On my wedding day, my fiancé slid the diamond ring meant for me onto my sister’s finger right in front of my eyes. I stood there, frozen, watching Toby cup Daphne’s face and press a tender kiss to her lips. My mind went completely blank. Before I could even process the sight, Toby took Daphne by the hand and walked out of the bridal boutique. “Stop!” I lunged forward to chase after them, but my parents stepped in, blocking my path like a wall of cold stone. My father’s voice was devoid of warmth. “Toby’s heart has always belonged to Daphne.” My mother sniffed, her eyes scanning me with disdain. “You’ve barely been back with the Clifford family, and already you’re trying to steal your sister’s man?” I stared at them, the shock hollow out my chest. “Mom, Dad… I’m the one who’s engaged to Toby. I’m his fiancée.” “You flatter yourself,” my father countered coldly. “Only a true daughter of the Clifford bloodline is fit for a Dwight. Daphne is the only one who belongs with Toby.” A bitter laugh escaped me. “Are you saying I’m a fake?” “Daphne grew up under our roof, in our warmth,” my mother said, her chin tilting up. “The bond we share with her isn’t something that can be replaced by twenty years of you drifting out there in the world like a stray. You had better behave yourself. No tears, no scenes. The prestige of the Clifford name was given to you by us, and we can strip it away just as easily.” The silence stretched between us. Slowly, the tension left my shoulders. I smiled, letting the corners of my mouth curl upward. “Fine. Then I hope they grow old together and rot.” … I pulled off the tulle veil with an indifferent flick of my wrist and tossed it into the stainless-steel trash can beside the mirror. The boutique manager’s face twitched. She cleared her throat, her voice tight with anxiety. “Miss Clifford… that veil is a custom piece. It’s highly expensive…” “Bill them,” I said, pointing a lazy finger toward my parents. Perhaps pricked by a tiny, lingering shred of guilt, neither of them argued. My father simply gestured for the manager to put it on their corporate account. Stepping out of the air-conditioned boutique into the humid city air, I raised a hand to hail a cab. My father’s heavy footsteps sounded behind me. “We know this is hard for you, Flora. But it’s the reality of things. Even if you don’t want to accept it, you have to.” “Exactly,” my mother chimed in, catching up. “You probably think we’re just favoring Daphne, but the truth is, Toby never loved you in the first place.” I turned my head, looking at them through narrowed eyes. “No need to explain. And please, don’t waste your breath comforting me. I accept the outcome. I really don’t care.” They had expected a breakdown. They had expected me to scream, to tear at my dress, to lose my mind over the betrayal of my sister and my fiancé. They never could have anticipated this hollow, chilling silence. What they didn’t know was that I had lived this life once before. And more importantly… I didn’t even belong to this world. In my previous life, my soul had been inexplicably pulled into this parallel universe. I had woken up bewildered, only to be “found” and reclaimed by the wealthy Clifford family as their long-lost eldest daughter. But it was a trap. Under Daphne’s meticulous, cruel machinations, I had been tormented, isolated, and eventually driven to a painful death. That death, however, had triggered something unexpected: a “Vengeance System.” The system didn’t just bring me back to life; it gave me a mission. And this time, I had a cosmic shield. My parents stood on the sidewalk, staring blankly as I slid into the back of a black sedan and drove away. I gave the driver the address to my apartment, but the car didn’t head toward the city center. Instead, the streets grew narrower, the buildings sparser, until we were speeding toward a sprawling, half-abandoned construction site on the desolate outskirts of town. Looking out at the skeletal concrete structures overgrown with weeds, I didn’t panic. I merely frowned, meeting the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Why did you bring me here?” The driver let out a harsh laugh. “Miss Daphne’s orders. You’re taking a little vacation for the next week. Hand over your phone, Miss Clifford, and let’s make this easy. No need to get hurt.” I didn’t argue. I nodded, pulling my phone from my pocket and placing it in his outstretched hand. He had me step out of the car, then used a thick nylon rope to bind my hands and feet. I remained perfectly still, offering no resistance. Once I was secured against a concrete pillar, he dialed a number. “It’s done,” he said into the receiver. “She’s secure. Under complete control.” After hanging up, the driver hauled a large cardboard box out of his trunk. It was packed with instant noodles, bottled water, and canned goods—provisions meant to last. “I’ve got water and food here. If you get hungry, let me know,” he said, his voice dropping into a flatter, more professional tone. He dragged a folding chair over to the entrance of the unfinished room, sitting down to keep watch. For a long time, we simply stared at each other. Perhaps unnerved by my absolute calm, the driver shifted uncomfortably, looking away. “Look, Miss Clifford, as long as you cooperate and stay quiet this week, I won’t lay a finger on you. I promise.” “Thank you,” I replied softly. There was no anger in my voice, no trembling fear. I actually sounded grateful. The driver blinked, completely thrown off. “Your name is Frank Dolan, right? Your daughter is very sweet,” I said. Frank’s entire body went rigid. He snapped his head back toward me, his eyes wide and wild. “I met her once,” I continued, my voice steady, carrying softly through the empty concrete hall. “We talked for a bit. She told me her dad was the greatest man in the whole world. It’s a shame. She doesn’t know her hero is actually a kidnapper.” Frank scrambled out of his chair, lunging toward me until he was hovering inches from my face. “When did you see my daughter?” “Her name is Gracie, isn’t it?” “You…” Frank’s face drained of color. If he had any doubts before, the mention of her name shattered them. He knew I wasn’t bluffing. I really knew his little girl. “I know about her medical bills, Frank. I know you’re doing this dirty work for Daphne because you need the cash for her surgery. But have you thought about what happens when she gets better? What happens when she grows up and realizes her life was bought with the blood money that sent her father to a federal penitentiary?” My voice softened, dripping with quiet pity. “How is she supposed to live with that? She’ll carry that guilt like a stone in her chest. It’ll drive her mad.” “Stop it!” Frank roared, his voice cracking. “Enough! Don’t talk about her!” He slammed his hands over his ears, pacing back and forth, his face twisted in an agonizing struggle between desperation and morality. “I know it’s wrong!” he screamed at the empty walls. “But what choice do I have? I can’t just sit by and watch my little girl die in a hospital bed! Even if she hates me for being a criminal, even if she never wants to look at me again—if she’s alive, it’s worth it!” With a ragged breath, Frank turned and bolted out of the building, unable to bear the weight of my gaze. But less than ten minutes later, his footsteps echoed back into the concrete shell. He stood before me, his eyes bloodshot, his fists shaking. “You win, Flora. I can’t do this. I won’t let my daughter spend her life ashamed of me. I won’t let her be the girl whose father is in prison.” He knelt down, slicing through the nylon ropes with a pocketknife, then gestured toward his car. “Get in. I’m taking you back to the city. If you want to call the police, do it now.” He pulled my phone from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. I looked at his pale, trembling hands, then quietly slid the phone into my pocket. Frank stared at me, bewildered. “Miss Clifford… you’re not calling the cops?” “No need.” I paused, looking him dead in the eye. “You realized your mistake. I’m willing to give you a chance to make it right.” Frank’s brows furrowed. He wasn’t stupid; he knew mercy in this world always came with a price. “What do you want me to do?” I smiled. “Come with me to the wedding. Tell everyone exactly what Daphne made you do.” Frank immediately shook his head, stepping back. “No. Absolutely not.” “Why?” “Miss Daphne has been incredibly generous to my family,” Frank explained, his voice thick with conflicted loyalty. “She paid for Gracie’s first surgery out of her own pocket. I’ve already failed her by letting you go, and I feel sick about it. I can’t go on a stage and publicly destroy her. I just can’t. I’ll drive you back to the city center, but after that, I’m out.” He turned toward the driver’s side door, but before his hand could touch the handle, the roar of multiple engines shattered the quiet of the wasteland. Three dark SUVs tore through the dirt, kicking up clouds of yellow dust as they swerved to box Frank’s car in. The doors flew open, and a dozen rough-looking men armed with heavy metal pipes stepped out. The lead thug, a brute with a scarred jaw, dragged Frank and me out into the open. “Who the hell are you guys?” Frank gasped, clutching his bruised arm. Before the leader could answer, I looked at the pipes in their hands and whispered, “They’re Daphne’s cleanup crew. They’re here to make sure neither of us speaks again.” The leader chuckled, a cold, dry sound. “Well, aren’t you a clever girl, Miss Clifford?” He stepped closer, his boots crunching on the gravel. “But you know what they say about clever girls. They don’t live very long.” Frank’s eyes went wide. “No… Miss Daphne wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t order a hit!” “Are you really that naive, Frank?” the leader sneered. “Miss Daphne knew you were soft. She knew a guy like you, acting out of desperate love for his kid, would eventually fold. That’s why she kept us on standby. Just in case you messed up.” Without another word, the leader raised a hand and gave a sharp, downward flick of his wrist. His eyes gleamed with a chilling finality. “Make it clean. No witnesses.” The thugs lunged forward. Frank reacted instantly. “Get in the car and lock the doors!” he screamed, throwing himself into the path of the nearest man. He fought like a wild animal, driven by pure survival instinct, but he was outnumbered and outmatched. Within seconds, a pipe caught him across the ribs, and he went down, coughing up dark blood as the boots kept coming. The leader turned his attention to me, walking with slow, deliberate steps. “Miss Clifford,” he sighed mockingly. “You spent twenty years living in the gutter. Why did you have to come back and try to take what belongs to Miss Daphne? You got nothing out of it. And now you’re going to lose your life. It’s almost tragic.” He reached out, his thick, dirty fingers aiming for my throat. But I didn’t back down. My arm, which had been hidden behind my back, swung forward with everything I had. Crack. The jagged, heavy concrete stone I had scooped up from the ground smashed squarely into his temple. He hadn’t expected me to fight. He certainly hadn’t expected a girl in a wedding dress to strike with lethal, calculated precision. With a sickening groan, his eyes rolled back, and his massive body crumpled to the dirt. A thick, crimson stream began to pool rapidly from the gash on his head. I didn’t hesitate. I dropped to my knees, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled his upper body up, holding the sharp, blood-smeared stone directly over his eye. “Tell them to stop!” I yelled. But the leader’s head lolled to the side. He was completely unconscious. The other thugs were still brutally kicking Frank. Seeing that their boss couldn’t call them off, I realized I had to handle this the hard way. I stood up, gripping the bloody stone, and threw myself into the fray like a woman possessed. I didn’t care about form or safety. I fought with the frantic, terrifying energy of someone who had already tasted death once. I lunged at the nearest man, smashing the stone into his face, then swung wildly at another who tried to grab my arm. After three of them fell to the ground, howling in agony as blood splattered across the dirt, the remaining men stopped. They took a collective step back, their eyes wide with sudden, gripping terror. “You’re just getting paid for this,” I panted, my voice low and trembling with adrenaline. “Is it worth your lives? Step forward. Try me. I will paint this concrete with your brains.” My once-white wedding dress was now ruined, stained with dirt and splattered with dark, fresh blood. Combined with the manic fire in my eyes, I looked less like a victim and more like a specter of vengeance. Without their leader to guide them, and facing a girl who looked ready to tear them apart with her bare hands, the remaining thugs hesitated. After a tense, breathless silence, they scrambled to drag their bleeding comrades and unconscious boss back into the SUVs. The engines roared to life, and they sped away, leaving a trail of dust in their wake. The moment they were gone, Frank collapsed onto the dirt, clutching his chest and gasping for air. I dropped the stone and ran to help him up, hauling him toward the passenger seat of his car. “Hang on. I’m getting you to an emergency room.” Frank shook his head weakly, spitting blood onto the dashboard. “No… no hospital. Take me to the Dwight Hotel. Take me… to the wedding.” I paused, my hand hovering over the gear shift. “Are you sure you can make it?” “I have to,” he wheezed, his eyes burning with a desperate, fatherly rage. “Just drive.” As the car tore down the highway toward the city, Frank leaned his head back against the headrest and began to speak. He told me a secret. A secret that I had never known, not even in my previous life. When we finally pulled up to the glittering five-star hotel, I helped Frank out of the car. He was coughing violently, the metallic scent of blood heavy in the air. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked, my brow furrowing as I looked at his pale, sweat-slicked face. “I’m fine,” he muttered, gritting his teeth. I didn’t waste any more time. Supporting his weight, I guided him through the polished glass doors of the lobby. The guests and hotel staff we passed froze, their conversations dying instantly as they stared at the two blood-drenched figures marching toward the elevators. We rode the elevator up to the 18th floor, where the grand ballroom was located. Through the double doors, I could hear the muffled sound of music and laughter. Toby and Daphne’s wedding was in full swing. As we approached, two security guards stepped forward to block us. “You can’t go in there without an invitation—” “This is my wedding!” I snapped, my voice cutting through the corridor. “Get out of my way.” I shoved past them, throwing the heavy oak doors open. My voice wasn’t exceptionally loud, but the sheer sight of me caused a ripple of silence to cascade through the room. One by one, heads turned. And just like that, the girl in the bloody wedding gown became the absolute, undeniable center of attention.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “460699”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was the ultimate ghostwriter for a billionaire’s daughter. Bianca got to look gorgeous and live her best life, while I spent my days and nights replying to her endless stream of suitors. The desperate simps? I’d ignore them for three hours, then hit them with a dry “cool.” The brooding, tragic boys? A two-hour delay, followed by a soft, “Sorry, been so busy.” The delusional narcissists? Instant block. I had my system down to a science. Until I ran into a guy who defied every category. Not only was he completely unbothered, but he randomly sent cash gifts, shirtless gym selfies showcasing a perfect eight-pack, and face drops that belonged on a high-fashion runway. Behind Bianca’s profile, I couldn’t resist. I fell deep into a thrilling, late-night exchange with him. But all good things come to an end. Bianca suddenly announced her engagement to a wealthy heir and demanded I clear out her roster and hand over the work phone. Swallowing my tears, I cashed out the hundreds of thousands of dollars in commissions I’d accumulated over the past six months. Then, I cleanly deleted and blocked my favorite mystery guy, whispering a silent prayer: May our digital thread burn, and may we never, ever meet in the real world. But fate is a cruel writer. Three days later, I was standing in a dim, exclusive VIP lounge with Bianca when we ran right into him. The second Bianca spotted him, she leaned in, her voice hushed and urgent. “That’s Dean Elton. His family just got back from London, and his standards are impossibly high. Keep your head down, Gwen. Don’t breathe his way.” As I watched the heir march directly toward us with a thunderous look in his eyes, desperation clawed at my throat. “Too late,” I whispered. “I already breathed his way…” 1 Bianca turned to glare at me, her eyes dripping with condescension. “Are you out of your mind, Gwen?” “Someone like you belongs in the gutter with the rest of the trash. Dean Elton? You couldn’t even dream of him in your wildest fantasies.” My mother was the Caldwell family’s maid, and as her daughter, I had spent my entire life under Bianca’s heel. In her eyes, I existed solely to serve her whims. She despised me. She had no idea that just a week ago, the untouchable Dean Elton—the man she claimed was lightyears out of my league—had sent me a string of frantic, pouty messages because I hadn’t replied in ten minutes, asking if I didn’t love him anymore. I swallowed the bitter irony rising in my throat and forced a meek, submissive smile. “I only meant… a man like him might find someone of my status offensive. I don’t want to get in his way and make him angry.” Bianca let out a mocking laugh. “At least you know your place. Stand behind me then.” She shoved me backward. In the brief seconds it took to reposition myself, Dean had already reached us. Bianca elegantly swept her freshly blown-out hair over her shoulder and offered him her most practiced, radiant smile. “Mr. Elton. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Bianca Caldwell.” Dean stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he scanned her face. “Finally meet?” Bianca blinked, visibly thrown. “Have… have we met before?” Dean’s gaze darkened. Panic seized my chest. If this blew up right here, both of these powerful, ruthless people would destroy me. Thinking fast, I reached out and gently tugged at Bianca’s sleeve. “Miss Bianca, your fiancé is waiting for you in the private suite.” At the sound of my voice, Dean’s sharp gaze immediately whipped over to me. His eyes were intense, heavy with scrutiny and a quiet, probing curiosity. I didn’t dare meet his eyes. I kept my head bowed, staring at the polished floor, barely breathing. Then, he let out a cold, dry chuckle. “Excuse me.” He brushed past us, carrying a frigid aura that made it clear we were nothing more than a minor annoyance. He walked away as if he really had just been passing through. I watched his retreating figure, my heart hammering against my ribs. But before I could even draw a breath, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. Bianca’s palm slammed into my face. “You useless bitch!” “Why did you bring up Wyatt in front of Dean? Are you blind? Couldn’t you tell I was trying to make a connection with him?” I cradled my throbbing, burning cheek. A sharp trickle of warmth told me one of the heavy crystals on Bianca’s manicured nails had sliced my skin. This pain was nothing new. Whenever Bianca was unhappy, her frustration was written on my skin. It had been this way since we were children. I took a deep breath, keeping my voice low and deferential. “I’m sorry, Miss Bianca. But you just got engaged to Wyatt. If rumors get out that you’re chasing Dean Elton, it could ruin your family’s reputation.” Bianca crossed her arms, her lip curling in disgust. “You idiot. If I could land Dean Elton, Wyatt Pendleton wouldn’t even be worth the dirt on my shoes.” She paused, studying me from head to toe with sudden, venomous suspicion. “Wait. You didn’t do that on purpose because you have a crush on him, did you?” “Let me warn you, Gwen. If you try to pull any pathetic little tricks behind my back, I will call the hospital and have them pull the plug on your mother’s ventilator by tonight.” A cold shiver ran down my spine. If Bianca ever discovered that I had been virtually dating Dean Elton right under her nose, my mother wouldn’t survive the week. I had only one path forward: I had to make Dean utterly loathe Bianca. I had to make her so repulsive to him that he wouldn’t even bear to look at her face. That night, sitting in the dark of my tiny room, I created a burner account on a messaging app. I typed in the phone number I knew by heart—Dean’s private number. I sent the friend request with just one word in the verification box: [Babe.] It was the pet name we used during our online romance. Simple, direct, and something he absolutely loved. Given how icy he had been at the lounge, I didn’t expect him to accept easily. But barely a second later, my phone vibrated. He was added to my friend list. He accepted! My heart leaped. I opened the chat box, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. After typing and erasing several drafts, I settled on a single, evocative line: [Babe, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.] If I was going to play the villain, the first step was to reel him back in with devotion. 