It was my daughter’s tenth birthday. The cake had ten candles on it. But in front of thirty family members and friends, my daughter pointed at me and said, ” Vivian, I want my mom.” My husband laughed it off, said kids say the darndest things. I laughed too, and handed her a slice of cake. Late that night, I stood at the sink washing dishes while my husband stepped out to the balcony to take a call. I heard him say, “Baby, just hold on a little longer.” A second later, his phone lit up. One unread message: Does she actually think the girl is hers? I dried my hands and walked to the safe in the bedroom. Inside was the paternity test I’d had done five years ago — this child shared no blood with me, or with him. The combination was his birthday. I typed it in. Then deleted it. Changed it to my daughter’s birth date. Beep. The safe clicked open. The cake knife stuck in the frosting. My hand was trembling slightly. The relatives around me murmured among themselves. My mother’s face had gone pale. My father looked down at the floor. “Lily, Mommy’s right here.” I bent down and forced a smile. “Look — it’s strawberry flavor, your favorite.” She took a step back and hid behind my husband’s mother, her little face full of suspicion. “You’re not my mom. You’re Vivian. I want my real mom.” Something detonated in my chest. For ten years, I had quit my job to make her breakfast every morning, walked her to school, sat beside her through every fever in the night, held her hands as she learned to walk, celebrated the first time she called me Mom. But what she wrote in her school essay was: Vivian is like a mother to me. My husband, Ethan, stood up with a laugh and clapped me on the shoulder. “Kids say crazy stuff — she was watching cartoons yesterday, got some weird ideas.” He turned to Lily. “Come on, sweetheart. Vivian got you so many gifts. Don’t you want to say thank you?” “I don’t want them.” Lily turned her face away. Ethan’s mother clicked her tongue and looked at me the way you look at a stranger. His sister muttered under her breath, “She’s not actually hers. Of course they can’t bond.” I gripped the knife handle tighter. “It’s fine.” I passed the cake to the relative beside me, my voice somehow steady. “She’s young. Let her be.” She wasn’t young. She was ten. She understood everything. The relatives quickly moved on to other topics, and the room filled with noise again. Lily curled up in Ethan’s mother’s lap to open her presents. When she got to the LEGO set I had picked out for her, she didn’t even look at it — just tossed it aside. “Where’s the dress Mom got me?” She tugged at Ethan’s sleeve. “Dad, you said she was coming. She said she’d bring me a doll.” A flash of panic crossed Ethan’s face. “Baby, that — that doll was sold out, so Dad got you something else —” “You’re lying! Mom said she bought one!” Lily suddenly burst into tears and knocked over a tin container, sending it crashing to the floor. “Everyone’s lying! I want my mom! I don’t want Vivian!” The room went silent. Every eye turned to me. The smile I’d been holding on my face cracked like dried plaster, but I kept it there. “I’ll go check on the soup.” I turned and walked away, my steps steadier than I felt. Behind me, I heard Ethan’s mother sigh. “What are we supposed to do about this? That woman calls every other day. She’s got Lily’s heart all twisted up.” “Mom, drop it.” “How can I drop it? Haven’t we done right by her? If it weren’t for her back then —” The door closed, cutting off the rest. I stood in the kitchen, looking at the beef broth I’d spent all afternoon making. A thin film of oil had settled across the top. A ladle handle stuck out from the pot — I pulled it out, and the heat turned my palm red. I didn’t feel a thing. So this was what it was. All these years, the “home” I thought I had was a one-woman show. I was the only one who believed it was real. My phone buzzed. Ethan had posted something on Instagram — a photo of Lily cutting her birthday cake. The caption read: Birthday girl’s special day. I was in the corner of the frame. Just half a hand. The bracelet on my wrist was one he’d given me two years ago. He said it was a belated anniversary gift. Right. The party went on outside. I turned on the faucet and started washing dishes. Through the sound of the running water, I could just make out Ethan stepping onto the balcony, his voice dropped low. “Baby, just hold on a little longer… she’s still young… I can’t blow this up with her right now…” When he said “her,” I knew he meant me. Not “my wife.” Not “Lily’s mom.” Just “her.” I slowly turned off the water. A dish cracked in my hands. My finger caught the edge, and a bead of blood spread across the white porcelain. Ethan hung up and pushed open the kitchen door. “Why are you still in here? My dad’s about to leave — you should come say —” “I chipped a dish.” I kept my back to him and tucked my hand into my apron pocket. “Give me a second to wash up.” He didn’t come in. Just said, impatiently, “Hurry up. Don’t embarrass us.” I stared at the broken piece in the sink. I thought of the last time — the family dinner last year, when Lily called me ” Vivian ” at the table and Ethan said, “Kids say what they want.” Later, he had too much to drink and grabbed my arm and told me, “You’ll always be her mom. Don’t let it bother you.” I believed him then. Looking back now — what did he mean by “always”? His footsteps retreated. Lily’s laughter floated in from the other room. The sound of it ached, because it was Ethan himself who’d sent her a voice message saying Mommy’s coming tomorrow. I’d seen it on his phone. We’d been talking for a long time. Every night, once he thought I was asleep, he’d go out to the balcony and switch to a second account. Three years of whispered messages — all sent to another woman. I touched my cut finger with my tongue. The taste of blood spread across my tongue, salt and iron. Outside, Lily called, “Daddy, why is Vivian still not coming out? I want to go to sleep.” “Tell her to come.” “No. She’s not my mom.” “Baby, be good. Your mom said once we get the house —” I stopped listening. I walked to the bedroom, pulled open the second drawer, lifted the false bottom, and found the steel door of the safe. The combination used to be his birthday. Not anymore. I typed in my daughter’s birth date. It was the number I knew best. Because I was the one standing outside the delivery room, waiting to hear her first cry. Even though she wasn’t mine. Beep. The safe opened.

The safe held a few items, neatly arranged. I reached in, and the first thing my fingers touched was the paternity test report. I didn’t take it out yet. I reached further back and felt another document — the property deed. When we bought this apartment, I had put in two hundred thousand as the down payment, and both our names were on the title. He had said, We’re family, babe. Why keep score? I believed him. Looking back now, I believed a lot of things. At the very bottom was a thick manila envelope. I pulled it out and opened it. A stack of photographs slid out. The woman in them was in her early thirties, with long hair down her shoulders, smiling warmly. She was holding a baby wrapped in the pink blanket I had bought for Lily. On the back of one photo, in neat handwriting: Lily’s 100-Day Celebration. Mommy loves you forever. Mommy. I stared at that word. My fingers were shaking. Footsteps in the hallway outside. I quickly pushed everything back into the safe, shut it, slid the drawer closed, and moved to stand by the window. “Babe?” Ethan pushed open the door. I kept my back to him. “Yeah?” “What are you doing standing there? Aren’t you cold?” “Just getting some air.” He came over and wrapped his arms around me from behind. His hands rested on my waist. He nuzzled his face into my hair. That smell — laundry detergent and cigarettes — was what I fell asleep to every night. Right now it turned my stomach. “You must be tired. Lily didn’t mean anything by it today. Don’t take it to heart.” “I’m not.” I was lying. My mind was full of the photographs I’d just seen. And that message: Baby misses you so much. “Good.” He rested his chin on my shoulder. “It’s the weekend tomorrow. Want to take Lily to the amusement park?” “Sure.” He kissed my cheek, satisfied, and left the room. I heard him tell Lily, “Mom said yes. She’ll take you tomorrow.” “She’s not my mom.” “Stop saying that, or I’m going to be upset.” “But Mommy said she’s not —” The voice cut off. He’d covered her mouth. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly. At our wedding three years ago, he had walked up to me holding Lily’s hand, and asked her to call me Mom. She was barely two, still stumbling over words, but she managed a small “Mama,” and I almost cried. I found out later that his ex-wife had spent an entire month coaching her to say it. One end of the plan was to lower my guard. The other end was to make the lie feel real. I opened my phone and scrolled through his call history. For the past three months, every night between ten and eleven, he made a call. Thirty to sixty minutes each time. Always him dialing out. The contact was saved as “Ms. Lee.” I clicked on the social media profile linked to that number. The profile photo was a woman. Her username was “Mia.” Mia. Lily. I tapped on her page. Her most recent post was from thirty minutes ago. A photo of a cake — pink piggies drawn in frosting. The caption read: My baby is ten today. Mommy loves you always. Can’t wait to have you back. I clicked on the comments. Someone asked: Isn’t she with her dad? Mia replied: Not for much longer. I pressed my phone face-down against my thigh. In the dark, I could hear my own heartbeat. Thud. Thud. Thud. Like something about to burst. Outside, Lily called, “Daddy, I want water.” “Ask your mom.” “She’s not my —” “Enough!” Ethan’s voice snapped, sharp with anger. Lily started crying. I heard him drop his voice to soothe her. “Be good, sweetheart. Just a little longer. Your mom said once we get the house sorted, we can —” The rest was too quiet to make out. But I caught one word clearly. House. They wanted the house. I felt a slow smile pull at my mouth, even as tears slid down my face. So it had been a setup from the very beginning. Three years ago. From day one. He wanted my money. She wanted my home. Their daughter wanted my love. And I, like a fool, had given everything I had for three years. In the safe, the paternity test report waited quietly. I had it done six months ago, in secret, because Lily had asked me something out of nowhere: ” Vivian, why are you so nice to me?” I thought at the time it was just a child being careless with words. Now I understood. Her mother had taught her to say it. She said Vivian so naturally. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Footsteps near the door. I quickly wiped my face. The door opened. Lily stood in the doorway holding a stuffed bear, tilting her head at me. ” Vivian, Daddy said to come give you a kiss.” I crouched down and waited. She leaned in and gave me a quick peck on the cheek, then spun around and ran. At the door, she stopped and looked back. In a small voice, she said, “My mom told me. Once Daddy gets your money, she’s taking me to Disney World.” I stayed frozen where I was. She flashed me a little smile, and ran off.

I sat in front of the safe, my fingers tracing the edges of the paternity test report. Six months ago, Lily had a high fever and needed a blood transfusion. Ethan’s blood type didn’t match. I assumed it was just a biological coincidence. The doctor said Lily had an unusual constitution and needed a full work-up, and I secretly kept a few strands of her hair. The result: 99.99% — no biological relationship. I had assumed Lily was Ethan’s with his ex-wife, since he never let Lily see her birth mother. Every time I asked, he brushed it off. “Her mom’s overseas. She doesn’t want to disturb what we have.” A perfect excuse. But now the test in my hands told me Lily shared no blood with Ethan either. I opened the bottom layer of the safe. There was an older report underneath. I had it done three years ago, just after I married him, because something hadn’t felt right — he never let me see the marriage certificate from his first marriage, only the divorce papers. The report was clear: he and his ex-wife had never legally been married. There was no first marriage. My hands were shaking badly. I pulled out the document folder at the very bottom. Inside were ownership records for his company, a stack of IOUs, and a signed agreement between him and his ex. Party A shall provide financial support. Party B shall, through marriage, obtain the female party’s assets. Party A shall receive seventy percent of all proceeds. Every line, documented in full. How much had I paid off for him? A car. This apartment. The renovation of his office. All of it together — at least two hundred thousand dollars, easily. What was going through his mind when Lily called me Vivian? He turned my daughter against me, then let me pay to raise her. Footsteps at the door again. This time it was Ethan. He pushed open the door, saw me sitting in front of the safe, and his expression shifted instantly. “What are you doing?” I held up the paternity test. “Explain this.” He lunged for it. I stepped aside. His face drained of color. “You were going through my things?” “Should I not have?” I stood and looked at him. “You’ve been lying to me for three years. Lily isn’t your biological daughter. You adopted her. Didn’t you.” He said nothing. “You and your ex teamed up to take my money. Didn’t you.” He swallowed. “Let me explain —” “Explain what?” I threw the agreement at him. “How you and your ex planned all of this? Or what Lily meant when she said your plan is to take my money and then take her to Disney World?” He froze. “Lily said that?” “She said her mom told her. Once you got my money, she’d take her to Disney World.” I laughed, even though I was crying. “You’re using a child to pull this off. Aren’t you afraid she’ll hate you for it when she grows up?” He slumped to the floor without a word. I crouched down in front of him. “I raised her for three years. I gave her the best of everything — the best school, piano lessons, art classes, every single thing she needed.” “And she called me Vivian.” I stood up and took everything out of the safe. “Did you think I was an idiot? I saw through this a long time ago.” “I just wanted to know how long you planned to keep going.” His head snapped up. “What do you mean?” “I mean I knew something was wrong from the start.” My voice was calm. “A man who remarries and asks for nothing except for his new wife to love his child? That doesn’t exist.” “I pulled your bank statements. I went through your company’s accounts. I found your ex’s social media.” “You thought you had it all locked down, didn’t you?” I picked up my phone and dialed a number. My lawyer. I had the divorce papers ready, along with everything I’d gathered on their fraud. His voice came through the line. “Everything is in order. We’ll be at the courthouse whenever you’re ready.” I hung up and looked at Ethan. He had gone pale. His lips were trembling. “You can’t — what about Lily —” “I’ll be taking Lily.” I said it quietly. “Neither of you deserve to be her parents.” He threw himself toward me. The security guard I’d called earlier stepped in from the hallway and blocked him. I walked out of the room, and passed Lily’s door. She was asleep, holding her stuffed bear, a small smile on her lips. I pulled her door gently closed. She was innocent in all of this. But I couldn’t keep being called Vivian by her anymore.

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“Ethan, I’m scared of fire…” Zara curled into Ethan’s arms, trembling. I stared at the back of my own hand — skin split and raw from the scalding soup — and heard only his cold, flat voice. “Claire, you knew Zara was terrified of fire. Why the hell did you light candles? You just can’t stand to see her happy, can you?” Three years of marriage. Because of his fallen comrade, I had become the villain of our own story. My passion, my company, even my child — all became bargaining chips for his debt of gratitude. Until the truth came out. The fragile little sister he’d shielded with his life was the real killer all along. Later, Ethan knelt in the pouring rain, begging me to come back. I smiled. “Ethan, trash belongs in the trash can.” “I don’t make a habit of picking it back up.” The blisters on the back of my hand had merged into one angry patch of red, swollen flesh — like overcooked meat left too long on the stove. The pain sent tremors through my whole body. I bit down hard on my lower lip just to keep from crying out. And my husband, Ethan Cole, was busy holding tight to the one responsible for knocking that scalding pot of soup all over me — Zara White. “Ethan,” Zara whimpered, face buried against his chest, shaking like a frightened fawn, tears rolling down in streams. “Fire… there’s fire. I’m so scared. Is my brother in the fire…?” Ethan’s eyes were full of tenderness. His large hands moved slowly up and down her back, his voice so soft it could melt. “It’s okay. You’re okay, Zara. The fire’s out. I’m right here. I’ve got you.” Once she was calm, he turned to look at me — and his expression went cold as stone. “Claire, have you lost your mind? You knew she was terrified of fire, and you still lit candles? What is wrong with you? Are you trying to push her over the edge?” I looked at the mess scattered across the floor. Today was our third wedding anniversary. I had cleared my entire schedule — cancelled every executive meeting — and gone to the market myself to pick out the freshest ingredients. I’d spent four hours in the kitchen coaxing out his favorite mushroom and seafood broth. I lit the pair of vintage silver candlesticks he’d bid on for me at an auction years ago. I wanted to give him something special. Instead of a surprise, I got Zara’s scream and a pot of boiling soup straight to the hand. “Ethan, today is our third anniversary.” I forced the words out through the searing pain, my voice rough. “I just wanted to have dinner with you.” “You need all this for a simple dinner?” Ethan cut me off without mercy, disgust plain in his eyes. “Zara’s brother died in a fire saving my life. She can’t handle anything that reminds her of it. You’re my wife — can’t you show even a little compassion?” Compassion. The word dragged across my chest like a dull blade. Zara’s brother, Daniel White, had been Ethan’s fire captain. Three years ago, during a warehouse blaze, Daniel ran back in to pull Ethan out and never made it. After Ethan left the service, he took over his family’s business, and together we built Vela Jewelry from the ground up. Six months ago, he tracked down Zara, who had been drifting on her own. “Claire,” he said, “Daniel died because of me. Zara developed severe depression after the fire — she’s terrified of flames now. I have to take care of her. For the rest of my life.” I said yes. I brought her into our downtown apartment, found her the best therapist in the city, and treated her like my own sister. But every step I gave, she took two more. She’d knock on our bedroom door at midnight in a slip dress, saying she was scared, insisting Ethan sleep in the guest room with her. She’d ruin my late-night jewelry sketches and then cry, claiming she hadn’t meant to — she said the lines made her dizzy. During what little time Ethan and I had alone, she’d have an episode on cue — cutting herself or refusing to eat. And every single time, Ethan would drop everything and run to her. “Ethan, don’t be mad at Claire. It’s my fault. I’m the problem — I can’t even handle one little candle…” Zara tugged at his sleeve, crying prettily, but her eyes slipped past his shoulder and landed on me — sharp and provocative. In that moment, I felt a bone-deep exhaustion settle over me. “Fine. If fire scares her that much, I won’t light anything in this house again.” I stood, walked straight toward the door without looking at either of them. “Where are you going?” Ethan frowned. “The hospital.” I held up my ruined right hand. “Ethan, I’m a jewelry designer. If my hand is out of commission, who’s going to deliver next season’s collection — Zara?” He hesitated. His eyes dropped to my swollen, blistered hand, and something flickered behind them. He let go of Zara and moved toward me. “I’ll take you.” “Don’t bother.” I stepped back from his outstretched hand. “Stay here and look after your precious little sister. We wouldn’t want her getting startled by thin air.” I pushed open the front door and walked out into the early autumn chill. Just before it clicked shut, I heard Zara’s soft, plaintive voice behind me. “Ethan, is Claire upset with me? Maybe I should move out…” He didn’t answer. But I already knew — he’d find a way to make her stay. Because in this house, obligation always outweighed love.

