Exactly one week before my destination wedding in Ireland, my best friend suddenly called me. “Eve, is the wedding in Ireland or Iceland?” I froze for a second. “Ireland, of course.” The moment the words left my mouth, she erupted into cheers. “I won!” “I knew Eve definitely hadn’t noticed the wedding location was changed to Iceland! Don’t forget my prize!” A soft, low chuckle came over the line. Liam took the phone. “Eve Carter, you are really something. We’re getting married in a week, and you didn’t even know the location changed!” “Hurry up and change your flight, or are we just not getting married anymore?” The call ended abruptly. I stood perfectly still, my hands and feet turning to ice. Last month, they bet on how long it would take me to notice that my wedding dress had been changed to the vintage, Victorian style Chloe loved so much. Six months ago, they bet on whether I would notice that the heirloom emerald bracelet—the one Liam’s family passed down to their daughters-in-law—was being worn by Chloe. And now, they were even using my wedding location as a wager. I picked up my phone. I didn’t change my flight to Iceland. Instead, I pulled up an old, deeply buried text thread and typed a reply. “One week from today. Wedding in Ireland. Are you still in?” This time, it was my turn to make a bet. Let’s see how long it takes them to notice the groom has changed. … I closed my messages. My wedding planner had just sent me a photo. It was the welcome portrait for the wedding reception. In the photo, Chloe was wearing a stunning, vintage Victorian wedding gown, smiling brightly at Liam. And I was standing off to the side in a drab gray hoodie, adjusting the train of her dress. Like a maid. My phone rang. The planner’s voice was tinged with deep guilt. “Miss Carter, I am so, so sorry. Mr. Sterling explicitly forbade me from telling you about the location change…” “Just now, he ordered me to replace your couple’s welcome portrait with this photo. He said he made a bet with Miss Chloe to see how long it would take you to notice.” “But this is honestly going too far. Anyone who didn’t know better would think this is Mr. Sterling and Miss Chloe’s wedding. You really need to talk to him and have it changed back immediately…” I stared at the screen, at the way Liam and Chloe’s fingers were tightly intertwined. I said softly, “There’s no need to change it. Just use that one. Whatever Liam wants for the wedding, just do it.” “Wait, what? Are you sure… alright, then.” The planner sounded extremely hesitant, but didn’t push the issue. I hung up the phone and pulled out the original proposal for the Irish wedding. The pages were covered in dense, meticulous notes. From the specific church to the exact variety of flowers in my bouquet. I had confirmed every single detail myself. A month ago, when I was reviewing the final plans, Liam had actually teased me: “What? Are you worried Chloe and I are making another bet? Relax. A wedding is a massive deal. I couldn’t bear to let you suffer any grievances on our big day.” At the time, my heart had felt so warm. Plus, I was drowning in work trying to wrap up a massive tech project, so I really hadn’t checked in on the wedding plans since. I never imagined that every single grievance I suffered would be handed to me directly by him. I picked up a pen and struck a heavy line through the groom’s name on the proposal. Stroke by stroke, I crossed it out. And wrote down a different name. Just as I finished, the study door was pushed open. “What are you doing?” Liam wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin in the crook of my neck. Like a giant, affectionate golden retriever. I waved the wedding proposal in the air, using the momentum to slip out of his embrace. “The groom’s name was wrong. I was just fixing it.” “How could the groom’s name be wrong?” He froze for a second, reaching out to take the proposal. But in the very next moment, a phone buzzed. His extended hand naturally changed course, picking up his phone from the coffee table. It was a voice memo from Chloe. “You lost the bet, so you have to pay up. No backing out.” Liam laughed softly and typed back a simple, “Okay.” When he looked back at me, he held out a Cartier LOVE bracelet. “Do you like it?” I looked down at it, slightly dazed. That bracelet had been sitting in my online shopping cart for almost a year. Every time I looked at it, I couldn’t bring myself to spend the money. I never expected he had actually noticed. “Thank you.” I pressed my lips together and whispered my gratitude. But before any warmth could even begin to spread through my chest, my left ring finger suddenly felt cold and empty. “Since you like it, I’m going to borrow this diamond ring for a bit.” Seeing my stunned expression, he smiled and kissed the back of my hand. “Chloe won the bet about the wedding location, remember? The prize was this ring.” He paused. “Don’t worry, I’m just letting her play with it for a bit. I’ll definitely give it back to you on our wedding day.” The living room lights hit Liam’s face. In a daze, his features slowly morphed into the face of the man from four years ago. He had pointed to the engraving on the inside of this very ring, smiling like an idiot. “Love of my life, Eve. It’s not just a ring. It represents how deeply and profoundly I love you.” But it turns out, his love was something that could be casually loaned out. I gave a soft, quiet laugh. “You don’t need to give it back.” Keep the ring. And keep the man, too.

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I opened my mouth, fully intending to say yes. But in the next second, a series of text messages flashed across my vision like a live chat feed. [Do NOT agree.] [She just administered the wrong medication. The patient in bed 7 had a severe allergic reaction and is already gone.] [She’s not asking you to cover her shift; she’s asking you to take the fall for a homicide.] I looked down at the blank night shift log in front of me. She was just waiting for me to sign my name at the bottom. Brenda was still crying softly. “It’s just for the rest of the night. Please don’t be so heartless. I’m begging you.” I slowly pulled my hand back. “Either you take me to see the patient in bed 7 right now for a bedside handoff…” “Or I’m calling the Charge Nurse to find your replacement.” Brenda froze, clearly not expecting me to say that. “Chloe, are you doing this on purpose? Are you really going to make this difficult for me?” Her voice dropped, and her eyes turned cold. “If you don’t want to help while my daughter is burning up at home, fine. But why drag the Charge Nurse into this?” I put my bag back into my locker. “If you want me to take over your night shift, we have to do a bedside handoff for the critical patients, and the Charge Nurse has to approve it.” She gritted her teeth. “Do you know what time it is? Everyone is asleep. You want me to wake them all up just to do a handoff? Do you think the ER isn’t chaotic enough?” “I didn’t say we have to wake everyone up. Just the priority patients in your section.” “I need to know their current status.” Brenda immediately replied, “It’s all in the system.” “What are their temperatures right now?” She hesitated. “How am I supposed to remember every little detail?” “But you just said you checked on them.” The tears on Brenda’s face seemed to freeze. She quickly recovered and grabbed my arm. “Chloe, I don’t have time to argue with you about this.” “Just log into the nursing system, and I’ll send you voice memos with the rest of the details on my way home. You’re a grown woman, can’t you watch a few beds for the rest of the night?” I looked down at the stack of papers in her hand. On top was the shift handover sheet. Beneath it was a blank night shift log. The time column was empty. The signature line was empty. My heart skipped a beat. “Brenda, you want me to fill out all the logs?” She looked away. “Just fill them out while you’re at it. You’re taking the shift anyway, so rounds and paperwork are your responsibility.” “No.” “Why are you being so inflexible?!” she suddenly raised her voice. A head poked into the locker room. It was Sarah. A new doctor who had just been transferred to the ER this year. “What’s going on?” Brenda looked at her like a savior and immediately started crying out loud. “Sarah, please tell me I’m not crazy.” “My daughter has a 104-degree fever, and I just asked Chloe to cover for me for a few hours.” “She won’t help me, and now she’s demanding a detailed handoff and checking everything.” Sarah’s look towards me changed instantly. “Chloe, are you really being this petty at a time like this? Brenda’s kid is sick.” I said, “It’s not about being petty. There’s a protocol for covering shifts.” Sarah sighed. “Protocols are just guidelines. We’re people. You know how crazy the ER gets; we all have to help each other survive.” Brenda wiped her tears and tried to shove the papers into my hands again. “Chloe, have I ever treated you badly?” “When the family in bed 2 yelled at you last time, didn’t I step in? When you first started and didn’t know the med carts, didn’t I show you the ropes?” With every word she spoke, I felt myself growing colder. The chat feed flashed across my vision again. [She’s trying to guilt-trip you using the past.] [Don’t let her manipulate you.] [Ask about bed 7. The moment you mention bed 7, she’ll panic.] I looked up. “Brenda, can you take me to see bed 7 right now?” The expression on Brenda’s face completely sank. “No.” The fluorescent lights at the nurse’s station were blindingly white. The noise had woken up a few patients in the observation area. The family member for bed 9 poked his head out: “Can you nurses keep it down? My mom just fell asleep.” Brenda immediately seized on this. “Did you hear that? Chloe, you’re making a scene and waking everyone up.” Sarah frowned too. “Exactly. Brenda could have just handed over the shift quietly and left, but you had to blow things out of proportion.” I ignored them and walked straight toward bed 7. Bed 7 was at the end of the hallway. The curtain was drawn tight, and the blanket was pulled up over the patient. I had barely taken two steps when Brenda blocked my path. “What are you doing?” “Going to check on bed 7.” “I told you he’s asleep.” “The more you try to stop me, the more I need to see him.” Her face turned pale, but her voice grew louder: “Chloe, what is your problem?! The patient finally managed to get some sleep, and you’re hell-bent on waking him up.” This caught the attention of several family members nearby. The old man in bed 3 sat up and yelled: “What’s all this yelling about? It’s the middle of the night, let people sleep!” A surgical resident came out of the adjacent trauma bay, frowning: “What is going on out here at the ER nurse’s station?” Sarah immediately spoke up: “Brenda’s kid is sick and she asked Chloe to cover her shift. Chloe refused and now she’s trying to pull the blankets off the patients. She’s waking everyone up.” The surgeon gave me a look. “It’s just a temporary favor. Hand it over quickly and stop arguing in the ward.” Marta from the pharmacy came up to drop off meds and overheard. She rolled her eyes: “Young people today are so calculating, always terrified of taking responsibility. Brenda’s kid is burning up, and she won’t even help her out.” I stood there, feeling eyes on me from every direction. Brenda cried even harder. “Please, everyone, stop. My kid is waiting for me at home. Chloe, if you don’t want to help, just say so. Don’t bother the patients.” She held out the stack of papers again. “Just sign the log, and I’ll leave right now.” The chat feed scrolled rapidly. [Don’t touch it.] [She wants you to sign it to prove you took the shift.] [She’s not worried about waking bed 7 up; she’s terrified you’ll find out the patient is dead.] My fingertips went ice cold. I sidestepped her and continued toward bed 7. Brenda lunged and grabbed my arm. Her nails dug into my flesh. “Don’t go over there!” This startled even Sarah. “Brenda?” As if realizing she had overreacted, Brenda quickly let go. “I… I just didn’t want you to scare the patient. The family for bed 7 is difficult; who’s going to take the blame if they complain?” “I’ll take the blame.” I picked up the phone at the nurse’s station and dialed Dr. Evans. Dr. Evans was the attending for bed 7, and he happened to be on call in the outpatient building tonight. The phone rang for a long time before he answered. “Chloe? What is it?” I stared at Brenda and said, “Dr. Evans, there might be an anomaly with bed 7 in observation. Could you come check on him right now?” Brenda’s face drained of color. “What are you talking about?!” I continued: “Brenda needs to leave for an emergency and asked me to cover her shift, but she’s refusing a bedside handoff and won’t let me check on bed 7.” There was a second of silence on the other end. Dr. Evans’ voice was instantly alert. “I just finished a code. I’ll be right there.” I hung up and called the Charge Nurse, Lisa. No answer the first time. Still no answer the second time. I dialed the hospital’s main on-call line. Brenda lunged over to hang up the phone. “Chloe, are you crazy?! You’re trying to ruin me!” I dodged her. “If bed 7 is fine, what are you so afraid of?” She glared at me. Her eyes were like daggers. Charge Nurse Lisa called back ten minutes later. During those ten minutes, Brenda didn’t leave. She didn’t let me get near bed 7 either. She stood in front of the curtain like a brick wall. Sarah whispered to me, trying to persuade me: “Chloe, just let Brenda go. Dr. Evans is on his way, right? If you keep her here and something happens to her kid, what are you going to do?” I said, “I’m not keeping her here. I’m just reminding her that until the handoff is complete, she’s still the primary nurse.” Brenda immediately started crying and yelling, “Did you hear that? She just wants to trap me here!” By now, the hospital’s internal chat groups were buzzing. Someone had posted about the incident at the nurse’s station to the main hospital group. “A fight broke out in the ER. Brenda’s kid has a fever and Chloe won’t cover her shift.” “Chloe? The quiet one?” “The quiet ones are always the hardest to deal with.” “Brenda is so nice; what’s the big deal about helping her out once?” “They’re waking up the patients. So unprofessional.” Sarah showed me her phone screen. “Look, everyone thinks you’re going too far.” I looked at the screen. My heart felt like it had been dunked in ice water. I didn’t try to explain. Seeing my silence, Brenda changed her tone. Her voice was hoarse. “Chloe, I know you like to do things by the book. How about this: I’ll owe you one for the rest of the night. Whatever day you want off next week, I’ll cover your entire shift.” I shook my head. She gritted her teeth. “I’ll Venmo you a hundred bucks right now. Okay? I’m not buying your help, I just feel bad.” I looked up at her. “Brenda, don’t send anything. Money just complicates things.” Her face contorted. “What exactly do you want from me?! My kid is waiting for me!” “I want to wait for Dr. Evans and the Charge Nurse.” “By the time they get here, my kid’s brain will be fried from the fever!” “Then you can call 911 to your house right now.” She froze. “What?” “You said your daughter has a 104-degree fever and is in danger. I’ll call an ambulance for you.” Her eyes darted nervously. “No need, I live close by, I can just go home.” “Then video call your family so we can see the child. If we confirm it’s an emergency, the Charge Nurse can authorize someone to cover for you.” Brenda went completely silent. The chat feed scrolled by. [Her daughter doesn’t even have a fever tonight.] [She won’t make that video call.] [The harder she pushes, the more you have to hold your ground.] Sarah, however, was getting agitated. “Chloe, now you’re just being insulting. Her child is sick; not only are you refusing to help, but you’re demanding video proof?!” “I’m just helping her prove it’s a legitimate emergency.” “Save it!” Sarah’s voice grew louder. “You’re just cold-blooded. Brenda has always been so good to you, and you have zero humanity.” She turned to Brenda: “Brenda, I’ll cover it. I’m not a nurse, but I know the protocols.” Brenda’s eyes lit up. “Sarah, really?” Sarah straightened her posture. “Really. You go home; your kid is more important. I’m not like some people.” Brenda immediately shoved the handover sheets toward her. I reached out and stopped her. “Sarah, you can cover. But wait until the Charge Nurse approves it, do a bedside handoff, don’t sign any blank logs, and don’t log into the system to accept the shift.” Sarah slapped my hand away. “Do you think everyone is as cold-blooded as you are?” Brenda urged her: “Just take it for now. The patients are sleeping heavily, don’t bother checking on them. Just log into the system later, and I’ll text you what to write.” “Okay.” Sarah took the stack of papers. She shot me a pointed look. “I see exactly who you are today, Chloe.” I didn’t try to stop her again. Some people aren’t blind to the trap; they just think they look good standing on the edge of it. Charge Nurse Lisa finally called back. She sounded annoyed: “It’s the middle of the night, what’s going on?” I briefly explained the situation. She was silent for two seconds, then said, “Stop arguing, I’m on my way.” The twenty minutes waiting for Lisa and Dr. Evans felt like an eternity. Brenda alternated between crying and cursing. She called me heartless. She said I was making a mountain out of a molehill. She complained that her job was keeping her from going home to her sick child. She threatened that if anything happened to her daughter, she would never forgive me. Sarah stood beside her like her defense attorney. “Chloe, do you realize you’re not just holding up Brenda, you’re disturbing the entire ward’s rest?” The family member for bed 8 couldn’t take it anymore, ripping the curtain open and yelling: “Can you take your argument outside?! My dad has a heart condition and he can’t sleep with all this noise!” Brenda immediately covered her face. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t begged Chloe for help, I wouldn’t be waking everyone up.” It was a brilliant performance. Every word was an apology. Every word placed the blame entirely on me. The family member for bed 8 predictably turned his ire toward me. “Young lady, her kid has a fever, what’s the big deal about helping her out? Aren’t you nurses supposed to help each other?” I said, “I’m not refusing to help; I’m insisting on a proper handoff.” “I don’t want to hear it. All I know is you’re making a racket and the patients can’t sleep.” The surgeon walked by again, frowning. “Are you still at it? The ER isn’t a fish market.” Marta from the pharmacy posted in the group chat: “Watching this is chilling. Brenda is sobbing her eyes out, and Chloe is standing there like a stone.” I took a screenshot. Brenda saw what I was doing and suddenly lunged to snatch my phone. “What are you doing?! Are you trying to get me cyberbullied?!” I took a step back. “I’m just saving chat logs that mention my name.” “You’re just feeling guilty!” Her voice was so shrill it almost cracked. “You’re too scared to help me, and now you’re terrified of what people will say!” The chat feed scrolled. [Don’t argue. Save the evidence.] [She’s trying to provoke an emotional outburst from you.] [The doctor and Charge Nurse are almost here; she’s panicking.] I took a deep breath. “Brenda, I’ll say this one more time.” “If you really need to leave, you can wait for the Charge Nurse to sort it out.” “If you can’t wait, then let Dr. Evans check on bed 7.” She instantly positioned herself even more firmly in front of the curtain. “No!” Everyone was startled by her outburst. Sarah asked quietly, “Brenda, why not? The doctor is here; let him take a look and we can all relax.” Panic flashed in Brenda’s eyes, quickly replaced by more tears: “You don’t believe me either? Sarah, do you really think I’d harm a patient?!” Sarah immediately looked uncomfortable. “That’s not what I meant.” “Then don’t push me!” Brenda leaned against the curtain for bed 7, her entire body trembling. She kept repeating, “He’s asleep, he’s really asleep. Keep it down, don’t wake him. Don’t wake him up.” I stared at the curtain. My heart sank heavier with every passing second. It was too quiet over by bed 7. Other patients were waking up, tossing, turning, coughing, and complaining. But there hadn’t been a single sound from bed 7. At 2:47 AM, the elevator doors opened. Lisa and Dr. Evans rushed out. Lisa’s hair was messy, and her face darkened the moment she saw me. “Chloe, what are you doing?” Brenda acted as if she had finally found her protector, rushing over in tears. “Lisa, my daughter has a fever and I just wanted Chloe to cover for me for a bit.” “She refused, and then she claimed there was something wrong with bed 7 and insisted on calling a doctor, waking up the patients.” “Can you just authorize her to cover my shift so I can go?” Dr. Evans assessed the situation without a word and walked straight toward bed 7. Brenda quickly moved to block him. “Dr. Evans, the patient just fell asleep, he’s really fine. Please don’t wake him, he has a bad temper and he’ll yell at us.” Dr. Evans frowned: “Move.” Brenda kept rambling: “He’s really fine. Chloe is just targeting me. She didn’t want to help so she made up an excuse…” Even Lisa was starting to realize something was wrong. “Brenda, let the doctor take a look.” Brenda’s face was ashen. She shook her head. “Don’t look.” Dr. Evans didn’t waste any more time. He reached out and pulled the curtain back. The patient in bed 7 was lying there. The blanket was pulled up to his chest, his face turned toward the wall, completely motionless. Dr. Evans leaned over. Then, he reached out and pulled the blanket back.