2 I waited and waited, but the message remained unanswered, sinking into the digital void. I began to wonder if he had only accepted the request by accident. But before I could figure out a way to handle Dean, the next evening arrived—the night of the Caldwell family’s charity gala. As always, my role was to stand beside Bianca in the most plain, shapeless clothes imaginable. I was her contrast; my dowdiness made her shine brighter, and I was there to serve as her hands and feet. “Bianca, you brought your little stray dog again?” “Honestly, I’m so jealous. It’s impossible to find someone so obedient these days. The girl my dad hired for me is completely useless.” Bianca’s friends giggled, throwing superficial barbs at me right to my face, as if I were a piece of furniture rather than a human being. Bianca smiled warmly, basking in their praise. “Well, loyalty is something you have to train from a young age. You can’t just pick it up later.” The group erupted into quiet laughter. I kept my head lowered, pretending to be deaf and dumb. It was the only way to survive among these monsters. Finding his lack of reaction boring, they quickly drifted to a more exciting topic. “I heard Dean Elton is actually showing up tonight.” At those words, both Bianca’s eyes and mine flared with interest. “Really? Do any of you know him well? Introduce us!” Bianca said, her voice laced with desperate eagerness. Her friends shook their heads with sighs of disappointment. But out of their line of sight, I had already slipped my phone from my pocket and typed out a message to Dean: [Babe, are you coming to the gala tonight?] [It’s so wonderful that I’ll get to see you again.] [It’s my fault… I’m trapped by this family arrangement, unable to speak to you. I can only watch you from afar. Babe, I love you so much, but we have to pretend to be strangers. It’s breaking my heart.] This time, Dean replied almost instantly. But his words had none of their former warmth: [So, you want me to be your side piece?] My hand shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone. Before I could formulate a reply, gasps echoed from the grand entrance of the ballroom. “Dean is here.” He strolled in alongside a friend, wearing a relaxed, tailored suit, chatting casually with an easy, effortless air. Most of the room turned to watch him, but his eyes didn’t linger on anyone—until he approached our circle. His dark, piercing gaze landed directly on Bianca. Usually so arrogant and self-assured, she blushed instantly under his look. But a second later, Dean’s eyes shifted and locked onto me. The intense, probing look from the lounge was back, striking my chest like a physical blow. My heart hammered wildly. He and his friend soon headed up toward the private suites on the mezzanine, but that single look had already stirred up a storm. “Did you see that? Dean looked at me!” Bianca squealed, clutching her friend’s arm. “He definitely wants to get to know me.” But one of her friends smirked, casting a malicious glance in my direction. “Actually, Bianca, it looked like he was staring at Gwen for a solid few seconds.” Bianca’s smile vanished. She subtly reached out, digging her sharp, acrylic nails deep into the tender flesh of my upper arm. “Why weren’t you standing behind me like you were supposed to?” she hissed under her breath. “Do you honestly think a man like Dean Elton would ever look at a piece of garbage like you?” Wincing at the sharp pain, I forced my voice to remain even. “Miss Bianca, he definitely wasn’t looking at me because of that. Look at what I’m wearing. I stick out like a sore thumb. You all look beautiful. I look like a peasant. He was probably just confused by why someone dressed like this is even here. Please don’t misunderstand.” Bianca scrutinized my washed-out, oversized t-shirt and faded jeans. My face was bare of makeup, marred by the fake freckles and mock scars she forced me to wear to hide my features. I looked worse than the catering staff. Satisfied, she finally let go of my arm. “True. You look like a freak. It’s natural people would stare.” Ever since she found a love letter from a boy in my backpack back in high school, Bianca had forced me to make myself ugly. Even though she hadn’t cared about the boy, she couldn’t tolerate anyone preferring me over her. My arm was already beginning to bruise, but inside, a much darker storm was brewing. I pulled out my phone and sent a deliberately toxic reply to Dean: [Would that be so bad?] [Babe, you love me so much. Wouldn’t you be willing to be my secret for a little while?] [Don’t worry. Once I’m married, I’ll give you Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. He can have the rest. Deal?] Asking a proud, old-money heir to be a secret side piece was perhaps the greatest insult he could ever receive. I didn’t have wealth or power, but from my dark little corner, I could chew away at the foundations of Bianca’s life like a mouse gnawing on a support beam. I would take away everything she ever wanted. 3 When the gala ended, Bianca lingered by the grand foyer, clearly waiting for someone. Finally, when most of the guests had departed, the man she was waiting for descended the spiral staircase. Bianca’s eyes lit up, and she took an eager step forward. But before she could utter a single word, Dean uttered a single, frigid command: “Move.” He didn’t even grant her a glance. Bianca’s hand froze mid-air, her face flushing crimson as a wave of sheer humiliation washed over her. I kept my head bowed, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing aloud. The insult had clearly stung Dean to his core, and it was working perfectly. But this was only the beginning. Later that night, I visited the hospital to see my mother. She lay motionless on the bed, deep in a vegetative state, unable to hear my voice. But I clung to the belief that she would wake up one day. She just needed time. I had saved enough money. I was just waiting for the right moment to slip away from Bianca’s grasp forever. My thoughts were interrupted by the harsh ring of my phone. Bianca’s name flashed on the screen. “Where the hell are you?” she demanded. Hiding my hatred, I kept my voice soft. “I’m at the hospital.” “Ugh, why do you waste your time on that vegetable? The Caldwell family pays for her room anyway. Honestly, it’s pathetic.” She tossed out the cruel words so casually it made my stomach turn. If it weren’t for her obsession with perfection, my mother wouldn’t be in this bed. Bianca had forced my mother to climb onto a high window ledge in the blistering summer heat just to wipe away a microscopic smudge. She had threatened to fire her if it wasn’t spotless, leaving my mother out there for two hours until she fainted from heatstroke and fell. Bianca treated the medical bills like a generous act of charity, completely ignoring that she was the architect of our tragedy. My lips trembled with suppressed rage. Bianca continued, completely oblivious. “Tomorrow is Wyatt’s birthday. Go to the Norton Hotel first thing in the morning. Book their top penthouse suite and decorate it. I want to give him a surprise.” She hung up without waiting for my reply. She knew I would obey like a well-trained dog. But she forgot that even the gentlest dog will bite when backed into a corner. The next day, Bianca didn’t make me tag along for her date with Wyatt. But I watched them from the shadows. I watched them arrive at the hotel, kissing passionately outside the door before disappearing inside. Once the door clicked shut, I stepped out from the corner, placed a spare room key on the hallway floor, and took a photo. I messaged Dean: [Babe, I was only joking yesterday. How could I ever let you be a side piece?] [I’ve decided to fight my family. Even if I have to give up my inheritance, I want to be with you!] [But before I do, can we please see each other? Without you, I don’t think I have the courage to go through with this. Please. I love you.] The message went through. I knew he wouldn’t block me. During our online relationship, Dean had never been this cold or aloof. It’s only when someone is genuinely invested that they reveal their softest, most vulnerable sides. I was betting that Dean still cared. I retreated back into the shadow of the corridor, waiting to see if my gamble would pay off. Thirty minutes later, the quiet ding of the elevator echoed through the hall. Someone stepped out. 4 I watched him walk down the hall toward suite 1880. He picked up the keycard I had left on the floor, swiped it, and pushed the door open. Immediately, the muffled sounds of passion spilled into the quiet corridor. He stepped inside. A moment later, Bianca’s terrified shriek pierced the air. “Ah! Who are you?!” “Dean?!” Hearing those words, a dark, victorious smile spread across my face. My gamble had paid off flawlessly. Dean emerged from the room moments later, his face dark with fury, looking like a volcano on the verge of eruption. He strode toward the elevator, but just before entering, he cast a sharp look toward the corner where I was hiding. My heart stopped. I shrank back into the shadows. Fortunately, it was only a brief glance, and he stepped into the elevator and disappeared. By the time Bianca ran out into the hallway, wrapped in a plush hotel bathrobe, Dean was long gone. She bit her lip, panic coloring her voice. “Why on earth was Dean Elton here?” Wyatt followed her out, adjusting his shirt. He looked at her frantic expression and frowned. “What are you so freaked out about? You look like we just got caught cheating.” Bianca stiffened, quickly forced a smile, and wrapped her arms around Wyatt’s neck. “I’m just worried about making a bad impression. Doesn’t your family have a major business deal with the Eltons coming up? I was just thinking of our future.” Wyatt’s suspicion melted. He pulled her close. “I didn’t know you cared so much about my business. Don’t worry, Dean’s a guy. He’s seen plenty of this stuff. He won’t care.” He pulled her back into the room. Seeing Bianca’s submissive expression, I felt a wave of disgust, recalling how she had sneered at Wyatt in the lounge. The Caldwell family’s finances were failing, and they desperately needed this marriage. Wyatt was her lifeline, which was why she had shut down her digital roster to focus on him. But now, with Dean in the picture, her greed had taken over. Could she really balance on two ships at once? Dean’s ship had already sailed, and I was going to make sure Wyatt’s ship sank too. As I walked out of the hotel, my mind raced with plans to expose Bianca’s infidelity to Wyatt. Lost in thought, I crashed straight into a firm, warm chest. “I’m so sorry,” I stammered, looking up. I froze. It was Dean. He stepped back, looking down at a cigarette that had fallen from his hand to the floor, his brow furrowed in annoyance. I knew he was in a terrible mood, and crossing him now would be dangerous. “Mr. Elton, I am so, so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. What brand do you smoke? I’ll replace them right away.” Dean didn’t answer. He just stared down at me, his dark eyes deep and unreadable. I felt a chill run down my spine under his intense gaze. “Mr. Elton? Is that okay?” I whispered. His voice was low and cold when he finally spoke. “You’re Bianca’s shadow, aren’t you?” I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes.” “And you want to make it up to me?” “Yes. If you don’t want cigarettes, I can do anything else.” A slow, dangerous smirk spread across Dean’s lips. “Anything?” He tilted his head toward the upper floors of the hotel. “Your boss just humiliated me by pretending to be my girl. If you help me ruin her, we’ll call it even. Can you do that?”

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For as long as I could remember, I was the girl who wanted nothing. No matter how bare our cupboards were, no matter how cold the radiator got in the winter, I possessed a pathologically flatlined desire for money. When I was five, a modeling scout knelt on our cheap linoleum floor with a contract, begging to launch my career. I didn’t even look at it. At fourteen, my roommate swapped my financial aid forms with her own. I knew what she’d done, but the energy required to expose her felt heavier than the hunger in my stomach. I simply packed my bags, went home, and went to sleep. My quiet, stoic detachment was my defining trait. Until the night before the National Merit Scholarship Exam—the high-stakes test that was my only ticket out of this town—when the billionaire Davenport family pulled up to our run-down porch. They told me I was their biological daughter. “Here is five million dollars,” the elegant woman said, tossing a black card onto the floorboards. “This buys out whatever blood connection we have. The only daughter of the Davenport house is, and always will be, Tiffany.” Looking down at the card resting near my dirt-streaked sneakers, my usual pride flared. I was about to walk away from their pity money. I was about to let my quiet, dignified indifference carry me out the door. Then, neon lines of glowing text flashed right before my eyes. Like a live chat feed hanging in the air. [You idiot! The apocalypse is coming in two days, and you’re still trying to act like a saint?] [In your last life, you were so damn proud. You ended up starving to death on exam day, without even a single cracker to your name!] A cold shiver ran down my spine. Under the sudden, silent cheer of the floating text, I bent down and picked up the card. I forced a cheap, eager smile. “Any chance you could make it ten?” 1 When the text first appeared, I rubbed my eyes hard. I figured I was finally hallucinating from hunger. My foster mother, Bernice, always said I was a stubborn girl who could handle skipping a few meals. I had spent the last two days quiet and compliant, waiting for the high school graduation banquet so I could finally eat a proper meal. But the floating chat didn’t disappear. The letters pulsed in a soft, warning blue. [Hailey Cross, quit playing dumb. Have you forgotten when you were five and tore up that modeling contract? Bernice beat you so bad you couldn’t get out of bed for three days.] [She has a tiny red birthmark right on her left collarbone. We aren’t being creeps—that’s just how we saw her body when she died in the ruins of the shelter in the first timeline.] [Doomsday hits on the day of the exam. Last time, you acted like you were above it all and walked away without a dime. You died with an empty stomach in a ditch. It was brutal.] In that single, terrifying second, the fear of the unknown overpowered my pride. I bent my knees. To the virtual applause of the text in my eyes, I snatched the black card off the floor. I looked up, meeting Mrs. Davenport’s stunned, icy gaze, and smiled. “So… is ten million on the table?” The woman froze, clearly unprepared for her long-lost daughter to be so shameless. But it was Tiffany, the fake heiress, who reacted first. She whipped out her phone, her camera lens aiming straight at my face. “Hey guys,” she whispered into her screen, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I’m live. I honestly can’t believe the sister I was so excited to meet is just a gold-digger. She played the quiet, noble victim for eighteen years, but the second she sees cash, she shows her true colors.” She was streaming. In her screen’s reflection, I could see myself: wearing a faded, oversized secondhand school uniform, a cheap, desperate grin plastered on my face. A wave of intense humiliation washed over me. For a split second, I wanted to fling the card right back at Tiffany’s manicured face. But the chat stopped me. [Don’t do it! Don’t let her bait you! You’ve already died once. Do you really want to repeat history?] [When the world ends, these rich snobs will be begging you on their knees for a moldy piece of bread!] I took a slow, deep breath, shifting my gaze to the stern, middle-aged man standing beside them. “Mr. Davenport, is your biological bloodline really only worth five million to you?” His face turned a deep, angry purple. He snatched a secondary card from his wallet and threw it at my feet. “Ten million,” he spat. “Take it and rot. Don’t you dare tell a soul you have a single drop of Davenport blood in you.” I nodded. I didn’t care about their name. I just knelt, picked up the second card, and turned my back on them. Behind me, Tiffany let out a soft, mocking giggle. “Well, at least she’s consistent. Talk about a sellout! Give her a galaxy on the stream, guys, let’s send her on her way!” Her laughter followed me out—bright, sharp, and cruel. I squeezed the cards tightly in my palm as the chat scrolled rapidly before my eyes. [Don’t sweat it. This time, you’ll build a fortress. When the storm hits, we’ll send her a ‘galaxy’ straight to hell.] [Exactly! Your only priority right now is hoarding. You need supplies. Now.] 2 I stood on the street corner, my thumb tracing the embossed numbers on the cards, completely lost. Was any of this real? Was the world actually ending in forty-eight hours? Before I could even voice the question in my head, the chat responded, reading my mind. [Hailey, you like to pretend you’re Zen and above the drama. But when you were fourteen and that girl stole your scholarship, didn’t you go home and draw voodoo dolls in your diary, cursing her to lose her hair?] My breath hitched. No one in the world knew about that diary. I had burned it years ago. That was the moment I stopped doubting. Under the chat’s chaotic but precise instructions, I ran across the city. I didn’t waste money on gourmet food. Instead, I ordered a thousand cases of military-grade MREs and canned meats. Then came the heavy-duty generators, water filtration systems, and barrels of diesel fuel. I tracked down the owner of the logistics warehouse where I used to work part-time, sorting packages for pocket change. When I told him what I wanted to buy, he stared at me through a cloud of cigarette smoke. “You’re a kid. What do you need a reinforced, off-grid warehouse space and industrial machinery for?” I didn’t offer an explanation. I just wired him two million dollars on the spot. [Man, thank god this isn’t our world’s banking system. A teenager moving two mil would have triggered ten different fraud alerts by now.] [Shh, don’t ruin the moment. Let the girl buy her survival.] I ignored their bickering. The warehouse owner, suddenly very cooperative, handed over the keys to a secluded brick facility on the edge of town. I hired a specialized construction crew, paying them triple to work through the night. We boarded up every window with three-inch-thick steel plates. We welded the back exits shut. The main entrance was replaced with a thirty-centimeter-thick vault door equipped with a mechanical lock, a keypad, and a biometric fingerprint scanner. Triple redundancy. During a break, one of the sweaty welders wiped his brow and looked at me. “Hey, kid. Who are we trying to keep out? The Russian army?” I didn’t answer. I just kept my eyes glued to my clipboard, crossing off completed tasks. Two days until the exam. Two days until the end. But before the apocalypse arrived, Tiffany did. She was a micro-influencer who built her brand on aesthetic wealth and petty drama. Having tasted the high engagement from her last stream, she tracked me down and started broadcasting live outside my fortified warehouse. “Hey everyone! You won’t believe this, but Doomsday Sister has officially lost her mind. She spent ten million dollars on literal trash.” She pointed her camera at me as I dragged a crate of MREs into the entrance, my old school uniform covered in grey construction dust. “She’s hoarding all these weird supplies. People in the comments are actually asking if the world is ending. Honestly, people like Doomsday Sister need to be locked up in an asylum for spreading public panic.” Tiffany laughed so hard she dropped her phone onto the gravel. Within hours, I was viral. The internet dubbed me “Doomsday Sister,” turning screenshots of my exhausted, dirt-smudged face into memes. When Bernice saw the videos, she nearly had a stroke. She called me, her voice shrieking through the receiver. “Hailey Cross! Have you lost your mind? Where did you get that kind of money? You didn’t give a single cent to me, and instead, you spent it on a pile of scrap metal and garbage? Cancel the orders! Transfer that money to my account right now! The moment you finish your exam, you’re getting a job. I won’t have you embarrassing me!” I hung up without saying a word. Looking at the towering shelves of canned peaches, dried beef, and clean water, a profound sense of peace washed over me. I had known I was adopted since I was old enough to understand words. Bernice never hid it. She treated it like a twisted badge of honor. “If I hadn’t been smart enough to swap you two in the hospital cradle,” she would boast whenever she was drunk, “my sweet Tiffany would be living in this dump with me. I wonder what kind of luxury my real baby is living in right now. I hope she remembers me when she’s older.” I hated her. I hated the unfairness of the world she had built around me. My detachment hadn’t been a virtue; it was a survival mechanism. If I wanted nothing, they could take nothing from me. But now, for the first time in my life, I had something to protect. 