In the seventh year of our marriage, my wife’s “one that got away” made me download an app. It was a digital vault filled with her intimate videos, curated exclusively for his eyes. When I confronted Layla about it, she didn’t cry. She didn’t beg. She just looked at me with that familiar, weary impatience, like I was a child interrupting an adult conversation. “I didn’t actually sleep with him, Carter. Besides, that was item number ninety-nine on The List. Just one more to go, and I won’t owe him anything anymore.” Click the link. Download the app. It’ll show you who Layla really loves. Jared had sent me that text, followed immediately by the download link. Even through the sterile glow of the screen, I could feel his smirk. The arrogance of a man who knows he’s won. I stared at the phone for a long time. Eventually, the writer in me—the part that picks at scabs just to see how deep the wound goes—won out. I tapped the link. The app was titled: Jared’s Sanctuary. The moment it opened, the blood in my veins turned to slush. … The screen was a grid of thumbnails, every single one featuring Layla. My Layla. There she was in scandalous lingerie I’d never seen before. There she was in a steam-filled bathroom. There she was, preening in the stall of a public restroom. Her voice, tinny through the speaker, sliced through me. “Jared, I love you so much.” “Jared, am I beautiful?” The words were barbed wire, wrapping tighter around my heart with every syllable. Beneath every video, a caption read: For Jared’s eyes only. Clatter. My phone hit the floor hard enough to crack the screen. Layla was my wife. Seven years. Two thousand five hundred days of building a life together. I knew she had a past, but I never imagined she was capable of this kind of duplicity. This wasn’t just cheating; it was a performance. She had sworn, on our wedding day, that I was the only one. I picked up the phone and dialed her number. The background noise on her end was a wall of sound—music, laughter, the clinking of glass. Then, a voice cut through the din. A man’s voice. “Come on, Layla! Jared is the one that got away. No way you’re over him. Give him a kiss!” The chant started. “Kiss him! Kiss him!” “Layla,” I said, my voice trembling with a rage I didn’t know I possessed. “What are you doing?” She didn’t answer. The line just went dead. It was 1:00 AM when Layla finally stumbled through the front door, reeking of expensive gin and bad decisions. “Friend’s birthday,” she mumbled, kicking off her heels. “Ran late.” I saw it immediately. A hickey on her collarbone, dark and violent against her pale skin. It felt like a needle being driven into my retina. “Layla,” I said, my voice echoing in the silent living room. “I want a divorce.” She didn’t even flinch. She just swapped her heels for slippers, her expression bored. “I’ve been working all day, Carter. I don’t have the energy for your drama tonight.” This had been her default setting for the last two years. Dismissive. Cold. Years ago, Jared had lost a finger saving her from an accident. She carried that guilt like a holy relic. So when he returned to the States and proposed they complete a “Bucket List of 100 Couple Activities” as closure, she agreed without hesitation. She had promised me: Let me finish this list for him. Once the debt is paid, I’m yours. Wholly and completely. I believed her. God, I was such a fool. I watched as she stopped coming home. I watched her Instagram stories—dinner dates with Jared, Disneyland trips, photos of their fingers interlaced. Every time I asked, she had the script ready: “It’s just for The List, Carter. It’s performance art. It’s fake. Stop obsessing.” And I let myself believe it. I tolerated her playing house with another man because I thought there was a finish line. I thought if I waited long enough, I’d get my wife back. But looking at her now, I realized the finish line had moved a long time ago. “I’m serious, Layla. I want a divorce. We’re filing tomorrow.” The air in the room dropped ten degrees. “You’re doing this because I didn’t pick up the phone?” She glared at me, genuine annoyance creasing her forehead. “Seriously? You’re being incredibly petty. I was busy.” Always my fault. For seven years, every crack in our foundation was somehow caused by my inability to be understanding enough. I was so tired. “Layla, I saw the videos. The ones you made for Jared.” I waited for the shame. The shock. The apology. Instead, she just looked… inconvenienced. “I told you, I didn’t actually sleep with him. That was item ninety-nine. It’s almost over. Why can’t you just wait?” I laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound. There was no point arguing with someone who was rewriting reality in real-time. You can’t wake a person who is pretending to be asleep. Layla left early the next morning. An hour later, a notification popped up on my TikTok. A paparazzi account. Headline: [A-List Star Layla Vance Spotted Entering Five-Star Hotel with Mystery Boyfriend.] The photo was grainy but unmistakable. Jared, with his arm possessively around Layla’s waist, guiding her into the lobby. The next video was a screenshot of Layla’s Weibo—her official account. She had posted: [Jared was my first love. He is the love of my life.] That was the moment the last thread snapped. Layla was a superstar. She had never publicly acknowledged me. She claimed it was to protect her career, so the world thought she was single. I was her dirty little secret. But for Jared? For him, she would scream it from the rooftops. Our seven years weren’t a marriage. They were a joke. A long, bad joke with no punchline. I opened WeChat and messaged my editor, Harper. I’m taking the offer. I’m ready to move to London and join your new publishing house. Harper replied instantly: Are you sure? What about your wife? You said you couldn’t leave her. I am a writer. A successful one, arguably at the top of my genre. A year ago, Harper had begged me to help her launch the overseas branch. I turned her down because I couldn’t bear the thought of being an ocean away from Layla. [I’m divorcing her.] I typed. [From now on, I’m the protagonist of my own life.] I’ve written so many redemption arcs, so many heroes who overcome the odds. It was time to write my own. A message from Layla buzzed in. [The final item on Jared’s list was to go public with him.] [Once the heat dies down, I’ll explain everything to the fans. I’ll fix it.] She never used to explain herself to me. It was almost a novelty. But I was already gone. Mentally, I had packed my bags. [Okay.] That was all I sent. I closed the app and started looking up visa requirements. But first, I had to legally sever the tie. I didn’t expect Layla to come home that afternoon. She breezed in carrying an iced Americano—my favorite. Seeing the cup gave me a sudden, sharp pang of nostalgia. We met in college. I was in the music club, singing in the practice room on weekends. She had walked past, heard me, and stopped. She chased me with the ferocity of a hurricane. She learned my schedule, my favorite foods. She brought me an Americano every single day for a month just to listen to me sing. Then came the day she cornered me in the grove behind the library. Her eyes were shining like stars. “Carter, give me a chance. Let me be your girlfriend.” Before I could answer, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed me. Remembering that girl now, I felt a profound sense of confusion. How could the girl who pursued me with such fire be the same woman humiliating me for her ex? “Are you mad?” She sat next to me on the sofa, too close. “I explained it, didn’t I? It was the last item. Once this blows over, the debt is paid. Look, I even bought you coffee.” “I’m not mad,” I said quietly. And I wasn’t. Anger implies passion. I just felt empty. “He saved your life,” I added. “You have to pay him back.” She searched my face, surprised by my capitulation. Then, her shoulders relaxed. “Exactly. I knew you’d understand.” Her phone lit up on the coffee table. The wallpaper was a photo of her and Jared, heads together, wearing matching sweaters. A notification slid down. Jared: I miss you, babe. “The wallpaper is just one of the list items,” Layla said quickly, catching my gaze. “I’ll change it back as soon as I issue the clarification statement.” “Right. I’m tired. I’m going to take a shower.” As I walked to the bathroom, the image of one of the videos from the app flashed in my mind. Layla, in a bathtub, skin flushed pink. Jared, I wish you were here. We could wash each other. Bile rose in my throat. I barely made it to the sink before I dry-heaved. In the past, the thought would have broken my heart. Now, Layla just made me sick. Literally. Falling out of love isn’t a slow fade. It’s a sudden snap. When I came out of the shower, Layla was gone. I assumed she’d left again, so I didn’t bother checking. I remembered I’d left my sneakers drying on the patio, so I went out to grab them. I didn’t make it to the shoes. Layla was lounging on the patio chair. She was wearing a sheer lace nightgown, her phone camera angled down toward her chest. She was biting her lower lip in that way she knew drove men crazy. “Jared… does this make you feel better?” A voice from the phone purred, “Layla, God, I love you…” My brain short-circuited. The List. The debt. The “one hundred things.” It was all bullshit. It was just a cover story. A structured, gamified excuse to cheat. And I had bought it. Hook, line, and sinker. Love really is blind until it isn’t. I had planned to make this divorce clean. Dignified. But standing there, listening to my wife perform for another man in my own backyard, I realized dignity was overrated. The next day, I planned to head to the library to write. Layla surprised me by offering to take me to lunch with her friends. In seven years, she had never introduced me to her inner circle. This was a first. We got into her car. “Jared, navigate to Xi Che Restaurant,” she commanded. The car’s AI responded instantly. “You got it, beautiful.” It was Jared’s voice. She had customized the GPS voice pack. “Don’t misunderstand,” she said, starting the engine. “Item number forty-two on the list.” “Right.” I opened the glove compartment and saw a box of men’s briefs. Pink. Not my size. “Item sixty,” she said, not even looking at me. Jared hadn’t even come to see me since he’d been back. But his ghost was haunting my marriage, occupying every corner of my life. I felt less like a husband and more like the intruder in their romance. “Oh,” I said. “What’s wrong with you today?” She glanced at me. “Nothing,” I lied. “Why?” “Okay. Maybe I’m overthinking it.” She relaxed. Disappointment isn’t screaming. It isn’t crying. It’s silence. It’s watching someone you used to adore and realizing their words simply don’t land anymore. My departure wasn’t a sudden impulse. It was a savings account of letdowns that had finally matured. Before we even entered the private dining room, I heard the laughter. “I heard Layla brought Carter today. Jared, aren’t you worried?” “Why should I be? She’s already carrying my child. What’s there to fear?” Jared’s voice. Casual. Smug. I froze, my hand hovering over the door handle. Pregnant? For seven years, I had begged for a family. Every time, Layla shut me down. I’m an actress, Carter. My body is my livelihood. A baby would ruin me. I respected her. I swallowed my desire to be a father because I loved her career as much as she did. And now? She broke every rule for him. “Why aren’t you going in?” Layla appeared behind me, twirling her car keys. I didn’t answer. I pushed the door open. The room went silent. Jared adjusted his collar, revealing a matching hickey on his neck. He grinned at me, a shark showing its teeth. “Carter! Come in, sit down.” “Go on,” Layla nudged me from behind. “Don’t just stand there.” The tension broke. Someone laughed. “Layla, today is Jared’s birthday! You organized this whole thing for him, you have to sit next to him.” Jared feigned modesty. “No, no. Carter is her husband. He should sit there.” “It’s fine,” Layla said, breezing past me. “I’ll sit with you.” She didn’t even look at me. So, it was his birthday. That explained the makeup. The expensive dress. The exclusive restaurant. I felt eyes on me, pitying and mocking. I didn’t speak. I just picked up my chopsticks and started eating. It was expensive food. I might as well get my money’s worth. “Carter,” Jared said, leaning forward. “I heard your writing isn’t exactly steady income. Don’t worry about the bill today. My treat. Eat up.” Layla placed a piece of braised pork in Jared’s bowl. “Nonsense. I said I’m throwing you this party. I’m paying.” Even now. Not a shred of loyalty. I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Layla,” I said, my voice cutting through the chatter. “What exactly are you to Jared?”

