1 Camera flashes blinded me as I lifted the microphone. There he was. The man I had been married to for five years, standing right in front of me, though he only saw another nameless entertainment reporter. I stared at the script glowing on my phone screen and forced myself to ask the cruelest question imaginable. “How are things progressing with your new leading lady, William?” He took his girlfriend’s hand, lifting it high for the sea of flashing lenses to catch the sparkle of their rings. “Everything is perfect. Is that the headline you wanted?” A sick joke. He had to remember the truth. The custom band catching the light wasn’t just set with crushed diamonds. It was set with my ashes. My fingers trembled so violently I nearly dropped the microphone. It had only been ten days since the old “me” died. My body hadn’t even gone completely cold before the ring holding my cremated remains was slipped onto another woman’s finger. Yes, I came back. I woke up in the body of a journalist I had never met in my life. A girl who had drowned, only to breathe again with my soul trapped inside her ribs. We shared nothing in common, except perhaps the shape of our eyes. I looked at my former husband, Hollywood’s current golden boy, William. Then I looked at the flawlessly styled actress glowing beside him, Serena. My stomach pitched into a violent roll. Sickening. It was enough to make me want to vomit right on the red carpet. Serena’s face was the picture of pure, unfiltered bliss. She probably had absolutely no idea she was wearing a dead woman’s remains like a shiny little trophy. I could not even finish the questions on my phone. My vision blurred. The glitz and glamour around me suddenly smelled like rotting flowers. Ignoring the weird looks from the camera crews, I shoved my way through the crowd and sprinted to the restroom. I gripped the edge of the porcelain sink, gasping for air. The cold water splashing against my face was a sharp reminder that I was actually alive. I was no longer the dying woman from my past life. I wasn’t trapped in a sterile clinic halfway across the world, staring blankly at the ceiling with my head shaved, completely numb from the painkillers, waiting to become a lifeless shell. That was when I finally understood. William’s frozen heart would never beat for me again. I was just fixing my makeup when the restroom door swung open. I recognized her instantly. Serena. The exact catalyst that finally pushed me to sign those divorce papers. I still remembered my last birthday. The first notification that popped up on my phone wasn’t a sweet message from my husband. It was a trending gossip alert. William and Serena officially confirm their relationship. That was the exact day I planned to tell him I was leaving the country to get treatment for stomach cancer. He never came home that night. “Are you okay? You looked really pale out there.” Serena tilted her head, her big eyes swimming with fake concern. I wasn’t used to this polite version of her. Then again, I was no longer the annoying wife standing in her way. I wasn’t the woman she once sneered at, telling me the unloved one was the real homewrecker. I shook my head, pretending to casually admire her hand. “That is a gorgeous ring. Custom pieces like that must take forever to make, right?” Of course it was gorgeous. I designed it myself. “Oh, I know! William said it took him ages to get it perfect. He gave it to me the day before yesterday and just held my hand, staring at it for the longest time.” Serena giggled, radiating sugary sweetness. I almost laughed out loud. I shouldn’t have asked. Knowing the truth just made the nausea worse. So William hired a jeweler to forge my ashes into a ring on the exact day of my memorial service, and then gifted it to his mistress the very next morning. I really wanted to crack his skull open and see what kind of twisted garbage was rotting inside his brain. Giving your dead ex-wife’s ashes to your new girlfriend. Talk about out with the old, in with the new. I blew the red carpet assignment. My boss cornered me in the office, threatening to fire me if I messed up the next exclusive. And of course, the folder he tossed on my desk had William’s face on it. It was supposed to be an intimate lifestyle feature, so the interview was scheduled at his private estate. The house that used to be my home. I stood on the porch, feeling completely hollow. It had only been a couple of weeks, yet I was standing at my own front door as an absolute stranger. Before I could even knock, the door swung open. It wasn’t the Hollywood star greeting the press. It was Serena. “Oh, it’s you! The reporter from the premiere. William didn’t even tell me he had a press junket today. I’ll just head out and leave you guys to it.” Her casual ownership of the space snapped me back to reality. I was not the lady of the house anymore. I had absolutely zero connection to this property. William jogged into the foyer holding a whisk. For years I had begged him to learn how to cook with me, and he always refused. Turns out, he just needed a different woman to ask him. I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth, lowered my head, and followed my camera crew inside. Nothing had changed. The decor was exactly the same. Some of my old trinkets were still sitting on the shelves. I honestly thought he would have burned everything. He burned all the handwritten letters and gifts I left him on the day of my funeral, after all. The interview was a disaster. William kept staring directly at me, but his eyes were completely out of focus. He was looking through me. By the eighth time I had to fake a cough to snap him out of his trance, I lost my patience. “William, if you could just cooperate with the questions, we can wrap this up and get out of your hair.” He blinked hard, like a man waking up from a heavy sleep, and rubbed the back of his neck. He always did that when he felt awkward. “Sorry. It is just… you look a lot like someone I used to know, Miss…” He trailed off. Right. My new name. “Cici,” I supplied smoothly. “My colleagues say I look a bit like Serena from certain angles. You must be missing your girlfriend already. Let’s speed this up so you can get back to her.” The lighting guys chuckled. She had only been gone for an hour. I expected him to laugh it off and play the part of the smitten boyfriend, but he just stared at me again until the silence in the room became painfully loud. Did his brain cells die in the last ten days? Seeing him jump right back to filming movies on day four after my death, and doing couple reality shows by day five, I genuinely thought the man was a sociopath. The final segment was a rapid-fire Q&A. A real struggle for someone who spent her entire past life as a jewelry designer, not a journalist. “Fans notice you keep a lot of vintage decor. Would you say you are someone who holds onto the past?” William shook his head without missing a beat. “No. Dwelling on the past is a waste of time. You get tired of looking at old things eventually. I just haven’t gotten around to throwing them out.” So that was why he burned the memory box I left him. He was making room for his bright new future. After we signed the divorce papers, I immediately booked a one-way ticket to a clinic in Switzerland. Not because they had better doctors, but because I just wanted to run as far away as possible. My private nurse was a sweet older lady who read too many romance novels. She used to hold my hand and tell me that men in books always realized their true feelings once they saw the tragic final letters their wives left behind. I was stupid enough to believe her. I thought I could weaponize my own death, wrapping it in a thick layer of guilt to serve as my ultimate revenge. During my final days, I forced my decaying body to sit up. I wrote exactly one hundred letters. I printed hundreds of photos. I drained my savings to craft a dozen pieces of custom jewelry. I packed it all into a heavy wooden trunk and shipped it back to Los Angeles. I thought he would break down. I thought he would sob over our ruined history. It was the most pathetic thing I ever did. When my soul was untethered from my body, I immediately drifted back to William. I waited for the devastation. Instead, he answered the phone call from the clinic with a chillingly flat, “Got it.” Over a thousand days of marriage. I thought my death would hit him like a hurricane, but his eyes didn’t even ripple. Romance novels are built on lies. Why would a man who spent months sleeping in another woman’s bed feel any guilt at all? I haunted him for seven days. His routine was so mind-numbingly normal it felt like a sick prank. Day one. William received my death certificate in the mail. He skimmed it, shoved it into a drawer, and booked a first-class flight to Switzerland. Day two. He signed the hospital release forms, picked out a generic headstone, and flew back with my urn. Day three. He hosted the funeral. Barely anyone showed up. Day four. He went straight back to the film set. That night, he hit a VIP club, got trashed, and held Serena in his lap, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Day five. He filmed a cheesy couples’ challenge for a reality show. My urn sat completely ignored behind the locked door of my old bedroom. Day six. The heavy wooden trunk I shipped arrived at his gate. He spent exactly thirty minutes flipping through my life’s final work. He did not shed a single tear. Day seven. He hired a private jeweler to crack open the urn and set my ashes into a pair of rings. And that wooden trunk? He dragged it out to Malibu. He lit a bonfire on the beach and watched my final, desperate fragments of love burn to cinders. I would have preferred him laughing at my pathetic attempt at closure. Anything would have been better than that terrifying, blank apathy. He looked at those letters like they belonged to a stranger he couldn’t wait to forget. Maybe he was just tired. He acted for a living, and he could not even be bothered to fake a sad face for a dead woman. As a weightless spirit, I could not even cry. I just hovered over the flames, watching the agonizing effort of my final dying weeks turn into dirty gray smoke. The crackling fire mocked my ridiculous delusions. I actually thought a man who stopped loving me years ago would suddenly magically care. That was the day Vivian, the celebrated jewelry designer and Hollywood’s best-kept secret wife, truly ceased to exist. And that was the day Cici’s life began. The sun was starting to set when the interview finally wrapped. I stood up and stretched my stiff shoulders. I never realized holding a basic conversation with him was this exhausting. I had a secondary motive for coming here today. I needed to steal back my old design sketches. Back when I thought I was dying, I abandoned all my portfolios in his study. Now that I was alive and broke, I needed my intellectual property back. During the B-roll house tour, I spotted them shoved into a dusty corner of his office, crumpled and neglected like actual trash. Thank god they survived the Malibu bonfire. “I noticed a stack of design sketches in your study,” I casually mentioned as the crew packed up. “I actually have a friend in the industry looking for vintage concepts. Would you be willing to sell them?” Since I was less than nothing to him, the papers had to be worthless. “Those?” William replied, his voice terrifyingly soft. “They are not for sale.” A punch straight to the gut. Why would an A-list actor hoard crumpled jewelry sketches? He had zero use for them. While my brain scrambled for a counteroffer, William stepped closer. “Do you really want them?” I nodded quickly, putting on my most innocent, eager expression. William closed the distance between us. He leaned in, his dark eyes tracing the lines of my face with a disturbing intensity. He looked like a man making a very dangerous gamble. “I will give them to you for free. Under one condition.” He paused, his gaze dropping to my lips. “I want you to stay by my side. As a body double.” A body double? For who? My feet glued themselves to the hardwood floor. My eyes went wide with sheer panic. Before I could even process the absurdity, his hand clamped down on my wrist. He dragged me down the hallway and stopped dead in front of a very familiar door. My old bedroom. The one he had kept locked. William shoved the door open. He pointed a shaking finger at a massive portrait of me hanging over the bed. The next words out of his mouth made me seriously question my own sanity. “Play her. Pretend to be her, and I will give you whatever you want.” He wanted me to play the role of my dead self, just so I could get my own sketches back?

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Ten days after I lost the baby, my mother somehow found out. She packed her bags overnight and endured a grueling forty hour bus ride across the country, traveling over a thousand miles from the Blue Ridge Mountains all the way to New York City. Thunder rumbled outside the penthouse windows. A violent storm was swallowing the Northeast. After the doctor noted my severe depressive tendencies, Alistair grounded me inside our home. I was completely forbidden from leaving the apartment. I had no choice but to ask him to pick up my mother from the station. A few moments after I sent the text, a single, lonely “.” popped up on my screen. I could not remember when it started, but our text thread had devolved into my one sided paragraphs met with his single punctuation marks. A period meant agreement. He would do it. A question mark meant opposition. A flat rejection. Although he was icy and distant, Alistair was always a man of his word. He handled things efficiently. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, practicing my smile, praying my mother would not notice the hollow look in my eyes. I just wanted our family to be together. But right before lunch, Alistair walked through the front door. Alone. 1 “Where is my mother?” I gripped the edge of the dining table. A sharp cramp twisted through my lower abdomen. I had overestimated my own emotional resilience and entirely underestimated the physical toll of losing a child. I did not even have the energy to be angry. He froze, genuinely startled by my question. As if suddenly remembering something trivial, he pulled his phone from his tailored slacks and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I apologize. I will have Harry go pick her up right now.” “I had a highly classified board meeting today. I asked Valerie to handle my personal errands.” “She was the one replying to your messages. There must have been a miscommunication in the schedule.” It was impossible to describe how I felt in that exact second. Beneath the swirling hurricane of emotions, only one word remained. Humiliation. I always believed that the cracks in a marriage should be handled privately between a husband and wife. Now, my desperate, ignored pleas for affection were being managed by his secretary. The shame magnified a hundred times over, making me want to scream and sob. I could not even focus on the fact that he casually referred to picking up my mother as a “personal errand.” “You are my husband. She is just your assistant. How could you let her text your wife on your behalf?” “This is our family business. She is an outsider. I do not want her involved in our…” I could not finish the sentence. Because Alistair looked right at me and said, “Since when is she an outsider?” “Were you not thrilled with the flowers and gifts she picked out for our anniversary?” His words made my ears ring with a deafening screech. It felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to the back of my skull. My vision fractured into sharp flashes of black and white. So for the past two years, every ounce of romance and tenderness I thought came from my husband was actually orchestrated by another woman. “Alistair, if I had known those gifts were not from you, I never would have accepted them.” “What is the difference? The flowers were bought. The gifts were delivered.” “Of course there is a difference! I thought you actually cared about me.” My voice trembled uncontrollably. My fingernails dug deep into my palms, but the pain felt muted, like it belonged to someone else. “Of course I care about you.” His tone was laced with heavy exhaustion. “You are my wife. I want to spend my days with you too.” He stepped forward and pulled me into his chest. His large hand gently rubbed circles into my spine. Through the thin fabric of my loungewear, his body heat bled into my skin. My body surrendered before my logic could stop it. My shoulders sagged, and I melted into his embrace. It felt exactly like a person falling off a cliff finally being caught. He pressed a kiss to my forehead. His warm breath brushed against the shell of my ear. “But if I asked you to be my executive assistant, would you even understand the financial reports?” The room plunged into a suffocating silence. He was right. I would not understand them. Compared to Valerie, a woman groomed from birth with an elite Ivy League education, my background was a joke. I was a high school dropout. A girl who gutted fish at the docks. I could never sit at his polished mahogany tables. Realizing his words had cut too deep, his brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to fix it. He was usually a man of impeccable manners and restraint. He hated making people uncomfortable. Pursuing a working class girl like me was probably the only reckless, out of character thing he had ever done in his entire life. Before he could speak, the heavy oak door was pushed open. A vicious gust of wind and rain howled into the foyer. My mother stood dripping wet on the marble floor. 2 “Gem, what is going on here?” Her silver hair was plastered to her skull by the freezing rain. Her thin, worn jacket was splattered with street mud, clinging tightly to her frail frame. Her hearing was not great. Years of working near loud factory machinery had taken its toll. She must not have heard him. I prayed she did not hear him. Forcing back the burning tears threatening to spill, I rushed over and pulled her inside. “Mom, I told you I wanted to go with Alistair to pick you up. He refused to let me out of the house.” She stared deeply into my eyes for a long time before letting out a breath of relief, a soft smile touching her lips. “He is just worried about your health, sweetie. You should listen to him.” “I know, Mom. We are doing great.” “We really are.” Alistair reached out and gently supported her arm. “Lunch is already prepared. I will have Martha show you to a guest room so you can freshen up. My mother is on her way as well. We will all eat together.” He deflected the tension perfectly, sealing the cracks without missing a beat. Just like nothing had ever happened. I had spent the entire morning preparing lunch. I made a batch of savory, rustic meat pies from scratch. Before we moved to the Blue Ridge Mountains, my mother lived in a gritty Pennsylvania steel town for thirty years. It was her favorite comfort food. When Alistair’s mother arrived, Valerie was trailing right behind her, carrying her designer coat and pulling out her chair with natural, practiced intimacy. I swallowed the bitter taste of disgust in my mouth, turned around, and walked to the kitchen to grab the meat pies. The moment I stepped back into the dining room, a chorus of elegant laughter echoed off the walls. “Oh, my goodness! Why are you drinking the finger bowl water? That is so dirty!” My mother froze. The rim of the porcelain bowl clinked sharply against the glass table. Alistair’s mother casually swirled the floating lemon slices in her own crystal bowl. “It is water for washing your hands after the meal.” “But country folks do not know about these little etiquette rules. We cannot blame you.” Valerie smiled sweetly, her eyes curving into crescents as she waved for the housekeeper to take the bowl away. “Please do not take it to heart. One of my colleagues told me a story about her rural relatives visiting the city. They drank the mouthwash thinking it was a cocktail, and they started foaming at the mouth while talking! They terrified themselves to tears. We laughed about it in the office for days.” “I will print out a dining etiquette guide for you later. You will get the hang of it if you study hard.” My mother kept her head bowed. Her narrow shoulders trembled slightly. A few drops of the lemon water had splashed onto her faded trousers. She tried to discreetly wipe it away with her thumb, but it only made the dark stain spread. I walked straight to her chair, picked up the porcelain finger bowl in front of her, and drank the remaining lemon water in one single gulp. My mother’s head snapped up. She grabbed my wrist. “Gem!” Her calloused, ice cold fingers shook against my skin. I squeezed her hand reassuringly and locked eyes with Valerie. “What exactly do you want my mother to study? Care to teach me right now?” Valerie’s smile shattered. She shot a nervous glance at Alistair’s mother before forcing another bright, plastic laugh. “Gemma, sweetie. I was just trying to lighten the mood. I wanted to make her smile.” “Is that so? Why don’t you make me smile, then?” My mother tugged frantically at the hem of my shirt under the table. She abruptly stood up, forcing a wide, apologetic smile at Alistair’s mother. “Please forgive her. Gem has not been feeling well these past few days. She is just a little snappy.” “She gets that temper from me. Please do not hold it against her.” She pulled me gently behind her back. She used her slightly hunched, fragile body as a human shield to protect me from their judgment. 