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The day before college orientation, my online boyfriend told me he was playing dice with his frat brothers and accidentally lost me in a bet. Before I could even process what that meant, he added me to a massive group chat with over a hundred people. The group description had just been updated: [Congrats to Carter for winning a 200-pound girlfriend!] Immediately after, a photo from my high school days was dropped into the chat. In the photo, I was wearing an oversized, baggy hoodie. I was so overweight you couldn’t even see my neck. The chat instantly exploded. “Holy shit, that’s not a girlfriend, that’s a human boulder.” “A bet’s a bet! Carter has to do the couple’s challenges with her tomorrow night.” Quickly, someone started taking actual bets. They were betting on whether I would actually dare to show up tomorrow night. My online boyfriend dropped a thousand dollars, betting I wouldn’t show. “Sorry, bro.” “You rolled the dice, and you won her.” The guy named Carter never said a word. Instead, the girl everyone had already crowned as the incoming freshman class queen bee suddenly tagged me: “@Sierra, you’re definitely coming tomorrow night, right?” I watched the notifications multiplying by the second and smiled. No one knew. To prepare for our first real-life meeting, I had already dropped from two hundred pounds down to a hundred. And no one knew that in the past two months, I had been asked for my number more times than in the first eighteen years of my life combined. I quietly put down three hundred dollars. Betting that I would show up exactly on time. Then, amidst the chorus of jeers and mocking messages, I sent a single text. “A bet’s a bet.” … I stared at the group description for a solid ten seconds. [Congrats to Carter for winning a 200-pound girlfriend!] It was followed by three firecracker emojis. With over a hundred people in the chat, the messages were flying by in a blur. “Rolling a six for the kill! Liam took a massive L on this one.” “What loss? He just dumped a tank. Massive win, if you ask me.” “@Carter, come on man, give us a victory speech.” Then, that photo was dropped into the chat. It was taken during my sophomore year track and field day. Back then, I weighed nearly two hundred pounds. My hoodie was stretched tight across my body as I sat in the very back row of the bleachers, looking down and eating a bagel. The person who took the photo was clearly far away. But no matter how blurry it was, it couldn’t hide my shockingly large frame. The person who posted the photo was my online boyfriend. Liam. Just one minute ago, he was still sweet-talking me in our private DMs. “Baby, it’s just a joke between the guys.” “I lost a game and had to give Carter your Snap. Just play along with the couple’s challenges. Don’t take it seriously.” I didn’t reply. The group chat was dying of laughter. “Dude, with that build, Carter’s gonna need a U-Haul to pick her up tomorrow.” “What were the couple’s challenges again? A bridal carry? That’s gonna send Carter straight to the ER.” “Might as well change it to lifting a minivan. Probably easier.” Liam sent a facepalm-laughing emoji. “Take it easy, guys. Don’t make her cry.” It looked like he was defending me, but in reality, he was grinding my face further into the dirt. My fingers went cold. We had been dating online for eleven months. When he had insomnia, I stayed up all night playing games with him. When he lost a tournament, I comforted him from midnight until dawn. When he was stressed before finals, I sent him a voice memo every single day to cheer him up. I even made sure to put Miami University as my absolute top choice. Because he said: “Sierra, let’s go to the same college.” “When orientation starts, I promise I’ll be waiting for you with flowers.” And yet, the day before orientation, he used me as a gambling chip and handed me off to someone else. The betting pool quickly gained traction. [Betting on whether Sierra will show up to the freshman party tomorrow night.] The odds kept climbing. The pot for me not showing up had already surpassed three thousand dollars. Liam dropped a thousand right then and there. “No way she shows.” “She’s too shy. She cries if you even look at her wrong.” I finally laughed out loud. So he knew I would cry. And he still gathered over a hundred people, waiting to watch me do it. Just then, a new message popped up. Chloe: “Guys, stop being so mean to her. There’s nothing wrong with being a little chubby, as long as she has a good heart.” She was the undisputed queen bee of the incoming freshman class. A couple of days ago, she posted a set of beach photos—white dress, long hair—and the comments were flooded with hundreds of guys drooling over her. She tagged me. “@Sierra, you’re coming tomorrow night, right?” It looked like she was trying to defuse the situation. But she immediately followed it up with: “Everyone is just joking around, really. Please don’t let your appearance make you insecure.” The chat instantly filled with praises of “Chloe is so pretty and sweet.” I didn’t rush to reply. Instead, I clicked the betting link. Three hundred dollars. Betting that I would show up exactly on time. The chat went dead silent for two seconds, then exploded with a wall of question marks. Liam DM’d me immediately. “Are you crazy?” “These guys are brutal. Why the hell are you going to show up?” I looked at myself in the mirror. Long hair cascading over my shoulders. A waist so narrow it looked like it could be spanned by two hands. My facial features, once completely buried under layers of fat in high school, had fully defined themselves, striking and undeniably sharp. In the past two months, I had been asked for my number twenty-seven times—at the mall, on the subway, at the gym. A talent scout even cornered me for half an hour, asking if I was interested in modeling for commercials. Liam knew absolutely none of this. Because I wanted to save the best version of myself for the day we finally met. But looking at it now. He didn’t deserve that surprise. I wiped away a tear that hadn’t even had the chance to fall, and typed four words into the group chat. “A bet’s a bet.” The next second, Liam called me. I didn’t answer. He called three times in a row, then finally sent a string of voice memos. “Sierra, can you stop throwing a tantrum?” “Those are the rules of the game. I lost. You’re temporarily paired up with Carter. Just finish the three challenges tomorrow night and it’s over.” “We’re all going to be classmates. Don’t embarrass me.” I laughed out of sheer disbelief. He treated me like property to be given away, and then blamed me for embarrassing him. I clicked on the group file. The so-called “couple’s challenges” consisted of three items. First: Feed each other a piece of cake in front of everyone. Second: Hold hands for a photo and post it in the main freshman group. Third: The guy has to hold the girl in a bridal carry for ten full seconds. People in the chat were already holding a mock funeral for Carter. “Who came up with number three? That’s attempted murder.” “Carter is 6’2″, but even he can’t bench press two hundred pounds.” “It’s fine. He lost a game, now he’s just gonna lose a couple of vertebrae.” The guy named Carter hadn’t said a single word since the beginning. His profile picture was just a black square, and his feed was completely empty. But everyone in the group seemed to be low-key terrified of him. They were quick to mock me, but when they tagged him, it was always just harmless teasing. No one actually dared to pressure him to respond. I was just about to close the app when my best friend, Maya, FaceTimed me. The second I answered, she exploded. “Sierra, does Liam have his brain shoved up his ass?!” “Betting his girlfriend away to his frat brother? What does he think this is, hot potato?!” I paused. “How do you know?” “Screenshots from that group are already floating around our high school alumni chat!” Maya paced back and forth across the screen, fuming. “The guy who posted the photo? I’ve already memorized his name. The second we get to campus, I’m throwing a potato sack over his head. You’re on lookout duty.” I couldn’t help but laugh. Seeing me laugh only made her feel worse for me. “What are you going to do? Just drop a current selfie and shut them all up?” “No.” “Why not?” I opened my closet, letting my eyes sweep over the dresses hanging inside. “What’s the point of a photo?” Photoshop, stolen pics, AI filters. If they don’t want to believe it, they’ll find a hundred excuses not to. I wanted them to see it with their own eyes. I wanted them to regret it with their own eyes. Maya instantly understood, her eyes lighting up. “You’re actually going?” “Yeah. I already put down three hundred bucks.” “Hell yes!” She slapped her desk. “You’re not just going. You’re going to show up looking so incredible they all lose the ability to speak.” “Didn’t Liam bet a thousand you wouldn’t show? Take his money first, then make him trend for being the biggest idiot on campus.” Just then, there was a knock on my door. My mom walked in carrying a plate of sliced fruit. She saw the dresses laid out on my bed and paused. “A party tomorrow?” “Yeah.” She hesitated for a few seconds, asking carefully, “Are you meeting that boy you met online?” I went silent. For Liam, I had spent an entire year losing weight. At my most desperate, I was eating nothing but a few lettuce leaves a day. I would get stomach cramps from the hunger at night and had to clutch a hot water bottle just to fall asleep. Eventually, my bloodwork came back a mess, and a nutritionist forced me to stop the extreme dieting. That’s when I started proper portion control and strength training. Two hundred pounds. One hundred and seventy pounds. One hundred and thirty pounds. And finally, ninety-nine pounds. My mom had helped me replace my entire wardrobe seven different times. She had seen me step onto the scale countless times, my eyes red, terrified to cry. She knew exactly how much I had been looking forward to tomorrow. But she didn’t know that my anticipation was already dead and buried. My mom set the fruit plate down. Before she left, she gently stroked my hair. “Sierra, no matter what anyone says, whether you’re skinny or not, whether you’re pretty or not, you will always be my precious girl.” The moment the door clicked shut, my nose burned. My phone buzzed. In the group chat, Carter had finally appeared. He ignored all the jeering and sent a single, short message. “She is not a betting chip.” The chat instantly went dead silent. A few seconds later, he tagged me. “If you don’t want to come tomorrow, you don’t have to.” Liam popped up immediately. “Carter, man, it’s just a game. Don’t take it so seriously.” Carter didn’t respond to him. I stared at the words “She is not a betting chip,” and for the first time, I clicked on his profile. For some reason, something about him felt… familiar. Liam and I met playing a competitive online game. I was a senior in high school, weighing two hundred pounds. The guys in my class called me “The Double-Door Fridge.” The girls pretended not to be involved, but they would suddenly lower their voices and giggle whenever I walked past. Once, during P.E., we had to run the 800-meter. I came in dead last, panting so hard I almost passed out. The boy I had a massive crush on was standing near the finish line. He took two steps back in disgust. “Don’t fall on me.” “It’d be like an earthquake. Who could even catch you?” The entire class burst into laughter. That night, I hid in the game, completely silent, not wanting to say a single word. That was when Liam added me. After he heard my voice over the mic, he wouldn’t stop asking. “Your voice is so sweet. Are you sure you aren’t a professional voice actor?” We started playing duos regularly. He would turn on his mic and defend me when random teammates got toxic. “It’s just a game. Why are you screaming at a girl?” He would stay up and talk to me when I was upset. “Who says being chubby is a bad thing? It’s cute.” “Sierra, no matter what you look like, I’ll always like you.” I believed him. Because of his “no matter what you look like,” I actually felt, for the very first time, that maybe I was worthy of being liked. Until six months ago, when he accidentally stumbled onto an old, linked social media profile of mine. It had my high school name and my real name. After that, he became noticeably distant. We used to send dozens of texts a day; soon, it dwindled down to just “good morning” and “good night.” I asked him what was wrong. He said he was stressed about finals. Thinking back on it now, it had absolutely nothing to do with stress. It was obvious he had found my photos. But he didn’t break up with me right away. Because I could help him rank up in his games, I could help him with his study notes, and I was always there to comfort him when he was having a meltdown. He couldn’t bear to throw away such a useful emotional dumping ground. So he dragged it out until the day before college started, and used a game of dice to neatly, “honorably” kick me to the curb. My phone rang again. This time, I answered. Liam’s tone was incredibly impatient. “What’s the deal with you and Carter playing tag-team in the group chat?” “He defended me for one second. How is that playing tag-team?” “You think a guy like him defends a girl for no reason?” Liam sneered. “Don’t think just because you have a nice voice, you can actually hook him. Carter’s standards are even higher than mine. If you show up, you’re just going to humiliate yourself.” I went quiet for two seconds. “So, you think I’m not good enough for you?” “That’s not what I meant.” “Then why did you bet a thousand dollars that I wouldn’t dare show up?” He choked on his words. After a moment, he spoke, his voice dripping with frustration. “Fine. You want the truth?” “Sierra, I know what you actually look like now.” “Dating online was fine, but in the real world… we just aren’t a match.” “Don’t blame me. It’s just human nature for guys to like pretty girls.” “The fact that I didn’t just block and ghost you is me trying to save your dignity.” Gripping my phone, that last, lingering trace of dull pain in my chest finally went ice cold. “Wow. Thanks. That’s so incredibly classy of you.” Liam completely missed my sarcasm, his tone softening a bit. “Just don’t come tomorrow. I’ll send you the three hundred you bet.” “Chloe is going to be there. Standing next to her is only going to make you look worse.” I asked slowly, “Are you guys close?” The line went dead silent. “Don’t overthink things. There’s nothing going on between us.” I laughed. It looked like tomorrow’s party was going to be even more entertaining than I thought.