3 The next morning, my phone rang. It was the local police precinct. “Hailey Cross? We have a report against you for inciting public anxiety and disrupting public order. We need you to come down to the station for questioning.” The chat feed went completely blank for a second. Then, the messages flooded back in. [Don’t panic! In twenty-four hours, the police station won’t even exist.] [You didn’t spread any rumors anyway. Since when is buying groceries a crime?] I cleared my throat and spoke into the receiver. “I’ll come. But can it wait until after tomorrow? The National Merit Exam is extremely important to me.” There was a long pause before the officer sighed. “Fine. Show up the morning after.” I hung up, checking my lock systems one last time. According to the chat, the end of the world was scheduled for tonight. Just past midnight, I locked the vault door from the inside. Three heavy steel deadbolts slid into place. The security monitors hummed, showing the empty, dark street outside the warehouse. Everything was quiet. The early morning streets of the suburbs were still. Occasionally, a stray cat darted across the asphalt. The chat was quiet too, holding its collective breath with me. One o’clock. Two o’clock. Three o’clock. The night remained perfectly, agonizingly normal. [Wait… did we get the date wrong?] [No way. One of us misremembering is possible, but all of us?] [Stay alert. Don’t let your guard down.] I gripped my aluminum baseball bat, my palms slick with sweat. I closed my eyes and began reciting physics formulas and historical dates to keep my mind sharp. If morning came and the world didn’t end, I had to take that exam. It was still my only legitimate ticket out of this life. At 5:00 AM, a sudden, loud clatter outside the warehouse door made me jump. The chat went wild. [It’s starting! It’s finally starting!] [Oh thank god, I thought we looked like total clowns there for a second.] [Hailey, remember: the first rule of the apocalypse is to bury your inner bleeding heart. No charity. No exceptions.] I nodded at the floating text, feeling a surge of adrenaline. I turned to the security monitors, expecting to see monsters, or perhaps a burning sky. Instead, I froze. The disruption wasn’t a natural disaster. It was Tiffany. She had brought her entire production team—about twenty people—complete with professional lighting rigs, cameras, and a folding table. They had set up a portable stove right outside my warehouse door. Tiffany was wearing a pastel pink designer dress, her hair in perfect pigtails. She waved at her camera. “Hey guys! We are live at the Doomsday Countdown. Let’s see if our resident crazy sister actually comes out to take her exam today, or if she’s going to stay huddled in her little rat trap waiting for the aliens to land.” Her chat stream was already flooded with thousands of viewers. She dipped a piece of beef into a boiling pot of soup, chewing happily for the camera. “Hailey! You want a bite?” she yelled toward the steel door. “You’re going to need your strength if the zombies show up!” Inside, my screen flickered with panicked comments from my own chat. [What the hell is going on? Is this a parallel universe?] [No! Today is definitely the day! Hailey, you have to believe us. You have to stay inside!] I didn’t answer them. I slowly began packing my pens, calculators, and admission ticket into a plastic ziplock bag. There were three hours left before the exam started. Maybe there was still time. 4 By 7:00 AM, Tiffany’s crew packed up their gear. Before getting into her luxury SUV, she smirked at my security camera. “Well, unlike my dear sister, I don’t need a test to define my future. But hey, it’s the national exam. Might as well show up for the participation trophy.” She climbed into the back seat, her silk dress trailing behind her, and the car sped away. I didn’t check the internet. Instead, I turned on the battery-powered emergency radio I had purchased. The morning news broadcast was playing. “Today marks the start of the National Merit Exams. Over a million students across the state are heading to testing centers this morning. Local officials wish everyone the best of luck…” The announcer’s voice was warm, professional, and entirely calm. [Maybe… we were really wrong.] [We ruined your life, Hailey. I’m so sorry.] I sat on a wooden crate, my head in my hands. What was my life even worth? I had spent eighteen years trying to fade into the background, trying to make myself invisible so Bernice couldn’t hurt me. I remembered my first day of elementary school. Bernice had marched into the principal’s office, screaming that I had stolen ten dollars from her purse. She stood on the edge of the school roof, threatening to jump if the school didn’t suspend me. I hadn’t stolen anything. But she couldn’t bear to see me succeed, to see me grow. So, I built a wall around myself. I made sure I had no friends, no desires, no dreams. I sighed, grabbing my plastic bag of exam supplies. The apocalypse wasn’t coming. I had to go face my reality. I had to take this test. The chat was silent. I didn’t even know if they were still there. I grasped the heavy lever of the vault door and pushed. It didn’t move. I threw my weight against it. Nothing. The door was completely jammed from the outside. My heart hammered against my ribs. I tried again, straining until my muscles screamed, but the door remained dead. Then, the chat flared back to life. [That absolute snake! Tiffany locked the vault door from the outside! They jammed a steel rod through the external hinge mounts!] [She’s a literal sociopath! In the original timeline, she survived to the very end by stepping on everyone else’s corpses!] [Stop talking about the past! How do we get Hailey out? The exam is going to start!] I took a deep, shaky breath, scanning the warehouse. I had reinforced this place so perfectly. I had turned my sanctuary into my own tomb. The minutes ticked away. 8:30 AM. The exam started at 9:00. Even if I got out now, I’d never make it to the high school in time. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Tiffany. “Are you having fun in there, sister?” “It’s a shame, really. I locked it tight. Unless you crawl out and beg me on your knees, no one is ever going to find you in that dump.” Beg Tiffany? I’d rather rot. I grabbed a thick tow strap, wrapping it around the internal locking mechanism, utilizing a crude pulley system against one of the structural steel pillars, just like my physics teacher had demonstrated in class. I pulled with everything I had. Slowly, painfully, a tiny crack of light appeared at the seam of the heavy door. It was working. But before I could celebrate, the concrete floor beneath my feet shuddered. I stumbled, gripping the pillar. I looked through the tiny gap in the door. The bright morning sky had vanished. In its place was a bruised, terrifying shade of dark violet, as if the atmosphere itself had been torn open. Then came the rain. It didn’t fall; it crashed. A solid wall of water slammed into the earth, accompanied by a low, rumbling roar that shook the very foundations of the warehouse. The world went black. Inside, the chat erupted in a frantic, blinding crawl of text. [OH MY GOD! IT’S HERE! IT’S FINALLY HERE!] [Hailey! Lock the door! Now!] [Do not open it! No matter who screams, do not open that door!]

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Growing up, I was always my twin brother’s shadow, the quiet repository for all his sins. When he stole cash from our mother’s purse, my father beat me until my ribs bruised. When he left marks on kids at school, my parents forced me to my knees, shoving my head against the floor until I begged for forgiveness in his place. On the eve of the State Merit Scholarship Exam—the only ticket out of this house I would ever get—he slipped sleeping pills into my tea and shredded my admission voucher. I fought through the haze, dragging my leaden limbs to the testing board’s local office, begged for a replacement, and somehow pulled a 740. A near-perfect score. The highest in the entire state. But when the scores went public, Tyler—who had never scored higher than a miserable 250 in his life—held up my printed score report to the local press and claimed the crown. In the kitchen, my parents cornered me, their whispers like venomous snakes. “Tomorrow, we’re putting you in the Pinecrest asylum. This glory, this future—it belongs to your brother. Not you.” As my chest hollowed out with despair, a sharp, metallic ding echoed in my mind: [Out-of-Context System Activated.] Outside, Tyler was dabbing at his eyes for a reporter’s lens. “My sister lost her mind after she got caught cheating on the exam…” But the words that actually echoed from his mouth were: “I lost my mind after I got caught cheating on the exam…” 1 “I lost my mind after I got caught cheating on the exam.” A suffocating silence fell over the yard. The reporter’s microphone froze mid-air. The cameraman peered out from behind his lens, his brow furrowing as he looked at Tyler. Tyler froze. His mouth was still puckered in a pathetic sob, his eyes wide and vacant. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Slowly, the color drained from his face, replaced by a mottled, furious red. He lunged forward, grabbing the cameraman’s collar and shoving him backward. “What the hell did you play? Is your station trying to screw with me?!” The reporter ripped Tyler’s hands off the cameraman, taking two quick steps back. “Get off him! What did you just say? Did you just admit to cheating?” “I said it was my sister! Her! Not me!” Tyler’s voice cracked, turning into a screech. The other reporters immediately raised their phones, aiming them directly at him. Out on the sidewalk, the whispering neighbors began recording on their devices too. Mrs. Higgins leaned over the fence, her phone pointed straight at Tyler’s face, the little red recording light blinking steadily. “Wait, who actually cheated?” someone whispered. “Sounds like he just admitted it himself.” I lay on the cold concrete, my hands still bound behind my back, every inch of my body screaming in pain. But it worked. The system actually worked. “Stop filming!” my mother shrieked, bursting out of the front door with my father hot on her heels. She threw herself in front of Tyler, blocking the lens with her hand while pointing accusingly at me. “Don’t listen to this nonsense! Our daughter is mentally unstable! She’s baiting my poor boy into talking crazy!” My father glared down at me. Without a word, he grabbed a heavy wooden stool from the porch and swung it high. “Lindsay! Get inside! If you ruin this, I’ll break your legs!” “She hasn’t moved a single inch,” the lead reporter noted dryly. My father ignored him. As the stool came crashing down, I threw myself to the right. The wood splintered against the concrete, bouncing off and flipping a nearby folding table. Everything on the table clattered to the ground, including the celebratory plaque they’d ordered. It cracked clean down the middle. Tyler stared at the ruined plaque, the veins in his neck bulging. He violently shook off our mother’s hand and lunged at me, thrusting a finger right between my eyes. “Don’t think playing crazy is going to save you, Lindsay! I saw you sneak those cheat sheets into the exam room with my own eyes!” The system screen flashed brilliant blue in my mind’s eye. And Tyler’s voice echoed through the yard, sharp and crystal clear: “I sneaked those cheat sheets into the exam room with my own eyes!” Instantly, every camera, phone, and live-stream feed in the yard pivoted to lock onto Tyler’s terrified face. 2 Tyler’s knees buckled, and he hit the dirt hard. Every drop of blood drained from his face. His voice was barely a whisper. “I didn’t… I didn’t say that…” When no one answered, he suddenly slapped himself across the face. Slap. Slap. Slap. By the third blow, a thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He yanked at his own hair, screaming frantically. “I’m cursed! I’m possessed! Someone is doing this to me!” Our mother rushed forward, wrapping her arms around his head. “Tyler! Tyler, don’t be scared! Mom’s here!” Tyler shoved her off with a sharp elbow, his hair wild as he pointed a shaking finger at me. “It’s her! Lindsay! She drugged me! She poisoned my dinner! Why else would I say those things?!” I pushed myself up from the concrete, wiping a smear of blood from my lip with my sleeve. “There are dozens of cameras recording us right now. The words came out of your own mouth. Do you want to watch the playback?” My Aunt Beatrice looked away. Uncle Donald was already backing toward the gate, one foot in the yard and one foot out. My cousin Logan, who had just been bragging while helping Tyler hang up the celebratory banner, had vanished entirely into the shadows. Only Mrs. Higgins remained perched on the fence, her phone still recording, but her mouth was clamped shut. Desperate, Tyler reached into his bag, pulling out a kraft-paper notebook with the word Journal written on the cover. He held it high above his head. “Look! This is my sister’s confession journal! Black and white! She wrote it herself!” He flipped it open, stabbing his finger at the pages. “Look, it’s right here in plain English! I bought the answers! I cheated!” The system flashed again. And Tyler’s voice boomed across the yard, carrying over the fence: “Look! This is my confession journal!” “Look, it’s right here in plain English! I bought the answers! I cheated!” Tyler’s arm froze in mid-air. He stared at the notebook, then blinked up at the sky. The surrounding crowd took a collective step back, murmurs of unease rippling through them. With a guttural shriek, Tyler slammed the notebook onto the ground. He stamped on it once, twice, then dropped to his knees, ripping the pages into shreds with his bare hands. His voice turned into a high-pitched wail. “There’s a ghost! This place is haunted!” I took a slow step forward. “Is there anything else you want to confess? The cheat sheets, the journal… what other tricks did you use?” “Stay back!” Tyler curled into a ball, pressing his hands hard over his ears, rocking back and forth. “Get away from me!” The wail of a siren echoed from the end of the street. Everyone turned to look. A white van squeezed through the crowd, the words Pinecrest Wellness Center painted on its side. The van screeched to a halt, the side door sliding open. Nurse Henderson stepped out, flanked by four burly orderlies in scrubs. The crowd parted automatically to let them through. 3 Nurse Henderson marched into the yard, scanning the wreckage. “Well, this is a spectacular mess.” Tyler’s hair looked like a bird’s nest, and he was shivering in the corner. My cheek was badly bruised, the blood still tacky on my lip. My mother was frantically shoving my father, both of them red-faced and screaming at each other. The orderlies fanned out, looking highly confused, their eyes shifting back and forth between me and Tyler. Nurse Henderson slammed a plastic tray onto the overturned table and barked, “Quiet down, all of you!” She pulled out a syringe—thick as a thumb—tapped the barrel twice, flicked off the plastic cap, and pushed a tiny squirt of liquid into the air. “We received a dispatch call about a highly aggressive, non-compliant psychiatric patient at this address.” She scanned the broken wooden stool and the shredded paper littering the ground. “Our protocol is simple: sedate first, transport second. I don’t care who it is.” I spoke up, keeping my voice level. “Nurse Henderson, under state law, an involuntary psychiatric hold requires an in-person evaluation by a licensed psychiatrist. Doing this without a petition is illegal confinement.” She didn’t even look at me. “The law? Listen to me, girl. Once you’re behind our doors, you’re whatever we say you are. Don’t talk to me about the law.” Holding the syringe, she stood in the center of the yard and snapped, “Now, who is the patient? Point them out so we can get this over with!” Before our mother could speak, Tyler scrambled up from the corner like a feral cat. His face twisted in pure malice. “My mom is losing her mind because of this psycho! Give my sister the shot!” My fists clenched, but the system reacted faster than my reflexes. “My mom is the psycho! Give her the shot!” Nurse Henderson looked at Tyler, then turned her gaze to my mother. My mother was clawing at my father’s shirt, her face contorted in a screaming match, while my father raised an angry fist. They looked like two rabid animals tearing each other apart. She nodded slowly. “Right.” She waved a hand, and two burly orderlies lunged at my mother. Before she could even process what was happening, her arms were pinned. They lifted her off her feet, her legs kicking wildly in the air. Before she could even scream, Nurse Henderson bent down, yanked up her pant leg, and plunged the needle deep into her calf. Five milligrams of Haloperidol. My mother’s shriek peaked within three seconds, warped into a choked gurgle by the seventh, and by the tenth, she went entirely limp, as if her bones had dissolved. My father stood frozen. Then, with a gutter-raw roar, he threw a heavy punch at the nearest orderly. “Who the hell did you just inject?! Who?! I told you to take the girl!” The orderly staggered back, clutching his bleeding nose. The other three immediately swarmed my father, tackling him to the ground. The yard dissolved into absolute chaos. In the scuffle, Nurse Henderson was shoved backward, her forehead clipping the corner of the broken table. Blood started oozing down her temple. She clutched her head as she stood up, her face livid. “This entire family is clinically insane! Every single one of you!” She ripped her torn pocket off her scrubs and screamed at the orderlies, “Abort! Get the hell out of here! We’re leaving!” The orderlies gladly retreated, grabbing their gear and scrambling for the gate. Before slamming the van door, Nurse Henderson kicked the post. “The Pinecrest Center is done with this circus! Next time you call, the dispatch fee is a thousand dollars cash up front!” The heavy door slammed shut, and the siren faded into the distance. Leaning against the rusty outdoor faucet, I looked down at my wrists. The rope binding them had loosened during the fracas. Using my teeth, I pulled the final knot loose and shook out my hands. Dark red rings encircled my wrists, and my scraped knees bled slowly onto the gravel. All that remained was a yard littered with shattered glass, splintered wood, torn paper, my mother twitching on the ground, and my father huddled beside her. Tyler slumped against the brick wall, his eyes fixed on the blinking red recording lights of the reporters’ cameras at the edge of the driveway. 