathless. “My RV is gone from my spot. Did the association have it towed?” Barb frowned, adjusting her glasses. “No, Jack. We don’t tow unless there’s a written violation first. You’re fully registered.” “Can we check the security cameras?” “Sure,” she said, her voice softening at the panic in my eyes. “Come back here.” She clicked through the digital archive. We went back to midnight and fast-forwarded. At exactly 2:13 a.m., a figure appeared on screen. It was Penny. She walked straight up to my RV. In her hand, something metallic glinted under the streetlamp. She pressed a button. The amber hazard lights flashed, confirming the doors unlocking. She climbed into the driver’s seat. Two minutes later, Gary emerged from the breezeway of their unit. Following him like ducks in a row were Helen, Frank, and little Mia. They were lugging duffel bags and a cooler. Gary slid the side door open. He hoisted Mia in. Then Frank. Then Helen. Then Gary climbed in himself, pulling the heavy door shut behind him. At 2:18 a.m., my eighty-five-thousand-dollar motorhome rolled out of the complex gates. Barb slowly turned her head to look at me, her eyes wide. “Jack… aren’t those your neighbors?” 2 I didn’t answer her. I couldn’t. I just stared at the frozen frame of the video, my palms growing damp with a cold, creeping sweat. The keys. It hit me with the force of a physical blow. Gary had come over the night before, uninvited. When he was standing in my entryway, leaning against the console table, I had my back turned for exactly ten seconds to grab a bottle of water from the kitchen. I had left my spare set of keys in the ceramic bowl by the door. I thought I had misplaced them. I hadn’t. He had palmed them while I wasn’t looking. I pulled out my phone and dialed Gary’s number. User busy. I called again. User busy. Third try. It rang. And then, he picked up. “Gary,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “Where is my RV?” Through the speaker, I could hear the distinct, heavy rumble of highway tires and the wind whipping against the chassis. Gary’s voice boomed, completely unbothered. “Hey, Jack! Man, we’re just borrowing it for a couple of days. You’re a grown adult, don’t be so tight-fisted about it.” I closed my eyes. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to cage the absolute fury rising in my chest. “Turn it around,” I said softly. “Bring it back. Right now.” Gary actually laughed. A bright, genuine chuckle. “Bring it back? Buddy, we’re already three hours out on the interstate. Look, you’re just one guy. Book a nice hotel room for the weekend, get some room service. It won’t cost you that much. This thing is perfect for us. We’re saving a fortune on lodging.” “Gary,” I said. “You stole my vehicle.” “Oh, stop with the dramatics,” Gary scoffed. “We’re neighbors. It’s not stealing, it’s borrowing. I’ll bring it back with a full tank.” “If you do not turn off at the next exit and bring it back, I am calling the police.” Gary laughed again. It was louder this time. Exaggerated. Mocking. “Call them! Go ahead, call the cops. See what they tell you. You think they care about a neighborhood dispute?” His tone turned dismissive. “I gotta go, Jack. The kid is trying to sleep.” The line went dead. I hit redial. The number you are trying to reach has been turned off. I stood in the air-conditioned office of the clubhouse, the phone still pressed to my ear. Outside, the July sun was beating down on the asphalt, baking the rows of parked cars. None of them were mine. I tried again. Power off. I tried Penny’s number. Power off. I didn’t have the in-laws’ numbers. Barb, who had been listening to the entire one-sided conversation, offered a sympathetic wince. “Jack, maybe… maybe just let it go for the weekend? They’re your neighbors. You don’t want to start a war over a misunderstanding.” I lowered the phone and looked at her. “He stole my vehicle.” “I know, but, you know how these civil things get… it’s just a dispute. Maybe they’ll really bring it back?” “Barb.” My voice was hollow. “It’s an eighty-five-thousand-dollar motorhome. You think this is a ‘misunderstanding’?” Barb fell silent, her eyes dropping to her keyboard. I walked out of the clubhouse. I walked back to my empty parking pad. I stood exactly where the rear tires should have been. Yesterday, I was out here polishing the chrome. Yesterday, I was making a grocery list, debating which snacks to pack for the coast. Now, there was just an oil stain. Gary’s words looped in my head like a bad record. Book a nice hotel room. Perfect for us. Saving a fortune. The anger stopped being hot. It turned into something sharp, cold, and incredibly clear. My hands were shaking, not from panic, but from the sheer adrenaline of what I was about to do. I pulled out my phone again. I didn’t dial Gary. I dialed three numbers. 9-1-1. “911, what is your emergency?” “Hi. I need to report a Grand Theft Auto. My vehicle was stolen.” “Okay, sir. Can I get the make and model?” “It’s a custom Winnebago Class C. Valued around eighty-five thousand dollars.” “Do you know who took it?” “Yes,” I said, staring at Gary’s front door. “I have them on security camera. I have a recorded phone call of them admitting to it. They are currently driving it on the southbound interstate. Five passengers.” “Copy that, sir. We are dispatching an officer to your location to take the report.” I hung up. I stood in the blistering heat, letting the sun beat against my face. I could wait. Let’s see who ends up paying for the hotel room. Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on a hard plastic chair in the local precinct. A young patrol officer, probably no older than twenty-five, walked over with a clipboard. “You the one reporting the stolen RV?” he asked, looking me up and down. “Yes.” “Alright, walk me through it.” I laid it out methodically. The uninvited visit. The refused request. The missing spare key. The 2:00 a.m. security footage. When I finished, the young cop leaned back, tapping his pen against his chin. “So, you guys are neighbors?” “Yes.” “And he told you he was just borrowing it?” “Yes. But I explicitly denied him permission. Three times. I told him no. His wife asked, I told her no. The mother-in-law asked, I said no.” The officer sighed, the universal sound of a cop who didn’t want to deal with a mountain of paperwork. “Look, man. Why don’t you head home? We’ll try to get him on the phone, tell him he needs to bring it back.” 3 “I already tried to get him on the phone,” I said evenly. “He turned his phone off.” “Okay, well, when he gets back, we can set up a mediation. Talk it out. It’s a neighborhood dispute, these things happen.” I stared at him. I could feel the muscle in my jaw jumping. “Mediation?” “Yeah, you know, civil matter. It’s best to resolve it without getting the courts involved.” “He stole my vehicle,” I enunciated every word. “At two in the morning. He snuck onto my property, used a stolen key, packed his entire family into my RV, and drove across state lines. In what universe is that a ‘neighborhood dispute’?” The officer opened his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. I unzipped my leather folio and pulled out a stack of papers. “This is the bill of sale. Eighty-five thousand dollars, paid in full.” I slid it across the table. “These are time-stamped stills from the HOA security feed. 2:13 a.m. That is Penny in the driver’s seat.” I slid them across. Then, I unlocked my phone, opened my call recording app, and hit play. I pushed the phone toward him. Gary’s booming, arrogant voice filled the quiet precinct. “Man, we’re just borrowing it for a couple of days. You’re a grown adult, don’t be so tight-fisted about it.” “Book a nice hotel room for the weekend… We’re saving a fortune on lodging.” The recording clicked off. The young cop’s face had gone perfectly still. “He explicitly acknowledges he took it,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “He explicitly refuses to return it. I gave no authorization. He stole the key. That is theft. He took it across state lines. That is Grand Theft.” I leaned in, making sure he couldn’t look away from my eyes. “In this state, Grand Theft Auto for a vehicle valued over fifty thousand dollars is a second-degree felony. That carries a maximum sentence of fifteen years in a state penitentiary. Does eighty-five grand meet your threshold for a felony, Officer?” The young cop swallowed hard. He looked at the paperwork. He looked at me. “You a lawyer?” “No,” I said. “But I know how to read. And I know what theft is.” For a long moment, there was just silence. Then, he gathered up my papers. “Wait here.” He disappeared into a back office. I sat there for ten minutes, watching the wall clock tick. When he came back, he wasn’t alone. A silver-haired sergeant with weary eyes was trailing behind him. The sergeant pulled out a chair opposite me and sat down heavily. “Mr. Jack,” the sergeant said, his voice gravelly. “I’ve reviewed the materials. We are officially opening a case for Grand Theft Auto.” He folded his hands on the table. “I need you to understand something, though. If we put this over the wire to the State Troopers and they make the stop… there is no un-ringing this bell. If he calls you crying tomorrow, the DA has the case. You can’t just drop it.” “I don’t plan to,” I said. “Alright then.” The sergeant pulled over a fresh incident report pad. “Let’s get this on the record.” I went through it all again. The timeline, the locations, the exact wording of the conversation. “What is your ultimate objective here?” the sergeant asked, pen hovering. “I want him prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. A thief is a thief, whether he lives next door or in another state.” The sergeant nodded slowly. “We’re coding this as a felony auto theft. We’ll put out a BOLO to the Highway Patrol. They’ll ping the plates. If they’re on the southbound interstate, Troopers will intercept them.” “Thank you,” I said. I stood up and slung my bag over my shoulder. As I walked toward the heavy glass doors, the young patrol officer called out to me one last time. “Hey. Are you sure you don’t want to try and settle this? What if he offers to just pay you for the rental time?” I stopped. I didn’t turn my whole body, just looked back over my shoulder. “I don’t need his money,” I said. “I need a consequence.” “He didn’t care about settling when he stole from me in the dead of night. He didn’t care about settling when he was laughing at me on the highway. He didn’t care about settling when he turned his phone off.” “It’s too late for a settlement.” The officer didn’t say another word. I pushed through the doors into the blinding July afternoon. I checked my phone. No missed calls. No texts. Gary and his family were still cruising down the highway, living it up. They had absolutely no idea what was coming for them. I stood in the parking lot, letting the breeze cool the sweat on my neck. You want a free vacation, Gary? You want to save on hotel rooms? Let’s see how much you enjoy state housing. “Dad, this thing is massive!” Mia was sprinting from the front cab to the rear bedroom, her sneakers leaving scuff marks on the pale grey upholstery of the dinette. Gary was kicked back in the passenger seat, his phone held high as he snapped a selfie. “Fourth of July weekend in the luxury suite! Life is good!” he narrated, uploading a carousel of photos to his Facebook. The pristine kitchen counter, the queen-sized memory foam bed, the panoramic windows. All mine. Penny had her hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, her eyes glued to the road. “It drives okay,” she muttered, “but Jesus, it drinks gas.” “Who cares?” Gary laughed, tossing his phone onto the dash. “It’s not our wear and tear.” In the back, Frank was sprawled on the leather sofa. He patted his chest pocket, pulled out a pack of Marlboros, and struck a match. “Dad,” Gary called out, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Maybe don’t smoke in here.” Frank took a long drag, exhaling a thick cloud of grey smoke. “Relax, Gary. It’s not our car.” 4 Snap. The burning ember at the tip of the cigarette broke off, tumbling down to the floor mat. Frank didn’t notice. When he took another drag, he carelessly flicked the ash. A stray spark floated upward, kissing the pristine white ceiling fabric. A brown burn hole instantly melted into the material. Gary squinted at the rearview. “Eh. A little bleach wipe will fix it when we get back.” The bathroom door suddenly swung open. Helen stumbled out, her face the color of old oatmeal. “I’m seasick,” she gasped, clutching her stomach. “This thing sways too much.” Before anyone could say a word, she doubled over. Splash. Right onto the custom leather bench seat. Gary grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, Helen. Could you not have aimed for the toilet?” “It came on too fast,” she groaned, sinking to the floor. “Whatever. We’ll hose it down later,” Gary muttered, rolling his window down to let the smell out. Off in the corner, Mia had dug a permanent marker out of Penny’s purse. She was pressing the dark ink deep into the faux-wood paneling of the hallway. She drew a circle. Then a jagged line. “Mia, what are you doing?” Gary asked, distracted. “Drawing.” “Cut it out.” “No! I want to draw!” she whined, pressing harder. Gary sighed and turned back around. “Whatever.” Penny tapped the brakes as a green highway sign approached. “I’m pulling into the next rest stop. I need a break, my shoulders are killing me.” “Sure,” Gary said. “Stretch the legs.” The RV lumbered up the off-ramp and pulled into the massive parking lot of a sprawling travel plaza. Penny threw it into park and killed the engine. She let out a long breath and looked over her shoulder into the cabin. Ash on the floorboards. Vomit on the leather. Sharpie on the walls. A burn hole in the ceiling. Her stomach gave a nervous little lurch. “Gary… is he going to take this back like this?” Gary let out a booming laugh, unbuckling his seatbelt. “What’s he gonna do? He’s a single guy in his twenties. You think he’s gonna throw down with me? We’ll wash it. It’s fine.” “I guess,” Penny murmured, opening her door. Gary pulled out his phone, ready to post another update. Suddenly, his screen lit up. An unknown number. He frowned and answered it. “Hello?” “Is this Gary?” a stern voice asked. “This is Detective Ramirez with the county police. We’re calling regarding the unauthorized use of a motor vehicle…”