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I was the second to last person to know about my husband’s affair with my best friend. Our mutual friends were already taking bets on whether I would ask for a divorce. “Elena would never leave him. Liam makes way too much money!” “Honestly, it’s her own fault for being such a doormat. Otherwise, how could someone else steal his attention so easily?” “Hey, Liam, aren’t you going to say something? Is your wife going to divorce you?” My best friend was sitting on Liam’s lap, laughing as she kissed him. “I doubt Elena will divorce him. She’s practically a parasite. She wouldn’t dare.” Liam raised an eyebrow, stubbed out his cigarette, and suddenly pulled her in for a passionate kiss. I stood right outside the door, trembling. I suddenly realized they had invited me here on purpose. They wanted to see my reaction. But I was even more of a coward than they imagined. I didn’t even have the courage to walk in. Instead, I pulled out my phone and made a call. The person on the other end was my best friend’s husband. “Sarah’s drunk at the Apex Lounge. You need to come pick her up.” Sarah’s husband, Mark, had a history of violent outbursts. He would definitely be braver than me. “Who is she drinking with?” Mark’s voice over the phone was icy. I replied immediately: “Just some friends. Mostly guys, getting a little rowdy. You should get here as soon as you can.” Mark said “okay” and told me he was on his way. I hung up and turned to leave. Sarah had once proudly told me: “Mark looks like a quiet guy, but he almost killed a man for me once.” “Ever since then, he always carries a knife. Just in case someone tries to mess with me again.” I had barely reached the lounge entrance when my phone rang. It was Liam. His tone was casual and lazy. “You’re already here, aren’t you?” My lips moved, but no sound came out. He continued, “The waiter said you were standing outside for a while. So you heard everything?” His voice was gentle, but the words were incredibly cruel. I let out a soft “mm-hmm.” Liam chuckled. “Coward.” It was true. Everyone knew I was a coward. Back in high school, I just followed Liam around like a shadow. If he hadn’t protected me, I probably wouldn’t have even made it to college. “You’re really not going to come in? Are you that scared? “Playing make-believe is boring.” I could hear people cheering and laughing wildly in the background. Then, Sarah took the phone. Her voice was cheerful. “If we knew you were this terrified of losing him, we wouldn’t have tried so hard to hide it. “But doing all those things behind your back… it was such a rush. “I got to test-drive your husband for you. He’s pretty amazing in every department. I think I’ll keep him.” “Sarah, if you keep going, she’s going to cry.” “Liam, aren’t you going to comfort her?” Someone chimed in again. This time, Liam spoke with a rare seriousness: “Stop it. If she cries, I’ll have to deal with it later. “Elena isn’t like you guys. She’s easy to please. Don’t bully her.” He took the phone back, his voice becoming clearer. “Where are you? The bathroom? I’ll come find you. It’s hard to get a cab around here.” I glanced down the hallway and saw him freeze for a moment, holding his phone. He hung up when he saw me. Liam looked satisfied, even taking a twisted kind of pleasure in the situation. He walked over to me and ruffled my hair. “She’s not like you. You’re the official Mrs. Sterling. Why are you crying? “Alright, alright. I’m not going to divorce you.” His tone was patronizing, like a master soothing a pet. Just then, Sarah stumbled out of the room, holding her head. She staggered and fell perfectly against Liam’s chest. Liam immediately wrapped an arm around her waist, his hand resting on her bare skin. Sarah tilted her head against his chest and lazily opened one eye to look at me. “Liam, my head hurts. They made me drink too much. “Take me home. Elena knows everything now, so there’s no point hiding it. “She won’t mind, right?” She looked right at me as she said the last two words, her eyes full of blatant provocation. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Mark, asking for the exact address of the lounge. I sent him my location. After sending the message, I looked up and stared at Liam. “What if I do mind?” Liam looked a bit conflicted. He tried to push Sarah away, but she clung to him like mud. “We’ve done it so many times already. Why are you playing the gentleman now?” She laughed and looked back at me. “Didn’t you say it yourself? Elena just lies there like a dead fish in bed. Zero passion!” She was speaking to Liam, but her eyes were fixed on me. Liam shot me a nervous glance. “I was just joking. Just playing around.” I dug my nails into my palms and let out a light “oh.” “Then I’ll go with you to take her home.” “Excuse me?” Sarah asked in disbelief. I looked at them both with steady resolve. “Didn’t you say your head hurts? Liam and I will take you home.” I grabbed her arm stubbornly, forcing her to lean on me instead of him. Liam was taken aback for a second, then seemed amused by my reaction. He reached out and tapped my nose. “Well, look at that. Finally getting a little jealous? It’s good to see some fire in you.” His actions and words were intimate, acting as if nothing had changed. It made me sick to my stomach. But I didn’t let it show. Back in high school, the school bully’s girlfriend had cornered me in the bathroom and cut up my clothes. I had looked exactly like this back then. Liam was the one who warned her off. He frowned, stared at me for a long time, then took off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. “You need to show some spine,” he had said. That girl never came back to school after that. Liam thought it was his doing. He didn’t know that when she and the bully were making out behind the bleachers, her father had caught them. And I was the one who led her father there. She was forced to transfer schools, and naturally, she never had the chance to bully me again. I liked having Liam play the hero, so I never told him the truth. “But I booked a hotel room… who said I was going home?” Sarah’s voice pulled me back. She blinked innocently, her eyes full of triumph. She looked at Liam. “Don’t you want to come? But bringing Elena along might be a little awkward.” Liam looked back and forth between us. Before he could say anything, I spoke up: “Liam. Let’s go home.” I stared at him, softening my tone. Right in front of me, Sarah wrapped her leg around his, staring at him intensely. “I brought that outfit you wanted me to wear last time to the hotel. If you miss it tonight, I’m never wearing it again.” Liam’s pupils dilated, his interest clearly piqued. “Elena, you go home first.” He finally gave his answer. My eyes welled up with tears. “Are you sure?” He nodded, then frowned. “Be good. Unless you want a divorce.” I took a deep breath. Even breathing hurt my chest. Sarah scoffed. “Did you really want to stay and watch? That seems a bit too cruel, even for you.” I stayed silent. She suddenly leaned in and whispered in my ear: “Do you know when our first time was? “It was when you had your miscarriage. You were in the hospital, and we were in your bed. “Elena, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll divorce him.” I started shaking uncontrollably. That was my first baby with Liam. I had hoped for it for so long and took such careful care of myself, but I still lost it. While I was in the hospital, Liam kept saying he was busy with a project. I got through it all alone. So that was it… I stared at Sarah. “Why would you do this?” “Liam is a goldmine, and he’s gorgeous. A guy like him is rare. “Someone was going to snatch him away from you eventually. It might as well be me. “I’ve been wanting to ditch my husband anyway.” I checked the time. Mark should be here in about ten minutes. “Will he just let you go? Didn’t you say he has a terrible temper? That he almost killed someone? Aren’t you afraid?” At the mention of Mark, Sarah’s tone lost some of its bravado. “He’s an idiot. All muscle, no brains. If I crook my finger, he’ll do whatever I want. “Worst case scenario, I’ll trick him into a divorce. He’s just as gullible as you are.” She acted so nonchalant, completely dismissing Mark. “What if he catches you cheating?” A flicker of fear crossed Sarah’s eyes, but it vanished quickly. “He won’t find out. He’s probably out doing deliveries right now. “I trained him like a dog. You wouldn’t understand.” I sneered internally and subtly glanced at my phone. It was a message from Mark: [I’m almost there.] I suddenly didn’t want to let them off so easily. I wanted to see the mad dog bite. So, I looked at Liam with a pathetic expression. “I’ll wait for you in the hotel lobby. When you’re done, we can go home together. Please?” I played the role of the desperate, subservient wife perfectly. Surprise flashed in Liam’s eyes. “Why are you acting like this… am I really that indispensable to you?” Sarah immediately snapped, “Elena, how can you be so pathetic?! “After everything, you’re still throwing yourself at him? What do you even get out of this?!” I ignored her, looking at her like she couldn’t possibly understand. “If it wasn’t for Liam in college, I wouldn’t have known what to do. “He paid my living expenses for all four years, and he’s supported me ever since. “Sarah, I can’t survive without him.” It was true that Liam was incredibly good at making money. By the time he was twenty, he had a significant amount of assets. He made millions while still in college. With him, I never had to worry about money. That’s how I was able to get my master’s degree and eventually my Ph.D. Sarah was speechless, her face turning dark with anger. Liam looked at her with annoyance. “Don’t talk to her like that.” He added, “I told you before, keep Elena out of our business. “And I’m never going to divorce her to marry you. Are you getting other ideas?” Sarah’s expression changed instantly. She quickly tried to appease him: “That’s not what I meant. I just didn’t want her to ruin the mood.” “I won’t!” I shook my head quickly. Liam looked exasperated. “Baby, this is the last time. I promise I’ll treat you well from now on, okay?” I nodded contentedly. “Okay, I believe you.” Liam’s gaze lingered for a moment. “Silly girl. What would you ever do without me?” Without him? I would inherit everything, of course. We got into Liam’s car. Another message from Mark came through. [I’m here. Which room are you in?] I looked up just in time to see a flash of yellow rushing toward the lounge entrance, only to be stopped by security. Mark looked furious and agitated, practically on the verge of losing control. I quickly replied: [I’m so sorry, Sarah drank way too much. I’m taking her to a hotel to sober up first. Just meet us at the hotel.] After sending the message, I turned to Liam. “Do you really have to do this? Liam, I’m giving you one last chance. Let’s keep things civil.” Sarah scoffed. “If you can’t handle it, don’t pretend to be so understanding.” Liam frowned. “I already told you, this is the last time. Besides, you couldn’t leave me even if you tried.” “Okay,” I said. “I won’t cause a scene.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a new message from Mark: [Thanks. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.] Liam drove fast. We arrived at the hotel in fifteen minutes. “We’re here. Do you want to come up and watch? You could even try on my outfit. “Though I doubt you could pull it off.” Sarah provoked me again, her eyes sweeping over my chest. I ignored her and looked at Liam. “I’ll wait for you downstairs. “But I know the manager here. Can I come with you to the front desk while you check-in?” Liam looked slightly moved for a second. “You really are made of putty.” I smiled bitterly. “What can I say? I love you too much.” Liam sighed. “Let’s go.” Sarah tried to say something else, but Liam shot her a warning look. “Elena is my wife. I have to show her some respect in front of others.” Sarah stomped her foot in frustration but could only watch as Liam and I handled the check-in. I walked them to the elevator. As soon as they stepped inside, Sarah threw herself into Liam’s arms. I turned my head away, looking heartbroken. I waited until the elevator stopped on the 7th floor before heading back to the front desk. “Could I get another key card? “My husband just went up, but I need a card to use the elevator.” The receptionist handed me a spare key card immediately. Just then, Mark rushed through the revolving doors, panting heavily. Our eyes met. I smiled. “You made it. I just grabbed a key card.” I sighed heavily. “Sarah and my husband just went up together. Let’s go.” Mark’s face visibly changed color.

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After working late, I walked past a local barbecue spot. The owner flashed me a sweet smile: “Hey! Add me on Instagram, I’ll give you a discount.” I smiled back, scanned her QR code, and followed her. As I sat down to order, I idly scrolled through her feed. [Summer is never too hot when you’re here.] Below the caption was a photo of two hands tightly intertwined. I scrolled down a bit more, and a comment made my heart skip a beat. The account I had saved as “Husband” had replied: “I never feel tired when I’m with you.” I stared at that familiar profile picture for a long, agonizing moment, then instinctively looked toward the kitchen. And there he was. Julian Sterling—always so aloof, so impossibly arrogant—standing there in a plain tank top, sweating profusely as he grounded himself setting up the grill. When the girl next to him wiped the sweat from his brow and handed him a bottle of water, his face softened into a look of absolute, profound tenderness. A look I used to know so well. Only this time, his eyes were meant for someone else. A bitter, acidic ache churned in my chest. So this is what it was. While I was being tortured by his icy, silent treatment to the point where I wished I were dead… He was out here hiding his identity, playing house and pretending to be in love with another woman. I opened our chat. [Julian, let’s get a divorce.] I pressed send, and the tears finally fell. At this exact moment, I decided I was done torturing myself in this marriage. … “Julian, why did you come out here?” Just as Chloe finished speaking, Julian walked out of the kitchen, his face completely expressionless. He affectionately ruffled the girl’s hair. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I have something to handle.” “You go inside and keep busy, okay?” The pale, harsh light of the streetlamps washed over him, blurring the edges of his silhouette. For a second, I thought I was looking at the twenty-two-year-old Julian. The year we were so broke we had to run a street stall just to survive. Back then, he treated me with that exact same desperate tenderness. But when my vision cleared, the eyes looking back at me held nothing but absolute, chilling indifference. Just like our marriage over the past eight years. “Who told you to follow me?” A harsh accusation. That was always the very first thing he said to me. I smiled bitterly and looked down. “If I said it was a coincidence, would you believe me?” Julian fell silent for a long moment, as if he were genuinely trying to figure out if I was lying. “I don’t care what you’re scheming, but leave Chloe alone. She’s not like you.” I slowly raised my head, meeting his warning glare. “At least she’s not like you. Selling out your own marriage and giving up your dignity just for a business project.” I opened my mouth, desperate to explain. But for eight years, he had never, ever wanted to hear what I had to say. He only ever wanted to use me to vent the agonizing pain of feeling betrayed. A bitter taste flooded my throat. The second he turned to walk away, I finally called out: “Julian.” He stopped. My grip on my purse tightened until my knuckles turned white. “I said, I want a divorce.” The moment the words left my mouth, I felt as if an unbearable weight had been lifted off my entire being. For eight years, I tried absolutely everything. I cried, I screamed, I even showed up at his corporate office to corner him. But even the time I held a knife to my own wrist, he wouldn’t spare me a single glance. Julian was like an ancient, immovable glacier. Chloe was the sun that melted him, stripping away his defenses in an instant. But me? In his world, I wasn’t even a flickering candle. After all these years, I was just so incredibly tired. Julian turned back to look at me, a cold sneer playing on his lips. “Is this the newest trick you’ve come up with to get my attention?” “Serena, you should just give it up. Since you sold yourself to the Sterling family back then, I will never let you escape that easily.” He pulled out his phone, making a call. Within minutes, my best friend, Maya, along with several of our mutual friends, rushed to the scene. “Did she cause a scene with Chloe?!” They hopped out of their cars and jogged over to the curb. The very first thing out of their mouths wasn’t a question about me or Julian. It was frantic concern over whether Chloe was okay, and whether I had harassed her. In that single moment, my entire world shattered into a million pieces, only to violently piece itself back together. It took me a very long time to find my voice. “You all… knew about this?” Maya frowned and walked toward me, casually grabbing my purse out of my hands. “Of course we knew. We were just terrified you’d find out and go crazy. So every time Julian came here to be with Chloe, we took turns taking you out for coffee to ‘talk about your feelings’ and run interference.” My freezing fingertips twitched slightly, just to confirm I was still alive. Tears welled up in my eyes again. “Why?” So, for the past few years, every time they listened to me pour my heart out about my agonizing marriage… They weren’t comforting me. They were protecting Chloe. “Serena, you’re the one who wronged Julian in the first place. You getting what’s coming to you now… isn’t that just karma?” “You literally betrayed your own fiancé for money. Do you honestly think any of us would ever dare to be real friends with someone like you?” My eyes burned violently. But it wasn’t like that! It wasn’t like that at all! Why did everyone only ever believe Julian?! Maya exchanged a quick look with Julian, then practically dragged me toward her car. “You should be thanking Julian he didn’t absolutely destroy you. He even asked us to drive you home so you wouldn’t get into an accident.” “Compared to Chloe, you are literally the dirt beneath her feet.” As I got into the car, my legs were shaking so badly I could barely stand. I felt completely unmoored. The city lights blurred past the window in a dizzying flash. My phone buzzed. I opened it to find a message from Chloe: [Hey. I know he’s your husband now. I’m breaking up with him.] Maya, who was driving, slammed on the brakes. She must have received the news that Chloe was breaking up with him, too. She immediately ripped the wheel into a U-turn and drove me straight to the secret little apartment they had all spent three years protecting. The second I walked through the door, I heard the sound of things smashing. A jade bangle hit the floor, shattering instantly, the broken pieces rolling right to my feet. I recognized that bangle. I had casually mentioned wanting it for my birthday last year. But Julian had just glared down at me with absolute contempt. “Serena, how thick is your skin that you actually have the nerve to ask me for a birthday present?” I had shaken my head frantically, trying to explain that the bangle held a special meaning for us. It was the solemn promise Julian had made to me back when we were both at rock bottom. But now, he had given that bangle to someone else. And that promise of “loving you for a million years” was given away right along with it. And now, Chloe had smashed it into pieces. Julian didn’t look angry in the slightest. He just kept stepping closer to Chloe, coaxing her with an incredibly soft voice: “Chloe, I can explain everything to you. Please, just calm down first, okay?” In that exact moment, a tightly wound string inside my heart quietly snapped. Eight years of silent, agonizing psychological abuse. I used to think that as long as I acted crazy enough, Julian would eventually have to look at me. But even when I used my own life as a threat… He acted like he didn’t see a thing. But now, Chloe had merely smashed a piece of jewelry, and Julian’s face was etched with sheer, unadulterated panic. He was terrified she might accidentally hurt herself. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to care. It was just that the person he cared about hadn’t been me for a very long time. “Julian! You explicitly told me you only loved me! Why would you trick me into being the other woman?!” Tears streamed down Chloe’s face. Her eyes held the same absolute, fiery resolve I used to have. “Chloe, you’re not, please just listen to me…” Chloe completely ignored him, slamming her bedroom door shut and locking it from the inside. Julian rubbed his temples, looking utterly exhausted. When he finally looked at me, his eyes weren’t dead and indifferent anymore. They were filled with disgust. “Serena, you really are a master at taking my peaceful life and churning it into absolute toxic garbage.” “You did it eight years ago, and you’re doing it today.” He smirked sarcastically, muttering something under his breath that I wasn’t supposed to hear: “And the worst part is, I can’t even do anything to you…” I closed my eyes. I slid the divorce papers I had prepared a long time ago across the table to him. “Julian. If you divorce me, she’ll stop being angry.” He didn’t move. He just stared at the document for a very long time, then slumped back onto the sofa. “Is this what you wanted?” I looked at him, confused. “What?” “First you track down Chloe and drop the truth bomb on her, and then you use her emotional breakdown to force me into a divorce. That was the plan, right?” I frowned, opening my mouth to deny it. But he suddenly stood up and stalked over to me, his physical presence overwhelmingly intimidating. “Serena, you aren’t going to get away with this.” I stumbled backward until my spine hit the cold, hard wall. Only then did he go back to the sofa and light a cigarette. “Once I calm Chloe down, you will go back to being the perfect Mrs. Sterling. Do not interfere with anything else.” I scrunched my brow, my vision blurring with tears. My voice was hoarse as I demanded: “Julian, what is the point of hurting two women at the same time?!” “There is absolutely no love left between us! Why are you clinging to this?!” The second I finished speaking, his hand—mid-way to flicking the ash off his cigarette—froze. He stared at me intensely. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, Chloe suddenly opened her bedroom door. “Julian…” We both looked over. Chloe’s face was deathly pale, the tear tracks still fresh on her cheeks. But her legs were covered in blood. It was pooling on the floor, and she was still actively bleeding. “Chloe!” Julian’s face drained of color. He crushed the cigarette, sprinted over, and scooped her up into his arms. The group of friends swarmed around them, rushing her to the nearest hospital. Before I left, I called a moving company and sent Julian a single text message. [Remember to sign the divorce papers. I’m moving out tomorrow.]