I had my injuries treated in the emergency room. The doctor examined the burn and frowned. “Second-degree. Even with proper care, there’ll be scarring. You absolutely cannot get this hand wet for the foreseeable future, and no gripping a pen for extended periods.” I stared at my hand wrapped in white gauze, and felt something sink in my chest. The submission deadline for the International Jewelry Design Awards — the Crown Prize — was next month. It was Vela’s shot at the global stage. I had been working toward it for a full year. Now my hand was out. I sat on a hard bench in the hospital corridor through the entire night. Not a single call. Not a single message. Ethan had simply ceased to exist. The next morning I dragged myself into the office, exhausted — and found someone in the design department who had absolutely no business being there. Zara. She was dressed in a tailored Chanel suit, makeup flawless, leaning back in my director’s chair like she owned it, twirling my crystal paperweight between her fingers. Ethan stood beside her, watching her with soft, indulgent eyes. “What is this?” I walked in, my expression flat. Ethan caught sight of the bandage on my hand and looked away briefly, then reset to cool indifference. “Good timing, Claire.” He cleared his throat. “Your hand is injured — you’re not in any condition for high-intensity work right now. I’ve decided to have Zara step in as acting design director and take point on the Crown Prize submission.” I was sure I’d heard him wrong. “What did you just say?” I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Ethan, are you serious? Zara studied early childhood education. She can’t tell a brilliant cut from a cushion cut. You want her to take my position? What do you think this company is — a game?” Zara’s eyes went red. She stood up, voice soft and wounded. “Claire, I know you don’t respect me. But I’ve been teaching myself jewelry design for the past six months. Ethan says I have real talent. I just wanted to take some of the pressure off you — look at your hand, how are you supposed to draw anything like this?” “Stay out of it.” My voice came out sharp. “This is my office. Who gave you permission to walk in here? Get out.” “Claire!” Ethan stepped in front of Zara, fury in his eyes. “Can you stop acting like this? Zara is trying to help. And for the record — this is my company too. As majority shareholder, I have every right to make personnel decisions.” Majority shareholder. I stared at the man in front of me like he was a stranger. When we started out, we had nothing. I had poured in every cent my parents had left me. I even sold the emerald necklace my grandmother had given me, just to scrape together the startup capital. When we registered the company, he said it would be easier for him to hold the larger share for business purposes. I agreed without hesitation. Because I trusted him. I trusted the boy who had stood in the rain waiting for me all night. I trusted the man who swore he would love me for the rest of his life. And now he was using the power I had given him to strip away everything I had built. “Ethan.” I walked to my desk, shielding my drafts with my uninjured left hand. “The Crown Prize submission is eighty percent done. That is my work. Nobody is touching it.” “Claire, stop being difficult.” His tone softened — but it wasn’t warmth, it was condescension. “The doctor said you need to rest. Zara would just be a figurehead — the design team would handle the actual execution. Think of it as giving her something to focus on. It would be good for her recovery.” Using my life’s work as therapy for her depression. “And if I say no?” I said through gritted teeth. His face hardened. “Don’t push me on this. If you insist on making a scene, I’ll put you on mandatory leave.” He turned to my assistant. “Pack up Director Claire’s things and have them sent home.” “You’ll regret this, Ethan.” I didn’t let them touch anything. I grabbed the core sketches with my left hand, shoved them into my bag, and walked out. Stepping outside, the morning sun hit me full in the face. I turned back and looked up at the Vela logo gleaming gold above the entrance. Once, it had been proof of what we built together. Now it felt like the punchline of a very bad joke.

I spent the next two weeks recovering at home. Every day, Ethan left early and came back late — and when he did come home, Zara was always with him. They moved through the apartment like a couple, talking about work over the dining table, laughing about what they’d had for lunch. I hid in the bedroom like a ghost no one wanted to see, training my left hand to hold a pencil, relearning how to draw. The Crown Prize deadline was closing in. I couldn’t walk away from it. It was my dream. Late one night, I came out to get some water. Passing the study, I noticed the door was slightly ajar. Voices drifted out — Zara’s and Ethan’s. “Ethan, do you like this pendant I designed?” Zara’s voice was light and coy. “It’s beautiful. You’re a natural — you just get it.” Ethan’s tone was full of admiration. I peered through the gap. Zara was sitting in Ethan’s lap, holding a sketch. One look at that sketch, and my blood ran cold. It was one of my discarded drafts — the ones I’d left in my office drawer. Yes, it was a throwaway. But the core concept was still mine. And she was using it to impress him. I shoved the door open. The bang made them both jump. Zara yelped and scrambled off Ethan’s lap. “What the hell, Claire?” Ethan’s brow furrowed. A flash of caught-out guilt crossed his face. I crossed the room and snatched the sketch from Zara’s hand. “You drew this?” I said coldly. Zara shrank back behind Ethan. “Y-yes, I drew it. What’s the problem?” I slapped the paper against her face without hesitating. “You’ve got some nerve, Zara. This is a draft I scrapped six months ago. My revision marks are still in the corner. And you have the audacity to pass it off as yours?” Ethan picked up the sketch, studied it, and his expression shifted. “Claire, you’re misunderstanding,” Zara said, tears already flowing freely. “I just found it in your drawer and thought it was beautiful, so I copied it. I wasn’t trying to claim it — I only wanted to show Ethan how much I’ve been practicing…” She cried like she was heartbroken, as if she were the one being wronged. “You copied it? You can’t even get the perspective right. Is that what you’re calling practice?” I stepped closer. “Enough!” Ethan shoved me aside and pulled Zara behind him. “Claire, why do you always have to go for the throat? She told you it was a copy. Why are you making it into such a big deal?” The shove sent me stumbling into the edge of the desk. Pain shot through my side. But the physical pain was nothing next to the other kind. “Ethan, are you blind? She plagiarized my work and you’re defending her?” “It’s a discarded draft,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “Who cares? Your hand is wrecked anyway — you can’t produce anything new right now. Zara wants to learn. You could just guide her a little. Isn’t that what family does?” A discarded draft. Who cares. In his eyes, my craft, my pride, my professionalism — all of it weighed less than one of Zara’s tears. I looked at this man and felt genuinely sick. “Fine,” I said, dragging in a slow breath, pushing back the wave of tears threatening to break through. “If you love her plagiarized garbage so much, Ethan, then the two of you can have each other.” I walked out of the study, went to the bedroom, and started packing. I couldn’t stay in this house another minute. Ethan followed me in, watching me throw clothes into a suitcase, his frown deepening. “What now? It’s the middle of the night. Where are you even going?” “Divorce.” I said it without looking up. He went still — then let out a cold laugh. “Claire, don’t use divorce as a weapon. You’re seriously doing this over something this minor?” “Minor?” I stopped packing and looked at him. “You let her ruin our anniversary. She burned my hand. She took my position. And now you’re covering for her plagiarism. Any one of those things would be enough — all four together and you’re calling it minor?” “Because I owe Daniel!” Ethan’s voice rose, his eyes going red. “If it weren’t for him, I’d have died in that fire. I made him a promise — I would look after Zara. I can’t go back on that!” “Then go be with her!” I hurled the clothes in my hands at him. “You owe Daniel — fine. Pay that debt yourself. Why should my life be the price? I don’t owe the White family anything, Ethan. Not a single thing.” He stood there, stunned into silence. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out without looking back. The night air was cold, but for the first time in a long time, my head felt completely clear. This broken thing we called a marriage — it was time to end it.

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On the 3,600th day of my relationship with Ethan Sinclair, his parents came to inspect the company. I handled the reception personally. Every detail, from the tour schedule to the welcome refreshments. I had stayed up through the night revising the reception plan eight times over. But on the day of the visit, Ethan gave me a last-minute notice. A new intern would be taking over everything in my place. Mia grabbed my plan and ran with it. She won his parents over without breaking a sweat. His mother, Helen, even asked Ethan in front of everyone: “Is this the girl you’ve been dating for almost ten years?” “She’s sharp, thoughtful, and she even switched out the desserts for sugar-free options for me and your father.” “No wonder you like her.” Ethan just smiled and said nothing. Back in the office, I was in tears, demanding to know why. He answered coldly: “It was just a reception. Was it really that big a deal?” “We’re not even engaged yet, and you’re already this desperate to be the lady of the house?” “Vivian, show a little dignity.” I froze. On our tenth anniversary, he stepped in front of my wedding car. “Didn’t you say you’d never marry anyone but me? Why are you marrying someone else?” I smiled. “Didn’t you say I had no dignity, Mr. Sinclair? Don’t worry. He doesn’t seem to mind.”

Ethan left his warning and walked away. I stood alone in the office for a long time, unable to speak. By the time I came out, his father, Richard, had already finished his speech. Mia was right there beside him. His mother, Helen, looked at her with undisguised affection. “Sweetheart, this is our first time meeting, and I didn’t even prepare anything for you.” “Here, take this family heirloom ring. I want you to have it.” My heart jumped into my throat. A family heirloom ring. That was something the Sinclairs only brought out for a daughter-in-law. And Helen was just going to take it off and hand it to Mia? Mia reached out to stop her. “Oh, I couldn’t, Mrs. Sinclair! It’s far too precious! I can’t accept this!” “Still calling me Mrs. Sinclair?” Helen smiled warmly. Mia’s cheeks flushed pink. “But…” “Come on, sweetheart.” Helen took her by the wrist. “We’re family now. Why be so formal with your own mom?” Mia’s face went even redder. She glanced shyly over at Ethan. I stood in the crowd below. My fists trembled at my sides. Ethan’s gaze passed over my face. A faint smile crossed his lips. “Mom’s giving it to you. Just take it.” Mia looked up at him through her lashes, then back at Helen, cheeks still burning. Richard laughed. “She’s too shy. Put it on her yourself.” Helen didn’t hesitate. Smiling, she took Mia’s hand and slid the ring onto her finger. Mia lowered her head, looking bashful. She didn’t pull away. Someone set off a confetti popper, and the crowd erupted. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair!” “Mia, you’ve been holding out on us! We had no idea your boyfriend was Mr. Sinclair!” “Right? We all thought it was Vivian!” “She’s been so attentive to him, and then today with all the effort she put into this visit. If you didn’t know better, you’d really think they were the couple!” I got up. And walked out. Every part of the event was going exactly according to my plan. Today had originally been Helen’s birthday. The surprise I had arranged for her after the speech was now, under Helen’s own direction, turned into a celebration for the two of them. A cake taller than a person was wheeled in. I watched as Ethan was nudged over to stand beside Mia. Helen gently steered Mia to the front of the cake.

The two of them stood there shoulder to shoulder. Mia’s face was red all the way to the tips of her ears. Ethan was perfectly composed. He glanced at her and picked up the cake knife. “Do you want more of the sweet layers or the less sweet ones?” Mia murmured, “Whichever you cut for me… I like it all.” “Awww~” The teasing from the crowd was immediate. Helen covered her mouth, laughing. “Look at these two.” Ethan cut her a slice himself. “You like grapes, right? I saved this piece for you.” As he said it, he glanced briefly in my direction. I turned away. And walked back to the conference room without looking back. I was sorting through documents when Mia pushed open the door, humming to herself. She saw me. Her smile vanished instantly. “Vivian.” I didn’t respond. I closed the folder and stood up to leave. “Vivian, wait!” She rushed over and grabbed my arm. “I never expected things to go this far!” “I was put in an impossible position. I couldn’t say no!” “I’ll give the ring back right now!” She began tugging at the ring with real effort. But the band was clearly bigger than her finger. She tried several times. It wouldn’t come off. “Stop pretending.” I said flatly. “Keep it.” “Vivian!” She grabbed me again. “I’m serious, I didn’t mean for any of this. Just give me a second, I can get it off!” “What’s going on in here?” Helen pushed open the door. She took one look at the two of us, Mia holding my arm, me pulling away, and her brow furrowed immediately. “You must be the one who’s always been difficult with Mia. Miss Hayes, is it?” I blinked. That was how Helen saw me? I looked at Mia. She quickly averted her gaze. Now I understood who had said what. “I’ve heard about you, Vivian.” Helen’s tone was cold. “You run a tight ship. All your subordinates are afraid to step out of line.” “Tell me, do you think this company belongs to you? Or do you already see yourself as the lady of this house?” My breath caught. Mia had only just met Helen for the first time today. So where had she heard all of this? Unless… I clenched my fist. No. Had it really been Ethan? The door opened again. Ethan appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on?” Helen looked at her son. “The people in your company need some serious managing.” “She was trying to take the ring I gave Mia.” Ethan looked at me. I gritted my teeth. “I was not.” At that moment, Mia finally worked the ring off her finger. She grabbed my wrist and slid it onto my hand. “Vivian, please don’t be upset. I’m giving it back to you.” Helen gasped. “Mia, what are you doing! You can’t just give that to someone else!” Mia’s eyes went pink at the corners. “But… Vivian has loved Ethan for so long.” “That gives her the right to take things from you? She’s been walking all over you this whole time, and you’re going to let her have this too?” Helen pulled Mia firmly to her side. “Don’t worry. This time, Ethan and I have your back.” “But… I’m just an intern. How could I possibly wear a ring like that…” “Who says you can’t?” My wrist was seized. Ethan took the ring off my hand effortlessly and held it out to Mia. “I say you can. So you can.”

“As for Vivian.” Ethan looked at me. “Your position is officially being transferred to Mia, effective immediately.” I stared at him in disbelief. He frowned. For just a moment, something reluctant flickered in his expression. Then it was gone. He said, “Vivian, stop making things difficult for people.” Helen beamed. “There we go, Mia. She’ll be answering to you now.” Mia looked down at the ring, now back on her finger. A faint flush rose in her cheeks. She glanced at me, and for just a second, a small, barely concealed smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. I watched the three of them perform in front of me. Suddenly, I felt almost ridiculous. I looked at Ethan. “That’s fine, Mr. Sinclair. Honestly, I’ve been more than ready to step down from that director position.” Then I walked past him and headed out. In the parking garage, I had just unlocked my car when a hand caught me from behind. “In a little while, I’ll move you up to VP, directly under me. Mia will still report to you. Don’t read too much into any of this.” “Mom loves her. In that moment, I couldn’t embarrass her in front of everyone.” It was always like this. After every fight. He could always pull me back with explanations and just enough softness. I clenched my jaw. And shook off his hand. He went still. I got in the car and drove away without looking back. When I got home, I found that Ethan had sent me over a dozen messages. The first ones were more explanations. But then, in a move completely out of character, he sent me a travel booking confirmation. A seaside town. The ocean. 【Vivian, don’t worry. While you’re on this forced break, I’m taking time off too.】 【You’ve always wanted to see the ocean. I’ll take you. Call it our late honeymoon.】 I couldn’t even imagine. If he had sent me that even a month ago. How happy I would have been. But this time, I typed back a simple reply. 【No thanks.】 He responded almost immediately. 【Don’t be like that. I already booked tickets for eight tomorrow morning. I’ll work late tonight and get everything cleared. Don’t wait up for dinner.】 He added a little heart emoji. I stared at the screen for a moment. Then put my phone down. Fine. I’d wait for him to come home and say what needed to be said. I had already agreed to go on a blind date that my family had set up. This relationship. I was done with it. But I waited an entire night. By the time morning light came through the windows, he stumbled home smelling faintly of alcohol. And eight o’clock had long since passed. “Didn’t you say we had tickets at eight? To go to the beach?” I couldn’t help asking. He squinted, trying to place the memory. Then laughed. “Oh, right. I canceled those. Took Mia instead.” I stared at him. “You’ve seen the ocean plenty of times. How many trips have you planned for that?” He collapsed onto the couch, clearly having not slept. “After I finished work last night, I was going to come home and pack with you. But Mia just got promoted, and the team threw her a little celebration. I had a few too many drinks.” “She mentioned she’d never seen the ocean.” “So I changed the itinerary last minute.” Even without any real hope left. Still, in that moment. I heard myself say: “You made a promise.” The alcohol slowed him down for a second. Then he smiled. That easy, unconcerned smile. “Vivian, we’ve been together for how long now? Almost ten years. Basically an old married couple at this point.” “Why are you holding onto something so small?” “And you’ve been to the beach three times already. Don’t be greedy.”