3 I sat back down next to my mother. The housekeeper placed the warm meat pies in front of me. “Why are these filled with vegetables? I specifically made the heavy pork ones.” Alistair’s mother dabbed her lips with a linen napkin. “That heavy grease and salt from the country is a terrible way to nourish the body. It completely violates our family’s dietary standards. I had the private chef prepare organic truffle and scallop tarts instead.” My fingers curled into tight fists. I opened my mouth to fight back. My mother quickly patted the back of my hand. “Sitting on a bumpy bus for forty hours really turns your stomach. Heavy pork would have been too greasy anyway. A light meal is exactly what I needed.” She picked up a small piece of the pale, bland tart with her fork and shoved it into her mouth, chewing with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Delicious. Absolutely delicious.” The rest of the meal tasted like pure ash in my mouth. My father died when I was young. The year he passed, a wealthy local businessman knocked on our door. He offered to support us financially, but only if my mother agreed to become his secret mistress. My mother beat him out of the yard with a broomstick. After that, the local gossip made it impossible for us to stay in town. She packed all our belongings into a single duffel bag and took me from Pennsylvania all the way down to the rural mountains of North Carolina. She begged a local coffee farm owner to let her work the fields. She begged distant relatives to let us sleep in their drafty shed. She begged the high school principal not to expel me when I broke the nose of a bully who insulted our poverty. The year I was supposed to take my college entrance exams, she worked herself into a hospital bed. I juggled studying with taking care of her. When my test scores came back exceptionally high, she tried to drag her sick body out of bed to pick up extra shifts to pay my tuition. The day my university acceptance letter arrived in the mail, I tore it perfectly in half and threw it into the woodstove. The very next morning, I walked down to the local fish market and got a job gutting fish. When she came home from the clinic and saw the burnt corners of the thick envelope in the ashes, she crouched on the kitchen floor and stared at it for a very long time. When Alistair proposed to me, she was terrified his elite family would look down on me. She sold our tiny, worn down house just to scrape together fifty thousand dollars for my dowry. Even though that money could not even buy a single wheel on one of Alistair’s luxury sports cars, she sold her home anyway. The moment my wedding reception ended, she immediately grabbed her bags and headed to the bus station to travel back south. She claimed the farm needed her for the harvest season. But I knew the truth. She was terrified that if the Kensington family saw her rough, calloused hands and heard her thick country accent, they would despise me for my lowborn roots. She was terrified that staying even one extra day would ruin my perfect fairytale. Before she boarded that bus, she shoved her entire life savings into my hands. “Gem, keep this money. Do not let his family treat you like you are worthless.” “I am a useless mother. I could not even afford to send you to college.” “But seeing you this happy… I can finally rest.” And now, she had endured forty hours of pure agony on a rattling bus to make sure I was okay. And I could not even let her eat a slice of her favorite pie. 4 After lunch, Alistair’s mother stood up and left. The suffocating tension in the living room finally eased. The housekeeper walked up to Alistair carrying a plastic bucket. “Sir, how should I dispose of this?” Valerie was walking down the sweeping staircase. She took one look at the bucket and pinched her nose in disgust. “What smells like rotting garbage? Martha, throw that out immediately.” Forty hours sitting upright on a rattling bus was brutal. Despite my mother’s careful protection, a few of the farm fresh eggs she brought had cracked. The yolk had soaked into the protective rice husks, brewing a faint, sour stench in the humid summer heat. My mother panicked and desperately reached into the bucket, trying to salvage the unbroken eggs. She looked terrified and entirely consumed by guilt. “The roads were just too bumpy. I wanted you to have some real, organic farm eggs to help your body heal.” She kept her head down, refusing to meet my eyes. “I didn’t mean to make a mess.” She hurriedly pulled a plastic grocery bag from her worn backpack. “Alistair, I know your work requires a lot of brainpower. I foraged these wild black walnuts from the mountain myself. They are incredibly fresh and sweet. Please, have some.” Valerie laughed brightly. “Walnuts do not actually boost brain function. That is a total myth.” “Besides, this is New York City. We have absolutely everything. We are not lacking anything here.” Wild black walnuts were delicious, but foraging them by hand meant the natural juices stained your skin pitch black. The stains were impossible to wash off for weeks. Alistair glanced at the stained plastic bag, frowned slightly, and subtly stepped backward to avoid her. My mother’s hands froze in midair. The desperate hope in her eyes slowly shattered, fading into a dull, empty gray. She slowly pulled her hands back and nervously wiped her palms against her thighs. “Right. Of course. This is the big city.” “You have everything here. You have everything.” Valerie kept smiling. “Your country accent is so incredibly thick. You really need to speak slower, or Alistair will not understand a word you are saying.” Having delivered her final insult, Valerie hugged a stack of legal folders to her chest and marched upstairs. The living room descended into dead silence. Alistair checked his platinum watch. “It is getting late. I will have the driver take you to your hotel now.” “I had Valerie book a premium hot spring suite for you. You should relax and enjoy yourself.” I snatched the plastic bag of walnuts from my mother’s hands and glared at him. “Why does she have to stay at a hotel? We have empty guest rooms right here.” He looked down at me, his expression perfectly calm and rational. “You just suffered a miscarriage. Are you going to take care of her, or is she going to take care of you?” “Besides, Valerie’s guest room cannot be moved.” “And why exactly is her room off limits?” My mother quickly intervened, waving her hands with a forced, breathless laugh. “A hotel is perfect! I can sleep anywhere. And I have never been to a real hot spring before.” She grabbed her backpack and practically sprinted toward the front door, slipping quickly into the backseat of the waiting luxury car. “Gem.” “I am completely fine. You just take care of yourself.” She forced her spine to stay perfectly rigid as she sat in the car. It was a desperate attempt to prove she was strong. I closed my eyes and fought every instinct screaming at me to get in that car and leave with her. Instead, I stayed behind and carefully picked the unbroken eggs out of the trash. By the time I remembered the bag of wild walnuts, someone had already tossed them into the garbage bin. I knelt on the cold kitchen floor and dug the plastic bag out of the trash. The handles were tied together in a frantic, impossibly tight knot. Terrified that the bumpy roads would ruin them, my mother had tied four dead knots to keep them safe. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was my mother. “Gem, do not throw a tantrum at Alistair. I am really okay.” “If he does not want to eat the walnuts, do not force him. Please, do not start a fight with your husband because of me.” I wiped the coffee grounds off the outside of the plastic bag, ripped it open, grabbed a handful of the crushed walnuts, and shoved them into my mouth. Tears streamed down my face like a broken dam. 5 The salty tears mixed with the earthy walnuts, creating a bitter, suffocating paste in my mouth. It was not even walnut season. How long did she spend wandering the mountains to find these? How many hours did she spend smashing the hard shells open with a hammer? How long did it take to peel the bitter skin off every single piece? I forced my throat to open, pitching my voice an octave higher so she would not hear the violent sobs wrecking my chest. “Mom, he loved them. He just ate a whole handful.” “Oh, thank god. That is wonderful.” “I am just getting old and useless. My brain does not work right anymore. You need Alistair to protect you now.” “Do not fight with him. Do not make me worry about you, okay?” “I know, Mom. Get some sleep. I will come pick you up first thing in the morning.” After hanging up the phone, I grabbed the plastic bag and slowly walked upstairs. In the study, Alistair was leaning over a desk, reviewing documents with Valerie. Catching sight of my bloodshot, swollen eyes, Alistair frowned. He held up a hand, signaling Valerie to stop talking. He walked over and pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, offering it to me. “I know Valerie’s scheduling had a slight hiccup today, but you finally got to see your mother. There is no reason to keep throwing a temper tantrum.” He actually thought I was crying because I was jealous of Valerie. He could not even comprehend that I was weeping for my mother’s shattered dignity. Alistair was a man who lived his entire life saying ‘no’ to people. He had no concept of what it felt like to have your entire heart ripped out and casually tossed into the garbage. Or maybe he just did not care. “Gemma, sweetie. I admit I made a mistake today, and I hope you will not hold a grudge against my boss.” “I promise I will go to the hotel first thing tomorrow and personally apologize to your mother. Can you forgive me?” I shook my head. “No. I do not forgive you.” Alistair’s face instantly darkened. He stared at me critically for a few seconds before gesturing for Valerie to leave the room. “I understand your emotions are unstable right now.” “But you have no right to humiliate Valerie like that.” “You are Mrs. Kensington now. You are no longer that…” I heard the unspoken words echoing loudly in the silence. “I should no longer act like a petty, uneducated fishmonger. Is that what you mean?” He stiffened, but he did not deny it. After a long, agonizing silence, looking at the towering man standing in front of me, I finally asked the question burning a hole in my chest. “Alistair. Do you regret marrying me?” 6 The story of Alistair and I was painfully simple. It was the classic tale of Cinderella finding a cursed frog prince. I did not care that he was temporarily paralyzed in a wheelchair. He did not care that I constantly smelled like gutted fish. We met. We understood each other’s pain. We fell madly in love. We truly believed we were two halves of a whole soul. But then the frog turned back into a prince. He reclaimed his rightful place as the heir to the Kensington empire. His legs fully healed. Ignoring the vicious objections of his entire aristocratic family, he married me. In fairy tales, the wedding is the final page. It is the happily ever after. But outside of the fairy tale, real life kept moving. The flawless, impenetrable mask Alistair always wore finally cracked. He reached out and gripped my shoulders tightly. Before he could speak, his phone rang. The moment he saw the caller ID, a flash of genuine panic crossed his eyes. A woman’s voice spilled through the speaker. She was speaking rapid French, her tone slurred and dripping with intoxication. “Alistair… I made a mistake. I really made a mistake. I regret running away from the wedding.” Alistair’s voice immediately softened into a puddle of absolute devotion. “I do not blame you.” “Can you please come see me?” Valerie had grown up in the exact same elite circles as Alistair. Using French to communicate was their little secret code. He covered the microphone and looked at me. “There is a massive corporate emergency. We will finish this conversation when I get back, alright?” He had no idea his lie was completely transparent. He also had no idea that for the past two years, in a desperate attempt to become worthy of his world, I had secretly taught myself French. I looked at him and said, “Alright.” I walked back to our master bedroom alone. I sat on the edge of the mattress and swallowed the wild walnuts my mother had brought, one by one. If Cinderella realized she was completely miserable after moving into the castle, would she regret putting on the glass slipper? I did not know the answer to that. But I tossed and turned until dawn, completely unable to sleep. My mother sacrificed everything she had just to see me happy. Was I actually happy? 7 At four in the morning, the heavy rain finally stopped. The streets of Manhattan smelled like wet asphalt and ozone. Since I could not sleep, I went down to the kitchen and cooked a fresh batch of meat pies. A drop of boiling water splashed onto the back of my hand. The sharp, stinging pain briefly snapped my wandering mind back to reality. I packed the pies and a thermos of hot soup into a bag, hailed a yellow cab, and headed straight to the luxury hotel. When I walked through the revolving doors of the grand lobby, I noticed a small crowd of employees gathered near the entrance. My mother stood in the center of the circle, her back facing me. She was bowing so deeply her spine was almost parallel to the floor. “I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I will leave right now.” “Leave? Who said you could just walk away? We were nice enough not to call the cops on you, and we let you sleep on the patio in the freezing rain all night.” Alistair specifically told me Valerie booked a premium hot spring suite. It poured rain in New York City all night long. Did my mother really sleep on the cold concrete outside? It felt like someone reached into my chest and crushed my heart with their bare hands. “Look what you did! You tracked mud all over our custom carpets. We have VIP clients arriving any minute. Can a beggar like you afford to pay for this damage?” Panic consumed my mother. She frantically dug through her pockets and pulled out a faded cloth handkerchief. She bent down to scrub the mud stains out of the carpet. Her knees were ruined by severe arthritis. She could not even squat properly, so her legs shook violently as she hovered over the floor. “I will clean it. I promise I will clean it up.” She dropped to her knees and scrubbed the expensive fabric with her cheap handkerchief. After a few frantic swipes, the cloth was so filthy you could not even tell what color it used to be. I was suffocating. I dropped my thermos and prepared to sprint across the lobby. Before I could move, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb outside. Alistair stepped out first. Valerie followed closely behind him. The hotel manager’s sneer instantly morphed into a glowing, sycophantic smile. He rushed toward the sliding glass doors. “Mr. Kensington! Welcome, sir. Please, right this way. We will have this mess cleaned up immediately.” Before he could finish his sentence, my mother looked up from the floor. The moment she recognized the man in the tailored suit, she grabbed her aching knees and dragged herself to her feet. “Alistair! Alistair!” “I accidentally got some dirt on their rug. Please tell them not to be mad at me.” The hotel manager stared at Alistair in shock. “Mr. Kensington, do you know this woman?” Valerie gracefully brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Do we look like the kind of people who would associate with someone like that?” “It is pathetic how these hillbillies will claim to be related to anyone with money just to get a handout. How embarrassing.” Alistair acted like he did not hear a single word. He walked right past my mother without even glancing in her direction. My mother froze like a statue. Under the hotel manager’s disgusted, mocking glare, she crushed the filthy handkerchief in her fist and bowed her head in total submission. “I apologize. I apologize… I had the wrong person.” “Harry! Clear the lobby immediately! Our investors are going to be here any second.” “Do not make me question your professional competence.” The manager nodded furiously and signaled for the security guards to swarm forward. A burly guard shoved my mother backward. She lost her footing, and her arthritic knees slammed brutally against the sharp marble steps. I lost my mind. I sprinted forward and violently shoved the guards away. “Mom!” When she saw my face, she panicked, desperately trying to hide the mud soaked handkerchief behind her back. “Gem, what are you doing here? I was just about to come see you…” “Mom, stop talking. I saw everything.” She forced a broken, agonizing smile that looked more painful than crying. “I am just getting old. My eyes do not work right anymore. I thought I saw someone else. I embarrassed you.” My throat felt like I had swallowed a handful of burning coals. The heavy metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “Mom, what are you talking about?” “You are the strongest, most amazing mother in the world.” Her eyes instantly flooded with tears. A heavy drop rolled down her cheek and splashed onto the back of my hand. “Gem…” She could not finish her sentence. The weight of her body suddenly collapsed against my shoulder. She went completely limp, sliding toward the marble floor. “Mom!” “Call an ambulance! Somebody call a fucking ambulance!” 8 I stood in the agonizingly long line at the hospital billing counter. My palms were drenched in cold sweat, crushing the admission papers in my grip. The elderly man at the front of the line was counting out crumpled dollar bills one by one. Time stretched into an unbearable eternity. The emergency room doctor told me she collapsed from severe hypoglycemia. If I had arrived even ten minutes later, she could have died. Due to years of brutal physical labor, her body was a minefield of underlying health issues. Treating her was not impossible, but the long term recovery would cost an astronomical amount of money. My hands shook violently as I dialed Alistair’s number. It rang three times before the call was rejected. My heart crashed into my stomach. I dialed again. It went straight to voicemail. I opened my texts and typed: My mother is in the hospital. A second later, a single “.” popped up on my screen. Staring at that tiny dot, which looked exactly like a speck of useless dust, the blood in my veins boiled until I saw red. Logically, I knew Alistair was probably in the middle of a massive corporate negotiation. That text was probably sent by Valerie. But I still hated him with every fiber of my being. I hated Alistair. But more than anything, I hated myself. After paying the emergency room deposit, my bank account was completely empty. When we got married, Alistair handed me a black card with no limit and told me to buy whatever I wanted. I refused to take it. My mother always told me that being poor did not mean you had to surrender your pride. Our family was already completely outmatched by the Kensington dynasty. We could not give them another reason to look down on us. That was her pride. And it was mine, too. But I only had a high school diploma. If I went out to find a job, I would just be working a cash register or stocking shelves. Alistair could not bear the thought of his wife doing manual labor, so I never brought up finding a job again. He paid for my food, my clothes, my entire existence. Whenever he traveled to Europe for business, he would bring back expensive trinkets he thought I might like. Over the last two years, I had written a few web novels online for pocket change. I barely had a few thousand dollars saved up. I forced my mother to take the entire fifty thousand dollar dowry back to North Carolina with her. When a woman walks down the aisle brimming with hope and dreams of a beautiful future, she never imagines she will end up this completely pathetic. I stared at my bloodshot, tear stained reflection in the hospital glass. I raised my hand and slapped myself across the face as hard as I could. Gemma, how did you become such a useless piece of trash? I pulled up Alistair’s mother’s phone number and hit dial. “Mrs. Kensington, my mother is in the hospital. I need money right now…” Her mocking sneer was completely unfiltered. “I was wondering how long you would last. You finally found a convenient excuse to beg for a handout, didn’t you?” “Speak up. How much do you want? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand? A million?” “This time your mother is sick. What pathetic excuse are you going to invent next time?” “I knew the second that woman showed up at my door, nothing good would come of it.” I gripped the phone so hard the plastic cracked. My fingernails dug deeply into the flesh of my palm. “Three million.” “Excuse me? Do you honestly think you are worth that much?” “I will divorce Alistair.” I still did not know if Alistair actually regretted marrying me. But standing here today, I absolutely regretted putting on that glass slipper. It was freezing cold. It was suffocatingly tight. It had crushed every single one of my foolish, romantic delusions into dust. Love is not omnipotent. And it certainly does not last forever, despite what the diamond commercials try to sell you. 9 Saying those words out loud was not nearly as painful as I imagined it would be. The woman on the other end of the line went dead silent. It was clearly not the answer she was expecting. “Are you actually willing to let him go? I thought you were so desperately in love with Alistair you would rather die than leave him.” “I do love him. But I am not the only woman in the world who loves him. If you do not trust my word, we can draft a legally binding contract.” “You voluntarily wire the funds. I voluntarily sign the divorce papers.”