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The day my brother brought his girlfriend home was the day I suddenly became a “placeholder.” She looked at me, her smile sharp enough to cut glass, and asked, “So, you’re the St. Clairs’ charity case? The little live-in wife they raised just for Harrison?” My eyes widened in shock. It was true that the St. Clairs had adopted me. But my biological father was a founding partner of the St. Clair empire, and my mother was Victoria St. Clair’s best friend. For over a decade, this family had raised me as their own flesh and blood. So how was it that the moment my brother got a girlfriend, I was suddenly demoted to a grooming victim? 1 The day my brother, Harrison, brought his girlfriend home, the atmosphere started out perfectly fine. Bella was undeniable. She had that sweet, engineered beauty and a tongue dipped in honey, charming Harrison’s parents—my parents—until they were beaming. That is, until her gaze landed on me. “And who is this?” Mom smiled, pulling me into a side-hug. “This is Cecilia. Our girl. She and Harrison grew up together; they’re closer than real siblings.” Bella let out a soft “Oh.” Her long lashes lowered, and when they lifted again, the warmth in her eyes had been replaced by something colder, more calculating. She leaned into my brother, her voice pitching up into an innocent, breathy register. “Harrison, so she’s the one?” “She’s the one your family raised from childhood… to be your little wife?” The air in the living room instantly solidified. Harrison frowned. “Bella, don’t talk nonsense.” Dad’s smile faded a few shades. Mom quickly tried to smooth things over. “Bella, you have such a vivid imagination. We’ve watched Cecilia grow up. She is our daughter, plain and simple. Built-in bride? Absolutely not. There’s nothing like that going on.” Bella covered her mouth, letting out a playful, tinkling laugh. But her eyes were like fishhooks, snagging on me, circling. “Oops, I’m so sorry. I must have misheard.” “It’s just… so many people out there say it. They talk about how the St. Clairs have this beautiful adopted girl kept in the house, prepared just for Harrison.” She paused, her gaze sweeping over me and my brother, her tone dripping with feigned innocence. “After hearing all those rumors, and then seeing how pretty Cecilia is today, and how close you two are… well, I couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable.” She bit her lip gently. “But it’s fine. I’ll just process it on my own. I’m sure I just misunderstood.” I felt like I had a fishbone stuck in my throat. It sounded like an apology. In reality, she had just hammered the “groomed wife” label a few inches deeper. She also managed to neatly underscore my status as “adopted.” My fingers curled into tight fists. Yes, I was adopted. But my biological father was a legend in this company, a man who died saving Harrison’s father during a site accident. My mother was Mom’s closest confidante, taken too soon by illness. The St. Clairs didn’t take me in out of pity alone. They transferred their profound love for my parents onto me. Since I was ten years old, they had treated me as nothing less than their own. It had been over a decade. Everyone in our social circle knew the story. Who would dare twist my identity like this? And why, the moment my brother brings a girl home, do I suddenly become the “reserve wife” in the eyes of strangers? The rest of the meal passed in a suffocating silence. Bella seemed to realize she’d overstepped, so she doubled down on sucking up to Mom and Dad. She was practically glued to Harrison. But every time she looked at me, her eyes held scrutiny and hostility. I tried to make myself invisible, but my chest felt heavy, like I’d swallowed a ball of wet cotton. After dinner, Dad called Harrison into the study for business. Mom was in the kitchen slicing fruit. Bella sidled up to me, affectionately looping her arm through mine. Her grip was tight, pinching my skin. “Cecilia, don’t be mad at me, okay? I’m just a straight shooter.” She blinked rapidly. “Actually, I really empathize with you. Truly.” I tried to subtly extract my arm. “Empathize with what, exactly?” “With your difficult position.” She lowered her voice, a smug satisfaction seeping into her tone. “Look, Harrison has me now.” “And you… well, even though you’re nominally the St. Clairs’ daughter, you aren’t really, are you?” “Things are going to be different around here. A girl has to look out for herself eventually.” I looked at her, suddenly finding the whole thing laughable. “Bella, I’m not sure I follow. I’m in my own home. What exactly do I need to ‘look out’ for?” The smile on Bella’s face stiffened, then cracked back open. She patted the back of my hand, wearing a look of I know you’re just posturing. “I get it, I get it. You have your pride.” “But it’s okay. Since I’m going to be the lady of this house one day, I’ll make sure to look after you. Since you’re so… obedient.” I finally yanked my arm free, standing up to look down at her coldly. “Bella, let’s get a few things straight. First, this is my house.” “Second, my mother is the lady of this house.” “And finally, I don’t need your charity.” Bella dropped the act. Her face darkened, her voice dropping to a chilly hiss. “Cecilia, don’t push your luck.” “Just because Harrison calls you ‘sister,’ do you really think you’re a St. Clair heiress? You’re a charity case. Do you really not know your place?” “I know exactly where I stand,” I replied calmly. “I am Cecilia St. Clair. I am a daughter of this family, in name and in law.” “But you, Bella… it’s your first time walking through the door, and you’re already trying to rearrange the furniture. Where exactly does that place you?” “You!” Bella’s cheeks flushed red. She was about to snap back when she saw Harrison emerging from the study. Her face transformed instantly. Her eyes welled with tears, and she ran to him, looking fragile and wronged. “Harrison…” 2 I didn’t have the energy to watch her performance. I turned to head up to my room. “Cece.” My brother stopped me, his tone complicated. “Bella… it’s her first time here today. She’s probably just nervous and speaking without thinking. Don’t take it to heart.” I glanced at Bella, who was hiding behind him, shooting me a triumphant smirk when he wasn’t looking. The cotton in my chest turned into a block of ice. “Harrison.” I looked him in the eye, my voice serious. “She called me your ‘reserve wife.’ She said everyone outside is talking about it.” “Do you honestly think that’s just ‘speaking without thinking’?” Harrison frowned deeply. “People outside talk trash all the time. Why are you taking it so seriously? Bella didn’t mean any harm.” No harm? I took a deep breath, suddenly realizing there was nothing left to say. If he was willing to believe his girlfriend was a pristine white lotus, anything I said would just make me look like the villain. “Fine. Understood.” I nodded, looked away, and walked up the stairs. That night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning. My phone lit up. A text from my best friend. [Cece! Heard your bro brought the girlfriend home?] [What’s the verdict? Is she pretty? Is she nice to you?] I smiled bitterly and typed back. [She’s pretty. As for being nice… she thinks I’m a child bride being groomed for my brother.] My friend exploded. She called immediately. “What the hell?! Is she sick in the head? What century is this?” “Your parents treat you like you hung the moon. Who does she think she is? And Harrison? Did he check her?” “Harrison thinks she didn’t mean any harm. He thinks I’m overreacting,” I said, my voice muffled by the pillow. “Didn’t mean harm? That malice is visible from space!” My friend roared on the other end. “She’s doing it on purpose! She’s trying to poison the well with your parents and brother, reminding you that you’re just the ‘adoptee’ so you don’t compete with her. What a manipulative little snake!” Listening to her curse on my behalf made me feel a little better. “Forget it. It’s not like I’ll see her that often,” I said, trying to comfort her—and myself. “Who knows if they’ll even last.” My friend was still fuming. “Don’t be a doormat! Next time she talks trash, destroy her. You are Cecilia St. Clair!” Easier said than done. I didn’t want to put Mom and Dad in a tough spot. They had given me everything. I didn’t want to start a war in their house over their son’s girlfriend. But I clearly underestimated Bella’s talent for finding trouble. She seemed determined to make the “groomed bride” label stick, just to highlight her own status as the “legitimate” partner. She started coming over frequently, acting like she already owned the place. When Mom and Dad weren’t home, she’d be all over Harrison, then “casually” critique my life. “Cece, did your mom buy you this? It’s cute.” “But this brand… it’s a bit too mature for you. Too ‘old money.’ It makes you look aged.” She’d barge into my walk-in closet, pointing at a dress Mom bought me. “Next time, I’ll take you shopping for something more… age-appropriate. Something cheaper and younger.” Sometimes she’d target my education. “I hear you have great grades, Cece. Top of the class at Columbia? Wow. But you know, it’s hard for a girl to read so many books.” “Since the St. Clairs won’t let you starve, you should just find an easy job. Why try so hard?” The breaking point was a family gathering. Some relatives were over. Someone complimented me, saying I was growing more beautiful by the day, and that standing next to Bella, we looked like sisters. Bella smiled sweetly, wrapping a possessive arm around me. “Right? Cece and I just click. Even though she’s Harrison’s adopted sister, I treat her like my own blood.” “When she graduates, we’ll definitely find her a nice family to marry into. We’ll send her off in style so she doesn’t feel slighted.” The dinner table went silent. The elders exchanged awkward glances. Adopted sister. Find her a nice family. Send her off. Every word was a precision strike on my insecurities, shoving me from “daughter of the house” to “charity case that needs to be offloaded by the future mistress.” I put down my fork and looked up. Mom’s face was dark. She cleared her throat softly and looked at my brother. “Harrison?” Harrison tugged Bella’s hand under the table, signaling her to stop. Bella acted like she hadn’t noticed a thing. She smiled and put a piece of chicken in my bowl. “Eat up, Cece. You’re still growing. Don’t worry, your big sister is here to look out for you.” I stared at the food in my bowl. Then I looked up at her face, written all over with hypocrisy and calculation. I took a breath, ready to speak. “Bella.” Dad had put down his wine glass. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an undeniable weight. “Cecilia is a daughter of the St. Clair family. Her future is hers to decide.” “This is her home. There is no talk of ‘marrying her off’ or sending her away. I don’t want to hear that kind of language again.” Bella’s smile froze, her face alternating between red and pale. She stammered, “I… I’m sorry, Mr. St. Clair. I didn’t mean it like that.” “Eat your dinner,” Dad said dismissively, turning away from her. The second half of that meal was arctic. I knew Dad was defending me. But the more he defended me, the more venomous Bella’s gaze became. I knew this wasn’t over. 3 Sure enough, after the family dinner, Bella laid low for two days. Then she found a new angle. She started dropping hints to my brother that it was “inappropriate” for me to keep living at home. “Harrison, look, Cece is grown now.” “Is it really okay for her to still live with you guys?” “Girls need their independence.” “Plus, when we get married… having an adopted sister hanging around… I mean, how does that look to outsiders?” Harrison didn’t take the bait that time. He actually got angry. “Cecilia might not be my blood sister, but she is my sister! This is her home. Where else would she go? Don’t ever say that again.” Rumor had it they fought over it. Bella didn’t dare bring it up to Harrison again, so she doubled her aggression toward me. She started policing my social life. “Cece, who was that guy who dropped you off yesterday?” “Driving a sports car? A girl needs to have some self-respect. Don’t let those playboys use you.” It was one of my best friends giving me a ride after a party. I didn’t bother explaining. She even tried to advise Mom: “Mrs. St. Clair, Cece is graduating soon. Shouldn’t we teach her some rules?” “Like an earlier curfew? Just so people don’t gossip that the St. Clairs don’t know how to raise a daughter.” Mom was arranging flowers. She snipped the head off a perfect lily and said coolly, “No outsider gets to gossip about a St. Clair daughter.” “Cecilia has always been sensible. She knows her worth.” Bella hit another wall. She was caught in a loop. The more she tried to prove her status as the “future mistress,” the more she had to degrade me. But the more she degraded me, the more Mom and Dad defended me, and even Harrison started to think she was crossing a line. This made her anxious, and her behavior became increasingly unhinged. Finally, during one of her visits, she “accidentally” knocked over an opal brooch my birth mother had left me. My anger, bottled up for months, finally uncorked. The brooch wasn’t worth a fortune, but it was the only physical connection I had to my mother. I stared at the shattered opal on the floor, trembling. Bella covered her mouth, feigning panic. “Oh my god! Cece, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! It just slipped out of my hand.” “I’ll pay for it, okay? How much was it? I’ll pay double!” There was zero apology in her eyes. Only a twisted, sick satisfaction. I looked up and locked eyes with her. I enunciated every word. “Bella. That is enough.” “Cece, why are you looking at me so scarily? It’s just a brooch. I’m practically your sister-in-law, you—” Bella looked like she was about to cry, acting as if she were the victim of a great injustice. “Sister-in-law?” I let out a cold laugh. “Did you ask my brother? Did he propose? Even if he did, did this family agree?” Bella’s face went pale. “You!” “From the first day you walked into this house, you have targeted me.” “You have tried every trick in the book to push me out.” “Reserve wife? Outsider? Need to be married off? Bella, is your brain filled with anything other than feudal garbage and dirty thoughts?” I stepped closer, my voice ice-cold. “Let me tell you something. My name is Cecilia St. Clair. I am a legitimate daughter of this house. I live here because this is my home!” “What you just smashed was my mother’s legacy. You want to pay for it? With what? Do you think you can afford the sentimental value?” “You keep calling yourself the future mistress of this house, but you lack basic manners.” “You are nothing but a clumsy, gossiping, manipulative shrew.” I had never used such harsh language in my life. But the months of anger and grievance exploded out of me; I couldn’t control it. Bella was stunned into silence. She pointed a finger at me, stammering, before letting out a loud wail. She turned to run and collided right into Harrison, who had come running at the noise. “Harrison! Sob, I didn’t mean to, Cece is… she’s so scary!” She was weeping like a tragic heroine, trembling in his arms. Harrison looked at the shards on the floor, then at me, shaking with rage. His brow furrowed into a knot. “Cece, what’s going on? Can’t we talk about this calmly?” “Calmly?” I pointed at the broken opal, my voice shaking. “Harrison, she smashed Mom’s opal! How do you expect me to be calm?” Harrison froze. He looked at Bella. “Bella, is that true?” Bella sobbed. “I really didn’t mean to. I just picked it up to look at it, and it was slippery… I said I’d pay for it.” “She did it on purpose!” I screamed. “She did it on purpose!” “I didn’t! Cece, you can’t accuse me just because you hate me!” Bella cried harder. “Both of you, stop!” Harrison, overwhelmed by the noise, raised his voice. “It’s broken, okay? It’s done. Bella didn’t do it on purpose, and she said she’d replace it. We’re all family here, does it have to get this ugly?” “Family?” My heart turned to stone. “Harrison. She destroyed the last thing I have of my mother, and you’re telling me we’re family? In your eyes, am I still your family?” “Cecilia! Stop being unreasonable!” Harrison’s tone grew impatient. Just then, Mom and Dad walked in. Seeing the scene in the living room, their faces darkened instantly. After getting the story, Mom walked over to me, pulled me into her arms, and patted my shoulder gently. Then she looked at Bella. Her gaze was stern in a way I had never seen before. “Bella, you know exactly what that opal meant to Cecilia.” “Whether it was intentional or not, you know in your heart. You have gone too far.” Dad looked directly at Harrison. “Take your girlfriend outside to cool off. Until she apologizes to Cecilia properly, don’t bring her back.” Harrison was stunned. “Dad!” Bella forgot to cry, looking up in disbelief.

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I funded Cameron’s life for five years. The first thing he did after making it big was kick me to the curb. “You’re an orphan, Norah. You paid a few semesters of tuition, and you think that gives you the right to leverage my future?” His cruelty was casual, almost bored. “If you want me to marry you that badly, fine. I’m getting married in a month. If you have the guts to crash the wedding, I’ll marry you then.” My heart didn’t break; it simply went cold. I turned around and accepted the arranged marriage my late parents had set up for me years ago. The irony was sharp: my wedding date was the same as Cameron’s. I had just arrived at the hotel in the bridal car when I was dragged out. Cameron was there, flanked by his groomsmen, looking at me with pure disdain. “I was joking, you psycho. You actually came to crash the wedding? Are you that desperate to be with me?” He pulled out his phone to livestream, humiliating me as the ‘other woman,’ and accused me of stealing a signet ring belonging to the heir of the Huntington dynasty. But the moment I took the arm of the Huntington heir and walked into the ballroom, Cameron stopped laughing. …… 01 I was dragged out of the limousine, a mess of white silk and tulle. My veil was torn, my ankle throbbing where I’d twisted it. Cameron looked down at me, a sneer curling his lip. “Norah, I made a joke to mess with your head. You actually showed up in a gown? How pathetic is that?” “Do you have no shame? You literally cannot live without a man?” The rich prep-school boys surrounding him laughed, their voices loud and jagged. “An orphan thinking she can marry into the Huntington circle? Honey, find a mirror.” “She’s pretty, though,” one of them drawled, his eyes raking over me. “Since you’re not getting into the family, why don’t you hang out with us? We’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” They doubled over laughing, their gazes feeling like slime against my skin. Humiliation and rage warred in my chest. I glared at Cameron. “What is this, Cameron?” “Don’t play dumb.” Cameron scoffed, looking at me like I was something stuck to his shoe. “I was having fun with you. You still haven’t figured that out?” “Normal people walk away when they get dumped. I didn’t realize your skin was this thick. You actually wore a wedding dress to ambush me.” “You paid a few bills back in the day, and you think you can hold that over me forever?” “You spent fifty grand on me? Fine. Today I’ll pay you back double. Just stop dreaming about marrying me. You aren’t worthy.” Cameron pulled a stack of hundred-dollar bills from his jacket and slammed them into my face. The crisp edges of the new bills sliced my cheek. I felt a sting, then the warmth of blood. I gasped, tears springing to my eyes from the sharp pain. I stared at Cameron. He used to be gentle. He used to be kind. How did he turn into this monster? I wiped the tears and blood from my cheek. My voice was ice. “Who would want to marry an ingrate