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I was born with the kind of body that demands attention. Between the natural curves and my preference for tailored, form-fitting silhouettes, the internet had affectionately labeled me the “Ice Queen Mother.” Whenever I went out with my roommate, she’d joke that we looked like a stepmother taking her middle-schooler for a walk. Even the stray dogs on campus seemed to stop and stare a little too long. Before we ever met in person, the guy I was seeing online sent me a photo. My roommate, Gwen, recognized him instantly. She let out a piercing scream. “Shut up! Jenny, your mystery man is Hudson Christian? His dad is literally on the Board of Trustees. He’s the golden boy of the university. But there’s a catch—he’s got this ‘childhood friend,’ Daisy Vance, who’s obsessed with playing the eternal toddler.” Before I could even ask for details, Gwen had the student forums pulled up, giving me the full dossier on Daisy. “Look at this, Jenny. Daisy is a piece of work. She’s built her whole personality around being ‘tiny’ and ‘innocent.’ People call her the ‘Weaponized Toddler.’ If you two cross paths, it’s going to be a clash of the titans: the ultimate Femme Fatale versus the world’s oldest baby. I’d pay for a front-row seat to that.” I ran a hand through my long, dark waves, admiring my fresh manicure with a practiced indifference. “Let her play house,” I said, my voice smooth. “Tomorrow, when we meet, I’ll make sure she understands one thing: in the face of real femininity, ‘cute’ is just a consolation prize.” … To be honest, I have zero interest in “girl hate,” and I wasn’t exactly looking for love. But Hudson Christian was obscenely wealthy. We’d been “dating” online for a week without meeting, and he’d already “gifted” me ten thousand dollars—voluntarily. I was planning to go to Caltech for my PhD, and I was frantically saving for tuition. Hudson wasn’t just a boyfriend; he was a bridge to my future. The secret to maximizing your take in a relationship like this? Never be the one at fault. With a “baby-brained” childhood friend in the mix, walking away with a cool million seemed less like a dream and more like a business plan. We agreed to meet at 2:00 PM in the University Hall. I happened to have an award to pick up there anyway. A minor crisis in the lab held me up, and by the time I pushed through the heavy oak doors, I was twenty minutes late. I could hear voices drifting from the back of the hall. “Hudson, where is she? Maybe she’s too scared to show up.” The voice was high-pitched, syrupy, and cloyingly sweet. Every sentence ended with a little upward lilt, like a question from a toddler. That had to be Daisy. “Maybe she’s a three-hundred-pound catfish who’s just a pro at Photoshop,” another male voice chimed in, snickering. “Stop it,” Hudson’s voice was low, resonant, but carried a hint of hesitation. “I’ve heard her voice. She sounds… sophisticated.” Daisy let out a soft huff. “Voices can be faked, Hudson. There are so many girls online who use filters and voice changers. I’m just worried you’re being scammed. I just want to protect you.” “Exactly, man. You’ve got to be careful these days—” I chose that moment to push the door wide. Sunlight flooded in behind me, silhouetting my figure against the bright afternoon. I was wearing a charcoal-grey bandage dress that hit just above the knee, the neckline framing my collarbones perfectly. My hair fell in heavy waves over one shoulder, and my pearl earrings caught the light as I moved. The hall went silent. A guy who had been mid-sip of his water choked, coughing violently. I scanned the room, my gaze landing on Hudson in the back row. He was even better-looking than his photos—high brow bones, a sharp jawline, and an air of cool detachment. Right now, though, that detachment was gone. He was staring at me, his thumb frozen over his phone screen. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. I walked toward them, the rhythmic click of my heels echoing in the cavernous room. I took my time. “So sorry I’m late,” I said, stopping in front of Hudson and leaning in slightly. “Lab emergency.” He looked up at me, his voice a bit raspy. “You’re… Jenny?” “In the flesh.” I gave him a slow, knowing smile. “Why? Are you disappointed I’m not a three-hundred-pound catfish?” The tips of Hudson’s ears turned a vivid shade of red. A guy with glasses nearby theatrically clutched his chest. “Holy hell. Nice to meet you, Sister-in-law. I’m Mike. I wasn’t the one who said ‘catfish,’ it was this idiot—” He pointed shamelessly at the guy next to him, who looked like he wanted to vanish into the floorboards. I laughed, and the tension in the room broke. “Isn’t that dress a little… much for campus?” Daisy’s voice cut through the air, sharp and brittle. She was practically glued to Hudson’s side, clutching his sleeve like a security blanket. I took her in: pigtails, a Peter Pan collar, a pink bow, and a quilted purse. Wow. She really was leaning into the “Precious Moments” aesthetic. “Is it?” I sat down across from them, my movements deliberate and graceful. I looked her in the eye, my voice dripping with faux-kindness. “Sweetie, when you have a woman’s body, everything looks ‘much.’ But I actually love your look. It’s so… retro.” I paused, my eyes traveling from her pigtails down to her Mary Janes, then back up to her flat chest. “It’s a shame, really. Only a girl with a flat, childlike frame can pull off those doll dresses. On a woman like me, the buttons would probably become shrapnel.” Daisy’s face went from pale to beet-red in three seconds. “Who are you calling flat?!” she shrieked, her “baby” voice cracking into something much shriller. I widened my eyes, pulling a face more innocent than hers could ever be. “Oh, honey, I was just stating a fact. You aren’t upset, are you? I forgot how sensitive children can be.” “You—!” Daisy looked like she was about to have a full-blown tantrum. “Daisy,” Hudson interrupted, his brow furrowed. He gently pulled his sleeve out of her grip. “Sit down. Don’t make a scene.” Daisy looked at him in total betrayal, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “Hudson? You’re taking her side? She just insulted me!” “I didn’t insult you,” I said softly, my tone incredibly sincere. “I was calling you cute. Grown women envy that kind of youthfulness, Daisy. We can’t all be ‘babies’ forever.” Daisy’s lip trembled. She pointed a shaking finger at me. “So you have a chest! Big deal! Big boobs, no brains!” Before I could respond, the hall’s PA system crackled to life with a burst of static. Then, a booming male voice filled the room. “And now, please join me in welcoming our top honor recipient for the National Life Sciences Competition, Jenny Jiang, to the stage.” The room erupted in applause. Daisy’s words died in the air, making her look utterly ridiculous. She stood there with her mouth open, unable to find a comeback. Hudson’s gaze stayed on me, and this time, there was something more than just physical attraction in his eyes. There was genuine intrigue. I looked up at the stage and saw Richard Christian—Hudson’s father—holding a gold-embossed certificate and a medal. He was scanning the crowd. I stood up, smoothed my dress, and walked to the stage under the gaze of three hundred people. That night, Hudson wired twenty thousand dollars to my account as a “congratulatory gift.” Just as I was starting to think this would be easy, my advisor called. Her tone was grim. She told me to get to the department office immediately. There were five people waiting for me, all looking like they were at a funeral. The head of the ethics committee pushed a stack of papers toward me. “Jenny, we’ve received an anonymous tip accusing you of academic fraud. These are screenshots of your alleged chat logs.” I flipped through them. It was a fake account using my photo and name, chatting with someone labeled “Essay Ghostwriter.” The messages were blunt: payment details, prompts, deadlines. The tone was a decent imitation of mine. “This isn’t my account,” I said, sliding the papers back. “The whistleblower provided a photo of your student ID as proof of identity.” “My ID went missing last week.” The committee head adjusted his glasses. “We have to investigate. Until then, your fellowship and prize money are suspended.” I didn’t argue. The money wasn’t the point; a fraud charge would kill my chances at Caltech. I picked up the chat logs again and turned to the third page. “Professor, look at the timestamp on this message. 3:12 PM last Tuesday.” “And?” “At 3:10 PM, I was on stage in the University Hall receiving an award from Richard Christian. There were three hundred witnesses and a live stream. I wasn’t in the back of the room hiring a ghostwriter.” The professor’s expression shifted. I tapped the “Ghostwriter’s” profile picture in the screenshot. “And this account? They posted a selfie last night with a location tag at the South Dorms. If you look at the reflection in the mirror behind them, you can clearly see a girl with pigtails and a pink bow.” I turned my phone around to show them a photo of Daisy from the forum. “Should I call Daisy Vance in here to clarify, or should we just go straight to the Dean?” The office went silent. The professor took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Jenny, we will handle this with the utmost seriousness—” I stood up, my voice cold. “I expect a formal apology, and I’ll be pursuing a defamation claim.” The moment I stepped out of the office, a text from Hudson popped up. How much will it take for you to drop this? I looked up and saw Hudson leaning against the wall at the end of the corridor. He looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “Jenny, can we talk?” He sounded hesitant. “Look, our families have been close forever. Our fathers are business partners. Daisy… she’s been spoiled her whole life. She has a temper, but she isn’t a bad person. She’s just… immature. Could you just let this one go? For me?” He said it softly, his voice like a caress. I smiled. “Sure, Hudson. If it’s that important to you.” He visibly relaxed. Five minutes later, another hundred thousand dollars hit my account. I stared at the zeroes, and my anger evaporated instantly. Let it go? For a hundred grand, I’d let her set my car on fire. But Daisy wasn’t done. That afternoon, I returned to my dorm to find my desk stripped bare. My three thick research journals—the culmination of months of lab work—were gone. “Where are my notes?” I asked Gwen. Gwen looked sick as she pointed toward the trash chute at the end of the hall. I walked over. My journals had been ripped to shreds, soaked in leftover ramen soup and coffee grounds, with a muddy footprint stamped on the cover. “I tried to stop her,” Gwen whispered. “But Daisy said she was ‘helping you clean’ and thought it was just scrap paper. When I told her it wasn’t, she started crying, saying she was ‘just trying to be a good girl’ and ran off.” I stared at the trash for a long time. Those notes contained three months of raw experimental data. My mid-term defense was next week. Without that data, my thesis was dead. I took a photo and sent it to Hudson. No text, no accusations. Just the image. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. Bank Notification: +$20,000. Memo: Don’t be mad. Buy something nice. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then tucked my phone away and headed to the campus print shop. I pulled up my cloud drive and hit “Print” on a fresh set of data. Gwen stared at me, jaw dropped. “When did you scan those?” “The first day I started in the lab,” I said, watching the printer whir to life. “Anyone in research who doesn’t have a backup is asking for a disaster.” Gwen was silent for a moment. “Jenny… you’re so cold it’s almost scary.” I didn’t answer. Soon after, it was Daisy’s birthday. Hudson rented out the entire local theme park for her. The school forums were flooded with photos. “Golden Boy throws royal bash for his Princess.” “Hudson and Daisy: A Real-Life Fairy Tale.” Gwen looked at me with concern. “Jenny, he’s technically your boyfriend. Doesn’t this bother you?” I shrugged, sipping my tea. “It’s a business transaction, Gwen. You don’t catch feelings for your ATM.” Gwen nodded, then added, “You know, Hudson’s dad really likes you. You could actually marry into that family if you wanted to.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. Since I started seeing Hudson, Richard Christian had already “invited” me for a private chat. “The Christian family needs a daughter-in-law who prioritizes the home,” he’d told me. “This research, these competitions… they’re nice hobbies. But after graduation, you’ll be expected to settle down and focus on supporting Hudson. Can you do that?” Like hell I can. My life plan was mine to write. I went back to my laptop, refining my final paper. Daisy burst into my dorm at 10:00 PM that night. When she saw me sitting calmly at my desk, she faltered. “Don’t you check the forums, Jenny?” “I saw the photos,” I said, not looking up from my screen. “The pink balloons really brought out your complexion.” Her smirk vanished. “You aren’t even mad?” I turned around and smiled at her. “Why would I be? Hudson told me all about it. Family obligations, social appearances… I understand perfectly.” Daisy’s expression twisted. She stared at my laptop screen. “Your screen looks so dusty, Jenny. Let me help you.” She picked up a bottle of industrial-strength bleach from my cleaning supply caddy and unscrewed the cap. “I’m just being a good little helper!” She poured the entire bottle directly onto my keyboard. The liquid seeped into the keys, the screen flickered violently, sizzled, and then went black. Daisy tilted her head, blinking those big, “innocent” eyes. “Oops! Did I do a bad thing again? Oh well. Hudson always fixes things for me anyway.” She skipped out of the room, looking triumphant. Gwen came back with coffee, saw the wreckage, and nearly dropped her mug. She started reaching for her shoes to go find Daisy. I caught her arm. “Relax. I have a plan.” I took a deep breath, photographed the dead laptop, and sent it to Hudson. Caption: She was “helping” me clean again. The reply came faster this time. Bank Notification: +$30,000. Memo: Don’t fight with her. Buy a new one. And then, a different notification popped up. An email from Caltech. We are pleased to inform you… I stared at the words for three full minutes. Then I turned off my phone, leaned back in my chair, and let out a long, slow breath. Every moment of patience, every time I “let it go,” every bit of swallowed pride—it was all worth it. My offer was here. Screw this. I’m done playing nice. That night, I tallied the balance in my accounts. Then a thought struck me. If I broke up with Hudson now, could he try to claw the money back? In the eyes of the law, “gifts” and “loans” can get messy when a relationship ends. If he felt cheated, he could claim I scammed him under the guise of romance. I needed the breakup to be his fault, not mine. The next day, I texted him. Are you free tonight? I want to grab a drink. He replied instantly. Where? I picked a dimly lit lounge just off-campus. When I arrived, he was already there, sitting in a velvet booth with his sleeves rolled up, a glass of scotch in his hand. I sat closer to him than usual. “What’s up?” he asked, looking at me. “Nothing.” I took his glass and took a sip. The scotch was harsh, and I winced. He took the glass back and pushed a glass of orange juice toward me. “Drink that instead.” I rested my chin on my hand, watching him. The low light hit the planes of his face, making him look devastatingly handsome. His Adam’s apple moved as he took a drink. “Jenny.” “Hmm?” “Don’t go back to the dorms tonight, okay?” Before he could finish the thought, his phone buzzed. The name Daisy flashed on the screen. Hudson went to silence it, but I caught his wrist. I took the phone, swiped to answer, and held it to my ear. “Hudson? Why aren’t you back yet? I’m scared being all by myself—” Daisy’s sugary voice filled the air. I smiled into the receiver. “Hey, Daisy.” The line went dead silent. “You? Where’s Hudson? Put him on!” “He’s a little busy right now.” “Why?!” I glanced at Hudson. He was watching me, his eyes dark and unreadable. I spoke into the phone, my voice low and playful. “Because Hudson and I are about to do ‘grown-up’ things. And there isn’t really room for a baby.” I hung up and tossed the phone onto the table. Hudson was stunned for a second, then he let out a short laugh, his ears turning pink. “You’re doing that just to spite her.” “Maybe. She’s been getting on my nerves lately.” Hudson didn’t argue. He took another drink, a smirk tugging at his lips. My phone buzzed in my lap. A text from Gwen: Everything is set. She’s on her way.