4 Suddenly, he lunged into the cluster of reporters and snatched the microphone right out of the local news anchor’s hand. He dragged me by my bruised arm right back to the center of the frame. I tried to pull away, but his grip was frantic and tight. “Don’t you dare run,” he hissed under his breath. “We’re finishing this now.” He shoved me directly in front of the lens, standing tall beside me. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, squeezing out a fresh wave of tears. “To everyone watching this stream, I didn’t want to air our family’s dirty laundry like this. But you deserve the truth. My sister is no scholar. She’s been running illegal online poker and sports betting rings at school. She’s drowned in thousands of dollars of debt. This whole breakdown today? It’s nothing but a desperate cover-up because she knows she’s caught!” The live chat exploded. Gambling? No way. Does he have receipts? The neighbors began muttering among themselves. A voice shouted from the back, “A gambling addict trying to steal her brother’s glory? Shameless!” A plastic water bottle sailed through the air and bounced near my feet. Tyler paused, letting the anger simmer, before pulling a manila folder from behind his back. He slipped two documents out and held them directly up to the lens. First, he displayed a stapled packet. The header read: Confidential Exam Proxy and Score Transfer Agreement. Next was a printed screenshot of a wire transfer—five thousand dollars, with the sender’s name blacked out. Tyler flipped to the signature page on the third sheet, holding it inches from the camera lens. “Look closely. This contract has my sister’s signature and her thumbprint in red ink. To pay off her gambling debts, she sold her ID and her exam credentials to a black-market cheating ring. She planned to cheat her way to a perfect score, but she panicked under pressure and bombed it with a miserable 250. Now she’s trying to steal my score to fulfill her end of the deal!” He tapped the wire transfer paper. “This five grand was her advance deposit. But she was flagged by the proctor before she could finish, leaving her with a 250. Now she’s trying to claim my 740 to save herself from the black-market brokers!” The stream’s chat section went wild. Exam fraud??? That’s a felony! Some guy got prison time for this last year! Investigate them both! This girl is insane! I stood silently before the cameras, offering no defense. My mother, still groggy from the sedative, staggered back into the frame. She grabbed my collar, tugging me down, and pointed a trembling finger at my face, sobbing hysterically. “You ungrateful little wretch! Your father and I starved ourselves to put you through school, and this is how you repay us? Gambling? Hiring proxies? You’ve dragged our name through the mud!” My father flanked her, shouting directly into the microphone. “Officers, reporters—we disown her! Lock her up! Throw away the key! We fully support the law!” The chat surged again. Even her parents disowned her. It’s definitely true. Man, poor parents. She got what she deserved. Siren wails cut through the air once more. Two police cruisers and a sleek black SUV pulled up, blocking both ends of the driveway. Four officers stepped out of the cruisers, securing the perimeter. Then the door of the SUV opened. Dr. Mercer, the State Commissioner of Education, stepped out wearing a simple blazer and loafers. Behind him was Chief Davis of the State Police Department in full dress uniform. They were followed by six staff members carrying laptops and investigative folders. Dr. Mercer lingered at the edge of the yard. His sharp eyes scanned the splintered wood, the shredded paper, the frantic boy clutching the folder, and finally, me—battered, bloodied, and standing in rags. The Commissioner’s voice was quiet but carried absolute authority. “Can someone explain to me what is going on here?” Tyler’s eyes lit up. Seeing the Commissioner and the heavy police presence, his confidence surged. Clutching his “confidential agreement,” he rushed forward. “Commissioner Mercer! Thank God you’re here! I’ve been waiting for this moment all day!” He thrust the document into Dr. Mercer’s hands. “Look! Here is the ironclad proof!” He turned back to the cameras, raised the microphone, took a deep breath, and bellowed at the top of his lungs: “Commissioner! This filthy score-selling proxy agreement was signed by my sister—I watched her press her thumbprint on it myself!” The system screen flashed brilliant blue in my mind’s eye. And Tyler’s voice, amplified by the microphone, carried clearly into every single live stream: “Commissioner! This filthy score-selling proxy agreement was signed by myself—I pressed my own thumbprint on it!”

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In my past life, I was known as the most vicious, unhinged wife in our high-society circle. Any woman who dared breathe too close to Christian was met with my fury. I tracked them down to their pristine brownstones, slapped them in their own entryways, and dragged their names through the mud. If any of them were foolish enough to accept his penthouse keycard for a late-night rendezvous, I was always there, kicking down the door, turning their polished lives into a public circus. At first, Christian actually enjoyed it. He loved the ego stroke of watching me claw other women’s eyes out for him. Until I went after Daisy, his newly hired personal assistant. In a fit of rage to protect his precious little muse, he bribed witnesses and framed me for attempted murder by poisoning. I was sentenced to twenty years in a maximum-security prison, where I met a bitter, miserable end. Even my funeral portrait and ashes were tossed into a dumpster like yesterday’s trash. But now, I am back. This time, my vision is clear, and my hands are steady. I have absolutely zero interest in playing the scorned wife or fighting over a garbage man. This life, I’m only here for the money. … In my previous life, it all started falling apart when I went to the office and slapped Daisy. The catalyst was simple: I found her black lace thong tucked neatly into the inner pocket of Christian’s bespoke suit jacket. When I confronted her, she made a grand spectacle of running to the roof of the corporate tower, threatening to jump. She sobbed to the gathering crowd below about how her dignity had been stripped away, how death was preferable to the public humiliation I’d caused. The moment Christian got the call, he abandoned a multi-million dollar merger and sped to the scene. Instead of comforting his hysterical wife, he stood before the entire board of directors and slapped me. Hard. Ten times, twenty times, until my lip split and blood dripped onto my Chanel collar. Only then did he stop. He rushed over to Daisy, gently lifting her from the ledge and pulling her into his arms, cooing like she was a fragile bird. “Don’t be afraid, Daisy,” he whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Anyone who hurts you will pay a thousand times over.” Just like that, I became the laughingstock of Manhattan’s elite. “Helena finally hit a wall,” they whispered over mimosas. “She touched Christian’s golden girl. She’s done for. Let’s see how loud she barks now.” “Good riddance. She had it coming.” “For someone born into the Hastings dynasty, she has zero class. Chasing down mistresses like a stray dog. It’s embarrassing to the rest of us.” “Honestly, if I were her, I’d rather drown myself than live with that level of pathetic desperation.” When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in the exact moment Daisy confessed her affair to me. “Mrs. Harrington, you’re getting older, and frankly, you can’t keep your husband happy,” she said, looking at me with wide, mock-innocent eyes. “Why shouldn’t you give younger girls a chance? Do you have any idea how brutal the job market is right now?” My muscle memory flared. My arm tensed, preparing to swing a heavy leather handbag right across her cheek. But a sudden jolt in my brain stopped me. Don’t make the same mistake twice. Daisy’s eyes were already glassy, her tears primed and ready to fall. When my hand dropped to my side, her expression crumbled into utter confusion. She didn’t know whether to cry or speak. My best friend, Paige, who had marched into the office with me as backup, frowned. “Helena, are you okay? Or did you just think of a slower, more painful way to destroy her?” “Right,” Paige muttered, glaring at Daisy. “We can’t let this little leech run to Christian and play the victim. We don’t touch the face. Let’s have the security detail take her down to the basement pool and hold her under until she remembers how to respect a married man.” Paige signaled the security team we’d brought. But I stepped in. “Let it go,” I said quietly. Daisy, who had clearly rehearsed her entire routine of collapsing into Christian’s arms to sob about my cruelty, panicked. Seeing me refuse to play my part, she tried to bait me. “The one who isn’t loved is the real intruder, Helena,” she sneered, dropping the sweet act for a split second. “Christian told me he feels absolutely nothing when he’s with you. I’m the only one who satisfies him.” Paige practically vibrated with rage. She grabbed a hot cup of coffee and stepped forward. “You miserable little bitch!” Before she could throw it, I caught her wrist, pulling her back with surprising force. In my past life, Paige had thrown that coffee right into Daisy’s face to defend me. Christian never forgot it. On her next birthday, he hired men to lace her drink at a club, leading to a brutal, orchestrated assault by a dozen men. They took photos and leaked them across the dark web. Paige’s spirit was entirely broken. Three months later, she jumped from her apartment balcony. This time, I was going to protect her. At all costs. “Paige, don’t,” I murmured. “That’s imported Kona coffee. It’s fifty dollars an ounce. Wasting it on her face is a crime.” Paige’s brow furrowed. “Since when do you care about fifty dollars? We used to charter a private jet to Paris just to catch him in a hotel room. And what about last month? You threw a row of antique Chinoiserie vases off the mezzanine, and you didn’t even blink when only one of them managed to clip that sales associate.” That was the old me. The me who didn’t realize that a man is never worth more than cold, hard cash. I leaned in, whispering in her ear, “I’m done with the violence. It takes two to tango. Why should I waste my energy and bank account on a dirty, stray dog? It’s bad for business.” Paige stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “So you’re just going to let her walk? She’s standing here gloating, she literally just spilled orange juice on your custom Givenchy dress, and tomorrow she’ll be whispering in Christian’s ear to divorce you so she can take your place.” I looked up, my eyes sweeping over Daisy’s youthful, plump face. “She is fresh, isn’t she? No wonder Christian forgets he has a home.” I turned back to Daisy. “Since he likes you so much, I won’t stand in your way…” Before I could even finish my sentence, Daisy dropped to her knees, weeping beautifully. It was a masterclass in performative vulnerability. “Mrs. Harrington, I know you’re consumed by jealousy. I know what happens to the women Christian smiles at. If you want to use your influence to fire me, I can’t stop you. But please, I beg of you, take better care of him. He works so hard to provide for you. We women shouldn’t be so selfish, only thinking about shopping and spending his money.” She sniffled, wiping an imaginary tear. “And please, remember he likes soy milk in the morning. Don’t just give him regular dairy because it’s easier—he’s lactose intolerant. He might look like a strong, six-foot-two man, but he kicks his blankets off at night and catches cold easily. It breaks my heart.” “Oh, and he’s at a critical point in his career right now. He doesn’t have time for domestic drama. When you… force him into bed, please make sure you use protection. He doesn’t need a child stressing him out.” I let out a soft, dry laugh. “Are you quite finished?” In my past life, this exact monologue had sent me into a blind, screaming rage. I had torn her hair out, giving Christian the perfect ammunition to lock me away. But right now, I could hear the faint click of leather shoes in the hallway. Christian was at the door. I looked down at her calmly. “Since you care so deeply for my husband, I think it’s only fair you stay close. I won’t fire you. In fact, I’m promoting you to his personal executive assistant. And I’m doubling your salary.” “You… you’re doing what?” Daisy stared up at me, frozen on the floor. This wasn’t the script she had written. She remained glued to the carpet until Christian cleared his throat from the doorway. “Helena is rarely this understanding, Daisy,” Christian said, stepping into the room with a smooth, patronizing smile. “It seems the two of you actually get along. Stand up and thank her.” Once we cleared the lobby and walked out onto the bustling Manhattan street, Paige let out a frustrated groan. “Why are you playing nice with that little leech? We should have dragged her out by her hair, let the whole office see her for the home-wrecker she is. Instead, you basically paved a golden runway straight to Christian’s bed!” I offered her a sad, quiet smile and shook my head. “Paige, don’t you see? Christian is actually infatuated with her this time. If I kept screaming and throwing fits like I used to, he would have found a way to quietly dispose of me. I like being alive too much to play his game.” Paige studied my face, her anger softening into deep concern. “So what’s the plan? You can’t just let her parade around in front of you forever. The Helena Hastings I know doesn’t lay down and take a beating.” She was right. In my first life, I cared too much. I put a man at the center of my universe, and it destroyed me. That evening, Christian did something unprecedented: he came home early and handed me a small gift box. It was a sterling silver bracelet—a complimentary freebie given to high-tier clients who purchased custom jewelry. I knew this because Daisy had already posted the actual prize on Instagram hours earlier: a flawless five-carat diamond necklace and matching ring, paid for with Christian’s primary black card. Her caption had been a masterclass in passive-aggressive gloating: ‘So sweet to be young and adored by a gentle protector ten years older. True love doesn’t care about age. Honestly, I’d rather die than grow old, bitter, and ignored by my husband.’ I played my part flawlessly. I smiled, thanked him, and let him clasp the cheap silver around my wrist. But the moment he left, claiming an urgent late-night board meeting required his presence at the office, I unclasped the bracelet and threw it straight into the kitchen trash chute. “Trash belongs with the trash.” The next morning, I traded my usual loud, logo-heavy designer dresses for a sleek, tailored pantsuit and flat leather loafers. I packed a thermal lunchbox with warm soup and headed to Christian’s office, playing the doting wife. The moment I stepped into the marble lobby of the Kerwin Group, the air felt charged. The HR director, whom I had quietly put on my payroll months ago, rushed over to whisper in my ear. “Daisy arrived in Mr. Harrington’s car this morning. They were wearing matching designer suits. Half an hour ago, they had a courier deliver a box of condoms to his private office.” “Got it. Thank you.” The entire floor was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion. I walked toward his office suite, and before I even reached the door, the muffled, unmistakable sounds of giggling and heavy breathing drifted from his private lounge. Daisy’s voice was unmistakable, pitchy and breathy. “Stop it, Christian… you know I’m sensitive there…” I stood at the secretary’s desk. Across the room, two junior analysts were already whispering, making bets. “Five bucks says Daisy is dragged out of there naked in under five minutes, getting her face clawed off.” “Are you new?” the other whispered back. “That’s Helena Harrington. Five minutes isn’t even a warm-up for her. It’ll be ten minutes minimum. She’ll take photos first, throw a vase through the window, and we’ll have to call NYPD to pull them apart.” Instead of storming the door, I turned on my heel, walked into the communal breakroom, poured myself a cup of black coffee, and sat down to wait. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Suddenly, the elevator doors chimed open. The sharp, rapid clack-clack-clack of stilettos echoed down the corridor, moving with frantic urgency. Right on cue. Just like in my past life, she had arrived. Isabelle. The gorgeous, untouchable first love Christian had spent his twenties mourning. When Isabelle kicked open the office door, a high-pitched shriek tore through the suite. Inside, Christian was frozen in shock. “Isabelle? What are you doing back in New York?” A loud slap echoed, followed by another. Isabelle’s voice cracked with tears. “If I hadn’t come back, were you going to let this cheap little receptionist take over my life? You promised me, Christian! You swore on the phone that I was the only woman you ever loved! It was all a lie!” Within seconds, the office turned into a war zone. Objects were flying, glass shattering, screams multiplying. At one point, a torn black lace thong flew out of the doorway, landing perfectly over the frame of Christian’s corporate portrait. I sipped my coffee, listening to the employees around me mutter in disgust. “Jesus. Does he think this is a brothel or a hedge fund?” “Typical. Don’t look, just get back to work before HR sees us.” As the crowd dispersed, I heard a quiet whisper. “Wait, where’s Helena? Why isn’t she in there?” I closed my eyes, remembering the horror of my previous life. In that timeline, I had been the one inside that room, locked in a feral claw-fight with Daisy. Christian had stepped in—not to protect me, but to shield Daisy. He had kicked me off her so hard that two of my ribs fractured. I spent weeks in the hospital while he cut off my allowance to punish me for “embarrassing” him. And Isabelle? In that timeline, she had stood quietly in the hallway, waiting for me to be wheeled out on a stretcher before sliding back into Christian’s life as his comforting, elegant savior. But this time, I was the spectator. Seeing the moment was ripe, I gave a subtle nod to the HR director. A crew of tabloid journalists, armed with heavy cameras and blinding flashbulbs, burst through the glass doors of the executive suite, pushing past the weak protests of the secretary. Christian panicked, shielding his face. “Who let you in here? Get out! Delete those photos! Now!” But the photographers didn’t stop. The shutters clicked rapidly, capturing every angle of the chaos. “This is gold,” one reporter muttered. “The golden boy of Wall Street having a three-way with his assistant and his ex. This is front-page news for a month.” Daisy, completely naked, tried to burrow into Christian’s chest, sobbing hysterically. This only enraged Isabelle further, who lunged forward to scratch at her face. “You pathetic little leech! Still posing for the cameras? You’re disgusting!” By the next morning, the Kerwin Group was trending globally for all the wrong reasons. The scandal cost the firm several major international mergers, resulting in an immediate loss of nearly a billion dollars in market value. At the Harrington family estate in Connecticut, Christian’s grandfather, Franklin Harrington, was livid. He threw the morning papers directly at Christian’s face. “You useless fool!” the old man roared. “I spent forty years building this legacy, and you drag it through the mud for a cheap thrill!” Christian, pale and trembling, noticed me sitting quietly beside his grandfather, pouring the old man a cup of chamomile tea. He immediately pointed a finger at me. “Grandpa, Helena set this up! You know how insane she is. She’s been looking for a way to ruin me because of my personal life. She tipped off those reporters!” I let my shoulders tremble. I squeezed my eyes shut, and within seconds, tears began to stream down my cheeks.