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Julian Vance has a severe obsession with order and punctuality. When we got married, he set an absolute rule: If any argument lasted longer than ten minutes, he would walk away. He wouldn’t waste a single extra second on it. But on our wedding anniversary, because my morning sickness was so severe, I arrived at the boarding gate exactly three minutes late. When I looked up, Julian had already ordered the flight crew to close the cabin doors. In First Class, Chloe Sterling was sitting in my seat. This was the fourth time. Whenever I was even a step behind, he gave my place to Chloe. The first time, security took two extra minutes, so he flew Chloe to the Maldives instead. The second time, my ultrasound ran five minutes long, so he took Chloe to the luxury hot springs resort I had booked for us. The third time, I was dizzy from nausea and walked downstairs ninety seconds late. His car sped off, taking Chloe away and leaving me behind. “You’re always late. I can’t just let the seat sit empty and go to waste.” I stood alone in the desolate airport terminal when a tearing pain suddenly ripped through my abdomen. My hands shook as I dialed Julian’s number. Busy signal. I dialed again. Busy signal. On the third try, it finally connected. “Chloe is getting a little airsick. I can’t leave her right now. Call 911 yourself.” I stared down at the glaring puddle of red pooling at my feet and let my phone drop to the floor. Julian, your perfectly scheduled life never has a single minute to wait for me. So this time, it’s my turn to leave you behind forever. … By the time the ambulance arrived, I couldn’t string a complete sentence together. The paramedics cut open my blood-soaked pants and lifted me onto the stretcher. A nurse gripped my wrist. “Where is your family? How many weeks pregnant are you? Any underlying conditions?” “Eleven weeks. My family is on a plane.” “What’s the father’s name? Can you contact him?” I closed my eyes. “Don’t bother contacting him. He can’t leave right now.” My phone rang again. Julian’s name flashed on the screen. I stared at it for two seconds before answering. “Serena, did you actually call an ambulance?” His voice was hushed. In the background, I could hear Chloe’s weak, delicate voice asking, “Julian, did something happen to Serena? Should we turn the plane around? I can just endure the nausea.” Julian’s tone was flat. “She’s an expert at blowing minor things out of proportion. Just lie back down.” Then, to me, he asked: “The airport clinic could have easily handled whatever is wrong. Why did you have to call an ambulance? We’ve already taken off. We aren’t turning around for you.” My abdomen cramped violently again. I bit my lip, waiting for the wave of agony to pass. “The doctor said… I’m at risk of a miscarriage.” The line went dead silent for two seconds. “Are you seriously using the baby to threaten me again?” “Serena, you were the one who was late. If I scramble my schedule every single time you mess up, everyone will think my time is worthless.” In the past, terrified of inconveniencing him, I would have desperately tried to explain that it wasn’t on purpose, that my stomach really hurt. But now, watching the nurse continuously swap out blood-soaked gauze… I suddenly lost the strength to speak. Chloe’s sickly-sweet voice drifted through the receiver: “Julian, don’t be mad. Pregnant women are just emotionally sensitive. She probably just wants you to coax her a bit.” Julian’s voice grew even colder. “I don’t have the time to entertain these jealous tantrums.” “If you get admitted, keep the receipts. I’ll reimburse you when I get back. Don’t call me again. Chloe is airsick and needs to rest.” He hung up. I checked the time. Exactly ten minutes. The nurse looked at me, hesitating, wanting to say something but holding back. I pressed the phone screen into my palm. “Could you put it on silent for me, please?” By the time the examinations were over, it was dark outside. The doctor laid the report in front of me. “Threatened miscarriage, with bleeding at the edge of the placenta. You are on strict bed rest. No traveling, no stress.” “Can you save the baby?” “There’s still a heartbeat, but there are no guarantees. Can your family come tonight?” I shook my head. The doctor frowned. “It’s highly inadvisable for you to be alone right now. If there’s heavy bleeding, press the call button immediately.” Just then, the hospital room door was pushed open. Julian’s assistant walked in, dragging Julian’s suitcase. He pulled out a cashmere shawl. “Miss Sterling left this at the airport. Mr. Vance is worried it might be chilly on the flight back. He said since you’re close to the airport, you should wash it and drop it off at the dry cleaners.” The doctor’s face darkened. “She almost just had a miscarriage, and you’re telling her to run errands?!” The assistant looked embarrassed. “Mr. Vance said Mrs. Vance is used to handling these things. And it has to be delivered before 9 AM tomorrow. Miss Sterling needs it for the return flight.” Right then, the assistant’s phone rang. Julian’s voice came through the speakerphone. “Did you drop it off?” “Yes, sir. But the doctor said Mrs. Vance is on strict bed rest.” “Then she can order a courier. Serena, don’t drag your feet on purpose. Chloe needs that shawl.” I handed the shawl back to the assistant. “Take it. I have no obligation to babysit her things.” Julian’s tone was indifferent. “What are you throwing a fit about now? It’s just a shawl.” I touched my lower abdomen, which was still throbbing with dull pain. My voice was so soft I could barely hear it myself. “You’re right. So it doesn’t matter if it gets thrown away.” As the assistant reached for the shawl, a prenatal record book slipped out of the suitcase and hit the floor. The name printed on the cover was Chloe Sterling. And right at the bottom, printed clearly, was: 8 Weeks Pregnant. “Chloe is pregnant?” I flipped open the record book. A sonogram was tucked inside. The assistant’s face turned pale. He reached out frantically to grab it back. “Ma’am, this is Miss Sterling’s private medical information!” “Why is her private medical information in my husband’s suitcase?” “Mr. Vance just accompanied her to the appointment.” The phone was still connected. Julian spoke, his voice icy: “Chloe hasn’t been feeling well lately, so I took her to the hospital to get checked out. She isn’t married, and she didn’t want anyone to know. Don’t go running your mouth.” I stared at the date on the sonogram. It was the exact same day as my very first prenatal appointment. That day, Julian had promised to go with me. But when we arrived at the hospital entrance, he told me Chloe’s car had broken down and told me to go in alone. I waited in line for four hours. When I finally came out with my scan, his phone was turned off. It turned out that in the exact same hospital, he had been walking another woman through all her appointments. I asked: “Whose baby is it?” “That is none of your business.” “You are my husband.” Julian’s patience snapped. “That’s exactly why I’m telling you to stop interrogating me.” “Serena, you already have a child. There is absolutely no need to harbor so much hostility toward a girl who has no one else to rely on.” “I simply asked whose baby it is.” Chloe, sounding as if she had just woken up, spoke in a tiny voice: “Serena, please don’t misunderstand! There is absolutely nothing going on between Julian and me. I just didn’t want my family to find out, so he’s keeping it a secret for me.” “So where is the father?” She fell silent for a moment, then suddenly started sobbing softly. Julian immediately lowered his voice to comfort her. “It’s okay. If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to.” When he spoke to me again, his tone was nothing but pure irritation. “Are you done interrogating her? She’s pregnant. She can’t handle this kind of stress.” I looked at my own diagnosis report sitting by the bed. We were both carrying a child. When Chloe frowned, he was terrified she was stressed. When I lay bleeding in a hospital bed, he only remembered to order me to wash her shawl. “Julian. I can’t handle stress either.” “You’re perfectly fine, aren’t you?” The second the words left his mouth, both ends of the line went dead silent. I didn’t argue anymore. For the very first time, I was the one who hung up. It was the afternoon of the next day before Julian finally returned. He didn’t come to the hospital first. He took Chloe home to rest. It wasn’t until 7 PM that he pushed open my door, carrying a takeout container of porridge. “Chloe said you probably didn’t have much of an appetite, so she asked me to bring this for you.” I glanced at the packaging. It was Chloe’s favorite seafood porridge. And I am deathly allergic to shrimp. “Put it down.” He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes scanning my pale face. “What did the doctor say?” “Bed rest to save the pregnancy.” “Tomorrow night is the Vance family banquet. We were originally going to announce your pregnancy. Since you aren’t physically up to it, Chloe will attend in your place.” I stared at him. “She’s going to act as Mrs. Vance for me?” Julian tucked the blanket around me, his tone unusually gentle. “She’s just taking your seat. Focus on recovering. Don’t be so petty over something this trivial.” The next second, he pulled an authorization form out of his briefcase. “Sign this. Tomorrow night is the official announcement for the AeroLounge project. Since you can’t be there, we’ll temporarily list Chloe as the Chief Designer. We’ll change it back after the press conference.” My fingers dug into the paper. AeroLounge was my late mother’s unfinished manuscript. It was a project I had poured two entire years of my life into completing. “Why can’t you just announce my name?” “Your absence at the press conference will shake investor confidence. Chloe has a great image, and she can actually be there. She’s a better fit right now.” “That is my design.” “I know.” He pressed a fountain pen into my hand, his thumb gently resting against the back of my hand. “We’re just borrowing her name. Don’t be unreasonable.” I pulled my hand away. “I won’t sign.” The gentleness vanished from Julian’s face. “Serena, the company isn’t a playground for your tantrums.” “You already disrupted the flight schedule because you were late. Chloe is willing to step up and clean up the mess, and you’re still throwing a fit?” He smoothed out the authorization form on the table. “Have it signed by 9 PM. My assistant will come pick it up.” I watched his back as he turned away. “What if I don’t sign it?” Julian paused at the door. “All the R&D files for AeroLounge belong to Vance Corp. If you don’t sign, I still have the absolute authority to decide who presents it.” He knew exactly how much blood, sweat, and tears I had poured into this project. I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms, and finally said the words: “Let’s get a divorce.” Julian’s footsteps halted. When he looked back, his eyes were full of mockery. “Serena, there’s a limit to how far you can push a jealous tantrum. Don’t start a fire you can’t put out.” His tone was full of absolute certainty. Just like every other argument we’d ever had, he was certain I could never actually leave him. But this time… I was truly, utterly exhausted. As soon as the door clicked shut, the nurse walked in holding a lab report. “Family of Serena Vance? Her vitals are dropping again. She needs 24-hour supervision.” Julian glanced at his watch. “I promised Chloe I’d have dinner with her at eight. I can’t be late.” I looked at him. For the very last time, my voice trembling: “So she’s more important than I am.” “We aren’t doing anything dirty, if that’s what your twisted mind is thinking.” The last shred of patience disappeared from Julian’s face. His voice was freezing cold. “Chloe is punctual, graceful, and knows how to prioritize the big picture. If her father hadn’t traded his life to save mine, she wouldn’t be all alone in the world.” “When are you finally going to grow up and be as understanding as she is?” With that, he sidestepped the nurse and strode out the door. I had heard that speech so many times. Chloe’s father was a pilot for the Vance family. Ten years ago, during a catastrophic mechanical failure, he suffered fatal injuries to protect Julian. Since then, Julian made it his personal mission to take care of Chloe. If she wanted the passenger seat, he made me get out of the car. If she needed a flight, he left me stranded at the airport. If she wanted my position, he would tell me it was just compensation for what she’d lost. There was a time when I truly tried to understand him. But understanding someone shouldn’t be a free pass for them to trample all over me over and over again. Half an hour later, the nurse came in to process my room transfer. As I was wheeled from my private suite into a cramped, six-bed ward, the Vance Corp project launch was broadcasting live on the TV. Chloe was wearing my custom gown, standing proudly in front of the cabin model I had designed. The host smiled and asked, “Miss Sterling, I hear this is a gift you designed for your unborn child?” Chloe gently rested a hand on her stomach, smiling shyly. “You could say that. Julian helped me revise it so many times. He said our child deserves the safest skies in the world.” The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Someone shouted out, asking if wedding bells were in their future. Julian didn’t deny it. He simply adjusted the microphone for Chloe and said calmly, “The fact that she’s standing here today is the best answer I can give.” Thunderous applause echoed through the screen. The other patients in the ward turned to look at me. “Isn’t that your husband?” “That girl next to him must be his real wife. She’s even pregnant.” I reached for the remote to turn the TV off, but my hands were shaking so badly I missed the button three times. The older woman in the bed next to me reached over and turned it off for me. She whispered, “Don’t watch it, sweetheart.” My phone buzzed with a message from Julian. “The launch was a huge success. If you just cooperate, things don’t have to be this ugly.” Attached was a digital copy of the authorization form. My signature was already perfectly forged in the signature box. I called him immediately. “Who forged my signature? This is illegal.” “The process can’t stop just because of you. Chloe signed on your behalf. Once you calm down, I’ll have legal draft the official paperwork.” My abdomen tightened painfully. “Stop the press conference. Issue a public correction right now.” “Do you have any idea how much Vance Corp would lose if I stopped it now?” “That was my mother’s dying work!” “Which is exactly why I’m maximizing its value for you.” He paused, softening his tone slightly. “Stop throwing a tantrum. I’ll come see you tonight. Text my assistant whatever you want to eat.” My chest ached hollowly. He always did this. He actually believed that throwing me a few pathetic crumbs of affection could magically erase every brutal indignity he put me through. Suddenly, Chloe gasped over the phone. “Julian! I think I just felt the baby kick!” Julian’s voice was instantly filled with urgent panic. “You’re only eight weeks, the baby shouldn’t be kicking yet. Are you in pain? I’m taking you to the hospital right now.” He didn’t even bother hanging up. I listened to his frantic, hurried footsteps fading away, then placed my phone on the nightstand. A nurse rushed in holding a chart. “Serena, your contractions are escalating rapidly. Call your family to sign the surgical consent form immediately.” Through the phone, I heard a car door slam shut. Julian murmured something comforting to Chloe. And then, the line went dead. I stared at the black screen. My voice was dead calm. “Change the procedure. Prep me for an abortion.” “If we can’t reach a family member, the patient will have to sign for herself.” The attending physician handed me the consent form. “The hemorrhaging is worsening. We will do absolutely everything to protect the mother, but we have to prepare you for the worst-case scenario.” I was in so much agony I couldn’t even grip the pen. The nurse steadied my wrist. “Do you have any other relatives you can call?” My parents passed away years ago, and after getting married, I quit my design studio. The number of people in my life had dwindled down to almost zero. I scrolled desperately through my contacts and finally dialed Ethan Hayes. He was the very first investor in the AeroLounge project—and the man Julian had aggressively pushed out of the team three years ago. He picked up on the first ring. “Serena?” “Ethan… could you please come to the hospital?” He didn’t even ask why. “Send me the address. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” By the time Ethan arrived, I had already been wheeled into the critical observation room. He asked from the other side of the privacy curtain, “Where the hell is Julian?” “At an ultrasound appointment with Chloe.” “You’re pregnant too, and he just left you here alone?!” The doctor pulled the curtain back. “Family member, please do not agitate the patient. We desperately need a specific imported coagulant. The hospital pharmacy is out, but there are two vials left at a nearby branch. We need someone to go get them immediately.” Ethan grabbed the slip of paper and sprinted out the door. Lying in the bed, I heard the nurse making one final attempt to call Julian. “Mr. Vance, your wife’s condition is critical. Please come to the hospital immediately.” “I’m already at the hospital.” The nurse paused. “Which department are you in?” “Obstetrics, third floor.” “Mrs. Vance is in the fifth-floor emergency observation ward.” There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line. Chloe’s tearful voice filtered through. “Julian, you have to go. I can wait for the ultrasound alone. Even though the doctor said I almost fell earlier and it might affect the baby… Serena is more important right now.” Julian immediately snapped, “Don’t move.” Then, to the nurse: “Just follow your standard protocols. Send whatever paperwork needs signing to my phone. I’ll authorize it remotely.” “Mr. Vance, some situations require face-to-face communication.” “I’ll be there before 10 PM.” “She might not make it to 10 PM.” Julian’s voice turned incredibly cold. “Is this how your hospital operates? Fear-mongering? She had enough energy to scream at me over a project this morning, and now she’s suddenly ‘critical’? That’s a little too convenient.” The nurse was so furious she slammed the phone down. At 8:40 PM, the hemorrhaging suddenly intensified. After a rapid examination, the doctor’s face drained of color. “Fetal heart rate is dropping. We’re operating right now.” As I was being wheeled toward the operating room, Ethan still hadn’t returned. My phone slid off the corner of the blanket, the screen lighting up. Julian had sent me an itinerary. [9:00 AM – Chloe’s ultrasound.] [9:30 AM – Drive her home.] [10:00 AM – Arrive at your room.] [Stop rushing me. No one is going to ruin my schedule just because you’re throwing a tantrum.] I stared at that final sentence, reached out, and pressed the power button, plunging the screen into darkness. Right before the anesthesia was administered, the doctor asked me: “One final confirmation. Has a family member been notified of the abortion procedure?” I signed my name. “Confirmed.” As the surgical lights glared down on me, I remembered the day I found out I was pregnant. Julian had done the unthinkable—he postponed a board meeting to take me to buy a tiny, silver airplane charm. He said when the baby was born, we’d hang it over the crib. That memory was the only reason I had hesitated so much over the past few months. He had, at the very least, looked forward to this child. I thought that even if he was a terrible husband, he would slowly learn how to be a father. As the anesthesia flooded my veins, I heard the nurse answer the phone outside the OR doors. “Did you get the imported coagulant?” “No. The branch hospital said Mr. Vance’s assistant requisitioned the last two vials ten minutes ago. The stated purpose was ‘preventative care’ for Chloe Sterling.” The doctor violently ripped the OR doors open. “Who authorized that transfer?!” “Mr. Vance stated that Miss Sterling is the lead on a critical corporate project and cannot be exposed to any medical risks.” My fingers curled into fists. So it wasn’t that he didn’t know about those two vials of medication. It was just that, forced to choose between me and Chloe again… he chose her. At exactly 10:00 PM, familiar footsteps echoed outside the operating room. Julian’s voice rang out: “Is Serena still throwing her tantrum?” The nurse looked up at him. “Mr. Vance. At 9:17 PM, the fetal heartbeat stopped.”

