Before I translated this story, I knew it needed to breathe the air of a different place. The heart of the narrative—a toxic family dynamic, the crushing weight of a parent’s addiction, and the struggle for self-preservation—is universal. However, the textures, the settings, and the expressions had to become authentically American. My goal was to maintain the original emotional arc and the specific structure of the short story while making it feel as though it were written here, for us. Names have been changed. Cultural markers, like the specific mechanisms of gambling debt or social pressure, have been localized. But the raw pain, and ultimate hope, remain. Chapter 1 I didn’t cry when my mother asked me for money for the first time. I didn’t cry when she showed up at my workplace, causing a scene and making sure everyone from HR to the mailroom knew my father was a gambling addict. I didn’t cry when she stole my debit card and drained five years of my savings—every penny I had—to pay off my father’s latest debts to some shadowy bookie. I didn’t cry when she secretly went behind my back to ask my boyfriend for cash, leading to weeks of his family bombarding my phone with angry, accusatory texts and calls. But when she told me she was finally planning to get a divorce, I cried. I laughed until I cried. “Elena,” I said, using her first name because ‘Mom’ felt like a lie, “that is hands-down the funniest joke I’ve heard all year.” … Before terms like “codependent” or “toxic enabler” became common, I just thought my mom was the most devoted wife on the planet. It didn’t matter how badly my dad yelled at her or belittled her the night before; the next morning, she’d be up at six, making him coffee just the way he liked it, smoothing out the collar of his shirt before he left for work. Then, the moment the front door clicked shut, she’d lean against the kitchen counter, wiping her eyes, whispering to no one about how miserable her life was. When I was little, my dad ran an import business that kept him on the road, hardly ever home. Our house was always quiet, except for the sound of my mother’s muffled sobbing. She’d say he was heartless for abandoning us, that she’d moved all this way to be with him and had never known a day of happiness. My tiny heart ached for her. I decided my dad was the villain, the boogeyman. Whenever he actually came home, I’d hide in my room, ignoring him no matter how loud he called my name. The consequence? My mother would spank me, screaming that I was an “ungrateful brat.” She’d tell me my father worked so hard for us, and if I couldn’t say anything nice, I should at least be respectful. “Useless child,” she’d hiss, cutting me a glare while pouring him a glass of water. Later, when the import business went under, he came home and got a regular job at a local warehouse. But my mother’s complaints didn’t stop. The house was always full of his friends and relatives. My mom ran herself ragged cooking and cleaning for them, while my dad just sat, drank beer, and bragged. Everyone praised her. “What a great wife,” they’d say. “So capable, so hardworking.” The praise only made my father more arrogant. He’d drink more heavily, food and beer spilling onto the carpet. After the guests finally left, my mom would clean up the mess, cursing under her breath the whole time, her hands never stopping. My dad, meanwhile, would be passed out on the living room recliner. I asked her once, “Why doesn’t Dad just take everyone out to a restaurant? This is too hard on you.” She snapped back that money didn’t grow on trees, and asked if I was the one who wanted to go out, accusing me of not caring about the family’s budget. “I’m worried about you!” I shot back, furious. But she just looked annoyed. “You’re just like your father. All talk. Who knows what you’re really thinking.” I tried to help her clean, but she shoved me away, saying I’d only get in the way. Later, when my dad woke up from his nap, I heard her telling him, “Your daughter says you’re cheap. Thinks you’re too stingy to take people out to dinner.” My father erupted, roaring at my bedroom door. “You disrespectful little shit! My business is none of your concern!” By the time I was in high school, the fighting was constant. Often it would last past midnight, only stopping when the neighbors threatened to call the cops. I couldn’t sleep through it. I was always exhausted in class, leading to a humiliating public reprimand from a teacher during a parent-teacher conference. When we got home, they started fighting about that. I finally yelled, “Can’t you two just get a divorce? It would be better for everyone!” My dad slapped me, hard across the face. My mother just wept. “If it wasn’t for you, we would have divorced a long time ago.” “You ungrateful child,” my father added. “We’ve sacrificed everything for you, and now you want to break up this family?” A few days later, they were back to acting like newlyweds. And I was the villain who had tried to tear them apart. Growing up, it didn’t matter how much my mom complained about my dad to me; she could never leave him. And whenever I tried to take her side, to pointing out what my dad was doing wrong, she’d immediately turn on me. “Apologize to your father. He’s still your father!” “How can you speak to him like that? He’s your father!” “This is between us, you stay out of it.” I heard it so many times I became numb to it. The words formed a callous over my heart. My mother didn’t love me. She only loved my father. That’s why she willingly walked into the fire, knowing it was a trap. That’s why, no matter how much she suffered or complained, she’d never let anyone speak a bad word about him. That’s why she didn’t care about anything I did for her, easily stealing my life savings. That’s why she was willing to embarrass me in front of my colleagues and my boyfriend, just to get money for his gambling debts. Chapter 2 The summer after high school graduation, my dad vanished. He took every dime the family had saved and drove south, starting a new life with his mistress. My mom tried to throw herself out a window several times; I had to drag her back inside. She beat me with her fists, screaming and crying that it was all my fault. She blamed me for everything. If I had been more obedient, if I had been more successful… Their marriage wouldn’t have ended. It was like I was the villain in a movie, the one who broke up the star-crossed lovers. My grandparents took over caring for my broken mother, and I dragged my suitcase alone onto a Greyhound bus, heading north for college. There was no money for tuition or housing. Every spare moment I had was spent working. I got a job tutoring a middle school kid. One night, the family asked me to stay for dinner. Watching the three of them at the table, talking and laughing, I had to force the delicious food down my throat past the bitterness. I felt like a sewer rat, spying on other people’s happiness. When I went home for winter break my freshman year, I discovered my dad had been back for six months. He’d developed a serious gambling problem down south, been swindled out of all his money by the mistress, and only made it back home after a sympathetic old friend gave him a ride. My mom told me this as if it were nothing, completely ignoring the way my face was turning purple with rage. “So, you’re just going to take this piece of trash back? He didn’t want you! He only came back because he had nowhere else to go!” “How dare you talk about your father like that? He’s turning over a new leaf! He made a mistake! Not like you, still standing there with your cold, heartless attitude.” She felt that as long as he came home, it meant he still loved her. She even said, “All men are like this. Your father isn’t so bad compared to some. The guy you find will probably be worse.” “Children don’t stay forever. Your father is the only one who will be with me until the end.” I never asked her why she never sent me money. She never asked me how I was paying for college. It was like we both just accepted it as the natural order of things. I accepted that she would never give me money. She accepted that I was an adult now, and responsible for myself. After I went back to school, I rarely visited. My life was consumed by part-time jobs and studying. There was no time for the fun, carefree college experience I was supposed to be having. When I went back for Thanksgiving senior year, she accused me of being cold-blooded in front of all the relatives. “He gets out into the world and completely forgets his parents. Doesn’t even call. Then he comes back here and just eats, eats, eats. He’s like a bill collector coming to collect a debt.” My aunts and cousins chimed in. “You’re an adult now, you need to grow up. Family comes first. Your parents worked hard to raise you; you need to show some gratitude.” I listened to their accusations in silence, the rare holiday break already ruined. A fleeting, regretful thought crossed my mind: I should have stayed at school and worked the holiday shift. Triple pay. After graduation, I stayed up north, found a job, worked myself to the bone, pulling shifts until 2 AM, hoping to get hired permanently. Apartments near the city were too expensive. To save money, I rented a damp garden-level studio. Sleeping in that cold, dark room, I made a silent vow to work even harder, to someday have a real home of my own in this city. Not long after, my mother called. She was beat around the bush, asking about my salary, saying she wanted to come visit. Under my repeated questioning, she finally admitted the truth. Dad was gambling again. He’d lost all the money and came home drunk and beat her. “My sweet daughter, send your mother some money. I think my arm is broken. The pain is so bad I can’t even make dinner.” Chapter 3 I took two days off and caught the next flight home. In the taxi on the way from the airport, I called 911. When I knocked on the door, my mother’s left eye was bloodshot, a massive bruise forming on her cheek. Her arm was twisted at a grotesque, broken angle. The moment she saw me, she burst into tears and begged me to take her to the hospital. I said, “Not yet. We’re waiting for the police.” I saw the look in her eyes shift from fear to panic, then anger. “Who told you to call the police? Do you want to send your own father to jail?” She flailed her good arm, hitting her own leg. “Oh, what have I done to deserve this? I should never have called you.” “Get on the phone. Right now. Call the police back. Tell them everything is fine, you made a mistake, that we don’t need them. Do it now!” Before she could finish, there was a knock on the door. Despite my mother’s repeated insistence that she had fallen, based on my explanation and the clear evidence, the police took my father away. They found him in a back room of a local bar, sitting at a poker table. The whole place was shut down. While we were at the hospital getting her arm set, my mother didn’t care who was listening. She screamed at me, calling me heartless. I didn’t argue. Those words still felt like needles pricking my chest, but I decided she was just in shock. She’d relied on this man her entire life, obsessed with the idea of a complete family unit. For the sake of that complete family, she could forgive his laziness, even his affair. But when his fist actually connected with her body… I honestly didn’t believe she could forgive that. But I still underestimated my mother’s toxic enmeshment. Even with her arm in a cast, she dragged herself out to bring him a blanket and home-cooked meals while he was in holding, terrified he was cold and hungry. She said everything she could to the police, begging them to release him early. The police were fed up with her, too. They held him for three days and then let him go. I didn’t see him. I only had two days off. Once I got my mother from the hospital, I left. The day he was released, my mother called. She spewed the most vile, hateful insults at me. I knew she was doing it for him, right in front of him. She felt her husband had been wronged, and she needed a visible way to get revenge for him. Before hanging up, I said softly, “Mom, don’t ask me for money again.” She paused, then her voice became even sharper. “We raised you for nothing. Other kids start working and know they need to send money home to their parents. And you?” “Giving your own parents a little money is like pulling teeth for you. You don’t care if your mother lives or dies. And you called the police! You embarrassed us so badly, how are we supposed to show our faces around here? All your life, all you’ve ever done is cause trouble…” I couldn’t listen anymore. I hung up. It was true, I had never sent money home. But when I was in college, no one sent me money, either. I did care if she lived or dies, but since she didn’t seem to care about her own life, I had to respect her choice. But what I never expected was that, for his sake, for that illusion of love she’d conjured, she would actually destroy her own daughter. Chapter 4 Back at work, I blocked my mother’s number. Two months later, I saw her standing outside my office building. Ignoring the rush of morning commuters, she burst into tears and lunged for me, begging for money. “Daughter, you have to help us. Your father… he went gambling again… and this time he owes some very dangerous people. They showed up at the house!” “They said we have one week to pay it all back, or they’re going to… they’re going to chop off your father’s fingers!” This was the day of my final review, the one that would determine if I got hired permanently. My Sun exploded with shame as colleagues gave me strange looks. I dragged my mother to a secluded corner, pleading with her that she needed to get a divorce, not keep paying off a gambler’s debts. “Mom, I just started this job. I don’t have that kind of money. What kind of life is this? We can’t keep doing this with a gambler. When are you going to wake up?” She wiped her eyes. “But he’s still your father. I’ll go home and talk to him, try to talk some sense into him. You can’t just stand by and watch him… watch him get his fingers chopped off!” Seeing her still only worried about him, the rage boiling inside me erupted. I screamed that she was delusional, that dad only got this far because she had enabled him every step of the way. But looking at the wrinkles on her face and the worn-out patches on her coat, I ultimately couldn’t do it. I ordered her a Lyft, told her to go to my apartment and wait, and that we’d figure something out when I got off work. I never imagined that by the time I got off work, having bought groceries to make her some soup, she would be gone. And she’d stolen my debit card. That card held every penny I had saved, from my student jobs to my current position. Six thousand dollars. My entire life savings. I sprinted to the nearest ATM. The money was gone. My PIN was my birthday. I wanted to ask her, so badly: when she had me, was it to build a warm family, or just to have someone she could push all her problems onto? When I was little, I was her emotional garbage can, a tool to manage her relationship with her husband. And now that I was an adult, I was just her ATM. I slumped down in front of the ATM, useless. My phone buzzed. It was a text from my mother, using someone else’s phone. “Your father’s fingers are safe. You were good for something after all.” I could only offer a bitter laugh. Given the choice between me and my father, she would always choose him. My work app chimed. My manager had seen the scene that morning. Despite a perfect final presentation, I wasn’t getting hired permanently. In a single day, I lost my savings, my job, and my will to live. Dragging my heavy feet, staring at the endless stream of city traffic, I wondered if I could just let go. Could I finally escape this toxic family, never be used again? I closed my eyes and started to step out into the middle of the street, my Sun full of despair, wanting only an end. Just before a speeding car could hit me, someone grabbed my arm. Looking at him, sweating and panting, I realized someone had run three blocks just to save my life. His name was Ethan. We were in college together; I later found out he’d had a crush on me back then. Like a lost ship spotting a lighthouse in the dark, we fell together. His parents had retired to Arizona, his sister was a successful local entrepreneur, and he’d landed a job at a major tech company. I often felt like I didn’t deserve him. But he always said that when he saw me that day, huddled in a little ball, his heart had physically wrenched in his chest. Surrounded by his love, I couldn’t help but start to fantasize about the warm home we would build, a family that was completely different from the one I had known. But that beautiful dream bubble burst with a single phone call from his sister. I heard her say, “You need to handle your girlfriend. Tell her mother to stop asking my brother for money. One more time, and I am calling the police and reporting them for fraud! Don’t you dare think you can marry into our family by using my brother’s feelings. We aren’t trash like your family. Get out!” A bone-chilling cold invaded my core. For the first time, I felt an overpowering, towering hatred for my parents. I hated them for endlessly draining me, for being like ghosts that never left, and for even going behind my back to ask Ethan for money. If this was my fate, fine. I’d accept it. But Ethan was too good. He was like warm sunshine, shining light on my cold, gray corpse. He hadn’t even mentioned that my mother was asking him for money. I couldn’t drag him down with me. His sister was right. A trash family like mine didn’t deserve them. I packed my things and moved out of Ethan’s apartment. I sent him a text breaking up with him and blocked his number. But he found me almost immediately. With tears streaming down my face, I said I could write him an IOU, that I would pay back whatever money my mother owed him, and to please just give me some time. While I was saying I was sorry, he pulled me into a crushing hug. I could feel his hands trembling through my clothes. “Don’t apologize,” his voice came, muffled against my shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” “Ethan, my family situation… I don’t want to drag you down. We aren’t right for each other.” “Trust me to help you handle this. Please, just let me help you. Okay?” “I don’t want to see you suffer anymore. You’ve had it so hard. You deserve a happy life.” Do I deserve that? I choked, unable to speak. No one had ever said that to me before. All my life, I had been blamed. My mom always said that if it wasn’t for me, dad wouldn’t have been like that, that she would have been happier. Having heard it enough, I truly believed I was the family’s curse. Now that I was an adult, the weight of this toxic family had crushed me. A peaceful life was a far-off dream, and I didn’t dare ask for happiness, or for someone to help me. It turns out I didn’t do anything wrong. They did. Ethan helped me pack my things that day. I left the cramped, moldy studio I had rented and moved back to our little home. In that dry, comfortable bed, in Ethan’s warm, broad embrace, I had the deepest sleep of my entire life. The next time my mother called Ethan for money, I took the phone. When she heard my voice, my mother paused, her tone sounding guilty. “Daughter, you have better luck than your mother. You found a good man. Help your mother one more time. I promise, your father won’t gamble again! I… I’m getting a divorce from him right away.” When I heard that, I gave a soft chuckle. “Mom, Ethan isn’t giving you another dime. You and dad are on your own. Believing a gambler like you… I’d have better luck believing a stop sign could talk.”