like you? I’m not here to crash your wedding. I’m here to marry my husband.” “We just happen to be at the same hotel.” “Hahaha! If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable!” one of the trust-fund boys howled, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “The Sovereign Hotel is for the elite. Who could a nobody like you possibly be marrying here?” Another guy stepped closer, his grin oily. “I get it. Twenty-eight years old, panic setting in. Tell you what—forget Cameron. My dad’s single.” “Marry my dad, become my stepmom. Pop out three sons in three years, and if they’re boys, the Lee family will cut you a check. Hahahaha!” The mockery buzzed in my ears like static. My hands were freezing. I looked at Cameron, who was just watching them, letting it happen. Cameron was my neighbor. His mother died when he was five, and my parents, pitying him, took him in. When my parents died in a car crash, it was just the two of us against the world. In high school, when local thugs targeted me because I had no family to protect me, Cameron fought three of them at once. He ended up in the hospital, nearly expelled, but he made them swear never to touch me again. I remember asking him, through tears, if it was worth it. He had looked at me with such intensity. “It’s worth it, Norah. I won’t let anyone bully you. I love you. Wait for me. I promise I’ll give you a good life.” Seven years. One stint abroad. That was all it took for his heart to rot. “From the day you broke up with me, we were done,” I said, my voice trembling with suppressed fury. I scanned the faces of the men mocking me. “I’m remembering every insult today. Once the ceremony is over, my husband will settle the score.” “Ooh, scary. Who gave you the confidence?” “Your imaginary husband?” One of the groomsmen stepped forward, his hand reaching out to grab the bodice of my dress. “Why don’t you marry me instead? I’m Cameron’s buddy. I can give you some ‘justice’ right now.” He winked, lewd and disgusting. “Get the hell away from her!” Harper, my best friend and maid of honor, came sprinting from the back of the stalled motorcade. She didn’t hesitate—she delivered a flying kick that sent the groper sprawling. “You people have a death wish,” she screamed. “My best friend is marrying Dominic Huntington. You treat her like this, and you’re dead men walking!” Cameron froze for a split second, then threw his head back and laughed. He laughed so hard he choked. “You aren’t even good enough for me, and you think you’re marrying my uncle? The Dominic Huntington?” “Especially after I’ve already had you?” “There’s a limit to daydreaming, Norah!” 02 “Dominic Huntington is untouchable. Even our fathers are terrified of him. And you claim you’re marrying him?” “A toad lusting after a swan. Delusional.” The ridicule intensified. “The ceremony is starting soon. What are you boys doing out here?” Blair, Cameron’s bride, walked out. She saw me in a gown that was visibly more expensive than hers, and a flash of jealousy cut through her poised expression. “Just watching a clown, babe. She claims my uncle is going to marry her. Ha!” Cameron said. “Failed to crash our wedding, so now she’s hallucinating.” Cameron wiped his tears of laughter, wrapping an arm around Blair’s waist while shooting me a look of pure disgust. Blair looked at me with faux pity. “Miss He, I didn’t think Cameron would make such a harsh joke, but really…” “It’s not right of him. I apologize on his behalf.” Cameron scoffed. “It was just a joke. She’s the one with the twisted mind who actually showed up.” “She deserves the humiliation.” The groomsmen chimed in like a Greek chorus of idiots. “Exactly, Blair. She’s a gold digger. She knows Cameron is a Huntington now and won’t let go. No shame.” I looked at Blair. She was the daughter of the Xu family—rich, elegant, appropriate. They met on campus, matched in status. For Cameron, an illegitimate son needing legitimacy, she was the perfect asset. My eyes drifted to her hair. A vintage emerald comb glinted in the sunlight. That was my family’s heirloom. I had given it to Cameron as a promise of our future. I never expected to see it on her. Swallowing the acid in my throat, I spoke calmly. “Miss Xu, the hairpiece you are wearing was my engagement gift to him. Since we are nothing to each other now, please return it.” Blair’s expression stuttered. She smiled, a sugary, poisonous thing, and pulled the comb from her hair. “Miss He, I know you helped Cameron, but you can’t force love.” “He chose me. Please, have some self-respect and leave.” She held the comb out. I reached for it, but before my fingers could graze the metal, she let go. Crack. The emerald comb hit the pavement and shattered. I stared at the fragments, my vision blurring. That heirloom had survived a hundred years in the He family. Now, it was dust. “Babe, she almost ruined your wedding, and you’re just letting her go? You’re too nice,” one guy jeered. “She needs a lesson. Otherwise, with her thick skin, she’ll just come back to harass Cameron.” Cameron smoothed Blair’s hair, his eyes cold as he looked at me. “You guys are right. She needs a lesson to kill the fantasy once and for all.” Two of the men circled me. One shoved me hard. My ankle gave way, and I collapsed onto the asphalt, a heap of bruised white satin. The grief for the heirloom and the shame of the moment fused into a white-hot anger. I scrambled up and slapped the nearest guy across the face. “Are you deaf? I told you, I am marrying Dominic Huntington today!” The man I slapped touched his cheek, his eyes turning dark and dangerous. He swung back, a heavy hand striking my face. Stars exploded in my vision. “Still acting? Still pretending?” “The Huntington heir is marrying a woman from a dynasty family, an arrangement made at birth. You’re a nobody orphan. You dare impersonate her?” “If you’re so tough, call Dominic Huntington out here to save you!” Blair chimed in, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Boys, that’s enough. Miss He is clearly upset. It’s normal to invent a savior when you feel small.” “Just make her leave. Don’t let her ruin our day.” “She hasn’t learned her lesson yet. She can’t leave!” The guy I slapped grabbed my arm, his eyes scanning my dress with malicious intent. “This dress… where did you steal it from? It looks more expensive than the bride’s.” Cameron frowned, stepping closer. “Today is Blair’s day. You wearing something this flashy… you’re trying to humiliate her.” “Strip it off her. I won’t allow anyone to outshine my wife today.” Blair looked at Cameron with adoring eyes, visibly touched, before feigning hesitation. “Stripping a girl in public? That’s too cruel, Cam.” “Just kick her out.” “No. I need her to understand her place. Or she’ll never stop stalking me.” Cameron looked at me with pure loathing. I stared into his eyes, feeling a strange detachment. I couldn’t believe this was the boy I raised. I gave up college to work double shifts for his tuition. And now, because of a coincidence of venue, he wanted to destroy me. Thirteen years of history, erased. “Hey beautiful, let’s get you out of that.” 03 Two of the men lunged, grabbing handfuls of my bodice. “Get off me!” I screamed, kicking and clawing. Harper threw herself into the fray, pulling at them. “Let her go!” But two women in heels were no match for a group of gym-rat men. Within seconds, the delicate lace of my bodice ripped. The sound was sickening. The fabric gave way, exposing my bra. Cameron’s friend held up his phone, broadcasting live. “Look at this, folks! This is what happens to homewreckers!” “She knew my bro was getting married and showed up in a wedding dress to spite him. Now she’s stripped. Karma, right?” Harper desperately tried to cover me with the tattered remnants of the silk. She was screaming, her voice cracking. “You are humiliating Dominic Huntington’s wife! You think you’re going to survive this?” “Get lost! Don’t touch my friend!” “Still bluffing? If you were Dominic’s bride, he’d be here, wouldn’t he?” They twisted my arms behind my back, forcing my face toward the phone camera. “Get a good look. This is the face of a stalker.” Comments flooded the screen: [Die, homewrecker!] [Shameless!] [Throw her in the river!] My face burned with shame and fury. “I am Dominic’s wife! You will die for this!” In the struggle, a pendant tucked into my bra swung loose. It was a heavy, dark green jade signet ring on a gold chain. “That’s the family seal!” I shouted. “The Huntington signet ring! Does this not prove who I am?” The man holding me froze. He looked at the ring, his face draining of color. It was unmistakable. Dominic never took it off—until he gave it to me. It was the symbol of absolute authority in the Huntington family. Cameron saw it. He marched over and yanked the chain from my neck, snapping the clasp. “Let me go,” I hissed. “Or you’re dead.” Cameron stared at the ring, his eyes shifting. Then, a cold, calculating sneer appeared. “You came to the ancestral house with me once. I can’t believe you had the audacity to steal my uncle’s ring.” My eyes widened. The lies flowed out of him so easily. “You liar! Dominic gave that to me!” I only found out a year ago. My father and Dominic’s father were best friends. They made a pact. After Cameron dumped me, Dominic found me. He offered the marriage. I accepted partly because I was broken, partly for revenge—to become Cameron’s aunt. But I never expected Cameron to accuse me of theft. “Since you have no shame,” Cameron said, his voice rushing, “you don’t need the rest of that dress.” He signaled the man holding me. The guy laughed nervously but complied. “We’re losing daylight, Cam! Go get married. I’ll handle this trash.” “I promise to give her a ‘wedding’ she won’t forget.” He started dragging me toward the side alley. Harper was fighting, I was screaming, scratching at the pavement. Just as the darkness of despair began to close in, a voice thundered across the driveway. Low, terrifying, and authoritative. “STOP. Take your hands off my wife.”