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Three months ago, during a live-streamed reality show, my rival decided to set my career on fire. He leaked a photo of me—a candid, blurry shot of a kiss that I’d tried to bury in the deepest recesses of my mind. It instantly dragged me back to that first snowfall in Manhattan, the night Beatrice Lancaster told me she was getting married. I had been with her for seven years. I knew the rules of her world better than anyone. In the eyes of the elite, I was just a “pretty face,” a screen idol for the masses, a performer. I was never meant to step over the threshold of her family’s Upper East Side estate as anything more than a guest. The night we ended things, the atmosphere was hauntingly still. She told me she was leaving me the penthouse and the vintage Porsche. The career connections she’d promised would remain intact. Then she pushed a check across the marble counter. It was for thirty million, but there was an extra zero tacked onto the end—a parting gift for seven years of discretion. Then she asked me if there was anything else I wanted. I told her no. I took the money with the grace of a man who knew his place, and then I scrubbed myself from her life completely. Or so I thought. … “Damian Chester, that’s you in the photo, isn’t it?” The moment Tyler dropped the bombshell, the set went dead silent before the internet absolutely exploded. The live comments were a blurred frenzy on the monitor. [???] [Wait, did Tyler actually just do that? Did the Botox seep into his brain? You don’t ask that on a live feed!] [Our Tyler is just ‘authentic.’ He’s speaking truth to power.] [Am I the only one who wants to know who the woman is?] [Who else? It’s obviously his sugar mommy.] [Tyler is a dead man walking. Damian’s ‘sponsor’ is powerful enough to erase him from existence.] I sat there, staring at the screen, watching the vitriol pour in. The host was sweating through his suit, trying to play it off. “Tyler, you must be mistaken. It’s probably a still from a movie, right?” Tyler grinned, smelling blood. “No way. I had it authenticated. It’s real. Taken exactly three months ago.” He turned his gaze to me, eyes glinting with malice. “Am I right, Damian?” Three months ago. Exactly the night before Beatrice and I called it quits. Over the last seven years, we had an unspoken agreement: total secrecy. We were never seen together in public. We never touched where someone might see. But that night, perhaps knowing it was the end, she couldn’t help herself. She had pinned me against the wall of the darkened parking garage and kissed me with a desperation that tasted like grief. I hadn’t realized we were being watched. Across from me, Tyler waited for an answer. I didn’t give him one. With my current standing in the industry, I didn’t owe him the breath it took to lie. The host laughed nervously, forcing the conversation toward a different topic. The second the cameras cut, I was whisked away into my SUV. My manager, Marcus, shoved his phone into my face. The top three trending topics on Twitter were: #DamianChesterKiss #WhoIsDamianChesterSponsoring #TheLancasterHeiress Beatrice Lancaster was usually a ghost in the tabloids. She moved in circles too high for the paparazzi to reach. But when it came to my career, she had been loud. She wanted the world to know I had a shadow—a powerful, untouchable force at my back. She was my foundation. It started during my first year in the business. I was a nobody, and a well-connected nepo-baby actor had used a “fight scene” as an excuse to slap me eighteen times across the face. I was so naive back then; I thought I was just failing at the craft. I didn’t feel like a victim; I just thought I was a bad actor. Beatrice had been furious. She called me a fool while she iced my bruised jaw, her eyes burning with a protective fire. The next day, that actor was blacklisted. Permanently. “His family is powerful,” I had whispered to her. “Won’t you get in trouble?” She didn’t even look up from her tablet. “His family should be the ones worrying about offending me.” For seven years, she poured resources into me like water. I had Oscar winners as my supporting cast; I had first pick of every script from the top directors in Hollywood. When I walked the red carpet, industry titans stepped aside to let me through. “My darling deserves the spotlight,” she used to say. I worked hard. I didn’t want to waste her investment. I became a household name, an A-lister. But that meant my influence was now a double-edged sword. This “kiss” scandal wouldn’t just hurt me; it would hit Beatrice. It would hit her upcoming merger—her “royal” wedding. Sure enough, as soon as I reached my office, my phone buzzed. Her name flashed on the screen. I stared at the number I knew by heart. I didn’t pick up. Once it went to voicemail, I sent her three short texts: [I’ll handle this as quickly as possible.] [If it can’t be buried, I’ll announce my retirement.] [Don’t worry. I won’t be a burden to you.] It was March, but the snow was still falling over Manhattan. This kind of heavy, swirling white always made me think of the first time I met her. I was nineteen, a sophomore at NYU’s Tisch School. She was the billionaire investor even the dean bowed to. I had been selected to attend a high-stakes dinner—the prize was a supporting role in a major indie film. After a few rounds of expensive scotch, the masks slipped. The “gentlemen” at the table began pressured me into drinking heavy liquor until I was dizzy. Beatrice sat at the head of the table, her fingers idly tapping the rim of her crystal glass. “That’s enough,” she said, her voice cool and sharp. “Stop bullying the boy.” A single sentence, and the pressure vanished. No one dared to push further. I looked up, dazed, and our eyes met. In that room full of sycophants and forced laughter, we held a gaze for exactly one second. It was a small act of kindness, and I didn’t think much of it afterward. People like her didn’t inhabit the same universe as people like me. But after that night, she began appearing everywhere. Like a guardian angel. When a dean’s son tried to steal a role from me, she made sure it was returned with a phone call. On a night when the city was paralyzed by a blizzard and I couldn’t find a cab, she pulled up in her town car and drove me to my dorm herself. When my father needed a rare blood type for surgery, she—a woman whose time was worth thousands a minute—went to the hospital and sat in a chair to donate a pint herself. She was too good to me. So good that I was terrified. I was afraid I was just a whim, a temporary distraction for a woman who had everything. I was the one who finally broke the tension. “What do you want from me?” I had asked, my voice trembling as I ripped open my shirt buttons in her living room. I looked at her with cold, defensive eyes. “You want me in your bed? Fine. Let’s get it over with, and then we’re even.” She didn’t touch me. She stepped forward and buttoned my shirt back up, sighing softly. “Damian… what is it that you want?” My lashes fluttered. I forced myself to look into those deep, dark eyes and said, word for word: “I want the kind of love that can survive on nothing. Can you give me that?” Beatrice froze. Then, a ghost of a smile touched her lips. She kissed the tips of my fingers, her voice so tender it made my heart ache. “I can.” She didn’t lie. She gave me the love I asked for. But love isn’t a magic wand; it wasn’t strong enough to bridge the chasm between us. Class is a canyon you can’t jump over, no matter how high you climb. The day we broke up, New York saw its first snow of the season. The night before, we had been inseparable—from the living room to the shower to the study, clinging to each other as if we could fuse our souls. She had cooked dinner herself. When I finished eating, she said, “I’m getting married.” I froze for a few seconds. Then I laid down my fork and said, “Okay.” The silence stretched. The food grew cold on the table. Finally, she spoke. “The penthouse and the car are yours. The career support stays. I’ve added an extra zero to the severance check.” “Anything else you want?” I said, “No.” Beatrice nodded, turned, and walked out into the snowy night. Watching her back disappear, I felt a sudden, sharp pang of regret. After all those years, I realized I had never actually told her “I love you” out loud. The seven years had gone by so fast. We had walked through so many winters together that I’d fooled myself into thinking we’d grow old together. I thought there would always be another chance to say the truth. How pathetic. The snow fell harder, erasing her footprints. My vision blurred, and I felt a sudden cold dampness on my cheeks. I reached up to wipe it away. It was tears. Unsurprisingly, the internet turned on me. The news of the merger between the Lancaster Group and the Winthrop banking empire had just gone public. Suddenly, I wasn’t just a star with a secret—I was a “homewrecker.” “Damian, are you alright?” My team was in a tailspin trying to draft a PR statement when Tyler actually had the nerve to strut into my office. We were under the same management, and I had mentored him when he first started. It was a classic tale of the snake biting the hand that fed it. His confidence didn’t come from his mediocre acting; it came from the fact that he’d clawed his way into the inner circle of the Winthrop family’s younger daughter—Freddie Winthrop’s sister. I didn’t know if this stunt was his own idea or a hit ordered by the Winthrops. If it was Tyler, I had a chance. If it was the Winthrops… I was finished. They were the only family in the city with enough weight to rival the Lancasters. With a powerful family backing him, Tyler was insufferable. He leaned down, whispering in my ear, “Did you really think your little princess would protect you forever?” “So what if she adored you once?” “Freddie Winthrop is the man who belongs at her side. A man of her status. And you…” “You’re just the side piece. The ‘other man.’” That phrase made me lift my eyes to meet his. Tyler smirked. “Freddie asked me to give you a message. He’s a generous man—he can tolerate a secret ex. But you…” “Being this sloppy? Exposing her like this? He won’t stand for it.” “He suggests you retire. Now. While you still have your dignity.” “Do me a favor and give him a message back,” I said. I looked at my nails, not even giving him the courtesy of a full glance. “Tell him his taste in lapdogs is absolute trash.” Tyler’s face contorted with rage. “You’re dead, Damian! You’re getting blacklisted!” “I’ll be waiting.” I acted unbothered, but internally, I was bracing for the end. I’d been in this world for seven years. I knew that no matter how bright a star shines, to the true dynasties, we are just jesters. Expensive toys. Beatrice wouldn’t fight her fiancé for me. She loved me, yes. But for a woman like her, love was a small percentage of life. Compared to a billion-dollar merger, love was an easy sacrifice. So when my manager told me the next morning that every single negative headline had been wiped clean—replaced by a flood of scandals involving Tyler’s drug use and workplace harassment—I was stunned. That cold, surgical efficiency… that was Beatrice. Was this my “retirement” gift? I looked down at the pixelated photo of our kiss. It looked like a grainy scene from an old movie. The mess my entire team had stayed up all night to fix had been solved by her with a single phone call. Like it never even happened. The next day, I went to the set as usual. But the moment I stepped out of the car, a swarm of “fans” who were clearly paparazzi in disguise surged forward. Cameras and mics were shoved into my face, the questions sharp and poisonous. “Mr. Chester, what is your true relationship with Beatrice Lancaster?” “Tyler was ruined this morning—is the Lancaster heiress cleaning up your messes?” “She’s engaged to Freddie Winthrop. How do you feel about being called a ‘homewrecker’?” The sidewalk was blocked. The flashbulbs made my head throb. I kept my voice flat. “I have no obligation to discuss my private life.” “Is it because you don’t want to, or because you’re actually ‘servicing’ more than just Miss Lancaster?” A masked paparazzo sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “We’ve heard how that circle plays. Is it true you participate in ‘The Carousel’?” “You know, one guy, a dozen wealthy women—” My stomach lurched. A wave of nausea hit me so hard I actually gagged. The cameras went wild, zooming in to capture every detail of my distress. “Have you played that game, Damian? How much do you charge for a night like that?” “Which other high-profile women have paid for a turn—” “AH!” A sickening thud cut him off.