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1 I turned back toward the mirror to touch up my lipstick, but the loud click of the camera shutter made me freeze. In the reflection, my fiancé Carter and my twin sister Lily were pressed together, perfectly framed in the photographer’s lens. When I walked back onto the set, the entire studio fell dead silent. Carter finally realized what had happened. His smile stiffened for a fraction of a second before he shrugged it off. “You guys look practically identical anyway. Let’s just use this shot.” My throat tightened until it ached. Just because we were twins, Carter had treated her like me more times than I could count. She was the one in our family portraits. She was the one in our couple’s photoshoot. And now, she was the one in my wedding photos. I stared at the two of them. They looked exactly like a happy set of newlyweds. Reaching up, I ripped the veil out of my hair and roughly wiped the expensive makeup off my face. “Why don’t you let her marry you, too.” I turned on my heel and walked out. Carter closed the distance in three long strides, grabbing my arm. “We’re supposed to be taking our wedding photos. Why do you always have to ruin the mood?” My eyes burned with unshed tears as I forced the corners of my mouth up. In the hallway mirror, my smeared makeup made me look completely pathetic. He had no idea. Just to fit into this designer gown, I had essentially given myself an eating disorder, throwing up every meal I forced down. I had tortured myself to squeeze into the suffocating tulle and lace. And I didn’t even get the chance to step in front of the camera. Lily hurriedly stepped off the backdrop, her face a mask of perfect, innocent guilt. “Lucia is definitely jealous. I was just joking around to see if Carter could tell us apart. I guess I took the prank too far.” She tried to playfully push me toward the center of the set. Carter shifted his weight, physically blocking the spot. His voice dropped into a heavy, warning tone. “It’s just a picture. She’s your sister. Just let her have this.” There it was again. That heavy, suffocating concept. Let her have it. The plus-one ticket for the European cruise. I had to let her have it. The front seat on the rollercoaster. I had to let her have it. Carter pulled us both to stand side-by-side in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. “Look at you two. Nose, ears, eyes, it’s all the same. Why go through the hassle of reshooting? It’s just a waste of film.” Looking at the two nearly identical faces in the glass, I managed a smile that felt worse than crying. Carter used to trace the small beauty mark under my left eye, telling me it was the most unique thing about me. I guess I wasn’t that unique to him after all. It felt like his choice to propose to me was just a random flip of a coin. Before I could process the thought, Carter reached down and twisted the engagement ring off my finger. “Since Lily loves being in front of the camera, let her stand in for you. Go sit down and take a breather.” He slid my ring onto Lily’s finger. It was a flawless fit. Whenever I wore that ring, it squeezed my finger until the circulation stopped. A cold realization washed over me. Back in college, Carter had accidentally kissed Lily. Since that day, their dynamic had shifted into something far too close for comfort. Maybe that kiss wasn’t an accident. Maybe every time he ‘mixed us up’, he knew exactly what he was doing. Walking out into the glaring sunlight, I pulled out my phone and dialed my wedding planner. “Hi. I need to cancel my entire wedding package.” The planner gasped loudly into the receiver. “Lucia? You’ve been putting this together for six months.” “Is there something you’re unhappy with? We can always tweak the details.” I had tweaked the three-hour ceremony a million times. Carter vetoed every single idea I had. He called my choices tacky, exhausting, or too cheap. The final aesthetic we settled on was a pastel pink fairy-tale theme. It was Lily’s dream aesthetic. The guest list was stacked with Lily’s sorority sisters and friends. The vows I was supposed to read were practically written by Lily. Even the mermaid-style gown I was wearing right now was the exact cut Lily had been obsessing over on Pinterest. I was just so tired of fighting for my own life. Glancing back through the glass doors, I watched them strike goofy, intimate poses to use up the rest of the studio time. I spoke softly into the phone. “No need.” “Cancel it. I’ll cover whatever cancellation fees we owe.” “Cancel what?” Carter’s confused voice echoed right behind me. I hung up the phone without missing a beat and shook my head. Remembering the two VIP concert tickets I had found in his jacket pocket that morning, I used them as my cover. “I meant we should cancel the trip for the music festival.” Carter froze. A flash of panic crossed his eyes. “How did you know Lily and I were going to that concert?” I stared at him, completely numb. “I figured you wouldn’t want to go, so I didn’t get you a ticket.” “But since you know, you can help us pack. Put together some cool outfits for us. Lily has been begging to see this band live for months.” The bridge of my nose stung. I was the one who had been begging to see them. I was the one who stayed up until 3 AM trying to secure tickets in the queue and failed three times. Noticing the absolute deadness in my eyes, Carter awkwardly tried to backpedal. “Look, I can FaceTime you during the best songs. You know how crazy those crowds get. It’s not safe for Lily to be in a mosh pit alone. You’d be worried sick about her.” I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper, and then I laughed. The only person worried about her was him. After the shoot wrapped, Carter’s mom, Eleanor, called and told us to come check out the newly renovated house Carter bought for us. When we pulled into the driveway, she was already waiting on the porch. “Mom! I missed you so much!” Lily practically vaulted out of the car and threw her arms around Eleanor. Eleanor pinched her cheek, her face lighting up with genuine warmth. “Look at my girl, getting prettier every day!” I stood a few feet away, feeling like a trespasser who had stumbled onto their private family reunion. I had tried calling her ‘Mom’ so many times over the years. Eleanor always shot me down with a cold stare, telling me to save it for the altar. I guess Lily had beaten me to the punch. I swallowed the ‘Mrs. Bennett’ that was resting on my tongue. As we walked up to the door, Lily casually pressed her thumb to the biometric lock. It clicked open instantly. She walked in like she owned the place. Carter didn’t blink. He just watched her with a fond, indulgent smile. Sensing my rigid posture, Eleanor let out a dry, awkward chuckle. “You’re always working, Lucia. Lily was the one who helped me pick out the tiles and the paint. Whose fingerprint was I supposed to register?” But Carter had explicitly told me his mom didn’t want ‘outsiders’ meddling in the renovation. So I had stayed out of it. Turns out, I was the outsider. Stepping into the hallway, I reached for the handle of the master bedroom. Carter’s hand clamped over my wrist, pulling it back. His tone left no room for argument. “Lily is still interning downtown. Living here is way closer to her office than her crappy apartment. My mom agreed.” I forced the corners of my mouth up, slowly pulling my arm out of his grip. “Then where are we sleeping?” Carter pointed toward a cramped guest room in the corner. It was half the size of the master. “That’s plenty of space for us.” “The master has an en-suite bathroom. You’re always paranoid about me mixing you two up, right? This way, we avoid any awkward run-ins. Win-win.” Lily leaned against the doorframe, a sly smirk playing on her lips. “Oh please, it’s not like you’d actually mix us up. Lucia doesn’t exactly have my curves. I’m way out of her league.” Carter’s gaze instinctively dropped to Lily’s chest, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He suppressed a grin. “Stop messing around.” Watching the two of them flirt right in front of me made my stomach churn with violent nausea. Without a word, I turned and walked into the tiny guest room. Through the thin drywall, I could hear them wrestling and laughing in the hallway, accompanied by Eleanor’s fond, enabling chuckles. I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth and texted my Aunt Valerie overseas. “That guy you wanted to set me up with. I’ll meet him.” The next evening, Carter drove Lily to the neighboring state for the concert. My phone buzzed with an Instagram notification. Lily had posted a photo. The stage lights illuminated their faces in the dark crowd. Surrounded by cheering fans, they were making out. Deeply. The caption read. [Someone’s kissing skills haven’t improved at all. I’ll give him a C-minus.] Carter had commented publicly, entirely shameless. [You’re the gross one. I had to use three bottles of mouthwash after.] Their flirty banter filled up my entire screen. I sat on the edge of the guest bed, zipping up my suitcase. I opened my browser and booked a one-way flight for the following morning. At 2 AM, a phone call shattered the silence of the room. “Is this Lucia? Are you related to Lily? She and Carter are down at the precinct. They were picked up during a vice raid at a downtown motel. Come bail them out.” It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. When I rushed into the glaring fluorescent lights of the police station, Lily was sitting on a metal bench. She was wearing nothing but Carter’s oversized white button-down. Her bare legs were pale and exposed. She was sobbing into her hands, looking like a total victim. Carter was hovering over her, rubbing her shoulders. He didn’t even look at me when he started talking. “The show ended late. I didn’t want to drive all the way back in the dark, so we booked a room.” “But I wasn’t going to let a girl stay in a sketchy motel alone. So I stayed in the room with her.” He paused, adding defensively. “We slept in separate beds.” The sheer audacity of his lie made my vision blur. I fought to keep my voice from shaking. “If you were in separate beds, why did vice squad haul you in for suspected solicitation?” Lily looked up, her face stained with perfect, glistening tears. She stood up, trying to grab my hand. “Lucia, I broke out in hives. Carter was just helping me put ointment on my back. I couldn’t wear my clothes, so…” Carter immediately backed her up. “She’s my sister too. Stop being paranoid.” They always hid behind that ‘brother-sister’ excuse to justify crossing every single boundary. Carter did her laundry. He even bought her tampons. Lily would regularly walk into his bathroom wearing practically nothing to ‘hand him a towel’, always making sure to compliment his abs. Now, they were dragged into a police station half-naked, and they were still playing the sibling card. I took a deep breath. Hours of suffocating grief and betrayal crystallized into a single, sharp sentence. “We’re done, Carter.” The man’s face froze. He stared at me like I had grown a second head. His shock quickly morphed into disgust. “Are you insane? You’re breaking up with me over this?” “What the hell is wrong with your brain, Lucia? We’re family! We aren’t sick freaks like you think we are!” Lily blinked her wide, watery eyes, her voice trembling. “Lucia, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a fight. I’m sorry…” “You don’t need to apologize to her!” Carter barked, his glare piercing right through me. “We’ve let her get away with this jealous crap for way too long. She just wants to drag your name through the mud. God knows what kind of toxic garbage she’d pull once we’re actually married.” “Let’s go.” He shot me one last hateful look, wrapped his jacket around Lily, and walked out to his car. He left me stranded at a police station in a city I barely knew. He never called to check on me. Carter didn’t come home that night. But I didn’t call him to ask where he was. I didn’t need to. Lily posted a story on her Instagram. Carter was asleep in her bed, dead to the world. The comments were flooded with their mutual friends typing [Happy Honeymoon]. He didn’t explain. I didn’t ask. Until 3 AM, when the front door nearly came off its hinges. I opened the door to find Carter standing there, completely unhinged. He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the hallway. “She is your own flesh and blood! Are you seriously spreading rumors that she’s a whore? Defamation is a crime, Lucia!” A cold knot formed in my stomach. “Tell me the truth. Did you leak those photos online?” He shoved his phone directly into my face. On the screen, a viral post showed blurry photos of Carter and Lily being escorted out of the motel by the cops. The angles were vicious. It made them look exactly like a john and an escort. From the master bedroom, Lily was wailing hysterically. Her voice was totally blown out. “I don’t know who took those! I didn’t do anything wrong! I’m not a slut!” I pushed his phone away, staring dead into his eyes. “I didn’t post anything.” “You think I did this?” The rage in Carter’s eyes didn’t flicker. He looked at me with pure venom. “Guilty people always play dumb.” “Do you realize this is going to ruin her graduation? She’s going to be a laughingstock at her firm!” “How could you destroy your own sister’s life like this?” I dug my nails into my palms and threw his own logic back at him. “Karma never misses.” “You bitch!” Carter’s face went dangerously dark. His patience evaporated. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911. “You can tell your lies to the cops.” When the sirens wailed down the street, he literally shoved me out the front door. I pounded on the wood, begging him to open up. He knew I was up for a massive promotion at work. He knew a police inquiry would destroy my background check. But he didn’t care. As the neighbors peeked through their blinds, the officers put me in the back of the cruiser. At the station, I explained everything. The officers checked my phone, realized it was a domestic dispute, and cleared me of any cyberbullying charges. As the officer walked me to the lobby, my phone buzzed. It was an email from my department director. “Are you out of your mind? I was about to name you Head of Operations, and now HR is dealing with police inquiries about you!” “Clean out your desk. You’re done.” An automated termination letter popped up right after. Everything I had bled for over the last decade vanished into thin air. I clutched my phone to my chest, sank to the dirty linoleum floor, and sobbed until I couldn’t breathe. Lily’s graduation was right around the corner. Carter agreed to be the model for her final photography portfolio. The guy who used to complain about wearing shorts in public was now posing half-naked in front of Lily’s lens. The ‘bonus content’ of her project featured deeply intimate, boudoir-style shots of the two of them ‘sacrificing for art’. Carter didn’t even bother blocking me from seeing the posts. He fully expected me to do what I always did. Beg, cry, apologize, and claw my way back to him. But this time, I went ghost. Carter kept bombarding my phone with texts. [Take some time to reflect on your toxic behavior.] [Lily is handling the rest of the wedding prep. You just have to show up. Be grateful she’s saving you the headache.] [I expect you to be perfectly behaved on the wedding day.] But by the time he sent that last text, I was already at cruising altitude, flying across the Atlantic. Next day. The wedding venue. Dressed in a sharp black tuxedo, Carter stood at the altar. Looking around at the pastel pink floral arrangements, he felt a smug sense of victory. Lucia had finally compromised. But the dead silence on his phone left a heavy, gnawing anxiety in his gut. The officiant’s voice echoed through the microphone. “And now, let us welcome our stunning bride!” The heavy oak doors swung open to thunderous applause. The bride, face obscured by a thick veil, glided down the aisle. Carter’s heart hammered violently against his ribs. When she finally reached him, he reached out and lifted the veil. The blood drained from his face. His entire body locked up. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

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1It was the first day of preschool, but my daughter was nowhere to be found. My phone buzzed with a text from Patrick, my wife’s high school sweetheart. He asked if I could guess where she was. This was the fourth time he had pulled one of his twisted pranks on me. When Megan and I started dating, he made me believe she died in a car crash. I ran three miles down an icy road in tears. On our wedding day, they disappeared for twenty-four hours, leaving me humiliated before a hundred guests. When Sophie was born, he brought a fake DNA test to the hospital. I only got the truth after collapsing from a panic attack. Megan always defended him. She would cradle his face and scold me for being too sensitive. But this time, he was messing with our four-year-old. Shaking, I called Megan. She picked up sounding annoyed and said Patrick was just playing hide-and-seek. Then she hung up. I stared at my screen. The GPS tracker on my daughter’s profile glowed a steady red. The location was right in the middle of Blackwood River. The September river water was bone-chilling. I didn’t even bother kicking off my shoes. Following the red dot on my screen, I threw myself directly into the rapids. The freezing current instantly swallowed my chest, sending violent tremors down my spine. The mud at the riverbed was incredibly soft and slick. My foot slipped, and my entire head went under the murky, freezing water. “Sophie! Sophie, where are you!” I choked on a mouthful of dirty water, fighting desperately to stand up. My throat was so tight I could barely breathe. Up on the banks, people were shouting about a man jumping into the river. I could see the flashes of phone cameras pointing at me. I didn’t care about any of it. My mind was consumed by the image of Sophie’s bright smile when we left the house this morning. She was terrified of water. I usually had to spend half an hour just coaxing her into the bathtub. There was no way in hell she would willingly go near a rushing river. I bent over, plunging my bare hands into the freezing current, dragging my fingers through the rotting sludge. My fingernails tore against sharp rocks, but I couldn’t feel the pain. The blood welling from my fingers was instantly washed away by the current. Suddenly, my fingertips brushed against something soft. My heart violently contracted. I gripped the object with both hands and tore it out of the heavy mud. It was Sophie’s pink strawberry backpack. The fabric was completely waterlogged, making it as heavy as a brick. My hands shook uncontrollably as I ripped the zipper open. My daughter wasn’t inside. There was only a soggy, ruined coloring book. “Sophie!” I screamed at the top of my lungs at the empty river. My vocal cords tore, making me sound like a dying animal. There was nothing on the surface but floating dead leaves and garbage. Fear wrapped its icy fingers around my throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. I pulled my soaking wet phone from my pocket and dialed Patrick’s number. It rang for nearly a full minute before he finally picked up. “Patrick! Where is my daughter! Where the hell is she?!” The line went dead silent for a second. Then, a lazy, arrogant chuckle filtered through the speaker. “It’s hide-and-seek, man. You have to find a good hiding spot.” “Are you out of your psychotic mind! You don’t play games with a child’s life!” My entire body was convulsing. I couldn’t tell if it was from the freezing water or the blinding rage. “Stop yelling. I’ll text you the address. Come find us yourself.” My phone chimed. A location pin for a luxury downtown hotel popped up on the screen. My knuckles turned completely white as I gripped the steering wheel, pressing the gas pedal straight to the floor. Twenty minutes later, I kicked open the door to Room 8012. “Sophie!” I charged into the room with bloodshot eyes. The main lights were off, the blackout curtains drawn tight. The only illumination came from a dim, amber bedside lamp. Clothes were scattered across the carpet. A man’s dress shirt was heavily tangled in a woman’s silk slip dress. On the bed, Megan was frantically pulling the heavy duvet up to cover her bare chest. Patrick was leaning against the headboard, completely shirtless. There were fresh, faint red scratch marks trailing down his neck. When Megan saw me standing there, dripping muddy river water onto the expensive carpet, raw panic flashed across her face. But it only lasted a second. She quickly pulled a plush bathrobe over her shoulders, got out of bed, and pointed a manicured finger right in my face. “What the hell is wrong with you, Declan! Who told you to come here!” “Today is Sophie’s first day of preschool! Instead of staying with her, you’re tracking me down? Are you completely insane!” The absolute humiliation of her betrayal mixed with the boiling anger of being played. My temples throbbed so hard my vision blurred. But I didn’t have time to waste on her garbage. I didn’t even look at her. I locked my eyes onto Patrick, who was still lounging on the mattress, and forced the words out through gritted teeth. “I am going to ask you one last time. Where is Sophie.” Patrick instantly put on his signature innocent, victimized expression, shrinking back slightly behind Megan’s silhouette. “Whoa, Declan, calm down. The game ended hours ago.” “Sophie got tired, so I dropped her back off at the preschool.” I raised my arm and hurled the soaking wet strawberry backpack across the room. It hit the floor with a heavy, wet thud. “You dropped her off?” I pointed a trembling finger at the ruined bag. “I pulled that out of the deep mud at the bottom of the river! You expect me to believe you took her back?!” A brief flicker of guilt crossed Patrick’s eyes, but he quickly recovered, throwing his hands up in a casual shrug. “Well, maybe she dropped it in the water while she was playing. It’s just a cheap backpack. Buy her a new one. Do you really need to act like a psycho over this?” I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I lunged across the room, grabbed Patrick by the hair, and dragged him off the mattress, slamming him hard onto the floor. “Where the fuck did you leave her! That river has a deadly undercurrent! She is four years old!” Before I could land a punch, Megan threw herself at me. Her acrylic nails dug deep into my forearm, tearing off a strip of skin. “Declan, you are out of your mind! Let him go right now!” She shoved me backward with all her strength, immediately dropping to her knees to cradle Patrick’s head, checking his face for bruises. Then she looked up at me. Her eyes were so cold they felt completely alien to me. “Are you just using this as an excuse to throw a tantrum, Declan?” “You just said it yourself, the only thing in the river was her bag. Patrick was nice enough to take her out for some fresh air. So what if they lost a stupid backpack?” “Sophie is probably sitting in her classroom perfectly fine right now, and here you are, biting people like a rabid dog!” I stared at the woman kneeling on the floor. The biological mother of my child. I was standing in front of her, soaked in freezing mud, telling her I found our daughter’s belongings at the bottom of a rapid river. She didn’t show a single ounce of fear or concern for her child. Her only instinct was to protect the man she had just been sleeping with. A bone-deep chill washed over me. It was so cold that even the fire of my rage was extinguished. I turned around and walked out. Looking at her for one more second made me physically sick. Driving toward the preschool, I gripped the wheel so hard my hands went numb. My brain kept flashing back to the image of Sophie leaving the house. She was wearing her brand-new pale yellow autumn sweater, her hair tied in two little braids. She had wrapped her tiny arms around my neck and whispered, “Daddy, I’m going to be so good today. You have to be the first one to pick me up, okay?” I had kissed her soft cheek and promised I would. When I pulled up to the preschool gates, I didn’t even turn the engine off. I threw the door open and sprinted into the courtyard. “Sophie! Is Sophie Wright in her classroom!” Ms. Davis, the head teacher, jumped back in shock. “Mr. Wright? What