Then he leaned back against the couch. And closed his eyes. I sat there looking at him. A dull pressure building in my chest. Yes, I had planned three beach trips. But I had never made it to the water. Not once. The first time, Ethan came down with a sudden fever the night before we left. I canceled on my best friend and spent three days at his side taking care of him. The second time, he was in the middle of a major pitch. I gave up my ticket and stayed up night after night rewriting the proposal from scratch. The third time, a scheduling conflict meant an important client had no one to meet them. I canceled without a second thought, put on my heels, and went to the meeting myself. Three times. I had never once actually left. But all he remembered was that I had booked three trips. I nudged his arm. “Then I’ll go with someone else.” He answered without opening his eyes. “Yeah, go with your friends.” “It’s not my friends.” He kept his eyes closed. I listened to his breathing slow and even out. I didn’t wake him. I texted the guy I was set up with and arranged to meet at the lakeside resort in two days. Before I left, I had a few files to hand off to a colleague. But the moment I walked into the office, Mia appeared in front of me dressed in the director’s blazer. “Oh, Vivian! You’re here?” “Perfect timing. These need to be printed, two copies each. Leave them on my desk when you’re done.” “You know where that is, right? It used to be your office.” I looked at the stack of documents being held out toward my chest. Then shook my head. “I’m here to drop something off. Not to run errands.” “Vivian.” Mia smiled. “Mr. Sinclair gave me this position. Have you forgotten?” “I’m on leave.” “Did I approve that?” All traces of the awkward girl from before were gone. She stood there with her arms crossed, already carrying herself like she’d been in charge for years. “A leave of absence requires a signed approval from your direct supervisor. Did you submit a request?” I looked her over slowly. “Do I answer to you?” She frowned. I let out a short, humorless laugh. Didn’t spare the documents so much as a glance. Turned and walked out. “Vivian Hayes.” From the CEO’s office, Ethan had just caught the whole exchange. Mia turned toward him immediately. Then hugged the entire pile of documents to her chest. “It’s fine, Mr. Sinclair. Vivian was my supervisor. I can’t ask her to do that.” “I’ll take care of the printing myself.” She gathered the stack, which came up to her chin. It looked like it weighed a ton the moment she lifted it. She had barely picked it up before she was already gritting her teeth. Ethan’s voice was flat. “If she can’t be asked to carry it, what makes you think a director should be doing it?” I felt a flicker of irritation. Mia quickly said, “Really, Mr. Sinclair, I’ve got it, just let me—ah!” She stumbled. And went down, taking the entire pile with her. Ethan crossed the room and grabbed her arm. “Careful!” “I’m okay, I’m fine, Mr. Sinclair…” Mia pressed a hand to her ankle. Her eyes were glistening as they drifted over to me. Ethan’s expression hardened. “Vivian Hayes.” “You’re not the director anymore.” “If you want to throw your weight around, do it somewhere else.” “If you don’t want to be here, fine.” He looked at me. “Go collect your final paycheck from HR. We don’t need you anymore.” Everyone in the room was watching. I looked back at him, quietly surprised. “Go ahead.” Ethan said it without a flinch. I hesitated for a moment. Then said nothing. After all, he hadn’t said anything I wasn’t already planning to do myself.

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The AC broke down during a heat wave, so I asked if I could stay at my girlfriend Ronnie’s place for the night. She said no without hesitation. “We agreed — no living together before marriage. Hernandez, can’t you respect my beliefs?” I apologized and let it go. Ronnie was traditional. I’d always respected that, and this time was no different. But that night, too hot to sleep, I was mindlessly scrolling and stumbled across my company intern Nick’s Instagram. Landlord kicked me out last minute — thank god my boss took me in, otherwise I’d be sleeping on the street. The background in the photo was familiar. It was Ronnie’s apartment. I stared at my phone screen and lit a cigarette. So my conservative girlfriend was only conservative with me. Ronnie only said one thing to me. “Are you a princess? You can’t sleep without AC?” “God, that’s pathetic. Can guys stop being so dramatic?” I closed my eyes. That photo wouldn’t leave my head. Nick had posted a shot of his lower half and a suitcase. He was wearing my slippers, dressed in pajamas, standing in Ronnie’s apartment. I had barely walked out her door before he walked in. And the whole time, Ronnie had been rushing me out. “Hernandez, don’t you have things to do? You’re so clingy, you know that?” “Go home. I’ve got an emergency at work coming up.” Turns out there was no work emergency. The emergency was Nick. He was a new intern at my company, and we hadn’t exactly hit it off. I’d mentioned it to Ronnie once. She didn’t seem to care, or even really listen. I had no idea she knew him. She never brought it up. But clearly, Nick was spending the night at her place. Nick posted again on Instagram: Met the most kind-hearted woman when I needed it most. This time, Ronnie was in the photo. She was smiling — that soft, indulgent smile I knew well. Two bowls of bolognese pasta sat on the table. Her favorite. When we spent weekends together, that was the dinner I made for her all the time. I’d taught her how to cook it. She made it for Nick. Then a comment appeared under the post. Nick was showing off. $200 rent, utilities included, no deposit. Best landlord ever. Landlord. Ronnie let Nick move in? A dull, suffocating ache spread through my chest. I could barely breathe. Ronnie rented an apartment near the office for convenience. Nice place — two bedrooms, one living room. She used to have a roommate, but after the girl moved out, no one suitable came along. Worried about the rent pressure, I’d offered to help cover it. Kind of funny, looking back. The monthly rent was $2,500, and I was the one paying it. She wouldn’t let me stay. But Nick moved in for $200. I remember the first time I asked to stay over at Ronnie’s. We were deep in the honeymoon phase. She turned me down firmly. I respected it. The second time was after I helped her move furniture and came down with a sudden fever. She sent me home, told me not to get her sick. There was a third time too, though Ronnie had probably forgotten. My landlord evicted me on short notice. He barged in in the middle of the night and threw my stuff out the door. Furious and panicked, I dragged my suitcase and called Ronnie. She ripped into me. “Hernandez, are you insane?” “You’re a grown man. You could sleep on the street if you had to. Why are you waking me up at this hour?” Four years. I never once got through her door. Nick walked right in. I had to admit — her old-fashioned boundaries only applied to me. My phone buzzed. Ronnie sent a message: Good night. No explanation. No mention of anything. By the way, found a new roommate. Moving in tomorrow, kind of last minute. Hernandez, it’ll be a little awkward for you to come by after this. I stared at that last line and almost laughed. But the tears came first, dropping onto the screen before I could stop them. I wiped my eyes and didn’t reply. Nick posted a third time on Instagram. One photo was of him and Ronnie clinking glasses. In the other, their cheeks were practically touching. Celebrating the new place. Ronnie, thanks for everything — looking forward to what’s ahead. Night. A man and a woman. Alone together. I’d once found a craft beer I thought Ronnie would like and brought her a bottle. She accused me of trying to get her drunk and said she never touched alcohol. Now she was drinking with Nick. In that moment, whatever feeling I’d been holding onto finally let go. There was nothing left to hold.

Two days passed. I didn’t send Ronnie a single message, and she didn’t seem to notice. Then one evening after work, a downpour hit. I was waiting under the awning outside the office for a ride. Nick was standing next to me, phone in hand, smiling to himself. “Ronnie, pull up a little closer — I’m right by the entrance…” A car pulled up. I recognized it immediately. Sure enough, the window rolled down. Ronnie was in the driver’s seat. That car was something Ronnie had wanted. I helped her pay for it so her commute would be easier. But in the middle of a rainstorm, she hadn’t thought to check on me once. She drove my car to pick up Nick. She saw me and hesitated. “Hernandez, you’re…” Nick folded his umbrella and climbed into the passenger seat. “Ronnie, you know Hernandez?” He looked at me through the window, a barely-there smirk on his face. “Hernandez, why don’t you hop in? Let Ronnie drop you off. Hard to get a ride in this rain.” Ronnie said nothing. She just looked at me too. I kept my face flat and shook my head. “I’m good.” I’d already called a car. Three minutes out. I wasn’t going to squeeze in there and ruin my own night. Nick nodded and rolled the window back up. The car sat there for a few seconds, then drove off. By the time I got home and stepped out of the shower, Ronnie was already there. She had my door code. “Hernandez, are you mad at me?” “You didn’t get in the car, and I figured you were busy — but the more I thought about it, something felt off. You’ve barely been texting me lately.” Ronnie reached for my arm. I stepped aside. “Is this about me picking up Nick? Or about the other night when I wouldn’t let you stay over?” She looked more exasperated than anything. “Don’t be like that. Nick is an old classmate. I gave him a ride because I was already passing by — hard to say no when someone asks directly.” “And the reason I don’t let you stay is because a girl has to have standards…” “Ronnie. Let’s break up.” She froze. Her expression cooled. “Hernandez. Seriously?” “Seriously.” I held her gaze. “I can’t stay at your place, but Nick can. You don’t think that’s a little ridiculous?” She never planned on telling me. She knew exactly how I’d react. “You… just hear me out.” She hadn’t expected me to find out. That much was clear from her face. “Nick came here on his own to make it in the city. I’m the only person he knows.” “His family doesn’t have much. It’s been hard for him, and then his landlord threw him out. If I didn’t help, he’d literally be on the street.” I stayed quiet. She sighed. “He’s just crashing temporarily. There’s nothing going on between us. It’s not that deep.” “Besides, he’s like a younger brother to me — and technically just a tenant…” “Just a tenant?” I almost laughed. “Ronnie, I told you about Nick. He’s a new intern in my department.” “He’s been here a week. Every lunch break, he’s on the phone in the break room. People teased him about it and he said it wasn’t a girlfriend — just an old classmate.” “That’s you, isn’t it?” Ronnie’s eyes shifted for just a moment. She didn’t deny it. I’m the kind of person who likes to share things. Whenever I had a free moment, I’d text her. She almost never texted back. We’d argued about it more than once. Back then, Ronnie always looked worn out when it came up. “Hernandez, we’re adults. Work is busy. Lunch breaks are for resting. Can you stop making this so hard?” With Nick, nothing was hard. “These past two days, Nick has been bringing lunch to the office. You made it for him, didn’t you.” I’d once complained about my stomach bothering me and asked if she could cook for me sometime. She told me coldly that she wasn’t my personal chef. The matching lunch containers I’d bought for us — left at her place — Nick had been using them. Ronnie frowned, clearly not following my logic. “Hernandez, don’t you think you’re being a little petty?” “Try not to judge Nick. He mentioned there was some misunderstanding between you two…” She hadn’t listened to a word I said. But she’d taken Nick’s word for it. I had nothing left to say. The silence stretched between us — until the doorbell rang. Ronnie turned and opened the door. Nick walked in and gave me a small smile. “Hernandez. Sorry to intrude.”

I looked at Ronnie. My expression didn’t change. “You called him here?” Nick couldn’t have known my address on his own. Ronnie stood beside him, avoiding my eyes. “Hernandez, Nick isn’t who you think he is.” “There’s been a misunderstanding. You two should talk it out.” I almost laughed despite myself. “I spent two weeks on that event proposal. He deliberately removed my name from it. That’s a misunderstanding?” The project was mine. Nick was just assisting. I’d worked late nights to finish it, and he’d deleted my version from the shared drive and submitted it as his own. I confronted him directly, but I couldn’t prove it. The whole thing blew up at the office. “Hernandez, you can’t just bully me because I’m new.” “That proposal was clearly mine…” Nick trailed off and exhaled slowly. “Forget it. You’re Ronnie’s boyfriend. I don’t want to make things worse between you two. Don’t fight over me.” “I’ll just take the blame. I’m sorry.” Something visibly softened in Ronnie’s eyes. “Nick, I know who you are. Things are what they are.” “You don’t have to put yourself down just because of me.” She didn’t believe me. She believed Nick. She turned to me. “Hernandez, just apologize to Nick. No one’s going to think less of you.” The last trace of hurt in my chest went quiet. I felt completely calm. “Ronnie. I’ll say it one more time. We’re done.” “Now take your friend and get out of my apartment.” Nick flinched. He looked wounded, like he was holding something back. Ronnie stepped in front of him and took his hand. She turned to me, her gaze cold. “Hernandez, is that a threat? You think that’s going to make me back down?” “You’re being completely unreasonable.” She pulled Nick toward the door. It slammed shut behind them. I collapsed onto the couch, completely drained. My phone rang. It was my mom. “Hernandez, you’re really coming home? Did something happen?” “Nothing happened. I already put in my resignation. Once I finish the handoff in a couple days, I’m on my way.” “Did you and Ronnie have a fight?” “Not a fight. We broke up.” I’d already been thinking about moving on from that company. What happened with Nick made the decision easy. I turned in my notice. My boss practically signed it with a smile — apparently he thought he’d just landed Nick as some kind of prize. My mom was quiet for a moment. “Okay. As long as you’re sure.” “Come home. Your dad and I worry about you out there.” My throat tightened. “Mom, don’t worry about me.” “I’ve already been looking at other opportunities. There’s a lot of good stuff…” “I’m not worried. Just don’t push yourself too hard.” I couldn’t get another word out. I thought I’d be able to get through my last two days in peace. But Nick wasn’t done with me. The afternoon before I left, the company group chat blew up. Nick had posted a video. The person in the video was Ronnie. Her expression was serious. She wasn’t joking around. “Regarding the proposal incident — on behalf of Hernandez, I’m issuing a formal apology to Nick.”

She introduced herself as my girlfriend of four years. I stared at the chat, and the blood rushed straight to my head. I knew. Nobody was going to take my side after this. Nick was charming, well-liked. The whole group chat was rallying behind him. I heard about this. I never believed Nick would do something like that. Hernandez really went too far — even his own girlfriend came out against him. That’s actually his girlfriend. Her Instagram is pinned on his profile. No wonder he quit. Probably felt guilty… Ronnie had publicly sided with Nick. Against me. This was the woman I had loved for four years. Made allowances for, for four years. She had gone this far for him. My hands were shaking when I called her. “Why did you do that? Why did you record that video?” “Because Nick hasn’t been sleeping over it.” “Hernandez, when you do something wrong, you own it. Real men don’t cry — but Nick has been so upset he actually broke down.” “I didn’t know what else to do. I just wanted to comfort him a little.” Her voice went softer. “Are you still upset? Hernandez, let’s meet in person and talk.” She sent me the address of a restaurant. I went. I was running on emotion at that point, barely thinking straight. All I wanted was for Ronnie to set the record straight in the group chat and apologize to me publicly. When I got to the restaurant, she wasn’t there yet. Minutes passed. I finished my first glass of water. It hit me suddenly — this was the restaurant where Ronnie and I had made it official. She’d been the one to confess. She’d made me a promise that night. “Hernandez, I mean it. I’m going to treat you right for the rest of my life. I’ll always have your back.” I refilled my glass and drank it down. The anger in my chest started going cold. I lost count of how many glasses of ice water I drank. Ronnie still hadn’t come. The restaurant was getting ready to close. I called her. It rang for a long time before someone picked up. “Hernandez. What do you need?” It was Nick. His voice was smug, sharp around the edges. “Ronnie’s busy. She’s been with me all night.” “She’s exhausted — fell asleep. If there’s something you need, you can tell me.” I gripped my phone. And just like that, my head was completely clear. “Nothing for her. Good thing, actually — I’ve got something for you.” I let out a quiet laugh. “Nick. You’re pretty disgusting, you know that?” “You like collecting other people’s garbage? Fine. Consider it a gift.” I hung up. I wasn’t going to waste a single word on explanations. I left the company group chat. The truth doesn’t need defending. This event was set to launch in ten days. Nick was now fully in charge. I wanted to see how he’d handle it. I opened Instagram and deleted everything connected to Ronnie. I’d already sorted out the move with my landlord weeks ago. I sent her a message letting her know I was leaving early. Then I grabbed my suitcase and headed to the airport. I changed my ticket to the earliest available flight home. The rent I’d been paying for Ronnie, the car payments — I let all of it go. Along with four years of my life. Everything ended the moment I walked through that gate. The plane took off. I powered off my phone and finally got some sleep. Four hours later, I landed. A real weight lifted off my chest. But the second I turned my phone back on, it started vibrating nonstop.