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Arthur was driving me to my prenatal appointment when his phone rang. The Bluetooth connected to the car’s speakers, and a woman’s voice filled the silence. “I’m back. Divorce her, okay?” Arthur didn’t say a word. He just casually reached over and hit the “end call” button on the steering wheel. I thought it was a clean, decisive rejection. Until that very night, when his lawyer arrived at our house with divorce papers. Looking at the suppressed emotion in his eyes, I calmly signed my name and asked, “Do you need me to move out tonight?” Perhaps because he didn’t get the hysterical crying he was expecting, a rare flash of pure astonishment crossed Arthur’s usually cold, stoic face. His voice was hoarse when he replied, “No. The deed to this house will be transferred to your name tomorrow.” I nodded obediently. Arthur didn’t know that playing the submissive, understanding victim was the oldest trick in the gold digger playbook. And it works every single time. I looked at Arthur’s sharp, cold features and murmured softly, “It’s late, you should get some sleep. You have an early meeting tomorrow. I’ll sleep in the guest room.” I stood up, ready to leave. As I walked past him, Arthur suddenly grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. His brows were furrowed deeply, his lips pressed into a tight line. He looked confused, but also angry. He asked, “Serena, why aren’t you throwing a fit?” “If I throw a fit, will you not divorce me?” Arthur stiffened. Finally, he said in a low voice, “I’m sorry. I’ll compensate you.” I turned my head slightly, making sure the lighting caught the redness around the corners of my eyes. “Okay. I trust you.” The lights in the living room stayed on all night. By the time we went to the courthouse the next morning to finalize the divorce, the compensation section of the agreement had several new pages added to it. After the paperwork was filed, Arthur did something unprecedented. He reached out, grabbed my hand, stared at my slightly rounded stomach, and said, “Let’s get something to eat.” If this had been the past, I would have been absolutely ecstatic. Arthur was notoriously cold and emotionally unavailable. He had never, ever initiated anything with me. But now, I took a half-step back, lowered my head, and said, “Arthur, that’s not appropriate anymore.” His frown deepened. He clearly wasn’t used to this sudden distance from me. “Serena,” he said, sounding frustrated, “we’re just getting a divorce, we’re not dead to each other. We can still be friends.” I paused, but didn’t respond. After all, three years ago, he told me I wasn’t even worthy of standing in his presence. Seeing my silence, Arthur assumed I agreed. He walked over and personally opened the car door for me. Before today, he had never done anything like that for me. I kept my eyes down. “My morning sickness is really bad. I can’t handle the smell of restaurants.” Arthur froze. It was as if he had just remembered I was pregnant. He muttered another quiet, “I’m sorry.” I nodded, offering a polite, distant smile. “Then I won’t trouble you any further. I’ll be going now.” Arthur’s lips pressed into a thin line, a flash of genuine anger crossing his face. But looking at my swollen, red eyes, he forced it down. “Get in. I’ll drive you home.” This time, I didn’t refuse. Playing hard to get is smart once or twice, but overdo it, and you just look annoying. On the drive back, Arthur kept glancing at me, clearly wanting to say something. I knew exactly what was on his mind. So I spoke up first. “I’m going to get an abortion. I won’t make things difficult for you.” I thought I was being incredibly considerate. But Arthur’s reaction was the exact opposite of what I expected. His face went dark, his jet-black eyes flashing with pure fury. “Serena, do you really want to get rid of my child that badly?!” I was stunned. Arthur was usually a walking iceberg. He didn’t talk much and rarely showed any emotion. Outside of the bedroom, he had never lost control. This was the very first time I had ever seen him direct genuine anger at me. I didn’t argue. I curled my fingers into a loose fist, gently picking at the hem of my shirt, and asked, “I can’t exactly let this child be born with the label of a bastard, can I?” Arthur’s jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped. His lips were a razor-thin line. Everyone in our social circle knew the one thing Arthur despised more than anything else in the world: illegitimate children. In their world, rich men might have a dozen mistresses stashed away, but publicly, they always maintained the facade of respecting and cherishing their legal wives. Because, as the old saying goes, a man who mistreats his wife ruins his own fortune. They always kept up appearances. Except for Arthur’s father. His father was the first in their circle to brazenly bring his mistress and illegitimate son to live in the family home. Shortly after, Arthur’s mother jumped from a high-rise building and killed herself. Growing up, Arthur was abused by his stepmother and ruthlessly bullied by that illegitimate half-brother. Everyone thought he was broken beyond repair. But no one knew he was quietly, methodically gathering evidence. On his eighteenth birthday, he handed a massive dossier over to the FBI, personally sending his own father to federal prison. With the backing of his maternal grandfather, he ruthlessly took over the entire family empire. By twenty, he had absolute control over the company. By twenty-one, the illegitimate half-brother who had bullied him his whole life mysteriously disappeared off the coast of Florida. His body was never found. From that day on, everyone knew exactly what his absolute bottom line was. But right now, Arthur, with a dark, intense look on his face, said almost impulsively, “Serena, keep the baby.” I didn’t answer. Because in the next second, Arthur’s gaze shot past me, through the car window, landing on someone standing outside. I followed his line of sight. Standing outside our front gate was a woman in a white dress. A light drizzle had started falling at some point, dampening her clothes and hair. She looked fragile, delicate, and incredibly pitiful. It only took a fraction of a second for me to guess she was the woman from the phone call. Sure enough, the very next moment, Arthur threw his car door open and sprinted toward her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her fiercely into his chest, holding her like a precious treasure he thought he had lost forever. I thought I had mentally prepared myself for this. But actually seeing it with my own eyes… the pain in my chest was so sharp I could barely breathe. So this is what it looks like when Arthur actually loves someone. In a daze, I watched Arthur walk back toward the car, holding the woman tightly. When he saw I was still sitting in the passenger seat, his brow furrowed, and his voice turned to ice: “Get out.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, pushed the door open, and stepped out. Before I could even find my footing, he slammed the gas pedal, the tires screeching as the car tore down the street, splashing muddy water all over my legs. I stood there in the rain, perfectly calm, watching his taillights disappear. I wiped a mixture of rain and tears from my eyes, and walked into the house. Even though the furniture was exactly the same, the house felt freezing cold. Even the lighting seemed harsh. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in three years. “Hey, Chloe. I have a mansion I need to sell. Do you know any buyers?” The line was quiet for a moment. Then, as if she had instantly connected the dots, she asked, “Divorced?” “Yeah.” “Let’s meet tomorrow. We’ll talk in person.” She hung up, but my nose immediately started to burn with unshed tears. Chloe’s reputation in our social circle wasn’t just bad; it was absolutely toxic. But she was the only person who had ever been genuinely good to me. She was the most notorious gold digger in the city. She didn’t want the man, and she definitely didn’t want love. She only wanted the money. She played the role of a beautiful, empty vase, letting all the trust-fund brats play their games with her. Toss her a designer bag, and she’d hang on your every word. Give her a car or an apartment, and she’d do whatever you wanted. Everyone thought that once she lost her youth and beauty, she’d be tossed aside like garbage. But she shocked everyone by bypassing the sons and going straight for the fathers, hooking a massive, incredibly powerful billionaire. She secretly got pregnant, flew to Europe, and gave birth to his son. Since then, Chloe never had to fake a smile or act like a plaything for anyone ever again. I used to hate her, too. I thought she had no self-respect, didn’t value herself, and was throwing her life into the gutter. I even told her that straight to her face. She just listened, then replied: “There are a lot of ways to climb to the top of this world. But for women, there are really only two: You either become so terrifyingly powerful that men bow to you… or you figure out how to siphon the money right out of their pockets.” “Men control the wealth and power in this world. If you aren’t doing everything in your power to rip it from their hands, and instead you just sit around preaching about ‘self-respect,’ you’re a joke.” “Women need money first. Money gives you a backbone. And once you have a backbone, then you get the power.” I had scoffed at her back then. It wasn’t until I got into a horrible car crash, shattered my leg, and couldn’t even afford the surgery that I realized exactly how important money was. At that moment, there was absolutely no one by my side. I had no choice but to beg Chloe for help. And now, years later, she was still the only person I could turn to. I sat in the coffee shop, a bitter smile on my face. When Chloe walked in and saw the state I was in, she immediately frowned. I opened my mouth to say hi, but she cut me off: “This isn’t the place to talk.” She dragged me to a highly exclusive, private restaurant, booked a soundproof VIP room, and the second the door closed, she asked: “How much did you walk away with?” I handed her the divorce agreement from my purse. Chloe took one look at it and a massive grin spread across her face. “Arthur is surprisingly generous. You get all the real estate under his name, plus a thirty-million-dollar payout. You absolutely hit the jackpot.” I don’t know why, but my eyes instantly welled up, and the tears wouldn’t stop falling. “Chloe, he wasn’t planning on giving me this much.” I had seen the original draft of the agreement. Arthur had offered me one apartment. It wasn’t huge—maybe 1,000 square feet, three bedrooms. Enough for me to live comfortably alone. The cash payout wasn’t bad either: two million upfront, and an allowance of five hundred thousand a year. It was more than enough for me to live a very comfortable life. But to a man like Arthur, that amount of money was literally pocket change. It would have constantly reminded me that in his eyes, I wasn’t worth anything more. And maybe… that wasn’t just my imagination. Chloe didn’t offer any empty comfort as I cried. She just shoved a handful of napkins into my hand. Once I calmed down, she finally said, “Then you’re a genius. Rich people are notoriously stingy. They’re terrified of people coming after their money, especially women. The fact that you managed to squeeze this much blood from a stone like Arthur means you played your cards perfectly.” I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know what to say. The truth is, when I married Arthur, I never, ever intended to take a single dime from him. And Chloe knew that. That’s why, when I legally married him three years ago, she cut off all contact with me. But when those divorce papers were handed to me… I was furious. I was resentful. I couldn’t stomach the fact that after everything, another woman just had to say one sentence on the phone, and I was kicked to the curb. So, my survival instincts kicked in, and I played the game. Chloe seemed to read my mind. She tossed the agreement back to me. “You did the right thing. If you lose the man, you better make damn sure you get the money.” She flagged down a waiter and ordered a bottle of vintage champagne. “Serena, congratulations on escaping the graveyard of marriage, and congratulations on becoming a very, very rich woman. Cheers!” My grip on the champagne flute tightened. I looked her in the eye and confessed, “Chloe, I’m pregnant.” “How far along?” “Just hit three months.” Chloe slammed her glass down on the table. “Arthur is a piece of absolute garbage!” She was so furious she saw red. It took her a full minute to calm down before she said firmly, “You’re not that far along. Get it aborted. Immediately.” I stared at her in shock. I honestly thought that when she heard I was pregnant, she’d tell me to keep it so I could bleed Arthur for child support for the next eighteen years. Hearing my logic, Chloe scoffed loudly. “I only did what I did because I had absolutely zero safety net for my future. You just walked away with the GDP of a small country in your divorce settlement. Why the hell would you trap yourself with a kid? Do you seriously want to be tied to Arthur for the rest of your life?” It was like a lightbulb finally clicked on in my brain. All the agonizing conflict I felt about the baby instantly evaporated. Yes, it hurt to let go of this tiny life. But my future belonged to me. We talked for the rest of the afternoon. When we finally left, she warned me: “Get a bulldog of a lawyer. Make sure every single asset listed in that agreement is legally transferred into your private accounts. Make sure Arthur hasn’t buried any legal landmines to screw you over later. Once everything is secure, cut all ties.” Even though I didn’t think Arthur would stoop that low, I played it safe and hired a top-tier lawyer. Liquidating and transferring the assets was way more exhausting than I anticipated. Arthur had given me so much that I was dizzy with meetings and paperwork every day. I didn’t even have time to schedule the abortion. Just as the asset transfers were finalizing, Chloe called. She had a cash buyer for the mansion, and I needed to move out immediately. I threw myself into packing. I didn’t bother calling Arthur to ask about his things. I threw everything that belonged to him directly into the trash. But while clearing out the study, I found a sealed manila folder stamped with the official corporate seal of Arthur’s company. This wasn’t something I could just throw away. I thought about it for a minute, then dialed his number. It rang twice before someone picked up. But it wasn’t Arthur’s voice. It was a woman’s. “Hello? Why are you calling Arthur?” Her tone was hostile. She had obviously seen my contact name and knew exactly who I was. I kept my voice perfectly flat. “Hello, could you please pass the phone to Arthur? He left something at the house, and he needs to come pick it up.” She let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Serena, give it up. Arthur isn’t coming back to that house, and your pathetic little tricks aren’t going to work.” And she hung up. I listened to the dial tone, rubbing my temples. A headache was starting to form. I tried calling Arthur’s personal driver next. The driver sounded incredibly awkward. “Miss Serena… Miss Mia explicitly ordered me not to facilitate any contact between you and Mr. Vance.” So the woman whose single sentence ended my marriage was named Mia. Left with no other option, I drove to Arthur’s corporate headquarters to drop off the sealed folder. When Arthur and I got married, we didn’t have a wedding. We just signed the papers. It was essentially a secret marriage, so the receptionist had no idea who I was. I just wanted to drop the folder off and leave. But after waiting for a few minutes, the receptionist suddenly said, “Ma’am, Mr. Vance asked that you come up to his office.” I didn’t overthink it and followed her to the top floor. The second I stepped into Arthur’s massive office, a cup of scalding hot coffee was thrown directly at my face. I dodged frantically, but it still splashed across my left arm, leaving the skin burning and red. “You desperate bitch! Do you just love being a homewrecker?! Stop stalking Arthur!” I suddenly remembered another piece of advice Chloe gave me. She had said: “If the woman who made him divorce you tries to bully you, do not take it. You have all the leverage now. Make them as uncomfortable as humanly possible.” So, I looked up at Mia and smiled. “Miss Mia, Arthur and I haven’t even finished the mandatory divorce cooling-off period. Legally, we are still married. Which means, technically, you are the homewrecker here.” Mia clearly didn’t expect me to fight back. Her face twisted in sheer humiliation and rage. She lunged at me, aiming a vicious slap at my face. I didn’t dodge. I took the hit head-on. She hit me so hard my lip split open, tasting of blood. Seeing I wasn’t fighting back, Mia’s rage only fueled her. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and raised her foot, trying to kick me directly in the stomach. I hadn’t anticipated her being this vicious. I scrambled backward to avoid the kick. As she lost her balance, I turned and bolted out of the office, screaming at the top of my lungs: “Miss Mia, please stop hitting me! I promise I’ll divorce Arthur! I’ll abort our baby! Please, just stop hitting me!” Mia was completely unhinged. She chased after me, screaming for me to shut up, which played perfectly into my hands. The executive floor was usually empty, so putting on a show up here was pointless. The elevators were too slow, so I threw open the doors to the fire escape and sprinted down the stairs. When I reached the main lobby, I burst through the stairwell doors and deliberately threw myself onto the marble floor. I started sobbing hysterically, acting utterly terrified. In an instant, I had the attention of everyone in the lobby. I screamed my lines again, loud enough for the entire floor to hear. “Miss Mia, please stop hitting me! I promise I’ll divorce Arthur! I’ll abort our baby! Please, just stop hitting me!” But the chaotic uproar I expected didn’t happen. The employees remained frozen at their desks, absolutely silent. No one even dared to breathe. Confused, I looked up. And locked eyes with Arthur, who was standing at the far end of the lobby.