happened to you? Why are you wet?” I grabbed her shoulders. “Where is she? Is she inside?” Ms. Davis froze, a look of pure confusion and rising panic crossing her face. “Mr. Wright… A man named Patrick came with your emergency pickup code. He took her home two hours ago.” A bomb went off in my skull. My legs completely gave out. I dropped straight to my knees on the playground asphalt. Patrick was lying. Megan was covering for him. My daughter was gone. “Call the police… please call the police…” I collapsed onto my hands, my freezing fingers fumbling frantically to pull out my phone. I couldn’t hit the right numbers on the screen. Ms. Davis had to dial 911 for me. Leaning heavily against the iron gates of the school, I dialed Patrick’s number one more time. “The school said she never came back. I just called the cops.” “Patrick, the police are on their way. Tell me exactly where you left her.” The line was dead silent for a long moment. When Patrick finally spoke, his voice was still infuriatingly lazy, but now he added a gross layer of fake victimization. “Why are you trying to frame me, Declan? I walked her right up to the front gates. If she ran off because she wanted to play, how is that my fault?” The phone was abruptly snatched away. Megan’s shrill voice pierced my ear. “Declan, I have had enough of your drama! Patrick said he brought her back, which means he brought her back.” “Why would he lie to you? Honestly, I think you hid her yourself just to get back at us.” “You actually called the cops? Stop embarrassing yourself and go home!” I hung up the phone. She was beyond saving. The patrol cars arrived in ten minutes. I rode with them straight to the precinct to pull the city security footage. The timeline rewound to two and a half hours ago. Patrick was holding Sophie’s hand as they walked out of the preschool gates. Sophie was wearing her pink strawberry backpack, skipping happily to keep up with his long strides, looking up at him and chatting. There was no audio on the cameras, but just looking at the footage, I could tell my daughter was smiling so sweetly. It felt like someone was twisting a jagged knife into my heart. The cameras tracked them down the river walk. They walked into a dense cluster of willow trees. That specific stretch of the riverbank was a blind spot for the cameras. There was only one distant camera that caught blurry shadows. Fifteen minutes later, Patrick walked out of the trees alone. His hands were completely empty. He stood on the curb, casually lighting a cigarette, before hailing a cab. I pressed my face against the glowing monitor, my eyes burning with dry heat, desperately praying to see what happened in those trees. But there was nothing. No footage of her falling in. No shadows of a struggle. He had just walked away, leaving a four-year-old girl alone on the edge of a deadly river. I sat completely frozen in the surveillance room for four hours. Every ticking second felt like someone was scraping the flesh off my bones. The muddy water had dried onto my clothes, turning them into a stiff, freezing shell. But the cold in my chest was infinitely worse. Just as the sun began to set, the lead detective pushed the door open. His police radio was buzzing with static. His face was incredibly grim. He looked at me, his lips pressing into a thin line. His eyes were full of absolute pity. “Mr. Wright… A local fisherman just called in from the lower basin, about six miles downstream…” “They found a little girl in the reeds. She matches the description.” The surveillance room fell dead silent. Nobody breathed. A loud, deafening ringing filled my ears, blocking out all other sound. I tried to stand up, but my legs were completely numb. I crashed hard onto the tile floor, then scrambled desperately to get back on my feet. “Take me to her.” My voice was so broken it didn’t even make a sound. “Take me… I need to see her.” The cruiser sirens wailed all the way to the lower riverbanks. It was pitch black outside. Yellow police tape blocked off the marsh. Red and blue emergency lights pulsed against the dark water. A few crime scene investigators were crouching around a small, white tarp. I don’t know how I walked over there. My legs felt like solid lead. With every step I took, I felt a piece of my soul die. The medical examiner looked up at me, let out a heavy sigh, and gently lifted the corner of the white plastic. Under the tarp was the pale yellow autumn sweater I had dressed her in that very morning. The beautiful fabric had been soaked into a repulsive grayish-brown. Her tiny face was bloated and paper-white. Her lips were a deep, bruised purple. Her eyebrows were furrowed tight. It looked like she had been so incredibly terrified in the water. I dropped to my knees. Reaching out, I gently wrapped my hand around her tiny fingers. They were so cold my heart practically stopped. There was thick black sludge packed under her fingernails. Strands of river weed were tangled around her knuckles. She must have been fighting the current, desperately trying to grab onto anything she could. But she caught nothing. The detectives were saying something to me. They were explaining that the current was too aggressive, that there was a hidden undertow, that once she fell in, she was swept away instantly. Because the cameras didn’t catch the fall, they had to classify it as an accidental drowning for now. I couldn’t hear any of it. I just kept my head bowed, using the cuff of my shirt to gently wipe the mud off her cold cheeks. I would wipe a spot, stain my sleeve, and use a clean patch of fabric to wipe again. “Don’t be scared, baby. Daddy is here.” There was a massive, suffocating lump in my throat. My voice shook violently. “Daddy is going to take you home. We’ll turn on the fireplace. You love sitting by the fire. Daddy will make you some hot pastries.” She didn’t move. From that exact second, my entire world stopped spinning. After they finished processing the scene, the coroner told me she had to be taken to the morgue’s cold storage while they waited for the investigation to close. I held onto Sophie and refused to let go. “No cold storage,” I shook my head frantically. “My daughter hates the cold. She’s terrified of the dark. It’s too freezing in there. She’ll be so scared.” I begged them for hours. Maybe they just took pity on a broken man. Eventually, the captain signed a special release form, allowing me to take her directly to the crematorium. The hallway was completely empty. I sat alone on a metal bench, staring blankly at the heavy iron doors. The phone in my pocket wouldn’t stop vibrating. I pulled it out. It was Megan. There were dozens of missed calls from the afternoon stretching into the night. She had finally realized her daughter hadn’t come home. Looking at the word ‘Wife’ flashing on the screen, it felt like I was looking at a complete stranger’s name. The heavy iron doors finally pushed open. The attendant handed me a wooden urn. It was still warm to the touch. That sickening warmth seeping through the wood was the absolute last trace of heat my daughter would ever leave in this world. I clutched the urn tightly to my chest and answered the phone. Megan’s voice immediately exploded through the speaker, high-pitched and frantic. “Declan! Where the hell did you take our daughter?!” “The preschool said you never brought her back yesterday! Are you out of your mind? Are you seriously using our child to scare me?!” The crematorium hallway was dead quiet, making her shrill voice echo off the tiles in a way that sounded utterly pathetic. I lowered my head, using my sleeve to gently dust off a speck of ash on the wooden box. “You don’t need to look for her anymore,” I said softly. Megan paused. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “Sophie is dead.” I pressed my cheek against the warm wood and closed my eyes. “I am holding her ashes right now.”

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1 On our seventh anniversary, Mike knelt with a velvet box. The proposal I’d waited seven years for was happening. But when he tried to slide the ring on, it caught painfully on my knuckle. I bit my lip, forcing a smile as the metal bit into my skin. Paige leaned in, tilting her head playfully. “Let me try?” she offered. The ring slipped down her slender finger, fitting as if tailor-made. She froze, eyes wide, tugging at it. Mike caught her wrist gently. “Don’t force it,” he murmured, tender. “Keep it—it fits perfectly.” Only then did he glance at me, sheepish. “Sorry, Nina. Must’ve used Paige’s size by mistake. Thought you two were similar.” Paige put her hands on her hips, scolding him. “Unbelievable! Take her tomorrow, upgrade it!” Watching them, a heavy ache bloomed in my chest. I knew his allergies, his shoe size, every milestone of seven years. He didn’t know my ring size. I withdrew my hand. “Don’t bother,” I said quietly. “The wedding’s off.” The laughter in the room died instantly. Mike’s face darkened, a sigh escaping his lips as he looked at me with weary exasperation. “Nina, you literally just said yes to my proposal. Now you’re calling off the wedding just because of a ring size?” “I know I messed up, and you have every right to be upset,” he continued, taking a step toward me. “But marriage isn’t a game. Stop throwing a tantrum, okay?” Paige quickly took my hand, her expression turning urgent and pleading. “She’s right, Nina. You two have been together for seven years. You can’t let a silly little mistake end everything.” One was my childhood sweetheart, the other my closest friend. They both belonged to the city’s wealthy social circles. In the early days, they had disliked each other thoroughly, Paige calling him an arrogant snob, and Mike dismissing her as shallow. But then came a college camping trip where I got lost in the woods late at night. They had split up to search for me, crossing paths in the dark forest and spending the entire night shouting my name together under the beam of their flashlights. After that night, they gradually grew closer. Eventually, whenever the three of us walked together, they would fall into step beside each other, leaving me a few paces behind. Sometimes they would look back, laughing as they called out, “Hurry up, slowpoke!” Seeing my silence, Paige grew visibly anxious. She shot Mike a harsh look, then turned to me, the playful demeanor completely gone. “Are you mad at me for being careless and putting the ring on? I’ll take it off right now.” She began to violently yank the ring from her finger. Because of the tight fit, the rough friction scraped her skin, drawing a thin line of blood. She let out a sharp gasp of pain but didn’t stop until the ring popped free. She held it out to me, her eyes brimming with tears. “Please don’t let me get in the way of your happiness. If you call off the wedding because of this, I’ll never forgive myself.” Mike’s brows furrowed deeply, his voice turning cold. “Nina, when did you become so petty? You are seriously throwing a fit over your best friend?” Looking at his face, a sudden wave of unfamiliarity washed over me. Because his mother preferred quiet, traditional women, I had spent years molding myself into a gentle, reserved version of myself. To marry him sooner, I had turned down graduate school and started working early, saving every penny, never even allowing myself the luxury of a five-dollar latte. Everyone in our circle assumed we would walk down the aisle. I had dreamed of his proposal a thousand times. But I never imagined that when the day finally arrived, I wouldn’t even be able to wear the ring. The humiliation and hurt pricked at my chest like a thousand tiny needles, making it hard to draw a full breath. Seeing the tears finally spill over my cheeks, Mike’s irritation melted into panic. He stepped forward to wipe my tears, then slowly pulled a small, beautifully wrapped box from his jacket pocket. Inside was a designer necklace I had admired for months but could never justify buying. “Nina, I was wrong,” he murmured, his eyes filled with sincere regret. “Please forgive me.” Looking at the apology in his eyes, my heart softened. For seven years, his kindness had always outnumbered his oversights. A crowd had gathered around us in the restaurant, and seeing my hesitation, they began to chant, “Say yes! Say yes!” In the end, my resolve crumbled, and I forgave him. Perhaps out of guilt, Mike became exceptionally attentive over the next few weeks. Slowly, the bitterness of that night faded, and I began to let myself look forward to our wedding day. Soon, our families arranged a dinner to finalize the wedding plans. My parents took a grueling nine-hour bus ride from our quiet upstate hometown, not even stopping for a drink of water before heading straight to the city. I was held up by an emergency at work and couldn’t leave, so I called Paige, begging her to pick up my parents and take them to the private dining room I had reserved. When I finally rushed into the restaurant, the scene inside made me freeze at the threshold. Paige was sitting right next to Mike and his mother, Mrs. Harrington. The four of them were laughing and talking, the atmosphere as warm and familiar as a holiday gathering. Meanwhile, my parents were squeezed into the far corner of the table. They sat stiffly, their hands resting awkwardly on their knees, offering hesitant, polite smiles. When the door opened and they saw me, their eyes lit up with instant relief. Before I could speak, Mrs. Harrington’s face darkened, her voice dripping with condescension. “Late to her own engagement dinner, and she couldn’t even bother to pick up her own parents? How incredibly irresponsible. I suppose this shows just how much she values family.” Mike frowned slightly. “Mom, Nina had a genuine emergency at work today.” His mother let out a dismissive scoff, rolling her eyes. “No work emergency is more important than family on a night like this.” She then turned, taking Paige’s hand in her own, her face instantly melting into a warm, affectionate smile. “You know, Paige, from the moment I met you, I knew we were kindred spirits. You are so sweet, well-mannered, and articulate. I only wish I were welcoming you into the family instead.” Paige waved her hands in modest embarrassment, offering a polite laugh. “Oh, Mrs. Harrington, please don’t say that. Nina was always top of our class, and she has a wonderful career. She is much more accomplished than I am.” Though she spoke highly of me, she made no move to shift out of the seat reserved for the bride-to-be, remaining nestled comfortably between Mike and his mother. My mother, missing the venom in the older woman’s words, leaned forward. She carefully reached into a canvas bag by her feet and pulled out a container of fresh peaches, presenting them with both hands in a gesture of eager accommodation. “Our Nina has always been a hard worker, Mrs. Harrington. She’s helped around the house since she was a little girl. These are fresh peaches from our tree back home, incredibly sweet. Please, try some.” Mrs. Harrington didn’t even look up, her tone entirely flat. “Oh, peaches. I nearly forgot, the supermarket down the block is running a sale on those, three pounds for two dollars.” My mother’s hands froze in mid-air. The peaches were plump and pristine. She had hand-picked them from our yard and carried them carefully on her lap through the entire bus ride to keep them from bruising. But to these people, they were just cheap, discounted produce. Seeing my mother slowly retract her hands, a fierce protective anger flared up in my chest. As I opened my mouth to speak, my father gently caught my wrist under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice quiet and gentle. “They come from a different world. It’s natural for them to be discerning. As long as he treats you well, a little slight to us is nothing. Our only worry is that if you face trouble in the future, we won’t be strong enough to stand behind you.” Looking at my parents’ weathered, kind faces, the urge to fight for this marriage suddenly evaporated. I looked back at the main table. I saw Paige sitting in my rightful spot, and Mike quietly sipping his tea without raising his voice to defend my family. In that moment, a cold clarity washed over me. It wasn’t just the ring. Some things simply do not fit, and they never will. The dinner ended awkwardly, the conversation drifting aimlessly without any actual wedding dates being set. Since my apartment was too small, I had booked a hotel room for my parents, planning to take them sightseeing the next morning. As we prepared to leave, Paige grabbed my hand, her eyes filled with concern. “Nina, you looked so pale during dinner. Are you alright?” Before I could answer, Mike cut in. “Paige, stop blaming yourself for everything. This isn’t your fault. My mother has always been particular, and she was just trying to see if Nina has the grace to handle it.” He then looked at me, his voice entirely casual. “Don’t take it to heart, Nina. My mother is all bark and no bite. If she really disliked you, she wouldn’t have shown up tonight at all.” I simply nodded, keeping my thoughts to myself. If Mike truly cared about me, how could he have remained silent while his mother humiliated my parents? By the time I settled my parents in their room and returned to our shared apartment, it was past nine in the evening. As I reached for my keys, I heard Mike’s voice carrying through the door. He was on the phone with his mother. “Out of all the women in the city, why do you have to throw your life away on Nina?” Mrs. Harrington’s sharp voice was audible even through the wood. “I thought you were just having fun, but you actually want to marry her! What do you see in her? Her impoverished background? Her unsophisticated parents?” “Mom, you can complain to me all you want, but please don’t say those things to her face,” Mike replied, his tone weary but yielding. “I love her, and I want to make this work.” He sounded as though he were defending me, but his words offered no real shield. He was merely managing his mother’s anger while reinforcing the narrative that he was a martyr for loving me. The final ember of hope in my heart went cold. I didn’t open the door. Instead, I walked back to the subway, returned to my parents’ hotel, and knocked on their door. “Mom, Dad,” I said when they opened it. “I’m going to take you around the city for a few days. And then, I’m coming home upstate with you.” “I am not marrying him.” That night, Mike sent dozens of text messages and tried calling me repeatedly. Even though I had resolved to leave, my heart still gave a involuntary flutter at the sight of his name on my screen. The first few messages were demanding to know where I was. But as I scrolled down, the tone shifted drastically. “Paige saw that you weren’t replying and didn’t come home. She was terrified something happened to you and went out to search. There’s been an accident!” My mind went completely blank. Driven by sheer instinct, I rushed out of the hotel, hailed a cab, and sped toward the hospital. Paige lay silently on the emergency room bed, her forehead wrapped in thick white gauze, her face pale. My knees buckled, and I let out a choked sob. Mike bolted up from his chair, his eyes bloodshot as he glared at me. “How do you have the nerve to cry?” he hissed, his voice trembling with rage. “If it weren’t for your childish stunt, Paige wouldn’t have gone out alone in the middle of the night to look for you. She ran into some drunks in an alley. When she tried to run, they threw a bottle at her head!” He clenched his fists, his knuckles white. “How old are you, Nina? Running away and ignoring messages over a minor disagreement? How can you be so incredibly selfish?” A heavy weight of guilt pressed down on my chest, but looking at his furious, accusatory gaze, the injustice of it all burned through me. “I am deeply sorry about Paige, and I will take full responsibility for her medical care,” I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. “But you have no right to lecture me.” “I’ve spent the night thinking things through. The wedding is off, Mike. We are done.” Mike’s jaw dropped, his expression turning to utter disbelief. “Are you seriously still playing games at a time like this?” “You think I’m playing games?” I whispered, my teeth clenched. “At dinner yesterday, my parents and I were treated like garbage, and you didn’t say a single word to protect us. Your mother openly wished Paige was her daughter-in-law while you sat there staring at your teacup. To anyone else in that room, she looked like your fiancée, not me!” Mike opened his mouth to argue, but before he could speak, a weak voice drifted from the hospital bed. “Nina…” Paige had opened her eyes, her gaze trembling and filled with tears. “I heard everything you just said.” “All this time, you’ve resented me. You think I’m the obstacle between you and Mike, don’t you?” I froze, caught off guard. Before I could explain, the tears began to stream down her face. “I always thought of you as my sister, Nina. I’ve done nothing but support you. Even after getting hurt tonight, I didn’t blame you for a second. I can’t believe you think so poorly of me.” “Maybe it’s better this way. At least now I see where I stand. We shouldn’t see each other anymore.” Right then, my phone began to vibrate violently in my hand. Before I could process Paige’s words, my mother’s sobbing voice came through the receiver, freezing the blood in my veins. “Nina… I went downstairs to grab some food, but as soon as I stepped out of the hotel, a group of people surrounded us. They were pointing and filming us with their phones, calling us grifters…” “Your father tried to reason with them, but they wouldn’t listen. Someone pushed him, Nina. He fell and hit his head on the concrete steps. We’re in the emergency room…” A cold dread washed over me. I opened my social media feed. Sitting at the top of the local trending page was my photo, accompanied by a scathing article accusing my family of attempting to extort a wealthy dynasty through a forced marriage. In an attached video clip, Mrs. Harrington sat gracefully in front of a camera, subtly but clearly exposing my parents’ names and our hometown address. The comment section was a toxic swamp of vitriol directed entirely at us. Slowly, I raised my phone, turning the screen toward Mike and Paige. “So, this is your idea of a compromise?” Mike glanced at the screen, then looked away, his expression hardening into defensive pride. “Don’t look at me like that. If you hadn’t behaved so terribly, my mother wouldn’t have felt the need to protect our family’s reputation.” “You brought this public scrutiny on yourself by hurting the people who cared about you.” Looking at him, he felt like a complete stranger. He hadn’t raised a finger to stop his mother. He had allowed it to happen. In that single moment, the very last trace of my love for him died. I turned toward the door. “Nina, this is your last chance,” Mike called out, his voice suddenly sharp. “If you walk out that door, we are finished.” I didn’t stop. My silence seemed to snap his restraint. “My mother was right! I spoiled you too much! Do you honestly believe you got that high-paying corporate job on your own merit? That company is a subsidiary of the Harrington Group! Do you think you could afford that beautiful downtown apartment on your salary? I was paying the landlord an extra three hundred dollars a month out of my own pocket!” “Everything you have is because of me! Without me, you are absolutely nothing!” His words washed over me, leaving me entirely cold. He spoke as if I should be deeply moved by his charity. But he didn’t understand. I never wanted a benefactor to secretly smooth my path only to use it as a leash to keep me subservient. Without looking back, I walked out of the hospital and ran to my parents. Fortunately, my father’s injury was minor. The next morning, I submitted my resignation, booked the earliest flight home, packed our belongings, and left the city behind. I transferred the full amount of Paige’s medical bills to her account, left a final message, and blocked Mike’s number permanently. But Mike, entirely unaware of what he had lost, remained convinced of his own power. He assumed I was simply throwing another tantrum and would eventually crawl back to him once my bank account ran dry. He even expected to find a warm dinner waiting for him when he returned to the apartment that evening. Instead, when he pushed open the front door, he froze.