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My husband’s best friend has zero concept of boundaries. She would routinely drink from his water glass, claiming “real friends don’t care about germs.” She would knock on our bedroom door at two in the morning wearing nothing but a slip, claiming she needed her “bestie’s strong shoulder” to soothe her anxiety. But the most absurd part? Every time my husband and I wanted some intimacy, it felt like we had to submit a formal request and wait for her to sign off on it. I cried, I fought, I screamed. But every time, Zach would just smile with that easy, infuriating patience of his. “Tori saved my life, Gill. She’s family. We’re a package deal.” That was until the night his parents were kidnapped. I had to call him twenty times before I finally reached him at Tori’s birthday party. And when I did, he was completely out of patience. “Can you please stop making up these ridiculous stories to ruin the mood? I told you, it’s Tori’s birthday and I’m staying out with her tonight. Why do you always have to be so suffocating?” Through the receiver, amidst the loud music and laughter, Tori snatched the phone and giggled, “Hey Gill, our friendship isn’t something your little tears can break. Grow up and have some self-respect, okay?” As the line went dead, I stared at the phone, laughing until tears ran down my face. You want boundaries? Fine. I’ll give you all the boundaries you want. 1 Zach’s voice dropped, laced with that familiar, heavy exhaustion. “Gill, can you please stop throwing a tantrum?” “I told you, it’s Tori’s birthday. I’m staying out with her tonight. It’s barely eleven. You’re always paranoid, and frankly, everyone is exhausted.” Through the pounding bass of the music, I heard Tori’s voice filter through. “Is your wife checking your leash again, dummy?” My voice was shaking so violently I could barely speak, the sobs clawing their way up my throat. “It’s real… they cut off a finger, Zach. You have to come home! Send the money! The kidnappers said we have until morning to get the cash, or they’ll kill them!” “And it’s twenty million! They only want twenty million!” Five minutes ago, I had found a burner phone at our doorstep, next to a small, blood-soaked ziplock bag containing a severed finger. For Zach, twenty million was a sum he could authorize in seconds. I was screaming into the receiver, my voice cracking under the weight of the terror. There was a brief silence on the other end. Then, Zach let out a sharp, irritated sigh, his tone dripping with disgust. “Gill,” he said, using my full name. “Have you lost your mind? Where is your sense of boundaries?” “You’re always trying to wedge yourself between me and Tori, but using my parents to play these sick mind games? This is too far. You’re—” Before he could finish, Tori grabbed the phone, giggling loudly. “Hey Gill! We played this game already! Remember three months ago when you said you had ‘life-threatening emergency surgery’ and were practically on your deathbed? Zach rushed home in a panic, only to find you sitting on the couch eating chips and watching reality TV!” Roars of laughter erupted in the background. “Oh my god, she actually did that?” “Zach, your wife is a psycho!” My chest tightened. The “deathbed” emergency she was referring to was three months ago when my appendix had actually ruptured. I had been in so much pain I couldn’t stand, but Zach had walked out the door because Tori called crying about a bad day. In the end, it was his mom, Helen, who rushed over and got me to the ER. Zach didn’t come home until two days later, finding me recovering on the couch. But this wasn’t the time to explain. “Zach! It’s real! Please! Just trust me this once—” “Enough.” Realizing he was about to hang up, I shrieked into the phone. “Ten seconds! Give me ten seconds to prove it!” “The kidnapper is going to call this phone in ten seconds to check on the transfer. I’ll put him on speaker so you can hear him yourself! Please!” Ten seconds later, the burner phone rang. With trembling, sweaty hands, I pressed speaker. The kidnapper’s disguised, metallic voice echoed in the quiet room. “Ten million to bring your parents home. Is the money ready?” The line on Zach’s phone went quiet for a beat, followed by an even louder burst of laughter. “Oh my god! A voice changer? Gill went all out this time! Where did she hire these actors?” Zach scoffed. “Gill, you are truly beyond help…” Tori, laughing hysterically, snatched the phone again. “Zach, you are way too nice to your wife. Let me handle this.” She screamed into the receiver: “Hey, you absolute dumbass! Nice acting! If you’re going to kill them, just do it already! Do it clean! How much did my buddy’s wife pay you to put on this little show? Huh? Go to hell!” “Everyone knows Zach’s parents turn off their phones and go to sleep by nine! Kidnapped? In your dreams! Get a life!” Then she turned her voice back to me, her tone dripping with smug satisfaction. “Gill, our friendship isn’t something your little tears can break. Grow up and have some self-respect, okay? Stop bothering us!” The line went dead. For a few seconds, my mind went completely blank. Then, from the burner phone, came the kidnapper’s enraged roar, followed by a series of agonizing, blood-curdling screams. Helen’s weeping voice broke through. “Thomas! Thomas, please don’t! Oh god!” “Please! I beg you!” I fell to my knees, screaming into the burner phone, my words slurring together in panic. “They’re drunk! They didn’t mean it! I apologize for them! Please believe me, I will get the money! Just don’t hurt them! Please!” I begged and pleaded until the sounds of the beating finally stopped. The cold, disguised voice returned. “Fine. But I am highly pissed off now. Two new rules.” “One, the ransom is now thirty million.” “Two, your time is cut. You have exactly three hours to wire it to this account. One cent short, or one second late, and you can come collect their corpses.” 2 “Lastly, do not call the cops, or you won’t like what happens next.” The line clicked shut. I scrambled on the floor, frantically dialing Zach’s number again. “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable…” I tried texting him, sending photo after photo of the severed finger. But every message bounced back with a red exclamation mark. They had blocked me. Completely. The tears finally spilled over, hot and heavy. Zach’s disgusted sigh, Tori’s shrill laughter, the mocking jeers of their friends… it all swirled in my head. Is it worth it, Gill? The thought flickered for a brief second. But then I remembered Helen. Just two days ago, when I mentioned my stomach was acting up, she had driven through a snowstorm to bring me homemade chicken soup. And Thomas, a quiet, gentle man. Every time Zach and I had a fight and I sat in silence, he would clumsily pull out old photo albums of Zach’s childhood to try and make me laugh. He would slip me a credit card when Zach wasn’t looking. “Sweetheart, if you’re feeling down, go buy yourself something nice. Don’t let him get to you.” These were two living human beings who had given me nothing but warmth and kindness. I wiped my tears and called Greg, the CFO of Zach’s company. “Greg! It’s an emergency! I need to wire thirty million dollars from the company accounts immediately! I’ll take full responsibility!” Greg gasped. “Gill… it’s not that I don’t want to help. But Zach transferred the CFO position to Tori a year ago. She holds the secure keys. No transactions can be approved without her personal confirmation.” The shock of that betrayal didn’t even register. I begged him to contact Tori. Time ticked away, heavy and agonizing. Thirty minutes later, Greg called back, his voice thick with awkwardness. “I reached Tori… but she told me to play this voice memo for you.” Tori’s voice filled the speaker. “Gill, are you sick in the head? When will these pathetic stunts end?” “Let me tell you something. Zach’s money is my money. You’re just a paranoid, weeping housewife trying to stick your hands into my buddy’s corporate accounts. Do you have any concept of boundaries?” And the final sentence crushed my soul: “What Tori says goes.” It was Zach’s voice. Only two hours and twenty minutes left. Then my mom called, her voice trembling with anxiety. “Gill, your dad and I managed to report it to the police through a contact.” “The police are tracking them, but this is an experienced crew. It won’t be easy. But they think the kidnappers just want the money. They are coordinating an emergency wire with the bank to ensure a large transfer can go through instantly. But since the kidnappers threatened you not to involve the police, they have to remain undercover. The safest bet is still for you to find Zach and get him to authorize the funds.” “Sweetheart, we did everything we could. We scraped together two million dollars. It’s already in your account.” My parents, lifelong schoolteachers who hated asking for favors, had spent the last hour begging everyone they knew. My throat tightened, but I swallowed my tears. “Mom, I’m going to find Zach.” No matter what, I would save them. And then, I would divorce him. The address Greg gave me was Zach’s family cabin in the woods on the edge of the city. A one-hour drive up the mountain, plus thirty minutes for the transfer. It was enough. I didn’t even put on shoes. I ran straight to the garage. An hour later, I burst into the cabin. But the lights were off. The house was cold and empty. I stood frozen, the silence pressing in on me. I realized with a sickening dread that I had been played. Zach had lied to me. He gave me a fake address to teach me a lesson about “crashing his parties.” Before I could run back out, someone pushed me from behind, shoving me into a guest room. A housekeeper locked the door from the outside, her voice apologetic. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Robert. This was Mr. Robert and Ms. Tori’s instruction. They said you need to calm down and stop crashing their party. You’ll be safe here. Someone will let you out at seven tomorrow morning.” “No! Let me out! Zach’s parents are going to die!” I slammed against the door, hysterical. Then the burner phone rang. “Time’s up, Mrs. Robert. Where’s the money?” I grabbed a wooden chair and began smashing it against the window, screaming into the receiver. “Please! Give me more time! Just one hour! No, thirty minutes! I will get the money!” The kidnapper let out a cruel, soft chuckle. “Fine. In thirty minutes, go to the abandoned chemical plant on the west side. Tell your idiot husband to come collect the bodies.” A brief, horrifying shriek cut through the line, followed by Helen’s choked sob, abruptly silenced. The line went dead. I fell to my knees, the broken shards of glass cutting into my bare feet. The silence was deafening. They were dead. 3 I managed to climb out the broken window. By the time I reached the chemical plant, the flashing lights of ambulances illuminated the rusted metal structures. Thomas was already gone. Helen, using the last ounce of her strength, gripped my wrist, coughing up blood. “The money… our money… the house… the savings… all yours. Don’t give… don’t give that monster a single cent… He doesn’t deserve it…” With those final words, her grip went slack. Both of them lay there, eyes wide, staring at nothing. I sat between the two cold bodies, screaming until my chest felt like it would burst. When I finally got back to our apartment, the sun was high in the sky. I walked through the front door and immediately ran into Tori. She was wearing one of Zach’s button-down shirts, her bare legs peeking out as she stepped out of the master bedroom. She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, you’re back?” “Go make some hangover soup. We had a wild night, and Zach’s head is splitting.” I stood frozen. Looking at this grotesque scene, I felt absolutely nothing. The pain had burned itself out, leaving only ash. Zach, smelling of stale liquor and rubbing his temples, stepped out of the bedroom. Seeing my swollen eyes and disheveled clothes, he frowned. “Are you seriously still throwing a fit over being locked in for one night? Look at yourself.” “Gill, I’m tired of the paranoia and the crying. No man can put up with this. You brought this on yourself by trying to crash our party last night.” Tori leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Why do you even bother talking to her, babe? Women know women. She’s just doing this for attention.” “Trust me. Ignore her a few times, let her learn her lesson, and she’ll fall in line.” I didn’t answer. I walked over to the sofa and sat down in silence. I was simply too exhausted. Zach, unsettled by my quietness, looked around. “Where’s Mom? She said she was coming over first thing this morning to make chicken and dumplings. I’m starving, and I could really use her cooking right now.” A sharp sting hit my nose, and my dry eyes welled with tears again. “She’s… not coming.” Zach blinked. “What do you mean?” I looked up, my voice like gravel. “Zach, your mother is dead. Your father is dead too. They were murdered by the kidnappers last night.” “Their bodies are in the hospital morgue. You should go see them before they put them in the freezer.” For one second, the room was dead silent. Slap! The hangover evaporated from Zach’s face, replaced by pure, blinding rage. He lunged forward and struck me across the face. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” he roared, his chest heaving. “How dare you curse my parents like that?! Just because you’re mad about last night, you say something this sick? Do you even have a soul?!” “Those are my parents! The only people who actually care about me!” Tori gasped, covering her mouth, though a flicker of satisfaction danced in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around Zach’s neck, rubbing his chest. “Calm down, babe. Don’t let her get to you. I told you she was psycho.” She sneered at me. “Gill, you’ve really outdone yourself. Everyone knows how close Zach is with his parents. Using them for your little revenge plot is incredibly low.” Her words poured gasoline on the fire. The veins in Zach’s temples bulged. He snatched his jacket from the couch, threw his arm around Tori’s shoulder, and stormed out, slamming the door. “Come on, Tori. We’re going to my parents’ place for breakfast. Let’s leave this crazy bitch alone.” 4 That morning, they drove to his parents’ house and waited. The house was empty, and their phones were off. Naturally, they assumed I was playing along with his parents to teach him a lesson. Furious, Zach unblocked me on his phone and sent a barrage of angry voice notes. “Unbelievable, Gill! Real mature! You always manage to get my parents on your side to manipulate me. Well, it’s not going to work!” “Come on, Tori. Didn’t you want to go to that mountain resort? It’s only thirty grand. Consider it bought. Let’s go have some fun!” “Seriously? Oh my god, you’re the best!” Tori’s squeal of delight echoed in the message, followed by the wet sound of a kiss against his cheek. And then, he blocked me again. Over the next few days, Tori frequently updated her social media. Photos of steaming hot springs, gourmet dinners, the two of them wrapped in robes, clinking glasses. Caption: When you’re with someone who truly gets you, even the air feels lighter. So good to get away from all that suffocating negativity~ Zach was the first to like it. Agreed. Nothing beats relaxing with your bestie. Their entire friend group chimed in under the comments. Living the life, man! Tori to the rescue, saving our boy from the marriage grave! Isn’t the wife going to lose her mind? Exactly. Bros over hoes. Wives never understand. I saw none of this. I was too busy arranging the funeral services alone. Three days later, Zach and Tori finally returned, looking sun-kissed and relaxed. The moment they stepped through the door, Tori shrieked. “Gill! What the hell is wrong with you?!” The living room was filled with funeral wreaths. On a makeshift altar, two empty black-and-white picture frames sat quietly. “Gill!” Zach’s anger exploded like a volcano. “What the fuck are you doing?! What is all this garbage? Making the house look like a graveyard! Have you completely lost your mind?!” “Where are my parents?! Where are you hiding them?! Tell them to get out here! Have they gone senile, letting you pull a stunt like this?!” “I’ll help you clear this out, babe!” Tori yelled, rushing forward to sweep the altar table to the floor. “Stop!” I lunged to block her, but Zach shoved me hard. “Get away from her!” I crashed against the corner of the table, pain flaring in my lower back. Crash! The offerings scattered, the incense urn shattered, and the candles flickered out on the floor. The custom-made picture frames hit the hardwood, spiderweb cracks spreading across the glass. The room fell into a frustrating, frozen silence. I stared at the ruins. Even in death, their peace had been shattered by their own son. The final thread of my sanity snapped. Slap! I don’t know where the strength came from, but I stood up and struck Zach across the face with everything I had. The sound echoed in the quiet room. I stared into his stunned eyes. “You are going to regret this, Zach.” Before he could respond, I reached into my bag, pulled out the divorce papers I had drafted, and slammed them onto the table. “Sign it.” “I admit it. I have no boundaries. I shouldn’t have gotten in the way of your precious friendship with Tori. We are done.” A flicker of panic crossed Zach’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but Tori cut him off, her face flushed with excitement. “Sign it, dummy! Do it! You’ve been wanting to rid yourself of this psycho for years! She’s nothing but a drag on our group. Who do you want, her or me?” “Fine! Gill, don’t you dare come crawling back!” Zach snatched the pen and scrawled his signature across the page. I felt a sudden, profound wash of relief. And then, from the street below, the somber, heavy wail of a funeral march began to play. Zach and Tori instinctively looked out the window. A formal funeral procession was marching toward the building, carrying two heavy, temperature-controlled glass caskets. At the front of the line, a man held up two large black-and-white portraits. Through the cracked glass of the frames, Thomas and Helen looked straight up at him.