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The scent hit me first—that familiar, cloying perfume she always wore. It drifted into my senses without warning, a ghost of a memory I hadn’t summoned. Before I could even think, my hand moved. I slapped her. Hard. Mallory stumbled back, the force of the blow snapping her head to the side. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She just looked at me with that same maddening indifference she’d perfected over the years. “So,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “I guess you heard.” Just an hour ago, I had been at a boutique downtown, helping my best friend, Gavin, pick out an engagement ring. We were standing under the harsh glow of the chandeliers when he suddenly let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Your wife is quite the charmer, Tom,” he’d said, his voice dripping with something foul. I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He tilted his head, pulling his collar down to reveal a jagged, dark red mark on his neck. “She did this in the car last night. You should tell her to be a little more careful. She’s got a bit of a bite.” The world turned into static. My throat tightened until I could barely breathe. “Gavin, what are you saying? Have you lost your mind?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his jacket and tossed a piece of paper onto the velvet jewelry counter. It was a sonogram. “She loves you, sure,” Gavin whispered, leaning in so close I could smell his cologne—the same scent that was now clinging to Mallory. “But let’s face it, Tom. You’re broken. You can’t satisfy her. All those years of… whatever happened to you… they ruined you. I can give her what she actually needs. I can give her a child. That’s why she’s choosing me.” I’d stumbled back then, the jewelry store spinning around me like a carousel from hell. … My entire body was shaking, a coldness seeping into my bones that no heater could touch. Mallory watched me, her tongue poking the inside of her cheek where my ring had probably cut her. “You’ve been Gavin’s best friend for twenty years, Tom. How is it you never learned a thing about his temperament? He’s much gentler than you.” Her tone was exactly the same as it had been yesterday. Calm. Rational. It was the tone she used when discussing the grocery list or the weather. Every word was a scalpel, peeling back my skin. “Doesn’t this disgust you?” I choked out, my voice thin and brittle. She paused, then smiled. It wasn’t a cruel smile; it was worse. It was pitying. “You’re the one who’s inadequate, Tom. Every time we… finished… I felt empty. And let’s not forget your history. You were basically a plaything for that woman, weren’t you?” A wave of nausea hit me. The disgust in her eyes was unmistakable. “I could never let my child have a father with a history as filthy as yours,” she added. I froze. My ears were ringing so loudly I could barely hear my own heartbeat. I looked at her, searching for the woman who, only twenty-four hours ago, had curled into my chest and whispered that she loved me more than life itself. The woman who had promised that my past didn’t matter, that she would be my sanctuary. “Do you even hear yourself?” My voice broke, the back of my eyes burning with a stinging heat. She reached out, her fingers grazing my cheek with a phantom tenderness before she sighed. “I know. It’s not that I don’t love you, Tom. But I wanted to see what a ‘clean’ man felt like. And honestly? You’re the one who lied to me first. You never told me the full extent of your… damage.” She stepped over to Gavin, who had just walked through the door, and looped her arm through his. “Gavin is your brother in every way that counts,” she said. “He’s not trying to take your place. He even said the baby could call you ‘Dad’ eventually. You should be thanking him.” I watched their fingers intertwine—the gold band I’d bought her glinting in the light. My vision blurred. Yesterday, I’d found that sonogram in her purse. I’d been so ecstatic that I’d called for a celebratory dinner with Gavin. I wanted to share the greatest joy of my life with my best friend. But when they arrived, they ignored me. They spent the whole night bickering. Gavin complained that Mallory wasn’t “domestic” enough; Mallory snapped at him for being overbearing. I’d laughed it off, used to their “sibling-like” friction. I’d spent the whole night playing mediator, forgetting all about the pregnancy announcement I’d planned. And now, they stood together, telling me that the child I had been praying for—the one I thought was a miracle given my health issues—was a betrayal in physical form. I was gasping for air, my lungs refusing to expand. Mallory stepped forward, a look of faux-concern on her face. “Just don’t make a scene, and things can go back to how they were,” she said. “Last night, after Gavin and I had that ‘fight,’ I told you I had to go back to the office. I didn’t. I was in his car. I bought this red lace set… I wanted to see if he could do what you couldn’t. It turns out, he could.” The hole in my chest felt like it was being blasted by an arctic wind. My teeth were literally chattering. “He’s my best friend, Gavin! Why?” Gavin took a step toward me, clapping a hand on my shoulder with the same casualness he’d used a thousand times before. “Tom, man, because we’re brothers, I’m not a threat to you. This? This was just for the thrill. A little excitement for me and Val. In our hearts, you’re still the most important person.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood. The air was thick with the scent of their shared secret. Mallory leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Cheer up. You always wanted to know what kind of woman Gavin would finally marry, didn’t you? Well, you’re going to be the best man at our wedding.” The diamond on her finger caught the light, stabbing at my eyes. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I swung my hand again, catching her across the other cheek. “You’re both sick,” I spat. “You’re disgusting.” Before the words had even left my mouth, Gavin lunged. He shoved me hard, my back slamming into the edge of the marble table. Pain exploded through my spine. “We’re disgusting?” Gavin barked, his voice dropping an octave. “You’re the one who spent months in bed with my sister, Tom. You’re the one who crawled into her sheets like a dog. Don’t you dare talk to us about ‘dirty.’” Mallory looked down at me, her expression cold. “Get a grip on yourself, Tom.” Then, they walked out. They left me there, collapsing into the dark abyss of my own memory. Gavin and I had been inseparable since we were kids. When he was seventeen, his life fell apart. His father died, and his mother remarried a man with a teenage daughter named Lydia. Gavin used to cry to me, telling me how Lydia would hit him, how she bullied him in that house. I felt for him. I went over there constantly to stand up for him. On his eighteenth birthday, I’d saved up every cent I had to buy him the gaming console he’d wanted for years. I went to his house to surprise him. He gave me a glass of juice. When I woke up, the world was a blur of blood and searing, agonizing pain. I remember Gavin standing over me, shouting at Lydia, pretending to defend me while I lay there, broken. Fate wasn’t done with me. Lydia ended up pregnant. Her father—Gavin’s stepfather—burst into our house with a knife, demanding I “take responsibility” for his daughter. My parents, desperate to save my life, emptied their life savings to pay them off. We moved to another city, fleeing the shame and the trauma. But the pain never left. By the time I met Mallory, I was a shell of a person, drowning in depression and self-loathing. She was the light. She looked at me with those soft, brown eyes and leaned her head on my shoulder. “Why are you always so sad, Thomas?” I was terrified to let her in. But she stayed. She held my hand through the night terrors and whispered, “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. I’ll wait for you to get better.” On the day we got engaged, she promised she would spend her life healing me. And now… The pain was so intense I felt like my organs were shutting down. I thought I had started over. I thought I was safe. But the two people I loved most had just reached back into my past, ripped open the scars, and poured salt into the wounds. I cried until I couldn’t breathe. I cried until my eyes were swollen shut. When my phone finally buzzed, it was a text from Mallory. [Tom, go to the pharmacy and pick up some prenatal vitamins and some spotting medication. Things got a little too heated just now, and I’m worried about the baby.] Then a message from Gavin: a photo of him and Mallory, her head on his bare chest. I stared at the screen, my breath hitching. The phone rang, shattering the silence. Mallory’s voice came through, sounding satisfied and drowsy. “Tom? Did you see the message?” I forced the words out, my voice trembling with a murderous edge. “Mallory, how can you be this pathetic? Aren’t you afraid I’ll snap and kill you both?” There was a pause. Then, Gavin’s laugh echoed in the background. “Tom, buddy, you’re too weak. You’re a coward. You shake when someone raises their voice. You don’t have the stomach for murder. Well, except for that time you killed my sister’s ‘baby’ by leaving, right? But this kid? You love this kid too much to hurt it.” He told me to hurry up with the medicine and hung up. I started laughing. A jagged, broken sound. I was afraid of loud noises because of the way Lydia used to scream while she hurt me. It was a physical response to trauma, not a lack of courage. But I wasn’t afraid of dying anymore. And I was going to make sure they felt every ounce of the hell I was living in. I drove to Gavin’s place. I pushed the door open to find a trail of clothes leading to the living room. They were on the sofa, locked in a heated, desperate kiss. The wet, rhythmic sound of it turned my stomach. I gripped my phone, recording them as I walked closer. Gavin saw me. Instead of stopping, he pulled Mallory closer, a provocative smirk on his face. He wanted me to watch. “You know, Val,” Gavin whispered, his voice loud enough for the camera to catch, “when I found Tom in my bed with Lydia all those years ago, they were kissing just like this.” The lie—the absolute, monstrous lie—burned through the last of my sanity. He had set me up. He had handed me over to his sister, and now he was using that violation as a weapon. I held the phone steady, my voice cold and dead. “This is a live stream of my wife and my best friend. Please, don’t stop on my account. Give the audience a show.” Mallory froze, burying her face in Gavin’s chest. A moment later, she lunged out and slapped the phone from my hand. “Thomas! Have you lost your damn mind?” I didn’t move. My eyes were fixed on her wrist. On the pale skin, there was a new tattoo—a string of obscure, gothic letters. The room began to tilt. My vision tunneled until all I saw was that tattoo. It was identical to the one Lydia had. I remembered those letters. I remembered that wrist holding the rope around my neck. I remembered those sharp nails carving those same letters into my skin. “Mallory,” I whispered, my voice shaking violently. “What is that?” She glanced at her wrist, her voice turning soft again. “Gavin said you had a thing for women with tattoos on their wrists. I did it for you.” I looked up and caught Gavin’s eye. He was gloating. He’d done it on purpose. He’d marked her with the symbol of my rapist just to see if he could break me. The final string snapped. I grabbed the paring knife from the fruit bowl on the coffee table and pressed it against Gavin’s throat. My hand was shaking, tears streaming down my face. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted to remind me.” Gavin’s face paled for a split second, but then he tilted his chin up, daring me. “It’s just a tattoo, Tom. Get over it.” I broke. I pressed the blade harder. Blood began to bead on the steel. Gavin’s eyes widened. Then, a heavy blow struck me in the back. A hand slammed across my face, sending me reeling. “Thomas, stop it! You’re insane!” Mallory screamed. I rolled onto my back, laughing through the tears. “I’m insane? Do you even know why he made you get that tattoo, Mallory?” Before I could say another word, Mallory doubled over, clutching her stomach. “God… it hurts. Gavin, something’s wrong.” Blood began to bloom through her light-colored skirt. Gavin’s face transformed into a mask of pure terror. He didn’t care about my words anymore. He scooped Mallory up, his elbow slamming into my chest to shove me out of the way. Mallory leaned into him, her eyes fixed on me with a chilling hatred. “If anything happens to this baby, Tom, I will destroy you.” They ran out, leaving me hollowed out on the floor. I couldn’t even cry anymore. I wandered out of the house, the world turning grey and fuzzy. Everything went black. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. A nurse told me I was sick—that the stress had triggered a physical collapse and I needed surgery. She asked for my emergency contact. No one had answered. “I have no one,” I whispered, the pillow soaking up my tears. My parents were hundreds of miles away. In this city, I had only two people I called family. And they were busy with each other. Gavin sent me a photo. They were in another wing of the hospital, holding each other, smiling. I stared at it, letting the jealousy and the hate burn me alive. How could they be happy on the ruins of my life? I sent a photo of my medical chart to Mallory. She didn’t reply. It wasn’t until dusk that she finally walked into my room. She looked tired, her eyes dark. “How long have you been sick?” she asked. I smiled, a jagged, bitter thing. “I tried to tell you the day Gavin picked out the ring.” She didn’t say anything. she just twisted the ring on her finger. She stood there for a long time, her head bowed. Finally, she spoke, her voice cold as a winter morning. “You need to postpone the surgery.” “What?” “The baby is the priority right now. Gavin and I… we need support. Your condition isn’t life-threatening this second. You can wait a few weeks. Besides, we talked about it. The baby will still call you ‘Dad.’ Isn’t that enough?” My blood turned to ice. I looked at her, truly seeing her for the first time. She walked to the bed and squeezed my hand. “Isn’t this good, Tom? We both still love you.” I felt my stomach turn over. I shoved her away and vomited over the side of the bed. She narrowed her eyes, her voice hardening. “I’ve already told the doctors to switch you to conservative treatment. No surgery for now.” The door opened, and two orderlies walked in. They grabbed my arms. I was too weak to fight, but I found the strength to scream. “Mallory! I am asking you one last time—are you really going to sacrifice my life for that mistake?” She looked like she might hesitate for a second, but then her face set into stone. “Tom, stop being dramatic.” I started laughing—a wild, hysterical sound. I broke free from the orderlies’ grip with a sudden burst of adrenaline. Before anyone could stop me, I threw myself toward the open window. In that split second of weightlessness, I saw Mallory’s face. Pure, unadulterated horror. I smiled. I wanted her to see me break. I wanted her and Gavin to see my blood on the pavement and never have a night of sleep again. But it was only the third floor. I didn’t die. I just broke. My ribs shattered, puncturing my lungs. The pain was astronomical—a physical agony that matched the one in my soul. After I was stabilized, Mallory sat by my bed. “Was it worth it?” she asked, her voice dripping with irritation. “Jumping out a window to scare me? It’s pathetic, Thomas.” I let out a wet, wheezing laugh. “Scare you? Mallory, you’re a monster. You’d kill your husband for a child that was born out of a lie. You’re a beast.” The last of her patience vanished. “Maybe you’re the one who’s ‘filthy,’ Tom. No matter how much she forced you, you’re the one who had a physical reaction back then, aren’t you?” With those words, she erased everything. She blamed the victim. She justified the trauma. I was done. “I want a divorce. Go to Gavin. I’m done.” She froze, staring at me in silence for a long time. I didn’t look at her. I reached for my phone and called Gavin. He arrived minutes later. “Val, wait outside. I need to talk to him.” She left without a word. “Are you happy now?” I whispered. “You ruined me then. You ruined me now.” He smiled, but there were tears in his eyes. “I didn’t want to do it, Tom. But back then, the only way I could get Lydia to stop hitting me was to give her you. I had to survive.” I closed my eyes. My heart was a graveyard. “I’ve always felt like I owed you,” Gavin continued. “That’s why I won’t take Val away completely. We’ll just have our fun, and when I’m bored, I’ll give her back to you.” The hate I’d been suppressed for a decade finally erupted. I didn’t hesitate. I lunged from the bed, grabbing a scalpel the nurse had left on the tray. I drove it into Gavin’s abdomen. He screamed. Mallory burst in as he collapsed. The color drained from her face. She kicked me away and fell to her knees beside him. “Thomas! This is attempted murder! Are you insane?” I wiped the blood from my face. “He owed me that.” Mallory’s eyes were dark with rage as she called for the doctors. She looked at me, her voice trembling. “This isn’t over.” I tossed the signed divorce papers at her feet. “It is for me. We’re even.” She stared at the signature, her hands shaking. “Are you serious, Tom?” Gavin groaned in her arms. “It hurts… Val, am I going to die? I want to see the baby…” Her panic returned. “I’ll deal with you later,” she snapped at me, and they rushed him away. I laughed, a hollow, broken sound. There wouldn’t be a “later.” I wiped my eyes and dragged myself out of the hospital, heading for the airport. But as I reached the exit, I ran into someone. My body began to shake, and I nearly fell. … Gavin survived. But Mallory couldn’t stop thinking about those divorce papers. As she watched Gavin sleep, a gnawing unease took root in her chest. She hurried back to my room, but when she pushed the door open, the sight that met her eyes shattered her world.

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In the jewelry store, my husband, Black Pack’s Alpha Cian, suddenly spoke: “I cheated on you.” His golden wolf eyes churned with cruel amusement: “Lila is an incredibly sexy vixen. Sex with her is absolutely amazing.” I froze in place, too agonized to make a sound. But Cian closed his eyes, savoring the memory. “I understand Kael now. Lila really is more feminine than you, addictive to men.” Yes. This was the second time I’d been betrayed. My ex-husband Kael, White Pack’s Alpha, and my current husband Cian had both cheated on me with my best friend Lila. Five years ago, I witnessed Kael and Lila tangled together in my bed. When I was collapsing from depression, Cian saved me. He said he’d stay with me forever, that I would be his Luna. But now, he too had betrayed me because of Lila. In Black Pack’s exclusive luxury jewelry boutique, crystal chandeliers cast flowing light. My fingertip traced over the diamond ring on my ring finger. “Cian, do you think this style looks good?” I turned my head, smiling at the man beside me. He wore a tailored black suit, his posture upright—the Black Pack Alpha that every woman swooned over. Cian lazily lifted his eyes, but before he could speak, his phone rang. “What’s wrong, baby? Mm, I’m helping her pick out a ring. Okay, I know. I’ll come right away.” After hanging up, he walked back and leaned against the counter. “Pick whatever you want. Consider it compensation for my betrayal.” The smile froze on my face, the diamond ring on my fingertip ice-cold and piercing. “What did you say?” “I slept with Lila.” Cian raised his head, his eyes devoid of any guilt, instead carrying a hint of mockery. “Right in our marriage bed. I finally understand why Kael betrayed you. Lila’s bedroom skills are so much better than yours.” Just then, Lila walked in wearing a red slip dress, swaying her hips. She waved her left hand, showing off an identical diamond ring on her ring finger. “Elara, sorry about this,” Lila giggled coquettishly, deliberately holding the ring up to my face. “Yesterday Cian saw I liked this style, so he bought me one too. He said it looks way better on me than on you.” Cian wrapped his arm around Lila’s waist and kissed her forehead. “Stop teasing. You’re scaring Elara.” I watched their affectionate display, trembling with rage. Lila giggled and poked my arm: “Elara, five years ago when Kael cheated, you were crying just like this too. No wonder men don’t like you. You’re too boring.” The words “five years ago” stabbed into my heart like a sharp blade. In a daze, I seemed to return to that rainy night. I came home early from a business trip, only to find Kael and Lila having sex in our marriage bed. Lila had smiled at me the same way then: “Elara, Kael said he’s been tired of you for a long time.” “Why?” My whole body trembled, my voice hoarse beyond recognition. “Cian, you clearly said you’d protect me for life, that you’d never let me suffer again.” “Protect you?” Cian sneered, his eyes full of contempt. “Elara, don’t forget—you’re a woman Kael abandoned. If I didn’t pity you, why would I marry you? Did you really think I fell in love with you?” He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him: “I pursued you for so long, but you chose Kael. Only after he didn’t want you anymore did you turn back to me. Do you think I’d be content marrying secondhand goods?” “Being with Lila is just my revenge on you. Revenge for not choosing me back then.” Cian released his grip, wiping his fingers with disgust. “You were married to Kael for a year, so I’ve been with Lila for a year. Fair, isn’t it?” Tears finally fell uncontrollably. I looked at this man who had once cared for me day and night during my worst depression. I looked at this man who had once knelt on one knee, swearing to the Moon Goddess he would never betray me, and felt nothing but bitter irony. “I want a divorce.” I spoke, looking at Cian. “Divorce?” Cian laughed as if he’d heard the funniest joke. “Elara, you think you can divorce me just because you want to? Without my consent, you’ll be Black Pack’s Luna for the rest of your life.” Thunder suddenly rumbled outside, heavy raindrops hammering against the glass windows. “Cian, you can’t do this to me!” I shouted in despair. Lila hooked her arm through Cian’s, looking at me triumphantly: “Elara, Cian loves me, not you. Just leave already. Stop being an eyesore.” Cian suddenly opened the shop door and gave me a light push: “You asking for divorce made me very unhappy. Go stand in the rain and cool down.”

I tumbled into a puddle of mud, ice-cold rain soaking my hair and clothes. This was the edge of the city. Further ahead was rogue territory, the air thick with dangerous bloodscent. And Cian just stood quietly at the doorway. “Elara, see? Without me, you can’t even stand up in the rain. If you really divorce me, where will you go? Which pack would take in an Omega abandoned by two top-tier Alphas?” Before I could answer, the door slammed shut with a bang. I supported myself against a broken wall, slowly getting up. Before I could steady myself, three large, ragged rogues emerged from the alley. They circled around me, their murky eyes filled with greedy lust: “Well, well, isn’t this the noble Luna? What are you doing here alone? Where’s your Alpha?” “So pretty. More beautiful than any Omega we’ve seen. Come with us. We’ll take good care of you.” One rogue reached out to touch my face. Terrified, I retreated, grabbing a stone from the ground and hurling it at them: “Get away! Don’t touch me!” But my resistance meant nothing to them. The lead rogue grabbed my wrist and twisted hard. I screamed in pain, the stone dropping to the ground. “Feisty. But I like that.” He sneered, reaching to tear my clothes. Just then, a gunshot pierced the rainy night. “Let her go!” A gray-haired old werewolf rushed out from a nearby grocery store with a hunting rifle, pointing the barrel at the three rogues: “Touch her again and I’ll blow your heads off!” The three rogues exchanged glances, cursed reluctantly, and finally slunk away. The old werewolf lowered his rifle and handed me a dry towel: “Child, are you alright? This place is too dangerous. What are you doing here alone?” I took the towel, wiping the rain and mud from my face, my voice hoarse: “Thank you. I’m fine.” “Let me drive you home. It’s too dangerous for an Omega alone in this rain.” The old werewolf started toward his small truck. I shook my head, speaking softly: “No need, thank you. I can walk.” The old werewolf sighed and stuffed an umbrella and a pack of crackers into my hands: “Then be careful on the road. If you run into rogues again, run to my shop. I’m Old Jack. They’re all afraid of me.” I took the umbrella and crackers, bowing deeply to the old werewolf. Then I opened the umbrella and walked step by step toward the villa over ten miles away. Ice-cold rain dripped from the umbrella’s edge, soaking my pant legs. I trudged through the muddy road, each step unbearably heavy. I pulled out my phone to call a ride, only to discover Cian had frozen all my payment accounts. I couldn’t pay even a single cent. Not only that, he’d also cut off all my medication supply. Those were my anti-anxiety medications for controlling my depression. Without them, I could break down at any moment. Rain blurred my vision. I couldn’t tell if my face was wet from rain or tears. I remembered five years ago, on a rainy night just like this, I lost my child. And today, once again, the person I loved deeply had abandoned me in the rain. I don’t know how long I walked. The sky had turned completely dark. When I finally saw that familiar villa, I’d exhausted all my strength. I pushed open the door, my mind going blank instantly. The moment I opened the door, the motion-sensor light in the entryway turned on, illuminating the shameful scene in the living room. On the leather sofa in the center of the living room, Cian and Lila were tangled together. Cian’s hand wandered freely along her waistline as Lila arched her neck, releasing seductive moans. They didn’t even stop when I walked in. Lila opened her eyes and saw me, deliberately tightening her arms around Cian’s neck. Cian chuckled low, his palm squeezing her waist hard. “Cian…” Lila deliberately drew out her tone. “Stop it, someone’s watching.” “So what?” Cian turned his head, his eyes coldly sweeping over me. “It’s not like she hasn’t seen this before.” I stood frozen, rainwater dripping from my hair, pooling in a small puddle at my feet. I was soaked through, utterly wretched, while they did the filthiest things in the home I’d carefully decorated. A broken whimper escaped me involuntarily, my legs weakening until I nearly collapsed. Only then did Cian slowly push Lila away, standing up to straighten his wrinkled shirt. He walked toward me step by step, still carrying Lila’s perfume scent. “What? Stunned?” His tone was full of disdain. “It’s just this. You experienced it five years ago. Why make such a fuss?” Lila also walked over, leaning into Cian’s embrace, flipping her hair, looking at me triumphantly: “Elara, I’m really sorry. We were too into it and didn’t notice you came back. But honestly, Cian is so much better than Kael.” She deliberately stood on tiptoes and kissed Cian’s lips. “Right, Cian?” “Mm.” Cian pinched her chin, his eyes doting. “You understand me best.” Cian walked toward me, that sickeningly sweet perfume smell growing stronger. I looked at that face I’d once relied on so completely, feeling my stomach churning. Just as his hand was about to touch my arm, I suddenly turned around, supporting myself against the wall as I retched violently. The laughter behind me stopped abruptly. After a moment of silence, I heard Cian’s sinister voice by my ear, carrying an incredulous fury: “Elara, you—an Omega—find me disgusting?”