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1 At the very bottom of his leather gym bag, buried beneath the dirty towels, I found a strip of pink lace. I held the thin string, which was embellished with cheap pink sequins, and let it dangle right in front of Conrad’s face. “Care to explain what this is?” He didn’t even blink. “It’s a promotional giveaway from the tennis club. I must have grabbed the wrong bag by mistake. Stop being so paranoid.” A second later, his phone rang from an unknown number. I pressed the speaker button before he could reach it. A woman’s voice filtered through the line, dripping with mockery. “Echo, darling, your husband tells me your taste in lingerie is about as exciting as a discount rack at a local flea market. I’m sending you one of my gently worn pairs, just so you can take notes and learn how to please him.” Conrad snatched the phone, stabbing the screen to cut the call, his face turning an angry shade of crimson. The woman on the line was Kate, the head tennis coach at the elite Skyline Club. She was also the trophy wife of the billionaire who owned the entire establishment. Conrad shoved the phone back into his pocket, tugging at the collar of his tight shirt. “Don’t listen to her, she’s just joking around. She’s an important client, Echo. She’s just a bit wild and unfiltered.” I stared at the compression shirt he wore, which was meticulously designed to show off his sculpted chest and shoulders. “A client? A client who somehow knows my exact underwear size? A client who leaves her personal belongings in your gym bag?” “Echo, must you be so incredibly narrow-minded?” Conrad pushed past me with an irritated sigh, heading toward the foyer to put on his shoes. “I spend every single day networking, trying to please these wealthy socialites just to keep my head above water. If I don’t embed myself in their circle, are you going to help me hit my sales quotas next quarter?” I looked down at the limited-edition tennis shoes he had recently purchased. “So your idea of high-society networking is wearing skin-tight gear to play private matches with other men’s wives?” “What do you know about it?” Conrad let out a cold sneer, his voice laced with condescension. “It’s called elite socializing. You spend your entire life cooped up in that dusty architectural design firm, with nothing in your head but blueprints and grocery lists. We don’t even have a single thing in common anymore.” He pulled the front door open, stepping halfway out into the corridor. “I won’t be back this weekend. The club is hosting a private, closed-door training retreat at the Crestview Resort upstate.” I rushed after him, grabbing the heavy strap of his tennis bag. “Conrad, we haven’t been intimate in three months. I can count the number of times you’ve actually slept in our bed on one hand.” He spun around, looking at my hand on his bag with sheer disgust. “Echo, can you please learn to control your basic physical urges? I am absolutely exhausted from playing tennis all day. I simply do not have the energy to satisfy you.” He pointed a finger at the calendar hanging on the refrigerator. Several small circles were scattered sparsely across the grid. “We agreed on the rules: once a month, maximum. You already used up your turn last week. Stop clawing at me like a starved animal.” The heavy security door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the empty apartment. I stood in the silence, the rough texture of the bag strap still burning in the palm of my hand. Five years ago, when we first married, he wasn’t like this. Back then, he had run through a freezing rainstorm across the city just to bring me hot pastries from a bakery I had casually mentioned. I didn’t know exactly when the tennis racket had replaced me, or when those wealthy women in their short skirts had become the vital connections he claimed to despise yet chased so relentlessly. The coldness at home began to bleed into my professional life. By Friday evening, our design team was hosting a celebratory dinner. We had just secured a massive contract with Vanguard Holdings, the industry giant, and everyone was in high spirits. As the drinks flowed, the atmosphere in the private dining room grew rowdy. A few of the younger interns insisted on playing a game of Truth or Dare. The empty wine bottle spun rapidly on the marble tabletop, finally slowing down to point directly at me. “Echo, truth or dare?” Hailey, one of the junior assistants, gave me a mischievous nudge. Even Dominic, the reclusive billionaire owner of our design firm, was present tonight. He sat at the head of the table, silently swirling a glass of deep red wine, his expression unreadable. “Truth,” I replied, rubbing my temples to ward off a headache. “You and Conrad have been married for several years now, right?” Hailey asked, leaning in with a grin. “How many times a week are you guys actually getting it on?” The moment the question was uttered, several married male colleagues began to chuckle and cheer. “Hailey, that’s a silly question. Echo’s husband is practically a gym rat, look at his physique. They must be doing it daily!” “Exactly! No wonder Echo always looks so focused, she must be very well taken care of at home.” Under the table, my fingers gripped the fabric of my dress so tightly my knuckles turned white. How many times a week? I couldn’t even remember the last time I had seen him walk around our bedroom without a shirt on. “He’s been very busy with a major project lately,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral. “We’re both just exhausted.” Camille, the deputy director who had always viewed me as a threat, let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Busy? Busy working late, or busy serving someone else?” “Echo, you really need to keep a tighter leash on him,” she continued, her eyes glittering with malice. “Young girls these days love fit, handsome men like your husband. You wouldn’t want him getting fed so well outside that he has nothing left for you at home.” “Watch your mouth, Camille,” I said, my voice dropping to a cold whisper. “Oh, come on, it was just a joke! Why are you getting so defensive? Unless, of course, I hit a nerve?” She covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with laughter. At the head of the table, Dominic set his glass down. The heavy crystal clacked against the marble, the sharp sound instantly silencing the room. “That is enough,” Dominic said, his voice quiet but carrying an immense weight. “Echo’s architectural drafts for the Vanguard project were flawless. If you have so much free time to analyze her marriage, perhaps you should spend the weekend re-evaluating next week’s budget sheets.” The dining room went completely still. Camille’s face flushed red, and she quickly looked down, not daring to utter another syllable. I picked up the shot glass of neat tequila in front of me and swallowed it in one gulp, letting the burning liquid scorch its way down to my stomach. By the time the dinner ended, the alcohol had settled heavily in my limbs. The cool night air hit me, making the world spin. I leaned against a cold lamppost, retching until there was nothing left but bile. A hand appeared in my line of sight, holding a cool, wet wipe. “Thank you,” I muttered, wiping my mouth before looking up. Dominic stood beside me, his dark coat draped over his shoulders as he opened the door of his sleek black sedan. “Get in. I’m driving you home.” His tone was quiet, leaving no room for argument. I sat stiffly in the passenger seat, the cabin filled with the faint, soothing scent of rich agarwood, a welcome relief from the stale cigarette smoke of the restaurant. “Mr. Dominic, I’m sorry for the trouble,” I whispered, shrinking back into the leather seat. Dominic started the engine, the luxury watch on his wrist catching the dim glow of the dashboard. “Does your husband play tennis at the Skyline Club?” he asked suddenly. I blinked, staring at his sharp profile. “How did you know?” “Because I own it,” Dominic replied, a faint, cynical smile touching his lips. “And Kate is my wife.” The revelation felt like a physical blow to my chest, instantly burning away the lingering fog of the alcohol. “Mr. Dominic, I…” “What are you going to say? That they are just a dedicated coach and an enthusiastic member?” Dominic pulled the car over to the curb, turning his head to look at me. “Your husband spent two hours in my wife’s private locker room last week. When the housekeeping staff went in to deliver fresh towels, they found the door unlocked.” I gripped my seatbelt, my knuckles turning white. “Since you knew, why didn’t you stop them?” “Because I need bulletproof evidence,” Dominic said, his voice dropping to a low, chilling whisper. “Evidence that will allow my lawyers to strip her of every single penny of my fortune in the divorce.” He leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against my ear. “So, Echo, do you want to play the part of the humiliated, silent wife, or do you want to partner with me and leave them both with absolutely nothing?” I looked into his dark eyes. There was no anger there, only the cold, calculated precision of a businessman. “What do you need me to do?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Dominic smiled, his finger gently brushing against my cheek before lingering on my lower lip. “A great many things. To start, you will accompany me to the resort retreat this weekend.” When I finally entered my apartment, the lights were off. I stepped out of my shoes, preparing to wash up, when I heard low, muffled voices coming from the balcony of the master bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, the only illumination coming from the blue glow of a phone screen reflecting off Conrad’s face. He was wearing nothing but gym shorts, leaning back in his chair with an excited, breathless grin. “She found the lace thong you left,” Conrad whispered into the phone, letting out a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry about it, I made up a quick excuse and she bought it. That stupid woman doesn’t know any better.” “Is the private pool villa booked for the weekend? Perfect. Make sure to bring those short tennis skirts, babe. I love the way they look on you.” “Alright, I have to go, she’ll be back soon. Love you, bye.” He hung up, humming a cheerful tune as he stood up to head toward the bathroom. I stood in the shadows, staring at his broad, muscular back. The anger that had simmered in my chest for months suddenly went cold, replaced by a deep, hollow indifference. I stepped into the room, flipping the light switch. Conrad jumped, startled, clutching his chest as he stared at me from the bathroom doorway. “Do you have to sneak around like a ghost? You nearly gave me a heart attack!” “Who were you talking to?” I asked, my voice entirely flat. “A client, they were asking about project deadlines. I told you I’m incredibly busy.” He avoided my gaze, turning to walk into the bathroom. “Does your client usually call you ‘babe’?” I followed him, blocking the doorway. Conrad’s face darkened instantly. “Echo, are you losing your mind? That was Mr. Harrison, the director of the club. He’s fifty years old and calls everyone ‘babe’ as a joke. Are you really going to interrogate me over this?” “And the perfume on your shirt? Chanel Chance. Does Mr. Harrison wear that too?” I pointed to the dirty shirt sitting in the hamper. Conrad snatched the shirt, tossing it violently into the washing machine. “That’s Coach Kate’s perfume. We play close matches, a little scent rub-off is completely normal. You are acting like a paranoid lunatic. I can’t stand being in this house for another second!” He slammed the bathroom door shut, the sound rattling the frame. I looked at the closed door, a dry laugh escaping my throat. How had I ever convinced myself that this man was reliable and ambitious? He was nothing more than a cheap opportunist, willing to discard every ounce of his dignity to climb into a world where he didn’t belong. On Saturday morning, Conrad woke up early. He stood before the mirror, meticulously styling his hair and dousing himself in a heavy musk cologne. “Where exactly is this closed-door retreat being held?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe. “Crestview Resort. The club booked the entire estate,” he replied, not even bothering to look at me as he adjusted his collar. “I’ll go with you. It’s been a while since I had a weekend getaway.” Conrad’s hands froze on his collar. He turned around, his brow furrowed in deep annoyance. “What would you even do there? This is an exclusive event for members of high social standing. You don’t even know how to hold a tennis racket, Echo. You’d only embarrass me.” I walked over, reaching up to smooth his lapel. “Really? Because I heard spouses and partners were invited to this one.” “Who told you that? Spouses are absolutely not allowed. Stop listening to idle gossip.” He pushed my hands away impatiently, grabbing his heavy gym bag. “I’m leaving. I’ll go straight to the office on Monday, so don’t bother calling me.” I watched the front door swing shut, then pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Dominic. “He’s on his way.” Two minutes later, the reply came. “My car is downstairs. Come down.” When I stepped out of the building, a sleek black Maybach was idling at the curb. Dominic sat in the spacious backseat, reviewing a printed spreadsheet. “Have you made up your mind?” he asked, closing the folder and looking at me. “Yes, Mr. Dominic. Tell me what you need me to do.” I slid into the leather seat, buckling my seatbelt. “Once we arrive at the resort, you only need to play your part,” Dominic said, looking out the tinted window with a cold, predatory gaze. “Leave the rest to me.” The drive to Crestview Resort took a little over two hours. By the time we arrived, the club’s activities were already in full swing. From a distance, I could easily spot two familiar figures on the pristine grass court. Conrad, dressed in crisp white tennis whites, was moving dynamically across the court, his gaze locked on Kate. Kate was wearing a short, pleated pink skirt. With every leap and strike, her skirt fluttered high, revealing the matching tight shorts beneath. A small crowd of wealthy spectators gathered around the court, cheering after every volley. “Your husband certainly has remarkable stamina,” Dominic remarked, standing beside me with an unreadable expression. “My wife is usually exceptionally selective, but it seems she found someone who can keep up with her pace.” I watched Conrad on the court, his face adorned with a fawning, attentive smile as he carefully unscrewed a bottle of water and handed it to Kate. “Mr. Dominic, when do we begin?” I asked. “Why the rush? A good show requires the audience to be fully seated first.” Dominic turned, walking toward the resort’s private VIP lounge. “Come with me. Let’s go meet the spectators of our little play.” Inside the luxurious VIP suite, several middle-aged men were lounging on leather sofas. These were the major shareholders of Vanguard Holdings, close personal associates of Dominic, and regular guests at the country club. “Dominic! What brings you out here today?” a stout, wealthy executive called out, his gaze lingering on me for a moment. “Just bringing a friend out to enjoy the fresh air,” Dominic replied smoothly, gesturing toward me. “This is Echo, the lead architect in charge of the new Vanguard development project.” The men exchanged polite greetings, but the conversation quickly drifted back to the tennis club. “Dominic, your lovely young wife has been making quite a splash at the club lately. I hear she’s been spending an awful lot of time with one of the newer members?” one shareholder remarked, his tone half-joking but laced with meaning. Dominic’s expression remained perfectly calm as he took a sip of his tea. “Young people enjoy the sport. Kate is simply doing her job as a coach.” “Is that so? I heard the fellow even has the keys to your private townhouse.” The shareholders exchanged knowing, amused glances. I sat quietly on the sofa, my palms slick with cold sweat. I had assumed Dominic merely wanted to catch them in the act privately, but he had invited the most powerful board members of his conglomerate to watch. He didn’t just want to divorce Kate, he wanted to completely obliterate her, and crush Conrad under his heel in the process. Kate glanced over her shoulder, catching Conrad’s eye, and the two of them walked toward the private villa suites, one after the other.