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Eight years. Eight years of building a life together, and for the first time, my fiancé left me entirely alone on our anniversary. All because his new assistant had called him in tears, claiming she had gotten lost on her way home. But that was also the night I realized I was somehow sharing a physical connection with the Wesley of ten years ago. I stared into the vanity mirror, my eyes still swollen and rimmed with red. A dull, heavy ache swelled in my chest, rolling over me in waves. Just as I bent over the sink to splash cold water on my face, my reflection rippled like disturbed water. When it settled, it wasn’t my face staring back. It was a face I knew, yet hadn’t seen in a decade. It was Wesley. But he was eighteen. My breath caught. He was clutching his chest, his shirt bunched in his fist, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. Instantly, the old name slipped from my lips. “Wes? What’s wrong?” The boy in the glass jerked his head up. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, thin and ragged. “Felicity? Are you… are you hurting?” He gasped, his shoulders trembling. “If you aren’t, why does my heart feel like it’s being ripped apart?” … I stared blankly at the glass. I had owned this vanity mirror for five years; I knew every feature—the LED backlight, the anti-fog heater, the smart screen. But it was never supposed to show me a ghost from the past. Perhaps the shock on my face was too obvious, because the teenage Wesley spoke again. “Felicity, please, just calm down and listen to me.” He rubbed a hand through his messy hair—a nervous habit I knew better than my own reflection. “I begged an old man at a street market. He did something… a ritual, I guess, to connect my senses with yours, ten years in the future. He told me if you hurt a little, I’d feel it tenfold.” The pain in his chest seemed to ease slightly, and he let out a long, shaky breath. “I just… I wanted to know if you were happy in the future. I wanted to know if we made it. But it seems like I walked right into a disaster.” My throat felt tight, clogged with a lifetime of words. I opened my mouth, but only a whisper escaped. “You proposed. We’ve been together for eight years.” His face lit up, his eyes bright as stars. “I knew it! I knew we’d make it. We’re going to be happy forever.” I let my next words fall right over his excitement, cold and sharp. “But you’re sleeping with someone else.” He froze. His face flushed crimson with a mix of shock and indignation, his voice cracking. “Bullshit! I would never!” Instead of arguing, I looked down at my phone. A few minutes ago, I had received a series of messages from Lacey, his new assistant. The first was a photo. She and Wesley were sitting side-by-side at the impossibly exclusive omakase spot I had been begging him to take me to for months. On the table between them was a custom cake from a bakery with a six-month waiting list. Lacey was leaning against his shoulder, smiling radiantly. Beneath the photo was a short video. In it, Lacey looked up at him with wide, feigned-innocent eyes. “Wes, if Felicity finds out we’re here, won’t she be mad?” Hearing my name, Wesley’s brow furrowed slightly. I couldn’t tell if it was irritation or guilt. The next second, he dismissed it with a careless shrug. “Why would she be mad? Everything she has, I gave her. If it weren’t for me, she’d still be stuck in some backwater trailer park, pumping out kids for some older man who treats her like livestock. There wouldn’t be a Felicity. Just a miserable, broken girl named Patience.” My fingers trembled as I closed the video, but the name Patience lingered in the bathroom air, echoing in my ears. A sharp, stabbing sensation flared in my chest. I looked up and saw the boy in the mirror double over again, clutching his ribs. “Now do you believe me?” My voice was flat, hollowed out of all life. “Wes, we loved each other for eight years. But it only took you six months to turn into a monster.” Tears dripped onto the marble countertop. “I don’t care what kind of magic you used to get here. But don’t come back. I don’t want to look at your teenage self and feel a single shred of hope for the man you became.” I walked out of the bathroom without looking back at the boy who had once, truly, loved me. The next morning, a raging fever woke me. Whether it was the emotional shock of the previous night or some bizarre side effect of the sensory connection, my temperature had spiked to 103 degrees. My joints ached, and my vision swam. Without thinking, I called Wesley. He answered on the second ring, but his voice was like ice. “I’m in a meeting. Don’t call unless it’s an emergency.” Even through the fog in my mind, I felt a bitter twinge of irony. When a person stops loving you, even their greeting changes. The old Wesley would always answer with a laugh, asking, Miss me already? Now, I was just an interruption. “I have a fever, Wes. I need—” “Fine. I’ll have the driver pick you up.” Before the line went dead, I heard Lacey’s soft, giggling laugh in the background. She sounded so happy, so secure, as if she had already claimed everything that used to be mine. I didn’t wait for his driver. I dragged myself out of bed, threw on a coat, and stumbled to the hospital on my own. As the cold IV fluid finally began to drip into my vein, easing the fire under my skin, I opened my phone and saw Lacey’s latest Instagram post. It was a nine-photo grid. In every single shot, Wesley was by her side—holding her bags, opening her car door, looking at her with the attentiveness that used to belong to me. After the IV bag was empty, I took an Uber back to the empty apartment. I took a hot shower, trying to wash away the smell of the hospital, and when I stepped out, I found the eighteen-year-old Wesley waiting in the mirror. His face looked even worse than mine, pale and drawn. But he still managed a weak, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I can’t control when I appear.” I kept my eyes down, wrapping my towel tighter, and remained silent. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to feel the warmth of his gaze. As I turned to leave, he called out. “Felicity!” I stopped. He didn’t look at my face; instead, his eyes traveled down to my exposed shoulder blade, his finger hovering near the glass. “Does it still hurt?” My hand went to my shoulder. Beneath my fingers was a long, jagged scar. My father had given me that scar when I was twelve, throwing a heavy garden spade at me. Back then, my name was still Patience. I had been crying, begging my parents to let me stay in school instead of dropping out to raise my newborn brother. I didn’t remember the exact trajectory of the spade. I only remembered the dirt porch, the feeling of my own blood soaking through my shirt, and the sudden arrival of the West family. They had been visiting the rural town to see their ancestral estate. Twelve-year-old Wesley had lunged forward like a feral little animal, throwing himself between me and my father. Later, his family took me with them back to the city. Years later, Wesley helped me legally change my name. I remembered him sitting under the sweet-scented osmanthus tree in his backyard, dappled sunlight warming his face. Patience is a terrible name, he had said. It sounds like you were only born to wait on someone else. You deserve your own name. A new life. Felicity. It means happiness. And last night, that same boy, now a man, had used my old name like a weapon to mock my pain to another woman. The boy in the mirror was bent double now, shivering from the phantom pain of my fever and my heartache. Yet, seeing me look at him, he forced another reassuring smile. “I’m sorry, Felicity,” he whispered. “I didn’t think I’d grow up to be so cruel. To make you hurt like this.” I turned my face away, shaking my head. Before I could speak, the apartment doorbell rang, loud and demanding. I didn’t expect it to be Lacey. The moment I opened the door, she stepped inside, casually kicked off her shoes, and slid into a pair of guest slippers. She looked at me with a soft, sweet smile. “Hi, Felicity. Long time no see. Wes sent me to grab some files from the study.” Without waiting for a response, she walked straight past me into the bedroom. I stood in the living room, too exhausted to fight, too drained to stand up for my own space. When she came out, my eyes locked onto her hand. On her ring finger was a delicate diamond ring. It was the custom piece Wesley had designed for me, the one he was supposed to use for our proposal. Lacey noticed my gaze. She raised her hand, stretching her fingers in the light, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “Oh!” she gasped, feigning panic. “Felicity, please don’t get the wrong idea. Wes gave me this as a bonus for working late. It doesn’t mean anything.” She stepped closer, her eyes welling with tears. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll take it off right now. I’ll never wear it again.” Before she could touch the ring, my phone rang. It was Wesley. His voice was entirely devoid of the tenderness he had spent eight years building. It was cold enough to freeze the blood in my veins. “Felicity, don’t give Lacey a hard time. Let her leave. I need those files immediately.” I knew what he was doing. He was watching us through the home security cameras. When he first installed them, he told me he wanted to be able to look at me during a stressful workday to “recharge.” Now, he was using them to make sure I didn’t lay a finger on his mistress. The line went dead. The silence in the apartment returned, heavy and suffocating. Lacey looked at me, the fake tears vanishing instantly, replaced by a cold, victorious smile. She didn’t leave immediately. Instead, she unzipped her designer handbag just enough for me to see a box of condoms tucked inside. “Honestly, the files were just an excuse,” she murmured, leaning in close to pat my cheek. “Wes said these are his favorite. He was in such a hurry for them. I really don’t understand how a woman can let herself become as pathetic as you are, Felicity.” Something inside me snapped. I grabbed her arm, my grip tight and unyielding. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, Lacey. I promise you.” My grip left a dark red mark on her pale wrist. She shrieked, “Are you crazy? Let go of me!” In her struggle to pull away, she shoved me hard. My lower back collided violently with the sharp wooden corner of the coffee table. A white-hot pain flared through my spine. I collapsed onto the floor, curling into a ball as cold sweat broke out across my forehead. Lacey stood over me, looking down with utter disgust. “Look at you. A miserable charity case, actually thinking you could compete with me.” She turned on her heel and slammed the door behind her. By evening, the fever had returned with a vengeance. When Wesley finally came home hours later, I was still semi-conscious on the living room floor, shivering in the dark. Even through the delirium of the fever, his voice cut through the fog. “Are you still playing this dramatic game, Felicity? Lacey came by to help me pick up some files, and you put on this pathetic, tragic show.” He knelt down, his fingers pinching my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “A bad apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? You’re acting exactly like your white-trash mother back in the hills.” I tried to whisper that I hadn’t done anything, but my vision swam, and the world went completely black. I woke up in a private hospital room. The sky outside the window was pitch black, and the room was entirely silent. The dull ache in my back remained, and a tear slipped down into my hair. I thought of the eighteen-year-old Wesley. If I was in this much pain, he must be suffering terribly. I reached out and found a small compact mirror on the bedside table. He was there. But he was crying. In my memory, the Wesley of that age was fierce, proud, and stubborn. I had never seen him shed a single tear. But now, his eyes were red, and tears were streaming silently down his cheeks. “Do you need to see a doctor?” I whispered. He flinched, startled by my voice. He quickly wiped his face, trying to hide the dampness on his cheeks. “No,” he muttered, his voice thick. “I don’t have any physical injuries. The hospital can’t fix this. It’s just… a phantom pain.” He forced a weak, trembling smile. “Once you stop hurting, I will too.” I looked at his tear-stained face, but before I could speak, he interrupted me, his voice rising in panic. “But I’m not crying because of the pain, Felicity! I’m crying because of you.” He pointed to his chest. “Your back hurts, your head hurts… but this is where it hurts the most. And I’m the one who did this to you. I did this.” He looked around, finally realizing I was in a hospital bed. His eyes widened, and he grabbed his jacket, scrambling to his feet. “Why are you in the hospital? Stay there, I’m coming to—” He froze. His hands dropped to his sides, limp and useless. In that quiet moment, the harsh truth settled over him. He was only a shadow from the past, separated from me by a mirror and ten long years. He could feel every ounce of the misery his future self inflicted on me, but he could do absolutely nothing to stop it. We fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. The quiet was shattered when the door clicked open. The present-day Wesley walked in, holding Lacey’s hand. “You’re awake,” Wesley said, his voice slightly softer than before. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were actually sick.” I turned my head toward the wall, refusing to look at them. “Felicity,” Lacey said, her voice dripping with artificial sweet sympathy. “Wes and I came here today because we have some news. I’m pregnant.” Wesley took a step closer to the bed. “Lacey’s baby deserves a proper, stable family. We aren’t married yet, Felicity, and I won’t leave you empty-handed after all these years. Name your price.” I slowly turned my head back, staring at him. “What did you just say?” “I said, name your price. A condo, a trust fund, a ticket out of the city. Whatever it takes for you to move on and stop showing up in our lives.” My voice shook. “Is that all these eight years were to you, Wesley? A transaction?” Lacey began to sob softly, hiding her face against his shoulder, playing the victim perfectly. Wesley’s brow furrowed, his eyes hardening as he looked at me like I was a difficult child. “You’re too emotional right now,” he said, wrapping an arm around Lacey. “You’re going to stress her out. We’re going home. Call me when you’ve calmed down and are ready to talk like an adult.” They left, the door clicking shut behind them. In the quiet room, the boy in the mirror spoke. “Don’t call him.” I lifted the compact mirror. He was biting his lower lip so hard it was nearly bleeding. “I shouldn’t have loved you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that the man I become doesn’t deserve you.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Two years from now, I won’t ask you out. I won’t let us happen. Felicity, remember this: I gave you your name, but your path is your own. Even without me, you will still be Felicity. You won’t ever have to be Patience again.” As he finished speaking, the surface of the mirror began to ripple violently, like water caught in a storm. When the glass cleared, there was only my own reflection staring back. The eighteen-year-old Wesley was gone.

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The day of our engagement party, the bride’s entire family failed to show up. I stood in the lobby of the crowded restaurant, sweat pooling at my collar, dialing my fiancée’s number over and over. When she finally answered, her voice was light, airy, and completely devoid of warmth. “Sorry, babe,” she said, sounding as though she were discussing a change in dinner plans. “Your bride just got hijacked.” I froze, the noise of the banquet hall fading into a low hum. “What are you talking about, Tiffany?” She actually chuckled. “It means someone else is throwing me an engagement party right now.” I couldn’t breathe. “The other guy put down three hundred and eighty-eight thousand dollars cash,” she continued, her voice sharpening. “One hundred grand more than your family’s pathetic offer. What did you expect me to do? Your cheap family was holding me back. Honestly, stop embarrassing yourself. I have three words for you: lose my number.” The line went dead. That afternoon, my family was utterly humiliated, transformed into the local laughingstock. But I didn’t stay down. Later, I came back with eight hundred and eighty-eight thousand dollars to play her own game. I was going to hijack her back. I’d make her fall for me all over again, and then I’d drop her on her face. Some people believe in taking the high road. I don’t. 01 The banquet hall was dead silent. Even though Tiffany had hung up, her final words seemed to vibrate in the air. When the phone had rung, I’d put it on speaker, naive enough to believe she’d have a logical explanation for being late. I wanted my parents and the relatives to hear that everything was fine. Instead, she had taken my dignity, thrown it on the floor, and stomped on it. My face burned with a toxic mix of shame and rage. My father’s face went entirely white. He was a man who lived and died by his reputation, and Tiffany’s words were the equivalent of a public slapping. Beside him, my mother looked even worse. She collapsed back into her chair, her eyes wide and blank. She was a simple woman who spent her life cooking, playing neighborhood cards, and bragging about her family. To her, Tiffany had been an angel sent from heaven. The whiplash of this betrayal was so violent I thought she might faint. Then, the silence broke, and the room erupted. “This is disgusting!” my aunt shouted, slamming her napkin onto the table. “I’ve lived sixty years and I’ve never seen such shameless trash! Planning a wedding with us while secretly taking bids from another man?” “If she wanted out, she should have said so,” my cousin chimed in, red-faced. “This was designed to humiliate us.” My uncle walked over and placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Wyatt, look at me. A girl who can be bought for an extra hundred grand is a curse, not a wife. You’d have been miserable. This isn’t an engagement party anymore. We’re celebrating your narrow escape.” “He’s right, Wyatt. You’re better off.” “Forget her, man.” But their kind words did nothing to clear the fog in my head. Tiffany and I had met through a mutual acquaintance. During our three months of dating, she had been the epitome of sweet, gentle, and understanding. Once we decided to get serious, her family—who lived in a small, traditional town upstate—presented us with an endless list of financial demands. There were engagement tributes, maternal compensation fees, luxury jewelry gifts, and a massive cash down payment on a house in her parents’ name. It totaled nearly seven hundred thousand dollars. My father had sat in silence for a long time when he saw the list, but eventually, he nodded. If she’s the one you want, we’ll make it work, he’d said. My mother had quietly expressed her worries to me, but she still emptied her life savings to help cover it, all while continuing to paint Tiffany as the perfect future daughter-in-law to our neighbors. And what did I think back then? I believed Tiffany when she told me she hated all these transactional traditions, but that her family’s social standing in their hometown depended on them. I didn’t want to make things hard for her, so I agreed. I had a good degree and a corporate salary of fifteen thousand a month; I figured I could earn the money back. But the voice on the phone today belonged to a stranger. I looked around the room. A few relatives looked genuinely concerned, but many of them were biting their lips, struggling to hide their amusement. The embarrassment was a physical weight. After today, our family would be the subject of hushed whispers and mocking smiles for years. I couldn’t take it. I bolted from the hall, ignoring the voices calling after me. “Wyatt, wait!” “Don’t do anything stupid!” “Wyatt!” 02 It only took a two-hundred-dollar Venmo transfer to get the address of Tiffany’s other engagement party from one of her bridesmaids, Courtney. The ultimate insult? The venue was a luxury hotel just a block away from where my family sat waiting. I marched into the lobby, and through the glass doors of the grand ballroom, I saw her immediately. She was wearing a stunning crimson cocktail dress, her arm looped tightly around a man in his early thirties. He had a prominent beer belly and a thick gold chain hanging over his collar. I pushed past the double doors. Tiffany noticed me first. Her smile vanished, replaced by an icy, dismissive glare. “What are you doing here, Wyatt?” “What do you think I’m doing?” I demanded, my chest heaving. “Is this how your family operates? Standing us up without a single word of warning? I came for an explanation.” The beer-bellied man looked me up and down, a smug smirk spreading across his face. “Babe, who’s the kid?” Tiffany let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Just some guy who couldn’t afford me but keeps calling.” “Couldn’t afford you?” I laughed, the sound dry and bitter. “We agreed to every single one of your demands. The cash was sitting in our banquet hall today. And instead of showing up, you and your family sneaked over here to sell you to the highest bidder. If you wanted out, you could have told me. But treating my parents like garbage? I won’t let you get away with this. I’ll ruin this party before I let you walk out of here.” By the end of my rant, I was shouting. Guests began to turn, whispers rippling through the crowd. “You broke loser, shut your mouth!” A loud, shrill voice cut through the room. It was Glenda, Tiffany’s mother. Caked in heavy makeup and dripping in cheap rhinestones, she stepped between us, her eyes flashing with pure malice. “Let me tell you something, Wyatt. We didn’t tell you because we wanted to spare your feelings. You couldn’t afford our Tiffany, and any real man would have taken the hint and slunk away. Do we really need to spell it out for you? You’re too poor for my daughter.” She pulled Tiffany close, patting her shoulder like she was showing off a prize heifer. “Look at her. She’s a masterpiece. You thought you could have her for peanuts? Don’t make me laugh.” She pointed proudly at the man beside Tiffany. “This is Trent. He runs a massive logistics firm. When we asked for three hundred and eighty-eight thousand, he didn’t even blink. He’s got real money. Who would you choose in our shoes?” Trent puffed out his chest, sliding a possessive hand onto Tiffany’s waist. She didn’t flinch; she leaned into him. “Just go, Wyatt,” Tiffany said, her eyes filled with mock pity. “Don’t embarrass your parents any more than you already have. You and Trent are in different leagues. Standing here is just sad.” Trent shook his head, looking bored. “Look, buddy, her mom laid it out for you. It’s a free market. You didn’t have the capital, I did, and she came with me. Cry about it somewhere else. Security! Get this clown out of my venue.” Two burly guards appeared, grabbing my arms and dragging me toward the exit. I thrashed against them, but it was useless. Behind me, the jeers of their guests followed me out. “If you don’t have the cash, don’t play the game…” “Our Tiffany is the prettiest girl from our town, did he really think he could get her on a discount?” “Good riddance.” When they threw me out the front doors, I saw my parents standing by our car, having followed me there. I tried to push back inside, but my mother caught my arm. Her eyes were red, her face wet with tears. “Wyatt, please, just let it go. For me. Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. The fight drained out of me. Looking at her, I finally stopped. I squeezed her hand tightly. “Okay, Mom. Let’s go home.” 03 In the weeks that followed, our house was suffocatingly quiet. The lively sound of my mother chatting with her friends on the phone disappeared. She stopped going to her weekly card games, claiming her back was acting up, and skipped her community dance classes because of her knees. Instead, she spent hours in the kitchen, washing the same vegetables over and over, staring blankly out the window. Her pride—the joy she took in showing off her family—had been completely shattered. She only left the house for groceries, terrified of running into neighbors who might ask about the wedding. My father’s quiet retreat was even harder to watch. He was a senior manager at his firm, a man who used to stand tall and speak proudly of his son’s future. Now, he came home, went straight to his study, and barely ate. At my own office, the whispers followed me everywhere. The story of the groom who got replaced on his wedding day had circulated online locally, turning us into a joke. I went through cycles of rage, numbness, and profound regret. But eventually, a single, sharp focus emerged from the depression. I wanted revenge. The thought took hold of me, growing stronger every time I saw my parents’ defeated faces. Tiffany, you and your family love money more than life itself, I thought. If you can be bought once, you can be bought again. And I am going to destroy you. 04 Three days later, I met Courtney at a quiet diner. “One thousand dollars,” I said, sliding a envelope across the table. “I need your help with Tiffany.” Courtney didn’t even hesitate. “Two thousand. I’m not risking my neck for cheap.” I smiled. “Fifteen hundred. Your friendship with her isn’t worth a cent more.” She snapped her fingers. “Deal.” That night, Courtney managed to lure Tiffany out to a high-end restaurant under the pretense of a girls’ night. When Tiffany saw me sitting at the table, her face hardened immediately. “Wyatt? What is this? Courtney, what’s going on?” She stood up to leave. Courtney smiled warmly and pulled her back down. “Sit down, babe. Don’t worry. Wyatt has a surprise for you.” Out of courtesy for Courtney, Tiffany reluctantly sat back, crossing her arms and legs, looking thoroughly annoyed. “Make it quick.” I stared at her, putting on my best performance of a broken, desperate lover. “Tiffany, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have caused a scene at your wedding. I was hurt, but I understand now. You had to make the best choice for your future. What girl wouldn’t want financial security?” Tiffany’s posture relaxed, a smug, self-satisfied look settling onto her face. I reached out to touch her hand, but she pulled away. I offered a sheepish, vulnerable smile. “I haven’t slept since that day, Tiffany. I keep dreaming about you. I… I still love you. I can’t let you go.” She let out a harsh laugh. “Love me? With what, Wyatt? Your middle-class salary? Trent has over five million in liquid assets. You can’t compete with that.” This was the exact opening I needed. I unlocked my phone, opened my banking app, and turned the screen toward her. The balance showed exactly $888,000. “I have the money now, Tiffany,” I whispered, my voice trembling with practiced emotion. “Eight hundred and eighty-eight thousand. That’s my new offer. I was stupid before, but I’ve corrected my mistake. Please, just give me one more chance.” Tiffany stared at the screen, her eyes widening slightly before she let out another scoff. “Are you joking, Wyatt? You put your parents’ entire retirement on one debit card to impress me? Or did you take out a massive predatory loan? You’re ridiculous.” She was sharp when it came to money. She had guessed the truth; the funds had indeed been pulled together from every resource my family had. I kept quiet, giving Courtney the cue. Courtney wrapped her arm around Tiffany’s shoulders, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tiffany, you’ve got it all wrong. Wyatt’s not telling you everything.” Tiffany frowned. “What?” “You didn’t hear?” Courtney murmured, loud enough for me to hear but quiet enough to sound like a secret. “His family owned those two commercial lots in the South District. They just got rezoned for a massive retail development. My aunt works at the city planning office, and she saw the acquisition list. They’re getting a payout of over ten million dollars.” Tiffany froze. Courtney pressed on. “Ten million, Tiffany. Wyatt’s actually wealthy now. He’s not lying to you.” If this information had come from my mouth, Tiffany would have laughed in my face. But coming from her closest confidante, it was gospel. When Tiffany looked back at me, the coldness in her eyes was gone, replaced by a warm, familiar hunger. “Wyatt…” she murmured, her voice turning sweet. “Is Courtney telling the truth?”