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On the live trivia game show, the host asked my mom: “What is one plus one?” Without a second of hesitation, my mom answered: “Three.” Everyone in the studio froze. To scrape together the astronomical cost of my life-saving surgery, my family had gone on this show. As long as they answered ten questions correctly, they would win a five-million-dollar grand prize. After agonizingly fighting their way through nine difficult questions, the host, acting out of sheer pity, tossed them an absolute softball. This prize money was my only lifeline. But my mother, a woman with a PhD in Mathematics, deliberately answered it wrong. …… I lurched upward in my hospital bed, a dull, suffocating pain blooming in my chest. On the screen, the host recovered instantly, snapping on a professional smile: “Dr. Lillian Evans is a math PhD. Perhaps in some advanced, theoretical realm of mathematics we haven’t discovered yet, one plus one can equal three.” “However, the question I just asked is incredibly simple. You only need to use the logic of a first-grader!” But my mom just blinked, her voice unyielding: “One plus one equals three.” The host’s smile began to crack. My older brother, Caleb, thrust two fingers into the air, waving them frantically in front of my mom’s face. “Mom! We just need to get this last question right, and we’ll get the money for Chloe’s surgery!” “This is not the time to make jokes!” My dad was sweating bullets. “Honey, did you mishear the question? Did it just come out wrong by accident?” But no matter how hard my dad and brother pleaded, my mom held her ground, insisting—”One plus one is three.” The live audience erupted. “Is this mother insane?” “This has to be scripted! What kind of real mother wants her own kid to die?” Each question had a ten-minute time limit. Seeing the countdown ticking away, I begged the nurse to help me make a video call to the show’s production team. They connected me immediately. My pale, wasted face was projected onto the giant screen inside the studio. A collective gasp went through the crowd. The host’s eyes brimmed with genuine sorrow. At sixteen, I had suddenly been diagnosed with a malignant cardiac tumor. I was in mortal danger every single second of the day. The only hope I had left to live was that prize money. The host was vibrating with anxiety, looking like an ant on a hot pan: “There are only three minutes left on the clock.” “If you answer incorrectly, all of your family’s hard work will be for nothing!” To get on this show, my entire family had stayed up all night for three months, memorizing endless trivia databases. They had done the impossible and gotten nine questions right, only for my mom to start spouting nonsense on the tenth. I spoke into the camera, my voice trembling: “Mom, the prize is five million. My treatment only costs three million.” “I won’t take a single cent of the rest of the money!” “And as soon as I recover, I promise I’ll work so hard to make money, and I’ll give you my entire paycheck to take care of you!” The audience was weeping. Even Mom’s eyes welled up with tears. With ten seconds left on the clock, Mom raised her hand to indicate she wanted to change her answer. I finally let out a breath of relief. Maybe she was just playing a cruel joke on everyone. “I’m sorry, I misspoke earlier.” “One plus one… should equal…” I held my breath. Mom scanned the room, and suddenly, a small smile played on her lips. “One plus one equals one!” The countdown hit zero. The $5,000,000 on the giant screen instantly reset to zero! Chapter 2 Right then, Mom said in a slow, casual voice: “Oh, I’m sorry. I was careless. I meant to say two.” But the timer was done. My surgery money was gone. A violent throb of pain ripped through my chest. The world in front of me started to go black. Caleb lost control, screaming at the top of his lungs: “Mom! What the hell are you doing?!” “Chloe is going to die!” Mom just calmly pointed a finger at the giant screen: “Look. See how much pain Chloe is in?” “You know she’s in pain and you still got it wrong on purpose?!” Caleb’s eyes were bloodshot. “You knew if you answered it right, she would live!” “This is all your fault…” My mom’s voice suddenly spiked: “My fault? I didn’t do it on purpose!” “Of course I know one plus one is two, I was just careless with my answer!” Careless? My eyes widened in shock. How could anyone be careless about one plus one? Mom knew perfectly well that if we didn’t get that money, I would die immediately. Why would she… Amidst the crowd’s shock and fury, my mother cocked her head, turning to look at Caleb. “Caleb, do you remember your prep school entrance exam? You lost five whole points because you wrote down that one plus one equals three.” “Because of those five points, you didn’t get into the elite middle school.” “When I disciplined you, you had the nerve to talk back. You said you were just being ‘careless,’ and that you’d just pay more attention next time.” “Well, today, I’m showing you exactly what the consequences of a moment of ‘carelessness’ can be!” Mom pointed back at the big screen: “Look closely. Burn Chloe’s sweating, agonizing face into your memory.” “This is the consequence of being careless!” “Today, I am using your sister’s suffering to teach you a lesson!” The entire studio went nuclear. I stared at the screen, utterly dumbfounded. Caleb is a junior in college now! She had held onto that grudge from his middle school exams all this time just to do this?! Dad went berserk: “Do you realize Chloe is about to die?!” “If you want to teach Caleb a lesson, couldn’t you pick literally any other time or place?!” My mom just huffed, looking annoyed: “Doctors always exaggerate. Chloe is young; she can hold on much longer than other people.” “Caleb’s sloppy, careless habits needed to be cured a long time ago! Gentle lecturing didn’t work, so I am giving him a lesson carved into his very bones so he’ll never forget it!” I could barely breathe. The nurse gripped my hands tightly, her eyes filled with profound pity. Dad roared, lunging forward like he was going to tackle Mom. My mom just raised a hand to stop him. “What’s the rush?” “Doesn’t the show have a Bonus Lightning Round?” “As long as we get the next question right, we might not get the five million, but we still get a guaranteed three million dollars!” “That’s more than enough for Chloe’s surgery!” Under the host’s frantic mediation, Dad and Caleb finally managed to calm down. Mom looked at the screen, her gaze softening artificially. “Chloe, just hang on a little longer.” “Mommy just wanted to take this opportunity to educate your brother.” “The next question, Mommy will definitely get right!” I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood, fighting back tears. “Mom… I know you love me… but for this next question… can Dad or Caleb answer it, please?” Mom’s expression froze. Dad and Caleb, terrified that Mom would pull another stunt, immediately agreed with my suggestion. But it was too late. In the previous rounds, they had already used up all their personal answering slots. Mom was the only one allowed to take the stage. This final question held my life in the balance. The studio was dead silent. Sweat poured down the host’s face. He flipped frantically through the database, finally settling on the absolute easiest question he could find. “Lillian Evans, what date is your birthday?” “You can just say the month and day.” I let out a breath of relief, looking at the host with eyes full of immense gratitude. Mom didn’t hesitate to press the buzzer. But she said: “Host, I would like to use my ‘Phone a Friend’ lifeline!” Chapter 3 The audience gasped. How could anyone not remember their own birthday? A sickening panic settled in my stomach. Since I got sick, Mom’s hair had gotten grayer and grayer. I had heard that if middle-aged people were under chronic stress for too long, it could trigger early-onset dementia. Was Mom’s health actually failing her this badly? Tears blurred my vision. My hands were shaking. Mom chose Dad as her lifeline. Dad looked completely exhausted and exasperated: “Your birthday is January 8th.” Mom nodded and hovered her hand over the buzzer again. But she was suddenly stopped by a visibly tense Caleb. “Mom, did you hear him clearly?” “What date is it? Repeat it back to me!” Under Caleb’s intense insistence, Mom repeated “January 8th” three times before she was allowed to press the button. But Mom didn’t speak. I could see her tension. Fighting through the agonizing pain in my heart, I forced myself to comfort her: “Don’t be scared, Mom. Just answer this one last question, and it’s all over.” Mom smiled at me. But the answer that came out of her mouth plunged me into an abyss of ice. “My birthday is… January 9th!” The air instantly solidified. The host tried to save it immediately: “Your husband stated your birthday is January 8th.” “Lillian, you must have misspoken. Please, say it one more time!” But Mom’s gaze was unyielding: “I didn’t misspeak. I said it wrong on purpose.” The audience exploded into chaos. My heart ached so badly I couldn’t sit up straight. The nurse reached out to cut the video feed, but I stopped her. “Mom… why did you get it wrong on purpose again?” I choked out, my voice shivering. Mom’s eyes were full of tears, but her tone was that of a deeply aggrieved victim: “It’s all your father’s fault!” Not just my dad, but everyone in the studio was utterly bewildered. My dad had literally just given her the correct answer. What had he done wrong? Under the host’s pressing questioning, Mom wiped her tears and revealed the “truth.” “A few weeks ago was our twentieth wedding anniversary. It was also my birthday.” “But my husband, Robert Hayes, forgot the date!” “Robert! Didn’t you swear to me that my birthday was January 9th? Well, now I’m making your wish come true!” Veins popped out on my dad’s forehead. He was shaking with rage. “I admit, I accidentally got the date wrong.” “But during those days, I was working back-to-back double shifts for three days straight just to make enough money for Chloe’s medical bills! I was exhausted and delirious, so I mixed it up!” “I apologized to you afterward! I drove Uber Eats every night for three weeks straight to save up enough to buy you a gold bracelet to make up for it! Are you still not satisfied?!” Mom didn’t say a word. She just lowered her head and kept wiping her tears. The countdown was rapidly decreasing. The pain in my chest had transformed into a searing, fiery agony. Cold sweat soaked through my hospital gown. Dad begged her, pleading with her to just say the correct answer, get the money, and send me into surgery. But Mom remained entirely unmoved. My heart finally died. It turned out my life was nothing but a tool for my mother to discipline her family. The countdown had three minutes left. Using every last ounce of strength in my body, I reached out and shut off the live stream. The doctors and nurses in the room all had red, tear-filled eyes. My voice was a barely audible whisper, but it was absolute: “Doctor, I want to sign an organ donation agreement.” “And, after I die, I require that my mother be forced to watch the entire organ procurement process from start to finish!” Mom, you love teaching people lessons, don’t you? Well today, I am going to teach you a lesson! The exact second I finished signing my name, a catastrophic surge of pain ripped through my entire body. Everything went black. In the final second before my consciousness vanished entirely, I heard my mother’s voice screaming through the TV broadcast in the background: “Why are you all panicking?!” “Chloe has had this condition for months! She isn’t just going to drop dead in a single second!” Driven by sheer desperation, my father actually knelt on the floor in front of the entire nation, begging her for forgiveness, swearing he would never forget another important date again. Mom finally gave the correct answer in the absolute last second before the countdown hit zero. But, it was already too late. Chapter 4 In the resuscitation room, the doctors were desperately doing chest compressions. But my heartbeat was fading fast. My lead surgeon shouted: “We have to operate right now!” But the prize money hadn’t hit my account yet. I only had a few hundred dollars to my name. Per hospital protocol, they could only provide standard life-saving measures, not the massive experimental surgery. As my consciousness drifted, I thought I saw my mother. Mom, you knew perfectly well that I was in mortal danger every single second. Why did you keep getting it wrong on purpose to waste time? Mom, do you really not love me? The doctor’s compressions were getting harder and harder. I could almost hear the sickening crack of my own ribs. Mom, I really can’t hold on much longer… If you could just come see me one last time, I wouldn’t blame you anymore. But I waited and waited. Shot after shot of epinephrine was injected into my veins, but my breathing continued to fail. The heart monitors blared their warning alarms. According to the rules, if the funds didn’t clear, they couldn’t perform the surgery. The surgeon was furious and called the production team directly: “Didn’t she get the answer right?! Why hasn’t the money hit the hospital account yet?!” The production team was helpless. “We originally wanted to wire the money directly to the hospital, but her mother insisted on physical cash!” “They are probably driving to the hospital with the cash right now.” That final, fragile breath I was holding onto completely snapped. The EKG flatlined into a solid, silent line. In that moment, I heard my family arguing in the hallway. “Chloe is hanging by a thread! Why did you insist on cash?!” Mom sounded completely self-righteous: “Three years ago, you got scammed out of $200 online!” “Digital payments are too dangerous. Haven’t you learned your lesson?” “Cash is the only safe way! Today I am finally teaching you a lesson about financial security!” Dad sounded like he was losing his mind, his footsteps frantic. “Fine! Fine! Cash is safe!” “But what about Chloe?! Every second Chloe waits, she is closer to death!” Mom sounded incredibly annoyed: “Will you stop talking?!” “If Chloe is in danger, it’s because you cursed her with your negative attitude!” “Chloe was perfectly fine this morning! How could anything happen to her this afternoon?” Inside the resuscitation room, the doctor was slowly pulling a white sheet over my face. Utterly oblivious, my mother pushed open the door to my empty hospital room. “Chloe! Mommy brought the money!”

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Chloe sat on the hard plastic chair in the hospital corridor, her fingers white-knuckling a diagnostic report. A few cold, clinical words jumped off the page, piercing her eyes like needles. “Primary Infertility.” The doctor’s voice still echoed in her ears. “With your specific condition, natural conception is highly unlikely. Essentially… you cannot have children.” Her boyfriend of five years, Mark Jenkins, sat right beside her. He hadn’t said a word. From the moment she was handed the report, he had been completely silent. Chloe’s heart sank, inch by inch, as if she were plunging into a frozen lake. She reached out, wanting to hold his hand. Mark recoiled violently, snatching his hand away as if she had burned him. His eyes darted away, refusing to look at her. “Mark…” Chloe’s voice was dry and raspy. “I… I need some space.” Mark stood up, dropped those words, and walked away without looking back. Watching his retreating figure, Chloe felt every ounce of strength drain from her body. For the next three days, Mark didn’t call. He didn’t text. Chloe locked herself in her apartment, feeling like a ghost abandoned by the entire world. Five years. From their college campus to entering the workforce, they had survived being broke together and built dreams for their future together. They had even put a deposit down on a wedding dress and were planning to go to the courthouse to get their marriage license next month. But a single piece of paper had shattered everything. On the fourth day, the doorbell rang. Chloe thought it was Mark. She forced her exhausted body up to open the door. Standing on the porch was Mark’s mother, Susan Jenkins. Her face was made of ice. The way she looked at Chloe was like inspecting a defective piece of merchandise. “Mrs. Jenkins,” Chloe said, her voice barely a whisper. Susan ignored her, marched straight into the living room, and slapped a cashier’s check down on the coffee table. “There’s ten thousand dollars here.” “My Mark cannot marry a hen that won’t lay eggs.” A loud ringing filled Chloe’s head. Everything went blank. “Mrs. Jenkins, Mark and I have been together for five years…” “Can five years of feelings put food on the table? Can feelings give the Jenkins family a grandson?” Susan’s voice was shrill and biting. “Chloe, I suggest you look in the mirror and know your place. Stop holding my son back.” “The Jenkins family line has been passed down from father to son for three generations. It is not ending with him!” Looking at Susan’s face, twisted with agitation, the last sliver of hope in Chloe’s heart died. She smiled, but it looked worse than crying. “So, this is what Mark wants?” Susan let out a huff, essentially confirming it. “He’s a man, he feels bad saying it to your face. As his mother, I have to be the bad guy.” “The engagement is off.” “Don’t ever contact Mark again.” Having completed her mission, Susan turned on her heel to leave. At the door, she paused and looked back at Chloe. Her eyes were filled with a sickening mix of pity and absolute disdain. “Oh, by the way. My son is getting married next month. The bride is the daughter of the City Planning Director. She’s already pregnant.” The door slammed shut. Chloe stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed. So, he didn’t “need some space.” He was using his silence to force her to let go. He was using her diagnosis as a convenient, righteous excuse to seamlessly transition to his new, wealthy, pregnant fiancée. Five years. It was all just a sick joke. Chloe slowly sank to the floor, buried her face in her knees, and finally broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. Six months is enough time for a city to change its skyline. It’s also enough time for a person’s heart to turn to ash. Chloe chopped off her long hair, transferred to a different department at work, and tried her hardest to look nothing like her past self. But the gaping hole in her chest refused to close. She still heard about Mark’s wedding through office gossip. Word was, it was an incredibly lavish affair. The bride had a visible baby bump and looked radiant. When Chloe heard this, she just kept typing at her keyboard, expressionless, as if listening to a story about strangers. Only she knew that she drank an entire bottle of Cabernet that night. Life became stagnant, like a dead pool of water—no ripples, no expectations. Until the newly appointed Department Director, Barbara Hayes, sought her out. Barbara was a woman in her late fifties, sharp, capable, and rarely smiled. Yet, that afternoon, she did something unprecedented. She called Chloe into her office and personally poured her a cup of coffee. “Chloe, you’ve been in this department for almost six months now. How are you settling in?” “It’s going well. Thank you for asking, Director,” Chloe replied respectfully. Barbara nodded, her eyes assessing Chloe, calculating something. “And… your personal life? Have you given that any thought?” Chloe’s chest tightened. Why was she suddenly asking about this? “I… haven’t really thought about it.” Barbara smiled, her tone suddenly turning conspiratorial. “I’ve heard about your situation.” All the color drained from Chloe’s face. Her infertility was a brand of shame. She never spoke of it to