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1 At the altar, right when we were supposed to exchange rings, my fiancé suddenly stepped down. “I have to take care of something. I’ll be right back.” Before I could even utter a word, he was already rushing down the aisle. Everyone’s eyes followed him as he made a beeline for his childhood best friend, Nina, who was sitting in the front row. He took a water bottle from her hands, twisted the cap off, handed it back, and sprinted right back to the altar. “We didn’t lose any time, right? It was barely ten seconds.” I stood there, frozen. My heart had leaped into my throat, genuinely believing there was some sort of emergency. But to him, Nina was always the emergency. She took precedence over everything. Just like the fifteen minutes we lost waiting for her to arrive so we could take our engagement photos, or the two hours I spent waiting in the cold because he had to drive out of his way to pick her up from work. I didn’t know how many more of these ten seconds, fifteen minutes, or even hours, days, and years I would have to endure in the future. The officiant looked incredibly uncomfortable, trying to laugh it off and save the atmosphere, but the tension in the room was too thick to salvage. “And the groom steps down… uh, the groom is…” I reached over and took the microphone from his hand. In those ten seconds, something inside me snapped. The flame went out. I didn’t want to do this anymore. My eyes stung with unshed tears. I was wearing a heavy, elaborate lace gown, balancing on high heels, straining to present the most flawless version of myself. Yet, I could never compete with Nina, who sat quietly in her corner. She didn’t have to do a thing. His eyes always lingered on her. All she did was struggle with a bottle cap and cast a single, helpless look in his direction, and Derek went flying to her rescue. Ten seconds. It sounded like nothing. But in those ten seconds, it felt as though someone had taken a cold blade and carved a hollow space into my chest. The pain radiated through my entire body. I brought the microphone to my lips. “The wedding is canceled. I’m sorry to have wasted everyone’s time. Please enjoy the reception on me, and all wedding gifts will be returned.” With that, I turned around and walked away. Derek followed me into the dressing room, his face a mask of confusion. “Why are you doing this? Just because of those ten seconds?” I pulled the curtain shut to change out of my gown. “Yes. Because of those ten seconds.” “That’s ridiculous!” Derek argued through the curtain. “We didn’t even lose any time. This morning, when you got stuck in traffic and we were delayed for ages, you didn’t throw a fit like this.” I stepped out in my normal clothes. The gown had felt so heavy, a weight that required absolute certainty to carry. Ten seconds wasn’t the problem. The traffic delay this morning wasn’t the problem. Time was never the problem. He just couldn’t comprehend it. Why did she always come first? What did that make me? I was simply tired of being relegated to the background of his life. Derek softened his voice, trying to placate me. “Are you jealous? Gwen, she’s like a sister to me. She has hypoglycemia, and that was glucose water. I was just being careful. If she fainted at our wedding, it would have ruined the whole day anyway.” I looked at him, feeling a profound, hollow disappointment. She was surrounded by people who could have easily helped her. But he believed only he could save her, abandoning his own wedding ceremony to do so. The only logical explanation was that she held the absolute center of his heart. Just like during our engagement, when he insisted we wait for Nina to arrive before we took our official photos, leaving me standing in heels until I was on the verge of fainting. Just like the night he made me wait downstairs in a torrential downpour so he could pick her up. He hadn’t even left me an umbrella, and his car splashed muddy water all over me as he sped off. I had waited in the dark for hours that night, only to receive a text: Gwen, take a cab home. I need to help Nina sort some things out. I was always the one who had to compromise. Just like in those ten seconds at the altar, he couldn’t choose to stay by my side. I packed my things and left the venue. Settling into my car, a wave of relief finally washed over me. I had looked forward to this wedding so much. I used to think marrying the man I loved was the greatest blessing in the world. But the red flags had been there all along; I had just chosen to blind myself to them. In our family, there was a strict tradition. Before the wedding, the groom had to handwrite the marriage covenant, a sacred vow, letter by letter, with absolute precision to show his devotion to his bride and the marriage. But when Derek sat down to write it, he gave up after just two words. “I haven’t written anything by hand in years. This is too tedious. It’s just an outdated tradition anyway.” He procrastinated for months, suggesting we just print it out because it would look neater. My mother, who was very traditional, held this custom close to her heart. I kept pleading with him to finish it. “Just do it for me, please? My mother really cares about this. She wants to keep the covenant.” But Derek never listened. A simple hundred-word covenant took him a year, and he still hadn’t finished it. When I looked at the parchment, there were only five words written: two from his first attempt, and three more that I had practically begged him to write over the past year. It was supposed to be a test of his devotion, and he had failed miserably. What was he doing during that year? He was busy running errands for Nina, comforting her, anticipating her every need. He could spend hours sketching designs for her or writing out her grocery lists, but he couldn’t spare ten minutes for our covenant. In the end, I had been foolish enough to mimic his handwriting and complete the covenant myself, effectively marrying myself. As I quietly unpacked my things back at my apartment, the illusion of his love finally shattered. It was painful, but facing the truth brought a strange sense of peace. That afternoon, Derek’s mother called, demanding I come over to their estate to explain myself. I agreed. Things needed a clean break. True to form, Derek, who was supposed to pick me up, never showed. I wasn’t even surprised. Looking back, I had bent over backward to win his family’s approval. Whenever they wanted to get rid of their high-end junk, they dumped it on me to sell. I would leave their house loaded down with heavy boxes, spending my free hours after work finding buyers, negotiating prices, and shipping packages. When I transferred the money to his mother, all I ever got was a lukewarm, “We took a loss on this. You should have gotten more.” I was their unpaid liquidator, a convenient tool to turn their trash into cash. And because I wanted to please them, I smiled and took it. And what did I get in return? We had planned a modest wedding, inviting only close acquaintances, yet his parents couldn’t even bother to show up on time. They told us they would arrive later, just in time for the toasts. How ironic that we didn’t even make it that far. When I arrived at the Barlow estate, Derek’s mother immediately tried to put me to work. “Gwen, go up to the attic and organize those old books. They’ve been sitting there forever and they’re covered in dust.” She didn’t even offer me a dust mask. I didn’t budge. “Say whatever you have to say. I have places to be.” The room went dead silent. Everyone stared at me, including Derek. In the past, he would have found his mother’s demands perfectly reasonable. If a man truly loves a woman, how could he be blind to her humiliation? He let his family treat me like a maid under the guise of bonding. Now that I was refusing to play along, I actually saw a flicker of reluctant respect in their eyes. My love for Derek had been the very weapon they used to control me. Derek’s father cleared his throat. “What Derek did at the altar was inappropriate, yes. A wedding requires solemnity. But it’s hardly a reason to call off the entire marriage. We can always reschedule for another date.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the jewelry boxes. They held the bridal jewelry suite Derek had given me for our engagement. It was a traditional five-piece set consisting of a necklace, bracelet, earrings, a ring, and a tiara, symbolizing five blessings. But Nina had been allowed to look through the collection first and had taken the finest pieces. She was probably wearing them right now. Derek had let her do it, promising he would buy replacements before the wedding. He never did. I had to wear my own jewelry to fill the gaps on our wedding day. My five blessings had been reduced to two. “There won’t be another wedding,” I said quietly. “I’m here to call off the engagement permanently. As you both pointed out from the beginning, we were never a good match.” Derek’s father frowned. “Your mother was so eager to see you married. You’ve come this far. What do you gain by making a scene over nothing? How are you going to explain this to her?” He wasn’t wrong about my mother. She was currently undergoing cancer treatment in the hospital. Her greatest wish was to see me settled. She wanted to see me in a wedding dress, but more than that, she wanted to know I had a partner to walk beside me through this difficult life. That was why I had tolerated Derek for so long. I wanted to make her happy, believing a joyful event might even aid her recovery. When you have no control over a tragedy, you start putting your faith in miracles. I looked at Derek’s father, then at Derek himself. He looked smug, clearly agreeing with his father and expecting me to capitulate. His mother scoffed. “Being this petty never ends well. Such a massive overreaction over a bottle of water. I suppose this is the kind of behavior one expects from a broken home.” They only wanted a servant who would bow her head and take the blows. Their judgmental eyes felt like needles piercing my skin. Steeling my spine, I raised my voice. “That’s enough! Call me petty, call me dramatic, call me whatever you want. I am done playing this game. You can find someone else to exploit.” They seemed to have forgotten that they wouldn’t even allow my mother to attend the ceremony. Because of her illness, my mother had worked tirelessly with her physical therapists to stabilize her condition just so she could be there. I had begged them to let her come. “How is it fair that my own mother can’t attend my wedding? I understand we need to adapt some parts of the venue for her, but can’t she at least sit down for the meal? Can’t she just watch me walk down the aisle and take a photo with me?” They had refused, claiming her medical equipment and frail appearance would ruin the aesthetic and bring bad luck to the marriage. In the end, my mother had smiled through her tears and comforted me. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Just show me the video afterward. That will be enough for me.” Yet, when Nina asked to bring her friend’s disabled mother in a wheelchair to sit in the front row, Derek and his parents had readily agreed. They barred my own mother to protect the vibe of the wedding, but welcomed a complete stranger in a wheelchair without a second thought. Leaving the Barlow estate, the cool afternoon air felt incredibly sweet. Letting go was far easier than I had ever imagined. Derek didn’t run after me. Perhaps he truly didn’t care, or perhaps he assumed I was just throwing another tantrum and would crawl back. It didn’t matter anymore. I threw myself entirely into my work and spending every spare moment with my mother. But then, trouble started mounting at my job. One disaster followed another, and my supervisor began dumping piles of files on my desk. “Get these done tonight,” he ordered. I pulled three consecutive all-nights. Every time I slipped into the hospital ward late at night, my mother was already asleep. I could only steal a quick look at her pale face before rushing back to the office to work. Exhausted, I finally tried to protest. “Sir, this isn’t even my department. Couldn’t we…” He cut me off with a snarl. “Everyone else is working hard. You’re the only one complaining about helping out.” I swallowed my anger and went back to my desk, pushing through the crushing fatigue. Around three in the morning, starving and lightheaded, I ordered some takeout. As I went downstairs to pick it up, I heard voices near the entrance. It was Derek, talking to my supervisor. I stood frozen in the shadows as I realized they knew each other. They were old fraternity brothers. My supervisor shrugged, nudging Derek. “Are you sure this much work is okay? She’s going to be exhausted.” Derek shrugged, a smug smile on his face. “She needs to learn a lesson. Once she realizes how hard things are out there, she’ll stop throwing these tantrums. I don’t want to have to beg her to come back. Thanks for the favor, man. I owe you a nice dinner.” I stood there clutching my cold takeout, my mind going completely blank. All those grueling hours, the endless red tape, the sleepless nights, it wasn’t a standard workload. It was a trap manufactured by the man I had almost married to break my spirit. I didn’t go back upstairs to finish the files. I walked out, got into my car, and drove straight to the hospital. Sitting by my mother’s bedside, I took her hand. “Mom, that family friend’s son you wanted me to meet… is he still available?” The next morning at the office, my supervisor launched into a tirade, screaming at me in front of the entire department. I stared at his moving lips, the dark circles under my eyes heavy and throbbing. I could still hear his laugh from the night before, trading my misery for a steak dinner. How could people be so cruel? I just wanted to do my job, live my life, and escape a toxic relationship. Why did they have to tear me down? The tears finally spilled over, hot and angry. When he called me “selfish” for the third time, I gathered the thick stack of files on my desk and hurled them straight at his face. As I walked out of the building, I ran into Derek in the lobby. His eyes lit up with triumph, believing his little lesson had worked perfectly. “I booked a table at that Italian place you like,” he said, stepping into my path. “Come on, stop being stubborn.” He was waiting for my surrender, waiting for me to cling to him for warmth. But looking at him now, all I felt was absolute disgust. I pushed past him and walked out into the sunlight. Three days later, I walked out of the registry office, a gold band on my finger. A gentle, steady voice sounded beside me. “The actual wedding ceremony will take a bit more time to organize. I want to make sure everything is perfect for you and your mother.” I looked up at Nathan. Suddenly, a shadow fell over us. Derek had tracked me down using an old location-sharing app we had never deactivated. He stared at the red leather folder in my hand, his eyes practically bulging out of his skull. “Gwen, what the hell are you doing?”