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1 During the third year after my severe clinical depression diagnosis, Liam was the only reason I stayed alive. He locked away every sharp object in the house, installed safety railings on the balcony, and even left the bathroom door cracked open when I showered. “We’ll take it slow. I’ll wait for you to get better.” That was until Chloe came back from Europe. She had studied psychology and immediately claimed Liam’s actions were cementing my identity as a patient. “The more you protect her, the more she’ll believe she’s broken.” Liam stayed silent for a whole night. The next day, he took down the balcony railings. “Keeping it locked up only makes you afraid. Leaving it open is actually no big deal.” He put the knives back in the kitchen drawers. “You have to learn to coexist with these things.” He stopped checking on me in the middle of the night to see if I was crying. “You need to learn to process your own emotions.” Chloe stood beside him every time, nodding in approval. “Exactly. This is the healthy way to handle it.” The day I was crouched in the corner of a shopping mall, hyperventilating and unable to breathe, I heard them walking ahead of me, speaking in low voices. Chloe: “Just hold on a little longer. She’s almost cured.” Liam: “And then what?” “Then you’ll finally be free.” She hooked her pinky finger around his and laughed softly. That night, I stood on the balcony. The wind was howling. The safety railings were gone. … When the front door unlocked, half of my foot was already dangling over the edge of the balcony. The wind whipped through the empty space where the railing used to be, plastering my nightgown against my legs. Liam and Chloe walked in, laughing. The car keys in Liam’s hand clattered to the floor. All the color drained from his face in an instant, and he bolted toward me. Seeing his panic, my body instinctively shrank back a little. In the past, whenever I even stood too close to the balcony, he would wrap his arms around me from behind, too terrified to even speak loudly. He would whisper, “Nora, don’t be scared. I’m here.” But Chloe reached out and clamped her hand around his arm. Her tone was gentle, yet absolutely commanding. “Don’t go over there, Liam. She’s using self-destructive tendencies to blackmail you. If you go to her now, you’re only reinforcing her manipulative behavior.” Liam stopped dead at the sliding glass door. He looked at me, the frantic panic in his eyes slowly sinking into something colder. Chloe continued, “This is a textbook borderline control tactic. She knows you’re scared, so she uses herself as leverage every single time. You cannot keep playing along.” Liam’s Adam’s apple bobbed. I stood barefoot on the very edge of the concrete, my toes going numb from the freezing wind. He stared at me through the glass door, his voice dropping low. “Nora, look at yourself. You haven’t actually jumped, have you?” I froze. Chloe sighed softly, like a teacher dealing with an unruly student. Liam draped his jacket over his arm, his tone shifting back to that exhausted, restrained patience. “The wind is strong up there. Once you’re done acting, come back inside. I’m not going to enable you without limits anymore.” The fingers gripping the doorframe slowly, agonizingly let go. So standing here wasn’t dangerous to him anymore. It was just acting. I walked slowly back into the living room, my bare feet padding across the freezing hardwood floor. Liam bent down to pick up his keys and said to Chloe, “You’re right. I indulged her way too much in the past.” Chloe handed him a mug of hot water. “You’ve done incredibly well. Caregivers need boundaries too, you know.” At 2:00 AM, I dragged myself out of bed. My chest felt like a concrete slab was crushing it. My temples throbbed violently, and a sharp, persistent ringing filled my ears. I pulled open my nightstand drawer and grabbed the familiar white prescription bottle. I popped the cap, but instead of my medication, a handful of brightly colored candy poured into my palm. I stared at the candy for a long time, unable to process what I was looking at. I clutched the bottle and walked out to the living room. Liam was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through emails, his face illuminated by the cold glow of his laptop. I held the bottle out to him, my throat so raw it burned to speak. “Liam. Where is my medication?” He didn’t look up. “I swapped it.” I gripped the edge of the sofa, my knuckles turning white. “My chest hurts. My head hurts. Please give me my medication.” Liam finally looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. “Chloe said your dosage has far exceeded the safe limit. You’ve developed a drug dependency.” Chloe stepped out of the master bedroom. “Nora, placebos are a very common supplementary treatment. You need to believe in your own willpower.” Liam took the bottle from my hand and poured out a single piece of candy. “Take this for now. You just have to get through tonight. Stop treating yourself like an invalid.” My stomach lurched violently. I grabbed the edge of the coffee table, dry heaving. He stood up, looking utterly exasperated. “I have an early meeting tomorrow. Don’t drag this out all night.” I fell to my knees on the rug, my fingers digging into the edge of the table. “Liam. Please.” His footsteps faltered for a second. Chloe softly reminded him, “Liam, she’s testing your boundaries.” Liam’s back went rigid. Then, he pushed open the door to the master bedroom. “Process it yourself.” The lock clicked shut behind them. I lay collapsed in the dark living room, listening to my own breathing grow more and more frantic. 2 I stayed curled up on the rug until dawn. Liam walked over and tossed a dress onto the coffee table. He looked down at my trembling body, his voice completely flat. “Change into this. We’re taking Chloe out for a welcome-back lunch.” I shook my head, unable to force a coherent sound past my throat. The agonizing withdrawal from missing my medication last night hadn’t faded. Even the distant sound of the elevator doors opening and closing pierced my ears like a siren. Liam bent down, grabbed my wrist, and yanked me off the floor. “Exposure therapy is the most effective method. You can’t hide in this house and rot for the rest of your life.” I stumbled, a red mark instantly blooming around my wrist where he gripped it. “I’m not going. I can’t do today.” Chloe poked her head out from the hallway, her tone patronizingly sweet. “Nora, avoiding it will only make the fear worse. You need to give Liam a little confidence in you.” Liam looked at her, his eyes softening for a fleeting second. When he looked back at me, his grip tightened. “Be good. Don’t make this difficult for me.” The private dining room at the restaurant was blindingly bright. A dozen people sat around the large circular table. They were all Liam’s friends—the same people who had watched him take care of me for the past three years. Someone saw me and jokingly called out, “Look who finally came out of hiding! It hasn’t been easy for Liam these past three years.” I sat in the corner, twisting the fabric of my dress around my fingers, my chest tightening painfully in waves. Chloe walked over with a glass of warm water, her voice low but pitched perfectly so the entire table could hear. “Guys, please don’t look at Nora like she’s a patient. Excessive sympathy will only solidify her identity as a sick person. She’s actually very healthy now, right, Nora?” A dozen pairs of eyes locked onto me. I opened my mouth, but only a faint gasp came out. Liam sat next to Chloe, lightly tapping the rim of his glass. “Say something. Don’t always make other people cover for you.” Someone chuckled. “It’s depression, not terminal cancer. Come on, Nora, enough is enough.” “Seriously, Liam revolves his whole life around you. Anyone would be exhausted.” “Chloe comes back, and boom—a few tricks and she’s out in public again. A professional really makes a difference.” The words drilled into my ears like tiny, sharp needles. I covered my ears, my body beginning to tremble uncontrollably. Chloe leaned down, gently pressing a hand on my shoulder. “Look, the avoidance reaction is kicking in. Don’t be scared, we’re all here to help you.” The scent of her perfume washed over me. It was the exact same scent that was on Liam’s collar last night. I shot up from my chair. My knee slammed into the edge of the table, knocking my glass over. Red wine splashed all over Liam’s shirt. The room went dead silent. Liam looked down at the dark stain on his shirt, slowly wiping it with a napkin. The veins on the back of his hand bulged. I couldn’t breathe. I crouched on the floor, digging my nails into the carpet. “Take me home, Liam. Please. Take me home.” In the past, whenever this happened, he would take off his jacket, drape it over my head to block out the noise, and carry me out. But this time, he just stared at me coldly. “Are you done throwing this tantrum?” Chloe grabbed his sleeve, offering gentle advice: “Don’t blame her, it’s a withdrawal reaction. If you take her away now, the exposure therapy will be completely ruined.” Liam closed his eyes for a second, then turned and sat back down. He picked up his water glass, his voice dangerously low. “Nora. Stand up. Walk back to your seat.” I looked up at him. My vision was entirely blurred by tears, but I could still see how closely he and Chloe were sitting. Chloe handed him a napkin, her fingertips lingering on his palm for a second. He didn’t pull away. I stared at him in absolute despair, my tears hitting the carpet. “What if I can’t get up?” Liam looked at me, his eyes filled with nothing but exhausted apathy. “Then stay crouched down forever. I am not helping you up again.” Someone muttered, “Liam finally grew a spine.” Chloe raised her glass, gently clinking it against Liam’s. “Liam, you’re doing exactly the right thing.” The entire table resumed laughing and chatting. No one looked down to see if I was suffocating. Even Liam smiled along with them. The string that had been pulled taut inside my chest for three years suddenly snapped. My fingers were still digging into the carpet, the edges of my nails bleeding, but I couldn’t feel the pain. I slowly stood up. Liam seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “See? That’s better. Stop forcing everyone to revolve around you.” I leaned against the wall, pushed open the heavy restaurant doors, and walked out into the pouring rain. Liam didn’t follow me. The rain quickly soaked through my dress, the freezing cold creeping up my legs. My hands shook violently as I fumbled in my pocket for my phone. I needed to call my psychiatrist. But before I could even hit dial, my vision went black. A crushing, overwhelming wave of suffocation swallowed me whole. 3 When I finally woke up, Liam was standing by my bed holding a medicine cup, looking down at me. “Acute pneumonia. You had a fever for two days.” I instinctively reached for my phone. It wasn’t there. “Give me my phone.” Liam avoided my eyes. “Chloe said you constantly read negative support group chats, and you were trying to contact your old doctor to ask for psychiatric meds. That’s terrible for your desensitization process.” “You shouldn’t be exposed to those conservative treatments anymore. You can’t rely on medication forever.” Chloe walked in holding a clipboard. “I already spoke with Dr. Evans. Her treatment plan relies way too heavily on medication. It’s inappropriate for your current stage of recovery.” “To prevent her from interfering with your treatment, I deleted her number from your contacts.” Liam handed me the medicine cup. “Drink this. And stop glaring at her.” I didn’t take it. His patience vanished. He slammed the cup down on the nightstand. “When you finally decide to start living like a normal person, you’ll get your phone back.” I didn’t beg him. My eyes were completely empty. Liam looked uncomfortable under my hollow stare. He turned and grabbed his jacket. “Get up. I’m taking you somewhere.” Half an hour later, he led me to the ground floor of an abandoned building. When the heavy metal door to the basement groaned open, the suffocating smell of rust hit me. Under a single, flickering bulb in the corner sat a totaled, crushed car frame. The front end was completely caved in. The windshield was shattered into a spiderweb of jagged glass. I froze dead in my tracks. Three years ago, that exact car was barreling straight toward Liam. I shoved him out of the way. I took the hit, breaking two ribs and developing severe PTSD. Since that day, I hadn’t slept through a single night. Liam gripped my shoulders and forcefully pushed me inside. “Facing your fear is the only way to cure PTSD.” I dug my nails into the doorframe. “Liam. Don’t do this.” Chloe stood behind him, clutching her clipboard. “Nora, trauma memories have to be recoded. You need to trust Liam. He is doing this to help you.” Liam shoved me harder. I was thrown into the basement, my knees crashing onto the hard concrete floor. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind me. I scrambled up and pounded frantically on the door, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “Liam! Let me out!” He looked at me through the iron grate in the door, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. “You are going to sit in there and look at it until you aren’t afraid anymore.” I shook my head wildly, gripping the freezing iron bars. “I’ll die in here.” Liam’s eyes flickered with hesitation. Chloe whispered, “She’s exaggerating her fear. Do not let her manipulate you.” He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, his voice was like steel. “Nora, I am so incredibly tired.” I froze. Liam looked at me, his voice carrying the pathetic grievance of someone who felt completely drained. “I just want you to turn back into the bright, happy girl you used to be. Can’t you have a little sympathy for me?” My hands slowly released the iron bars. Chloe gently linked her arm through his. “Liam, you’re doing the right thing. Desensitization is always a painful process. A caterpillar has to struggle to become a butterfly.” Their footsteps echoed down the hall, growing fainter until they disappeared entirely. The basement was dead silent. Just me and the crushed car. I slumped against the corner, my fingernails slowly clawing into the peeling plaster wall. The smell of rust, the shattered glass, the horrific screech of the tires—everything exploded out of the darkness and attacked me all at once. I bit down hard on the back of my hand. I didn’t scream. Over the next ten hours, I clawed a chunk of plaster out of the wall. My fingernails ripped backward, smearing blood all over the gray concrete. Someone came to the door twice. Once, it was Liam. He stood outside for a long time, but he never opened the door. The second time, it was Chloe. Through the heavy metal, I heard her say, “Excellent progress. She’s completely stopped begging for help.” I heard my own laughter. It was incredibly soft. So that’s what they wanted. Not for me to survive. Just for me to stop asking for help. Sometime after midnight, a piece of paper was slid under the door. It was written in Chloe’s handwriting, detailing the next phase of the “behavioral desensitization” plan. At the very bottom was Liam’s signature, authorizing it. The date next to his signature was the day before he tore down the balcony railing. I held that piece of paper between my bleeding fingertips, feeling my heart slowly, agonizingly tightening until it shattered. 4 When Liam finally unlocked the basement door, I was sitting quietly next to the crushed car. I wasn’t trembling. I wasn’t crying. I just looked up at him and smiled. His eyes instantly lit up. “Nora!” He rushed in and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. “Thank God. I knew you could do it.” Chloe stood in the doorway. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but she quickly smiled. “See, Liam? Scientific intervention works.” Liam hugged me tighter. “You’re finally cured.” I rested my chin lightly on his shoulder. “Yeah. I’m cured.” For the next two weeks, I acted exactly like a normal person. I woke up early to make porridge. I ironed Liam’s shirts. When Chloe came over to take her “progress notes,” I even poured her a glass of warm water. The tension in Liam’s eyes slowly faded away. He started taking me out to see his friends, bragging to anyone who would listen that Chloe had saved us. Someone praised Chloe’s expertise. Liam nodded, his tone lighter than it had been in years. “She pulled me out of the mud, too.” I sat next to him, silently picking a dead leaf off a potted sunflower. I bought that sunflower three years ago, the day I was discharged from the hospital after the crash. Liam had supported me as I spent an hour picking it out. He said our home needed a little brightness. Now, it sat next to the gaping hole on the balcony, its leaves dry and curling at the edges. I watered it every single day, but it kept withering away. Chloe followed my gaze and smiled. “Plants have to adapt to an open environment too, you know. You can’t protect them too much.” Liam nodded. “She’s right.” I nodded too. “Right.” That evening, I was cleaning the study. A file folder hadn’t been sealed properly, and the corner of an English-headed document was sticking out. I pulled it out and saw a signed overseas transfer agreement for Liam. Destination: Munich, Germany. Duration: Three years. Tucked underneath it was a plane ticket to Munich for the exact same day. The name on the ticket was Chloe. At the very bottom of the pile was a drafted breakup settlement. One apartment. One million dollars. A clause stating that once the “caregiver relationship” was terminated, neither party would interfere with the other’s life. I sat at his desk and read through those pages, one by one. So that’s what my “recovery” was. It was just the bureaucratic red tape he had to clear before he left. He needed me to look normal. That way, when he abandoned me, he could tell himself, You’re cured now. You don’t need me anymore. Liam’s voice called out from the hallway. “Nora, I’m working late tonight. I won’t be coming home.” I slid the documents back into the folder exactly as I found them. “Okay.” He seemed incredibly satisfied with my calm response. “Go to sleep early. Don’t wait up.” “I won’t.” The second the front door clicked shut, I walked out to the balcony and touched the dry, brittle leaves of the sunflower. The veins crunched under my fingers. I retrieved my cracked phone, which Liam had hidden on top of a tall cabinet. I opened the notes app and slowly began to type. “Your stomach medication is in the second drawer on the left. Don’t take it on an empty stomach.” “You’re allergic to mangoes. Don’t just buy cakes because they look pretty.” “Your knee aches when it rains. Remember to turn the heat on.” “Stop watering the sunflower on the balcony so much. It didn’t drown; the roots rotted away a long time ago.” I paused for a moment, then kept typing. “Liam. I used to think that throwing myself in front of that car would protect us from every disaster the world could throw at us.” “But people get tired.” “You’re finally free.” “And just like you wanted… I’m finally cured.” “In the moment of my death, I am entirely lucid. Entirely normal.” At 3:00 AM, the wind was howling. I placed my slippers neatly on the very edge of the balcony. I set my phone next to them, the screen locked on that final note. The stainless steel railing that had protected me for three years had been torn down by Liam himself two weeks ago. He said, Leaving it open is actually no big deal. I leaned against the wall and stepped barefoot onto the freezing concrete edge. The city lights far below looked like scattered stars. My phone suddenly buzzed. A message from Liam. [I booked a flight for tomorrow afternoon. Chloe and I are moving to Munich.] [There’s an agreement on the desk in the study. Nora, since you’re fully recovered now, let’s end this amicably.] I read it once, then locked the screen. The wind whipped my nightgown around my legs. I took one step forward, and let myself fall.

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After my husband lost his memory in a car accident, he looked at me with the eyes of a cold stranger. He told me he wanted a divorce. Just as I was about to explode in anger, his 18-year-old self suddenly time-traveled into our living room. In a moment of pure panic, I dragged the teenager right in front of my amnesiac husband. Through dramatic, crocodile tears, I wailed: “Honey, how could you be so irresponsible? Look at our son! He’s already so big!” The man’s gaze swept over the teenager, who looked exactly like him. After a long silence, he accepted this absurd reality. Later on. My amnesiac husband pulled me into his arms, his voice deep and full of guilt: “I don’t think I love our son. Because every time I look at him, I get this sickening, heart-palpitating urge to throw up.” Chapter 1 When 18-year-old Julian time-traveled to the present, I had just woken up from a nap in my slip dress. Hearing the front door open, I yawned, walked over, and threw my arms around the person walking in. Burying my face in his chest, I mumbled groggily: “Did you take the afternoon off?” The second my arms wrapped around him, I knew something was wrong. The body in front of me was stiff as a board and didn’t hug me back. His frame felt a little leaner, a little narrower. Even his voice was brimming with raw, adolescent edge. He pressed two fingers against my forehead, pushing me away without an ounce of mercy. “…Harper, do I even know you?” My heart leaped into my throat. I snapped my head up. Standing right in front of me, looking fresh-faced and utterly bewildered, was the teenage version of my husband. I yanked my hands back, scanning him from head to toe in utter disbelief. “How old are you?” “Eighteen.” Eighteen?! I searched my memories. At eighteen, Julian and I were just high school classmates. He was the star of the school, the guy everyone knew. I was just a nobody in the background. A nobody secretly nursing a massive crush on him. But we were from two completely different worlds, so I kept my crush locked away tight. And now. I stared blankly at teenage Julian, my brain totally short-circuiting. Part of me was shocked that 18-year-old Julian even remembered the name of a wallflower like me. But the more pressing issue was figuring out how the hell I was going to explain this to him. Teenage Julian’s gaze dropped to my neckline, then drifted up to my slightly parted lips. He discreetly averted his eyes and clicked his tongue. “…How did you end up looking like this? What exactly is going on here?” I took a deep breath and laid it all out for him. Ten minutes later. Julian sat in silence, his tone dripping with absolute disbelief. “Me? Married to you? And we’re madly in love?” I nodded solemnly, then quickly warned him: “When my actual husband gets home tonight, you need to keep your distance. He gets incredibly jealous.” Teenage Julian scoffed. “Relax. I would never be as much of a simp as my future self.” Listening to his guarantee did not make me feel better. As Julian had gotten older, his anxiety and jealousy had only leveled up. When he got jealous, it was nearly impossible for me to handle him. I frowned, worried, just about to give teenage Julian a few more ground rules. Right then. The front door clicked open again. My heart stopped. Teenage Julian and I turned our heads in unison. Standing in the doorway was 38-year-old Julian. He calmly took in the scene playing out in the living room. My legs instinctively turned to jelly. I rushed forward, trying to grab his hand. “Honey, let me explain…” Before I could finish. My husband, who usually doted on me relentlessly, cut me off with an icy tone: “Excuse me, are you… my wife?” I thought he was just blindly jealous, so I immediately hugged his waist to coax him. “Why are you saying things like that?” He looked down at me, his eyes full of cold unfamiliarity. With a polite but distant tone, he explained: “I was in a car accident. I’ve lost my memories.” “If you are my wife, I apologize. At this current stage, it will be very difficult for me to reciprocate your feelings.” Me: “?” The back-to-back plot twists had my head spinning. I stared at the husband in front of me. Washed over by the years, he was no longer the reckless, playful boy of his youth. All that remained was a steady, imposing, and freezing aura. I asked, stunned, “What do you mean?” His tone was composed, like he was negotiating a standard business deal: “I have no emotional attachment to you. If that bothers you, we can get a divorce.” “I’ll have my lawyers contact you to discuss the division of assets.” We had been married for 15 years. This was the very first time the word “divorce” had ever crossed Julian’s lips. To make matters worse, teenage Julian was standing right there, arms crossed, watching the drama unfold with a smirk. “Wow—so this is that ‘stable, madly-in-love’ marriage you were bragging about?” My vision literally blurred. My temples throbbed violently. I was being infuriated to death by the two of them. First, a time-traveling teenage Julian. Now, an amnesiac husband demanding a divorce. A long moment passed. I took a deep breath. Fine. If this is how we’re playing it. I lifted my head. The confusion from earlier vanished, instantly replaced by a tearful, heartbroken expression. I reached out and yanked teenage Julian over. I shoved him right in front of my husband. Through dramatic, sobbing wails, I accused him: “Honey, how could you say something so irresponsible?!” “Look at our son! Look how big he is!” “Are you just going to abandon us?! Boo hoo hoo…” Chapter 2 The moment those words left my mouth. The living room plunged into dead silence. A ripple of shock finally broke through the cold indifference in my husband’s eyes. He slowly shifted his gaze to the teenager he had been ignoring. Meanwhile, teenage Julian absolutely exploded: “Harper! Are you out of your fucking mind?!” I wiped my fake tears. “I know, sweetie. Your dad doesn’t want us anymore. I’m just so heartbroken I’m losing my mind.” Afraid my husband wouldn’t buy it, I turned to teenage Julian and urged: “Come on, be a good boy. Call me Mom.” Teenage Julian’s ears turned beet red from sheer anger. He looked like he’d rather die than submit. My face remained perfectly stoic as I sneakily reached my hand around to the most sensitive spot on his lower back. And pinched him. Hard. I made it very clear that if he didn’t say it, I was never letting go. Teenage Julian let out a sharp hiss. Finally, he gritted his teeth and forced out: “…Mom.” I smiled sweetly. I might not be able to handle 38-year-old Julian, but 18-year-old Julian? Easy. I patted his head like a good mother. “There we go. Now, say ‘Dad’.” This time, Julian absolutely refused to speak. I had no choice but to explain to my husband: “I’m sorry, he’s just going through a rebellious phase.” My husband stared at me for two seconds. Then, his eyes swept over the teenager who looked exactly like him. With his memory wiped, he couldn’t quite remember what he looked like as a teenager. But the boy standing in front of him bore an uncanny, undeniable resemblance to him. Compared to the absurd idea that this kid was a time-traveler… It was significantly easier for Julian to believe that this was his son. The age checked out, too. However, there was still one lingering doubt. My husband asked me blankly: “Why does he only look like me? He looks nothing like you.” I froze. Then, with utmost sincerity, I said: “Your genes were just too strong. He took after you.” My husband was silent for a very long time. Finally, he accepted this reality. When he saw the tears on my face, he instinctively reached out and wiped them away. The moment he did it, he seemed to startle himself. He quickly withdrew his hand and returned to his icy demeanor: “Stop crying. I was being inconsiderate earlier.” “Out of responsibility, I will continue to provide for you and the boy financially.” That night, my husband worked late in his study. After my shower, I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for a long time. It finally dawned on me that because of his amnesia, Julian had no idea how to face me. So he was hiding in his office. Yet just yesterday, he was kissing me passionately while practically carrying me to this very bedroom. I forced a bitter smile. I decided not to wait anymore, turned off the lamp, and got ready to sleep. Right then, there was a knock at the door. I assumed Julian was finally done working, so I hopped out of bed to open it. Instead, standing in the hallway was 18-year-old Julian. His eyes dropped to my neckline again, and he couldn’t help but ask: “Do you dress like this in front of him every single day?” I looked down at myself, confused. It was a satin slip dress, and the hem fell modestly to my knees. “Is there a problem?” Teenage Julian scoffed coldly. “You’re manipulative as hell.” I didn’t quite catch that, so I asked: “Why are you here?” He let out an “oh” and pointed toward the window, where a thunderstorm was raging outside. “I’m scared of the thunder.” I gave him a skeptical look. “You’re eighteen and you’re scared of thunder?” Teenage Julian’s lips curved into a wicked, drawn-out smirk as he deliberately mocked me: “But Mom… aren’t I your son?” “The thunder is so scary. You need to comfort me.” While we were locked in a standoff, my husband stepped out of his study. He walked over and said politely: “I’ll be sleeping in the study tonight. Don’t wait up for me.” It was obvious that, although he was reluctant to share a bed with me right now… He was trying to give me as much dignity as possible, for the sake of our marriage and our “child.” Before I could say anything. Teenage Julian mercilessly called him out: “If you’re that reluctant, you might as well just get a divorce.” My husband frowned, slowly raising his eyes to look at the teenager. I quickly interrupted teenage Julian, looking heartbroken: “Sweetie, how could you say that? Mommy just wants to give you a whole, complete family!” Teenage Julian raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe lazily. “Oh. Well, I don’t want a family like this.” “If you guys want a divorce, get a divorce. Don’t stay together for my sake.” I was so mad I could have killed him. This little brat. He just couldn’t stand seeing his future self with me, could he? I was just about to pinch him again when I heard him say to my husband: “If you really get a divorce, I’m staying with Mom. How about that?” His tone was breezy, deliberately putting heavy emphasis on the word “Mom.” Hearing this, my husband’s frown deepened. A flash of irrational, inexplicable agitation crossed his eyes. That night, he still didn’t agree to the teenager’s proposal. He just said, “I will provide for both of you.” After he said that, he looked at the teenager and asked: “Why did you come to her room?” Teenage Julian didn’t flinch. “Oh. I was scared of the thunder.” My husband replied calmly, “You can come to the study and find me. Don’t bother her.” Teenage Julian: “…” “You know what, I’m not that scared anymore. I’m going to bed.” My husband nodded, then turned to me: “You should get some sleep early, too.” With that, he walked away. I closed the door. The sheer absurdity of the day had left me completely drained. I collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep almost instantly. But my sleep was restless. I don’t know how much time passed. In a hazy state between sleep and waking, I thought I heard the door click open. Then, a figure stood by the bed, watching me for a long time. Finally, he climbed into bed, lifted the covers, and lay down next to me. After a moment of hesitation, he awkwardly, clumsily pulled me into his arms. I unconsciously snuggled closer, burying my face in his chest out of pure habit. The person stiffened, then muttered under his breath with a hint of disgust: “What kind of perfume is this? It’s so overpowering.” Despite his complaint, the arm around my waist pulled me even tighter. The next morning. I woke up and immediately felt someone next to me. Before my brain was even fully online, I kept my eyes closed and pressed a kiss to his lips: “Morning, honey.” But the person didn’t respond. I opened my eyes, only to see teenage Julian lying next to me, his face looking completely unhinged: “Do you do that to him every single day?” I snapped awake, bolting upright in terror: “Wha- What are you doing here?!” The teenager brushed a finger against his lips, acting like he owned the place: “This is my house. Why wouldn’t I be here?” “Didn’t you go sleep in the other room?!” “Oh. I went back to my room, thought about it, and realized I was actually still scared of the thunder.” Me: “…” I literally shoved him off the bed, panicking: “Get out right now, before he sees you…” Teenage Julian couldn’t care less. “He doesn’t even like you right now. You think he’s going to get jealous?” “But given our current mother-son relationship, him catching us would be infinitely weirder!” As I spoke, I shoved him all the way to the door. I cracked the door open. “Hurry, get out—” Before I could finish the sentence, I saw my husband standing right outside the door. Our eyes locked.