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By the time Victoria realized I was slowly fading out of her life, she had already demoted me to the janitorial crew to appease her young assistant, Adrian. She thought she was just teaching me a lesson, but soon, the cracks began to show. When she had to attend high-stakes business dinners, there was no one there to drink for her, forcing her to curse under her breath as she fumbled through her purse for hangover pills and antacids. When she stayed up until the early hours of the morning reviewing contracts, there was no one to gently force her to rest or quietly finish the paperwork for her. I even caught her coming out of a cheap, hourly-rate motel on the edge of town with Adrian, but I didn’t say a word. I didn’t demand answers. I simply turned and walked away. Eventually, Victoria swallowed her pride and came looking for me. She found me on my knees on the cold marble floor, scraping away at a piece of hardened chewing gum. “You don’t have to humiliate yourself just to get back at me,” she said, her voice carrying a mix of irritation and sigh. “Making you do janitorial work was just for show. Once Adrian cools off, I’ll put you back in the Vice President’s office.” I stood up, my aching legs protesting the sudden movement, and picked up my dirty mop bucket in silence. Today was the thousandth day I had spent chasing after Victoria Westwood. It was also the last. Another firm had already offered me a executive role with a competitive salary, and my plane ticket was already booked. … Seeing my silence, Victoria’s lips pressed into a tight, thin line. She was treating me like a sulking child, slapping me first and then offering a piece of candy, fully expecting that all of our history could be easily swept under the rug. “Don’t be mad on your birthday, birthday boy,” she said, trying to soften her tone. “I have a surprise waiting for you tonight.” Seven years together, and Victoria had never remembered my birthday once. Every time I bought a cake and set it on our dining table, she would look surprised and ask what special occasion we were celebrating. Yet Adrian had only been with the firm for two weeks, and she knew his birthday and his exact number of days on the payroll by heart. Now that I had stopped loving her, she suddenly cared. She reached her hand out, intending to ruffle my hair, but froze when a soft cough echoed from the corridor. Adrian stepped into the lobby, pulling a bottle of hand sanitizer from his designer bag. Without warning, he pointed it at my face and sprayed. “Jude, you’re a janitor now. You’re absolutely filthy,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Ms. Westwood is delicate. Please sanitize yourself before you get too close to her.” He was too fast, and I couldn’t duck in time. The harsh chemical mist sprayed directly into my eyes, causing a stinging burn that made me instinctively reach up to rub them. My foot caught the edge of the heavy mop bucket. It clattered to the floor, sending gray, soapy water splashing across the pristine tiles. Adrian let out a dramatic, high-pitched shriek. “Call security to disinfect this area! The dirty water got on Ms. Westwood’s trousers! What if she catches some horrible bacteria and falls ill?” Victoria let out an indulgent laugh, nudging him playfully. “I’m not as fragile as you are, Adrian.” Adrian pouted, stepping forward to cup her face in his hands. “Who says I’m fragile? Last time you got acute gastritis from those extra-spicy diner fries, I was the one who practically carried you into the ER.” They flirted openly, completely ignoring me as I sat in the cold, dirty puddle, the sting in my eyes bringing back the memories of the slap that had ruined everything. It had been the night we finally closed a massive international deal. Victoria’s stomach had been tearing her apart from the stress and alcohol. I had run to the nearest pharmacy to buy her medicine, panting as I raced back to the restaurant, only to find her gone. The local news had been warning about a violent fugitive active in that very neighborhood. I had panicked, called the police, and searched every dark alleyway, sobbing her name. I couldn’t find her. Until the hospital called. I flew to her room, thinking that if she was gone, I would go with her. But when I pushed the door open, I saw Victoria holding Adrian, comforting him. Adrian was crying, blaming himself for taking her to that greasy diner for spicy fries. Out of sheer panic and exhaustion, my mind had snapped, and I slapped Adrian across the face. Victoria’s expression turned ice-cold. Right then and there, she called HR and demoted me to the cleaning staff. I remember screaming at her like a madman, asking if she had stopped loving me. She was too busy soothing Adrian to answer. But I had my answer. Now, the security guards arrived with heavy-duty chemical backpacks. Under Adrian’s orders, they pointed the spray nozzles directly at me. Victoria frowned slightly, grabbing Adrian’s hand. “Jude is highly allergic to industrial disinfectants. Just have them clean the floor.” Adrian winks playfully. “Don’t worry, Victoria. I made sure they used the organic, non-irritating stuff. Even if Jude gets a little on him, he’ll be fine.” He pressed the trigger. A harsh, chemical mist drenched my collar. “See? He’s perfectly fine.” Victoria glanced at me. Seeing no immediate rash on my neck, she affectionately pinches Adrian’s cheek. “You little troublemaker.” I staggered to my feet, digging my nails into my palms to resist the desperate urge to scratch my burning skin. Out of Victoria’s line of sight, Adrian smirks and made a face at me. He knew I won’t ask Victoria for help. Or rather, he knew that even if I did, she would side with him. Just like last week, when Adrian accidentally fed a month’s worth of crucial project data into the paper shredder. He had thrown himself into Victoria’s arms, crying, claiming I had ordered him to do it. The entire team glared at me, their hard work destroyed. I begged Victoria to check the security cameras to prove my innocence, but she simply covered Adrian’s ears and called me an incompetent fool who couldn’t even manage basic files. The chemical fumes sting my throat, making it hard to breathe. I press a hand to my stomach, praying my chronic ulcer won’t flare up from the stress. Victoria doesn’t notice my distress. But when Adrian coughs from the fumes, she quickly takes his hand and leads him away. A female security guard watches them walk off, then turns to look at my damp, clinging shirt with a sneer. “Thought sleeping with the boss made you untouchable, huh? Look at you now, thrown out like trash.” “Mr. Adrian said you have a certain scent on you. Said we need to scrub you clean with the good stuff.” Seeing the malicious glint in their eyes, I step back. “What are you doing?” They grab my arms, dragging me toward the stairwell, tearing at my shirt. Terrified, I sink my teeth into the closest guard’s ear, fighting like an animal. “Ah! You little bastard, let go!” A hard blow lands on my face, and a heavy boot kicks me squarely in the ribs, sending me crashing down. Ignoring the pain, I scramble backward, clawing at the concrete. “Help! Someone help me!” My screams echo through the concrete stairwell. Realizing things are getting out of hand, the guards swear, kick me one last time, and bolt. I huddle on the floor, gasping through the agonizing pain in my back, slowly dragging myself up. Before I can catch my breath, a hand grips my wrist with bruising force. Thinking the guards are back, I lash out blindly. “Get off me!” A cold sneer sounds from above. I look up and meet Victoria’s freezing gaze. “Jude, I didn’t think you could be this malicious.” Before I can comprehend her words, she drags me toward the elevator. Muffled sobs echo from the executive office. Victoria shoves me against the wall, pointing at the espresso machine. Inside the glass water reservoir floats a bloody, mangled dead rat. “Are you going to pretend you didn’t do this?” she roars. “Apologize to Adrian. Now.” The rat’s lifeless, bulging eyes stare back at me. The sight of the dark blood makes my vision spin. When my parents died in a car fire, I was sent to a state orphanage. A boy there wanted the pocket watch my father had left me—my only keepsake. I refused. He brought older kids from the street who threatened to cut me open. I held the watch to my chest, refusing to let go, and they plunged a knife into me. Victoria, who lived in the neighborhood, ran out and took the second blow for me. Her warm blood soaked my clothes, looking exactly like the blood my parents spat out in their final moments. I had screamed until my throat bled before passing out. Ever since, I have suffered from severe, paralyzing hemophobia. I slide down the wall, my knees giving out as the memories of my parents lying in a pool of blood crash over me. “It’s my fault… I shouldn’t have asked to go to the carnival…” Victoria notices my trembling, her eyes widening in sudden panic. She takes a step toward me, but Adrian lets out a sharp whimper. Instantly, she pivots, pulling Adrian into her arms and stroking his back. “Victoria, I’m so scared…” Adrian weeps, clutching her collar. “Why does Jude hate me so much? Is it because I took his job? I’ll give it back… I’ll leave…” Victoria wipes his tears, her gaze turning venomous as she looks back at me. “Jude! Apologize to him!” Curled in the corner, I let out a hollow, broken laugh. She doesn’t believe me. She never will. Her heart belongs entirely to Adrian now. My fingernails bite deep into my palms. I close my eyes, despising my own weakness. I promised myself I wouldn’t care, that I wouldn’t shed another tear for this woman. Yet the tears keep spilling over. Losing her patience, Victoria grabs my wrist, her grip so tight I feel my bones grind. She drags me to Adrian’s feet, then reaches into her drawer and hurls a leather-bound document at my face. It is the deed to my parents’ house. “I bought back your family’s estate. I was going to give it to you tonight for your birthday,” she says coldly. “But since you refuse to apologize, I guess you don’t want it.” She steps forward, grinding her heel directly onto the deed. Seeing the dirty footprint mar the pristine cover, my chest tightens. I throw myself forward, desperately clutching the document. “I’ll buy it from you! At market value! You promised me, Victoria—you promised that once we made it, you’d help me get my parents’ house back. I want you to honor that promise. Now!” Victoria hesitates for a fraction of a second, but Adrian snatches the document from my hands. Rip. The sound is clean and sharp. The deed is torn into pieces, and Adrian throws the shreds out the open window, watching them scatter into the wind like snow. The final string in my mind snaps. I stare blankly at the falling white pieces. Victoria rubs her temples, turning to scold Adrian, but he looks up at her with wide, watery eyes. Her anger dissolves. She turns to me, her voice indifferent. “You put a dead rat in his coffee to terrify him. He tore up your paper. Consider it even.” The tears feel cold on my face. I let out a quiet laugh. She thinks Adrian only tore up a piece of paper. No. He tore up her promise. He tore up the last thread of love I had left for her. A metallic taste rises in my throat. In a whisper, I say, “Victoria, I don’t love you anymore.” She steps closer, leaning down. “What did you say? Speak up.” Seeing her attention drift back to me, Adrian clutches his chest, groaning. “Victoria, my head is spinning. How am I supposed to help you welcome the VIP guest like this?” A cruel smirk plays on his lips. The office door knocks. “Ms. Westwood, Mr. Jeff has arrived in the lounge.” A chill runs down my spine. Jeff is the only son of our largest investor, and an obsessive, violent stalker of Victoria. Every time he visits, he brings his trained Doberman, Kaiser, to sniff her clothes, searching for the scent of any man who has dared to get close to her. Once, Kaiser tore open the leg of a junior analyst who had simply shared an elevator with Victoria. Because Victoria needed his mother’s backing, she had to swallow her anger and sweep it under the rug. To keep me safe, Victoria used to give me the day off whenever Jeff came to the office. The heavy thud of boots echoes in the hallway, accompanied by the low, guttural growl of a dog. The private office closet is only large enough for one person. Victoria looks between me and Adrian, torn. Adrian gasps dramatically, collapsing into her arms. “Go ahead, Victoria. Let me handle the guest. I’m just your assistant. Even if I get mauled, it’s my duty.” A sharp pain shoots through my stomach. I lean against the desk for support, accidentally knocking my phone to the floor. The screen lights up, displaying a photo of Victoria and me laughing, holding Casper, our late Samoyed. Victoria’s eyes light up. She grabs my shoulders. “Jude! You used to raise Casper. Dogs always loved you. Maybe Jeff’s dog will like you too.” My heart freezes. I look at her, unable to comprehend her words. Kaiser is a trained attack dog. Years ago, Casper was killed by a stray mastiff while trying to protect me. The trauma left me with severe, recurring nightmares. Without waiting for my reply, Victoria gently ushers Adrian into the private closet. There is a small gap left—enough for me to squeeze in. But when I try to follow, Victoria blocks the door, her face hardening. “He needs air to breathe, Jude. If you crowd him, he’ll have a panic attack.” The knocking at the main door grows louder. Weak and trembling, I look around for anywhere else to hide. Suddenly, the door is kicked open. Jeff stands there, holding a thick leather leash connected to a massive, snarling Doberman. I instinctively shrink behind Victoria. Jeff’s eyes flash with murderous rage. He pats the dog’s head. “Kaiser, tear this parasite apart.” The Doberman lunges, teeth bared. I run, but the dog corners me, its claws slicing deep gashes into my calves. Victoria watches in horror, but when I try to crawl toward the closet, she grabs a heavy glass mug from her desk and smashes it right in front of me, cutting off my path. Through the crack in the closet door, Adrian smiles. Trapped in the corner, I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the worst. Just as the dog lunges for my throat, Jeff’s phone rings. He barks a command, pulling the dog back. “You got lucky today,” Jeff snarls, pointing a finger at me. “If I see you hovering around Victoria again, I’ll let him finish the job.” As Jeff’s footsteps fade down the corridor, the crushing tension in my chest finally eases. Victoria walks right past me, her boots stepping through my blood, and throws open the closet door. Seeing that Adrian is completely unharmed, she finally deigns to look down at me. “Go get patched up. I’ll come home tonight and we’ll celebrate your birthday.” I limp out of the office, heading straight to the hospital. The doctor cleans the deep lacerations, administers a tetanus shot, and warns me to rest. I go back to the apartment, pack my single suitcase, and head straight to the airport. As the office hours draw to a close, Victoria calls HR. “Reinstating Jude to the VP position tomorrow morning.” The HR manager hesitates. “Ms. Westwood… Jude submitted his formal resignation and signed his exit papers last week.” Victoria’s heart skips a beat. She drops her keys, sprinting to her car and driving like a madwoman back to our apartment. But when she throws open the door, the rooms are dark and empty. Only a cheap, dull diamond ring sits on the bedside table.