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1 On the night Toby was rushed to the ICU, I begged Bennett for a loan. He stayed glued to his trading screens, dismissing my brother as [a bottomless pit] and telling me to ask my relatives instead. In the hall, I heard him call Paige. [I just wired the three hundred thousand dollars to your account,] he said, explaining it was a [playground fund] for her finance thesis. His tone was achingly tender. My phone lit up with Paige’s post: [Huge thanks to my favorite mentor!] alongside a stock chart marked with a heart. I pressed a hand to my stomach, where a seven-week life grew. When Bennett emerged, he coldly asked what he got out of supporting my [freeloading family]. I said nothing, simply signing the divorce papers I’d carried. Then, I drove to the clinic. He was right. From now on, I would live for myself. Standing outside the clinic door, I stared at the appointment slip in my hand. In three days, this child would be gone, disappearing from my life just like my marriage. The cold autumn wind slipped down my collar, making me shiver. I hailed a cab, intending to go back to our apartment to pack a few bags of my clothes. But when I reached the front door and entered the passcode, the lock beeped in error. I tried three times. On the fourth attempt, the system automatically locked down. Standing in the cold corridor, I dialed Bennett’s number. “Did you change the house code?” His voice was flat, completely devoid of guilt. “Yes. Paige needs to stay there for the next few days to monitor the night markets. It would be awkward if you were around. Take your mother and stay at a motel.” A suffocating chill settled over me. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat, my voice cracking. “Bennett, that is my home.” Bennett let out an annoyed sigh. “Nora, you need to look at this through a logical lens. Even if your brother survives, what is his trajectory? He’s a community college dropout destined for a dead-end blue-collar job. Paige is different. She is a prime asset. A hundred grand in her hands could easily double in two years. Your mother is constantly weeping, and if she stays at the apartment, it will ruin Paige’s concentration.” In the background, the relentless tapping of his keyboard never paused. Bennett was always like this, calculating, cold, and entirely objective. To him, everything was a matter of cost-benefit ratios and investment returns. In his financial universe, people were strictly categorized by their market value. My family and I were simply a failing stock, a liability not worth a single cent of his resources. I remembered the spring of our first year of marriage, when Bennett had visited my mother’s small house. My mother had just received her retirement payout, a modest thirty thousand dollars. Bennett had sat on her worn sofa, looking incredibly professional. “Mom, keeping this cash in a standard savings account is a waste. Let me manage it for you in a high-yield portfolio. It’s a guaranteed win.” My mother hadn’t hesitated. She immediately transferred the funds to him. When I tried to stop her, she had smiled and patted my hand. “He’s family, Nora. He would never let us lose.” Over the next year, I asked him about the portfolio a few times. The first time, Bennett didn’t even look up from his laptop. “It’s in a long-term accumulation phase. Don’t worry about it.” The second time, he frowned. “Stop obsessing over pocket change.” It wasn’t until the night before, when Toby urgently needed surgery, that I began digging through our bank statements and transaction history. My fingers had trembled as I scrolled through the digital ledgers. My mother’s thirty thousand dollars had never been put into a retirement portfolio. Six months ago, Bennett had transferred the entire sum into an account labeled: Paige’s Practice Fund. My mother’s lifetime savings, accumulated through decades of hard, backbreaking labor, had been casually handed over to keep Paige amused. Recognizing the depth of his cruelty, I didn’t waste another breath. I hung up the phone. Wiping away my tears, I looked down at the diamond band on my ring finger. With a sudden sense of finality, I walked into a jewelry store at the corner of the street. I slipped the ring off and placed it on the glass counter. The jeweler held it up to the light, turning it slowly. “The resale value on these isn’t great.” “How much?” “Three thousand.” It was just enough to cover Toby’s next round of medication. I handed over my ID, watching the ring slide away. It left a faint, pale indentation on my skin, the only proof that the last two years had actually happened. With the cash in hand, I bought myself a few basic clothes, wired the rest to my mother, and immediately called a divorce attorney. “I need you to draft a formal divorce petition as quickly as possible.” This marriage was over. The next morning, I went straight to the hospital to sit with my brother. My mother was sitting by his bed, her eyes bloodshot from a sleepless night. I rubbed her back gently, trying to soothe her. “Mom, the doctors said Toby is stable. Once the employer’s liability insurance pays out, the rest of the surgeries and physical therapy will be covered. We’re going to get through this.” My mother nodded silently, scrolling through her phone to pass the time. Suddenly, her hand froze, and the color completely drained from her face. Sensing something was wrong, I leaned over to look at her screen. It was Paige’s social media page. Over the past few days, her follower count had exploded because she had been posting curated snippets of her life with Bennett. Her latest video was beautifully shot. The camera panned across a pristine, sunlit home office. The caption read: Mentor says a workspace must be tranquil to see the market clearly, so he customized this desk just for me. It was a bit too high, so he personally sawed off the legs so I can trade comfortably twenty-four hours a day! As the camera focused on the rich grain of the wood, my breath caught in my throat. I knew that desk. It was my wedding gift, a hand-carved oak writing desk my mother had spent months crafting with her own hands, polishing every inch of the unique grain. Now, it had been butchered, its legs hacked off to serve as Paige’s trading station. A wave of humiliation and fury rushed to my head, making my chest tighten. Without thinking, I logged into my verified account and left a comment directly under the video: I am Bennett’s wife. That desk was a personal wedding gift handcrafted by my mother. You are living in a married man’s apartment and bragging about destroying his wife’s property. Do you have any concept of boundaries? The comment spread like wildfire. Within hours, thousands of people were calling out Paige for being a home-wrecker. Her comment section was flooded with backlash, and her account was quickly overwhelmed by public outrage. But I never anticipated how fast and ruthless Bennett’s retaliation would be. That afternoon, Toby’s nurse walked into the room with a conflicted expression. “I’m sorry, but we’ve been informed that your brother’s treatment can no longer be covered by the company’s insurance policy.” I stood up, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What do you mean? We finalized the paperwork with his employer yesterday. It was a clear-cut workplace injury.” The nurse sighed. “The company’s representative called an hour ago. They’ve retracted their initial statement and are denying all liability. Without the insurance coverage, we can’t proceed with his upcoming surgeries or his specialized medications. We’ll have to pause his active treatment.” My mother gasped, sinking back into her chair. I knew exactly who was behind this. Controlling my rage, I stepped into the hallway and called Bennett. “You had my brother’s insurance claim revoked, didn’t you?” His voice on the line was as cool and detached as ever. “Yes, Nora. Consider this the price for your public jealousy.” “You did this because I told the truth about her?” I whispered. He let out a soft laugh. “Paige’s video was performing exceptionally well. It had massive commercial value, a perfect marketing investment. Your little emotional outburst ruined her momentum and disrupted my financial strategy.” “I am simply teaching you a lesson in accountability.” As the call disconnected, the last trace of warmth in my heart died. If Bennett was going to block our path to a peaceful settlement, I would fight him in court. I sat in the hospital corridor, compiling every document, every incident report, and every witness statement to prepare a lawsuit against Toby’s employer. But before I could even file the paperwork, the narrative online shifted overnight. A wave of paid articles and coordinated posts began saturating every major platform: Greedy Family Attempts to Extort Local Company Over Minor Injury Jealous Wife Slanders Rising Influencer After Financial Dispute The Ultimate Parasitic Family The hashtags quickly climbed the trending lists. The articles completely twisted the truth, claiming my family was faking the severity of Toby’s injuries to secure a massive payout, and that I had maliciously targeted Paige out of spite. The public, easily swayed by the coordinated media campaign, turned their anger toward us. I stared at the screen, my fingers cold. Bennett was pulling the strings, determined to destroy not just my brother’s chance of recovery, but my family’s reputation. By evening, the online hostility spilled into the real world. Three angry online vigilantes bypassed hospital security and stormed into Toby’s ward. Before I could even react, the sharp, toxic smell of chemical paint filled the room. My mother acted on pure instinct, throwing her body over Toby’s fragile form. The heavy, dark paint splashed across her back, staining her hair and clothes. But even with her protection, some of the paint splattered onto Toby’s open surgical wounds. The harsh chemicals instantly irritated his skin, causing his body to convulse. His heart monitor began beeping erratically, and his face turned a sickly grey as he slipped into unconsciousness. “Doctor! Please, someone help!” I ran into the hallway, screaming for the medical staff, my hands shaking violently. The medical team rushed in, pushing us out of the room as they began emergency resuscitation. Thirty minutes later, the lead surgeon walked out, his face grim. “The chemicals have caused a severe infection in his wounds, triggering a high fever and putting immense strain on his organs. He is in critical condition. We need to operate immediately, but we need the payment secured first. You need to find the funds, and fast.” I leaned against the cold hospital wall, feeling the weight of complete despair. I didn’t care about the lies they told about me, but I couldn’t let my brother die. Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. Bennett stood there, looking immaculate in his tailored suit, his expression perfectly calm. Beside him, Paige was clinging softly to his arm. They stood side by side, looking down at my disheveled, paint-stained figure. Bennett glanced through the window of the ICU. “Nora, I can write the check right now and bring in the best specialists to save your brother.” “But first, you will release a public statement clarifying that Paige never interfered in our marriage. You will state that you acted out of marital insecurity, and that your previous comments were entirely baseless slanders.” I clenched my fists, my fingernails biting deep into my skin. “Bennett, I have done nothing wrong.” Bennett’s expression hardened, his patience completely exhausted. “Stubborn to the end.” Without another word, he placed a hand on Paige’s waist, guided her turn, and walked away. I spent the entire night sitting by Toby’s bedside, watching his shallow breathing, completely powerless. The next morning, my phone buzzed with a text message from an unknown number: Come to the lobby of the Grand Regent Hotel if you want to see a show. It was from Paige. A terrible dread pooled in my stomach. I ran out of the hospital and hailed a cab to the hotel. The moment I stepped through the grand glass doors of the lobby, the bright flashes of cameras blinded me. A mob of reporters and photographers had blocked the entrance, trapping someone in the center of the crowd. It was my mother, standing alone, looking incredibly small and frail. The reporters were shouting questions at her, their voices sharp and predatory. “Ma’am, is it true your daughter fabricated the affair allegations to ruin a young girl’s career?” “Is your family trying to extort money because you can’t afford your son’s lifestyle?” My mother’s shoulders shook violently under the weight of the cameras. Then, she lowered her head and bowed deeply to the crowd. “I am sorry. It was my fault. I thought my daughter’s marriage was failing, and in my confusion, I pressured her to write those things online. It was entirely my doing. Please do not blame anyone else.” The crowd erupted into murmurs of disgust. A few aggressive onlookers stepped forward, throwing eggs and trash at her. The yellow yolk ran down her grey hair, staining her coat. “Get away from her! Leave my mother alone!” I screamed, trying to force my way through the thick crowd of reporters. But the crush of people was too strong, and someone shoved me backward. I lost my balance and crashed heavily onto the marble floor. In the chaos, people kept jostling, and a heavy boot stepped squarely onto my lower abdomen. A sharp, blinding pain shot through my body, making me gasp for air. Seconds later, a warm wetness began to spread down my legs, staining my skirt a deep, dark red. Shivering from the pain, I struggled to lift my head. The world was beginning to spin, but through the blurry haze, I saw Bennett standing near the elevators. I reached out a trembling, blood-stained hand toward him, my voice barely a whisper. “Bennett… please, help me…” He looked down at me, his eyes entirely blank. “Stop acting, Nora,” he said, his voice cold and distant. “Your mother has already apologized. I’ll take care of your brother’s medical bills.” He turned his back on me and walked away with Paige. The world went completely black. When I opened my eyes again, the sterile smell of a hospital room filled my senses. A doctor was standing by my bed, his expression incredibly gentle but heavy with pity. “Nora, the physical trauma to your abdomen, combined with the severe internal bleeding and the delay in treatment, has caused irreversible damage. I am so sorry… but you will not be able to carry a child in the future.” I stared at the ceiling, unable to shed a single tear. When you reach the absolute limit of pain, there is only numbness left. I slowly pushed myself up, reached into my bag, and pulled out the signed divorce papers. I placed them quietly on the bedside table. Within the hour, I helped my mother transfer Toby to a different hospital. From this day on, Bennett, you and I are completely even.

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Late night gaming sessions always have a way of spiking your blood pressure. Our team’s Support player was absolutely feeding. After getting flamed relentlessly by the rest of us on voice chat, she just went AFK. A few minutes later, she reconnected. Her voice came through the mic, trembling and choked with heavy sobs. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” “I was just drawing a bath for my baby. I put him in the tub…” “And I… I forgot to turn off the immersion heater…” “The water is boiling. He’s not moving. What do I do?” 1 I sat there, completely stunned. I glanced at the Support’s in-game name. It was “GamerPrincess”. A total stereotype. Our Jungler started yelling into his mic. “Lady! Can you quit with the creepy act in the middle of the night?” The ADC chimed in. “If you want to troll, just disconnect. Playing a horror soundboard isn’t funny. Let’s just surrender.” He initiated a surrender vote. But our Mid laner, who hadn’t used his mic all game, instantly voted no. The match dragged on. Princess was still wailing through the headset. “It’s real… my baby… he’s gone…” “What do I do? Oh god, what do I do…” Her panic sounded incredibly raw and helpless. If this was an act, she deserved an Oscar. I couldn’t hold back anymore. “I have literally never heard of anyone boiling a kid in a bathtub. What planet are you living on?” Princess sobbed uncontrollably, her words breaking apart. “The water… it was fine… I just wanted to play one quick game… I thought it would get cold…” “And then you guys started flaming me in the chat. You kept calling me trash…” “I panicked. I just cranked the heater to the max and ran back to my keyboard… I didn’t think…” “But… oh god…” She suddenly stopped talking. For two or three seconds, there was dead silence. Then, her tone shifted entirely. It dropped into a vicious, venomous snarl. “It’s your fault for cursing at me! This is all your fault! All of you!” “I will never let you get away with this!” 2 We were all completely dumbfounded. Who the hell blames random internet strangers for something like that? Even the toxic Jungler softened his tone, trying to sound reasonable. “Hey, lady, calm down. Take the kid out of the water and dial 911. Maybe the paramedics can do CPR…” Princess just cried harder, her voice piercing. “It’s too late… he’s completely still. His skin is so red… the water is scorching…” “He’s not breathing. There’s no pulse…” “He’s dead… he’s really dead…” “You killed him. You all killed him…” The ADC couldn’t take it anymore. He typed furiously to our Mid laner in the team chat: Just vote yes! Something is seriously fucked up at the Support’s house! Turn on your headset and listen to her! The Mid laner finally typed back: Crazy bitch. Fine, I’ll vote. The surrender screen popped up, and we all clicked yes immediately. The post-game lobby closed, cutting off her endless, cursing sobs. I let out a massive sigh of relief. I took off my headset, having zero desire to queue up for another match. That whole ordeal completely ruined my night. But a few minutes later, things took a terrifying turn. A friend request popped up on my Discord. The attached message read: Jungler from the last game. It felt weird, but I accepted it. The second the chat opened, he sent a flurry of messages. Dude, we are screwed. What if that crazy woman actually killed her kid? What if she comes looking for us? I typed back, confused. How did you even find my Discord tag? He answered line by line. Are you blind? You can see linked accounts on the server tracker. But that’s not the point. That match we just played was on the local matchmaking server. That means that Support player lives right here in our area! She said she wasn’t going to let us get away with it. She might actually be able to track us down! Reading that last sentence, my fingers literally started to shake over the keyboard. 3 I forced myself to take a deep breath and typed back a reassuring message. Stop scaring yourself. Nobody can track down a specific apartment just from a local server ping. I was trying to comfort him, but I was really just trying to convince myself. The Jungler replied instantly. I added the ADC who flamed her too. He lives in the Grandview Apartment complex. Just like me. What about you? Holy shit, me too! I typed out, but quickly tried to rationalize it. Wait, this complex has over fifty thousand residents. It’s totally normal for a local server to match us up. He asked another question. The creepiest part is, the ADC and I both live in District 4. You? Same here. By the time I hit enter, a cold sweat was already gluing my shirt to my back. The Jungler kept firing off messages. I knew it. Hold on a sec. I just added the Mid laner. Let me see what his deal is. If the three of us living this close is a coincidence, there’s no way he lives here too. I stared at the screen. Alright. Go ask. I’ll wait. Waiting was pure torture. My imagination started running wild. I opened up the local subreddit for our city, figuring I might as well check if there was any breaking news about an ambulance at Grandview. I wish I hadn’t looked. What I found almost stopped my heart. Something did happen in District 4. The details matched exactly what that “Princess” had been crying about. A young mother, home alone. Left an infant in a portable tub with a faulty immersion heater. Got distracted playing video games. The water boiled. The baby died. It was a real, documented tragedy. But when I looked at the timestamp on the news article, I felt completely sick. The article was posted exactly seven days ago. If this just happened tonight, there would be no police report or detailed news coverage. Right then, the Jungler messaged me again. The Mid laner lives in Grandview too! Something is seriously wrong here. I’m making a group chat. A drop of cold sweat rolled down my forehead and hit the desk. 4 There were four of us in the group chat. Everyone except the dead baby’s mother. I didn’t even read what they were saying. I just copied the Reddit link and slammed it into the chat. Look at this first! Tell me this isn’t exactly what happened in our game tonight! It took them less than a minute to completely lose their minds. The Jungler, always paying attention to the details, pointed out the worst part. Did you guys read to the bottom? The husband came home from work and chopped his wife to death with a kitchen knife! I clicked the link again and scrolled down. He was right. The husband murdered her in a blind rage. She died seven days ago, the Jungler typed. Today is the seventh night. You guys know what that means, right? The ghost comes back for revenge. The chat exploded. Chris, the Mid laner, typed in all caps: I DIDN’T EVEN USE MY MIC! WHY THE HELL AM I DRAGGED INTO THIS GHOST SHIT?! Tyler, the ADC, was panicking. We need to call the cops. 911 right now. If we wait until something happens, we’re dead. The Jungler shot that down immediately. If it’s a dead woman looking for revenge, what exactly are the cops going to do? Shoot a ghost? We need a real plan. I knew we had to do something, but my brain was completely fried. The whole situation was beyond logic. Suddenly, a private DM popped up from Tyler. Did the Jungler ask for your exact address? Did you give it to him? I replied honestly. I just told him District 4. He didn’t ask for my building number. Tyler’s response was chilling. He asked for mine, but I didn’t give it to him. That’s why he didn’t dare ask you. I felt a knot form in my stomach. What are you trying to say? The Jungler is sketchy, Tyler typed. He tracked us all down. He acts like he already knows where we live. He made this group chat. Watch. I bet he’s going to suggest some crazy plan to get us all together. Literally one second after Tyler sent that DM, the Jungler typed in the main group chat: Guys, I have an idea. I don’t know if you’ll go for it, but hear me out. Tyler called it perfectly. This nightmare was getting way too complicated. 5 Before I could even type a response, Tyler was already playing along in the group chat. Let’s hear it. What’s the plan? The Jungler started laying it out. Look, if I could find all of you through game data, a vengeful ghost can definitely find our front doors. Sitting here waiting to die is a terrible idea. I say we take the initiative. We go to her apartment. We bring something to offer her. We apologize sincerely. If we show her we are genuinely sorry, maybe she’ll let us live. Reading that insane proposal, my first thought was: He wants us to just deliver ourselves to a haunted murder scene? Tyler’s private DM popped up again. See? I told you. He’s trying to lead us into a trap. I agreed completely. You’re right. But why? We don’t even know this guy. Why would he want us dead? Play along in the group, Tyler instructed. Let’s force him to show his hand. Maybe this Jungler is working with whatever is haunting that place. It made sense. I switched back to the main chat. To my absolute shock, Chris, the Mid laner who had been raging a minute ago, suddenly agreed with the Jungler. Chris typed: I’m fine with going. But do you even know which building and apartment this crazy woman lived in? The Jungler replied: The news article probably has clues. If not, I can ask around the complex. Everything was perfectly aligning with the Jungler’s script. He held all the cards. If he gave us a random address, we’d have no choice but to follow him blindly in the dark. But right then, Tyler finally dropped a massive bomb in the group chat. Don’t bother asking around. I know exactly which building and which apartment she lived in. The chat went dead. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. 6 I frantically messaged Tyler in private. Are you insane?! You actually know where the murder happened? How?! Tyler replied instantly, sounding incredibly smug. Are you an idiot? I’m going to give them my own apartment address. I want to see how the Jungler reacts. Let’s see if he really has the guts to show up at a random door. I exhaled loudly. It was a bluff. In the group chat, the Jungler was already pressing him. You know? How the hell do you know? Tyler kept weaving his lie. Because I’ve been following this case since day one. And unfortunately… I actually know her husband. He didn’t give the Jungler time to process that before pushing the issue. Enough talking. Are we doing this or not? If we are, I’m dropping the address right now. I thought this aggressive push would make the Jungler back off. Instead, the Jungler agreed immediately. Hell yes. Send the address. I froze. Tyler typed out a detailed building and apartment number without missing a beat. Then he added a provocative challenge. This is it. Well? Are we heading out? Meet at the front door? I was totally lost. Were we really about to have a midnight meetup at Tyler’s place to test this guy? I was just about to type out an excuse to stay home. But before I could, Chris broke his silence again. His tone was dead serious, completely devoid of his previous panic. Who exactly are you, Tyler? What kind of sick game are you playing? What did we ever do to you? I stared at the screen, thoroughly confused. Right below that message, Chris uploaded an image. It was a screenshot of his private DMs with Tyler. I looked at the image and my blood ran cold. The conversation was nearly identical to the one Tyler was having with me. Tyler had told Chris he was suspicious of the Jungler, and that he was going to post a fake address to test him. But the real gut punch was the message Chris sent right after the screenshot. The address he just posted isn’t his apartment! That is the actual address where the baby was killed! 7 My brain practically short-circuited. This Tyler guy was an absolute psychopath. He was privately playing the voice of reason, manipulating me and Chris to doubt the Jungler, while simultaneously baiting all of us to walk right into a literal slaughterhouse! But the biggest question remained. How did Tyler know the real address? And what did he want from us? With the lie exposed, Chris kept the pressure on in the group chat. You told us it was a fake address to test the Jungler. You lied. What are you actually trying to do? Cornered by the evidence, Tyler didn’t back down. He sounded completely justified. I don’t have a hidden agenda. You have to believe me. I lied because I had absolutely no other choice. I’ve spelled it out as clearly as I can. Do you guys seriously not understand? I lost my temper and typed furiously. Understand what?! What kind of sick bullshit are you pulling in the middle of the night?! Chris was on the exact same page. Drop the act. Who are you? Did you hack the game to force us all into the same lobby? Tyler responded with a heavy dose of frustration. I told you I was forced into this. Do you not get it? I am being threatened! I swear to God, I have no idea how we ended up in the same match. That wasn’t me. But look in the mirror for a second. Are you all really going to pretend you have absolutely zero connection to that dead woman? I was furious. Keep my name out of your mouth! I don’t know that woman! The Jungler, who had been quiet, chimed in with question marks. Don’t try to drag me down with you! Before Chris could defend himself, Tyler tagged him directly in the chat. Hold on, Chris. Care to explain how you knew the address I posted was the actual murder scene? A massive realization hit me. The Jungler and I had completely missed the most glaring flaw in the room! If Chris didn’t know the dark history behind that address, how did he make that judgment so fast?