He suddenly grabbed my chin, the force so great it felt like he’d crush my bones. “Elara, you dare say I’m disgusting? You, a secondhand Omega abandoned by Kael, what right do you have to despise me?” “Let me tell you, you’ll endure this disgust today whether you like it or not!” He dragged me toward the master bedroom. I struggled desperately. But against an Alpha’s natural strength, my resistance was as insignificant as an ant’s. Bang! The master bedroom door was kicked open. Everything here was decorated by my own hands. My favorite cashmere rug, and that custom-made king-size bed Cian had specially ordered. When buying it, Cian said he wanted to hold me while sleeping for a lifetime. But now, Lila’s lace underwear was scattered across this bed, and my silk pillowcase was thrown on the floor, covered in footprints. Cian threw me roughly onto the single sofa by the bed, loosening his tie, and shouted toward the door: “Lila, come here.” Lila swayed her hips as she walked in, wearing my white rose embroidered silk robe—a gift Cian gave me when we first married. When she saw me, a flash of triumph crossed her eyes, though she pretended to look frightened. “Cian, Elara seems angry. Maybe we should just forget it…” “Forget it?” Cian sneered coldly, pulling her into his arms and kissing her lips roughly. “Why forget it? She finds me disgusting, doesn’t she? I’ll make her watch her fill.” He leaned down to kiss Lila, his hand wandering freely beneath the robe’s hem. Lila deliberately released exaggerated moans. “Elara, don’t be angry. Cian said you’re always cold as ice, like a block of wood. Being with you is no fun at all.” “He also said no woman has ever made him this happy like I do.” Cian chuckled low, biting her earlobe: “You understand me best. Unlike some people who lie in my arms like a corpse.” His gaze fell on me, filled with cold hatred: “Watch carefully, Elara. This is what a woman should be like. You thought I really liked your holier-than-thou act? I only took pity on you and brought you home.” He carried Lila onto the bed where we once slept embracing each other. Lila’s moans were deliberately amplified, like needles stabbing into my heart one by one. I sat on the sofa, body rigid, without even the strength to move. I watched them rolling on my bed, watched Cian caressing Lila. I remembered how he once held me, whispering in my ear: “Elara, I’ll never let you cry again.” I remembered when my depression flared up, he held me through the entire night, saying “I’m here, don’t be afraid.” I remembered him saying “Marry me, I’ll protect you for life.” It was all fake. Five years ago, Kael and Lila betrayed me. Five years later, Cian and Lila delivered an even crueler blow. My head throbbed, phantom ringing starting in my ears. All the negative emotions I’d buried deep inside surged up like a tide, drowning me instantly. I trembled as I pulled my antidepressants from my pocket, pouring out a handful to shove into my mouth, but my shaking hands scattered the pills across the floor. “Oh my, what’s wrong with Elara?” Lila lifted her head from Cian’s embrace, asking with feigned surprise. “Taking medication now? Are you so upset seeing us that you’re going crazy?” Cian glanced at the pills on the floor without any sympathy. “Being upset is right. When you made me stand outside your wedding all night, watching you marry someone else, did you think about how upset I was? I’m just letting you taste what I felt back then. This is nothing.” He thought I would cry, beg him, break down and hit him like I did five years ago. But I didn’t. I pulled out another unopened bottle of antidepressants from my pocket. Right in front of them, I poured the entire bottle of white pills into my mouth. The bitter taste instantly filled my mouth. I didn’t even drink water, just forced them down. The smile on Cian’s face instantly froze. He roughly pushed Lila away and rushed toward me: “Elara! Are you insane! What did you take!”

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When I heard the news that Vivian Blackwell had gone bankrupt and returned to the country, I was curled up in Dominic’s arms, picking out rings. The entire social circle was mocking the downfall of this once untouchable goddess. I looked up and kissed his chin, teasing, “Vivian’s back. Don’t you need to go help her out?” He played absentmindedly with my fingers and sneered, “Why would I help her? Baby, don’t think I’m that sentimental.” I breathed a sigh of relief. After all, it was the Blackwell family who dumped Dominic years ago because they thought he was too poor. With his pride, he would never go back to her. I went to the dressing room to change into an evening gown. When I came out, I saw Dominic standing on the balcony with his back to me, cigarette smoke curling around his fingertips. On impulse, I picked up his phone from the couch. A message from his assistant popped up on the screen: “Dominic, as per your instructions, I’ve redeemed Miss Blackwell’s family estate. The total was 50 million.”

“What are you looking at so intently?” A low voice came from behind me, with a raspy edge from just smoking. My fingers instinctively stiffened, the numbers on the screen reflected in my pupils. A few seconds later, I calmly pressed the lock button and placed the phone face down on the couch cushion. “Nothing.” I turned around and met his eyes. The dark undercurrent in his eyes hadn’t completely dissipated, but the moment he met my gaze, he skillfully switched to a gentle expression. “Just checking tomorrow’s bridal fitting schedule,” I said. Dominic casually stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and strode toward me with long legs. He carried the scent of tobacco mixed with the coolness of the night breeze, naturally pulling me into his embrace. “Leave those trivial matters to the assistant.” His chin rested on top of my head, rubbing gently in a soothing manner. “Tomorrow I’m clearing my entire schedule to spend the whole day with you.” I leaned against his warm chest, listening to his heartbeat, which remained steady. The question “What’s with the fifty million?” got stuck in my throat. I closed my eyes and swallowed it down, along with five years of my youth. “Okay,” I said softly. The next morning, a light rain began to fall over River City. Unusually, Dominic didn’t handle emails during breakfast. Instead, he carefully peeled an egg and placed it on my plate. When we arrived at the city’s most exclusive bridal boutique, the manager and her assistants were already waiting at the entrance. “Miss Harper, all three wedding dresses you reserved have been flown in.” I was ushered into the VIP room. Dominic sat on the couch, casually flipping through a magazine. “Go try them on. I’ll wait here for you.” He smiled at me warmly, his eyes full of affection. The first dress was an extremely elaborate French embroidered gown with a long train. The fitting process was lengthy, with several assistants carefully tightening the laces at my waist. Just as I was about to put on the veil, a sudden urgent phone ring came from outside. Through the half-open curtain of the fitting room, I saw Dominic abruptly stand up. He didn’t even notice the magazine dropping to the carpet. He strode to the window, covering the receiver, his voice extremely low, his spine rigid. By the time I walked out of the fitting room holding up my skirt, he had already grabbed his suit jacket from the chair. “Dominic?” I called softly. He turned around, his gaze pausing on me for half a second. No amazement, no praise, only poorly concealed irritation. “A friend has an emergency.” He strode toward the exit while quickly buttoning up his jacket, not even coming over to hug me. “I’m going to check on them. I’ll be right back. Whichever dress you like, just put it on my account.” As the VIP room door clicked shut, he disappeared behind it. The manager stood awkwardly holding the veil. “Miss Harper, this…” “It’s fine,” I said, looking at myself in the full-length mirror, dressed so elaborately yet looking utterly ridiculous. “I’ll wait for him.” The wedding dress was heavy, making it hard to breathe. The wall clock ticked monotonously. The staff changed my tea for the fourth time. The water had gone completely cold, a bitter film forming on the surface. I glanced at my phone. 8 PM. He said he’d be right back, but made me wait twelve hours in the climate-controlled VIP room. A sudden pain shot through my lower abdomen. My face went white as I bent over, fingers gripping the wedding dress tightly. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. With trembling hands, I opened my contacts and dialed Dominic’s number. The long ringing tone echoed in the empty VIP room. Just one second before it automatically disconnected, the call was answered. “Dominic, my stomach hurts a bit…” “Hello?” What came through the speaker wasn’t Dominic’s deep voice, but a woman’s coquettish laugh. “Oh, it’s Miss Harper.” My breathing stopped abruptly. It was Vivian. “Dominic can’t take your call right now.” I heard a faint metallic clinking sound from the other end. Vivian laughed casually, her tone blatantly showing off. “The crystal chandelier at the Blackwell estate is too heavy. Dominic’s worried it might fall and hit me, so he’s standing on a ladder right now, personally hanging it for me.”

The call was disconnected from the other end. The dragging pain in my lower abdomen slowly tortured my nerves. I sat on the couch, not moving for a long time. It wasn’t until the manager softly asked if I needed a car that I snapped out of it, took off the wedding dress, and changed back into my regular clothes. The Blackwell family’s hillside estate was nearly an hour’s drive from downtown. The taxi drove along the mountain road, the windshield wipers swinging frantically. By the time I reached the front gate, my shoes were completely soaked through. The rusty iron gate stood ajar, welcoming its former owner. I stepped through the mud puddles, walking step by step to the floor-to-ceiling windows of the main building. Inside, the lights blazed brightly. Through the rain-washed glass, I could clearly see the scene inside. Dominic had removed his suit jacket and wore only a white shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows. He stood on a ladder, tools in hand, looking down and saying something to the person below. Vivian wore a nightgown, looking up with a happy smile. She held a ragdoll cat in her arms. Dominic hated cats the most. In five years of living together, he wouldn’t even go into cat cafés, making excuses about allergies and waiting for me in the car. But now, he descended from the ladder and not only didn’t avoid it, but quite naturally reached out to pet the cat’s head. Vivian took the opportunity to grab his sleeve, acting coquettish. The scene was too warm, so warm that me standing here as his fiancée seemed utterly ridiculous. I stood in the rain, watching through the glass for a long time. Long enough for my fingers to freeze stiff, long enough for even the pain in my abdomen to become numb. I circled around to the front entrance and pushed open the main door. The laughter inside stopped abruptly. Vivian flinched and immediately hid behind Dominic with the cat. “Miss Harper… why are you here?” She looked at me timidly, her eyes instantly brimming with tears. Dominic turned around, the warmth on his face instantly cooling the moment he saw me covered in mud. “You followed me?” He frowned deeply, striding up to me. I ignored his accusation, my gaze moving past his slightly wrinkled white shirt to the few cat hairs still remaining on his fingertips. He said he was allergic to cat hair. In the past, if I so much as glanced at a stray cat, he would nervously remind me to wash my hands. Now, he could let that ragdoll cat roll around in his arms without any problem. It wasn’t an allergy after all. It was just not enough love. “Rain, do you have to make a scene in the pouring rain?” Seeing my silence, his tone grew harsher. “Vivian has severe depression. She’s afraid to be alone.” Boom! Thunder crashed outside the window, white light illuminating my wet, slightly trembling fingers. The vintage wall clock struck eleven. I looked at him draping his suit jacket over Vivian’s shoulders and suddenly smiled faintly. “So it’s already eleven.” I didn’t cry, and even looked at him quite gently. “Dominic, the bridal shop closed at eight.” Dominic’s previously angry eyes instantly froze, his hand draping the jacket stopping mid-air. Behind Dominic, Vivian tugged at his sleeve, her voice choked: “Dominic, don’t blame Miss Harper. It’s my fault. This house is full of my parents’ memories. I was too scared… I’ll never dare trouble you again.” Dominic turned and gripped her wrist, patting it reassuringly. He turned back to me, his eyes cold, as if looking at a stranger. “Your jealous behavior right now is completely unreasonable.” He pointed toward the door. “Go home right now. Stop making a scene here.” I looked at his posture protecting Vivian. “Fine.” No hysterical argument, no pointing at Vivian and cursing. I turned and stepped over the threshold, opening my black umbrella again. Behind me came the sound of the door slamming heavily. The airflow kicked up muddy water, splashing onto my beige dress hem, leaving several dirty streaks. The relationship I had carefully protected for five years was now completely soiled.

The next morning, the sound of the keypad lock beeped in the quiet apartment. Dominic walked into the bedroom carrying the chill of late autumn. He held a paper bag printed with the logo of that croissant shop in the west of the city. That was the place where years ago, after I casually mentioned wanting to eat there, he braved sub-zero temperatures and snow, waiting in line for two hours, keeping the food warm against his chest so it wouldn’t get cold, bringing it back to me. Back then, his eyes held only me. Back then, I thought I had the whole world. Now it was also pouring rain, only he was rushing to someone else. Turns out time really does devour people. It not only devoured his love but also devoured the me whose eyes were full of him. He placed the paper bag on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out, wanting to tuck the stray hair from my cheek behind my ear. Just as his fingertips were about to touch my skin, a faint scent of perfume drifted into my nostrils. It was Vivian’s favorite perfume. Last night, he had draped his suit jacket over her shoulders. My body reacted faster than my brain, instinctively turning my head away from his touch. His hand froze in mid-air, his fingers curling slightly before he casually withdrew it. “I had a bad attitude yesterday.” He lowered his posture, his tone carrying helpless tolerance. “But you have to understand. The Blackwell family went bankrupt. She has nothing now, and her depression relapsed. She keeps trying to kill herself.” “I can’t just watch her die, can I?” He opened the paper bag on his own and used a bamboo pick to spear a steaming croissant, bringing it to my lips. “Be good. Eat it while it’s hot. After you finish, we’ll reschedule the dress fitting.” The rich buttery aroma mixed with that faint perfume smell fermented in the air. I didn’t get angry. My body even retained the muscle memory from the past. I obediently reached out and took the bamboo pick. A hint of relaxed amusement flashed in Dominic’s eyes. But in the next second, I turned around and quite naturally tossed the whole steaming croissant, bamboo pick and all, into the trash can beside the bed. A soft thud. “It’s cold. Can’t bite through it.” I pulled out a wet wipe and carefully cleaned the fingers that had just held the bamboo pick, not even lifting my eyelids. The smile on Dominic’s face instantly froze. He stared at the trash can, seemingly unable to believe that I, who had always been so docile, would do such a thing. “Rain,” his voice turned cold, carrying the authority of someone in power, “don’t push your luck.” He threw down those words, stood up, and went into the bathroom. I threw the wipe I’d used to clean my hands into the trash can. From that day on, for a whole week, Dominic always had an excuse to stay out all night. Each time he returned in the early morning, the scent of that perfume on him grew stronger. I didn’t expose him, nor did I make a fuss. I continued to eat, sleep, and work on my designs as usual. I just stopped initiating messages to him and stopped asking about his schedule.