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Ten months. Ten months of being stranded on a barren, isolated island with my baby girl. I placed her fragile, fever-ravaged body onto a makeshift wooden raft. Then I plunged into the freezing ocean water, kicking with everything I had, pushing the raft forward through the swells. In the distance, the dark, triangular fins of sharks sliced through the waves, circling us, closing the gap. Despair, cold and absolute, washed over me. With one final, agonizing burst of strength, I gave the raft a massive push, sending her toward the outer boundary of the bay. I let go. My body sank into the weightless dark of the ocean floor. I closed my eyes, waiting for the teeth to tear me apart. But instead of pain, a blinding light flared through the water. Above, a massive theater curtain slowly rolled back. My husband, Thomas, stepped out onto the deck of a sleek yacht anchored just beyond the artificial reef. Clinging to his arm was Nancy, my former best friend. Thomas looked down at the water, his handsome face carrying an air of smug satisfaction. “Sweetheart,” Thomas said, his voice carrying over the water, “she slapped you once, so I put her out here for a year to teach her a lesson. Are you happy now?” He patted Nancy’s hand gently. “I’ll make her apologize to you, and then we’ll put this whole thing behind us.” He scanned the shoreline, his brow furrowing as he looked for our daughter. “Where is the baby? Where is Lucy? What kind of mother is she, starving her own child like this?” The surface of the water had already settled into a glassy, undisturbed calm. I was floating now, suspended in the air, watching my own blue, lifeless body drift down into the dark silt of the seabed. A hollow, broken laugh escaped my ghostly lips. Ten months of starvation, of desperate survival, of fighting to keep our daughter alive on a barren rock—it was nothing but a sick game to Thomas. A punishment. He had gotten his wish. But I was never coming back. … “Save Mommy… please save Mommy…” Lucy’s eyes fluttered, her voice a dry, papery whisper as tears tracked through the dirt on her face. Thomas felt a sharp pang of worry and scooped her up into his arms. He waited for a moment, looking around the empty shore, before his jaw tightened in anger. “Your mother must have run off the second she saw the yacht. I have never met a woman so incredibly petty.” Lucy wept harder, her tiny, cracked lips moving soundlessly as she pointed toward the dark water. But her strength failed her. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she went completely limp in his arms. My heart lunges into my throat. I screamed, throwing myself forward to catch her, but I passed straight through her tiny, fragile body. I froze, staring at my translucent hands. “Medic! Get a doctor over here now!” Thomas’s face drained of color as he ran toward the waiting ambulance parked on the mainland dock. During her emergency treatment, Thomas touched Lucy’s arm. She was nothing but skin and bones. Rage and terror shook his voice. “I had supplies dropped on that island every single month! Could Grace not even bother to look for them? To starve a child like this… no wonder she’s too ashamed to show her face!” Nancy dabs at her eyes, her tone dripping with mock sorrow. “Oh, Thomas… Grace is so spiteful. How could she abuse her own daughter just to get back at you?” Thomas’s face darkens with pure fury. He pulled out his phone and left me a voicemail: “Grace, you show your face right this second, or so help me God. What kind of mother does this?” He cursed under his breath, but his eyes lingered on our last call history. It was ten months ago. I had just returned from a short weekend trip with Lucy. Walking into our home, I found Nancy naked beneath Thomas on our living room sofa. My entire world shattered in a fraction of a second. I lost my mind, screaming, clawing at them in a blind panic. Thomas shielded Nancy, pushing me hard to the floor. “Stop being hysterical, Grace! I had too much to drink. Every man makes mistakes.” With bloodshot eyes, I grabbed Lucy and walked out. Thomas grabbed my wrist. “You don’t get to hit Nancy and just walk away. Apologize to her.” Nancy whimpered behind him like a delicate, wounded flower. Nausea rose in my throat. I wrenched my arm free. “In your dreams. You both will burn for this. I want a divorce, Thomas.” I slammed the door, holding my quiet, confused toddler. We stayed at a cheap motel that night. But the next morning, we woke up on a desolate, rocky island. No food, no phones, no way out. When I tried to swim out for help, sharks—mechanical or real, I couldn’t tell then—forced me back. Now I realize the wilderness was a controlled playground, the sharks a cruel deterrent. But I believed it. Before my final dive, I had sliced my finger and written a desperate final message on a piece of slate with my own blood, begging Thomas to take care of our daughter. Back at the hospital, the doctor hands Thomas a critical condition notice. His hand shakes as he signs it. Nancy weeps softly. “I just don’t understand how Grace could do this to her own flesh and blood.” Thomas stares at a silver guardian angel locket he took from Lucy’s neck. It’s covered in grime. It was a locket we got together. Years ago, when Lucy was desperately ill, we climbed a mountain trail to a small sanctuary, kneeling at every step. Thomas nearly fainted from low blood sugar near a steep drop; I grabbed him, pulling him up with raw strength, scraping my knees and elbows to the bone. Thomas had cried, holding my bleeding hands. “Don’t be so reckless. If you fell with me, Lucy would have no one.” I had smiled through the pain. “You and Lucy are my whole world. I’d die before I let go of either of you.” “It was all a lie,” Thomas whispers now, his voice trembling with a mixture of grief and mounting fury. He stands abruptly and flings the silver locket into the trash. His phone rings. It’s the site manager from the private island property. “What is it?” Thomas snaps. “Mr. Leonard… we found a note written on the island. It looks like a suicide note from your wife.” “A suicide note?” Thomas sneers. “She’s playing the victim now? Trying to manipulate me? She’s pathetic. There are no wild animals on that island. She’s hiding. Find her and bring her to me.” He hangs up, laughing coldly. “She loves her own life too much to actually end it. Let’s see how she explains this when she’s dragged back.” I float above him, watching him plan my humiliation. It’s almost funny. How can he find me on that island? I’m in the lake. The operating room light goes out. The doctor steps out, grave. “The child’s stomach was filled with nothing but grass and wild berries. Extreme, prolonged malnutrition has caused organ distress and compromised her immune system. We stabilized her, but she’s in a coma. We need to monitor her.” “Grass?” Thomas freezes, his voice cracking. “That’s impossible. I personally authorized crates of canned goods and fresh fruit to be delivered. How could she starve?” Ah. Only for the first three months did we find any crates. After that, nothing. We lived on bitter berries, roots, and insects. Sometimes, while Lucy slept, I would press a sharp stone to my arm and let her drink my blood to keep her hydrated. She was so good, never complaining, whispering, “Daddy will find us, Mommy.” A sharp, phantom pain pierces my chest. So Thomas’s “supplies” were a lie. I burn with hatred. But then I notice Nancy’s face pale. She bites her lip and whispers, “When things get tough, not every mother has the strength to protect her child. She probably kept the food for herself.” Thomas instantly swallows the poison. “Of course. Grace ate it all.” He believes her, missing the cruel spark of satisfaction in Nancy’s eyes. In the ICU, Lucy murmurs in her sleep, “Mommy… water… please.” Thomas tries to offer a cup, but Lucy doesn’t open her eyes. Tears just leak down her pale cheeks. The phone rings again. “Mr. Leonard, we’ve searched every inch. Your wife isn’t on the island.” Thomas’s grip tightens. He pales slightly, then scoffs. “She knows she’s been caught. She’s hiding. Let her rot out there. Let’s see how long she lasts.” The assistant hesitates. “Sir, the construction crew is ready to drain the central lake on the property. Should we proceed?” “Drain it,” Thomas says coldly, hanging up. He texts my number a photo of Lucy in her hospital bed. Lucy is in critical condition. If you have a single shred of decency left, come see your daughter. He throws the phone aside, his eyes wandering to the trash where he threw the locket. He reaches in and pulls it back out. But a sudden shriek breaks the silence. Nancy drops her phone, her face white with terror. Before she can grab it, Thomas picks it up. It’s a forged “suicide note” from me, sent from an anonymous number: I hope Thomas and Nancy burn in hell! I want the world to know what monsters you are! You forced me to starve Lucy. You deserve to die! Thomas’s veins bulge. He punches the drywall. “She’s trying to ruin me. A fake death to destroy my reputation!” Nancy whimpers, “It’s my fault. I’ll go beg her for forgiveness if she just comes back.” “No!” Thomas sneers, his last ounce of worry replaced by disgust. “She starved our child and staged a fake suicide to blackmail me. If she wants to play dead, let her. She’s dead to me.” In his rage, he doesn’t notice the handwriting isn’t mine. During our college years, we wrote over a hundred letters to each other. They are still sitting on our bookshelf at home. When we used to fight, he would read them aloud to tease me. Once, in a fit of anger, I tried to burn them. Thomas had extinguished the flames with his bare hands, his arms covered in blisters. He had cried, not from the pain, but from the fear of losing them: You wrote these to me, Grace. You have no right to destroy them. He used to boast: Even if you burn them, I can copy your handwriting perfectly. I know every curve of your letters. We had a real, beautiful love once. My ghostly eyes sting, but my heart remains cold. I am dead. My only wish is for my daughter to survive. The next morning, Lucy wakes up. But she is disoriented, traumatized. “Mommy… water…” Thomas frowns. Nancy covers her mouth. “Oh, the poor thing. Did your mother deny you water too?” Lucy cries, struggling to find words. “Daddy… don’t… don’t fight with Mommy…” She closes her eyes, tears soaking her face. “Lucy’s chest… hurts.” Thomas’s heart drops. He checks his phone. Still no reply from me. The door swings open. His mother, Helen, walks in, her expression pinched. “Still no sign of Grace? If you ask me, file a police report for desertion and divorce her. She couldn’t even give you a son, and she’s nothing but trouble. She has no family, no backing. Just cut her loose.” Thomas ignores her, his jaw set. “She wants a war of attrition? I’ll give her one. Divorcing her now just lets her off easy. I want her to look me in the eye and tell me she isn’t ashamed of what she did to our daughter.” Helen scoffs. “She probably ran off with another man. Nancy is right here, ready to be a real mother to Lucy.” Nancy blushes, staying silent. Thomas sneers. “Who says I’m waiting for her? I just want to see how long she can keep up this little game. The moment she shows her face, I’m throwing the divorce papers at her.” The door bursts open again. His personal assistant stands there, panting, face pale as a sheet. Thomas frowns. “Did you find her? Is she too cowardly to face me?” The assistant shakes his head, trembling. “Sir… they just drained the lake on the island. They found a woman’s body.”

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The board of directors’ room was suffocatingly quiet. Our primary intern, Ted, had just stood up to suggest serving Capri Suns and Goldfish crackers to our prospective multi-million dollar venture capitalists. My fiancée, Hailey, gave him a fond, indulgent smile before turning to the room and nodding her approval. The other shareholders quickly chimed in, murmuring their agreement. In my past life, I had fought them tooth and nail on this. This was our Series B funding round—the most critical milestone our company would ever face. If we failed to secure these investors, our cash flow would dry up, the company would collapse, and every single shareholder would be buried under mountains of personal debt. At the time, Hailey had sneered at me in front of everyone. “You’re just being petty, Zach. You’re jealous because he’s younger and actually has fresh, modern ideas.” The other board members had sighed, checking their watches with clear annoyance. “Capri Suns are quirky and nostalgic. Besides, investors care about our metrics, not what’s on the snack table.” But this firm was my sweat and blood. I couldn’t bear to watch everyone’s hard work go down the drain. Before the meeting started, I had quietly cleared away the juice pouches and cheap snacks, replacing them with artisanal cold brews, fine loose-leaf teas, fresh berry platters, and delicate pastries from the high-end bakery down the street. The investors were highly impressed. The round closed smoothly, we eventually went public, and our market valuation soared. But Ted? He ran out of the office crying, supposedly distraught over my “workplace bullying” and rejection of his idea, and ended up getting struck by a delivery truck that left him paralyzed from the waist down. Then came the live streams. Sobbing on camera, he accused me of severe harassment, claiming I had stolen his projects and, in a fit of jealousy, physically pushed him under the wheels of that truck. Hailey’s silence—her quiet, public complicity—was the match that lit the fire. I was doxxed, hunted, and ultimately doused in gasoline and burned alive by radical vigilantes. My mother suffered a fatal heart attack from the sheer terror of it all, dying alone. My father was run down in the street, his body left in the gutter. Now, the universe has spun backward. I am standing in the conference room again. I hear Ted’s whiny, victimized voice suggesting the Capri Suns. This time, I stay silent. If they want juice boxes, why stop there? Let’s throw in some Goldfish crackers too. It’s a match made in heaven. I reach into my pocket, pull out my phone, and dial a number. “Hey. Is that offer still open? The one with the executive salary and equity?” … 1 In my past life, Ted’s tearful live streams ruined me. He painted me as a monster who stole his hard work. Hailey had stepped forward as the self-sacrificing martyr, promising to “make amends” for my sins by marrying Ted in a lavish, highly publicized ceremony. As a wandering spirit, I saw my mother clutching her chest, dying of a heart attack while angry protesters blocked the ambulance right outside our driveway. She died in agony, just yards away from help. I saw my father, struck by a car on a rainy night, his body left on the pavement like roadkill. And there Ted and Hailey stood, watching coldly as stray dogs tore at his remains. “Zachary brought this upon his family,” Ted had murmured, his hand resting on Hailey’s waist. “They are only reaping what he sowed.” I had screamed, clawing at the air, trying to chase the dogs away, but my spectral hands passed through nothingness. Then, I blinked. And I heard Ted’s fragile, wounded voice again. “It’s just an investor meeting. What’s wrong with bringing a little nostalgic fun with the Capri Suns? Why does Zach have to be so mean about it?” “Yeah, Zach,” Hailey said, her eyes narrowing with irritation. “Capri Suns are charming. Maybe the VCs will appreciate the humor.” I looked around the room. Hailey and the other board members were staring at me, their faces tight with impatience. I pinched my thigh hard under the table. It stung sharply. I was back. The lead investors were in their late fifties. Two of them had severe diabetes; another was lactose intolerant and avoided artificial dyes like the plague. Serve them juice boxes? They’d think we were taking them for fools. I smiled, letting my hands rest flat on the glass table. “Actually, I think Ted’s idea is brilliant. I approve.” Hailey and I had built this firm from a dusty garage. The shareholders were our close friends, people who had mortgaged their homes to back us. To secure our early contracts, I had literally drunk myself into the ER twice, working eighty-hour weeks alongside Hailey, never daring to catch my breath. In my previous life, I changed the catering to save them. This time, I wanted to see how long this company would last when they served childhood drinks to ruthless venture capitalists. Ted launched into his presentation, puffing his chest out. I didn’t care to listen. I quietly slipped out of the back door. Finding an empty office down the hall, I dialed a number I knew by heart. “Well, Zach,” the voice on the other end said, rich and resonant. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Please tell me you’ve reconsidered my offer.” “I have,” I said, leaning against the window. “But I want absolute decision-making authority and veto power.” I heard the rustle of paper as Cassie sat up straight, her tone shifting from casual to intensely serious. “Whatever you want, Zach. It’s yours. Welcome aboard.” 2 As I stepped into the main corridor, I ran right into Hailey and Ted. “Zach, where did you disappear to?” Ted asked, his lower lip trembling slightly. “Is it because the board liked my proposal instead of yours? Did I ruin your spotlight? I’m so sorry, Zach… I didn’t mean to.” “It’s not your fault, Ted,” Hailey interrupted, her voice softening as she patted his shoulder. “You did great. It’s Zach who needs to grow up. He’s incredibly small-minded, and frankly, he owes you an apology.” I stared at her—the girl I had loved since we were children. I had been her shadow in school. She used to pretend to find me annoying, but she had always defended me. I remembered a time in high school when some older boys cornered me in an alley because they were jealous of our closeness. She had marched right in, small but fierce, throwing herself in front of me. “He’s my boyfriend!” she had yelled at them. “If any of you touch him, you’ll answer to me!” Now, her voice was cold and sharp. “Did you hear me, Zach? Apologize to Ted. For a senior executive, you have zero grace.” When I didn’t immediately answer, lost in the ghost of who she used to be, she lost her patience and shoved me. Caught off guard, I stumbled backward, my wrist slamming hard against the sharp corner of a heavy filing cabinet. A sickening pop echoed in the hallway, and agonizing pain shot up my arm. I gasped, clutching my swelling wrist, my face contorting. Hailey froze, a flicker of panic crossing her eyes. “Oh, please, Zach,” Ted sneered, rolling his eyes. “Nice performance. Hailey barely touched you. Anyone would think she just assaulted you.” The panic in Hailey’s eyes instantly vanished, replaced by disgust. “Get up, Zach. Stop making a scene.” Several board members began trickling out of the conference room, stopping when they saw us. “What’s going on here? Zach, did you upset Hailey again? You two are getting married soon—stop acting like a petulant teenager.” Ted immediately pivoted to his victim act, addressing the onlookers. “I’m sure Zach is just upset because my pitch was accepted. It’s okay. For the sake of the company, he can yell at me all he wants.” “Zach, why must you be so incredibly petty?” one shareholder scoffed. “You need to think about the bigger picture. Stop targeting the kid.” “Exactly. Ted’s proposal is fresh. It’s disruptive.” “Besides, we’re the top firm in our sector right now. So what if we serve them Capri Suns? Who else are they going to invest in if not us?” Listening to their arrogant chatter, I cradled my broken wrist and smiled inwardly. “I don’t have an issue with Ted’s presentation,” I said quietly. “In fact, I have some personal matters to attend to tomorrow. I won’t be attending the summit.” Hailey’s eyebrows knit together, her finger pointing sharply at my chest. “Zach, don’t you dare start throwing tantrums now. This is the most critical day of the fiscal year.” Oh, so you do know how critical it is. Without this funding, our accounts would be frozen by next month. “Seriously, Zach,” another board member chimed in. “Check your ego. Once we go public, Hailey’s net worth is going to skyrocket. If you keep acting like this, do you really think she’ll still want you?” “As a partner, you should be willing to sacrifice for the firm.” I looked at their smug faces. I was the one who negotiated every single major account. I was the one who drank until my stomach bled to seal those deals, and now I lived on prescription antacids. And because Hailey was insecure about her leadership, I had let her take all the credit. Now, they thought I was just a lucky tagalong living off her charity. Ted stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with opportunistic joy. “How about I handle the presentation tomorrow? Zach can just hand over his slides, and I’ll take it from there.” Hailey’s expression softened instantly. “Are you sure? That’s a lot of pressure, Ted.” “Anything for you and the company, Hailey. If Zach doesn’t want to do his job, I’m more than happy to step up.” “Do you hear him, Zach?” Hailey turned on me, her eyes burning with disappointment. “Look at Ted, then look at yourself. I am embarrassed to be associated with you. You’re fired. We don’t need you to keep this place running.” A few of the older board members looked slightly uneasy. 