anyone. “Director…” “Don’t panic.” Barbara waved a hand, leaning forward slightly, lowering her voice. “Actually, the reason I called you in is because I want to set you up with someone.” Chloe was stunned. “My son, Arthur.” For the first time, a look of helplessness and embarrassment crossed Barbara’s usually stoic face. “He… he’s a great guy, really. It’s just… physically, he has a minor issue.” She paused, seemingly weighing her words. “Just like you, he can’t have children.” Chloe felt like a sledgehammer had slammed into her chest. She stared at Barbara, completely unsure how to react. “I know this reality is cruel for you young folks.” “But life has to go on, doesn’t it?” “You two are in the same unique boat. You understand each other’s pain. Neither of you has any right to judge the other.” “Just make do. Partner up and build a life together. It’s better than growing old alone.” Make do. Partner up. Those words stung Chloe’s nerves like needles. Had her life really been reduced to a state where she just had to “make do”? She wanted to refuse. But looking at Barbara’s eyes, filled with expectation and a hint of pleading, the word “no” got stuck in her throat. Maybe Barbara was right. What right did a barren woman have to demand romance or look forward to the future? Finding another defective person, forming a broken family, keeping each other warm, and licking each other’s wounds. Perhaps, this was the best ending she could hope for. “Director,” Chloe looked up, her eyes dead. “I… I’m willing to meet him.” Barbara let out a long sigh of relief, a heavy weight lifting from her shoulders. “Good, good girl. I knew you were sensible.” A week later, Chloe and Arthur met at a local coffee shop. He was taller and leaner than in his photo, wearing a crisp white button-down and jeans. He had a clean, sharp look. But there was an unshakable melancholy between his brows. Throughout the meeting, he barely spoke. Chloe did most of the talking; he just listened. At the very end, he looked at Chloe and asked one serious question. “Are you absolutely sure about this?” Chloe offered a self-deprecating smile. “Do people like us really have a choice?” Arthur fell silent. After a long moment, he nodded. “Alright. Then let’s… get married.” No proposal. No ring. Not even an “I like you.” From the very beginning, their union was nothing more than an unspoken agreement to “make do.” A month later, they went to the courthouse. The reception was painfully simple—just a dinner at a restaurant with close relatives from both sides. At the dinner table, Chloe spotted Susan Jenkins. Susan had tagged along with a distant relative of Arthur’s, staring at Chloe with undisguised schadenfreude. “Well, if it isn’t Chloe! Married again so soon? I hear this one… is firing blanks too? Oh my, you two really are a match made in heaven!” Her shrill, vicious words plunged the entire table into a suffocating, awkward silence. Chloe’s hand, gripping her fork, trembled violently. Just then, a large, warm hand covered hers. It was Arthur. He looked calmly at Susan, his tone flat. “Whether we can have kids or not is none of your concern.” “Instead of worrying about us, you should spend that energy figuring out if the baby in your daughter-in-law’s belly actually belongs to the Jenkins family.” Susan’s face instantly turned the color of bruised plum. Married life was as placid as still water. Arthur was a quiet man. When he was home, he was either reading or tending to his houseplants. He didn’t say much, but he was incredibly considerate. He remembered that Chloe hated cilantro. He quietly handled all the household chores. When she worked late, he always left a porch light on and a bowl of hot soup on the stove. They lived like polite roommates—respectful, courteous, but emotionally distant. Neither dared to touch the other’s deepest scar. The word “child” was never spoken. Barbara, however, visited frequently, always bringing expensive vitamins and supplements. “Chloe, you need to take care of your health. It’s pitiful enough that you can’t have kids; you can’t let your body break down on top of it.” She muttered variations of this every time. Chloe just listened silently, her emotions a tangled mess. Sometimes, she thought this life wasn’t so bad. No arguments, no expectations, which meant no crushing disappointments. Until that day. For several weeks, she had been feeling nauseous, incredibly lethargic, and completely drained of energy. At first, she thought she was just overworked and had caught a stomach bug. But when the smell of Arthur’s cooking made her sprint to the bathroom to dry heave, an absurd, impossible thought popped into her head. Trembling, she drove to Walgreens and bought a pregnancy test. When she saw those two distinct pink lines, Chloe felt her entire world collapse. She didn’t believe it. She drove to the hospital like a madwoman, demanded a walk-in appointment, and underwent a battery of tests. When the OB-GYN looked at the ultrasound and smiled, saying, “Congratulations, it’s twins. Looks like a boy and a girl,” Chloe only heard a deafening roar in her ears. How was this possible? Wasn’t she diagnosed with “Primary Infertility”? Wasn’t she told she would never be a mother? Clutching the ultrasound printout, she stumbled back home in a daze. Arthur wasn’t home from work yet. Barbara wasn’t there either. The living room was empty. She was entirely alone. She sat on the sofa, her hands shaking violently. That thin piece of photo paper felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Twins. A boy and a girl. For any normal family, this would be the greatest news in the world. But for her, it was the ultimate mockery. A massive, suffocating lie had trapped her in its net. The doctor told her she couldn’t conceive. Barbara told her Arthur couldn’t conceive. That was the only reason they had “made do” and gotten married. But now, she was pregnant. With Arthur’s children. So, who exactly was lying? Did the original doctor misdiagnose her? Or was it… Barbara? Did she invent a lie about her son to make her “defective” daughter-in-law feel secure in the marriage? Or maybe… A far more terrifying thought slithered into Chloe’s mind like a venomous snake. Mark and Susan! Was it them? To cleanly break the engagement and latch onto the City Planner’s wealthy daughter, did they bribe the doctor to forge that diagnostic report?! Once the thought surfaced, she couldn’t suppress it. A bone-chilling cold started in Chloe’s fingertips and crept straight to her heart. If that were true… Then what was the point of the agony, humiliation, and despair she had suffered for the past six months? She had been discarded like garbage, treated as a running joke. Her entire life trajectory had been maliciously rewritten. Just then, the front door clicked open. Arthur was home. He saw Chloe sitting on the sofa, pale as a ghost, staring blankly ahead with a piece of paper clutched in her hand. “What’s wrong?” he asked, walking over with genuine concern. Chloe slowly looked up and handed the ultrasound to him. “I’m pregnant.” Her voice was as light as a feather, but in the quiet living room, it hit like a tidal wave. Arthur’s pupils contracted sharply. He stared at the ultrasound, his expression an incredibly complex mix of emotions. Shock. Confusion. And a tiny, barely perceptible flash of… joy. He was silent for a long time before he finally looked up at Chloe. “Is this real?” Chloe nodded, her eyes swimming in confusion and pain. “Arthur, tell me the truth. Did you know all along that you… that you could have kids?” That was the least horrifying scenario she could think of right now. Arthur looked at her, his gaze deep and searching. He shook his head. “I didn’t know.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “My mother always told me that a severe fever when I was a toddler caused permanent damage, making me sterile.” “All these years, I believed her.” Chloe’s heart plummeted again. If Arthur was telling the truth, there was only one possibility left. That original diagnostic report was a fake. “Where… which hospital did you get tested at originally?” Arthur asked, his tone turning analytical. “City General. The Head of Obstetrics, Dr. Wallace.” Chloe spat out the name she would never forget as long as she lived. Arthur frowned. “Dr. Wallace?” “You know him?” Chloe asked instantly. Arthur nodded. “He was the mentor to a senior colleague of mine at the law firm. He has a stellar reputation in the medical community. It doesn’t seem like something he would do.” “But the proof is right here!” Chloe’s voice rose, bordering on hysterical. “If it wasn’t him, who else could it be?” Arthur walked over and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t panic yet. Something isn’t right here.” “We can’t just guess.” His hands were steady. His voice was steady. It carried a grounding, reassuring power. Chloe slowly forced herself to breathe.

After seven years of caring for my severely paralyzed mother, she finally passed away, a look of peace on her face. But three days after her death, my brother—who had vanished for seven years—suddenly appeared, clutching a will. “Mom’s will makes it perfectly clear. As her son, I inherit everything she owned.” The relatives were quick to react, immediately taking his side. “The money belonged to your mother. She can leave it to whoever she wants. As her children, you just have to respect her wishes.” “You’re the older sister; it’s your duty to step aside for your brother. If it were me, I’d be too ashamed to fight my own flesh and blood over an inheritance.” I covered my face with my hands, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Everyone thought I was sobbing in absolute devastation. But only I knew the truth: my idiot brother was completely, utterly screwed. … When Kyle showed up, I was just about to lower my mother’s urn into the freshly dug grave. He ran out of the crowd, crying hysterically, forcefully shoved me aside, and threw his arms around the urn, wailing like a banshee. “Mom! How could you just leave us like this?! I didn’t even get to see you one last time!” “Chloe, you heartless bitch! Mom was perfectly fine when I left! It’s only been a few years, and you actually managed to kill her!” “Give me my mother back!” The relatives began whispering and murmuring among themselves. Even I felt a bit dazed for a second. The last time I had seen Kyle was seven years ago. I had just graduated from college and landed a fantastic job at a Fortune 500 company. My life was finally on an upward trajectory when I suddenly got a call from Kyle. “Chloe, you need to come home right now! Mom was in a terrible car accident, she’s in the ICU!” My head spun. I bought a red-eye flight and rushed home. Our dad died when we were young. My mom raised Kyle and me all by herself. She hadn’t enjoyed a single day of comfort in her life, and now this happened. But what I couldn’t accept was what happened next. While I was distracted speaking with the surgeons about her emergency procedures, Kyle secretly grabbed my mom’s phone, her ID, and her debit cards, ran back to our house, and drained every single cent of our family’s savings. I didn’t have any money of my own back then. To scrape together enough to cover Mom’s immediate medical bills, I borrowed from everyone I possibly could. The crushing debt almost drove me to jump off a bridge. After that, I personally cared for her, spoon-feeding and bathing her for seven grueling years, until the day she died. Seeing Kyle now, I wanted nothing more than to flay him alive. “You son of a bitch. How do you even have the nerve to show your face?” “When Mom was fighting for her life in the hospital, you stole all her money and ran! When she was paralyzed in bed, unable to move, where the hell were you?!” “Now that she’s dead, you pop up playing the devoted son?! I’ll beat you to death, you shameless piece of trash!” Kyle yelled at the top of his lungs: “Stop bringing up irrelevant garbage! Mom only has one son! If I wasn’t here to handle her funeral rites, her soul would never rest in peace!” “If I didn’t show up, who knows? You probably would have secretly hoarded all of Mom’s inheritance for yourself!” “What inheritance?” While I was momentarily stunned, Kyle pulled a piece of standard printer paper from his jacket. He held it up high for the entire crowd to see. “Aunt Brenda, Uncle Dave, Aunt Susan—look closely! This is a will, written and signed by my mother’s own hand.” “It states very clearly: upon her death, her entire estate goes exclusively to her son, Kyle.” “Bullshit! Mom couldn’t even read or write!” I fired back. “She was paralyzed for seven years! I handled all her meals, her bathing, everything! Where exactly did she go to draft a will?!” Kyle smirked smugly. “Mom knew this day would come. She set everything up seven years ago. Uncle Dave can back me up.” I looked at my uncle in absolute disbelief. Just this morning, he had patted my shoulder, tears in his eyes. “Your mother had a hard life, Chloe. Thank god she had a daughter like you to take care of her so well. You didn’t let her suffer.” Uncle Dave avoided my gaze, looking shifty. “Yeah… that did happen. When your mom was first brought to the hospital, she was still lucid. She drafted the will right in front of me. I helped her sit up so she could sign it.” “Chloe, you’re a good kid. We all see that.” “But the money was your mother’s. She can give it to whoever she wants. As her children, you just have to respect her wishes.” It was easy for him to say. My uncle hadn’t worked a single honest day in his life; he survived entirely by leeching off his sisters. That old parasite was obviously going to take the side of the younger parasite, Kyle. Aunt Brenda immediately chimed in. “I’m an older sister too. It’s an older sister’s duty to step aside and provide for her younger brother. If I were you, I’d be too ashamed to fight my own flesh and blood over an inheritance.” She even forced a few fake sobs. “These past few years, your mom cried to me so often because she missed her son. Well, it’s finally over. You came back, Kyle. She can rest in peace now.” “You’re the only male heir left in the family line, Kyle. Don’t worry, your aunt is 100% on your side.” I stood frozen in place, utterly paralyzed. When the hospital was threatening to cut off her care because I couldn’t pay the bills, I didn’t cry. When my friends were landing amazing careers, while I could only take odd temp jobs so I had time to rush home and change my mom’s adult diapers, I didn’t cry. When I was sick and in agonizing pain, rolling around in bed but refusing to go to the doctor to save money, I didn’t cry. When I was drowning in debt and loan sharks threw red paint on our front door, I didn’t cry. Seven years. Seven full, grueling years. I took care of my mother for seven years. I spoon-fed her every meal, cleaned up her waste, and starved myself just to buy her medication. And yet, behind my back, she left absolutely everything to my brother. I doubled over in pain, my entire body shaking. The tears finally broke free, pouring out uncontrollably. Kyle clicked his tongue in annoyance, tossing his hair. “Alright, enough! Who are you crying for?!” “A son inheriting the property is the natural order of things. Hurry up and hand over the house keys. I have real estate agents waiting to view the property.” Aunt Brenda was startled. “You’re selling the house?!” “Then where is your sister going to live?” Kyle scoffed. “Why the hell should I care where she lives? It’s my house, I can sell it if I want.” “She lived there rent-free for seven years. I’m already doing her a massive favor by not charging her back-rent.” “My girlfriend is pregnant, and her family is pushing us to get married. If I don’t sell the house, how am I supposed to afford a new one for us?” “Unless… you guys are volunteering to lend me some cash?” The moment they heard the word “lend,” every single relative started waving their hands frantically. “I don’t have any money! Your cousin’s wedding wiped out our savings.” “All my cash is tied up in the stock market. If I had it, I’d definitely lend it to you.” … Hearing this, I slowly raised my head and wiped away my tears. “You want the estate, right? Fine. You can have it all.” Kyle grinned broadly. “Now that’s more like it.” I laid out my condition: “If you want me to formally waive my right to contest the inheritance, you have to sign an agreement with me right now. From this moment on, absolutely everything belonging to this family is yours, and it has absolutely nothing to do with me.” “And whether you live or die in the future, you are strictly forbidden from coming to me for help.” Kyle looked me up and down with pure disdain. “Look at you. You don’t even have a real job. Once I sell the house, you’ll literally be sleeping on the streets. I’m the one who should be worried about you clinging to me for cash!” “I’ll sign it. Hurry up and get the papers!” I borrowed a pen and paper from the funeral home staff and quickly drafted the document. Aunt Brenda leaned in close and whispered, “Silly girl, that’s your own biological brother. If you cut him off completely, aren’t you afraid your dad’s ghost will come back to haunt you?” I looked at her with a dead, icy smile. “When Mom’s spirit visits me on the seventh day after her death, I’ll be sure to ask her whose ghost is going to haunt the person who ripped the gold wedding band off my grandmother’s finger the second she stopped breathing. Let’s see who should be afraid of karma.” Aunt Brenda’s face drained of color. She grabbed her hand and scurried away. After Kyle signed the paper, I folded the agreement carefully and put it in my purse. I couldn’t help it—I covered my face, my shoulders shaking violently. He clicked his tongue impatiently. “Crying is useless. The agreement is signed. From now on, this family has nothing to do with you, and you won’t get a single red cent.” “Hurry up and pack your trash. I’m coming to claim the house tomorrow.” With that, he rallied all the relatives to go grab lunch at a nearby restaurant. It wasn’t until they were completely out of sight that I finally dared to laugh out loud. Chapter 2 Oh, my sweet, idiotic brother. What “estate” did he think was left? He hadn’t been home in seven years; he had no idea. Anything of value in that house had been sold years ago to pay for Mom’s medical bills. The house itself had a massive second mortgage on it, and I was drowning in an ocean of external debt, constantly stressing over how to survive. And now, he timed his return perfectly to catch the falling anvil. I was absolutely thrilled. I left the funeral home and took a cab straight to a nice hotel. The old house was filled with memories of my mother, and honestly, I couldn’t stomach looking at it right now. After taking a long, hot bath, I wrapped myself tightly in the thick hotel comforter. For the first time in seven years, I didn’t have to jolt awake at 3:00 AM to change my mom’s diaper or sponge-bathe her. I slept so deeply it felt like a coma. When I finally woke up, my phone was blowing up like a ticking time bomb. On the other end of the line, Kyle’s voice was a chaotic mix of uncontrollable smugness and desperate impatience. “Chloe, where the hell are you?!” “Get back to the old house right now and hand over the keys! Don’t you dare touch any of Mom’s stuff! I’m coming over to take inventory immediately.” “I’m warning you, if you try to hide anything, and I find out, I will make your life a living hell.” I gripped my phone, staring at the pristine hotel ceiling, and suddenly broke into a huge smile. “Alright.” “I’ll wait for you. I’ll even bring some people over to help you with the inventory.” I hung up the phone and immediately dialed the number of my biggest creditor. “If you want your money, bring your guys to my house right now. If you’re late, the opportunity is gone.” I heard heavy