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The day my mother conceived me, I became aware of the world outside. My parents were happy, or at least they seemed to be. I also had an older sister, Hannah. She was my father’s daughter from his first marriage. The day they found out about my existence, Hannah tore her bedroom apart. “You already have me!” she screamed, her voice muffled but sharp through the walls of the womb. “Why do you need another one? You have to choose right now—it’s either her or me!” My mother didn’t answer her. She only whispered to herself that a baby was a gift, a twist of fate meant to be. But to Hannah, it was a betrayal. She began to act out, constantly searching for ways to claw back their attention. It escalated until the day she emptied an entire bottle of concentrated weed killer into my mother’s prenatal herbal teas. When my father discovered what she had done, his fury was unlike anything the house had ever known. For the first time in her life, he hit her. Hannah didn’t cry. She only stared at my mother’s swollen belly with a cold, burning hatred. The day I was brought home from the hospital, she walked over to my bassinet. She reached in and poked my cheek, her finger hard and cold. “You’re their real daughter,” she whispered, her voice dangerously quiet. “With you here, they’ll never love me again.” “There’s only room for one of us, but I don’t want to lose my mom and dad.” “So… could you just leave?” 1 Before I could even register her words, Hannah’s hands found my neck. She squeezed. Slowly, deliberately. The air left me. The world began to dim into a terrible, bruised purple. I wanted to cry, but Hannah was the one who wept first. Her warm tears fell, splashing against my cold cheeks. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” she sobbed. Suddenly, the suffocating pressure vanished. There was a sickening crack, and I watched Hannah fly backward, crashing heavily against the hardwood floor. “Are you out of your mind, Hannah?!” my father roared, his eyes bloodshot as he stood over her. “She’s your sister! How could you do that to a baby?” He kicked her, hard, twice in the ribs, before gently scooping me into his arms. “She’s not my sister!” Hannah choked out, curling into a ball on the floor and clutching her stomach. “She’s yours and Laura’s! But I… I am…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. It was true. I belonged to both of them. But Hannah belonged to my father and a woman who had abandoned them years ago. It was a truth she couldn’t bear to voice. “You are completely insane!” my father yelled. “First you try to poison your mother, and now you try to strangle your sister? How did I raise such a monster?” On the nearby sofa, my mother, still weak from labor, struggled to her feet. She rushed over, panic written across her pale face. “My sweet girl, are you okay?” The moment my mother saw the angry red handprints bruising my tiny neck, her face contorted with grief. She marched over to Hannah and slapped her across the face. Hard. The sound cracked through the room. Hannah’s head snapped to the side. She looked up, her eyes wide with utter shock. “You… you dared to hit me?” My mother’s hands were shaking violently. “Since the day I married your father, I have treated you like my own flesh and blood. I gave you the best of everything. I let it go when you tried to hurt me, but today you tried to murder my baby!” “How am I supposed to ignore this? How? I carried her for nine months, Hannah!” My mother collapsed onto her knees, sobbing hysterically. But Hannah scrambled backward, her face flushed with rage. “Liar! You hit me because I’m not yours! You never would have touched me before she was born!” “It’s because of her! You hate me because of her! The moment a stepmother gets her own kid, the father turns into a stranger too!” She screamed the words, her voice cracking with hysteria. “Shut your mouth!” my father bellowed. “You’re going to terrify the baby!” With tears still drying on my eyelashes, I stared blankly at Hannah. Deep down, I knew she wasn’t entirely wrong. Ever since my parents had found out about me, their eyes had rarely drifted to her. When Hannah had a fever a few weeks ago, they had simply told her to take some aspirin and drink water. The night she ran away, they hadn’t even noticed she was gone until she crept back through the front door, crying. A heavy, instinctive guilt settled in my tiny chest. I forced my crying to stop. I looked at Hannah, stretched out my small, fragile hands, and tried to offer her a smile. “S… Sis…” The syllable was clumsy and slurred, but in the quiet room, it was unmistakable. My parents froze in surprise. Even Hannah went still, staring at me. “Did you hear that, Hannah?” my father whispered, stepping closer to her and holding me out slightly. “Your sister is calling for you. Look at her. Even after what you did, she’s smiling at you!” “See? Don’t be so petty. You’re the older sister.” Seeing Hannah’s bewildered expression, I smiled wider. I wanted her to know that my birth didn’t mean she would lose their love. It just meant there was one more person in the world to love her. But in the next heartbeat, Hannah lunged forward. Her fingers wrapped around my throat again, squeezing with terrifying strength. “Are you mocking me?! You think you’ve won because they love you more?!” 2 Before my parents could react, the front door flew open. My Grandma Ruth, who had been waiting outside, rushed in and violently dragged Hannah away from me. My father stumbled backward, cradling me against his chest, murmuring frantic comforts. “You ungrateful brat!” Grandma Ruth screamed, slapping Hannah across the face. “She is a baby! Her very first word was ‘sister,’ and you still tried to kill her?” My mother covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking. “What do I want?” Hannah shrieked, clutching her burning cheek. “I want her dead!” Slap! Another strike cut her off. I had already lost count of how many times she had been hit today. Grandma Ruth and several other relatives who had come to help with the baby stood blockading the doorway, glaring down at Hannah with pure disgust. “Hannah, you are nothing but a parasite,” Grandma Ruth spat, her eyes red with anger on behalf of her daughter. “Your real mother abandoned you like trash. Laura took you in, raised you, made sure you never felt second-best.” “And how do you repay her? By trying to poison her, and now trying to strangle her newborn? Is your heart made of stone?” My Aunt Rachel crossed her arms, looking at Hannah with deep aversion. “Exactly. Your father came into this marriage with baggage—you. Laura raised you like her own. You should be kissing the ground she walks on, not acting like a psychopath.” “I…” Hannah’s face burned a deep, painful red, but no words came out. From the corner of the room, my Grandpa George let out a heavy, tired sigh. “If we had known it would turn out like this, we never would have fought so hard for custody. We should have let you go with your gambling mother. At least then you wouldn’t be here, ruining this family.” A ruin. Hannah flinched as if she had been struck by lightning. She slowly raised her head, looking at the grandfather who used to buy her ice cream, then at the aunts and uncles, and finally at my parents. “Is that… is that what you all think of me?” The room fell into a suffocating silence. My mother looked away first. My father lowered his gaze, tightening his grip on me. Their silence was the loudest answer of all. But it hadn’t always been this way. Before they knew I existed, I knew they loved Hannah. My father used to lift her high above his head when he came home from work, laughing. “That’s my smart girl! Straight A’s again! I’m so proud of you, Hannah.” My mother used to sit her down every morning, gently braiding her hair with colorful ribbons before walking her to school. That warmth had been real. I had felt it through the quiet thrum of the house. I had looked forward to joining a family that possessed so much love. Until they found me. As my mother’s belly grew, she no longer had the energy to wake up early and braid Hannah’s hair. My father’s attention shifted entirely to nursery color swatches and baby monitors. He even made Hannah move into the smaller guest room so her bedroom could be converted into my nursery. And then there was the school field day. They had promised they would be there. Hannah had waited by the school gates from morning until dusk, but they never showed up. All because that afternoon, I had kicked my mother’s stomach. Just a tiny, fluttery kick. But it was enough for them to panic, rush to the doctor, and completely forget about the daughter waiting in the schoolyard. When Hannah had finally walked through the door that night, she was shaking with rage and heartbreak. “You promised!” she had screamed, throwing her backpack at the wall. “Why didn’t you come? Do you have any idea how long I—” “It was just a field day,” my father had snapped, interrupting her. “You’ve had dozens of them. Your sister kicked your mother’s stomach today. We had to make sure she was safe. None of your school games are more important than your sister’s life.” Hannah had stood there, frozen, as if trying to translate a foreign language. And then, she had flipped the dining table. “You already have me! Why do you need another one? You have to choose right now—it’s either her or me!” But they hadn’t answered. They had only looked at her as if she were throwing a childish tantrum, too busy worrying about me. 3 Hannah’s crying and screaming went on for what felt like hours. Finally, Grandma Ruth lost all patience. She grabbed Hannah by the arm and began dragging her toward the door. “That’s enough! Your mother just gave birth. She’s weak, and you’re here howling like a banshee. Do you want to kill her? You’re coming with me.” But Hannah didn’t care about the physical pain. She dug her heels into the floor, desperately grabbing onto the doorframe. “Dad! Mom! Answer me!” she pleaded, her eyes searching theirs. “I’m not a ruin, right? Tell me I’m not!” My father opened his mouth, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face, but Grandma Ruth yanked her out before he could speak. The heavy front door clicked shut. The apartment fell into a profound, hollow quiet. My mother looked down at me, forcing a tired smile. “At least our little Gracie is good. Look at her, so quiet and sweet. Such a good baby.” She let out a long sigh. “If only your sister had half your temperament. They’re raised in the same house, so how can they be so different?” My father walked over, his fingers gently tracing the red marks on my neck. “That little psycho,” he muttered, his voice darkening. “She actually tried to hurt a baby. Why couldn’t she take it out on me? Why does she have to be so vicious?” His anger simmered, hardening into resentment. “When she comes back, I’m going to teach her a lesson she won’t forget. We’ve spoiled her. She’s starting to act exactly like her mother—wild, selfish, and unstable.” Vicious. Just like her mother. Even inside my blanket, my tiny heart flinched at his words. I was glad Hannah had been taken away. I was glad she hadn’t heard that. I squirmed in my swaddle, making soft cooing sounds, trying to tell them that Hannah wasn’t bad. She was just terrified of being erased. But I couldn’t speak. I could only make meaningless baby noises. My mother smiled, completely misinterpreting my efforts. “Look at Gracie, trying to make her mommy feel better.” Five days later, my mother was discharged, and we returned home. The moment we walked through the door, Hannah was there waiting. My parents instantly stepped in front of me, shielding me from her view. But Hannah only let out a hollow, dry laugh. She slowly rolled up her sleeves. Her arms were covered in angry, overlapping welts—some red and fresh, others dark purple and scabbing over. “Grandma ‘educated’ me,” Hannah said, her eyes fixed on my parents. “I won’t be jealous of the baby anymore. So… you’ll still love me like you used to, right?” She stared at them, begging for reassurance. But my parents only looked at each other, letting out a collective sigh of relief. My father stepped forward and patted her head. “Of course, Hannah. You’ll always be our sweet girl.” They were so happy that she had finally “learned her lesson” that neither of them asked a single question about the horrific marks on her arms. Hannah lowered her head, slowly pulling her sleeves back down. I remembered how, just a few months ago, if Hannah so much as scraped her knee, my parents would hover over her, kissing the scratch and comforting her until she smiled. Now, she was covered in bruises, and they chose to look right past them. Hannah seemed to have truly changed. She helped my father carry the heavy stroller, and she even washed my baby bottles without being asked. Standing in the kitchen, my father whispered to my mother, “I guess letting your mother handle her was the right call. She’s actually behaving now.” Hannah’s hands froze in the soapy water. Then, she slowly resumed scrubbing. So, my parents had authorized the beating. That was why they didn’t ask. Hannah dried her hands, turned around, and looked at my father. “I’m finished,” she said quietly. “I really won’t hurt Gracie again. I understand now.” My father took the clean bottle. “I’m glad you understand. Your mother and I won’t stop loving you just because of the baby. You’re both our children.” My mother smiled warmly from the living room. In my bassinet, I let out a soft gurgle. I thought that, despite everything, our family was finally going to be okay. I promised myself that when I grew up, I would explain everything to our parents so they would never misunderstand Hannah again. 4 Later that afternoon, my parents went into the nursery to organize my clothes, leaving Hannah and me alone in the living room. I wiggled, reaching my tiny hands out toward her, making soft “Sis, sis” sounds. Hannah walked over to the bassinet, her expression guarded and complex. “You don’t hate me? After what I did to you?” I shook my head as best as my little body could, continuing to reach for her, begging for a hug. Hannah froze. “You… you want me to hold you?” I blinked, letting out a happy coo. She hesitated, her bruised fingers trembling as she slowly reached down toward me. But just as her hand was about to touch my blanket, a heavy slipper flew across the room, striking her squarely in the face. Hannah stumbled backward, gasping as her head snapped to the side. “You liar!” my father screamed, rushing into the room. “You said you wouldn’t hurt her! I knew you were pretending! Were you trying to choke her again?!” “I wasn’t!” Hannah shrieked, her voice cracking as she collapsed into tears. “She was reaching for me! She wanted me to hold her! I was just trying to hold her!” “Don’t lie to me!” My father didn’t listen. He snatched me out of the bassinet, shielding me behind his back. “She’s a newborn! She doesn’t know how to ask for hugs! You almost killed her last time, and now you’re trying to finish the job!” His chest heaved, his lips trembling with rage. My mother emerged from the nursery. She didn’t yell. She just stood there, looking at Hannah with a profound, quiet disappointment. But that silent disappointment was far more lethal than any slap. I panicked. Why couldn’t they see? I began to squirm violently, crying out to stop them from hurting her. But my father only held me tighter. “Did she scare you, my sweet girl? Daddy’s here. You’re safe.” “I didn’t do anything! I didn’t hurt her!” Hannah screamed, taking a desperate step forward to explain. But my father instinctively took a step back, shielding me further. Just half a step. But it was enough to freeze Hannah in her tracks. The frantic energy drained from her body, leaving her completely hollow. “You don’t believe me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You never believed me… All those promises about still loving me… they were all lies.” She turned and bolted out the front door. “Hannah! Don’t you dare walk out that door!” my father roared after her. But she was already gone, her footsteps echoing down the stairwell. My mother made a move toward the door, but my father grabbed her arm. “Don’t go after her. She has nowhere else to go. She’ll be back when she gets hungry.” But a week passed, and Hannah never came home. And my parents never went to look for her. “It’s been over a week,” my mother murmured one evening, staring blankly at the dinner table. “Do you think she’s okay?” My father didn’t lift his head, expertly taping a fresh diaper onto me. “What could happen to her? She’s probably throwing a tantrum at your mother’s place. She’s got a wild streak; nobody’s going to mess with her.” My mother didn’t reply. “I should call my mom just to check.” Before she could reach for her phone, the doorbell rang. My father smiled, picking me up. “See? What did I tell you? She ran out of steam and came back on her own. We worried for nothing.” My mother let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for days and rushed to open the door. But it wasn’t Hannah. Grandma Ruth stood on the doormat, holding a plastic bag filled with baby rattles and stuffed animals. “I came to see my little angel!” she smiled, stepping inside. “My, she’s grown so much in just a few days.” Then, her face turned serious. “Oh, by the way, you two need to lock your doors. The neighborhood watch said there’s a predator wandering around the West District—some sick monster targeting young kids. Keep Gracie close.” My father waved his hand dismissively. “We’re with Gracie twenty-four hours a day. No one is getting near her.” My mother, however, was still looking past Grandma Ruth into the empty hallway. “Mom… where’s Hannah? Didn’t she come with you?” Grandma Ruth frowned. “What do you mean? Why would she be with me?” The color drained from my mother’s face. “Hannah ran away a week ago… we thought she was staying with you.” Grandma Ruth sighed, shaking her head. “She’s run away before. She’s probably at one of her aunts’ houses. Just text the family group chat and ask. She’s just trying to scare you.” My mother’s hands shook as she unlocked her phone. But before she could open her messages, the phone began to ring. It was an unknown local number. My mother pressed answer, her voice trembling. “Hello?” “Hello, is this the family of Hannah Lynn? This is the precinct detective’s office. We have recovered the body of a young female matching her description. We need you to come in for an identification.”