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1 For the three years we dated, Jimmy proudly wore the badge of an emotionally stunted guy who just didn’t get romance. So my best friend, Poppy, stepped in to be his wingwoman. From massive life plans to the most intimate details of our bedroom life, he consulted his guru Poppy on absolutely everything. Whenever I voiced my discomfort, Jimmy always had the same excuse. “Nora, stop overreacting. Poppy knows you better than anyone.” “I only ask for her help to keep our relationship solid.” Then came the day of my company physical. The doctors found a suspicious shadow on my lung. I texted a picture of the report to Jimmy. His knee-jerk reply popped up instantly. “Damn. Wild.” A second later, the message was unsent, replaced by a flood of overly sweet, sickly romantic paragraphs. I knew exactly what had happened. The wingwoman had taken over the chat. In the past, I wouldn’t have overthought it. But today was different. Staring at those two lines of text on my glowing screen, a sharp, bitter sting gathered behind my eyes. It was drizzling outside. By the time I finally pushed the front door open, it was already ten at night. The apartment was thick with stale cigarette smoke. A fresh bouquet of Stargazer lilies, the flowers I absolutely despised, sat dead center on the coffee table. I peeled off my damp trench coat and looked over at Jimmy. He was glued to his monitor, furiously clicking his mouse. “Didn’t we agree you were going to pick me up? I waited outside the clinic for over an hour.” He furrowed his brows, his eyes never leaving the screen. “I’m in the middle of a raid right now.” “Besides, you made it back perfectly fine on your own. Why did I have to be there?” My hand froze on the strap of my purse. I couldn’t even put into words how hollow my chest felt. When the doctor first showed me that scan, my entire being ached for Jimmy to walk through the door. I wanted him holding my hand, facing this terrifying unknown right beside me. But now, looking at him sitting right there in our living room. It suddenly felt like his presence didn’t matter at all. I hesitated for a second before dropping the medical folder onto the desk right in front of his keyboard. “There’s a shadow on my lung. The shape is highly irregular. The doctor told me to mentally prepare for the worst.” “I don’t drink, I exercise, I live a clean life.” “The only possible cause they gave me was prolonged, heavy exposure to secondhand smoke.” Jimmy finally stopped clicking and looked up. His face twisted into an annoyed scowl. “So you’re blaming me now?” “Nora, stop being so dramatic. Secondhand smoke isn’t nearly as deadly as the internet makes it out to be.” “The final biopsy isn’t even back yet. Can we not make every single thing my fault?” The exact same hurtful deflections. The exact same callous apathy. The old me would have cried. I would have felt profoundly wronged and dragged him into a screaming match right then and there. But tonight, I just stood perfectly still, letting the silence stretch. The heavy tension was suddenly broken by the bathroom door swinging open. Poppy stepped out into the hallway. Before she even opened her mouth to speak, Jimmy instantly crushed his cigarette into the ashtray and scrambled to crank the window wide open, looking incredibly guilty. I have chronic sinusitis. I cannot tolerate the smell of smoke. I spent three years begging Jimmy to quit, and my words meant nothing. Poppy just gave him a single look, and he folded completely. A dry, self-deprecating smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. Poppy nodded in approval, radiating the smug energy of a victor. “Jimmy, you’re bullying Nora again.” “Did you forget all the ground rules I taught you? Apologize to her right now.” The defensive, aggressive edge Jimmy just aimed at me melted away in a heartbeat. He shrugged, reluctantly shifting his gaze back to me. “Sorry, babe. Don’t be mad.” he muttered, his tone flat. “It’s all my fault, okay? I’m apologizing.” Seeing Poppy still glaring at him with her arms crossed, Jimmy let out a heavy sigh and picked up his phone to open a delivery app. “Flowers, boba tea, and a mango mousse cake.” “The ultimate apology trio. I’m doing this right, aren’t I, Poppy?” Poppy flashed him a thumbs-up and walked over, looping her arm through mine with a bright smile. “See, Nora? Aren’t I the best relationship coach ever?” “As long as I’m around, I guarantee you two will have smooth sailing.” I don’t eat mango. I am highly allergic to flower pollen. Every single item he just ordered was Poppy’s favorite. Too exhausted to even argue, I yanked my arm out of her grip in disgust and started walking toward the bathroom. Halfway down the hall, my feet stopped dead. My entire body went rigid as I stared blankly at the floor right beneath Poppy’s feet. She was standing on a vintage cashmere cardigan. The one I kept safely folded in the back of my closet, the one I cherished too much to even wear. I shoved her aside and dropped to my knees, frantically scooping up the fabric. Jimmy immediately rushed forward to catch Poppy by the waist. He barked at me without a second of hesitation. “Nora, what the hell is wrong with you tonight? Just because you’re in a bad mood doesn’t mean you get to take it out on other people!” Poppy quickly wedged herself between us, looking down at me with wide, teary eyes. “Nora, please don’t be mad.” “Jimmy was just worried I’d catch a cold walking out of the shower barefoot, so he grabbed this sweater for me to step on.” “If you’re upset, I’ll buy you a brand new one tomorrow.” That cardigan was the very last thing my grandmother left me before she passed away. I had told Jimmy the story behind it countless times. But he never retained a single word. Instead, he memorized that Poppy preferred her shower water at exactly a hundred degrees. He remembered that she hated wearing slippers on hardwood floors. Because of that, he felt entirely justified pulling my dead grandmother’s keepsake out of my closet to use as a makeshift bath mat. It felt like someone had shoved a fistful of cotton down my throat. I couldn’t breathe. I carried the sweater to the bathroom sink, desperately running the tap over the dirty footprints. But this cardigan was just like our relationship. No matter how hard I scrubbed, the stain wasn’t going to come out. My knuckles turned stark white under the freezing water. The ache in my chest was blinding. Right as a tear threatened to spill over my lashes, Jimmy’s arms wrapped tightly around me from behind. He rested his chin heavily on my shoulder. His voice dropped into a register of tenderness I had never heard from him before. “I am so sorry, Nora. I swear to god I didn’t mean to do that.” “I know you’re terrified about the medical results right now, and I never should have snapped at you.” “I promise you, I’m taking the next few days off to stay right by your side.” “Remember what we promised each other when we first started dating? Whatever happens, we face it together.” Finding someone you truly love is so incredibly hard. Flashes of our three years together flickered through my mind. The ice around my heart began to crack, just a little. I took a shaky breath, turning my head to respond, but Jimmy suddenly let go of me. He stepped back, pulling up the notes app on his phone. “Wait, what was the next line again?” “Poppy, the script you wrote me is way too long, I can’t memorize all this.” A familiar peal of laughter echoed from the hallway. “Oh my god, Jimmy, you are such an idiot.” “Just tell her you love her and she’s your whole world! Any girl would melt hearing that.” Poppy leaned casually against the doorframe, looking at Jimmy with playful mockery. “You big dummy, what would you ever do without me?” Jimmy turned back toward her, a smirk playing on his lips. He flicked his wet fingers, splashing water right onto Poppy’s cheek. “Good thing I’ve got you then, isn’t it?” “As long as you’re sticking around, I’ve got nothing to worry about.” The two of them instantly devolved into a playful wrestling match. Poppy scooped up a handful of water to splash him back. Her long acrylic nail caught the soaking wet cashmere in the sink. There was a sickening rip. A massive tear ripped straight down the center of the sweater. The laughter stopped instantly. Poppy stepped forward to look at the damage, but Jimmy grabbed her wrist before she could reach the sink. “Did you crack your nail? Does it hurt? Let me see, do we need to take you to urgent care?” Poppy glanced at me, shaking her head with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m not that fragile. You better go coddle your girlfriend. Not every girl is as forgiving as I am.” Jimmy refused to listen. He inspected her acrylic nail over and over again, practically dragging her out the door to get it looked at just in case she had damaged her real nail bed underneath. The front door slammed shut. I looked down at my pale, trembling hands submerged in the basin. Just last month, I slammed my hand into a filing cabinet at the office. My nail ripped in half, and it bled for nearly an hour. I sent Jimmy a picture, begging him to come meet me at the clinic because I was feeling faint from the pain. All he texted back was a skull emoji. “Told you having those long claws would get in the way of working. Bet you learned your lesson now.” When Poppy found out, she chewed him out for being so insensitive. He swore up and down that the next time something like that happened, he would shower his partner with care and attention. He didn’t break his promise. He just gave all that care and attention to someone else. The old cut on my finger had reopened from scrubbing the sweater. A thin ribbon of red bloomed into the soapy water. I quietly patched up my finger with a bandage. I dug out my sewing kit and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to stitch my grandmother’s sweater back together. Halfway through, my phone chimed on the nightstand. I thought it would be Jimmy checking in. It was a text from Sarah, the HR manager at my company. “Hey Nora, so sorry to bother you this late.” “The whole office heard about your medical news.” “God, you and your boyfriend were just talking about getting engaged. You must be an absolute wreck right now.” “The regional director said you should take as much paid leave as you need. We can put the London transfer and all your current projects on hold for now.” I honestly thought I had gone numb to it all. But the second a stranger offered me an ounce of genuine sympathy, the dam completely broke. I was so terrified of the disease growing inside me. I was so crushed by Jimmy’s chilling indifference. After hesitating for a long time, my breaking heart won out, and I sent him a message asking where he was. Jimmy immediately answered with a FaceTime call. But when the screen connected, it was Poppy’s face staring back at me. She held up a massive cluster of cracked crab legs, grinning over her shoulder at Jimmy, who was meticulously picking the meat out of the shells for her. “I told you to text her where we were going, but you never listen.” “See? Now the missus is calling to check up on you.” She spun the camera back to herself, looking right at me. “Don’t stress, Nora. I’m keeping a close eye on him for you.” “We were going to invite you to the seafood spot, but we figured you probably didn’t have an appetite with everything going on.” “Don’t worry though, I know exactly what you like. We’ll bring you back some leftovers.” I didn’t say a single word. I just stared at the screen, watching Jimmy methodically crack open another shell. In our three years together, he had never once peeled seafood for me. Whenever I asked, he would roll his eyes. “Can you not be so high maintenance? I’m a guy, I don’t do that delicate crap.” Yet right now, the pile of perfectly extracted crab meat on Poppy’s plate looked like a small mountain. A suffocating wave of exhaustion washed over me. I hung up the phone and crawled under the duvet, desperately wanting sleep to erase this miserable reality. But the pressure of real life hung over my neck like a guillotine. I tossed and turned, completely unable to close my eyes. Jimmy finally unlocked the front door around two in the morning. He walked into the bedroom, pressed a cold hand against my forehead, and let out a soft sigh. “Still feeling sick? Stop spiraling and get up, I brought you some food.” “The lab results aren’t even finalized yet. I bet it’s just like last time, some random bug that means absolutely nothing.” When we first started dating, I did fake being sick once to test him. He had a filthy mouth and zero sense of romance. I genuinely couldn’t tell if he actually liked me or was just passing the time. So I exaggerated a headache into a severe fever to see what he would do. I remember it was pouring rain that night, and the downtown traffic was entirely gridlocked. Jimmy was so terrified something bad was happening to me that he abandoned his car, threw me over his shoulders, and sprinted six blocks in a torrential downpour to get me to the emergency room. When the doctor told him it was just a mild cold, he yelled at me right there in the lobby. He said some genuinely nasty things. But sitting in that plastic hospital chair, my heart was soaring. Because in that moment of raw panic, I knew he loved me. After that night, no matter how harsh or obnoxious Jimmy could be. I never once thought about giving up on him or walking away from us. Until Poppy entered the picture. His wingwoman carefully, methodically trained him into the textbook definition of a perfect boyfriend. But this perfect boyfriend no longer belonged to me. I felt something cold brush against the back of my neck. Jimmy’s fingers gently swept a stray piece of hair behind my ear. But I truly couldn’t tell anymore. Was this a trick Poppy had coached him on? Or was it a rare, fleeting moment of genuine affection? I kept my back turned to him in the dark. Neither of us spoke another word. I didn’t sleep a single second. When the sun came up, Jimmy left early for the office. He left a breakfast plate on the counter, perfectly following Poppy’s nutritional instructions. It was a runny poached egg and a kale salad. Two things that made my stomach turn. I didn’t touch it. I threw on a hoodie and walked down to the neighborhood park to get some air. Nothing about the streets had changed. But the person who used to hold my hand while we walked here was entirely gone. My legs finally gave out from exhaustion, and I carried my heavy heart back up to our apartment. I pushed the door open and froze. The hallway was completely barricaded with boxes. Poppy was standing in the living room, pointing aggressively as delivery workers dragged furniture around. Jimmy was right beside her, happily packing my belongings into cardboard boxes. He was rambling off a checklist. “We need to swap the blinds for total blackout curtains. Poppy is a light sleeper and hates the morning sun.” “The pillows have to go too. Poppy only sleeps on memory foam.” “And the couch is way too depressing. Poppy likes warm neutrals, let’s get a cream-colored one.” I watched the two of them systematically erase every trace of my existence from the apartment. I stepped into the room, my voice trembling with disbelief. “Jimmy, I’m not even dead yet. Are you really in such a goddamn rush to let Poppy replace me?” Jimmy instinctively stepped in front of Poppy, shielding her. His face darkened. “What the hell kind of crazy talk is that? People were right, sick patients are impossible to deal with.” “You were the one crying about how unromantic I was. That’s the only reason I asked Poppy to come over and help me redesign the place for you.” “I try to do something nice, and you’re acting like an ungrateful psycho.” Poppy peeked out from behind his shoulder and stuck her tongue out at me. She casually wrapped her arms around Jimmy’s bicep. “Nora, don’t be paranoid. I’m just here to take care of you, not ruin your relationship.” “Oh, wait, why is your neck all red? Don’t tell me you guys were…” She turned and swatted Jimmy playfully on the chest, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt. “Nora is literally sick, and you still couldn’t keep your hands off her last night?” “Once I move in here, I’m keeping a very close eye on you two. No funny business.” Jimmy chuckled, leaning his face intimately close to Poppy’s. “You’re gonna police my sex life now?” “What happens if I get the urge? Are you going to step up and handle it for her?” Watching them flirt inches from my face snapped the final thread of my sanity. I grabbed the glass vase off the table and hurled it directly at the wall behind them. It shattered with a violent crash. Jimmy jumped back, releasing his grip on Poppy. “Nora, are you psychotic?!” “That is Poppy’s favorite vase! She carried that all the way back from a vintage boutique in Milan last month!” A hollow, venomous laugh ripped its way out of my throat. My entire body was shaking with fury. “Oh, you have an incredible memory when it comes to Poppy, don’t you, Jimmy?” “You remember she bought that vase in Milan. You remember she hates sunlight. You remember she needs memory foam and neutral aesthetics.” “But do you remember that I have chronic sinusitis? Do you remember that the pollen in those goddamn flowers put me in the hospital last year?” “Do you remember that I am a patient who might have lung cancer and could drop dead at any minute?!” Jimmy froze completely. He couldn’t answer a single question. His mouth opened and closed, entirely stripped of his usual arrogance. He looked like he wanted to apologize. But right at that exact second, Poppy stepped out from behind him. She closed the distance between us, grabbing my wrists before I could step back. “Nora, please don’t yell at him. We are literally just trying to help you.” I tried to violently rip my hands out of her grip. Her fingernails dug painfully into my skin. She leaned in close, dropping her voice to a vicious, venomous whisper only I could hear. “You’re so pissed off, aren’t you, Nora? You feel so victimized.” “Well, did you ever stop to think about how miserable I’ve been playing the ugly sidekick all these years?” “We come from the exact same background. Why the hell do you get the six-figure job and the perfect boyfriend?” “Since you insist on being better than me at everything, I am going to burn every single thing you love to the ground today.” Before I could even process the words, she yanked my arm forward and threw her own body violently backward toward the floor. She let out a blood-curdling scream. “Nora, I swear I didn’t tell Jimmy about you faking your illness!” “Please, just believe me this one time, stop hurting me!” A split second before she hit the hardwood, Jimmy lunged forward and caught her in his arms. He stared at her terrified face for two seconds before turning to me with eyes full of absolute hatred. “You’re faking it again?!” “I let it go the first time, and now you think you can forge a medical document to pull this manipulative bullshit on me?!” “No wonder your grandmother died so young, you probably drove her to an early grave with this toxic behavior.” “You like playing sick? You like assaulting people? Fine, keep playing your sick little games alone!” “Whenever you finally decide to grow the hell up and stop acting like a lunatic, maybe I’ll bring Poppy back here!” He grabbed Poppy by the hand and dragged her out the door. The heavy oak slammed shut behind them, rattling the picture frames on the walls. I stood completely alone in the center of the living room, looking around at the ruins of my life. Everything had changed. Every person, every object, it was all utterly foreign. The framed photos on the mantle had been replaced by Poppy’s selfies. Poppy’s silk pajamas were draped over my side of the bed. Even the study, the bathroom. Poppy’s fingerprints were permanently burned into every square inch of this apartment. My belongings were nowhere to be found. In this home, in this relationship. There hadn’t been any room for me in a very, very long time. Tears slipped down my cheeks, entirely silent. I took one long, shuddering breath, pulled out my phone, and slowly typed out a message. “Sarah, I’m taking the transfer. I’ll go to London.” I slowly turned in a circle, taking one final, agonizing look at the walls I had called home for three years. I picked up my suitcase, walked out the door, and never looked back.

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