breathing on the other end, mixed with a few muffled curses and people scrambling in the background. “Fuck yeah. Wait right there, we’re on our way! If you’re trying to play us…” “Bring all the promissory notes and loan contracts,” I added, then hung up. I checked out of the hotel, hailed a cab, and headed back to the old house—the house where I had struggled and suffocated for seven years, the house I currently wanted to burn to the ground. Just as I pulled up, a dirty, beat-up black van slammed on its brakes, arriving at the exact same moment. Three men stepped out of the van. The leader was a massive guy with a shaved head, eyes sharp as knives, and aggressive tattoos crawling up his neck. We exchanged a single glance. No words were spoken. With a silent, mutual understanding, we walked up the stairs together. The front door of the old house was slightly ajar. The lock had been smashed. Kyle’s voice drifted out from inside. “This place is a bit old, but if I clean it up, I can rent it out for a decent chunk of change.” “Just wait here, I’ll have her clear out her garbage right now.” I pushed the door open. Kyle was standing in the center of the living room, a small notepad in his hand, jotting things down. When he turned and saw the three terrifying bruisers standing behind me, he froze for a second. Then, a look of profound, arrogant mockery spread across his face. “I knew you wouldn’t just hand it over peacefully. Yesterday was all just an act, huh?” “You didn’t dare say a word in front of the family, and now you bring a bunch of thugs here to play tough?” He waved the photocopied will in his hand. “Read it and weep. This is notarized! It’s a legally binding document! Everything in this house now belongs to me, Kyle! Who do you think you’re scaring with a few street punks? Get the hell out of my house!” I smiled. This really was my wonderful brother. I was worried he might try to deny it! What more was there to say? “The law is the ultimate authority.” I said, stepping aside. “You guys heard him, right? He is the legal owner of this house. Everything belongs to him. Whatever business you have, take it up with him.” The bald guy completely ignored Kyle’s yelling. He pulled a thick stack of loan contracts from his leather bag. “Kid, you’ve got a big mouth. Since you own everything here, I assume that means you’re ready to settle the debts attached to it?” Kyle stumbled back half a step, terrified, but tried to maintain his tough guy act. “What debts?” “You’ve got the wrong guy. I don’t owe you anything.” “Get out of here right now! You’re trespassing on private property! I’ll call the cops!” The bald guy let out a menacing, predatory laugh. “Be my guest. Call ’em right now. I’d love to see if the cops arrest me, or arrest you.” “Paying debts is the law of the land! I brought the signed contracts right here. You dare try to deny it?!” He suddenly raised his voice, booming like thunder. “Seven years ago, your mother used this house as collateral to borrow $20,000 from me. With interest compounding over the years, the total balance today is exactly $720,000.” “It’s all right here in black and white, stamped with her red thumbprint. The contract clearly states that if she can’t pay the cash, the house is forfeited to cover the debt. And now you’re jumping up and down claiming you’re the sole heir to her estate?” The bald guy stepped forward, his spit practically hitting Kyle’s deathly pale face. “Well then, shouldn’t you be inheriting this debt too?” The color drained entirely from Kyle’s face, leaving him as white as a sheet. His eyes bulged out of his head. He looked at the terrifying stack of loan contracts, then at the bald guy, and finally, he whipped his head around to glare at me. His eyes were filled with absolute, terrified disbelief and fury. “No! This is impossible!” “This is the debt her mother owes! It has nothing to do with me! Go after her!” he screamed hysterically, his trembling finger pointing directly at me. I laughed and pulled out the agreement we had signed in front of our mother’s urn yesterday. “Didn’t we agree yesterday? Everything in this family is inherited by you, and it has absolutely nothing to do with me.” “We are blood siblings, after all! My mom is your mom! A son inheriting the estate is the natural order of things. All our relatives can testify to that.” “My dear, sweet brother, if you hadn’t come back waving that will around, I honestly wouldn’t have known where to find you to give you all of this.” I picked up the will that had fallen to the floor and gently placed it on the coffee table. I tapped the words: “…shall be inherited entirely by my son, Kyle.” “As children, we have to respect Mom’s wishes. She said you inherit everything, so it’s all yours.” “This old house, the few pieces of cheap furniture she left behind, and of course… all the outstanding debts.” “NOOOOO!!!” Kyle let out an inhuman, guttural howl. The bald guy was already out of patience. He waved his hand. The two massive thugs behind him lunged forward like they were grabbing a helpless chicken. They instantly pinned Kyle’s arms behind his back and slammed his face into the wall. “Chloe! You set me up! You set a fucking trap for me!” He struggled uselessly, cursing and screaming, his voice cracking with tears and absolute despair. I looked at the bald guy. “We are completely settled. Whatever happens next is between you and him.” Then, I turned and walked out of the apartment. Taking a deep breath of the outside air, the crushing burden I had carried on my shoulders for seven years finally fell away. The news of Kyle being cornered and beaten by loan sharks in the old house sprouted wings and flew instantly across the family group chat. Aunt Brenda was absolutely heartbroken. She rallied all the relatives to go “save” him. She also launched a vicious attack on me in the group chat. “Chloe, how could you be so evil?!” “Kyle is your biological brother! He’s the only male bloodline your father left behind! How could you just stand by and watch him get beaten like that?!” “If your parents knew about this, they’d be rolling in their graves!” I casually typed a reply: “If my dad knew his own sister just stood by and watched her nephew get beaten, he’d be rolling in his grave.” “Why don’t you do a good deed and pay off the debt for him?” Kyle immediately seized the opportunity, spamming the chat with “Thank you, Aunt Brenda!” and “Aunt Brenda, you’re the best!” He expertly hoisted Aunt Brenda onto a pedestal she couldn’t climb down from. Her son instantly chimed in: “If you dare pay a single cent of his debt, I am disowning you! You can just adopt him and let him be your son!” Seeing this, Aunt Brenda quickly backpedaled, stating that she couldn’t make financial decisions for her household and couldn’t help with the money. However, she was more than willing to discipline me, the “ungrateful daughter,” on behalf of my dead parents. “Regardless of everything, blood is thicker than water! You are the older sister! Now that your mom is gone, the eldest sister is like a mother! You have to take care of him! Look at the suffering he’s going through right now!” “As his aunt, watching this feels like a knife twisting in my heart!” I watched her performance with an emotionless expression. Aunt Brenda finally revealed her true objective. “Chloe, your aunt knows things haven’t been easy for you either. But right now, saving Kyle is the priority. I actually have a solution, it just depends on whether you’re willing to make a sacrifice for this family.” “The Director of my agency, Director Miller, has a son. He’s a very honest, well-behaved guy. It’s just that he had a severe fever when he was a kid, so his brain works a little slower than normal people. But he absolutely never causes trouble.” “The Miller family is loaded! They live in a massive mansion! They don’t mind your current financial situation at all. As long as you agree to marry him, you can name your price for the bridal price.” “You’d be marrying into a wealthy family, you’d save your brother, and you’d secure your own future! It’s a win-win-win situation!” The group chat exploded. Everyone started chiming in to support her. “Chloe, your aunt really found a great way out for you!” “Chloe, if you marry into high society, don’t forget about us poor relatives!” “Kyle, you better remember your sister’s sacrifice for the rest of your life.” I almost laughed out loud. His brain works a little slower? I bet if they “cured” him, he’d still be drooling on himself. This wasn’t setting me up on a date. This was blatantly trying to sell me off as a commodity so she could curry favor with her boss! I quickly shut down her beautiful fantasy. “Since the conditions are so amazing, please don’t waste it on an outsider like me. You should have your own daughter marry him! I wouldn’t dream of stealing such a prime opportunity from her.” “Or, even better, just have Kyle marry him! He marries into a rich family, pays off his debt—it’s the perfect solution! Just tell Director Miller not to be too strict on the gender requirement.” Kyle was absolutely furious. “Chloe, don’t be a stuck-up bitch!” “What the hell do you think you are right now?! No parents, drowning in debt! Who besides the Millers would even look twice at you?!”

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My husband gave me two snakes as pets. The eerie part? Whenever they realize I’m watching, they start mating—ferociously, shamelessly. It’s enough to make me turn away in a flush of heat. Then, out of nowhere, the Feed flickers into my vision like a digital hallucination. [Wow, the female lead is a genius. Getting the System to turn them into snakes so they can flaunt their “love” right under the wife’s nose? Iconic.] [LOL, they’re going at it like it’s a honeymoon, and the poor side-character wife is just standing there playing house. She has no idea he’s going to use that snake tail to strangle her tonight.] [Once she’s out of the picture, he inherits her millions and marries the “real” lead. A classic move.] A chill raced down my spine. I didn’t hesitate. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number of a local game processor—a man known for his lack of mercy toward reptiles. “Hey, Silas? I’ve got two fat ones for you. I hear the meat is great for a winter stew.” 1 I was jolted awake by a wet, rhythmic slithering sound—the sound of scales grinding against scales. I opened my eyes to find two six-foot, iridescent “spicy noodles” dangling from my crystal chandelier. They were entwined in a tight, DNA-like spiral, their heads swaying with a sickening sort of ecstasy, tongues flicking against one another. Their eyes looked… drunken. Almost human. Almost as if they were smiling. A few drops of murky, white fluid dripped from their tails, landing right on the silk of my nightgown. Again. This was the eighteenth time they’d pulled this stunt in my bedroom. I sat up, frustrated, and called my husband. No answer. I left a voice memo, my voice tight with irritation. “Mark, where did you even find these things? They’re shameless. They’re doing it in my room every single day.” “Seriously, I don’t think they’re even snakes. They don’t act like them. They don’t even care about the cold.” Suddenly, the air in front of me distorted. Neon text bled into my retinas. [Hahaha… Congrats, you guessed it! They aren’t snakes, honey. That’s your husband and your best friend. Surprise!] [They’re hitting the high notes while you’re playing pet-owner. They aren’t your pets—they’re your executioners!] [My girl Bridget is a mastermind. Before she cut ties with the System, she used her last points to get two transformation pills. Pure brilliance!] [They’re literally doing it on the wife’s clothes for the thrill of it, then making her “clean” them afterward. It’s so twisted, I love it!] [Bridget is already pregnant. It’s time to get rid of the wife. Can’t have a baby bump showing in the wedding dress, right?] [Don’t worry, the kill happens tonight. Mark strangles her, shifts back to human form, inherits the estate, and takes Bridget home. Happily ever after!] The words left me paralyzed with a bone-deep cold. I looked up at the female snake. She was staring at me with a look of triumphant malice, and for a split second, I saw the shadow of Bridget—my “soul sister,” my bridesmaid—in those slit pupils. According to the Feed, Bridget was the “Protagonist” of this world. She was supposed to be building some grand empire with a supernatural System, but she’d decided she wanted Mark instead. She wanted my life. The System had abandoned her, but not before giving her the means to replace me. The ice in my veins turned to fire. I swear I could hear Bridget’s voice whispering in my mind: “Look at her, Mark. Look at how stupid she is, just watching us. It’s so hot.” Then, the male snake’s tail tightened around her, and I heard Mark’s low, familiar rumble: “Let her watch. That’s the point. I’m going to fill you with so many legacies while she watches her world burn.” I bit my lip until it bled, using the pain to anchor myself. I picked up the phone again. “Silas? You said these two were big enough for a feast? They’re yours. Come get them.” 2 Silas was silent for a long beat. Everyone in our gated community knew we were rivals. I was the “animal lover” who rescued strays; he was the man who ate anything that crawled, often tormenting the creature before he butchered it. When Mark first brought the snakes home, Silas had smelled them from across the street. He’d offered me two thousand bucks on the spot. I’d told him to go to hell. “Cassidy?” Silas finally rasped. “What kind of game are you playing? Is this a trap?” “You want them or not? If you don’t show up in ten minutes, I’m calling the guy in the next county over.” “Wait, wait! Don’t you dare give those beauties to anyone else. I’m coming. Keep them locked up. I’m on my way!” The moment I hung up, the snakes tumbled from the chandelier. They began to slither across the bed in a frantic, panicked mess. Bridget’s shrill voice echoed in the room: “Is she crazy? Why is she selling us?!” Mark’s voice was more hesitant, analytical: “Relax. We know how much she loves animals. She’s spent two months nursing us like babies. That doesn’t just change.” “Then what is she doing?!” “It’s a play. She hates Silas. She’s probably setting him up. She’s told me a dozen times she wanted to take that man down.” “Right. She told me the same thing.” Bridget seemed to exhale. Her tail brushed against him again. They started up again, right in front of me. The female snake arched her neck like a concubine seeking favor in an old period drama. “Baby, the antidote from the System arrives today. We need to hurry up and finish her off before we shift back, right?” Mark’s yellow eyes drifted toward me. His black tongue flicked out, tasting the air near my face. He didn’t speak. Bridget hissed at him. “Why aren’t you saying anything? Are you getting soft? You still love her, don’t you? I knew it! You’re just using me!” The female snake slithered over to my dresser, her coils wrapping around a silver-framed document. She looked back at Mark, her eyes welling with a strange, reptilian moisture. “You kept your ‘anniversary’ souvenir. You can’t bring yourself to kill her!” Before she could finish, Mark’s tail whipped out like a thunderbolt, shattering the glass. The shards pierced the paper. It felt like they were piercing my heart, too. Everyone knew the story. Mark was the high school dropout who cleaned up his act to impress me. He studied until his eyes bled just to get into the same university. We’d kept our acceptance letters framed together for years—a symbol of his “devotion.” Now, his tail slammed into my letter with a pure, unadulterated venom. His voice was a ghostly growl: “She’s terrified of water. I’m going to coil around her throat with this body she loves so much, and I’m going to hold her under until the light leaves her eyes.” I stood there, stunned by the sheer depth of his cold-bloodedness. I had been nothing but a savior to him. When his business failed, I bankrolled his lifestyle. When he was depressed, I gave him space and luxury. I had treated him better than I treated myself. Why did he hate me so much? I looked at the Feed. [I knew he hated her! The more she helped him, the more he loathed her. No ‘Alpha’ male can handle his wife being the breadwinner and the brains.] [That acceptance letter? It’s a reminder that she’s better than him. Every cent of her money he spends feels like a slap to his ego. Love died a long time ago; only resentment remains.] [Hahaha, she deserves it. What’s the point of having money if you don’t know how to act like a submissive wife? Bridget is smarter—she knows how to stroke a man’s ego to get what she wants.] I let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh. My kindness was his cage. My generosity was his insult. I walked straight toward the snakes. They thought I was going to stroke them, to apologize. They were motionless as I grabbed them and shoved them into a heavy burlap sack. But as I went to pull the drawstring, Mark’s head shot out. He moved with lightning speed, coiling his cold, muscular body around my neck. 3 The icy pressure tightened around my throat. His head rose, his eyes fixed on mine, his tongue lashing against the tip of my nose. His tail tightened around my wrist like a handcuff. I was ready to fight, ready for everything to end right here. But then, his eyes shifted. “Mark, what are you waiting for? Do it!” Bridget screamed from inside the bag. Mark didn’t tighten his grip. Instead, he slid his coils down to my abdomen, hovering there as if protecting a kill. “She’s pregnant.” The words hit me like a physical blow. I looked down at my flat stomach. Impossible. Mark had been “traveling” for months. We hadn’t been together in ages. Bridget hissed, her voice dripping with fury. “I knew it! She’s been playing the loyal wife while sleeping around with some loser!” “The child is mine.” Shock after shock. My mind raced back to a dream I’d had two months ago. A dream of a massive serpent coiling around me in the dark, the weight of it crushing the breath from my lungs. I’d woken up drenched in sweat. It wasn’t a dream. It was him. “Oh, I see.” Bridget’s voice turned small, wounded. “If she’s carrying your baby, I’ll just go. I know you won’t hurt your own blood. I’ll leave you three to your happy family. Everything we had was just a dream.” Mark immediately hooked his tail around the bag to comfort her. “Don’t do that. When did I say I’d choose her? I only want children from you. Her baby? It’s just an ant I haven’t stepped on yet.” He looked back at me, his eyes dead. “We’ll send them both to the afterlife together. They can keep each other company on the long walk down.” I clenched my fists. At that moment, the doorbell rang. Silas’s rough voice boomed through the door: “Cassidy! Open up! I’m here for my meat!” 4 The two snakes froze. With a coordinated movement, they slithered out of the bag and back up to the high rafters of the living room, coiling out of reach. I opened the door and let Silas in. “They’re inside,” I said, my voice hollow. “Catch them yourself. Do whatever you want with them. I don’t want to know.” I turned and walked toward the kitchen, closing the door behind me. The Feed went into a frenzy. [Wait, is she really leaving? Is she actually selling the protagonists? No way.] [Mark and Bridget are panicking. They were going to kill her the second Silas left, but if she leaves the room, they can’t get to her!] [Oh no! Silas has a machete!] [Wait! The antidote just arrived! Bridget, quick—eat it!] [If they turn human now, Silas can’t touch them!] [Eat it! There are only two pills. If you miss this window, you stay snakes forever!] Antidote? My nerves caught fire. If they shifted back now, I was a dead woman. I spun around and threw the door open.