3 “Wait, is that wise?” one of them murmured. “The presentation is incredibly detailed. Zach is the only one who truly knows the numbers.” “Maybe Zach should still present. And if the Capri Suns are really a bad idea, we can just change them back.” “Yeah, let’s play it safe and use Zach’s original deck.” But Ted cut them off with absolute confidence. “Don’t worry, everyone. I’ve been shadowing Hailey on all major accounts. I know the business inside and out. It’ll be flawless.” Hailey nodded eagerly. “I trust him.” “And even if Ted misses a detail, I’ll be right there to back him up,” Hailey added, waving a dismissive hand. “Our metrics speak for themselves. Tomorrow is basically just a formality.” Her words acted like a soothing balm on the anxious shareholders, who began to nod in agreement. “Fine,” I said, my voice deadpan. “I’ll email you the slide deck.” I turned to leave, but Ted called out, his voice sharp and loud. “Wait, Zach can’t leave.” He turned to Hailey, putting on an anxious face. “Hailey, we can’t let him walk out like this. The summit is tomorrow. What if he tries to sabotage us? I don’t want to think the worst of people, but tomorrow is everything…” “He’s right,” a shareholder agreed, panic rising in his voice. “Zach clearly harbors resentment. What if he leaks our intellectual property to a competitor?” “We can’t let him leave. If the company goes under, I’ll lose everything. I’ll have to file for bankruptcy.” I stopped in my tracks, my jaw tightening. “I wouldn’t do that.” “Oh, and we’re just supposed to take your word for it?” Ted sneered. “We need to take his phone and lock him up until the meeting is over.” Before I could react, Hailey grabbed my arms from behind. She reached into my pocket, ripped my phone from my hand, and delivered a stinging slap across my face. Ted smirked down at me. “To make sure he doesn’t contact anyone, we should put him somewhere secure and quiet.” He snapped his fingers. “The cellar at Hailey’s townhouse. It’s got no cell service, and the walls are thick concrete.” At those words, the blood drained from my face. My body began to tremble violently. When I was five, my parents worked long hours, and our nanny would lock me in the dark basement of our old building so she could sneak out to play cards. One evening, a rabid stray dog squeezed through a broken window. I was trapped in the dark for hours, being mauled and bitten, before a seven-year-old Hailey heard my screams and ran in with a broom to chase it away. Ever since then, dark, enclosed spaces and dogs have been my ultimate, paralyzing terrors. “Hailey, please… not the basement,” I pleaded, my voice cracking. “I won’t sabotage you, I swear. Just don’t put me down there!” The townhouse was supposed to be our future home. She had promised me she would seal off the cellar entirely. Currently, the entrance was cluttered with construction materials. I clawed at the doorframe of the office as they dragged me toward the exit, tears streaming down my face. “Hailey, please! For the sake of everything we used to be, don’t do this to me! You know what’s down there!” One of the older board members looked uncomfortable. “Hailey, this seems a bit extreme. Why not just lock him in an upstairs bedroom?” I looked at her, hoping for a shred of humanity, but Ted stepped in. “An upstairs room has windows. He could easily escape or signal someone. Besides, it’s only for twenty-four hours. We’ll feed him. Why is he overacting like this unless he’s hiding something?” “No! Hailey, please, I’m begging you—” “Zach, stop lying,” Ted cut me off. “The cellar has lights. What’s there to be afraid of? Honestly, facing your childhood fears is supposed to be good for you anyway. If you keep fighting this, it only proves you want to ruin the deal.” The shareholders remained silent, looking away. Hailey gave me one final, cold shove, sending me tumbling down the stairs. 4 “We’ll let you out tomorrow after the contract is signed,” Hailey’s voice echoed from above. I scrambled back up, grabbing the edge of the heavy door. She didn’t hesitate; she slammed it shut. My fingers were caught in the jamb. A sickening crush of bone and flesh sent a wave of blinding pain straight to my chest. I screamed, instinctively pulling my hand back, and the heavy bolt clicked into place from the outside. The basement was pitch black. No light seeped through the cracks. Crying out in pain, I dragged my mangled fingers along the cold brick wall, searching for a light switch, but flipping it did nothing. The bulb was dead. The darkness pressed in on me like a physical weight. I curled into a tight ball in the corner, shaking uncontrollably as panic seized my lungs. I don’t know how many hours passed before I heard a heavy scraping sound outside. I dragged myself toward the door. It cracked open slightly, only to be slammed shut again instantly. But in that brief flash of light, I saw it. A massive, red-eyed mastiff had been shoved into the darkness with me. “No! Please!” The dark became a nightmare of snarling teeth and tearing flesh. I screamed, scrambling backward, but there was nowhere to hide. Sharp teeth sank deep into my thighs, my arms, my chest… As my vision began to fade into blackness, I hallucinated the sound of wood splintering, and a pair of strong hands lifting me out of the nightmare. When I finally opened my eyes, the smell of antiseptic filled my nose. I was in a hospital bed, wrapped tightly in heavy white bandages. Cassie was sitting in the chair beside me, her expression grim. “What on earth happened to you?” she asked, her voice tight with concern. “We had an appointment to sign the contract, but your phone went dead. I had to track your GPS signal to Hailey’s place. I could hear the dog barking and your screams from the street. Who did this to you, Zach?” I clenched my good hand into a fist, staring at the sunlight filtering through the blinds. “I’ll tell you everything later. Right now, help me find some clothes. I have a welcoming gift for your new firm.” They locked me up because they thought I’d ruin their investment. Well, now I was going to take it for myself. But when my car pulled up to our office building, my heart stopped. My mother was lying on the hot pavement near the entrance, foaming at the mouth, while a security guard callously threw a bucket of dirty water over her. “Get up, old lady!” the guard yelled. “We have cameras. You’re not getting a dime out of us with this fake heart attack routine!” “Seriously,” another guard laughed, nudging her with his boot. “Ted was right, these scammers are getting creative. It’s eighty-five degrees out here and she’s still playing dead.” “Maybe the water isn’t dirty enough. Let me go fetch some toilet water.” They laughed, completely oblivious to her gasps for air. Rage, pure and blinding, took over. I threw myself out of the car, slamming into the guards with all the strength I had left. “Get away from her! Get the hell away!” My mother’s lips were a terrifying shade of blue. She was in the middle of a massive cardiac arrest, and these monsters were torturing her. The guards stumbled back, shocked. “Wait… Zach? Is that your mom?” “We didn’t know! Hailey told us some crazy lady was trying to break into the building to harass Ted…” “Yeah, Ted told us to get rid of her by any means necessary…” Before I could strike them, they turned and ran inside. My hands shook violently as I knelt beside her. The memory of my past life—watching her die alone in that house—nearly choked me. “Call 911! Please, someone call an ambulance!” I screamed to the gathering crowd of onlookers, but they only stared, holding up their phones. “I’ve already called them,” Cassie said, running up behind me. She knelt down, gently wiping the dirty water from my mother’s face and placing a rolled-up jacket under her head. The sirens wailed in the distance. After an agonizing few minutes of CPR on the pavement, the paramedics managed to stabilize her heart rhythm. As they lifting her onto the gurney, her eyes fluttered open, tears spilling into her hair. “Zach… what’s happening with you and Hailey? I saw her… she was kissing another man in the lobby…” She gasped for air, clutching my hand. “That man… he told me you stole from the company and ran away. He said you were dead. I tried to ask Hailey, but he started screaming that I was attacking him…” My chest ached so deeply I could barely breathe. Hailey, whom my parents had raised like their own daughter when her own father abandoned her, had allowed this. “It’s okay, Mom,” I whispered, kissing her forehead. “I’m right here. Go to the hospital. I’m going to fix this.” Once the ambulance sped away, I went into the lobby bathroom, washed the blood and dirt off my face, straightened my clothes, and marched straight toward the executive boardroom. 5 Inside, the atmosphere was suffocating. The venture capitalists sat around the long mahogany table, their expressions sour. The projector was turned off. The room was hot because no one had bottled to turn on the AC beforehand. Files were scattered everywhere. Usually, I would have spent the morning preparing—setting the room temperature, testing the AV equipment, and arranging premium refreshments. Today, these multi-millionaire investors had been sitting in a stuffy room for forty-five minutes without so much as a glass of water. Just then, Ted strolled in, a smug grin on his face and a smear of red lipstick visibly smudged near his collar. “Apologies for the delay, everyone!” he chirped, placing his tray on the table. “I’ve personally prepared some nostalgic refreshments to break the ice!” He set down rows of juice boxes and bowls of Goldfish crackers. The investors’ faces turned as dark as thunder. One of the lead partners, a seasoned billionaire, slammed his heavy gold watch onto the table, the crack echoing like a gunshot. “What is the meaning of this circus?” he barked, turning to Hailey. “Is this a joke to you, Hailey? And where the hell is Zach?” Before Hailey could speak, Ted chimed in with a self-important grin. “Zachary has been terminated from the company.” “Terminated?” The investors exchanged incredulous glances. “Are you out of your mind? If Zach isn’t here, why are we even sitting in this room?”

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I ran into two of Ward’s childhood friends on the street—men I hadn’t seen in over two years. I was just about to step forward and wave when their voices drifted over, freezing me in my tracks. “So, Ward’s finally getting his happy ending,” one of them said, shaking his head. “Good for him. He deserves a fresh start.” “No kidding,” the other replied. “His first wife was such a tragedy. Dead so soon after they got married. It’s about time he moved on.” I stood there, the blood draining from my face. Dead? I’m standing right here, warm and breathing. How on earth am I dead? And what did they mean, remarrying? My son, Toby, is almost three. Ward and I had our wedding five years ago. Who exactly was he marrying? From their hushed gossiping, I caught a name: Cynthia. A woman I had never heard of in my life. I quietly noted the venue and the time of the wedding, then slipped away into the crowd. On Sunday, I drove to the luxury hotel downtown. The lobby was humming with noise, packed with dressed-up guests. I walked over to the reception desk for the bride’s side, pulled out two hundred-dollar bills, and slapped them onto the ledger table. The older gentleman holding the guest book looked up, pen poised. “Whose name should I put down, ma’am?” I bared my teeth in a cold, humorless smile. “Just write: ‘The Resurrected First Wife.’” ……………… 1 The gentleman gave me a sharp, annoyed look. “It’s a wedding day. Why say something so incredibly morbid?” I didn’t bother replying. I turned around and my eyes locked onto a massive, life-sized canvas print on an easel near the entrance. The man in the tuxedo was my husband. The woman in the cascading lace gown was a complete stranger. The photo was gorgeous—the kind of high-end editorial shoot that cost a small fortune. Years ago, I had suggested we do something similar. “Wedding photos are just a pointless formality,” Ward had said, brushing me off. “Paying that much is a waste of money.” “As long as we love each other and build a good life, that’s what matters.” So, we had gone to a dusty, budget studio in a strip mall down the street. We chose the cheapest package they offered. Looking around the foyer, I spotted several familiar faces. They were all Ward’s relatives. My stomach twisted. He was doing this right in front of them. He was openly, shamelessly celebrating a double life, and his entire family was in on it. I glanced toward the head table inside the ballroom, and the last of the warmth left my body. Sitting at the VIP table, dressed in their absolute best, were Ward’s parents—my mother and father-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Warren. Relatives were lining up to congratulate them. My mother-in-law’s face was flushed red with pride, her laughter ringing out across the room. Fragments of their conversation drifted through the open doors. “Cynthia is such a lovely girl. You can tell she’s going to bring so much prosperity to your family. You two are going to be so spoiled!” My mother-in-law beamed, her chest swelling. “Oh, absolutely! Ever since Ward met her, his career has just taken off. Every year is better than the last. She’s not like the first one—no luck, a short life, a total jinx on our household. But let’s not ruin such a beautiful day by talking about her…” Her words felt like a physical blow to my chest, a dull knife carving out my ribcage. For six years, I had treated them with nothing but respect and devotion. I had cleaned their house, cooked their meals, and anticipated their every need. And to them, I was nothing but a “jinx.” If I was truly a jinx, their graves would have been overgrown with weeds by now. My father-in-law nodded in agreement. “I told Ward from the very beginning that he shouldn’t marry her!” Who? Me? “Well, she didn’t ask for a single penny for a wedding gift or a down payment,” my mother-in-law snorted. “Otherwise, she never would have set foot in our house. You get what you pay for, after all. That’s why we were so careful this time. A hundred-thousand-dollar wedding gift! Now this is a daughter-in-law we are proud of.” So that was my crime. Because I had been considerate of their financial struggles, because I hadn’t demanded a lavish dowry or a massive house fund, I was cheap. I was a freebie they could look down on. Meanwhile, Cynthia had demanded a hundred thousand dollars, and they had practically tripped over themselves to give it to her. It was so profoundly unfair that my hands began to shake. I wanted to tear into the ballroom and scream at them, but I forced my fingers to unclench. I would settle that account soon enough. I turned on my heel and walked toward the bridal suite. The door was slightly ajar. The bride was standing in the center of the room, surrounded by her bridesmaids, putting the finishing touches on her veil. Cynthia noticed me stepping into the doorway. She offered me a warm, radiant smile. “Are you one of Ward’s colleagues from the office?” My blood boiled, but I forced a tight, polite nod. “Yes. Something like that.” One of the bridesmaids reached out, gently taking Cynthia’s hand, her eyes locked onto the sparkling diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist. “Cynthia, you are so incredibly lucky. Ward really spared no expense, did he? This bracelet must have cost six figures.” “He insisted,” Cynthia said, her fingers tracing the diamonds as a soft, dreamlike smile spread across her face. “He told me a wedding is once in a lifetime, and he wanted me to have the very best.” My heart felt hollow, like a cavern carved out by ice. When Ward and I got married, we had nothing. I had suggested buying simple wedding bands so we’d have something to show for our commitment. “Why waste money on something you can’t eat or wear?” he had said. “You’re not that kind of materialistic girl, Paige.” When he saw how deflated I was, he kissed my forehead and promised, “Once my salary goes up, I’ll buy you the biggest ring you’ve ever seen.” His career did take off. He got promotions, his pay increased, and every year at bonus time, he would buy me a single small gold bar, telling me it was a secure investment—our safety net for Toby and me. But wait. Where did he get the money for Cynthia’s six-figure bracelet? Ward’s salary was deposited directly into our joint account. I saw the paystubs every month. He made $8,000 after taxes. He transferred $6,500 to me for the mortgage and bills, keeping $1,500 for his own expenses. “I heard your husband’s company is incredibly profitable,” another bridesmaid chimed in, her voice dripping with envy. “They say his annual executive dividends alone are over half a million dollars. He could buy you ten of those bracelets and not even blink.” Dividends? We had been married for nearly six years, and I had absolutely no idea he owned corporate equity, let alone half a million dollars in annual payouts. I had trusted his neat, official-looking paystubs. I had never questioned him. And all the while, he was sitting on a fortune. Cynthia suddenly turned her gaze back to me. “Since you work with him, you must know how much he actually makes,” she said playfully. “Tell me the truth—does he have a secret stash? I need to know so I can keep him honest after today.” A dull pain throbbed behind my temples. How much does he make? The woman standing in front of me knew the truth better than I did. The lion’s share of his wealth had been funneled directly into her life. A six-figure diamond bracelet, a lavish venue—things I hadn’t even dared to dream of. And here she was, asking me to help her keep track of his money. The muscles in my jaw twitched. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. Sensing the sudden, heavy silence, Cynthia tried to ease the tension with a nervous laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe that’s confidential. It’s fine!” She adjusted her veil. “Actually, I think I’ve met almost all of Ward’s close coworkers, but you’re a new face. Are you recently hired?” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “Yes. I’m quite new. I don’t know much about Ward’s actual income.” One of the younger bridesmaids sighed, leaning against the vanity. “Honestly, your husband is just too perfect. He’s handsome, successful, makes a ton of money, and he doesn’t even smoke.” Cynthia let out a soft giggle. “Oh, he used to smoke like a chimney! He only quit because he wanted us to have a healthy honeymoon baby. He went cold turkey just for that.” My hand shook so violently I nearly dropped my phone. During my first trimester with Toby, my morning sickness was so severe that the mere whiff of cigarette smoke would send me sprinting to the bathroom. I had begged Ward to quit. He told me it was impossible—that he needed to smoke for networking and stress management at work. Then, three months ago, he suddenly threw all his lighters and packs into the trash. He had looked me in the eye and said, “I know you’ve been worried about second-hand smoke. For you and Toby, I’m putting them down for good.” I had been so touched. I had cried tears of gratitude, believing my husband loved us enough to change. But he hadn’t done it for us. He had done it for her. “Sorry,” Cynthia said, giving me an apologetic smile. “They just love to tease me.” The room seemed to tilt. The sheer scale of the deception washed over me, and before I could stop myself, the words slipped out. “Are you really that sure about him? What if he has another life? What if he’s married to someone else right now?” Cynthia’s smile vanished. She stared at me, her eyes widening. “Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?” The bridesmaids immediately bristled, stepping forward defensively. “Wow. Just because your own husband is a cheater doesn’t mean you get to project your bitterness onto everyone else.” I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “You know what? You’re absolutely right.” Cynthia looked at me with a faint trace of pity, her chin lifting slightly. “My Ward isn’t like other men. He would never betray me.” “Really? If he’s so perfect and devoted, where is he? The ceremony is supposed to start soon, and the groom is nowhere to be found.” “He’s picking up some of his college friends from the airport,” Cynthia replied smoothly. “They flew in from out of state just for this. He’ll be back any minute.” Right on cue, her phone buzzed on the vanity. She snatched it up, her face instantly softening. “Hey, baby! Where are you?” The bridesmaids quieted down, and because of the silence in the room, Ward’s voice drifted clearly through the speaker. “Almost there, sweetheart. I’m just pulling into the parking lot. I can’t believe I finally get to make you my wife today. I’m so excited.” Cynthia’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “Drive safely. Focus on the road.” The bridesmaids squealed in unison as soon as she hung up. “Oh my god, did you hear him? You guys have been together for five years and he’s still this obsessed with you!” “Well, when you only get to spend half the year together, you learn to cherish every moment,” Cynthia murmured, a soft sigh escaping her lips. It felt like a physical blow to the back of my head. My ears began to ring. Five years. They had been together for five years. I wondered if I was simply the stupidest woman alive, or if he was just that brilliant of an actor. No, he wasn’t a genius. I had just trusted him blindly. I had believed his lies about corporate restructuring, his claims that he had to rotate out of state every other month to secure a promotion. I had supported him. I had done everything in my power not to hold him back. I had carried the entire weight of our household alone—working my job, cooking, cleaning, raising our toddler. I had never complained, not even once, because I believed we were building a future together. I remembered nights when Toby had a high fever, and I had sat alone in the ER waiting room until dawn, holding my crying baby, terrified to call Ward because I didn’t want to wake him up before his “big meetings.” And all that time, his “out-of-state business trips” were just him playing house with another woman. The bridesmaids continued to gush. “Seriously, Cynthia, your man is a unicorn. Handsome, rich, doesn’t smoke, totally devoted, and he actually speaks your love language. Does he have any flaws? Tell us one, just so we don’t die of jealousy!” Cynthia laughed, shaking her head. “Honestly? The only thing I can think of is that he’s completely obsessed with making me these healthy herbal broths every single morning. He gets up at dawn just to simmer them for me.” Another wave of nausea hit me. In six years of marriage, Ward Warren had never made me breakfast. Not once. When I was heavily pregnant with Toby, my belly so large I could barely bend down to tie my shoes, he had promised to make breakfast. He managed to burn three pots of oatmeal in a row. No matter how patiently I tried to teach him, he claimed he simply didn’t have the coordination for cooking. I had genuinely believed he was just helpless in the kitchen. It wasn’t a lack of ability. It was a lack of love. I stood frozen, the coldness spreading through my veins. The bridesmaids insisted she give them a real flaw, accusing her of humble-bragging. Cynthia bit her lip, her expression turning uncharacteristically solemn. “Actually… there is one thing. Please promise me you won’t ever bring it up to him.” They all leaned in. “Ward was married once before,” Cynthia whispered. “But his ex-wife and their little boy… they were killed in a terrible car accident a couple of years ago. It absolutely broke him. He still can’t talk about it.” In an instant, the blood rushed to my head, hot and deafening. My knuckles turned white as I clenched my fists. He hadn’t just written me out of his life. He had killed off our son. Our beautiful, sweet little Toby, who just yesterday had been giggling, climbing all over Ward’s back, telling him he was his favorite person in the world. To make room for his new bride, Ward had erased his own flesh and blood. The sheer, monstrous cruelty of it left me gasping for air. I was about to step forward and blow the whole room apart when my phone vibrated in my hand. It was my mother-in-law. The bridesmaids turned to look at me. I stepped back out into the quiet corridor before answering. “Paige,” her voice came through, sharp and demanding. “I need you to wire me ten thousand dollars. Immediately. It’s an emergency.” “An emergency, Mom? What kind of emergency costs ten grand?” “I told you about this before!” she snapped, her voice hushed but frantic. “Your father and I are helping host a wedding for a family friend’s son. They’ve asked us to be the godparents, and we have to give a proper cash blessing. Ten thousand dollars is the standard for a respectable family. Just transfer it now, they’re waiting.” Godparents. A ten-thousand-dollar “godparent gift.” I knew exactly what that money was for. It was Cynthia’s welcome gift. They were trying to fund their new daughter-in-law’s wedding present with my money. When Ward and I got married, my mother-in-law had handed me a card with exactly two hundred dollars in it. The hypocrisy was staggering. “Mom,” I said, my voice deadpan and icy. “Is this new godchild of yours going to be the one taking care of you on your deathbed?” There was a sharp intake of breath. “What on earth is wrong with you? Why are you bringing up deathbeds on a day like this? Have you lost your mind?” “I’ve just never heard of a godparent gift costing ten thousand dollars,” I replied smoothly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to pay off a massive welcome gift for a secret daughter-in-law.” The line went completely dead. For a few agonizing seconds, there was only silence. Then, my mother-in-law exploded, her voice screeching through the receiver. “How dare you speak to me like that! You always play the sweet, obedient wife, but the moment we ask for a little help, your true colors come out! Let me remind you, my son is the one who makes the real money in your house. I can spend his money however I please, and you have absolutely no right to lecture me!” “Your son brings home sixty-five hundred dollars a month,” I said, my voice rising. “That money pays for our mortgage, our car, and your grandson’s preschool. And don’t forget, I work too. I make just as much as he does.” “Fine! You think you’re so smart!” she spat, and slammed the phone down. I took a deep breath, smoothed down my dress, and turned back toward the bridal suite. Through the door, I heard Cynthia’s excited voice. “My mother-in-law just texted me! She said they couldn’t get the cash out in time, so they’re giving me five physical gold bars instead as a welcoming gift!” “Oh my god! Gold bars? That is so old-school and romantic!” My stomach dropped. Five gold bars. The exact number of gold bars Ward had given me over the years as our “anniversary savings.” They had stolen them right out of our safe. The bridesmaids cheered, but my heart had turned to stone. Go ahead and laugh, I thought. Enjoy the music. Because in about ten minutes, this fairytale is going to end. A commotion at the end of the hall caught my attention. Ward was walking toward the ballroom, surrounded by a group of laughing groomsmen. The wedding march began to play from the grand ballroom. Cynthia stepped out, holding her bouquet, and began her slow, elegant walk toward the double doors. Ward was already standing at the altar, his posture perfect, his face glowing with a triumphant, happy smile as he waited for his bride. Before Cynthia could even reach the threshold of the room, I bypassed the ushers, pushed through the heavy double doors, and walked straight down the center aisle. I stepped onto the raised altar, grabbed the wireless microphone from the podium, and turned to face my husband. “Honey,” I said, my voice echoing clearly through the massive speakers. “How could you have a wedding this beautiful and forget to invite your own wife?”

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I was browsing a popular lifestyle app, looking up private maternity clinics, when a highly upvoted post caught my eye. “My boyfriend wants me to give birth at the exact same hospital as his wife. He said we should swap the babies when they’re born so our son can grow up inheriting everything and living the best life. Should I agree?” The thread was flooded with over a hundred thousand outraged comments, but the original poster was completely unbothered. She had even pinned her own response at the top of the comment section: “I don’t see what’s so wrong with this. She took my spot in his life, so my son will take her son’s spot in the family. It’s only fair. What goes around comes around!” “You can scream all you want, but you’re just jealous. To make sure I never get caught, he even changed his office security code to my birthday. Die mad about it, sweeties.” I stood outside my husband’s office door, the quiet of the corridor pressing in on me. Slowly, I reached out and typed in the passcode—the one that had always been set to my own birthday. Two harsh, high-pitched beeps chimed. Access Denied. Incorrect Passcode. A second later, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from Gavin. [In a meeting. Don’t just barge in.] Almost immediately, the girl’s profile refreshed. It was a selfie of her lounging on the custom leather sofa inside my husband’s office. “She gets the house, but I get the office. The old hag is locked out and probably about to throw a tantrum. Poor baby, my sweet boss has to deal with so much.” I raised an eyebrow, a cold, hollow numbness settling over me. Without shedding a single tear, I opened my medical app and booked an abortion. Then, I dialed my parents. I was done with the parasitic husband my family had built up. He wanted a plaything; he could have her. But he wasn’t going to touch another cent of the Webster fortune ever again. … 1 After making the calls, I walked down the hall to an empty conference room, sat down, and began scrolling through her profile from the very beginning. Her earliest post was from a year ago. She had posted a picture of her new employee ID, her caption bursting with naive excitement. “Late on my very first day! I accidentally ran into the private executive elevator, but the CEO is so handsome and sweet. He didn’t even get mad—he actually gave me an exclusive keycard!” Two months later, she posted her promotion. Her new title: Executive Assistant to the CEO. “Promotion and a massive raise! Financial freedom is just around the corner. Too bad my personal freedom is gone, because he told me he wants to keep me by his side forever.” After that, her feed became a gallery of luxury handbags, designer dresses, and jewelry. Right up until six months ago. Six months ago, I had successfully secured our expansion into the European market. I flew back to surprise Gavin at the office, bringing high-end pastries for the entire staff. The entire office had crowded around, eager to catch a glimpse of the real heiress who funded the company. “My world is ending. The old hag is back to mark her territory. Thank god he got rid of her quickly, or I swear I would’ve burst into tears right there.” I remembered that day vividly. Gavin had looked at me with such performative tenderness, insisting I must be exhausted from the flight, and ordered his driver to take me home immediately. I had gone home feeling so loved, thinking he was finally learning how to care for me. Now I knew the truth. He was just managing his mistress’s insecurities. Two months ago, she posted another complaint. “Damn him, damn him, damn him! He promised he’d never touch her, but the old hag just posted a positive pregnancy test. Gavin, you jerk, I’m never speaking to you again!” In the quiet of the conference room, I opened my personal social media and scrolled back to that day. I had struggled with fertility for years. When the test finally turned positive, I was so overcome with joy that I shared it with my close friends. Within minutes, Gavin had called, his voice tight and strangely angry as he told me to delete it. He claimed it was bad luck, that early announcements put too much pressure on the baby. It wasn’t about the baby at all. It was about sparing his mistress’s feelings. The very next day, Amber posted a selfie from a luxury hotel bed. “He promised to make it up to me by giving me a baby of our own. We spent the whole day in bed. My back is literally sore.” That was the day I had experienced spotting and minor cramping. I had called Gavin repeatedly, but he never picked up. When he finally came home, he fell to his knees, begging for forgiveness, claiming he had been blacked out at a client dinner and his phone had suffered water damage. And like a fool, I had believed him. Shortly after, Amber posted her own positive test. “As a reward for getting pregnant, my favorite guy is taking me on a trip around the world!” Around that time, my family’s restructuring was hitting its most critical phase, and I was working eighteen-hour days. Out of nowhere, Gavin allegedly got into a car accident and suffered temporary amnesia. His “doctor” recommended he avoid all stress and take a relaxing trip to recover his memory. I booked first-class tickets and five-star resorts for him, while I stayed behind, heavily pregnant, managing a multi-million-dollar transition alone. Two months later, he returned, weeping as he told me his memory had finally returned and that he would devote himself entirely to me. There was no memory loss. It was just a pathetic, elaborate lie to spend a two-month honeymoon with his pregnant mistress. A profound, chilling cold spread through my chest as I kept reading. “While the old hag is away, my CEO brought me to their master bedroom for some fun. Her stupid cat scratched me, so I kicked it to death. Oops, teehee.” My breath caught. My beloved cat, Barnaby, who had supposedly “slipped out the door and run away” while I was overseas. I had cried for weeks, putting up flyers in the rain. He hadn’t run away. They had murdered him. “To make sure we give birth at the exact same time, my CEO is secretly giving her medication to slow down her baby’s development. I asked if it would hurt the kid, and he said it didn’t matter. After all, her baby is going to be swapped into my hands anyway, to do with as I please. He’s so bad, and I’m so in love.” Goosebumps broke out over my arms as I pictured the “prenatal vitamins” Gavin hand-delivered to me with a glass of warm water every single night. Right then, the heavy glass door of the conference room swung open. Amber stood there, her Executive Assistant badge dangling against her chest, offering me a sweet, practiced smile. “Mrs. Webster… oh, sorry, ma’am. Mr. Webster is finished with his meeting. He asked me to escort you to his office.” I offered a thin, calm smile, stood up, and walked over to her. I raised my hand. She flinched, covering her face and shrinking back, but I merely redirected my hand and ripped the keycard badge right off her collar. “Amber, is it? As of this second, you are fired.” Amber frozen, her wide, doe-like eyes instantly filling with tears. “I am Gavin’s personal assistant. Even if you are his wife, you don’t have the authority to bypass him and fire me.” I looked at her trembling lips, raised my hand again, and this time, the slap connected with her cheek, sharp and echoing. Amber stumbled back, clutching her face, her eyes practically bulging out of her head. “You hit me! How dare you!” I looked down at her with pure disgust and laughed. Gavin was nothing but a charity case my family had set up in business. This entire firm was built from the crumbs of my family’s empire, handed to him so he could play at being a CEO. Everything in this building belonged to me. There was nothing I couldn’t dare to do. “Go on. Call your protector. I want you to watch how quickly Gavin grovels at my feet like a well-trained dog.” Before the words even left my mouth, Gavin came storming down the hallway. I waited for the usual performance—the stammering apologies, the frantic pleading. But to my surprise, Gavin pulled Amber straight into his chest, shielding her from me. “Apologize to her,” he barked. I stared at him, genuinely stunned. In the past, Gavin had been acutely aware of his place. He was the kept husband; he was always deferential, always eager to please, putting my needs above everything else. Had he lived the high life for so long that he had actually lost his mind? Seeing my disbelief, Gavin reached out, caught the back of my neck with a brutal grip, and forced my head down, forcing me to bow to Amber. The moment he let go, I whipped around and slapped him twice, hard enough to leave angry red marks on his jaw. “Gavin! Have you lost your mind?” Gavin didn’t flinch. Instead, he looked at me with a smirk, a slow, ugly confidence spreading across his face. “Ella, do you honestly still think you’re the untouchable heiress of the Webster empire? Don’t play dumb. I know your family’s holding company has been liquidated and delisted. You are completely broke, Ella. You have nothing.” “Since you’re taking your anger out on Amber, you clearly know about us. So let’s lay it out. You can keep your title as my wife. You can live in luxury. But you will raise Amber’s child as your own, and you will treat him like royalty.” He stood there, smug and superior, waiting for me to break and accept his terms. But we hadn’t gone bankrupt. We had merely pulled our capital out of the domestic market to consolidate our multi-billion-dollar European merger. During his supposed “amnesia trip,” I hadn’t bothered to explain the complex financial restructuring to him, wanting to protect his “frail recovery.” And because of his own ignorance, he assumed my family had fallen. He waited until I was three months pregnant to show his true, parasitic colors. In a strange way, a wave of relief washed over me. If not for this misunderstanding, I would have spent my entire life in the dark, happily raising a mistress’s child while being poisoned by the man I trusted. “I want a divorce.” I wasn’t going to waste my breath. I turned to walk away, but Amber grabbed my wrist. Her face was a mask of innocence, but her eyes gleamed with malice. “Ella, please don’t be mad at Gavin. He’s just protective. He doesn’t want you hurting my baby.” Staring at the mocking glint in her eyes, I didn’t hesitate. I slapped her twice more, hard. “And what if I do? What are you going to do about it?” Tears welled in Amber’s eyes instantly. She gasped, clutching her stomach with a theatrical groan. Gavin lost his mind. With a low growl, he shoved me back. I was completely off-balance. My lower back slammed violently against the sharp edge of the mahogany conference table. A searing, white-hot pain flared through my abdomen, and the world dissolved into blackness.

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