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For three years, I played the part of the perfect, devoted partner to Sebastian Adams. We shared a bed, shared our secrets, and lived a life that looked like love in every way—except for one. He refused to acknowledge me in public. To the world, I didn’t exist. Then, the System—the cosmic glitch that had been guiding my “mission” to win him over—suddenly piped up with a casual, “Oops.” “My bad, June. Totally botched the data. The girl Sebastian was supposed to fall for is Jane, not June. Different spelling, different girl. Honest mistake!” I looked down at the cashmere scarf I had spent weeks knitting for his birthday, then looked at my phone. I sent a single text: We’re done. I didn’t expect a reply. Sebastian usually took six hours to ignore me. But an hour later, at our high school reunion, he cornered me in a private lounge, his breath hot against my ear, his teeth grazing my lip as he snarled, “You call this ‘not knowing each other’? Hmm?” … I was three years deep into the “Sebastian Adams Project” when the System informed me it had committed the ultimate clerical error. “I misheard the name, okay? I thought it said June. It definitely said Jane,” the voice buzzed in my head, sounding entirely too breezy for someone who had just wasted three years of my life. “Jane is showing up at the reunion tomorrow. So, June, you can officially clock out. You don’t need to try with Sebastian anymore. Let Jane take over from here.” I stood in my kitchen for a long time, the silence of the apartment pressing against my eardrums. “Okay,” I finally whispered. It was for the best. Sebastian never loved me anyway. This messy, nameless thing we had was a house of cards waiting for a breeze. The System’s confession was just the wind. I had just finished the last row of the scarf when the “Oops” happened. It was supposed to be his big birthday surprise. My phone screen still showed the last text I’d sent him: Hey, Seb. Guess what I made for your birthday this year? You’re going to love it. The message sat there, unread. A stone dropped into the middle of the Atlantic. Sebastian never gave me the courtesy of a quick reply. He was far too busy being the brilliant, untouchable architect of his own ego. “Look, don’t take it personally,” the System continued its chatter. “You and Jane have such similar names, and you both went to the same prep school. I just saw ‘Zhou’ on the file and ran with it. Honestly, it’s a good thing you never actually got him to commit. If you’d succeeded and then found out it was the wrong guy… well, I’d be out of a job.” It paused, then added with a hint of a sneer, “I’m not saying you’re bad, June. It’s just… Jane’s profile says she’s a literal genius, a former model, the kind of woman men actually want to show off. This ‘Love Optimization System’ usually picks people with actual chemistry. When it’s the wrong person, well, you can’t force a spark where there’s just… damp wood.” “I get it,” I said, my voice steady. “You don’t have to explain.” Everything finally clicked. That’s why, despite the intimacy we shared behind closed doors, he never introduced me as his girlfriend. That’s why no matter how much of my soul I poured into him, I remained a ghost in his life. Sebastian hated “simple” things. He hated mediocrity. And to him, I was the human equivalent of a participation trophy. I decided to go to his place one last time to pack up the bits of my life scattered across his penthouse. Jane was arriving tomorrow, and I refused to be the pathetic squatter in the middle of their destined romance. I didn’t expect Jane to already be on his radar. Standing outside the iron gate of his terrace, I saw him. Sebastian was sitting in a rattan chair, a sketchpad on his lap, his phone on speaker. Jane’s voice, melodic and bright, drifted through the air. “So, are you excited to see me tomorrow, Seb?” “Mmm,” Sebastian hummed, that long, drawling tone he used when he was intrigued. “It’s been a while. I’m looking forward to the whole group being back together.” “Oh, stop. Don’t act like I’m just ‘one of the group.’ I’ve got a birthday present for you, but you have to earn it. Think you’re smart enough for a little game?” “What kind of game?” “A riddle. A complex, beautiful logic puzzle I designed just for you. If you solve it by the end of the reunion dinner, I’ll tell you a secret. Don’t be late, genius.” I heard Sebastian chuckle. A real, genuine sound. He put down his charcoal pencil and picked up the phone. “Consider me challenged.” Sebastian never answered my calls when he was sketching. Never. Even though I knew the truth now, seeing the effortless way she captured his attention made my throat tight. I turned and walked away before he could see me. My phone buzzed. A text from Sebastian. Finally. Two words, cold as a mid-winter morning: Sounds boring. He was right. I was boring. My birthday present was a handmade scarf—an act of “cheap labor,” as he’d probably call it. I couldn’t give him logic puzzles or intellectual thrills. I didn’t even understand the math he lived by. I walked home slowly, the weight of a decade-long crush finally starting to dissolve. I had loved him since high school. Back then, I was just “Specs”—the quiet girl with the thick frames who sat in the back of the AP classes. Our families were old friends, but in Sebastian’s orbit, I was invisible. The only reason he even knew my name was because I used to hand-deliver love letters to him from other girls. He’d take them with a smirk and say, “Still playing messenger? You’re such a ditz, June.” Ditz. That was his label for me. I did it just to have five seconds of his time. I never expected a miracle until that summer after freshman year of college when the System appeared. It told me we were “meant to be” and that I just needed to “optimize the romance” to win a massive payout and a happily ever after. Meant to be. That phrase had been my fuel for three years. When he broke his leg playing pickup basketball, I used the System’s prompt as an excuse to show up at his door. “Here to nurse me back to health?” he’d asked, leaning against the doorframe, eyes tracing my face with a lazy, mocking light. “What’s the catch? What do you want in exchange?” I looked him in the eye. “I want you.” He laughed. “You really are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” But he let me in. That summer was an endless cycle of me running errands in the heat, cooking for him, and being his shadow. One day, the AC died. He couldn’t climb the ladder with his cast, so I did it. I slipped, fell right into his lap, and we tumbled onto the hardwood floor. It was July. We were barely wearing anything. I felt his body react, my face flaming as I tried to pull away, but he pinned my wrists above my head. “I thought you said you wanted me,” he whispered, his dark eyes fixed on my trembling lips. “Why are you backing down now?” “I…” “If you want it,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “then let’s see if you can handle it.” We “handled it” for three years. But “girlfriend” was a title he guarded like a state secret. “Is a label really that important?” he’d say whenever I worked up the courage to ask. “You have me. You’re in my bed. Why ruin it with some clingy, suburban expectation of a ‘relationship’?” I didn’t have the words to argue with him. I just convinced myself the System couldn’t be wrong. He was just “afraid of commitment.” He’d come around. But now, the System was telling me the whole foundation was a lie. I got home, sat on my sofa for four hours in the dark, and finally picked up my phone. We’re done. Don’t contact me again. The next day, I arrived early at the reunion. Sebastian wasn’t there yet, but Jane was. She was the sun, and everyone else was a planet trapped in her gravity. “Oh look, Specs is here!” someone shouted. In our class, there were two J-names. Jane was “Jane.” I was “Specs.” Even now, years after I’d traded the glasses for contacts and started dressing better, the nickname stuck. Jane turned to me, her eyes doing a quick, clinical scan of my outfit. “Oh, guys, don’t call her that. She’s not wearing glasses anymore. Let’s be grown-ups.” She smiled, the kind of perfect, practiced smile of a woman who knew she was the lead actress in every room. I remembered it was her who started the nickname in the first place, back in tenth grade, because she “couldn’t keep us straight.” “True,” a guy named Nathan piped up. “June looks great without them. Actually, she looks incredible.” “June, you got a boyfriend? Or are you still—” “Nathan, Chris,” Jane interrupted smoothly, “weren’t you asking me about my MBA program? I’ve got a few minutes before the main event starts.” The guys drifted back to her instantly. I moved to the edge of the room. “I’m late. My apologies.” The voice was cool, cultured, and sent a familiar shiver down my spine. Sebastian had arrived. The room practically vibrated with the collective need to impress him. “Sebastian! The man of the hour!” I stepped further back into the shadows. “Seb, sit here!” Jane said, patting the empty chair beside her. Sebastian’s gaze flickered around the room, landing on me for a fraction of a second. “What’s the topic of conversation? You all look very intense.” “We were just saying how much ‘Specs’ has glowed up,” one of the guys joked. “Her?” Sebastian tossed his blazer onto a chair near me, his eyes raking over me with total indifference. I didn’t look at him. The second he sat down, I grabbed my clutch and walked to the furthest table in the back of the room. Sebastian’s expression darkened instantly. “When did you lose your eyesight, Chris?” Sebastian’s voice carried across the room, followed by a burst of cruel laughter. The “inner circle” huddled around him and Jane. My table was practically empty, save for a few people who had never been part of the elite crowd. “I’m so over this,” a girl named Lindsay muttered next to me. “It’s been years and they still act like there’s a hierarchy. The ‘Gifted and Talented’ kids are still just a bunch of snobs.” “Who cares?” someone else said. “Let them have their little cult. We’ll have our own fun.” “Actually,” Lindsay said, looking at the guy next to me, “Nathan’s doing better than all of them. He won that tech innovation award last year and started his own robotics firm. Right, Nathan?” I looked at the man sitting beside me. “You’re Nathan? You lost… a lot of weight.” In high school, he’d been the “Big Nate” to my “Specs.” Another casualty of the social ladder. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit shy. “Yeah. Spent that summer after senior year in the gym and the lab. It’s good to see you, June.” He had become genuinely handsome—rugged, grounded, and kind. He was a “boss” now, but he didn’t carry the arrogance Sebastian did. He raised his glass. “To the back table. We might not have been the top of the curve, but we’re doing okay. How about after this, I take everyone here for a real drink? My treat.” “Hell yeah! Nathan’s the man!” I caught the infectious energy and laughed along. Suddenly, a piece of glazed salmon appeared on my plate. Nathan cleared his throat. “I remember you used to wait in the long line for the salmon on Fridays in the cafeteria.” I blinked. “You remember that?” His face went slightly pink. “I was usually standing three people behind you.” “That’s… wow. So, tell me about these robots. Are we talking AI takeover or the ones that do the TikTok dances?” Nathan grinned. “If you want them to dance, I can make them dance.” “June! Specs!” The shout came from the main table. It was one of Sebastian’s friends. “Sebastian’s being tight-lipped as usual, but your families are close. You have to know the tea.” I looked over. Sebastian was leaning in close to Jane, whispering something that made her giggle into her hand. “What tea?” I asked flatly. “Does he have a girlfriend or what? We’ve all been trying to figure out who the mystery woman is.” Sebastian didn’t even look up, but I could see his jaw tighten. “I wouldn’t know,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “We aren’t close.” The movement at the main table stopped. Sebastian looked up, his eyes like two black holes, fixed on me. I didn’t blink. I turned back to Nathan and cracked a joke. I was laughing so hard I accidentally bit into a hidden habanero pepper. I started coughing violently. “Whoa, you okay?” Nathan was instantly on his feet, handing me a glass of water. “I’m fine, just… spicy,” I wheezed, my face turning beet red. “I’m going to the restroom.” I splashed cold water on my face in the bathroom, trying to get my heart rate down. As I walked back, passing an empty hallway, a hand shot out and yanked me into a dark alcove. “You call this ‘not close’? Hmm?” His teeth clamped down on my bottom lip—hard. The pain snapped me into focus. I shoved him with everything I had. “Are you insane?” He stumbled back, caught off guard by the force. His face was a mask of cold fury. “I should be asking you that, June. What the hell has been wrong with you since yesterday? What kind of game are you playing?” I wiped my mouth, my lip stinging. “No game. I meant what I said in the text.” “We’re done.” “Hah.” He let out a sharp, mocking breath. He shoved a bottle of yogurt into my hands. “I saw you coughing and went to the bar to get you this. This is how you thank me?” I looked down at the cold bottle. “If you’re mad at me, fine. But don’t go eating peppers like an idiot just to get attention. You know you have a sensitive stomach. Are you trying to make me jealous by flirting with Nathan? Is this your new strategy to force me into a ‘public’ relationship?” I stared at him, genuinely bewildered. “What are you even talking about?” “Am I wrong? You send a breakup text, then show up here and act like I’m a stranger. You’re trying to squeeze a commitment out of me by showing me how ‘in demand’ you are. It’s pathetic, June.” Suddenly, I felt a wave of exhaustion so heavy it felt like lead. “And if it were?” I asked, looking him dead in the eye. “If everything you said was true—that I did all this just to be your ‘official’ girlfriend—would you do it? Would you walk out there right now and tell everyone we’ve been together for three years?” The silence was deafening. He didn’t say a word. I shoved the yogurt back against his chest. “What was I to you these last three years, Sebastian? You knew I loved you, so you let me hang around like a stray dog. You enjoyed the ego boost of having me beg for scraps of your time. Did it make you feel powerful?” His brows knitted together. “We had an arrangement. It was mutual. Don’t act like you’re some victim. I told you from day one: I don’t do ‘clinging’.” “Right. It was mutual when I thought you cared. Now I don’t care, and I want out. It’s that simple.” He grabbed my arm, his grip tightening. “Say that again. I dare you.” “Are you deaf?” I snapped. “I’m done with you.” He stared at me for a long beat, then a slow, cruel smirk spread across his face. “Fine.” He threw my arm back. “We’re done. But don’t you dare come crawling back when you realize how small your life is without me.”