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On the morning of the state finals—the exams that would determine our college admissions and our futures—my brother handed me a bottle of milk. I took it, my chest tightening with a rare, sweet rush of gratitude, until a glowing string of text suddenly began scrolling across my vision, like a phantom live-chat projected directly into my mind. [Don’t drink it, babygirl! If she drinks that, the charity case gets x-ray vision to copy her answers!] [And she’ll slowly lose her mind. In seven days, her brain will turn to mush and her body will shut down.] My hand trembled. The bottle suddenly felt heavy, slick with condensation. Right beside us, my childhood best friend smiled softly and held out a braided luck-charm bracelet. The glowing text flared violently in my field of vision again: [The childhood bestie is trash too! If she wears that, the charity case gets an automatic twenty-point bump over her.] [The charity case will breeze into an Ivy League, while our girl gets locked in a psych ward with no memory, abused until she dies!] I blinked, the neon letters burning behind my eyelids. I looked up. Both of them were staring at me. It wasn’t the look of a loving older brother, nor the tender gaze of the boy I had secretly loved since we were ten. It was the calculated, breathless stare of hunters watching their prey step into a snare. … I didn’t say a word. I just took the milk and the bracelet, turned on my heel, and walked straight over to Raquel, the reigning queen of the school’s mean girls, who currently sat dead last in our class rankings. Fine, I thought, the ice spreading through my veins. If this is the game we are playing, then it’s my own fault if I don’t play it to the bitter end. “What are you standing around for? Drink the milk and review your flashcards. Every second counts.” Tristan had followed me. He twisted the cap off the bottle and shoved it toward me. The look in his eyes wasn’t protective; it was suffocatingly annoyed. For years, I had excused Tristan’s sharp edges, convincing myself that beneath his biting words was a fiercely loyal older brother who just didn’t know how to show he cared. Only now, staring at the poison in his hand, did I realize the truth. Every bottle of milk he had ever given me before an exam was a trap, meticulously laid for the sake of the girl he had placed on an untouchable pedestal. “I don’t have an appetite,” I said, my voice shockingly level. “Keep it for yourself. I’m going inside.” I turned away, but a hand violently seized a fistful of my hair from behind. My knees buckled, and I hit the pavement hard. “You dare talk back to me? Have you lost your damn mind?” Tristan roared, his face twisting into something ugly. “Don’t think I’m going to coddle you just because it’s finals week! Who the hell do you think you are?” “Throwing a tantrum and giving me attitude? I’ll teach you a lesson right here in front of everyone!” Heated whispers broke out around us as parents and test-takers turned to watch. Tristan, emboldened by the audience, snatched my backpack, raising it as if to smash it across my face. A hand caught his arm. It was Miles, rushing over, playing the peacemaker. “Tristan, man, come on! It’s exam day. If you scare Blair half to death, how is she going to test?” Miles knelt beside me, his face a perfect mask of concern. He gently brushed the dirt from my cheek, his touch as soft and familiar as it had always been. “Don’t take it to heart, Blair. He’s just stressed. He wants you to have enough energy for the exam,” Miles murmured. “Look, I went out of my way to get this luck bracelet blessed just for you. Put it on. I promise it’ll bring you the highest score.” He reached for my wrist to tie it on, but I snatched it from his fingers, burying it in my palm. These two men. One was my adopted brother, the person I had viewed as my closest family. The other was the boy who owned my heart. They had used my family’s American Express Black Cards to parade around the city’s elite circles as untouchable trust-fund gods. Yet, they had both fallen obsessively in love with the impoverished scholarship student I had personally sponsored, to the point where they were willing to join hands to destroy me. “Thank you both for your beautiful wishes. I will absolutely do my best.” I stared dead into their eyes, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “And when these exams are over, I promise I will repay you both. Thoroughly.” Tristan glared at me, his jaw tight, looking as though my very existence was an endurance test for him. Miles’s eyes glinted with the dark, hidden thrill of a successful setup. Feeling a scorching gaze from the periphery, I quickened my pace and passed through the school gates. Sure enough, I hadn’t made it far down the walkway before heavy footsteps rushed up behind me. A hand spun me around, and a stinging slap cracked across my cheek. “Didn’t I warn you to stay the hell away from Miles? Why are you always throwing yourself at him? Are you that desperate?” Raquel. The school’s ultimate bully. Just like always, she resorted to physical violence and sheer humiliation the second she felt threatened. I looked at her face, contorted with jealousy, and calmly extended the milk and the bracelet. “Don’t be mad,” I said, my voice dripping with earnest submission. “Look, everything Miles gives me, I save for you. I listened to what you told me.” I widened my eyes, playing the pathetic victim to perfection. “I promise, I’ll help you get him. Once finals are over, I’ll set up a date for you guys.” The hostility on Raquel’s face faltered, smoothing into a cruel, satisfied smirk. She snatched the items from my hands. “At least you know your place. Remember, a boring little nerd like you doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as him. Stay out of his sight.” She shoved her shoulder hard into mine as she walked past. My cheek burned with a fiery ache. If being a minor was the umbrella that protected monsters like her from the consequences of their actions… then I would gladly use their own dark, twisted methods to carve out my revenge. … When the morning Literature and Composition exam ended, the hallways were choked with exhausted students. “Oh my god, what do we do? That essay prompt was insane. The reading comprehension made no sense,” someone whined. “I know, right? The multiple choice felt like every single answer was correct. I’m dreading Math this afternoon.” Amidst the chorus of despair, a soft, musical laugh rose from the center of the crowd. “It wasn’t that bad, guys,” the girl said, her voice a soothing balm of false modesty. “I thought it was actually pretty straightforward.” I looked up and met her eyes. Harper had been the school’s most famous charity case until I stepped in. Meeting me had completely altered the trajectory of her life. My gaze dropped to the Cartier Love bracelet gleaming on her wrist. It was the birthday present I had received last month, worth over twenty thousand dollars. It had mysteriously vanished from my vanity a few weeks ago. Sensing my stare, Harper smoothly slipped her hand back into the cuff of her sweater. “Harper is practically a genius,” a girl next to her sighed enviously. “Of course a test like that was easy for you.” I almost laughed out loud. Straightforward? Was it straightforward because Raquel had spent the entire exam tossing her an eraser with the multiple-choice answers written on it? Perhaps stung by the quiet disdain in my eyes, Harper’s fingers curled into fists. She stared me down, raising her voice so it echoed down the hall. “I’m securing the Valedictorian spot this year. I’m going to make everyone who ever looked down on me open their eyes and realize they have to kneel just to look at me!” After the morning session, I stopped by a local boutique and bought a cheap braided bracelet that perfectly mirrored the one Miles had given me. To save time, I ducked into a cramped, greasy diner across the street from campus. I was eating a cheap bowl of soup, my eyes glued to a calculus prep book, when a shadow fell over my table. “Wow, Blair. You really are just trash. It’s the biggest week of our lives and you’re eating at a dump like this.” I looked up. Harper and her entourage were standing over me. The girl who had spoken was sneering, her eyes raking over the peeling linoleum and sticky tables. “The bacteria in here is probably enough to kill a person. Then again, if you die, your family would probably be thrilled to sue this place for a payout.” Because my family had once dealt with a horrific extortion attempt after an uncle flaunted his wealth, I had been strictly forbidden from showing off our money. Aside from Harper, everyone at school genuinely believed I was poor. At this age, where vanity and cruelty were worn like badges of honor, they spoke to me with zero restraint. I let out a low, cold laugh and looked directly at the ringleader. “Harper. How do you feel about what your friend just said?” Her eyes darted away for a fraction of a second before a sickeningly sweet smile stretched across her face. “We’re all classmates, Blair. Don’t be so sensitive.” She patted the table. “Anyway, keep studying. Look over your mistakes. We’re going to head next door for lunch.” Next door was a Michelin-starred bistro where lunch ran about five hundred dollars a head. Harper really had no shame. I didn’t have the energy to argue with ghosts. I put my head back down, maximizing every second to review my formulas. When the afternoon Math exam finished, the hallways erupted into the exact wailing I expected. One boy literally punched a locker, his knuckles turning red. “What the actual hell! Did the state board write that test just to drive us to suicide?!” Harper was once again flanked by a crying, panicked crowd, all lamenting their mental breakdowns during the multiple-choice section. “Oh, guys, it’s okay. It’s just math,” Harper said, the triumphant gleam in her eyes impossible to hide. “Tell you what. I’ll treat you all to an amazing dinner tonight. To make up for the trauma.” “Harper, you’re the best! Ugh, hopefully a good meal will help me bounce back tomorrow!” “You are so generous! Honestly, if I couldn’t do it, I’m sure my competitors couldn’t either!” As Harper led her entourage down the hall like a conquering queen, I hung back. I watched Raquel step out of the girls’ restroom. She was coughing around a vape pen, awkwardly adjusting the braided bracelet on her wrist. Her eyes were glazed with a bizarre, feverish joy. I almost had to hand it to Raquel. Even when she had no idea what she was doing, she had managed to fill out her entire scantron, giving Harper the illusion of a perfect cheat sheet. Someone walking by asked, “Hey Raquel, you filled out every bubble today. Think you pulled off a miracle?” Raquel didn’t even look up, her speech slightly slurred. “Whatever. I just bubbled random crap. Realized at the end I messed up the numbering on the free response anyway. Let’s see how much partial credit they give me.” Standing in the shadows, I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. That night, the classroom was mostly empty. I finally had a moment of quiet to study. I was just finishing my review of my mistake log, preparing to tackle a few high-level practice problems, when the doors banged open and the crowd surged back in. “Harper is so rich! She ordered literally every signature dish on the menu. I am so stuffed!” “I never thought I’d get to eat a three-hundred-dollar slice of cake. I’m going to brag about this forever!” They knew Harper hated me. Seeing me sitting quietly, studying, was an invitation. One of them stormed over and snatched the prep book right out from under my pen. “Look at Blair, working so hard. Too bad no matter how much you kill yourself studying, our Harper will always score higher than you.” “Harper is a natural genius. Not like this dumb pig who just memorizes textbooks. Harper could sleep through the year and still get into Harvard.” They started tossing my prep book back and forth like a football. One of them deliberately dropped it and stepped on it, leaving a dirty footprint across the cover. “Harper. Call off your dogs.” I set my pen down on the desk with a sharp clack. My voice dropped an octave, cutting through the noise. “If you keep this up, I’m going home right now. I won’t show up for the exams tomorrow, and none of you will have anyone left to push around.” The room erupted into laughter. They slammed their hands on the desks. “Then don’t show up! Who cares?” “Please, drop out! One less person means my class rank goes up. Go home, loser!” But Harper’s smile vanished. Her face went rigid. If I didn’t test, who was she going to copy from? She immediately stepped forward, her voice sharp. “Enough! Stop messing around. It’s a good thing Blair works so hard. You have to let the students who don’t have natural talent try their best.” She glared at her followers. “I’m actually getting mad. Whoever bothers Blair while she’s studying is uninvited from the post-exam victory party.” It worked like magic. Someone even wiped the footprint off my book and slammed it back onto my desk with an eye roll. Harper then pulled out a brand-new, expensive set of final mock exams. She slid them onto my desk, an unspoken command. I smiled coldly, accepting the gift. Thanks to her warning, the rest of exam week went perfectly smoothly. No one dared to breathe in my direction. When the final bell rang on the last day, I capped my pen. A tidal wave of cheers and screams erupted from the halls, shaking the very walls of the school. The sky outside was burning with a brilliant, fiery sunset. The school gates were mobbed with local news reporters and parents clutching massive bouquets. I walked out slowly. Through the crowd, I spotted Tristan. He was handing a massive arrangement of imported roses to Harper. “Congratulations on surviving, Harper,” he said, his voice carrying. “Hidden in the flowers is that necklace from the auction you loved. I had it flown in from overseas just for you.” He smiled, a perfect picture of devotion. “I hope this is the start of an incredible summer.” Gasps rippled through the crowd. Phones were whipped out to record the fairy-tale moment. Even the local reporters swarmed in, cameras flashing. Through the sea of people, both of them made eye contact with me. They didn’t flinch. They didn’t try to hide. Of course they didn’t. As far as they were concerned, my usefulness had been entirely drained. All they had to do now was wait seven days for my brain to rot and my body to die. I turned away, only to catch sight of Miles standing near the edge of the crowd. He looked sullen, a dark cloud hanging over him. He was like a completely different person. He looked right through me, pretending I didn’t exist. “Move. You’re in my way,” he snarled, shoving past me to push his way toward Harper’s side. Standing there beneath the heavy shade of the oak trees, I felt like the entire world had abandoned me. And yet, I felt like I held the entire world in the palm of my hand. Even if I was entirely isolated, as long as my mind belonged to me, I could walk through fire alone and feel like an army. Before, I had been too focused on my future to deal with them. But now? Now it was my turn to systematically dismantle them. The moment I got in the car, I made the calls. I canceled their supplementary Black Cards. I called the estate manager and had the security codes to the mansion changed, revoking all guest access. “From today on, Tristan is no longer my brother. He is an adopted ward who has continuously crossed the line, and his time under our roof is over,” I ordered coldly over the phone. “Seize every asset currently in his name. Freeze his accounts. If anyone on staff so much as opens a door for him, they’re fired.” That evening, I ate a quiet meal prepared by our private French chef. I drew a bath with rose petals, soaking until the tension melted from my muscles, and then sank into my sprawling bed. When I finally checked my phone, my feed was choked with Harper’s posts. A drone light show. A private yacht party. Photos of absurdly expensive, rare gifts casually tossed on velvet cushions. Her caption read: [Graduation & Adulthood gifts. A magical night.] It really was quite the production. The class group chat was losing its collective mind: [Omg Harper, you kept saying you weren’t a billionaire heiress! This is literally out of a movie.] [I told you guys Harper was different. She’s old money, she just stays humble.] [So jealous. Beautiful, a genius, AND loaded. Did God even give you a flaw?] [Please don’t forget us little people, Harper! Let me work for you someday!] And of course, they couldn’t praise her without dragging me down. [Where is Blair? Didn’t she always hate Harper for taking first place? Why so quiet now?] [Lmao, she probably bombed the exams and is too ashamed to show her face. People who just grind textbooks can never beat real talent.] [That broke loser is probably scrubbing dishes at some diner right now to pay for community college tuition.] I scrolled past the malice without a flicker of emotion. My attention was solely focused on a text message I had received half an hour ago from the manager of the Four Seasons. [Miss Prescott, the young master arrived with a young lady and requested the Presidential Suite along with our highest-tier service package. However, his cards are declining. He asked us to put it on your tab. Do you authorize this?] I almost threw up. You want to sleep with her, and you want me to pay for the room? The sheer audacity. I held down the microphone button and replied. “What young master? There is only one heir to the Prescott family, and that is me. If this stranger wants to play pretend billionaire but doesn’t have the cash, tell him to take out a payday loan.”

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On the night of my birthday, my husband—who worked as a contractor for a highly classified defense intelligence agency—sent me a Zelle transfer for $5,000. [Baby, an emergency came up at the agency. I’m stuck working late. I am so sorry I can’t be there to celebrate with you.] The notification glowed on my screen. And in that exact moment, I was standing in the shadowed alcove of my own corporate building’s lobby, watching him walk through the revolving glass doors. His arm was wrapped tightly around his adopted sister. “This is the last time I’m giving in to you,” I heard him murmur, his voice echoing faintly against the marble walls. “Next year, no matter what, I’m spending her birthday with her.” Madison, his adopted sister, leaned into his side with a breathy, saccharine laugh, holding up a sleek, silver box of ultra-thin condoms. “Our very first time was in your company’s executive boardroom,” she whispered, tracing his jawline. “It’s only poetic that our last time happens in the exact same place.” My fingers tightened around my paper coffee cup until the cardboard buckled. The iced latte inside suddenly felt like battery acid in my veins. Pulling out my phone, I drafted an emergency email to my executive team, excluding only Madison, who officially worked in our marketing department. [Urgent: The client has moved up the contract signing. All department heads, meet in the main executive boardroom in twenty minutes.] If they wanted a thrill, I thought, my heart beating a slow, hollow rhythm against my ribs. If they wanted a show. I was about to give them a finale they would never, ever forget. … [Hey, Dave? Can you remotely access the dome camera in the main executive boardroom from the backend?] [Yes, exactly. I want to make sure we capture this historic signing on tape. Great, just route the live feed to my phone, please.] Hanging up, I opened the security application on my phone, my fingers trembling so badly I almost dropped the device. The live feed buffered, then snapped into crisp, high-definition color. The exact spot where Harry and Madison were currently writhing against each other was dead center of the massive mahogany conference table. Right beneath the unblinking eye of the camera. “Harry,” Madison purred, her voice tinny but clear through the audio feed. “What do you think Caroline would do if she knew… that every single year, the birthday lingerie you buy her is something I’ve already broken in for you?” She arched her back, and the camera caught the unmistakable scalloped edges of a black La Perla set. “Do you think she’d thank me for test-driving it?” Recognizing the delicate lace—the exact brand and style Harry gifted me every single birthday—a scalding heat flooded my eyes. My stomach pitched violently, the world tilting on its axis as bile rose hot and sharp in the back of my throat. I had to brace my hand against the cold plaster wall just to stay upright. We had been married for six years. And for six years, on every single birthday, he had found an excuse to be absent. I had always given him the benefit of the doubt. His work in defense intelligence was strictly confidential; he couldn’t control his hours. Or so I thought. I couldn’t have imagined, even in my darkest nightmares, that every time I sat alone in our dimly lit dining room, blowing out my candles and wishing for a long, happy life with my husband… he was locked inside my company’s boardroom with his adopted sister, desecrating every vow we had ever made. A frigid draft swept through the corridor, making me shiver uncontrollably. “Ms. Brooks?” I jumped, turning to see my executive assistant standing a few feet away, accompanied by a small camera crew. “The PR team and the corporate videographer are here,” she said, oblivious to the earthquake happening inside my chest. “With this live stream, our shareholders and the public will see us finalize the strategic partnership with Carmichael Industries in real time. It’s going to be a massive PR win for our stock.” I forced the corners of my mouth up into a smile, taking the bottle of water she offered to wash the bitter taste from my mouth. “Keep the camera discrete for now,” I instructed, my voice eerily calm. “We go live in fifteen seconds. And no matter what happens in that room, the stream does not cut. Understood?” With the stage set, I led my team toward the private executive elevators to wait for our VIPs: Harry’s father, Arthur Cole (a major shareholder); my own father, Richard Brooks; and our billionaire client, Victor Carmichael. When the elevator doors chimed and slid open, I plastered on my best professional warmth. “Dad, Victor. Right this way.” But as we stepped off the elevator and approached the boardroom wing, the pristine hallway told a different story. A pale blue women’s blazer lay crumpled on the carpet. Without missing a beat, I bent down, picking it up and draping it over my arm. A few steps later, two five-inch Louboutin stilettos lay violently discarded near the wall. And hanging off the heavy brass handle of the boardroom door? A single, sheer black stocking. As I feigned shock, clumsily trying to gather the trail of discarded clothes, the three older men stopped dead in their tracks. They looked at the messy bundle in my arms, then at me—dressed impeccably in my tailored trousers and silk blouse. Victor Carmichael cleared his throat, an uncomfortable, amused smile playing on his lips. “Well. Making your employees work on a Friday night is a bit draconian, Caroline. I hope us old men aren’t interrupting some young executives blowing off steam?” By now, the rest of my staff had arrived via the main elevators, congregating behind us in the corridor. I forced a tight, embarrassed laugh, shaking my head. I pressed my hand flat against the heavy double doors of the boardroom and pushed with all my might. “Let’s see what kind of scandal we’re walking into, shall we?” But before the door could swing fully open, someone shoved it back from the inside. Harry slipped through the narrow gap, his tie entirely gone, his dress shirt misbuttoned and untucked. His face, flushed a deep, feverish red, drained of all color the second he saw the crowd. “Dad? M-Mr. Brooks?” he stammered, his eyes darting wildly. “Isn’t it… isn’t today Friday? What are you all doing here?” Then, his gaze dropped to the shredded black stocking in my hand. He looked past me, realizing there were nearly fifty employees standing in the hallway, phones buzzing, whispers erupting. In a display of sheer, unadulterated audacity, Harry stepped forward and pulled me into a tight embrace, his hands gripping my waist like a vice. “Caroline, honey,” he said, his voice dripping with forced affection. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a meeting?” He ducked his head, pressing his mouth so close to my ear I could smell the sweat and sex on his skin. “Everyone is looking,” he hissed, his tone desperate. “Play along. It’s not what you think. I will explain everything later.” Feeling the frantic thud of his heart against my chest, a wave of profound physical revulsion washed over me. I shoved hard against his chest, breaking the embrace. “I apologize, gentlemen. How unprofessional of us,” I said loudly, projecting my voice. “Dad, Arthur, why don’t you take Victor to the VIP lounge for a few minutes? I’ll have maintenance clear the room, and we will begin the signing in five minutes.” Harry let out a breath he’d been holding, his shoulders dropping in relief. But the relief made him cocky. Instantly, his tone shifted from pleading to patronizing. “Caroline, what has gotten into you?” he scolded, playing the role of the rational husband. “You can’t make Victor wait. Doesn’t this floor have that smaller conference room down the hall? Let’s just use that one for tonight.” He shot a panicked, meaningful look at his father. Arthur Cole, a man who had built his fortune on reading between the lines and burying bodies, caught the look immediately. “Yes, exactly,” Arthur chimed in smoothly, stepping forward. “Harry is right. The small room will do just fine.” He practically bowed as he reached out to shake Victor’s hand. “My apologies, Victor. You know how disorganized the younger generation can be. Let’s head this way.” He was trying to herd everyone away. He wanted to clear the hallway so Madison—who was undoubtedly still trapped inside the main boardroom, naked and terrified—could make her escape. Not a chance in hell. “Arthur,” I said, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. “I can forgive Harry for not knowing the layout of our office, considering he doesn’t work here. But surely you know better.” I gestured to the sea of employees behind me. “The small boardroom holds twenty people. There are over fifty department heads and staff members here. Are we supposed to have them stand in the hallway during a multi-million-dollar merger?” I turned to Harry, a sweet, poisoned smile on my face. “Honestly, Harry. I work a late shift, change into something comfortable, and ask you to put my clothes away when you drop by to visit… and you just leave them scattered in the hall? You’re giving everyone the wrong idea.” I linked my arm through Victor Carmichael’s. “Victor, let’s head inside. I promised my team triple overtime for this sudden Friday night pivot. If I delay them any longer, I’m going to have a mutiny on my hands.” As the crowd surged forward toward the main doors, Harry threw his body in front of the handle, his eyes wild with terror. “Caroline, please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Just listen to me. Use the other room. Please.” My father, Richard, wasn’t an idiot. Watching my sudden, icy demeanor and Harry’s manic desperation, the pieces clicked together in his mind. His face darkened into a thundercloud. “Arthur,” my father barked, looking at Harry’s dad. “What the hell is going on in that room that your boy is so terrified of us seeing?” Without waiting for an answer, my father grabbed Harry by the shoulder, shoved him aside, and threw open the boardroom doors. He marched inside, the lights automatically flickering on. “All this sneaking around,” my father boomed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the boy had a woman hidden in—” His voice died in his throat. Right in the center of the polished mahogany table lay a crumpled bra and a torn pair of lace panties. My father didn’t hesitate. He spun around, grabbed Harry by the lapels, and drove his fist straight into Harry’s jaw. The crack echoed through the room as Harry hit the floor. “You son of a bitch!” my dad roared, kicking Harry hard in the ribs. “You actually dared to cheat on my daughter? Who is it? Who’s the whore you’ve got in here?” My dad pointed a shaking finger at the pile of clothes I had collected. “I knew the second the elevator doors opened. That blazer, those heels—Caroline wouldn’t be caught dead in that trashy garbage!” He reached for his jacket buttons, ready to drop down and beat Harry into a pulp, but Arthur grabbed him, pulling him back. “Richard, wait! Don’t do this here!” Arthur pleaded. Harry scrambled backward, blood dripping from his lip. He grabbed the underwear off the table and blindly reached under a nearby chair, pulling out a pink Victoria’s Secret shopping bag. “Dad! Mr. Brooks, you’ve got it all wrong!” Harry cried, his voice shrill. “It’s a gift! I bought it for Caroline for her birthday! It just… it fell out of the bag, and I hadn’t picked it up yet!” He looked up at me, his eyes begging me to throw him a lifeline. “Tell them, Caroline. Tell them! Haven’t I bought you a set just like this every year for the past six years?” The sheer, breathtaking cowardice of the man I married made my skin crawl. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. I calmly walked over, took the crumpled lace from his shaking hands, and dropped it into the nearest trash can, along with the heels and the blazer. “Dad, stop. He’s telling the truth,” I lied smoothly. I instructed the bewildered staff to take their seats. As they filed in, I let my eyes sweep the massive room. I was hunting. Madison had to be completely naked right now. The room was sleek, modern, minimal. The only place big enough to hide a human body was under the massive oak table. But when Harry had dropped to the floor to grab the bag, I had already checked the sightlines beneath the chairs. Nothing. There was only one other place. In the far corner of the room sat our industrial-grade architectural plotter and printer—a machine the size of a small car, with a massive hollow storage chassis at the bottom meant for spare toner and oversized paper rolls. To test my theory, I casually walked toward the corner, pretending to examine the thermostat on the wall near the printer. Instantly, a cold sweat broke out on Harry’s forehead. He lunged out of his chair, grabbing my elbow with a bruising grip. “Caroline,” he said rapidly, his eyes dilated. “Did you get the Venmo I sent you? The five thousand dollars?” “What money?” I asked, playing dumb and reaching for my phone. He snatched my hand away. “Never mind. Just… look at it later. Let’s get through this meeting, and then I’m taking you out. You wanted to go to that rooftop restaurant to see the fireworks, right? We’ll go tonight. Just the two of us.” I forced a smile, looking deeply into his panicked eyes. “Okay.” I was certain now. Madison was curled up inside the belly of that printer. I turned back to the table and signaled for my assistant to pause. “Victor, I am so sorry,” I announced loudly. “There is a glaring typo on page four of the financial disclosures. It’s an unacceptable oversight by my team, and it will be dealt with.” I looked at my assistant. “I need ten minutes. Have someone print a fresh, corrected copy of the contract right now. Use the machine in the corner.” “No!” The shout came from both Harry and his father simultaneously. No? I thought, a cold, dead calm settling over my heart. I don’t think you get a say in this anymore. I knew Arthur. I knew he had recognized Madison’s blazer in the hallway. I knew he had put the pieces together. The only reason he was playing along, pretending this was just a misunderstanding, was because he assumed I would protect the family’s reputation. He assumed I was a good, compliant wife who would rather swallow glass than cause a public scandal. What neither of them understood was that beneath my polished exterior, I was uncompromising. If you crossed my bottom line, I would burn the earth to ash to make you pay. I shot a subtle, loaded look at my father. He read my face instantly. “Victor, don’t worry,” my dad stepped in, his voice booming with authority. “We will have the corrected documents in your hands in less than ten minutes.” Arthur stepped forward, his face pale and sweating. “Is that the only printer in the building?” he snapped at my assistant. “Go use the one in marketing! You’re going to disturb Victor with that loud machine in here.” Arthur frantically poured a glass of water, offering it to Victor with a shaky hand. “Kids these days, Victor. No sense of decorum. Forgive them.” My assistant froze, looking at me for direction. My father leaned back in his leather chair, crossing his arms. He looked at Arthur with a predatory smirk. “Arthur, why are you sweating? It’s just a printer.” I tilted my head, adopting a look of innocent confusion. “Honestly, Harry, you and your dad are acting so bizarrely tonight. Is there something you’re hiding from me?” I crossed my arms, subtly angling my body so the videographer’s camera had a clear, unobstructed shot of the machine. “Are you really hiding a woman in here, like my dad said?” I teased, walking in a slow circle around the room. “But where would she be? The room is practically empty.” I stopped directly in front of the massive printer, staring at the ventilation grates on the lower housing. “It’s not like she could fit inside the paper tray, right?” Arthur’s face turned a sickly shade of gray. Harry held his hands up, his voice cracking with hysteria. “I swear to God, Caroline, I haven’t betrayed you! You’re taking this joke too far! Victor is our most important client, you’re being incredibly disrespectful!” He was still trying to gaslight me. He was still banking on my obedience. If Arthur and Harry were so determined to bury their heads in the sand, I was going to force their hand. Madison had two choices. One: She could push the hatch open, crawl out completely naked in front of fifty people and a live-streaming camera, and admit to the world that she had been sleeping with her adoptive brother. Two: She could stay inside the machine. And when the massive industrial gears and rollers fired up, she could see how much pressure human bone could take. I stared into Arthur’s eyes, entirely deadpan. “Three minutes have passed,” I said coldly. “Victor has a nine o’clock flight back to New York.”

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Ever since the Kensingtons’ biological daughter returned to the estate, she made it her mission to orchestrate my downfall. First, it was the jewelry her parents bought her—mysteriously lost, then miraculously discovered in my bedroom. Then, it was the severe allergic reaction to the luxury skincare I had given her. She would stand there, her face inflamed, whispering that she had no intention of stealing my boyfriends, begging me to stop trying to ruin her face. And finally, it culminated in this: she deliberately sliced her own arm with a letter opener, sank to her knees, pale and trembling, and accused me of trying to kill her. She demanded that our parents make a choice. Only one daughter could stay. I was exhausted by the relentless, chaotic noise of it all. If my adoptive parents were too paralyzed by optics to handle this toxic girl, then fine. I would simply get new parents. After all, the mayor of my biological family’s hometown had already promised that the second I came home, they would commission a bronze plaque in the town square just for me. 1 “Mom, Dad, why are you always taking her side? I’m your actual flesh and blood!” Mia clutched the bleeding cut on her forearm, her face a mask of absolute tragedy. The accusation in her eyes was heavy, suffocating. Richard and Caroline Kensington stared at the blood seeping through Mia’s fingers. Deep creases formed between my adoptive parents’ brows, but their lips remained pressed in a tight, helpless line. I was the one who finally broke the silence. I calmly bent down, picked up the silver letter opener from the Persian rug, and held it out to her. Mia instantly scrambled backward, her eyes widening in manufactured terror. “Blair, what are you doing?! Are you trying to stab me again? Do you think just because Mom and Dad favor you, you can get away with murder?” I looked at her the way one might look at a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe. “Obviously,” I said, a slow, provocative smile spreading across my face. “If they didn’t favor the daughter they actually raised, why would they favor a latecomer like you?” The hatred in Mia’s eyes darkened, turning venomous. I just smiled. Go ahead and hate me, I thought. There was a distinct, sharp pleasure in watching her seethe—despising me, yet entirely powerless to defeat me. Mia had hated me from the moment she discovered she was the true Kensington heiress. She had taken a Greyhound bus straight to our gated driveway in Connecticut, demanded a DNA test, and shattered the reality I had known for eighteen years. It happened on the exact same day I had brought home the first-place trophy for the National Math Olympiad. Richard and Caroline had initially dismissed her as a con artist. It took police intervention for them to finally agree to the test. The results confirmed it. She was the real Kensington. I, of course, was the imposter. But they didn’t send me away. The investigation revealed it was a hospital clerical error—a exhausted nurse, two swapped bassinets in the dead of night. No malice, no kidnapping. I was innocent. More importantly, I was exceptional. I was the masterpiece Richard and Caroline had meticulously curated for eighteen years. I was their pride, their flawless investment. They were entirely unwilling to give me up. Especially not when I had just secured an early-admission full ride to MIT. If they sent me packing, my future glory would no longer belong to the Kensington name. From that moment on, Mia’s hatred for me solidified into an obsession. My parents, to their credit, were drowning in guilt. They felt they had failed Mia, horrified that they hadn’t even possessed the parental instinct to recognize their own child. In the beginning, they desperately tried to overcompensate. Their logic was simple: if a girl with absolutely no Kensington blood could be molded into a genius under their roof, then their actualbiological daughter would surely be extraordinary. But the longer they lived with Mia, the more they had to swallow a bitter pill. Mia possessed a certain cunning, a street-level manipulative streak, but absolutely no vision. Even her attempts to frame me were painfully amateurish. High society was already whispering about the return of the lost Kensington heiress. Expectations were sky-high. My parents were living in a constant state of low-grade panic, practically hiding Mia from the country club circuit. It was like holding a worthless, plunging stock while everyone around you congratulated you on a windfall; they couldn’t explain the truth without dying of embarrassment. So, they begged me to keep the peace. To tolerate her. To ensure no humiliating scandals leaked out of the estate. But my patience had officially expired. 2 Mia’s first attempt to frame me involved a custom gold Cartier Love bracelet. Caroline had taken her shopping and bought it as a welcome gift. Mia treated it like the Holy Grail. She had clearly never owned anything of real value before. Consequently, she made a point of casually dragging her wrist across my line of sight at every conceivable opportunity. She had noticed I rarely wore jewelry around the house, and in her mind, that equated to my parents neglecting me. When I completely ignored her glittering wrist, my message was clear: I don’t care about your jewelry, get out of my space. But Mia misread the room. She thought I was masking my crushing jealousy. She had no idea that I had an entire velvet-lined vault of similar pieces—birthday and Christmas gifts accumulated over eighteen years from my parents and grandparents. So, when she rushed down the mahogany staircase the next morning, sobbing that her bracelet had vanished, Richard and Caroline froze. “Mom, Dad,” Mia wept, her eyes shimmering with perfectly timed tears. “That bracelet was the first real gift you ever gave me. I—I can’t bear that it’s gone. Could you please help me find it?” My parents exchanged a grim look. I simply leaned against the marble kitchen island, crossing my arms, ready for the show. After they had torn through Mia’s bedroom and found nothing, she quietly suggested they search Marta’s quarters. Marta, our housekeeper, was visibly stunned. “Mr. and Mrs. Kensington,” she stammered, her hands trembling against her apron. “I have worked in this house for fifteen years. I practically raised Blair. I would never steal from this family!” Besides the sheer insult of the accusation, Marta wore a thick, solid gold bangle of her own on her wrist. My parents paid her an exorbitant salary, and her family had just sold a massive plot of real estate in Queens. She didn’t need to steal Mia’s trinket. I stepped up, my voice cutting through the tension like glass. “Mia, Marta wouldn’t touch your bracelet. You were practically shoving it in my face all day yesterday. I highly suggest you trace your own steps before you start accusing the people who keep this house running.” Mia’s lower lip quivered. “Blair, why are you so defensive? Is it because Mom and Dad bought me gold and didn’t buy you anything? I just want my bracelet back. It doesn’t mean they love me more than you. You really don’t need to be so insecure.” I stared at her. Insecure? Where on earth was she getting this script? Marta, refusing to let me take the heat, swallowed her pride. Though her face was tight with humiliation, she agreed to let Mia search her room. I rested a hand on Marta’s shoulder, my voice softening. “Don’t let it get to you, Marta. When summer break hits, I’m taking you on a vacation to Europe. Just you and me.” Marta let out a breathless, appreciative laugh. “Thank you, sweetheart.” Mia’s jaw clenched. She had likely never heard of an employer taking a housekeeper on a luxury vacation. But in our world, loyalty was rewarded. Predictably, Mia found nothing in Marta’s quarters. But she accomplished one thing: Marta would never look at her with an ounce of warmth again. “Did you find what you were looking for, miss?” Marta asked, her voice entirely devoid of emotion. Mia rubbed her red eyes. “I guess it isn’t in here…” “Apologize to Marta,” Richard ordered, his voice echoing like a whip crack down the hallway. Mia bit her lip, looking at my father as if he had just slapped her. Marta, despising Mia but refusing to let my father lose face, started to wave it off. Before she could, I spoke up. “Marta, on behalf of my little sister, I apologize. When we go abroad, you can pick out whatever you want. My treat.” Marta smiled warmly. “You’re too good to me, Blair.” Mia looked like she was choking on ash. Her entire goal had been to assert dominance, to remind Marta who the realblood of the house was. But Marta gave me everything she possessed, and gave Mia nothing. In Mia’s mind, because she was the biological daughter, the staff should instinctively bow to her. She just couldn’t comprehend why the world wasn’t rearranging itself to fit her narrative. “Blair, why do you constantly undermine me?” Mia asked later, catching me in the hall. “I just wanted to check her room. You didn’t need to buy her affection just to humiliate me. I know Marta favors you, and she hates me. But like I said, I’m just here to join the family. I never wanted to steal Mom and Dad’s love from you. Why don’t you just give the bracelet back?” I blinked. Oh. So that was the endgame. Smear the housekeeper, and when that failed, pivot the accusation to me. I almost admired the sheer audacity of it. I couldn’t wait to see how she planned to pull this off. 3 Marta had been present for Mia’s accusation. She immediately turned to my parents, appalled. “Mr. Kensington, Mrs. Kensington, I swear to you, I treat both girls exactly the same! The only difference in this house is that Mrs. Kensington designed a highly specific, nutrient-dense meal plan for Blair to support her late-night studying. Those supplements aren’t suited for Mia’s dietary needs, so I cook for them separately. That is all!” Caroline closed her eyes, rubbing her temples. “Marta is right. That was my doing. Marta treats you both fairly. Mia, please stop this nonsense. I’ll have a nutritionist draft a new menu for you tomorrow.” I raised an eyebrow. Given Mia’s absolute reliance on processed junk food and heavy meats, a Kensington-approved organic nutritional plan was going to be her own personal hell. A tear slipped down Mia’s cheek, splashing onto the floor. “Mom, I know you don’t believe me. Marta wouldn’t know any better, maybe she just doesn’t know Blair’s true character. Blair, I know you stared at my bracelet all day. It means the world to me. Please, just give it back.” I let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “It might mean the world to you, but it’s utterly useless to me. What would I even do with it?” My private academy strictly prohibited flashy jewelry. All my pieces were locked in the velvet display cases in my walk-in. Mia’s crying escalated into a theatrical, breathless sob. Out of everything she had brought into this house, her weeping was what I despised most. She cried as if the universe owed her a cosmic debt. “Blair, please! Just let me look in your room. Mom, Dad, I’m begging you. That bracelet is everything to me.” But this time, Richard didn’t indulge her. “It is a piece of metal, Mia,” he snapped, his voice hard. “Your mother will take you to Fifth Avenue tomorrow and buy you two more. The Kensingtons do not tear each other apart over pocket change.” But Mia was relentless. “Dad, to you it’s just money. To me, it’s a symbol of your love! I can’t just replace it. And I don’t want to waste your money when I haven’t earned it. Please, let me check. If it’s not in Blair’s room, I will get on my knees and apologize, and I’ll never bring it up again.” Richard’s frown deepened. He had raised me. He knew the architecture of my character. Furthermore, he deeply despised people who fixated on trivial amounts of money. To him, Mia’s hyper-fixation on a single bracelet was aggressively lower-class. I stood off to the side, enjoying the theater. I wanted to see how far she would push it. She turned her tear-streaked face to me. “Blair, I know Mom and Dad adore you. You shouldn’t disappoint them like this. Or… are you refusing to let me search because the bracelet is already in there?” I almost laughed out loud. “What are you afraid of, Blair? Why won’t you let me look? Are you guilty?” Mia pushed, stepping closer. I let a lazy smile touch my lips. I was one hundred percent certain she had already planted the bracelet in my room. “Fine,” I said smoothly. “Mom, Dad, since she’s so desperate to see my room, let her.” I pushed open my bedroom door and gestured inside, playing the gracious host. My parents looked sick with stress, but Mia was entirely oblivious. She had been dying to get inside my bedroom since she arrived. The moment she had moved in, she had demanded the primary suite, but my parents had firmly placed her in a guest wing. She stepped inside, her eyes darting over the silk drapes and original artwork. Then, she spotted the discreet paneled door leading to my walk-in closet. She pushed it open, and I watched the color drain completely from her face. The closet was practically a boutique. Rows of current-season designer garments, handbags that cost more than a luxury car, and an illuminated glass display island in the center. Every single item in that room could have bought her precious bracelet ten times over. And as for the bracelet itself? She stared through the glass case and saw an identical Cartier Love bracelet resting on a velvet pillow. Except, she knew the one she had planted was hidden somewhere else entirely.