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If you asked anyone in Manhattan, they’d tell you Troy Locke worshipped the ground I walked on. Why else would the city’s most ruthless, undefeated defense attorney agree to represent my brother, a man accused of a brutal sexual assault? And not just any victim—the accuser was Mia Jenkins, Troy’s own protégé, the golden girl he had mentored for years. The press had a field day. Everyone assumed Troy would pull his usual legal magic and get my brother acquitted. Troy never lost. But he did lose. In just two months, the trial and the subsequent appeal ended in total, catastrophic failure. Worse than that. The initial sentence was three years. After the appeal, the charges were escalated to federal kidnapping and aggravated assault. The new sentence? Life without the possibility of parole in a maximum-security prison. A guaranteed death sentence for someone like my brother. When the news broke, the media camped out, waiting for me to lose my mind. Waiting for Grace Croft, the fiery actress who had just wrapped a closed-set shoot in Europe and stormed the courthouse steps during the first trial, to put on a hysterical show. But on the day of the final sentencing, the vultures outside the courthouse waited in vain. I wasn’t screaming. I was standing in a quiet, sterile bathroom down the hall, calmly holding a phone to my ear. “Declan,” I said, my voice eerily steady. “I’ll marry you. Just get your legal team to file a motion for a retrial for my brother.” Silence hummed on the line for two seconds. “I have faster ways to handle this, Grace. The appellate courts are a nightmare. Sam will be locked up for a long time while we fight it.” “It won’t be a hard fight.” I lowered my eyes, tracing the grout lines on the floor. “When we were in the foster system, Sam was in a terrible accident. He doesn’t have male anatomy. It is biologically impossible for him to have raped anyone.” 1 “We grew up in the worst parts of the city. Sam is deaf and mute. To find work, to protect me, he took so many beatings. After one of those brutal attacks, he underwent emergency surgery. Everything was removed.” I gripped the edge of the sink. “If the men in that prison find out what he is… it will be a fate worse than death. I swore I would take that secret to my grave.” A long beat of silence. “Does Troy know?” Declan asked. I didn’t answer. Once Declan agreed to send his team, I hung up and pushed the bathroom door open. I caught my reflection in the mirror—pale, hollowed out, a ghost of the woman I was yesterday. I forced the corners of my mouth up in a dark, bitter mimicry of a smile. Troy didn’t know. But until today, I genuinely thought he did. It had been a month since the initial guilty verdict. Troy was Sam’s defense attorney. He had unlimited access. All he had to do was ask Sam, and Sam, desperate to clear his name, would have found a way to tell him. When I flew back from Europe in a panic, Troy had taken my face in his hands and apologized. He blamed a biased jury. He promised me he would win the appeal. For two weeks, I barely saw him. He was supposedly working back channels, meeting with judges, pulling every string. I was running myself ragged gathering security footage that proved Sam wasn’t even there. I thought we were in the trenches together. But an hour ago, in that courtroom, Troy had stood before the judge and offered practically no defense against Mia’s lawyers. Worse, the flash drive containing the security footage I had painstakingly tracked down—the footage showing Sam leaving the building immediately after arguing with Mia—was mysteriously “lost” from Troy’s briefcase. “Grace!” My assistant, Bella, jogged down the corridor, her face flushed with anxiety. “There you are. We need to go out the loading dock. The press is swarming the front.” She touched my arm gently. “Troy did his best. Mia hired Judge Davis’s old firm. Nobody beats them.” She hesitated, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Though, I heard Judge Davis retired from private practice years ago. I have no idea how Mia got him to take her case…” My footsteps faltered. I stopped dead in the middle of the hallway. “Yeah,” I whispered. “How could Mia possibly get him?” Mia couldn’t. But Troy could. Judge Davis was Troy’s old mentor. The man was like a father to him. Years ago, the Judge had despised me, viewing me as a D-list actress gold-digger. He forbade Troy from marrying me. Troy stood in the pouring rain outside the Judge’s estate for twenty-four hours to prove his devotion to me. The Judge never opened the door. Troy chose me, and the two hadn’t spoken since. If it weren’t for this trial, I would have forgotten the old man’s face entirely. And if it weren’t for this trial, I never would have realized that the person Troy truly wanted to save wasn’t me. Right before the hearing began, Troy had gently told me to wait outside, claiming my emotional state might prejudice the judge. But when the gavel fell, sealing Sam’s fate, I couldn’t breathe. I had run to the bathroom to muffle my sobs. And that was when I heard it. Through the thin walls, from the adjacent corridor. Mia’s voice. “Troy,” she was crying, her voice thick with relief. “Thank you. Getting Judge Davis to represent me… destroying that security footage… If you hadn’t been with me every single night this past month, I would have killed myself.” It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. My blood stopped moving in my veins. Then came Troy’s voice. It was the same cool, authoritative tone he always used, but laced with a tender indulgence I hadn’t heard in years. “He hurt you, Mia. Professionally and personally, I was never going to let him get away with it.” They talked for a long time. And standing in that bathroom stall, everything finally clicked into agonizing clarity. From Sam’s arrest, to the indictment, to today. Two months. Troy was the defense attorney, and he hadn’t visited Sam in jail a single time. He didn’t “lose” my evidence. He threw it in the trash. He insisted on taking Sam’s case, isolating me from the process, purely to guarantee I didn’t hire a competent lawyer. He engineered the entire defense to ensure the man who supposedly hurt his precious protégé was locked away forever. And why had Mia framed Sam? Because a week before the arrest, Sam had confronted her, signing furiously, warning her to stop trying to destroy my marriage. I closed my eyes, a wave of nausea rolling over me. I remembered casually complaining to Sam that Mia was too clingy with Troy, that it made me anxious. I remembered the day I flew back, my brain short-circuiting at the news of Sam’s arrest. I had been a hysterical mess, screaming, “Sam couldn’t do this! Mia is lying! She belongs in a cell!” “I’m going to her apartment! I’m going to make her tell the truth!” But Troy had caught me by the shoulders, his gaze steady and reassuring. “Don’t go near her, Grace. I know Sam isn’t that kind of man. I’ll win the appeal. You just need to trust me. Let me handle it.” And I did. God, I trusted him. But the “win” he was working for was Mia’s. The “trust” he spoke of was his blind, unquestioning faith in Mia’s lies. If he had done the bare minimum of his job—if he had bothered to interview his own client—he would have known Sam couldn’t have raped anyone. Bella was still urging me forward. I walked mechanically until I rounded the corner and nearly collided with Troy. He was still in his bespoke suit, his tie perfectly knotted. He radiated that untouchable, elite aura that owned every room he walked into. His eyes flicked over my pale face, pausing for a fraction of a second before settling back into cool composure. “Where did you go?” he asked. “The clerk needs a family member to sign the acknowledgment of the sentence.” I looked down at the paperwork in his hand. The words swam, stinging my eyes. I didn’t take the paper. I just looked up at the man standing in front of me. Five years. I had loved that face for five years. I met him when he was just starting to make a name for himself. We were at a gala, and a group of predatory executives were trying to drink him under the table. He took every shot without complaining, though his jaw was tight with strain. I thought it was charming. I stepped in and took three shots of whiskey for him. Later, he asked me why I did it. “Because you remind me of my brother,” I had said. “You’re at your breaking point, but you refuse to let anyone see you bend.” Later, he won the lawsuit that freed me from a toxic management contract. He became my husband. I will never let you down, Grace, he had sworn. I stared at him in the quiet of the courthouse corridor. Troy’s brow furrowed slightly under my scrutiny. Finally, I opened my mouth. My voice was completely, terrifyingly calm. “Troy. I want a divorce.” 2 Troy’s frown deepened by a millimeter. “A divorce?” His tone was flat, dismissive. “This isn’t the time for one of your tantrums, Grace.” A passing court official—one of the prosecutors—paused, giving me a patronizing sigh. “Ms. Croft, Troy’s reputation has already taken a massive hit just by representing your brother. Mia Jenkins has an airtight evidence chain, and she had Judge Davis. An appeal was a pipe dream. Just sign the acknowledgment. If he goes to maximum security, Troy might still be able to pull strings to get him into a safer block.” My hands balled into fists. Sam was deaf. He was mute. He had survived the horrors of the foster system, survived the streets, survived unimaginable pain, and now he was being sent to a place where he would be slaughtered. And these men were telling me to stop throwing a tantrum. I took a slow, deep breath, my fingernails biting into my palms until the skin nearly broke. I wanted to scream the truth. I wanted to tell the whole damn courthouse that Sam was biologically incapable of this crime. But I couldn’t. Not yet. Troy had deliberately tanked this case. He had thrown my brother to the wolves for Mia. I had no idea how deep their twisted relationship went, or how far Troy would go to protect her. If I played my hand now, Troy would just bury the medical records. He would find another way to crush Sam. I didn’t even know if Sam was being threatened in holding right now. I couldn’t afford to be impulsive. I couldn’t fight Troy on his home turf while I was utterly isolated. I needed to tear this self-righteous, untouchable lawyer down to his very foundations. Taking my silence for submission, Troy reached out and wrapped his hand around my wrist. “Let’s go home. We’ll discuss the next steps later.” As we pushed through the heavy doors toward the private parking garage, Troy’s cell phone rang. Through the earpiece, I could hear Mia’s voice, trembling and thick with tears. Troy’s face softened instantly. “Don’t panic,” he murmured. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up and looked at me, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “Mia got ambushed by the paparazzi at the front entrance. She’s having a panic attack. I need to go handle it. Have my driver take you home.” I didn’t say a word. Troy studied me. I was being too quiet. But he didn’t have time to dissect my mood. He signaled his driver, turned on his heel, and strode away. Bella and I followed the driver to Troy’s black Porsche Cayenne. The driver pulled the passenger door open for me. As I bent to slide in, my peripheral vision caught something in the footwell of the passenger seat. A scrap of black lace. A pair of women’s underwear. Bella followed my gaze, her face flushing crimson. “What… what the hell is that?!” The driver froze, stammering. “It… it might be a rag? Ms. Jenkins leaves things in the car sometimes when Troy gives her a lift to work.” “A rag?!” Bella’s voice went up an octave. “Do you think we’re stupid?” Before anyone could say another word, the sound of shouting erupted behind us. A rogue group of protesters and paparazzi had breached the garage. “Have some shame! Defending a rapist!” Suddenly, something wet and heavy hit the side of my head. Rotting vegetables and cracked eggs rained down on us. “Your brother ruined that poor girl’s life! How dare you get in that car!” “You’re dragging Troy Locke’s name through the mud! Do him a favor and leave him alone!” Bella threw her arms around me, using her body as a shield. Slime dripped from my hair, the stench of sulfur running down my cheek. I didn’t flinch. I just looked at the lace underwear sitting in my husband’s car. A quiet, hollow laugh slipped past my lips. I turned around and walked out of the garage, leaving the car behind. 3 When I got back to the penthouse, I stood under the scalding water of the shower for an hour. I stepped out just as Troy unlocked the front door. He wasn’t alone. Mia was tucked safely behind him, her face streaked with delicate tears. Troy’s eyes flicked to the pile of my soiled, egg-stained clothes on the floor, but he didn’t ask what happened. Mia shrank back, pressing herself against Troy’s shoulder as if my mere presence terrified her. Troy shifted his weight, subtly blocking her from my view. His tone was perfectly level. “Mia is highly traumatized right now. The press overwhelmed her. I brought her here to calm down.” I stared at them. I saw the way Mia’s fingers curled into the fabric of his suit. I saw the fleeting, venomous smirk that flashed in her eyes before she buried her face in his back. “Get out,” I rasped, my stomach violently churning. Troy’s brow instantly pinched in displeasure. Suddenly, Mia lunged forward, collapsing to her knees on the hardwood floor right in front of me. “Grace, I am so sorry!” she wailed. “It’s all my fault! I never should have gone to the police!” “Troy has mentored me for years, and now I’ve ruined your marriage! Please, hit me! Punish me!” She crawled forward on her knees. But as she got closer, the sobbing stopped. Her lips barely moved, her voice dropping to a vicious, microscopic whisper meant only for me. “Those protesters in the garage? Troy had security tip them off. He needed a distraction so he could sneak me out the front.” My entire body went rigid. Mia’s voice grew even softer, practically a purr. “Your freak of a brother cried like a baby when they dragged him away. But who can he blame? Who told him to play the hero and threaten me? Who the hell is he to tell me to stay away from Troy?” She paused, a sickening smile touching her lips. “Grace, Troy trusts me so implicitly. He personally made the calls. Skipped standard procedure and sent your mute brother straight to hell.” A high-pitched ringing erupted in my ears. Without a single thought, I raised my hand and swung. My wrist was caught mid-air. Troy held my arm. His grip wasn’t bruising, but it was absolute rock. He looked down at me, his face devoid of emotion—the hallmark of his rising anger. “Grace.” He used to say my name like that when I worked too many hours on set, or when he missed me. I stared back at him. My eyes were entirely devoid of warmth. I was looking at a stranger. My gaze was so dead, so freezing cold, that Troy actually flinched. He opened his mouth to say something, but Mia suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream. “No! Stay away from me!” She curled into a fetal position on the rug, violently shaking, her eyes locked onto a framed photograph on the console table. It was the first picture Sam and I took together after leaving the foster system. We were grinning, faces pressed together. “He’s looking at me! He’s going to hurt me again!” Mia babbled incoherently. Troy instantly released my wrist and dropped to one knee, pulling Mia into his chest. “Make it go away! Please, Troy, make it stop…” she sobbed into his shirt. Troy reached up and laid the photo frame face down. “I’ll put it in storage,” he told me, his tone leaving no room for argument. But Mia shrieked louder. She scrambled out of his arms, grabbed the heavy silver frame, and smashed it against the edge of the table. Glass shattered across the floor. My heart felt like it fractured with it. I dropped to my knees, frantically trying to gather the pieces of the photo. Troy frowned. “Grace, stop, I have the digital backups—” But Mia was already moving. She went through the living room like a hurricane, grabbing every single photo that had Sam in it and hurling them to the floor. Troy didn’t stop her. He actually reached up to the high mantle to hand her a frame she couldn’t reach. She kept going until she pointed a shaking finger at a massive canvas on the wall. It was our wedding photo. “She looks just like him!” Mia shuddered, pointing at my face. “I’m terrified…” This time, Troy’s hand stopped in mid-air. In the photo, I was wearing a Vera Wang gown, smiling so brightly it hurt to look at. Troy reached out and gently covered Mia’s eyes. “Then don’t look,” he said softly. “I’m taking you out of here.” I let out a harsh, broken laugh. “Get out.” I stood up, walked over to the wall, ripped our wedding canvas off the hook, and threw it onto the pile of shattered glass. Troy’s jaw tightened. “There is no need to be vindictive to a victim of trauma, Grace.” “Get the fuck out!” I screamed, my whole body vibrating. “Both of you, get out of my house!” Troy scooped Mia up in his arms and walked out the door without looking back. I collapsed onto the ruined floor. My mind drifted to the first case he ever won for me. I was a nobody, trapped in a predatory contract. He went to war for me, making his name in the process. At the victory party, slightly drunk, he kissed my forehead in front of everyone. From now on, Grace, I protect you. No one in this world is allowed to bully you. I touched the cold glass on the floor, let out a dry breath, and walked into my study. 4 The next morning, I walked straight into Troy’s law firm. I pushed open the heavy oak doors to his private office. Mia was sitting on Troy’s lap, their lips locked together. Troy broke away instantly, his eyes snapping to mine. He hurriedly shifted Mia off his lap. “She’s having a panic attack. She was hyperventilating. It was grounding technique,” he said. For the first time in his life, Troy Locke sounded flustered. I didn’t care. I felt nothing. I walked to his mahogany desk and dropped a manila folder in front of him. Troy felt a sudden, suffocating wave of panic. In the past, if Mia even touched his arm, I would have thrown a fit. I would have demanded answers. Now? I didn’t even blink. “Sign it,” I said. “It’s the termination of your legal representation for my brother.” He looked down at the folder, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You want to file for a retrial? Grace, without new, exculpatory evidence, an appellate judge won’t even look at it.” I stared at him, the ghost of a smile pulling at my lips. “I had evidence. But you threw it in the trash.” Mia instantly started weeping. “Grace, why are you doing this?! Please don’t forge evidence just to make Troy’s life harder…” “Your brother destroyed me! Doesn’t he have to pay for what he did?” She clutched her chest, performing a flawless hyperventilation act. Troy gently rubbed circles into her back, but his eyes were locked on my dead, unyielding stare. He hesitated, then picked up his Montblanc pen and scrawled his signature across the documents. “I signed it. Now please leave. You’re triggering her.” He didn’t even read the pages underneath. He didn’t notice that the second document in the stack was a petition for divorce. The most meticulous, paranoid defense attorney in New York lost every ounce of his intellect the second Mia shed a tear. How pathetic. I turned on my heel and walked out. It was mid-April, but as I stepped onto the Manhattan pavement, snow had begun to fall. Unseasonal, bitter snow. I looked up at the grey sky. Maybe the universe felt the injustice, too. Snowflakes landed on my cheeks, melting and mixing with the hot tears I hadn’t realized I was crying. I wiped my face violently. I met Declan’s high-powered legal team at the federal courthouse. We submitted the backup files of the security footage and the sealed medical records proving Sam’s biological reality. “We’ll file the motion for retrial and push for emergency visitation,” the lead attorney told me. “Just wait for our call.” I submitted the signed divorce papers to the clerk. When I returned to the penthouse, I started packing. But after staring at my closet for ten minutes, I realized I didn’t want a single thing from this life. I slid the diamond ring off my finger, placed it exactly in the center of the coffee table, and walked toward the front door. I yanked it open, only to slam directly into a solid chest. Troy. His eyes were bloodshot, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. He grabbed my arm and practically dragged me into the elevator, hauling me out to his car and driving straight to the hospital. “Are you insane, Grace?!” he roared as he drove. “Do you have to torture her? Why are you so damn malicious? Why would you send those photos?!” “What photos?” I asked, my voice numb. “Mia received printed photos of the assault! Graphic, humiliating photos of her trauma. Who else would do that but you?” I shook my head. “I didn’t—” A piercing shriek echoed from the hospital room at the end of the hall as we stepped off the elevator. Troy dropped my arm and sprinted inside. Mia was huddled in the corner of the hospital bed. The second she saw me in the doorway, she scrambled backward like a cornered animal. “No! Keep her away from me!” Before anyone could react, she grabbed a silver fruit knife from her lunch tray and pressed the blade against her own throat. “Please stop torturing me, Grace! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Troy froze, his hands raised, his legendary composure shattering. “Mia. Put the knife down. Please.” Mia’s eyes were wild, locked onto my face. “Her face looks exactly like his! He’s the one who raped me! I can’t look at her! I want to die!” She pressed the blade harder. A thin line of blood welled up on her neck. Troy squeezed his eyes shut. A second later, his eyes snapped open. He looked at the two burly orderlies standing by the door. “Hold my wife down,” he ordered.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “460701”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband was the undisputed king of Manhattan’s venture capital scene. He also had an adopted sister—a petulant, genius hacker. For eight years, their dynamic was high-profile and exhausting: she broke things, and he swept up the pieces. Until yesterday, when she hacked my car’s braking system, sending me hurtling off a cliff. As he signed my emergency surgical consent form at the hospital, he only sighed: “Don’t blame Talia. She was just playing a game. She didn’t actually want to kill you.” “She knew I got you the best medical team. It was just a stupid prank to scare you.” Just as his pen left the paper, his assistant called. Talia was being harassed at some upscale lounge downtown. Damian dropped the pen and ran. He left in such a rush that he didn’t even notice he had checked the wrong box for my blood type. Then, the long-dormant System in my mind finally flickered to life: [Death by the male lead’s hand will instantly complete the mission. Hemolytic shock from mismatched blood transfusion will trigger terminal failure. Does the Host accept the process?] I stared at the dark red bag of blood the nurse was bringing over, and smiled. “Let’s begin.” … “Are you sure about this, Mrs. Wayne? This is Type A blood,” the nurse asked. She held the bag up, the veins on the back of her hand bulging slightly under the tension. Her eyes were filled with hesitation, even panic. “Give it to me,” my voice was impossibly calm. “My husband signed the consent form himself. How could he possibly be wrong?” The nurse bit her lip, let out a slow sigh, and tore open the sterile packaging of the IV line. The thick needle slid smoothly into the vein on the back of my hand. The dark fluid began its slow, rhythmic drip down the clear tubing, entering my bloodstream drop by drop. The System’s mechanical voice chimed in my mind right on time. [Host has accepted the incorrect blood type. Fatal hemolytic reaction countdown initiated. Time remaining: 72 hours.] I closed my eyes. I could feel the foreign cells waging war inside my veins. Within thirty minutes, a sharp, white-hot ache bloomed in my lower back, as if someone were methodically hammering a dull chisel into my bones. Shivers racked my body; I pulled the thin hospital blanket tight around me, but my teeth chattered uncontrollably. Then, the door was kicked open. Damian strode in, bringing with him the suffocating stench of expensive whiskey, stale smoke, and cheap club air. There were even a few tacky, iridescent sequins stuck to the collar of his bespoke Italian suit. Behind him was Talia, entirely untouched. She was wearing a provocative sequined slip dress, her eyes artistically rimmed with red. Like a startled fawn, she clung tightly to Damian’s sleeve. “What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?” Damian demanded, standing over my bed. His brow was furrowed, his eyes dripping with irritation. “The doctor said you only have minor abrasions. Who are you putting on this shivering act for?” I gritted my teeth, riding out a wave of agony in my kidneys. Cold sweat coated my forehead. “I’m cold,” I whispered through clenched teeth. He scoffed, loosening his tie with an aggressive tug. “Cold? The thermostat is set to seventy-eight degrees. You’re telling me you’re freezing?” He turned to Talia, his voice softening instantly. “Talia, go turn off the AC. Otherwise, your sister-in-law will just find another excuse to complain.” Talia nodded meekly and flicked the wall switch. Then she turned back, looking at me with wide, tearful eyes. “Gemma, I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to mess with your brakes.” “I just wanted to test my new exploit script. Damian already chewed me out. Please don’t be mad at me, okay?” She spoke softly, tears slipping down her cheeks. Damian stepped forward, shielding her from my view. “That’s enough. Why are you apologizing to her?” “She’s lying there perfectly fine, isn’t she?” He glared at me. “Gemma, Talia was almost assaulted at the club tonight.” “She’s traumatized, yet she still came all this way to apologize.” “And you can’t even offer a decent look? Don’t you think you’re taking this too far?” I looked at his righteous face and felt a sudden, hysterical urge to laugh. My car spun out of control on a mountain road, crashed through the guardrails, and nearly plunged into a ravine. I was pulled from the wreckage covered in blood. And all he cared about was whether his precious little sister had her feelings hurt at a bar. “She’s traumatized?” My voice was raspy, scraping against my throat. “She went clubbing, got hit on, and that’s trauma? What about me? I almost burned alive in that car. What does that count as?” Damian’s scowl deepened. “Do you have to constantly bring up death?” “I hired the best specialists in the city for you.” “Besides, your SUV has a top-of-the-line collision system. Talia calculated the impact—she knew you’d be fine.” Calculated. I looked up at the IV bag. The dark red poison was dripping steadily, systematically destroying my organs. Oh, yes. She calculated everything. She even calculated that today would be my last. “Damian,” I said, my voice as faint as a passing breeze. “What if I actually die?” He froze for a fraction of a second, before a look of utter disgust replaced his hesitation. “Are you really playing this card again?” “Every time Talia makes a mistake, you threaten me with your life.” “Gemma, do you have any idea how exhausting you’re being?” He pulled up a chair and sat down, crossing his long legs. “Stop acting.” “If you’re really in pain, I’ll have the nurse pump you full of painkillers.” “Talia is terrified tonight, so I’m staying with her. You can use this quiet time to reflect on your attitude.” I said nothing. My temperature was soaring, and my vision was beginning to blur. My chest felt like a furnace, every breath a searing inhalation of ash. The classic onset of acute hemolysis. My red blood cells were rupturing en masse. “Is Gemma really okay?” Talia asked, peeking out from behind Damian’s shoulder. “Her face is so red. Does she have a fever?” Damian didn’t even bother to look closely. “Fever? She’s just seething because I didn’t drop everything to hold her hand.” He stood up, looming over my bed with cold eyes. “Gemma, let me warn you one last time.” “Drop these pathetic, jealous mind games.” “Talia is my sister. I protect her—that’s the way it is.” “If you treat her like garbage again, don’t expect me to keep playing the doting husband.” I looked at him and forced a pale, bloodless smile. “Alright.” “Then you make sure… you protect her well.” He sneered, grabbing Talia’s hand. “Let’s go. Don’t waste your breath on a crazy woman.” The door slammed shut. I stared at the near-empty IV bag and closed my eyes. “System. Turn up the pain suppression to the maximum.” [Understood, Host. Pain block initiated at 100%. Safe travels.] The click of high heels signaled Talia’s return. Damian wasn’t with her. Her vulnerable, tearful facade dissolved instantly, replaced by a cruel, smug satisfaction. I ignored her. The fever had left my body weak, and my breath tasted of copper. Talia walked over, casually tapping the IV line. “Tsk, tsk. How pathetic.” “You know, Damian was just complaining in the hallway about how high-maintenance you are.” She leaned down, whispering mockingly. “He said you aren’t worth a single hair on my head.” I forced my eyes open and looked at her coldly. “Are you done?” “If you are, get out.” Talia only laughed. “Oh, Gemma, still so prideful. But don’t worry, you won’t be able to act tough for much longer.” She pulled a compact, hand-sized microcomputer from her designer bag. Her fingers flew over the keys, the screen casting a pale blue glow on her face. “Damian thinks you’re faking it, but I think you look a little too real.” “How about I make your medical charts look a bit more… authentic?” The moment her fingers pressed enter, the multi-parameter monitor beside my bed screeches. Beep! Beep! Beep! The red warning lights flashed frantically. My heart rate spiked to 180 on the screen, while my blood pressure plummets past the critical threshold. The shrill alarm echoed down the entire corridor. I watched her with flat, detached eyes. She wasn’t just a hacker; she was a sociopath with no boundaries. Frantic footsteps rushed down the hall. “What happened?!” Damian burst in first, his face pale. A swarm of panicked doctors and nurses followed. Talia, with practiced ease, had already slipped the device back into her bag. She cowered in the corner, covering her ears, trembling. “Damian! I don’t know! I didn’t touch anything!” “The machine just started screaming! I’m scared!” She buried her face in his chest, sobbing hysterically. Damian wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back to soothe her. The doctor rushed to my bedside, checking the wires. “Strange. The patient’s physical state looks stable, why did the monitor go off?” He rebooted the system. Instantly, the vitals returned to normal on the screen. Damian’s expression darkened to a terrifying pitch. He calmed Talia down, then turned a murderous glare upon me. “Gemma, is there no end to your antics?!” he roared. “To force me to stay, you’re tampering with hospital equipment now?” “Do you have any idea how many critical patients actually need these resources?!” I lay there, looking at his furious face. “You think I did this?” I didn’t even have the strength to lift my arm, let alone hack a closed-circuit medical monitor. Damian laughed bitterly. “Who else could it be?” “You’re so consumed by jealousy that you’ll do anything to frame Talia!” He stormed over and ripped the blanket off me. “Get up!” “Apologize to Talia. Right now!” A wave of cold air hit my feverish skin. I broke into a violent fit of coughing, the metallic taste of blood pooling in the back of my throat. I swallowed it down and look up at him with the eyes of someone staring at a corpse. “Damian.” I whispered. “Are you out of your mind?” He froze. In our seven years of marriage, I had never spoken to him in this tone. I was always the gentle, accommodating, yielding wife. “Did you just call me crazy?” he snarled, his knuckles whitening. “I called you an idiot.” I calmly reached out and yanked the power cord of the monitor from the wall. The screeching alarm stopped. Silence descended. “The next time you two want to play victim, leave me out of it,” I said, turning my back to him. “It’s disgusting.” Damian fustrates, his fists cracking. “Fine. You want to be stubborn? Enjoy your own company then!” “Let’s see how long you can hold onto this pride!” He grabbed Talia’s hand. “Damian, does Gemma really hate me?” Talia whimpered as they walked out. “Ignore her. She’s lost her mind.” Their footsteps faded. I closed my eyes and swallowed another mouthful of blood. “System. How much time do I have?” [Remaining time: 60 hours.] “Perfect,” I whispered. “Soon.” The TV in the room was playing softly in the background. A breaking news report flashed on screen. “Wayne Group’s proprietary autonomous driving system, Odyssey, has experienced a severe security breach. Earlier today, multiple vehicles equipped with the software lost control on the interstate, causing a massive ten-car pile-up. No fatalities have been reported yet…” I leaned against my pillow, wiping the blood from my lip. My vision was doubling; my organs were actively shutting down. Damian was standing by the window, screaming into his phone. “What the hell is PR doing?! Bury the story! Spend whatever it takes!” “Find a scapegoat—blame a bug in the outsourced contractor’s code!” He ripped off his tie and hurled it onto the sofa. Talia was curled up in the corner, twisting her fingers with an innocent pout. “Damian, I’m sorry… I just thought their core logic was so boring. I only added a little backdoor program to give them a surprise. I didn’t think it would cause an actual crash…” Damian sighed, walked over, and stroked her hair. “It’s fine. I’ll handle it.” “Just don’t do it again. The media loves to sensationalize these things. It’s just a few fender benders; we’ll pay them off.” A wave of nausea hit me. Dozens of lives on that highway. To him, it was just a little mischief and a settlement check. Fighting the agony of organ failure, I pulled my laptop out from under my pillow. The familiar tactile feel of the keys helped me focus. My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing lines of script. Damian would try to wipe every trace of Talia’s digital footprint. I had to pack and encrypt her raw files before I went. The progress bar inched forward. My vision was nearly gone; I was typing entirely by muscle memory. “What are you doing now?” Damian asked, hanging up. He noticed the laptop, walked over, and slammed the lid shut. “The company is in crisis, and you’re playing on your computer? Gemma, do you even have a heart?” I looked up at his frantic, angry face. “A heart?” I let out a dry laugh and spit a bloody glob of phlegm onto the floor. “Damian, you’re harboring a criminal who actively endangered public safety, and you’re lecturing me on having a heart?” His face paled, his expression turning venomous. “Watch your mouth!” “Talia is just a girl—what does she know?” “Don’t think because you sat at home all these years you understand how business works!” Talia clung to his arm, looking at me. “Gemma, are you going to report me because you hate me? But you don’t have any proof.” She winked, her smile malicious. “Damian already had all my logs deleted.” “Even if you call the cops, they won’t believe a word.” I opened the laptop again. “Is that so?” I pressed enter. An encrypted package was sent to a cloud server. It contained not just her tampering with the Odyssey system, but seven years of corporate espionage, server breaches, and stolen proprietary trade secrets. “Gemma, I warned you!” Damian reached to snatch the laptop. I pulled back, looking at him with absolute detachment. “Relax. I didn’t call the police.” “I’m just writing my will.” Damian’s hand froze mid-air. He looked at my ghostly pale face, then scoffed. “A will? For a minor accident? You’re completely unhinged.” He grabbed Talia’s arm. “Let’s go, Talia. Let her play her crazy games alone.” The moment the door clicked shut, my strength evaporated. I collapsed back onto the pillow. The scheduled email delivery program was active. Timer set: three days after my death. “System,” I gasped, my breath shallow. “How long?” [Remaining time: 12 hours. Total organ failure has begun.] I looked out the window as night fell, and closed my eyes. “Let’s not wait.” The sterile room was quiet, save for my wet, struggling breaths. Hemolysis had reached its irreversible end. My kidneys had shut down, and my lungs were filling with fluid. Every breath felt like swallowing broken glass. Outside, a sudden burst of fireworks illuminated the night sky, their thunderous booms echoing through the double-paned glass. The System thoughtfully projected a virtual screen in my mind. On it, I saw Damian. He had rented out the entire private amusement park on the waterfront for Talia. Under the dazzling display of lights, Talia wore a diamond tiara, smiling like a princess. Damian stood beside her, looking at her with indulgent affection. “Congratulations on getting through this, Talia,” he said, handing her a glass of champagne. “Whatever system you want to play with next, I’ll buy you the company.” I looked at the screen and find I didn’t even have the energy to scoff. Suddenly, the hospital room door was thrown open. The night nurse took one look at me and screamed. “Doctor! Code blue in room three! The patient is in shock!” Chaos erupted. The crash cart was wheeled in; the bright surgical lights blinded my fading vision. “Heart rate dropping! No blood pressure!” “Push epinephrine, now!” The doctors’ desperate shouts sounded muffled, as if I were underwater. “Where is the emergency contact? Get the husband on the phone for the DNR and death notice!” A nurse frantically dialed Damian’s number. On my mental screen, Damian’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He frowned and pulled it out. The caller ID read “Mercy Central Hospital.” Talia glanced at the screen and pouted. “Damian, Gemma is playing the boy-who-cried-wolf again. She’s just mad because you’re with me.” Damian sneered and pressed decline. The nurse dialed again. This time, the call went straight to an automated message: “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable…” He blocked me. He blocked the hospital. “We can’t get through! He blocked us!” the nurse cried out, on the verge of tears. The doctor gritted his teeth, continuing chest compressions. “Keep going! Don’t stop!” I watched their futile efforts and issued my final command to the System. “System. Press enter for me.” [Command confirmed. Scheduled files locked. Release set for 72 hours from now. Host, your vitals are flatlining.] With my remaining strength, I looked out the window one last time. The final firework burst, then dissolved into pitch blackness. Just like our seven years of marriage. The monitor flatlines. Beeeeeeeeeeeeep— The long, unbroken tone cut through the panic. I felt my body grow incredibly light. [Congratulations, Host. Mission completed: ‘Death by the hand of the Male Lead’. Transitioning protocols initiating. Please stand by.] I opened my eyes and found myself floating above the room. Below, the doctors slowly stopped their compressions and pulled the white sheet over my face. “Time of death: 2:14 AM.”

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