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I was the daughter they had lost eighteen years ago, finally stepping back into a world of wealth I didn’t recognize. But the moment I crossed the threshold of the Holloway estate, the girl who had been living my life—the girl they kept—threw herself into my parents’ arms, sobbing. “Dad, Mom, please… I can’t do this. I can’t call her my sister.” She looked at me, her eyes brimming with a practiced, liquid terror. “She’s the one. The transfer student who started those rumors about me at school. She’s the reason I’ve been so depressed!” My mother pulled her closer, stroking her hair with frantic, heart-aching devotion. My father, meanwhile, looked at me with a face carved from granite, his eyes flickering with a cold, sharp disappointment. “I thought a few years of being lost would have made you humble,” he spat, his voice trembling with rage. “Instead, you’ve come back rot-filled and cruel. You’ve brought your filth into this house.” He didn’t even wait for me to respond. He turned to the security detail standing by the door. “Get her out of here. The Holloway family has no room for a bully who preys on her own flesh and blood.” I stood there, frozen. My mind was a whirlwind of confusion, and my hands began to move—a frantic, blurred dance of American Sign Language, my fingers flying as if I were trying to weave a spell to stop time. I started rumors about her? But I’m mute! … I stood in the foyer, the tips of my fingers still stinging from the biting winter air outside. Cassidy was hysterical in my parents’ arms, her breath coming in jagged, shallow gasps. She buried her face in my mother’s neck, her shoulders shaking so violently I almost believed her. When she finally looked up, her eyes were rimmed with a perfect, tragic red. “Dad, Mom, you don’t know what she did,” Cassidy whispered, her voice cracking. “After the midterms—when I took second in the state—she told everyone I cheated. She told the whole school that Dad bribed the board. She even told people I was sleeping with the department head just to get my Ivy League recommendation…” With every word, my mother’s grip on her tightened. My father’s brow furrowed into a deeper, more permanent scowl. I opened my mouth, a reflex I still couldn’t shake, but only a thin, wheezing breath escaped. I hadn’t been able to speak for as long as I could remember. The doctors called it organic vocal cord damage—a physical silence I’d worn like a second skin. Paper, pens, and my hands were my only bridges to the world. I lifted my hands to sign ‘That’s not true,’ but before I could finish the first gesture, Dominic, my brother, lunged toward me. He was the only son, the golden boy of the Holloway legacy. From the moment I’d arrived, he had looked at Cassidy with a protective tenderness and at me as if I were something he’d found on the bottom of his shoe. “Willa, how long are you going to keep up this act?” he demanded, towering over me. His voice was thick with loathing. “You’ve driven Cassidy to the edge of a breakdown, and now you’re standing there, playing the victim with your hands?” I froze. My fingers hung uselessly in the air. “Dominic, please, don’t be mean to her…” Cassidy tugged at his sleeve, her voice soft as silk but sharp as a razor. “Maybe she just wanted to belong. Maybe she thought if she took me down, there’d be more room for her. I don’t hate her. I really don’t…” “You are far too kind for your own good!” My mother snapped, her gaze shifting to me, turning into ice. “Willa, we brought you back to give you a family, not to let you terrorize the one we already have. Can’t you leave those gutter tactics back in the slums where you found them?” My father, Harrison, let out a heavy, guttural huff. He tapped his knuckles against the mahogany hall table, the sound like a gavel. “A daughter of mine—even one lost to the wind—should have some shred of dignity. You? You’ve barely walked through the door and you’re already dragging our name through the mud. You are an embarrassment to the Holloway bloodline.” Behind them, the household staff whispered in the shadows, their eyes gleaming with judgment. “I heard she was a wild animal in the country. No wonder she’s so malicious.” “Miss Cassidy is an angel. How could anyone hurt her?” “Look at her hands go. It’s probably a show. She’s probably faking it for sympathy.” The words felt like needles under my fingernails. I took a deep breath, forcing my heart to slow down. I reached for the side pocket of my backpack. I had my notebook there. I could write it down. I could explain that I didn’t even know who Cassidy was until three days ago. But as my hand touched the zipper, Dominic grabbed my wrist. His grip was bruising, his knuckles white. “What are you reaching for now? Another lie?” I struggled, trying to pull away, my other hand diving into the bag until I felt the familiar texture of the white paper. I pulled out a stack of pages, desperate to show them— Dominic ripped them out of my hand. With two violent motions, he shredded the paper, the white scraps fluttering through the air like a mockery of snow. A fragment landed in my hair. I stared at him, the last spark of hope inside me finally guttering out into the cold. Cassidy let out a well-timed sob, burying her head even deeper. “Dominic, stop. She’s just…” “She’s a parasite!” Dominic shouted, his eyes burning. “She’s pushed you to the brink, and you’re still defending her? Someone this twisted doesn’t deserve the Holloway name!” Harrison’s face went dark. He gestured to the head of security, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Throw her out. We have no daughter by this name.” I spent the night curled on a cot in a low-rent motel on the edge of the city. The next morning, before the first bell even rang at the private academy they had enrolled me in, I was summoned to the principal’s office. When I pushed the door open, Cassidy was already there, sitting in a velvet-backed chair across from the principal. Her shoulders were shaking, a lace handkerchief clutched in her hand. Her eyes were swollen like bruised peaches. When she saw me, she flinched—a perfect, subtle movement of terror—and retreated behind the principal’s shadow. “Willa Holloway,” the principal said, his voice as cold as the morgue. “Sit down.” I stayed by the door. Cassidy began to weep softly. “Sir, please don’t be hard on her. Yesterday, in the hallway, she cornered me. She called me a stray, a cuckoo in the nest. She said she’d make sure I never graduated. I… I’m just so scared to be alone with her.” Every word was a lie, whispered with the precision of a stage actress. The principal’s face hardened. He picked up the desk phone and dialed. “I’ve already called your parents. They’re on their way.” It didn’t take long. The door swung open, and Harrison and Beatrice walked in. My father’s face was a mask of iron; my mother went straight to Cassidy, taking her hand with a look of pure agony. “What happened now?” Harrison demanded. “Did she lay a hand on her?” The principal adjusted his glasses. “According to Cassidy, Willa has engaged in repeated verbal harassment and character assassination. She has threatened Cassidy’s future at this institution. This school has a zero-tolerance policy for such behavior.” Harrison turned to me, his disappointment a physical weight in the room. “Is there no end to the shame you’ll bring us? Are you determined to destroy everything we’ve built?” I opened my mouth. Only that hollow, whistling sound came out. I lifted my hands, my fingers starting the sign for ‘I didn’t do it,’ but my father’s hand moved faster. Crack. The slap echoed in the small office. My head snapped to the side, my ear ringing, my cheek blossoming into a searing heat. I stared at him, stunned. The tears finally broke, spilling over. “And now you cry?” Harrison’s voice was thick with disgust. “You do something this vile and you have the nerve to cry? You’re pathetic. You think if you play the victim, we’ll forget what you are?” Cassidy let out another sob, pressing her face into my mother’s coat. “Dad, Mom, please don’t yell at her. It’s okay. I can handle it.” My mother glared at me. “You were born with a common soul, Willa. You’re just like the people who raised you. All you know how to do is hurt things that are beautiful.” The office door hadn’t been closed all the way. I could see the silhouettes of other students in the hall, their whispers leaking through the crack. “So she really did it…” “She looks so quiet, but she’s a total psycho.” “I heard her parents don’t even want her. No wonder she’s so bitter.” I took a shuddering breath, trying to regain my balance. I raised my hands again, slowly, deliberately signing: I. DID. NOT. I didn’t even get through the third word. The principal waved a hand dismissively, his face twisted in annoyance. “Willa, stop with the dramatics. If you have something to say, speak. Don’t sit there playing charades to get attention. It’s insulting to everyone’s intelligence.” I froze. My fingers felt like lead. Even my silence—the only thing I truly owned—was just another “tactic” to them. Suddenly, the door pushed open a little wider. A girl from my homeroom stood there, her voice barely a whisper. “Sir… she’s not playing charades. That’s sign language.” The room went silent. The girl kept her head down, her fingers fidgeting with her sweater, but she found the courage to continue. “My uncle works at a school for the deaf. I learned a little bit over the summer. She just said ‘I didn’t do it.’ And… I don’t think she can talk. At all.” The air in the room turned to ice. The girl’s face was beet-red, but she repeated it: “She hasn’t said a word since she got here. Everyone knows that. She’s not faking being mute.” The principal cleared his throat, his voice skeptical. “Are you sure? This isn’t a time for jokes, Chloe.” “ASL signs are specific,” the girl said, her voice gaining strength. “I’m sure. She’s been trying to tell you the whole time.” Silence descended. My parents’ expressions shifted. My mother looked at me, her lips parting, a flicker of something that looked almost like guilt crossing her face. But then, Cassidy let out a sharp, jagged cry. She wiped her eyes, her voice trembling. “Willa… if you were going to lie, you didn’t have to pay someone to act with you. You didn’t have to pretend to be disabled just to get out of trouble.” That cry was a scalpel. It sliced right through my mother’s burgeoning guilt. Harrison’s face went from pale to a livid purple. He turned on me, his rage revitalized. “You are unbelievable! You’ve reached a new low, Willa. To fake a disability? To hire a classmate to lie for you? You are truly, fundamentally broken.” I reached into my pocket, trembling, and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. It was my medical certificate—the diagnosis from the clinic. I tried to hand it to him. Harrison snatched it. Before he even looked at it, he tore it into shreds, just like Dominic had done the night before. I watched the pieces fall. The tears wouldn’t stop now. “Keep acting!” Harrison roared. “I’m done with this. If you love playing the troubled child so much, I’ll give you a real reason to be troubled. I’m calling the academy for wayward youth. We’ll see how long you stay mute when you’re working ten hours a day in the fields of a reform camp!” My mother stepped back, clutching Cassidy, her eyes full of scorn. “We were wrong about you, Willa. We thought we were bringing home a lost child, but we brought home a monster. You’ve disappointed us for the last time.” Cassidy leaned into her, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smirk that no one else saw. “Dad, Mom, don’t be so hard on her. Maybe she’s just confused. She didn’t mean it…” “She meant every bit of it!” Harrison snarled. “She’s rotten to the core. I’m calling the transport service now.” The principal stood by, looking uncomfortable but saying nothing. He waved the other girl away. “Go back to class, Chloe. We’ll handle this.” The girl looked at me—a long, pained look of pure sympathy—and then she was gone. I stood there, surrounded by the confetti of my own medical records, and I actually found myself smiling. A small, broken smile. I realized then that the truth didn’t matter. In this room, my existence was nothing more than a performance they had already reviewed and hated. I knelt down, slowly, and began to pick up the scraps of paper. A sharp edge sliced my finger, drawing a bead of red. I didn’t feel it. Compared to the vacuum in my chest, the cut was nothing. The sound of a heavy vehicle pulling up to the school entrance vibrated through the floorboards. Two men in charcoal-grey tactical uniforms entered the office. They had the flat, dead eyes of men who dealt with “problem kids” for a living. Harrison stepped forward to greet them. “Gentlemen. This is the girl. She’s disturbed, manipulative, and needs a serious dose of discipline. Take her.” One of the men looked at me, a cold, hard grin touching his lips. “Don’t worry, Mr. Holloway. We’ve seen her type before. We’ll have her straightened out in no time.” Cassidy watched from my mother’s arms, her eyes dancing with triumph. “Good luck, Willa,” she whispered, the words a silent taunt. The man walked over to me. He loomed over me, blocking out the light. “So, you’re the one? Playing mute to get your way?” I didn’t move. My fingers were cold. “Nothing to say? Still playing the game?” He didn’t wait. He kicked my leg, his boot catching me right behind the knee. I collapsed. My knees hit the hardwood floor with a sickening thud. The pain was a white-hot flash behind my eyes. “Still stubborn?” He grabbed me by the hair, forcing my head back. “I said, speak!” He backhanded me. The force of it sent my head spinning, the world tilting on its axis. My ear rang with a deafening hum, and the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I was shaking, my entire body convulsing with fear and pain, but I clamped my teeth shut. I wouldn’t give them a sound. But the pain was too much. A sharp, involuntary wheeze escaped my throat—a series of clicking, broken vowels that sounded like a dying bird. “She spoke! See? I told you she was faking!” Cassidy’s voice was a shrill, delighted scream. “I knew it! She’s a liar! She’s been lying to all of us!” My parents’ faces curdled with a fresh wave of loathing. Harrison pointed a shaking finger at me. “You fraud! I can’t believe you’re my blood! You are a stain on this family!” The principal shook his head. “Willa, I am truly disappointed. To go to such lengths to avoid accountability…” The officer grabbed my arm to drag me up, but then— The office door didn’t just open. It was slammed against the wall with enough force to crack the plaster. Everything stopped. A man in a crisp, midnight-blue military dress uniform stood in the doorway. The silver stars on his shoulders caught the fluorescent light, cold and blinding. He was tall, built like a mountain, radiating a sense of absolute, crushing authority. His eyes swept the room, landing finally on me. The murderous rage in his gaze softened into a heartbreaking tenderness that felt like a physical embrace. His voice was low, vibrating with a lethal, quiet power. “My daughter cannot speak,” he said, his eyes scanning the room like a predator. “And yet, you’ve spent the morning trying to break her for it?”

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The countdown to the concert was at exactly sixty minutes, and the internet was hyper-fixated on a single headline—the kind that moves markets and breaks hearts: [EXCLUSIVE: Pop Sensation Valerie Cross Set to Propose to Manager Dominic Hart Tonight—A Decade of Romance Culminates in the Public Proposal of the Century!] This proposal wasn’t just a personal milestone; it was the crown jewel of our firm’s PR strategy for the fiscal year. It was supposed to be the finish line of my ten-year marathon with Valerie. But instead of prepping for my cue, I was standing in the shadows of the backstage service stairwell. There, I watched Valerie—radiant in a custom-designed Vera Wang bridal gown—locked in a desperate, hungry embrace with the boy she’d spent the last year keeping in the shadows. “Dominic, let me explain…” “Explain?” I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Explain why you’re back here cheating on me an hour before we’re scheduled to broadcast our engagement to millions of people?” I looked at her, the woman I’d built from nothing. “The cameras are live. Tens of thousands of fans are in their seats. Every major outlet in the country is waiting for you to make us official.” I slammed the velvet ring box onto the metal railing between us. “After the final encore tonight, you have two choices. You walk out there and propose to me as planned, or you watch your entire career go up in flames before the house lights even come up.” Her jaw tightened, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her bouquet. Finally, she snatched the box, her voice a low, venomous hiss. “Fine.” The moment arrived. The spotlights converged on me in the VIP section, blinding and white. Valerie stood center stage, draped in silk and lace, and slowly pulled the ring from the box. The stadium fell into a deafening silence. But instead of looking at me, she turned. Her gaze swept past me, landing on a pale, trembling man sitting three rows back—Lucien Pierce, the “soulmate” from her past she’d never quite let go of. “Dominic,” she said into the microphone, her voice echoing through the rafters. “Thank you for lifting me up to the stars. But tonight… tonight I need to follow my heart back to the moon.” The crowd erupted in a confused, violent roar. I sat there, the ultimate prop in her televised betrayal. As she stepped off the stage and walked toward him, I didn’t feel anger. I felt the cold, quiet snap of something vital inside me finally dying. … “Dominic,” my assistant, Parker, whispered, his voice thick with exhaustion as he handed me the tablet. “You… you should probably see this.” The screen was a digital carnage of headlines. Tonight was supposed to be the ultimate ROI—a fusion of business and brand. I had invested over a hundred million dollars, coordinated with dozens of global luxury brands, and leveraged every connection I had. The moment Valerie Cross proposed to her long-time architect and partner, our joint market value would have been astronomical. The trap was set. The world was watching. But now, the image of Valerie and Lucien Pierce kissing on the arena floor was being zoomed in on and analyzed by every tabloid on the planet. The caption read: [Pop Royalty Defies Corporate Control for True Love]. Meanwhile, the footage of me—the stunned, jilted manager walking out into the night—had already been turned into a thousand mocking memes. Our company’s stock had vaporized thirty million dollars in value before the West Coast even woke up. I scrolled through it all, page after page, my face a mask of calm. Finally, I hit Valerie’s latest personal statement, posted just minutes ago. In it, she thanked her fans for their “courageous support.” She thanked the universe for “the truth.” And then, she redefined me and the company as a “painful chapter of professional obligation” that she was finally closing. She claimed she would “pay any price for freedom.” Freedom. I looked at that word and felt a sudden, sharp bark of laughter escape my throat. “Tell PR not to respond. No statements, no denials,” I said, leaning back. “And tell the legal team to prepare the heavy artillery. I want the most aggressive breach-of-contract clauses triggered by sunrise.” Parker blinked, stunned. “Dominic, shouldn’t we try to get ahead of the narrative? The public sentiment is… it’s ugly. They’re painting you as the villain.” “Clarify?” I stood up and walked to the window, pointing at Valerie’s glowing, tearful face on a billboard across the street. “You don’t clarify things with a liar, Parker. You audit them.” I rubbed my temples and sank into the leather sofa. The last five years blurred past my eyes like a film reel. I remembered her five years ago—clutching a battered acoustic guitar, singing folk songs in a dive bar in the East Village to a crowd of three people. I was the only one who heard the potential in her voice. I was the one who signed her, built a boutique agency around her, and bet everything I owned on her. Back then, we had nothing. To save on overhead, we slept on thin mattresses on the floor of a twelve-hundred-square-foot office, eating cold takeout and talking about a future that felt a million miles away. She used to say, “Dominic, when I make it, the first thing I’m going to do is marry you.” I’d just laugh and say, “When you make it, the first thing you’re going to do is pay back the company’s startup loan.” She’d call me a corporate shark, but her eyes would be full of a soft, desperate longing. To get her a ten-minute opening slot at Coachella that first year, I drank myself into a stomach ulcer at a donor gala, ending up in the ER at 3:00 AM. When she arrived at the hospital, her eyes were red from crying. She held my hand and whispered, “Dominic, I’m never going to let anyone hurt you like this again.” I believed her. I thought we were a single entity—us against the world. I poured my life’s blood into her. I taught her how to hold a camera’s gaze, how to manipulate a room of journalists, how to craft the “approachable but untouchable” persona that her fans worshipped. She was a fast learner. She was perfect. As she rose, we moved into the glass-and-steel penthouse offices Midtown. The boutique agency became a conglomerate. But the foundation of us was shifting under the weight of the gold records. She started complaining about my “need for control.” She claimed my tour schedules were too tight, that I was stifling her “creative soul.” She began to crave something she called “purity.” That’s when Lucien Pierce appeared—a former classmate from