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After Betty gave birth, the charade finally dropped. She stopped hiding it, brazenly bringing other men into our marital bed. When I caught her, there wasn’t a flicker of shame in her eyes. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe, a mocking smirk playing on her lips, utterly unburdened by guilt. “The baby is already born, Cole. What exactly are you going to threaten me with this time?” The friends lingering in the hallway all turned their eyes to me, holding their breath, waiting for the explosive, glass-shattering meltdown I used to have. But this time, I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw anything. I just walked past her with a terrifying calm, scooped my infant daughter into my arms, and walked out of the room. From that day on, I became the flawless, invisible husband she had always dreamed of. When the paparazzi came sniffing around her affairs, I quietly paid them off. When she got into screaming matches with her boy toys, I handled the fallout. It wasn’t until our daughter’s one-month milestone that one of her lovers grew bold enough to show up at the house, demanding my place. Betty finally let out a cruel, melodic laugh, joining the others in watching me like I was the punchline to a joke. “Well,” she taunted, eyes gleaming. “How is my perfect, magnanimous husband going to play the saint this time?” I didn’t feel a spark of anger. I just turned, gently placed the baby into her arms, and looked at her. “Consider this child the final payment for the life you saved all those years ago. We’re done.” … 1 The air in the living room turned dead and heavy. Under Betty’s dark, suffocating glare, I kept my voice perfectly level, reciting the baby’s schedule like a machine. “Don’t give her more than two ounces per feeding. She needs to eat every three hours. Make sure her head is elevated above her chest when she takes the bottle…” Betty stared at me, her eyes like chipped ice. Suddenly, she let out a sharp, derisive scoff. “I thought your little silent treatment this past month meant you’d finally wrapped your head around how things work,” she drawled, the disdain dripping from every syllable. “But you’re just playing games again. Cole, do you honestly think this child will just stop breathing without her biological father hovering over her?” She took a step closer. “Let me make this clear. If you walk out that door, there is a line of men waiting to be her father.” Her cold voice echoed through the vaulted ceilings of the estate. In the periphery, the housekeeping staff lowered their eyes, shooting me looks of profound, agonizing pity. I just forced a tight, empty smile. I was used to it. It was exactly like the first time I discovered her infidelity. I had fallen apart, weeping and tearing at my own hair, while she watched me with the detached curiosity of someone observing a bug on the pavement. She had crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Stop throwing a tantrum, Cole. Making a scene isn’t going to end well for you.” I hadn’t believed her. I had cornered her, begging, demanding she cut ties with the other man. Instead, Betty simply packed a bag, took her lover to the Amalfi Coast, and didn’t come home for three months. Her family, irritated by my “disruption,” instantly froze my credit cards and cut my allowance. The friends I thought I had made in their circle stopped returning my calls. Even the staff began to look right through me, openly smirking at my pathetic isolation. In the end, I was the one who had to crawl back, begging her to return. She hadn’t lifted a finger, yet she had won a total, crushing victory. That was why, today, she felt invincible. “You’ve gotten too comfortable playing house, Cole,” she sneered, closing the distance between us until I could smell the expensive gin on her breath. It made the blood drain from my face. “You forget exactly what you are.” “You should be on your knees thanking me,” she whispered venomously. “If it wasn’t for me, my mother would never have paid for your mother’s hospital bills. She would have died in the gutter, instead of getting eight extra years of life.” The words hit me like a physical blow. My knees gave out, and I sank into the velvet armchair. The baby was thrust back into my arms. Satisfied that she had put me back in my place, Betty reached out and affectionately patted my pale cheek. “As long as you know your place and stay quiet,” she murmured, a wicked smile playing on her lips, “you’ll always be the master of this house.” With that, she turned, looped her arm around the waist of her newest acquisition—a twenty-something aspiring model named Tristan—and swaggered right into our master bedroom. The head housekeeper, Maria, tentatively stepped forward, wringing her hands. “Mr. Cole, please… why provoke her? She gives you whatever money you need. Isn’t that enough? After all, you only married into this family because…” She stopped, a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, unable to finish the sentence. But I knew exactly what she meant. I was a charity case. A husband bought and paid for. When I was thirteen, my father left us for another woman, throwing my mother and me out onto the street in the middle of a torrential downpour. We had nothing. My mother was critically ill, her liver failing, teetering on the edge of death. I was reduced to kneeling on the pavement in the wealthiest district of the city, holding a cardboard sign, begging for change. That was when Betty appeared. She stepped out of a black town car like an angel bathed in halogen streetlights. She brought us home. She used to ruffle my hair, protective and fierce, like an older sister. But as I grew older, things twisted. Her mother, Constance, was obsessed with high-society astrologers. One of them read my birth chart and declared that my “grounding energy” was the only thing that could tame Betty’s chaotic, destructive nature. Constance wrote a massive check, chased away the man Betty actually loved, and practically forced her to marry me. From the moment the ring slipped onto my finger, the way Betty looked at me changed forever. I became the enemy. The parasite. The lovers became a revolving door, and no matter how much I shattered, no matter how much I screamed, Betty remained untouched. “Isn’t this what you begged for?” she would mock. “You sold your soul for a paycheck. Don’t act like you have any pride left.” She knew I agreed to the marriage because her mother offered me a million dollars. What she didn’t care to know was that every single cent of that money went straight to the hospital for my mother’s liver transplant. In the end, her body rejected the organ. She died anyway. Perhaps this was God’s way of punishing me for my greed. I had sold myself to save her, and now I was left behind—a ghost haunting a mansion, neither fully alive nor allowed to die. 2 Maybe there really is a telepathic link between a father and his child. Without any warning, Harper began to wail. Despite all my efforts—bouncing, shushing, rocking—her cries only grew more frantic, piercing the suffocating silence of the house. Heavy, impatient footsteps stomped down the grand staircase. Tristan appeared, wrapped in nothing but my monogrammed bathrobe, glaring at me with unfiltered disgust. “Do you really hate seeing me happy that much, man?” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “Pinching the baby just to make her cry and ruin our mood? I mean, I get that you hate me, but that’s your own flesh and blood. That’s sick.” I froze. A wave of profound, violating humiliation crashed over me. For the ten months Betty was pregnant, I was the one cooking her meals, tracking her vitals, and ensuring she took every vitamin. Since Harper was born, she hadn’t left my sight for more than an hour. No one in this godforsaken world loved that little girl more than I did. I didn’t have the energy to engage with Tristan’s manufactured drama. I held Harper tighter to my chest and turned to walk toward the nursery. But Tristan lunged forward, his hands aggressively grabbing at the bundle in my arms. “You don’t even deserve to be a father!” he spat. His movements were rough. Harper let out a terrifying, jagged shriek. My heart violently seized in my chest, a physical pain so sharp I couldn’t breathe. The blood roared in my ears. Acting purely on instinct, I shoved Tristan hard in the chest. He let out an exaggerated yelp and tumbled backward onto the marble floor. “Cole! What the hell are you doing! Tristan is sick!” Betty came storming down the stairs, a vision of absolute fury. She immediately threw herself between me and a perfectly fine, though pale-looking, Tristan. Tristan began to cough dramatically, looking up at her with wide, wounded eyes. “Betty, the baby wouldn’t stop crying… I just wanted to help him. But he just attacked me. I don’t know what I did wrong. It feels like… like everything I do is wrong to him.” His voice trembled with practiced vulnerability. Betty didn’t even look at me. She didn’t ask for an explanation. Her face darkened into a mask of pure rage as she marched up to me and grabbed for Harper. I swallowed the agony clawing at my throat. “Just… be careful. Don’t hurt her. I’ll give her to you.” Over the raspy, exhausted cries of my daughter, Betty pulled a wad of cash from her pocket and threw it at my chest. The bills fluttered to the floor. “Go to the bakery downtown. Get a cake. Consider it your apology to Tristan.” Harper’s tiny hands flailed in the air, reaching toward me, as if begging me not to leave her in the arms of strangers. Betty ignored my bloodshot eyes and barked, “Move! Now!” Tristan, now holding my daughter, smirked at me over Betty’s shoulder. He looked like a conqueror holding up his spoils. “Take your time, man. I’ll take great care of the baby for you.” Harper’s helpless cries drilled into my temples like a physical spike. I looked at Tristan, my heart bleeding out onto the floor. I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. Fighting the dizziness threatening to drop me, I turned and practically ran out the door. I pushed the car to its limit, tearing through the streets to the bakery. I bought the cake and raced back, the whole trip taking less than thirty minutes. The moment I pushed the heavy oak front doors open, a heavy, dead silence greeted me. My stomach plummeted. I dropped the cake box and sprinted toward the nursery, my legs clumsy with panic. Tristan was just walking out. When he saw me, a flash of genuine guilt crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with a bright, plastic smile. He bent down, picked up the dropped cake box, and called out toward the sweeping staircase. “Babe! He’s back with the cake!” I ignored him, rushing to the crib. Harper was lying perfectly still, her eyes closed. I let out a shaky breath of relief. But a second later, the relief evaporated. Her skin was flushed an unnatural red. Her chest was barely moving. She looked incredibly uncomfortable, yet she wasn’t waking up. Panic seized my throat. I gently shook her shoulders. I called her name. I tapped her feet. Nothing. She didn’t make a sound. 3 Despair fell over me like a suffocating, leaden net. “Harper!” My scream tore through the silence of the mansion, raw and primal. I bolted out of the nursery like a cornered animal. I tackled Tristan to the floor, my hands immediately finding his throat. “What did you do to my daughter?!” I roared, my vision going red. “What did you do?!” Tristan’s face turned purple, his eyes bulging, but a sick, malicious glint remained in them. “The little brat… wouldn’t shut up,” he choked out. “Just gave her… a little melatonin… some sleeping drops…” The world went pitch black. The roaring in my ears sounded like the shrieking of demons. The pressure in my hands intensified infinitely. Tristan’s desperate gasps began to fade out. Suddenly, a massive force slammed into my back, ripping me away from him. Betty threw the heavy brass table lamp she had used to hit me aside. She dropped to her knees, frantically pulling Tristan into her arms, screaming at me. “Are you insane?! You almost killed him!” I pushed myself up off the floor, blood dripping down the back of my neck. Tears streamed down my face as I screamed until my vocal cords tore. “He deserves to die! He drugged Harper! He gave an infant sleeping pills! He tried to kill her!” Betty froze. A flicker of genuine terror crossed her eyes, and she scrambled to get up and run to the nursery. But Tristan weakly grabbed the hem of her silk shirt. “I just gave her a tiny, tiny drop,” he wheezed, panic bleeding into his voice. “I swear, I asked my holistic doctor, he said it was completely natural, completely fine! He’s just using this as an excuse to hurt me!” He looked at me, the very real fear of death still trembling in his limbs. “If he hates me this much, I’ll just leave! But I don’t deserve to be murdered!” He descended into a fit of violent coughing, his body shaking like a fragile leaf in a storm. Betty stared down at the dark, bruised handprints blooming around Tristan’s throat. The silence stretched out for an agonizing five seconds. Then, she stood up, her eyes hard and empty as they locked onto mine. “Get over here and apologize to him.” I stared at her. The sheer absurdity of the demand sent a jagged, tearing pain straight through my chest, slicing me open from collarbone to stomach. “She is your daughter,” I whispered, the betrayal suffocating me. “Is her life really worth less than the ego of the man you’re screwing?” Betty looked away. She couldn’t meet my swollen, tear-filled eyes. “All I know is that you just tried to commit murder in my house,” she said, her voice devoid of any warmth. “Apologize. Now.” Waves of dizziness washed over me. I turned my back on her, walked into the nursery, and carefully scooped Harper’s limp body into my arms. Betty didn’t try to stop me as I walked toward the front door, but her voice chased me down the hall, dripping with venom. “If you walk out that door, Cole, don’t you ever come back!” She said it the way one might shoo away a stray dog lingering by the trash cans. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered except my daughter. When I finally reached the ER, they pumped Harper’s stomach. She was going to be fine, but the attending pediatrician looked at me with a mixture of disgust and concern. “Who gives an infant adult sleep aids?” the doctor hissed, her clipboard pressed tightly to her chest. “This is beyond negligence. People lose custody for less than this. You need to be far more careful.” The reprimand felt like acid on my skin. I lowered my head, overwhelmed by shame and a crushing, protective heartbreak. I didn’t go back to the mansion that night. I would never go back. I refused to let Harper grow up in that toxic, soulless snake pit. The next morning, I returned to the estate alone. Betty wasn’t pacing the floors worrying about her baby. Instead, the house was filled with people. She had invited her inner circle over for an impromptu brunch to celebrate Tristan’s birthday. I didn’t acknowledge a single one of them. I walked straight up the stairs, pulled out a suitcase, and began indiscriminately shoving my clothes and documents into it. Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my wrist. Betty yanked me around, her eyes flashing with irritation. “What kind of tantrum are you throwing this early in the morning? Where is the baby?” I ripped my arm out of her grip. “You are never touching her again.” Before she could explode, I looked her dead in the eye and delivered the blow. “I’m done, Betty. I want a divorce.” 4 The bedroom fell into a deathly silence. Some of the guests had wandered up to the doorway to watch the drama unfold. When Betty finally processed my words, she looked at me like I was delusional. “Are you really going to drag this out?” she snapped. “Why can’t you just let things be?” The peanut gallery behind her immediately chimed in. “Come on, man. It’s Tristan’s birthday. Don’t ruin the vibe with this dramatic nonsense.” “You guys just had a baby. You need to take responsibility. You can’t just break up a family over some petty jealousy.” “Exactly. Why air your dirty laundry? Just make peace and get over it.” Voice after voice piled onto me, twisting the narrative until I was the villain. I knew how they saw me. Ever since I signed that prenup and moved into her house, I was the joke of their socialite circle. Gold-digger. Charity case. The help. They had called me every name in the book behind my back, and sometimes right to my face. But I was no longer the broken, desperate teenager they remembered. Their words couldn’t make me bleed anymore. “I am completely serious about the divorce,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Harper is a girl, which means your mother won’t care about her inheriting the family name anyway. Let’s just end this quietly.” I turned away, carefully picking up the heavy, sealed ceramic urn resting on my dresser—the ashes of my mother. I held it tight to my chest and walked toward the door. Betty frowned, stepping into my path and gripping my arm. Before she could speak, one of Tristan’s friends let out a dramatic gasp, pointing a manicured finger at the urn in my hands. “Oh my god! No wonder Tristan’s been having panic attacks all week! You’re keeping some sick, dark-energy voodoo stuff in the house to hex him!” The buzzing in my ears returned. I stared at the man, utterly bewildered. The rest of the crowd looked equally confused until Tristan pushed his way to the front, his face pale and sweating. He looked terrified. “I’ve been feeling so sick lately,” Tristan babbled, clutching his chest. “Nauseous, heart palpitations. I even hired an energy healer from LA. She told me… she told me someone brought an object tied to death into the house to drain my life force!” Tristan’s lips trembled. He looked at me with wide, tear-filled eyes. “If you hate me that much, Cole, I’ll pack my bags right now. But please, don’t put a curse on me! Don’t kill me!” And with that, he dramatically dropped to his knees in front of me, sobbing, playing the victim with Oscar-worthy precision. The room erupted. The disdain from the crowd turned into righteous fury. “You’re an absolute psychopath, Cole! What kind of sick freak does that?” “Throw his ass out! He’s deranged!” I shook off Betty’s grip, my chest heaving. “Are you all completely brain-dead? This is my mother’s urn! It’s her ashes, not some Hollywood hex! You’d have to be lobotomized to believe a word coming out of his mouth!” A few people in the crowd visibly flushed, stepping back awkwardly. But someone still muttered, “Well, liars love to deflect, don’t they?” The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. I was so profoundly disgusted by these people I couldn’t bear to breathe the same air. I tried to push past them, but Betty lunged forward. In a flash of movement, she ripped the urn from my hands. Alarm bells shrieked in my brain. I reached out, my voice cracking with desperation. “Give it back! Give her back to me!” Betty shoved me back, her eyes full of profound disappointment. She looked down at the urn, trying to pry the lid off, but the seal held tight. Tristan’s friend sneered. “If you can’t open it, smash it! Let’s see what kind of sick stuff he’s hiding in there!” My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I thought it would break them. “Please,” I choked out, a sob finally breaking my voice. “Please. Just give the urn back.” Scattered laughter echoed around the room. “Wow, great acting. Truly.” Betty looked like she was considering just dropping it on the hardwood. But her eyes flicked up, catching the raw, naked terror and tears streaming down my face. She hesitated. For two seconds, humanity almost won. Then she straightened her spine, her voice plunging to sub-zero temperatures. “If you want this back, you will apologize to Tristan. And you will mean it. Or I will flush whatever is in here down the master bathroom toilet.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. I stared at Betty, my eyes completely bloodshot, memorizing the cruel lines of her face. Without a single moment of hesitation, surrounded by the sneers and mocking whispers of the ultra-rich, I turned to Tristan and bowed at the waist, folding myself in half. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have bullied you. I shouldn’t have put my hands on you. Please, forgive me.” The room held its breath. For the thirty agonizing seconds I stayed bent over, I felt my dignity being peeled from my bones and trampled into the floorboards. Finally, Tristan let out a soft, triumphant chuckle and placed a hand on my shoulder, urging me up. “I forgive you, man. Water under the bridge.” Betty’s expression softened. She let out an exasperated sigh and held the urn out toward me. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Just don’t let it happen again, I expect—” “AH!” Tristan suddenly shrieked, clutching his chest. His knees buckled, and he collapsed forward, slamming directly into Betty’s outstretched arm. The urn was knocked from her hands. Time slowed down. It hit the floor with a catastrophic CRASH, shattering into a hundred jagged pieces. The pale gray dust of my mother’s remains exploded across the hardwood floor, settling over their designer shoes.