Right before my birthday party started, Julian cast his phone screen onto the massive TV in the private room. He started an anonymous poll in our mutual friend group chat. The prompt read: Tonight, should I stay and cut the cake with my girlfriend, or go see a movie premiere with my childhood best friend? Thirty seconds on the clock. The numbers jumped rapidly. Childhood best friend: 17 votes. Girlfriend: 1 vote. Everyone in the room assumed I cast that single vote for myself. Julian leaned back against the leather sofa, smirking as he looked at the final tally. “Majority rules.” Chloe instantly shoved the movie tickets into his palm. “See? Everyone agrees I need you more tonight.” I was wearing my absolute favorite dress, standing in front of a cake with unlit candles. Someone in the room let out a low whistle. “Don’t be a sore loser, Harper.” Of course. This kind of polling had been going on for three years. After an argument, a poll decided who had to apologize first. On a date, a poll decided whose hand he held. Even when I asked him if he loved me, he threw the question into the group chat. “Let’s see what the jury says,” he’d joke. I used to think that if I just won once, he would finally stand firmly by my side. But I never won. Not even tonight. Julian stood up and grabbed his jacket. As he walked past me, he casually ruffled my hair. “Be good. I’ll make it up to you later.” I stared at the poll results glowing on the big screen, then locked my phone. I pushed the cake knife across the table toward him. “Don’t bother.” “Julian, I’m withdrawing my vote.” … The room went dead silent for a few excruciating seconds. Julian’s hand froze on my head. Chloe was the first to break the tension with a light laugh, acting as if I had just made a harmless joke. “Harper, come on, don’t be like that. It’s your birthday!” Julian pulled his hand back, his brow furrowing deeply. “Harper, everyone is here. Don’t throw a tantrum just because you lost.” In the past, whenever he used that tone, I would instantly back down. I was terrified of making him mad, terrified of our friends mocking me, terrified that in the end, everyone would just say I was overreacting. But this time, I just slowly pulled the unlit candles out of the cake, one by one. “I’m not the one making this ugly.” Chloe immediately grabbed the sleeve of Julian’s jacket. “Julian, maybe we should just skip it. I don’t need to see the movie tonight.” Her words said one thing, but her grip on the tickets was white-knuckled tight. Our mutual friends instantly started chiming in. “The poll is closed, man. You can’t break the rules now.” “Come on, Harper, be the bigger person. He can celebrate with you tomorrow.” Julian glanced at his watch. Only twenty minutes until the movie started. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then slung his jacket over his shoulder. “I’m going to drop her off.” “If you still want to celebrate your birthday, wait for me here.” “Don’t make me have to pacify both of you every single time.” I looked up and met his eyes. “I already said, don’t bother.” He acted like he didn’t hear me, walking straight past me. Chloe followed closely behind him. As she passed me, she let out a soft, pitying sigh. “Harper, you know how much he hates being forced to choose.” The moment the heavy door clicked shut, the music in the room was cranked back up. The poll was still displayed brightly on the TV screen. Childhood best friend: 17 votes. Girlfriend: 1 vote. That single, lonely vote hung at the bottom of the screen, like the last pathetic shred of my dignity. My phone buzzed. A new poll popped up in the group chat. This time, it wasn’t anonymous. How many minutes until Harper chases after him crying? Ten minutes. Half an hour. Tomorrow morning. Chloe voted for ten minutes. People started piling on, laughing in the chat. “Don’t overestimate her. Five minutes tops.” “She can’t live without him.” Julian didn’t vote. But he didn’t stop them, either. Suddenly, someone in the chat asked: “By the way, that one vote for ‘Girlfriend’ earlier—Harper definitely voted for herself, right?” Chloe replied with a giggling emoji. “Who else would vote for her besides herself?” I stared at that message, my fingertips turning to ice. So, they didn’t even believe anyone else in this world would ever choose me. Not even for one single vote. I exited the group chat. The cheap birthday crown was still sitting on the table. The shiny gold cardboard was soaked in spilled alcohol, lying there limp and pathetic. I grabbed my purse, turned around, and walked out. Someone yelled from behind me: “Harper, are you seriously leaving?!” I didn’t look back. The hallway was long. The glass walls reflected my silhouette. A white dress, red eyes, and empty hands. I looked like a clown who simply couldn’t keep the act up anymore. Julian got back to my apartment at 1:00 AM. I was busy packing up all the things he had left at my place. We had been dating for three years. Traces of him had practically infested every corner of my home. His sneakers by the door, his razor in the bathroom, his lighter wedged in the sofa cushions. Even the throw pillows I originally bought had been replaced with the dull gray ones he preferred. When the front door unlocked, I was just dropping the last book into a cardboard box. Julian stood in the entryway. He smelled like the cool night air and a faint trace of perfume. Chloe’s signature scent. When he saw the cardboard boxes, his face instantly darkened. “Are we really doing this again?” I ripped a piece of packing tape. “I’ll have someone come pick these up tomorrow.” He walked over and slammed his hand down on the lid of the box. “Harper, I already gave you an out about the birthday thing.” “How long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum?” I looked up at him. “I’m not throwing a tantrum.” “I’m cleaning house.” Julian let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “I take Chloe to a movie, and you want to break up over it?” “You saw it yourself. The group voted. I just followed the rules.” My fingers froze on the tape dispenser. “So you really think you did absolutely nothing wrong?” He frowned. “I just followed the rules.” The rules. Again. Three years ago, during the very first poll, he used those exact same words. That day, he had promised to finally make our relationship public. But Chloe threw a poll into the group chat. If Julian announces his relationship now, will it ruin the vibe in the friend group? Yes: 15 votes. No: 2 votes. After seeing the results, Julian just ruffled my hair. “We can announce it later. It’s not a big deal. Everyone just thinks the timing is off right now.” I waited for three agonizing months. And then, on Chloe’s birthday, he posted a photo dump on Instagram. The very first picture was a selfie of him and Chloe. Over the years… New Year’s Eve, the passenger seat of his car, our anniversary, the first slice of cake. Time and time again, I was placed into a multiple-choice question. And time and time again, I was crossed out. I pulled out my old phone, the one I kept in a drawer as a backup, and opened a specific folder. Inside were screenshots from the last three years. Two hundred and seventy-six screenshots. Julian looked confused. “Why the hell do you have all these?” I turned the screen toward him. “Because I was terrified that one day, I might actually forgive you.” “And I was terrified I’d forget exactly why I needed to leave.” His face stiffened. “Harper, the way you talk lately is getting incredibly ugly.” “Ugly?” I let out a soft, broken laugh. “Compared to you making me watch myself lose a popularity contest over my own relationship every single day… this is extremely classy.” Julian averted his eyes. After a long moment, he said quietly: “You never used to be this petty.” “Because I used to be stupid enough to think that one day, just once, you would choose me.” He fell silent. I nudged the cardboard box toward his feet. “That one vote tonight. I didn’t cast it.” Julian looked up sharply, as if I had just said the most absurd thing in the world. “If it wasn’t you, who else could it possibly be?” I didn’t answer. Because I genuinely had no idea. All I knew was that when the thirty-second countdown started, my hands remained strictly at my sides. I didn’t even touch my screen. I suppose the last shred of my self-respect wouldn’t allow me to publicly beg for a single vote of pity in a room full of people. Julian stared at me for a very long time, then suddenly kicked the cardboard box aside. “Fine.” “If you want to clean house, then clean it out completely.” His phone lit up right at that moment. A message from Chloe. “Julian, is Harper still mad?” “Do you want me to take her out to lunch tomorrow and apologize in person?” Julian didn’t even try to hide his screen from me. He typed his reply rapidly. “She’s still throwing a tantrum.” “We’ll see tomorrow.” I stared at those words, suddenly finding the whole situation incredibly hilarious. So to him, I wasn’t heartbroken. I wasn’t devastated. I was just “throwing a tantrum.” I bent down, righted the cardboard box, and pressed the tape down firmly. “Julian. We are breaking up.” He stood with his back to me, and after a long silence, he sneered. “You’ve said that a million times.” “When have you ever actually left?” The next day around noon, my friend Maya called me. Her voice sounded hesitant. “Harper… Julian just reached out to me. He said you left some things at the club last night.” “He said you aren’t answering his calls, so he asked me to pass the message along.” I stayed silent for a few seconds. Maya quickly added: “I’ll go with you. We’ll grab the stuff and leave immediately.” But when we arrived at the private room, it was packed with people. Maya’s face instantly dropped. She cursed under her breath. “He told me it was just your gifts. He didn’t mention there was an entire audience.” Julian sat at the center table. Chloe sat right next to him. Her eyes were red and puffy, like she had been crying all night. A small cake sat on the table. The candles were already lit. The second she saw me, Chloe stood up. “Harper, I am so sorry.” She grabbed a glass of wine and walked over to me, her voice trembling dramatically. “Last night was entirely my fault. I shouldn’t have joked around with the movie tickets.” “Please don’t break up with Julian because of me. Please?” Julian looked up at me. “Chloe has already apologized. Stop being so stubborn.” “Everyone just wants to clear the air.” Just as he finished speaking, the massive TV screen lit up. Someone laughed and held up their phone. “Why don’t we settle this the old-fashioned way?” The new poll prompt flashed across the screen. Should Harper accept Chloe’s toast and officially make peace? Before the countdown even finished, the votes were heavily skewed. Yes: 18 votes. No: 0 votes. It was as if the results had been pre-determined from the very start. Chloe bit her lip, looking conflicted. “Guys, don’t do this. You’re going to make Harper uncomfortable.” Julian pushed a glass of wine toward me. “Drink it. Let’s move on.” I looked down at the glass. The amber liquid rippled, reflecting my tired face. Over the last three years, I had swallowed countless glasses of wine exactly like this one. Just to avoid ruining the mood. Just to give him an out. Just to prove I wasn’t petty. Just to make sure Julian didn’t frown at me. I picked up the glass. Julian’s expression visibly softened. Chloe let out a tiny, quiet sigh of relief. The next second, I dumped the entire glass of wine directly into the ice bucket on the table. The sharp clatter of ice cubes echoed loudly through the room. Every single person froze. I placed the empty glass back on the table. “I am not drinking this.” “And I am not ‘moving on’ just because you voted for it.” Julian’s face instantly went black. “Harper, do you really have to do this?” “Do what?” I stared him dead in the eyes. “You guys start a poll, force me to accept a toast, force me to play the ‘bigger person,’ and force me to pretend I’m not hurt.” “And then you have the nerve to ask me why I’m making this ugly?” Tears spilled down Chloe’s cheeks. “I really just wanted us to get along.” She turned, acting as if she were about to run out the door. “Julian, I should go. I don’t want Harper to hate me even more.” Julian instinctively stood up and grabbed her arm to stop her. His reaction was entirely automatic. So fast he didn’t even realize he did it. But I saw it. Clearly. He didn’t need a poll for that. His body had made that choice for him countless times. Maya grabbed my hand, whispering: “Let’s get out of here.” I nodded. Just as we reached the door, Julian chased after us, grabbing my wrist in a vice grip. “You are not leaving until we clear this up.” I ripped my arm out of his grasp. “It is perfectly clear.” “I’m breaking up with you. She apologized. Now you guys can go back to whatever it is you do.” His eyes were burning with barely suppressed rage. “I didn’t agree to a breakup.” I laughed out loud. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do we need to take a vote on the breakup, too?” My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a new notification from the group chat. Will Harper come crawling back tonight? Yes. Definitely Yes. Two options. No third choice. I held my phone screen up to Julian’s face. “Look.” “They even scheduled my surrender for me.” Julian’s face drained of color. Chloe stood behind him, calling his name softly. “Julian, please don’t fight with Harper over me.” He didn’t try to stop me again. At least, not in that moment. I walked out of the club. The sky outside was a heavy, suffocating gray. My phone vibrated with a confirmation text from the moving company. “Ms. Harper, we will be at your apartment tomorrow at 3:00 PM sharp.” I replied with a single word. “Okay.” The sky remained overcast the entire day I moved. I stood in the empty living room, staring at the neatly stacked cardboard boxes lining the walls. Faint, pale outlines lingered on the walls where the picture frames used to hang. They looked like scars left behind after a toxic relationship is finally ripped away. When my landlord called me, he sounded incredibly awkward. “Ms. Harper… Mr. Julian just contacted me. He said you’re just having a spat, and he asked me to put a hold on your lease termination.” I dropped my spare key into a manila envelope. “Please proceed according to the contract.” The landlord hesitated. “He said you’d regret it.” I smiled faintly. “That’s what he thinks.” Just as I hung up, the doorbell rang. On the intercom screen, Julian was standing in the hallway. He was wearing the exact same black jacket from last night, his brow furrowed deeply. He didn’t ring the bell a second time. Instead, he just looked down at his phone and started texting me. “Open the door.” “Don’t try to scare me with this moving out stunt.” “Harper, my patience is running out.” I didn’t reply. Ten minutes later, he sent another message. “What exactly do you want from me?” Staring at that sentence, I suddenly remembered the very first time I backed down, three years ago. I had asked him the exact same question. “Julian, what exactly do you want from me?” He had told me: “Just stop being so sensitive all the time.” It turns out that some words will always boomerang right back to where they started. Only this time, the person feeling the pain was different. When the movers arrived, Julian was still standing in the hallway. When the door opened, he didn’t look at me first. He looked past me, into the empty apartment. The shoe rack was empty. The coffee table was empty. Even the tacky potted pothos plant he always complained about was currently wrapped securely in my arms. His expression finally shattered. “Are you actually serious?” I nodded. “Yeah.” He reached out to grab the handle of my suitcase. “Where are you going?” I took a half-step back. “None of your business.” Julian clenched his jaw violently. “Harper, don’t push me.” “I sent Chloe home last night.” “And I didn’t participate in their stupid polls.” “What more do you want from me?!” I just stared at him. So in his mind, simply not inflicting more pain was considered a grand gesture of compensation. I pulled my old backup phone out of my purse. There was only one page open on the screen. It was a poll I had just created. Does Julian deserve Harper’s forgiveness? Option 1: No, he doesn’t. Option 2: Never going back. Total votes: 1. I selected Option 2. Julian read the screen, his face turning an ugly shade of gray. “Are you a child?” “I learned from the best.” I shoved the phone toward him. “For the last three years, you let them choose for you one thousand, two hundred and seventy-six times.” “Julian, today, it’s my turn to choose.” His voice dropped to a terrifying chill. “Don’t you dare.” I shoved the manila envelope into the pocket of his jacket. Inside were the keys. The silver bracelet he gave me. And the movie ticket from last night, ripped neatly in half. “I choose you to be out of my life.” Julian violently grabbed my wrist. “Harper!” The moving guys had stopped by the elevator, watching the scene unfold awkwardly. I looked down at his fingers clamped around my wrist. In the past, whenever he grabbed me like this, I would instantly cave. Even when the grievance was choking me, even when the tears were still wet on my face. My first thought would always be, Is he finally asking me to stay? But this time, I only felt pain. I pried his fingers off my wrist, one by one. “Don’t touch me.” Julian froze. His fingers hung stiffly in the air, as if it was the very first time he realized I was actually capable of rejecting him. Right at that moment, his phone screen lit up. A notification from Chloe. She had sent a screenshot. A new poll. How many days until Harper comes crawling back this time? Three days. One week. Two weeks tops. Chloe’s profile picture was proudly displayed under “Three days.” Julian’s fingers jerked slightly. He frantically slammed his thumb down to lock the screen, but it was too late. In that single, fleeting moment, the last lingering ache in my chest completely vanished. I placed my old backup phone firmly into his open palm. “This time, you guys can bet on it for as long as you want.” “I’m not sticking around for the results.”

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