These past few days, the dragging pain in my lower abdomen had become more frequent. I’d spent four hours making chicken soup, packing it in a thermos, planning to take it to the hospital to eat after my checkup. But at the intersection, on impulse, I had the driver change course to Dominic’s studio. The receptionist saw it was me and respectfully let me through. I carried the thermos and walked to his private consultation room. The door wasn’t fully closed, leaving a small gap. Vivian’s soft voice drifted out: “Dominic, you spent fifty million to buy back the Blackwell estate. Was it really just to help me?” I stopped in my tracks. “Don’t overthink it,” Dominic’s voice was flat. Vivian laughed softly, her voice even softer: “Then… does this count as you preparing our wedding home?” Inside went silent for a few seconds. Dominic didn’t deny it, only saying quietly: “Just live there for now.” I looked at the heavy thermos in my hands and suddenly felt that these days of restraint and understanding were absurd to the extreme. I raised my hand and pushed open the half-closed door. Both people inside looked over simultaneously. Vivian was leaning against the edge of the desk, Dominic standing in front of her, the distance between them long past the safe boundary of social interaction. “Miss Harper…” Vivian looked startled when she saw me, suddenly stepping backward. She wore thin high heels. Her foot caught and she fell backward. “Ah!” Her hand happened to land on a decorative crystal on the desk, the skin breaking, a trace of blood seeping out. “Vivian!” Dominic’s expression changed instantly. His body moved faster than his reason, rushing past me, even bumping my shoulder heavily in his haste. I stumbled backward from the impact, my lower back hitting the door frame, the thermos in my hands falling to the floor. Sharp pain spread rapidly from deep in my abdomen. My face turned deathly pale instantly. I slid down along the door frame, sitting on the floor. A few steps away, Dominic was half-kneeling on the ground, carefully protecting Vivian in his arms. He held the handkerchief I had embroidered with his name, pressing it firmly against Vivian’s palm, which had only a minor scrape. After doing all this, he turned his head, looking at me with extremely guarded and disgusted eyes. But the moment he saw the spilled chicken soup on the floor, his body froze abruptly. His fingers holding Vivian’s wrist moved involuntarily. His gaze moved from the soup up to my pale face, a panic he himself didn’t notice flashing in his eyes. “Rain…” He instinctively released Vivian, wanting to stand up. But Vivian cried out delicately at that moment: “Dominic, it hurts so much.” His knee, which had just lifted, knelt back down again. “Rain, do you have to make a scene at a time like this?” He lowered his voice, his tone revealing guilty anxiety and coldness. I looked at his posture protecting Vivian. The pain in my abdomen had made even breathing painful. But I didn’t cry out in pain. I knew that the man before me would no longer feel heartache for my tears. Crying out would only make me seem more pathetic. I braced myself against the wall, slowly and shakily standing up. I looked at the spilled soup on the floor, then at Dominic. “I’m sorry.” I swallowed dryly, my voice so soft it was almost inaudible. “I dirtied your floor.” I didn’t look at him again. Clutching my aching stomach, I slowly walked out of the studio. The moment I walked out the door, I thought I heard Dominic call my name. I didn’t look back. A warm flow trickled down my thigh, washing away five years of relationship completely clean.

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I bought a refrigerator out of kindness for a sick student so she could store her medication. Half a month later, her medication became ineffective. She collapsed in the classroom and was left permanently disabled. Her parents cried at the school gates: “This heartless teacher ruined our daughter!” I was forced to care for her for ten years. Then her parents demanded I marry her and support her for life. My girlfriend couldn’t handle the pressure and broke up with me. On my way to her wedding, I died of a heart attack. When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn ten years earlier. Standing before me was Lily Mitchell, looking pitiful. “Mr. Reed, my medication needs refrigeration, but there’s no fridge in the classroom…” I said, “You should ask the facilities department about that.” I had been reborn. Reborn to the moment when Lily Mitchell first said she needed a refrigerator to store her medication. Behind her stood three roommates, all my students. Four pairs of eyes stared at me expectantly. I was twenty-four years old, with a master’s degree in philosophy. My advisor had recommended me for this position as a teaching assistant at this community college to gain experience. In my previous life, I’d been full of enthusiasm. When I learned a student had diabetes and needed a fridge to store insulin, I’d proactively bought her a small refrigerator. Half a month later, she suddenly collapsed during class break. At the hospital, I discovered she didn’t have diabetes at all, and what she’d been refrigerating wasn’t insulin. She had osteogenesis imperfecta, commonly known as brittle bone disease. It was incurable and required lifelong medication. The investigation revealed her medication had become ineffective. The refrigerator plug had come loose and stopped cooling. Her parents sued the school for neglecting students. The school deflected responsibility, saying the fridge wasn’t theirs—I had bought it, so I should be responsible. Public opinion crushed me. My family was cyberbullied and couldn’t live in peace. I had no choice but to compromise and take responsibility for caring for her. That responsibility lasted ten years. But her family still wasn’t satisfied. They wanted me to marry her and support her parents too. I had a girlfriend I loved deeply. She’d waited for me for ten years. Knowing I’d never be free, I cruelly forced her to leave. She went home for matchmaking dates. The day before her wedding, Lily had an episode. I cared for her all night. The next day, driving to the hotel, I had a heart attack on the road. My life-saving medication was right beside me, but I didn’t use it. I didn’t call 911 either. My heart was strangely calm. I only felt sorry for my girlfriend—today was supposed to be her happy day. Now I’d been reborn. Facing these four expectant faces, my heart filled with hatred and disgust. “Is Lily Mitchell the applicant? If you need a refrigerator, you can download a form first, explain your condition and the medication’s requirements, then fill it out and submit it to facilities. They’ll apply to the school for procurement.” Her roommate Emma Carter was a warm-hearted girl. She frowned. “That sounds complicated. Won’t it take forever? Lily has diabetes and needs insulin injections before every meal. Right, Lily?” That’s right. Lily had never explicitly said what disease she had. The diabetes story had spread after everyone saw her injecting herself. She’d never denied or clarified it. Just like she’d never asked me to buy a refrigerator. Everything had been decided by her roommates and me. In my previous life, her parents had hung banners at the school gates and made the news. My whole family was cyberbullied. My parents were teachers about to retire honorably, but because of me, they had to take early retirement. No salary, and they had to support me financially. They got sick but didn’t tell me. Within a few years, they both passed away. I could imagine that even after my death, I’d still be reviled. In my previous life, these girls had posted online and testified, cementing the story that I’d tried to impress Lily and voluntarily bought the fridge. In this life, I’d watch carefully to see who would die. “That’s the procedure. If you have questions, ask another teacher.” I picked up my teaching materials and left lightly. Before I’d gone far, I heard Lily say pitifully, “What’s wrong with Mr. Reed today? He’s so cold.” Emma consoled her. “He’s dodging responsibility. Can’t make any decisions himself. Don’t worry, I’ll handle this.”

I was just a teaching assistant. I’d only been interning for two months. Besides teaching, I had to do all kinds of odd jobs, and I didn’t even have an office. I opened the resignation page but couldn’t bring myself to click submit. First, my advisor had fought for this job for me. It was meant to help me gain experience—a kind gesture I didn’t want to waste. Second, I’d tried to resign in my previous life too, but the school had rejected it. According to the contract, even if I submitted my resignation, I’d have to stay for another month. A month was enough time for many things to happen. So I could only find a way to get fired. Just then, my uncle sent a message in the family group chat. “Mom’s not feeling well. Got her checked today—her blood pressure was 200. The doctor wants her hospitalized.” I’d chosen to intern at this school because it was close to home, only a hundred kilometers away. I was about to say I’d come back today. My cousin, a doctor, replied, “I’ll head back soon. Lincoln, someone gave me two boxes of lychees. I’ll drop them off for you.” My cousin was in the city. My eyes lit up. A plan formed in my mind. I went back to my dorm and changed into designer clothes, making myself look ten times more handsome than usual—tall and long-legged. My roommate saw me and said admiringly, “Who are you meeting? Don’t tell me your girlfriend’s coming.” I smiled but didn’t answer. In my previous life when I got into trouble, not a single person spoke up for me. My roommate was no exception. We were all interns and therefore competitors. I dressed up handsomely and even carried a fifty-thousand-dollar bag with a huge logo that made my roommate’s eyes widen and his mouth form an O-shape. “Lincoln, you’re actually rich?” Ignoring him, I fluttered toward the school gate like a butterfly. Passing students couldn’t help but stare. From afar, I spotted my cousin’s luxury car. I was exactly six feet tall. He was taller, wore glasses, and looked very gentlemanly. He wore clothes similar to mine—actually, he’d bought the clothes I was wearing. The bag was also his hand-me-down. A cousin supporting his younger relative who just started working is perfectly normal, right? My cousin got out of the car and opened the trunk to move the lychees. I threw myself onto his back, just like when I was a kid. My cousin nearly fell into the trunk but caught himself, holding my legs. “You think you’re still a kid? You’re over a hundred and sixty pounds—you’re crushing my old bones!” He was a fitness enthusiast with muscles under his clothes. I couldn’t hurt him. Not only did I not get down, I climbed higher. “Is Grandma’s condition serious?” My cousin said unhurriedly, “Don’t listen to my dad. I went back last week and her blood pressure was fine. He just wants me to go home for a blind date.” I saw from the corner of my eye that many students were watching us, taking photos with their phones, pointing and whispering. Only then did I climb down from my cousin’s back and hook my arm through his instead. My cousin handed me the lychees. He also straightened my hair. “How’s work? Are your colleagues easy to get along with? Are the students obedient?” I smiled. “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry.”

My cousin drove away. I stood there watching for a long time before carrying the lychees back to the dorm. Sure enough, as soon as I entered, I was met with my roommate’s strange look. “What’s wrong?” He laughed awkwardly. “Ah, lychees are already in season? I love lychees.” Usually, he loved taking advantage of small perks. But I locked the lychees in my cabinet. “These are for me only. I can’t give you any.” His expression grew even stranger. He pushed the tissue box on my desk over to his own. Like he wanted to draw a clear line between us. I opened the school forum and, as expected, many people had photographed my “intimate moments” with my cousin. I saved them all. In the afternoon, while checking student attendance, I heard people muttering that I was gay and showing off my wealth. I didn’t explain. I let them gossip. Then I saw the four girls—Lily and her roommates. Emma rolled her eyes at me. “Mr. Reed, we went to facilities at noon. They said the school has no precedent for buying refrigerators for individual students. We’d need approval from school leadership. In the meantime, we could only put the medication in the cafeteria’s freezer. But when we went to the cafeteria, they said it didn’t meet hygiene standards. They refused! We wanted to buy a small fridge for the dorm, but the dorm supervisor won’t allow it either.” I shrugged. “Then there’s nothing I can do.” Lily said timidly, “Mr. Reed, could you keep a fridge in your office or dorm? A very small one.” I shook my head. “I don’t have an office, and high-power appliances aren’t allowed in the dorm.” Lily’s eyes quickly filled with tears, ready to fall but not quite falling. Emma felt terrible for her and quickly patted her chest. “I’ll buy one and put it in the activity room with a lock. It’ll be fine.” But Lily wasn’t satisfied. She kept looking at me. Honestly, she was very beautiful, soft and delicate, inspiring protective instincts. I’d helped her several times before. God knows I’d only helped her as a teacher should, never imagining it would give her inappropriate ideas. Emma said sarcastically, “Ha! Some teacher—dressing up like a peacock, not caring about students at all. You deserve this title? I’m going to file a complaint against you!” I rolled my eyes too. “Ooh, I’m so scared! Go ahead. If you don’t, you’re a coward!” All four girls were stunned. I was an intern teacher who paid close attention to my performance evaluation. I was almost always accommodating to students’ requests, known for my good temper. Now I looked like a completely different person. After they recovered, they all took out their phones to write complaints to the principal’s email. Not only wasn’t I panicking, I mocked them. “A bunch of broke losers acting like entitled babies all day long, like the whole world should pamper you. What garbage. Don’t you look in the mirror every day?” Lily burst into tears. The other two girls’ eyes also reddened. Only Emma looked at me like an angry bull, eyes bloodshot. “You just wait.” I crossed my arms. “I’m waiting. Who’s afraid?” Emma looked like she was about to explode, pointing at me with her long manicured nail. “Fine. Just wait to get fired!” I believed her. These four girls were terrible at studying and terrible people. They were experts at spreading rumors and cyberbullying others.

That evening, complaints about me flooded the principal’s inbox—dozens of them. The contents were varied: homosexuality, flaunting wealth, unfit to be a teacher, cold violence toward students. The next morning, the department chair called me in for a talk. He sat behind his desk, the computer screen in front of him showing the forum posts. In the photos, I was on my cousin’s back, smiling quite sweetly. He pointed at the screen. “Lincoln Reed, is this you?” “Yes.” “Who is he?” “A friend.” The department chair waited a moment, then rephrased his question. “Are you gay?” “That’s personal and unrelated to work.” The chair’s expression darkened. “Lincoln, I’m asking you a question. Answer properly.” “I did answer. It’s unrelated to work.” At that moment, the door opened. The principal walked in. My roommate followed behind, bowing and scraping like a eunuch, looking at me with gloating eyes. If I was removed, he could be promoted. Sometimes, the world is just a damn circus, and in my previous life, I’d been destroyed by these people. How tragic. Let it all burn. The principal looked down at me. “Lincoln Reed, I’ll ask you one more time. Are you gay?” “No comment.” “Then explain the photos.” “I have no obligation to explain.” The principal laughed—a cold laugh. “Who do you think you are? You haven’t even finished your probation period and you dare take this attitude?” I snorted coldly. He stared at me. “I’ll ask you one last time. Are you or are you not gay?” “Are you discriminating against gay people?” “Enough. Doesn’t his roommate know whether he’s gay or not? Don’t corrupt the students.” He declared, “You’re fired!” Like some feudal emperor. But his eyes betrayed his greed, staring directly at the huge logo on my bag. I turned and walked out. Minutes later, HR sent notice that my employment had been terminated. According to the internship agreement, termination without cause should come with one month’s compensation. But HR said there was nothing—they wouldn’t even pay my wages. One month’s intern salary was only two thousand dollars. Whether they paid it or not shouldn’t matter—but it did. Withholding a worker’s wages deserves divine punishment. I’d make them beg me to take the money! From this moment on, I was finally free. Before leaving, I went to the activity room and dismantled and destroyed the water dispenser, water jugs, and power strips I’d bought, throwing them in the trash. “Mr. Reed, if you remove the water dispenser, what will we use?” a student complained. I stomped on a water jug, breaking it. “I bought this for myself. You’ve been freeloading off it for so long. What if some psycho poisons it and then blames me? Better to destroy it.” After throwing away the last jug, I turned around to see Lily standing a few steps away, biting her lip, looking at me tearfully. Every hair on my body stood on end. It was as if she wasn’t a young girl in her prime, but a venomous snake flicking its tongue. I instinctively stepped back. It wasn’t that I was weak—the trauma from my previous life was just too heavy. I couldn’t adjust immediately. She stepped closer, her eyes showing a hint of obsession and an indescribable ambiguity. That wasn’t how a student should look at a teacher. Nor was it simply how a woman looks at a man. It was how a spider looks at plump prey! “Mr. Reed,” she called me, soft and weak. I felt nauseous and turned to run. She shouted, “Don’t leave!” I stopped and turned to look at her, hatred burning in my heart like wildfire, making my bones ache. I wanted to rush over and strangle her. But I couldn’t. I’d finally been reborn. A bright future awaited me. She’d already walked up to me. Tears fell one by one. Under the lights, she looked especially pitiful and touching. “I’ll go beg Emma to withdraw the complaint. Nothing will happen. Don’t leave.” “If you stay, I’ll do whatever you say.” She spoke lightly but enunciated each word heavily, as if making some incredible promise. I remembered my previous life. In the second year of caring for her, one night she’d pulled my hand and placed it on her body. “Mr. Reed, marry me. I’ll be so good.” At the time, I’d thought it was gratitude, dependence, the desperate grasping at the only lifeline after being tormented by illness for too long. Or perhaps she’d gone mad from prolonged sickness. It turned out she’d harbored such unspeakable thoughts so early on. But I’d been oblivious, falling into the trap she’d laid. “Lily Mitchell,” I couldn’t out-act her, so I spoke plainly. “You disgust me!” She froze, tears still on her face. Her expression shifted from innocent and pure to determined, then she smiled slightly. It made you wonder if she had mastered the art of switching personas. “Mr. Reed, you’ll come back.” “You will definitely come back.” I smiled too. “I will come back—to attend your funeral!” I ignored her, went back to pack my things, and left without staying a second longer, taking a bus away from the hell that had trapped me for half my previous life.