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At our engagement party—an event three years in the making—I stood in the center of a gilded ballroom and let my fiancée’s personal aide humiliate me in front of New York’s entire social elite. “Mr. Beaumont, your sincerity is still lacking,” Dominic said, his voice carrying across the silent room with practiced condescension. “I think Madeline needs another three years to be sure of you.” He pulled a document from his breast pocket, sliding it across the linen tablecloth. It was a supplemental prenuptial agreement, just like the ones he’d forced on me before. This time, I didn’t reach for it. I turned my gaze toward Madeline. She was swaying slightly, a half-empty martini glass in her hand, her eyes glassy from the champagne. “Is this your doing again?” I asked quietly. Madeline laughed, a sharp, brittle sound. “I didn’t tell him to write it, Harry. But honestly? I think Dominic is right. He’s only looking out for me.” She leaned into him then, letting him steady her. She looked at him with a trust she had never once afforded me. “He would never hurt me,” she whispered, almost to herself. I looked at her—really looked at her—and the indifference in her eyes was like a physical blow. I felt a strange, hysterical laugh bubbling up in my chest. I had been the devoted fool for five years. I had waited by the phone, built her a throne, and let her walk all over me. I guess the “nice guy” really does finish last. Fine. If she didn’t want the devoted partner, she could deal with the heir to the Beaumont fortune instead. 1 “Harry! Snap out of it and sign the damn paper.” Dominic’s smirk was predatory. He spoke to me with the authority of a man who thought he owned the room. To anyone watching, you’d think I owed him a kingdom. I picked up the agreement, crumpled it into a tight ball, and threw it directly into his face. “Know your place,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous low. Dominic’s face turned a mottled purple, but I didn’t give him a chance to speak. I looked back at Madeline. “I waited three years for you. Three years of long-distance calls and empty promises. And this is the result? You let your glorified manservant pull this shit at our engagement?” The room was suffocatingly quiet. Every guest was leaning in, waiting for her to defend me. Instead, Madeline rolled her eyes. “Dominic has been with my family since he was ten. He spent the last three years in London helping me build my firm. He’s my right hand, Harry.” She took a sip of her drink, looking bored. “He’s just being protective. It’s just another three years. Why are you acting so dramatic?” A murmur went through the crowd. Another three years. Then another. How many years did she think I had to waste? A sharp, stabbing pain flared in my chest, radiating outward until my fingers felt numb. I could still hear her voice from three years ago, echoing in my mind. “Harry, wait for me. The second I get back, we’re getting married.” “Dominic is just difficult, I know he almost got you killed, but I’ll keep him in line while we’re abroad.” She hadn’t kept any of those promises. If anything, she had become his enabler. When I met her at JFK this morning, I had been vibrating with excitement. I ran toward her, reaching out for a hug I’d been dreaming of for a thousand days. Dominic had stepped between us, his arm a cold barrier. “The Lady of the House has a reputation to uphold now, Mr. Beaumont. We must be mindful of the press.” Then, he’d added with a sneer, “And please, if you want to touch her, you’ll need to sanitize. Travel germs, you understand.” Madeline hadn’t said a word. She’d just nodded, checking her reflection in a compact. Later, while I was in the restroom, Dominic took the keys to my car and drove her away before I even came back out. When I confronted her, Madeline just sighed. “He’s protected me since we were kids. He does it for my own good. Why are you so petty, Harry? Don’t ruin the party before it even starts.” I had swallowed my pride for the sake of the engagement. I had endured the snubs, the coldness, the arrogance. And now, this. Dominic’s anger faded into a triumphant grin. He puffed out his chest. “If you won’t sign, it just proves you don’t love her enough. You know, there’s a line of billionaires from here to Hong Kong waiting for a chance with her.” He thought he could keep pushing. He thought I would break, that I would sign that humiliating contract just to keep a scrap of her attention. I didn’t. Slap. The sound of my hand hitting his face echoed like a gunshot. “And you’re in that line too, aren’t you?” I asked, my voice ice-cold. “That’s why you’re sabotaging this.” “You hit me?” Dominic gasped. His fists clenched, his jaw working as if he wanted to tear me apart right there. Bang! Madeline slammed her glass onto the table and stood up. She reached into her clutch and pulled out a small, sleek pistol, leveling it directly at the bridge of my nose. “That’s enough!” she screamed. “Hitting Dominic is the same as hitting me! Apologize to him. Now!” The entire ballroom held its breath. 2 Dominic smirked, waiting for me to crumble. But I just looked at the barrel of the gun and started to laugh. “Go ahead. Pull the trigger. Let the world know you murdered your fiancé at your engagement party over a staff member’s bruised ego.” Madeline’s hand trembled. Slowly, she lowered the weapon. “You know Dominic only says these things because he cares about my future. But hitting him… you went too far, Harry. Apologize.” She was issuing orders like a queen, her voice cold and distant. This wasn’t the woman I’d fallen in love with. She had lost every ounce of tenderness, replaced by a ruthless, misplaced arrogance. “Apologize?” I repeated. “Have you forgotten he owes me his life?” I looked around the room, making sure everyone heard me. “Three years ago, he picked a fight with the wrong people in a club. He got you cornered in a warehouse, Madeline. I was the one who went in. I took eight stab wounds for the both of you.” I turned back to Dominic. “Or how about the time you ‘accidentally’ mixed mango nectar into my drink when you knew I was deathly allergic? I went into anaphylactic shock. My heart stopped for two minutes.” The guests began to whisper, their eyes shifting toward Dominic with newfound disgust. Those were just the big things. The daily life with him was a thousand tiny cuts—my laptop smashed, my research data “lost,” my client list leaked after he had “too much to drink.” Seeing the tide turn, Dominic immediately shifted gears. He snatched the gun from Madeline’s hand and pressed it to his own temple. “Don’t blame Miss Madeline!” he cried, his voice theatrical. “I’ll take responsibility. You want my life? Fine! I’ll give it back to you!” I saw the flicker of guilt in Madeline’s eyes vanish, replaced by frantic concern. She lunged for his hand, then turned on me, her face contorted with rage. “Are you happy now? Bringing up ancient history just to drive him to this? Do you want him dead?” My heart felt like it was turning to stone. Dominic wasn’t finished. He grabbed a steak knife from the table and drove the tip into the palm of his own hand. “There,” he hissed, blood beginning to pool on the white cloth. “We’re even, Mr. Beaumont. Now sign the paper.” Madeline let out a choked sob. She tore a strip of fabric from her designer gown and began wrapping his hand, her eyes burning as she looked at me. “Look at what you’ve become, Harry. You’re so vindictive. So irrational! Why can’t you be more like Dominic? Why can’t you think about what I need?” She looked at me like I was a monster. But I hadn’t said a word to provoke him. They were the ones holding the knife and the gun. They were the ones pushing me into a corner. Had I not given enough? I had stopped eating my favorite foods because she didn’t like the smell. I had spent my weekends cooking her favorite meals, driving through rainstorms to deliver forgotten files to her office, and spending three years in a digital relationship, surviving on five-minute phone calls. Was that not “sincere” enough? “Alright, alright, let’s calm down,” a family friend tried to interject. “It’s a celebration, let’s not do this.” Madeline wouldn’t let it go. “No. He’s out of control. Harry, apologize to Dominic right now, or don’t even think about marrying into this family. I won’t have you thinking you can overrule me.” I looked at her, and the absurdity of it all finally hit me. The woman I had worshipped was a stranger. “Talk to me!” she shouted. “He’s bleeding, Harry! Is a simple apology that hard for you?” 3 I’d heard those words before. Three years ago, when I was the one bleeding out from eight stab wounds, Madeline had screamed those exact words at Dominic. Now, she was using them as a weapon against me. When I remained silent, her face flushed with fury. She grabbed a crystal wine glass and hurled it at my head. “Apologize! Or we’re done! I’ll ruin you!” The glass shattered against my forehead. I felt the warm trail of blood begin to slide down my face, dripping off the tip of my nose. The room went dead silent. Madeline froze, the realization of what she’d done finally hitting her. She bit her lip, looking down at her hands. “Madeline,” Dominic whispered, his eyes gleaming with hidden satisfaction despite his act. “Forget it. It’s my fault. I’ll apologize to Mr. Beaumont. I shouldn’t have caused a scene.” He was a fox. He knew exactly how to play the martyr to make me look like the villain. “You’re so much more mature than he is,” Madeline murmured. She looked at me, her expression softening just a fraction, though her voice remained haughty. “Harry, you know how I am. If I’m happy, everything is fine. Just say you’re sorry so we can move on.” I knew how she was. I’d spent five years catering to her every whim just to keep her smiling. But what about me? When did my happiness ever enter the equation? I took a deep breath, wiping the blood from my eye. “It’s him or me, Madeline. Choose. Right now.” The last of her guilt vanished. Her face hardened into a mask of pure, regal disdain. “Harry Beaumont! You won’t sign, you won’t apologize, and now you’re giving me ultimatums? Fine. Go be alone then!” She grabbed Dominic’s arm and turned toward the exit. Dominic looked back over his shoulder at me. He didn’t hide the smirk this time. He had won. I watched her back as she walked away, the white train of her dress sweeping through the blood on the floor. “As of today,” I said, my voice projecting through the hall, “Madeline Victor and I are nothing. It’s over.” She paused for a second, her shoulders tensing, but she didn’t look back. The room erupted into chaos as the guests were ushered out. “Sir.” The hotel manager hurried toward me, dabbing at my forehead with a silk handkerchief while handing me a ringing phone. “Your father is on the line.” I took the phone. “I heard the engagement is off?” my father asked. His voice was deep, devoid of the warmth he usually reserved for family. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m done.” My voice was surprisingly steady. For the first time in five years, I felt at peace. “You loved that girl like your life depended on it,” my father said sternly. “Are you sure? Because the moment you walk away, I’m pulling the Beaumont infrastructure. She will lose every advantage we gave her.” He paused. “I’ll give you one night to think. If you walk away, there is no going back. You don’t chase, and you don’t crawl. Do you understand?” He hung up. I couldn’t blame him for being skeptical. I had spent years being Madeline’s shadow, letting myself be diminished so she could shine. I shook my head, clearing the lingering fog of her perfume. I told the manager to keep the kitchen open. I sat down at one of the empty tables and invited the staff to join me. If the food was paid for, someone should enjoy it. A few hours later, the doors swung open. Madeline’s father, Arthur Victor, rushed in, still wearing his hospital wristband and a thin patient’s gown under his coat. I thought he’d come to apologize for his daughter. I was wrong. “Harry! Have you lost your mind?” he screamed before he even reached the table. “Three years! You waited three years, what’s another three? Is my daughter not worth the wait?” I took a slow sip of my scotch. “Is that really what you think this is about, Arthur?” 4 “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Arthur barked. “Everyone in this city knows what’s going on,” I said, a cold smile touching my lips. “Except, apparently, the Victors.” The hotel manager, who was sitting nearby, chimed in. “That Dominic is a glorified assistant. How does he get off barking orders at a Beaumont?” The waitstaff nodded in agreement. “Miss Victor protects him like he’s the one wearing the ring,” one of the servers muttered. “Three years and another three? She’s playing him for a fool.” “Everything is ‘for her own good’ when Dominic says it, but God forbid Harry asks for a shred of respect.” Arthur’s face turned bright red. He looked at the staff, then back at me, his lip curling. “Harry! I am your future father-in-law! You’re going to let these servants talk to me like this?” He slammed his hand on the table. “So what if there was a little drama? You’re going to throw away a five-year relationship over a bruised ego? You’re being incredibly small-minded. You’re embarrassing us.” Like father, like daughter. The arrogance was genetic. “Did you ever consider my embarrassment?” I asked. “What embarrassment? You get to marry my daughter! Isn’t that enough? If you loved her, if you were actually sincere, you’d wait ten years if she asked.” Arthur huffed, straightening his coat. “I’m setting up a press conference for tomorrow morning. You’re going to apologize. You’ll say you had too much to drink and the stress got to you.” He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a hiss. “Don’t let the ‘Mr. Beaumont’ talk go to your head. You’re only a prince because we allow you to be in our circle.” Over the last three years, as the Victor firm grew—largely due to my family’s silent backing—Arthur had started to believe his own hype. He truly thought they had built their empire on their own. “Show him out,” I said, not even looking at him. Arthur sputtered, threatening me with everything from lawsuits to social exile, but I ignored him. My security team physically removed him from the premises. I had planned to stay at the hotel, but then a text came through from Madeline. I’m sorry. I messed up. Come home. Let’s talk, please? My heart gave a traitorous little thump. A tiny spark of hope—the last ember of five years of devotion—flickered to life. I rushed back to our shared penthouse, my mind racing with ways we could fix this. But as I stepped through the front door, the apartment was quiet, save for a low, muffled voice coming from the master bedroom. “Dominic, stop… don’t…” I froze. I crept toward the door, my blood turning to ice. I peered through the crack in the doorframe. Dominic was on the bed, his arms wrapped tightly around a half-dressed Madeline. “Madeline,” he groaned, his voice thick with a hunger that made my stomach turn. “You told me you loved my body. You said I made Harry look like a boy. Touch me.” He pulled her hand down his torso. “You said you’d give me one wish. I want you. Now.” He leaned in and kissed her. Madeline made a weak, half-hearted attempt to push him away, a soft protest that died in her throat as she melted into him. I felt a sharp, agonizing pain in my chest, followed by a terrifying cold. I pulled out my phone, recorded thirty seconds of the scene, and then turned around and walked out of the apartment. The cold New York rain lashed against my face as I stood on the sidewalk. I lit a cigarette, my hands shaking, and called my father. “Dad. I’m sure. She isn’t worth it.” Maybe he heard the tremor in my voice. Maybe he knew exactly what I’d found. He didn’t ask questions. “What do you want to do?” “The Victors only exist because I built them a foundation,” I said, my voice hardening. “I want to be the one to tear it down.” My father’s response was immediate. “Consider it done.” The orders were sent out that night. Every Beaumont-backed resource, every silent partner, every line of credit—gone. Anyone who did business with the Victors was now an enemy of the Beaumonts. My father also mentioned he was sending over an associate to help me manage the transition. The next morning, Madeline woke up feeling hollow, the adrenaline of the night before replaced by a sickening sense of dread.

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