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That afternoon when I had the car accident, I called my fiancé Hudson seven times. On the seventh call, he finally picked up. In the background, I could hear airport announcements. Enduring the searing pain, I told him I’d gotten into an accident on the South Highway. The car had flipped over, and I was bleeding badly. “Don’t panic, I’ll send my assistant over,” he said hurriedly. “I need to fly to New York right now. Cecilia’s depression relapsed—she took sleeping pills and her emotional state is very unstable. I have to go see her.” Cecilia Lewis—his ex-girlfriend who developed severe depression after their breakup. After five years together, I’d gotten used to that name being prioritized over mine. Fighting through the pain, I said, “Hudson, I’m really bleeding a lot.” There was a second of silence on the other end. Then he said impatiently: “Nina, I told you I’d send my assistant. Don’t you trust me?” Without waiting for my response, he hung up. Three months later, I got married. My husband wasn’t Hudson. When friends asked how I could marry Zander Hayes after only knowing him for three months, I said: “Because he never hangs up on me.”

“Ma’am, don’t fall asleep. Can you hear me?” The car cabin reeked of blood. The airbag lay deflated to one side. I forced my eyes open. Outside the window was an anxious face. He held a window-breaking hammer in his hand. “The ambulance is almost here. I’ll pull you out first. It might hurt a bit—try to bear with it.” I nodded, watching him efficiently break open the car door. The screech of metal grating against metal was piercing. At that moment, my phone screen lit up. A message from Hudson. [Nina, I’ve already boarded the plane.] [Stop using injuries as an excuse to trick me. Cecilia can’t be left alone right now. Be more understanding.] Blood dripped from my forehead onto the screen. The man outside the car glanced at the screen. “Your boyfriend?” he asked. I closed my eyes, my voice hoarse. “Ex-boyfriend.” He didn’t ask further. He took off his jacket, placed it over the broken glass, slipped his hands under my arms, and carefully lifted me out of the cabin. “I’m Zander Hayes,” he said, setting me down on the grass by the roadside. “A doctor who happened to be passing by.” “Thank you.” I looked at his blood-stained shirt. “I got your clothes dirty.” He took gauze from a first aid kit and pressed it against my forehead. “Hold this. Don’t let go.” My phone vibrated again. It was Hudson’s assistant, Andy. [Miss Nina, Mr. Hudson asked me to transfer five hundred thousand dollars to you. He said if you’re upset, go buy something you like.] [Mr. Hudson is just trying to save someone. Please be more understanding and don’t fight with him at a time like this.] Five hundred thousand dollars—to buy my silence while I teetered on the edge of death. I didn’t accept it. I just locked my screen. The ambulance arrived quickly. Zander climbed in with me and briefed the paramedics on my condition. “Multiple soft tissue contusions, mild concussion, five-centimeter laceration on the forehead.” “Where’s the family?” the medic asked. “We need family to sign.” “No family,” I said, staring at the ceiling lights. Zander’s hand paused while taking my blood pressure. Then he called out a number. “Blood pressure is low.” At the hospital, a nurse wheeled me in for stitches. The anesthetic went into my forehead. The swelling pain spread instantly. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even furrow my brow. The doctor seemed surprised. “Doesn’t it hurt?” “I’ve hurt worse,” I said, staring at the clock on the wall. Worse than this was two years ago in the emergency room, watching the blood beneath me go cold, drop by drop. Hudson’s flight should be landing soon. Right now, his mind was probably filled with whether Cecilia had taken her medication, whether she’d done something reckless. As for how much blood I’d lost— He didn’t care. After the stitches, I sat in the observation room. Zander walked over with the payment receipt. “I covered the fees for now. Your phone died,” he said. “Thank you, Dr. Hayes.” I took the receipt. “Let me get your contact info so I can transfer the money back.” I borrowed a charger from the nurse’s station. As soon as I added him on SnapChat, Hudson’s call came through. “Nina, when are you going to stop this tantrum?” Hudson’s voice was filled with suppressed rage. “Andy said you didn’t take the money and your phone was off. Are you trying to make sure everyone knows you’re jealous?” I glanced at Zander sitting across from me and said calmly, “I’m not throwing a tantrum.” “Then why’d you turn off your phone?” Hudson sneered. “Let me tell you, Cecilia’s condition is really bad right now. Don’t make trouble for me at a time like this. When I get back, we’ll talk about the wedding.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” “What are you trying to pull now?” “Hudson, let’s call off the engagement.” Silence on the other end for two seconds. He laughed derisively, his tone dripping with disdain. “Fine, Nina. You’d better not regret this.” The call ended.

Zander handed me a cup of warm water. “If you need it, I can help you arrange for a caregiver,” he said in a professional tone. “That won’t be necessary. I can take care of myself.” I took the cup. “Thank you for today.” “Just doing my job as a doctor.” He glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting. I should go. If you feel unwell later, come back to the hospital.” “Okay.” Watching his retreating figure, I took a sip of water. Warm—just right to ease the spasms in my stomach. I stayed at the hospital overnight for observation. The next day, gauze still on my forehead, I returned to the house I shared with Hudson. In the living room, two pairs of slippers sat side by side. One was my taupe slippers. The other was a pair of pink bunny slippers. Those were from last month when Cecilia tried to jump off a building and Hudson brought her here to stay temporarily. At the time he’d said, “Cecilia’s depression is acting up. It’s not safe for her to live alone. Be reasonable about this.” I was reasonable. The result? My face wash was replaced with her preferred brand. The closet gained a row of her pajamas. Even the succulents on the balcony were replaced with roses because, according to her, they “made her feel depressed.” On the table sat a half-eaten walnut cake. I’m allergic to walnuts. Hudson always knew this. But Cecilia liked them, so the house was always stocked with walnut cake. Once, I ate some by mistake. My whole body broke out in hives and I couldn’t breathe. Hudson took me to the hospital, but only blamed me: “It’s written so clearly on the package. You didn’t read it yourself—whose fault is that?” He knew. But he didn’t look. I grabbed a garbage bag. I threw in the bunny slippers and the walnut cake. I grabbed the potted roses from the balcony and smashed them into the trash bin, pot and all. I started packing my things. There wasn’t much. Over these five years, I’d spent all my energy trying to fit into Hudson’s life. The closet was full of neutral-colored clothes he preferred. The vanity held the light perfume he was used to smelling. My phone rang. It was Hudson’s mother. “Nina, I heard Hudson went abroad?” Her voice carried its usual criticism. “Yes.” I folded clothes into my suitcase. “Really, you should know better. You know Cecilia’s health is fragile—why didn’t you go take care of her? Hudson’s just a man. How could he be as attentive as you?” I stopped what I was doing. “Mrs. Barrett, I’m Hudson’s fiancée, not Cecilia’s caregiver.” Silence on the other end. “How can you talk like that? Cecilia is so pitiful. Why are you competing with someone who’s ill? Besides, Hudson has a kind heart. As the future Mrs. Barrett, can’t you be more magnanimous?” “I’m very magnanimous,” I said, zipping up my suitcase. “That’s why I’m giving the position of Mrs. Barrett to her.” “What do you mean?” “Exactly what it sounds like.” I hung up. Dragging my suitcase to the door, I looked back at the house I’d lived in for three years. Our engagement photo still hung on the wall. In it, Hudson looked at the camera, but his gaze was distracted. That day during the shoot, Cecilia had sent him a message. Then he went to make a call, leaving me waiting under the stage lights for two hours. I walked over and took down the frame. Face down, I tossed it on the floor. I pulled my suitcase out of the complex. Taking out my phone, I messaged my realtor. [That property in South District—list it for me. The faster the better.] That was the dowry house my parents left me. Hudson had said we’d live there after the wedding since it was close to his company. Now, it wasn’t needed. The realtor replied instantly: [Miss Nina, Mr. Hudson contacted us yesterday about that property. He wants to transfer it to a Miss Lewis.] I stared at the words on the screen. My fingers felt cold.

The realtor called. “Miss Nina, this… Mr. Hudson said you’re getting married soon, so the house is joint property and he has the right to handle it.” Standing by the roadside, I said calmly, “Only my name is on the deed.” “But he had your power of attorney and a copy of your ID…” “The power of attorney is forged. Stop all transactions immediately, or I’ll sue your office too.” I hung up and went straight to the police station. Filed a report, gave a statement, applied to freeze the property transaction. By the time I finished the whole process, it was afternoon. Walking out of the station, I opened SnapChat. On my feed, Cecilia had posted a new update. [Even at the other end of the world, as long as I’m afraid of the dark, he’ll rush over. Next step: moving into our home~] The attached photo showed a slender hand peeling an apple into a heart shape. I knew that hand too well. On the wrist was the limited edition watch I’d scoured the whole city to buy him last year. Below were comments from our mutual friends. [Mr. Hudson is still so devoted. When can we drink at your wedding?] [After all this time, I only recognize you two as a couple!] Hudson replied to the comments: [Don’t talk nonsense. Cecilia needs rest right now.] No denial. His words dripped with indulgence. Cecilia couldn’t wait to be the lady of the house, and Hudson was paving the way for her. I liked the post. In the Barrett family group chat, Hudson’s mother was on a passionate rant. [Young people these days have such tempers, threatening to break up over nothing. They don’t even look at their own qualifications. Who’d want her without the Barrett family?] Several relatives chimed in below. [Exactly. Hudson is so outstanding, and she still isn’t satisfied.] [Cecilia is such a lovely girl—good family background, gentle personality. Such a shame about her fate.] I didn’t argue back. I left the group chat that had suffocated me for years. And I blocked Hudson’s contact. After doing all this, the tightness in my chest suddenly disappeared. I even had the mood to find a hotel and check in. That evening, I ordered Japanese food delivery. Hudson used to say takeout wasn’t clean and insisted I go to the market to buy fresh ingredients and cook from scratch. Now, eating salmon, I felt liberated. Halfway through the meal, an unknown number called. “Nina, have you lost your mind?” Hudson’s roar came through the receiver. “Why did you call the police? That house would just sit empty anyway. What’s wrong with letting Cecilia stay there temporarily after she returns home?” “Does ‘staying temporarily’ require transferring the deed to her name?” “The realtor got it wrong! I just wanted to add her name to give her security!” Hudson spoke as if it were perfectly reasonable. “Using my premarital property to give her security?” I laughed. “Nina, don’t twist my words like that. We’re getting married soon—what’s yours is mine, isn’t it? You got the police involved at the realtor’s office. Where does that leave my reputation?” He only ever cared about his reputation. “Hudson, we’re not getting married.” “Not this again!” His voice was irritable. “Do you think that by leaving the group chat and blocking me, I’ll come running back to coddle you? Let me tell you, if you don’t drop the case this time, the wedding is postponed indefinitely!” “Whatever.” I hung up and blocked that number too.

The next day, I went to the bridal boutique. The custom wedding dress I’d tried on three times and altered twice hung in the display window. The shop manager saw me and greeted me with a beaming smile. “Miss Nina, we’ve taken in the waist as you requested. Would you like to try it on again?” I stood in front of the window. The pure white wedding dress and the white gauze on my forehead overlapped. I once thought that putting on this dress would mark the day my five years of waiting finally paid off. I reached out and gently touched the tulle on the hem. No anger as I’d imagined. No grief either. “No need to try it on,” I said, withdrawing my hand, my tone calm. The manager froze. “Then… shall I wrap it up for you?” “Get a trash bag,” I said, smiling faintly at her. “Throw it away.” “Miss Nina! This was hand-sewn by a French designer…” Ignoring the manager, I turned and pushed open the boutique door. Just as I reached the intersection, a car screeched to a halt in front of me. The door swung open and Hudson stepped out quickly. He wore a trench coat. Stubble had grown on his chin from catching overnight flights. His brow was furrowed in its habitual way, his expression agitated. “Nina! When are you going to stop this tantrum—” He’d been about to yell at me, but when his gaze landed on my pale face and the gauze on my forehead, his pupils constricted sharply. He froze, a trace of panic creeping into his voice. “What happened to your head?” He instinctively raised his hand to touch my forehead. Just as his fingertips were about to make contact, I flinched backward. Hudson’s hand hung suspended in midair. Bewilderment flashed through his eyes. In these five years, I’d always been the one to lean my face into his palm. I’d never pulled away from him before. His fingers slowly lowered as he tried to mask his panic with coldness. “What exactly are you trying to pull?” His tone softened slightly, but still carried condescension. “To force me to come back, you’re even throwing away the wedding dress? Fine, Nina. You win. I’m back.” “I didn’t transfer the house to Cecilia either. I’m doing everything your way, okay?” He paused. “I’ll take you shopping for a bag later. Stop being upset.” I looked at him coldly. A breeze swept past, carrying his cedarwood scent. Mixed with the cedarwood was a trace of Cecilia’s sickly sweet perfume. On the edge of his collar was a smudge of lipstick. Before, whenever I detected these scents and marks on him, nausea would rise in my stomach. Jealousy and hurt would keep me awake all night. But now, I felt strangely calm. “Hudson,” I said, my voice gentle. He looked at me, relief washing over his face. “Yeah? You done being mad?” “I’m not allergic anymore,” I said softly, looking at him. Hudson froze, bewildered. “What allergy? Did you eat something wrong?” “Before, whenever I smelled her perfume on you, I’d feel nauseous.” I tugged at the corner of my mouth, giving him a small smile. “But now, looking at her lipstick stain on your collar, I don’t feel anything at all.” Hudson’s face instantly drained of color. His lips trembled faintly, as if he finally realized— I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I truly didn’t care anymore. “Nina…” He lunged forward to grab my wrist, panic overtaking him. “Don’t say things like that! The wedding is still on for next month. I promise you, after we’re married I’ll absolutely keep my distance from her…” I didn’t struggle. I let him grip my wrist. His palm was hot, filled with urgency, but I only felt exhausted. My gaze fell on my ring finger—on that mediocre engagement ring. Cecilia had casually remarked that “solitaires are too tacky, they have no soul,” so Hudson bought me this plain band instead. I slowly raised my hand, pinched the ring, and gently slid it off. The ring came off easily—too loose. It didn’t take any effort at all. My finger didn’t even have an indentation from wearing it, as if it had never belonged there. “Nina! What are you doing!” Hudson’s voice cracked completely. His grip on my wrist tightened suddenly. Ignoring his loss of control, I simply placed the ring in his trench coat pocket. “Give it back to you,” I said, raising my head to look calmly at his reddening eyes. “This ring, along with you—neither was made for me in the first place.” With that, I yanked my hand free. A stark red mark now encircled my wrist. I didn’t even rub it. I turned, raised my hand, and flagged down a passing taxi. “Drive.”

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The night our daughter underwent appendicitis surgery, Ethan Carter’s assistant delivered me a divorce agreement. On TV, his interview was airing live. He proudly declared that his company’s system was “unbreakable,” the watch I gifted him gleaming on his wrist. What he didn’t know was that I had written that system six years ago. For years, I believed I simply wasn’t good enough for him to love me. Until a woman named Mia sent me photos of herself wearing the silk robe I bought, crimson marks blooming along her collarbone. Until our daughter split her head open and needed five stitches, blood running down her face, while Ethan coldly told me over the phone: “You should learn how to handle these things yourself.” Twenty years of growing up together, and in the end, I was nothing more than the nanny who helped him survive his startup years. Before the divorce cooling-off period even ended, his company collapsed first. That “unbreakable” system was personally locked down by me. He desperately wanted to meet the top consultant demanding ten million dollars to fix it. What he didn’t know— that consultant was me. 0

The night my daughter had her appendicitis surgery, Ethan Carter’s assistant delivered the divorce papers. The TV was live-streaming his interview. He was chatting and laughing into the camera, wearing the Vacheron Constantin watch I’d given him. His executive assistant, Zach, handed me the agreement, his eyes avoiding mine. “Mr. Carter said if there are no issues, just sign it.” “Mr. Carter said if there are no issues, just sign it. Let’s end this amicably. Name your terms, as long as you don’t make a scene.” I opened the agreement. Ethan was being generous. The downtown penthouse would go to me, half the savings, and custody of our daughter. Even the child support. He’d filled in a number that would make ordinary people jealous. Aside from his company shares, he was giving me almost everything he could. As if this were just a business transaction, and as long as the money was right, everything would be decent and proper. The hospital room was quiet except for the rhythmic dripping of the IV. Emma was still unconscious, her little face deathly pale. “The reason?” I asked. Zach stammered for a while before repeating Ethan’s exact words. “Mr. Carter said you two are no longer on the same path.” “His circle now discusses IPOs, financing, overseas acquisitions.” “And you…” Zach didn’t dare continue. And me, these past few years I’d been stuck around the stove and the kid, talking about grocery prices and tutoring classes. In his eyes, I was a nanny with whom he had nothing in common. Even worse than a nanny, because a nanny wouldn’t occupy the position of Mrs. Carter. My phone vibrated. Ethan sent a message on SnapChat. “Hire a good nurse for Emma. Did you sign the agreement?” Then another message followed. “This is better for everyone.” Every word dripped with condescension. He probably thought that as long as he paid enough, I should be grateful and vacate my position. I stared at those lines of text. Twenty years of childhood friendship, and this was all it amounted to. “Pen.” I held out my hand. Zach froze for a moment, then quickly handed over a pen. I flipped to the last page and signed my name cleanly. “Nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Meet at the courthouse.” I closed the agreement and handed it back. Zach clearly hadn’t expected me to be so decisive. His hand trembled slightly as he took the document. “Alright, Ms. Hayes. I’ll inform Mr. Carter.” Zach left. I stood up and tucked the blanket around my daughter, then glanced at the interview still playing on TV. The host was asking about the company’s technical advantages. Ethan answered confidently, “This is the core architecture our team spent three years developing. It’s impenetrable.” I picked up the remote and turned off the TV. The hospital room returned to silence. I pulled an old laptop from my bag and connected to the hospital WiFi. I didn’t open any web pages. I just typed a few lines of code into a black terminal window. Several lines of green data streams flickered on the screen before stopping at a red cursor. It was the backend access point to Ethan’s company. After finishing everything, I closed the computer and changed Emma’s IV bag. 0

Early the next morning, while Emma was being wheeled away for tests by the nurse, I took a taxi to the courthouse as agreed. Ethan and I quickly completed the formalities and received the receipt. We just had to wait for the paperwork to go through before the divorce was final. Ethan looked at me, a flash of guilt crossing his eyes. He said, “Don’t worry, I won’t short you a penny of child support after the divorce.” I looked down at my phone to call a rideshare, anxious to get back to the hospital to be with my daughter. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to him talk. Seeing that I didn’t respond, Ethan continued, “We don’t have anything in common anymore. I don’t love you anymore. Even if we divorce, there’s no need to become enemies. I’m still the child’s father.” The corner of my mouth twitched imperceptibly. I watched the car getting closer and closer on the app. I gave him a faint smile. “I’m heading back to the hospital. See you in thirty days.” The car had arrived. Without looking at Ethan’s expression, I opened the door and got in. I looked at the divorce papers in my hand. Soon, we’d be nothing to each other. Over the next few days, Ethan didn’t come to the hospital. He didn’t even call once. Emma asked about her father several times. I hugged Emma with a heavy heart. “Daddy will be busier and busier from now on. He won’t be able to see you often, but Mommy will always be with you.” Five days later, Zach came. He poked his head around the hospital room door, dragging a suitcase behind him. “Ms. Hayes… Mr. Carter asked me to bring your things over.” “He said since you signed the papers, you probably don’t want to go back to that house anyway. Saves you the trouble of looking at it.” I glanced at the suitcase. Ethan thought I was taking up space and was eager to kick us out. “Just leave it there.” Emma had just woken up and was rubbing her eyes, saying she was hungry. I poured Zach a glass of water and asked him to watch the child while I went to buy breakfast. When I came back with breakfast, before I even entered the room, I heard Emma crying. I pushed the door open. Zach was frantically trying to comfort the child with his phone. “What happened?” I picked up my daughter, her face red from crying. Emma pointed at Zach’s phone screen, sobbing. “That’s the castle Daddy promised to build with me… That’s my castle…” I glanced at the screen. It was an Ins interface. The person who posted was named Mia, her profile picture showing a woman’s silhouette. The image showed a huge LEGO Disney castle, half-assembled. That was the birthday gift Ethan had bought for Emma six months ago. It had been gathering dust in a corner of his study. Now it was appearing on someone else’s living room carpet. The woman named Mia had posted it with a caption: “This guy is so clumsy. Took him all night just to finish the foundation.” Posted at 2 AM today. At that time, Emma had just finished surgery and was in so much pain she couldn’t sleep, calling for her daddy. And he was building blocks with another woman. I took Zach’s phone and looked at that SnapChat account. I said nothing and returned the phone to him. “Sweetie, that one got dirty. We don’t want it anymore.” I wiped Emma’s tears. “Mommy will buy you a new one.” After soothing Emma to sleep, I opened my computer again and got to work. Ethan had always thought that over the past six years, all I’d learned was how to cook and take care of children. He didn’t know that I had set up the smart home system in the house, and all the device logs were automatically uploaded to the cloud. I hit enter. A long string of data streams appeared on the screen. Last night at 1 AM, the smart speaker in the study had a wake record. An audio recording played automatically. “Ethan, this castle is too hard. I don’t want to play anymore.” It was a young woman’s voice, coquettish and syrupy. Then came Ethan’s voice, with a patience and indulgence I’d never heard from him. “Try one more time. When we finish building it, I’ll take you to the Maldives.” “What about your wife? If she finds out you gave me the gift meant for your daughter, won’t she make a scene?” “She only thinks about the kid now. She won’t even notice these things.” The recording cut off abruptly. For six years, I’d managed the household impeccably, helping him transform from a small startup owner into today’s tech mogul. In the end, in his words, I’d become the frumpy housewife who only knew how to serve the child.

The next day, I processed Emma’s discharge and didn’t return to our former home. I quickly rented an apartment through an agency, close to Emma’s kindergarten. During this time, Ethan didn’t contact me, and naturally didn’t ask about our daughter either. Later, I received a photo from Mia. In the background, she was wearing a men’s silk robe, taking a mirror selfie. I recognized it immediately. I’d bought it for Ethan last month. Now it was on Mia, the collar open wide, revealing red marks on her collarbone. Below the photo came a message: “Mr. Carter said this robe was too dowdy, but it fits me perfectly, so I’m keeping it.” I was peeling an apple for Emma. My knife didn’t stop. I replied with two words: “Keep it.” Less than a minute later, my phone rang. When I answered, Mia’s voice came through. “Did you get the photo?” “Mr. Carter was so tired last night, he’s still not awake.” I put the phone on speaker and set it on the nightstand, continuing to cut the apple. “Do you need something?” Mia seemed irritated by my calm, her voice rising several pitches. “Mr. Carter said he’s been putting up with you for a long time. Coming home every day to see your face, he feels no desire at all.” “Not like me. I make him feel young again, like he can still climb higher.” I handed the cut apple to Emma, my tone flat. “Is that so? I already signed the agreement.” “Anything else?” The other end went silent for a moment. Then she played her trump card. “Sophia, since we’re getting divorced anyway, I might as well tell you.” “I’m already pregnant with Mr. Carter’s child.” “I have the ultrasound right here. It’s a boy.” “All of Mr. Carter’s assets will belong to my son in the future.” So this was why Ethan was in such a hurry to divorce. “Congratulations, then.” I hung up and immediately blocked her number. Emma was munching on her apple, her cheeks puffed out, looking up at me. “Mommy, who was that?” “Insurance salesperson.” I stroked her head. “Eat up. When you’re done, Mommy will take you for your checkup.” After settling Emma, I went downstairs. Adrian was already waiting there. He wore a gray hoodie, holding a can of iced Coke. When he saw me, he handed over an access card. “What you asked for.” It was a visitor card with the highest access privileges to Ethan’s company. I took it and slipped it into my pocket. Then I handed him a USB drive. “This is the countermeasure patch for the core architecture of Carter Enterprises.” Adrian took the USB drive, looking at me with a complex expression. “You’re really going through with this?” I watched the traffic in the distance. “The core logic hasn’t changed. It’s just a backdoor.” “Once you plug it in, you can close or open the backdoor whenever you need to.” Adrian was silent for a moment before pocketing the USB drive. “Also, help me look into someone,” I said. “Mia, Ethan’s personal assistant.” Soon, a file arrived on my phone. “Rachel Mendez, worked as an escort for two years, infiltrated Carter Enterprises three months ago.” I looked at the file, my eyes stopping on the last line. Medical records showed she had blocked fallopian tubes. Permanently infertile. The pregnancy was fake. Naturally, carrying a son was also fake. I put away my phone and turned to go downstairs. “Thanks.” Adrian called out behind me. “There’s a ransomware virus going around in the industry lately. Several major companies have been hit.” “I’m not asking you to help Ethan.” “I’m reminding you that this is exactly what he needs right now. You’re holding another card.” I didn’t stop, waving back at him over my shoulder. “Got it. Let him deal with it.”

Seeing that Emma had recovered well, I took her back to the villa. That was the home we’d lived in for six years. As soon as I walked in, I saw the entryway piled with packing boxes. Several movers were carrying things out, and Mia stood in the center of the living room directing them. “Don’t want that sofa, it’s too old.” “Take down the curtains too. Replace them with blackout ones.” She had completely taken on the role of mistress of the house. Seeing me, she raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, I thought this old furniture was an eyesore, so I had people deal with it first.” I ignored her and walked straight to the children’s room. The room was empty. Emma’s little bed, bookshelf, and toys were all gone. Even the drawings Emma had made on the walls had been painted over with stark white paint. Emma stood frozen in the doorway, her little hand clutching my clothes tightly. “Mommy, where are my drawings?” Mia walked over and leaned against the doorframe. “Those messy scribbles were too dirty, so I had them painted over.” “This will be the nursery from now on. Of course it needs to be clean.” I turned around and looked at her. “Does Ethan know you’re doing this?” Mia laughed lightly. “Mr. Carter said from now on, I’m in charge of this house.” “Besides, they’re just some broken drawings. What’s the big deal?” Before she finished speaking, the sound of brakes came from the doorway. Ethan strode in, his expression dark. Seeing the chaos inside, he frowned. “What’s going on?” Mia put on a wronged expression and approached him. “Ethan, I wanted to make the house warm and welcoming for our baby. Ms. Hayes doesn’t seem too happy…” Ethan’s eyes showed impatience. “Sophia, since you’re leaving anyway, don’t make a fuss over such small things.” “I’ll have someone buy Emma a new set of art supplies later.” I looked at these two people, suddenly feeling that even the air in this villa had become foul. “No need.” I crouched down and picked up Emma. “We don’t need charity.” “As for this house, keep it.” I turned with Emma and walked away. Passing through the entryway, I saw a photo album on top of one of the packing boxes. It was Emma’s growth record from the past five years. I’d taken every single photo myself. Now it had been thrown there. I reached out and took the album, dusting it off. Ethan called out behind me. “Next Monday morning, courthouse to get the certificate. Don’t be late.” I didn’t turn around or stop. I carried my child out through the villa’s front door. Behind me came Mia’s saccharine voice. “Ethan, what color should we get for that sofa?” Sitting in the taxi, Emma buried her head in my arms, sobbing quietly. “Mommy, does Daddy not want us anymore?” I stroked her hair, watching the scenery fly past outside the window. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Adrian. “Sophie, Carter Enterprises has a new system launch next week, at the hotel across from the courthouse.” “I heard Ethan invited all the investors. Planning a big celebration.” I replied with one word. “Okay.” What a coincidence, everything was happening next week. My and Emma’s new life would also begin next week.

Twenty-ninth days later, Emma developed a fever. The medicine didn’t bring it down. She was delirious, calling for her daddy. I called Ethan. The phone rang once before being hung up. Immediately, an auto-reply text popped up: In a meeting, will contact you later. I casually opened Ins. Mia had posted something ten minutes ago. They were drinking at a private club. I silently liked it, then tossed my phone aside and put a cooling patch on Emma’s forehead. That night, I didn’t sleep. Near dawn, Adrian sent me a message. “Someone bought Carter Enterprises’ system vulnerabilities on the dark web.” “The attack is scheduled for when the Carter Enterprises launch begins.” If this were six years ago, I would have immediately opened my computer to help him patch the vulnerabilities. But now, I only replied with one word. “Fine.” Adrian replied instantly. “If you need me to coordinate anything, just say the word.” I took Emma’s temperature. The fever had broken. “That’s Carter Enterprises’ asset. Nothing to do with me.” At seven, I woke Emma and dressed her. Today I had to go to the courthouse to finalize the divorce. No time to take her to kindergarten, so I had to bring her along. Before leaving, Zach called. “Ms. Hayes, Mr. Carter asked me to remind you not to forget your documents.” “He’s having an early meeting at the company, then heading straight to the courthouse.” “Got it.” I hung up and checked the documents in my bag. Everything accounted for. I took Emma’s hand. Emma looked up at me. “Mommy, where are we going?” “To take care of something important.” Outside the window, the city was just waking up. Rush hour traffic was jammed below the building. I led my daughter into the crowd, not looking back at the high-rise behind us.

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