her conservatory days. He became the face of that “purity.” I tried to talk to her about it once, a month before the concert. “Valerie, we’re partners—in business and in life. I need to know if there’s anything threatening the foundation of this company,” I had said, my tone professional but my heart hammering. She sat across from me, scrolling through her phone, her voice airy and dismissive. “You’re overthinking it. Lucien is just a friend. Someone who actually understands music, not just metrics.” “I’m the one responsible for your music,” I reminded her. She snapped her head up, her eyes flashing with a resentment I hadn’t seen before. “That’s different! That’s commercial! It’s a product, Dominic! That’s all you see! You don’t see me!” “With Lucien, I feel like a human being, not just a commodity in your portfolio.” That was the first time I realized she wasn’t the girl from the East Village anymore. She was a product I had perfected—and now, the product wanted to fire its creator. I chose to stay quiet then. I told myself it was just the pressure of the tour. I thought that once the ring was on her finger and the world saw us as a power couple, the “purity” of Lucien Pierce would fade into the background. I was wrong. I had treated her like a controlled variable in an equation, forgetting that the most volatile element in any business is human betrayal. The office door swung open without a knock. Valerie walked in, dressed in all black, oversized sunglasses hiding her eyes. Lucien followed a half-step behind her, looking like a lost puppy in a designer coat. “Sir,” Parker said, standing up quickly to block them. “Out,” I said, my voice as flat as a dead heart. Parker gave me a worried look but retreated, closing the heavy oak door behind him. “Why are you here?” I asked. Valerie pulled off her glasses. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her face was eerily calm. “I’m here to discuss the exit,” she said, dropping a thick envelope on my desk. She sat on the sofa across from me and pulled Lucien down next to her. “I want an amicable split. For the sake of the company, and for you. Let’s just end this cleanly.” “An amicable split?” I repeated the words like they were a foreign language. “Valerie, you orchestrated a public execution of my reputation and my company’s stock last night. You call that ‘clean’?” “You didn’t just ruin a proposal. You torched a hundred-million-dollar rollout. You were the lead asset of this firm’s Q4 projections, and you know that better than anyone.” She let out a sharp, mocking scoff, leaning back with an air of unearned defiance. “Business, business, business. That’s all that goes on in that head of yours. I’m done! I am not your ATM!” Lucien tried to find his voice. “Mr. Hart, don’t blame Valerie… it’s my fault. We’re in love, truly—” “Shut up,” I snapped, my eyes cutting to him like a blade. “The adults are talking.” Lucien went pale and subsided. Valerie exploded. She stood up, leaning over my desk, her face inches from mine. “Dominic, enough! You’ve always acted like you’re so much better than everyone! Who do you think you are? My savior?” “Every day with you felt like I was suffocating in a vacuum. You sold your apartment, you drank yourself into a hospital—you didn’t do that for me! You did it for your ambition! For your investment! I was just your most successful trade!” She hit every nerve, her words dripping with a cruelty she’d been saving up for years. “So, the five years we spent together… that was just an investment? Sleeping on the floor, eating ramen—that was a trade? Staying up all night in that ER waiting room—was that just me protecting my margins?” I looked up at her, waiting for a flicker of the woman I knew. She faltered for a second, her eyes darting away. Then she hardened. “Consider it… paid in full,” she said. A slow, ugly smirk spread across her face. “Oh, and there’s something else you should know.” She reached out and draped an arm over Lucien’s shoulder, her hand sliding down to rest tenderly against her flat stomach. “I’m pregnant. I have to do what’s right for him. For our family.” Pregnant. The last thread of logic, the last piece of me that wanted to be reasonable, snapped. It turned out I hadn’t just been building a career; I had been financing the nursery for another man’s child. That afternoon, I sat in my darkened office, watching the live stream on the wall. Valerie’s press conference started right on time. She looked thinner, her makeup designed to make her look fragile, exhausted, and “authentic.” Her eyes were expertly rimmed with red. Lucien sat beside her, his head down, playing the role of the sensitive, innocent artist. “First, I want to apologize to everyone who has supported me,” Valerie began, her voice cracking into a perfectly rehearsed rasp. She spoke about her “pure love for music,” about how she had been “swallowed by the corporate machine,” and about her “suffering in silence.” She described Lucien’s arrival as a “light in a dark, cold world.” She didn’t mention a single thing I had done for her. I was simply “the former management,” “the corporate cage,” “the architect of her misery.” I was the fiancé she was fleeing, not the man who had saved her career. “I admit, Mr. Hart is a brilliant businessman. He brought me to where I am today, and for that, I am grateful,” she said, before the knife came out. “But he controlled my work, my friends, even my thoughts. Every word I spoke, every dress I wore—it was all his design. I was just his creation. A puppet without a soul.” Lucien wiped a tear away and choked out into the mic, “It’s not Dominic’s fault… I shouldn’t have come back… Valerie, I’m so sorry…” The flashes from the cameras were a blizzard of white. The journalists were feral. The live chat on the stream was a bloodbath. [She’s been through so much! We won’t let him hurt you anymore!] [Heartbreaking. Imagine living under that kind of pressure.] [Dominic Hart is a monster. Cancel him. Burn the agency down.] [Support her independence! Real music is back!] Finally, Valerie announced she was forming her own independent label and severing all ties with my firm. “I’m going to do music my way now. It will be hard, but I have Lucien. And I have our baby.” “That’s enough for me.” The press conference ended, and the internet exploded. I was officially the most hated man in America. The office phones were ringing off the hook. Several of my junior artists were already having their lawyers send over “inquiries” about their contracts, terrified of being associated with a “predatory mogul.” When the walls start to crumble, everyone looks for the exit. I looked at her beautiful, lying face on the screen. The pain was gone now. In its place was a cold, crystalline hatred. I wiped a single stray tear from my cheek and buzzed Parker. “Get the legal team. Every core partner. My office in five minutes.” Parker looked at me, his eyes full of pity. “Dominic…” I gave him a smile that didn’t reach my eyes—a sharp, lethal grin. “Tell them to bring the ‘Black Box’ files. I don’t want a defense.” “I want her destroyed.”

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I was halfway out the door of the spa when the owner’s voice cut through the tranquil lo-fi beats of the lobby. “Excuse me, ma’am? I think you’ve forgotten something.” I turned, blinking in confusion. “I paid at the desk. Tip included.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes—a practiced, feline stretch of the lips. “It’s about the refreshments. Our fruit platters and premium hydration are reserved strictly for members. Since you indulged, we’ll need to get you set up with a membership today.” I kept my voice level. “I didn’t touch the fruit. I was thirsty, so I took a glass of water from the carafe on the table.” Her smile sharpened. “That water is part of our Diamond VIP service.” She looked me up and down, her gaze lingering on my leggings and oversized hoodie—my post-facial uniform. “Look, let’s not make a scene. You don’t look like you’re swimming in cash, so I’ll start you on our entry-level tier. It’s only a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars for the year.” I stared at her, genuinely stunned. “And if I refuse to pay a hundred grand for a glass of tap water?” The mask dropped instantly. She rolled her eyes and shrieked loud enough to startle the koi in the lobby pond. “Everyone, look! We’ve got a jumper! Someone trying to scam high-end services for free!” I didn’t argue. I didn’t scream back. I simply pulled out my phone and speed-dialed my executive assistant. “Cancel the employee wellness initiative,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “Yes, all ten thousand corporate spa vouchers. Effective immediately.” … 1 The lobby went dead silent. Then, the whispers started. Employees and wealthy patrons drifted over, drawn to the scent of a conflict. “She looks decent enough. Why is she stiffing them?” one woman whispered, adjusting her Chanel bag. “If you’re broke, don’t come to a luxury establishment,” another sneered. “Know your place. Honestly, the nerve of people these days.” I felt the heat crawl up my neck. The owner, Tiffany, crossed her arms, a triumphant glint in her eyes. “I’ll give you a chance to save face,” she said loudly. “Sign the membership agreement, and we’ll forget this ever happened.” She was acting as if she were doing me a favor after I’d supposedly robbed her blind. I took a breath, grounding myself. “I paid for my facial the second I walked out of the treatment room. You are holding me here because I took a sip of water. There are no signs, no price tags, and no warnings in that lounge. Charging a hundred thousand dollars for a sip of water is not a business model—it’s a shakedown.” The crowd wavered. Tiffany didn’t blink. “This is an elite club. We serve limited-edition, mountain-sourced artisanal water to our members. It’s imported, carbon-neutral, and rare. We don’t just hand it out to any walk-in off the street.” “Is that true?” a woman at the register asked, her interest piqued. “If I join, I get that water every time?” Tiffany tilted her chin up. “Absolutely. Only the best for our inner circle.” The woman practically threw her Amex at the clerk. Tiffany sighed dramatically, looking at me with pity. “See? Some clients value the experience. Others just look for excuses to be cheap. They want the luxury lifestyle without the luxury price tag.” The disdain in the room was palpable. A few people looked at me with genuine disgust. One older woman tried to be “kind.” “Honey, she probably didn’t know. Tiffany, be the bigger person. Maybe she’ll come back when she can actually afford it.” This spa was three blocks from my corporate headquarters. I’d been here at least fifty times. I’d spent well over six figures here over the years. Until today, I’d actually liked the place. But the person standing in front of me wasn’t the manager I usually dealt with. This was a new owner, someone who clearly didn’t recognize the hand that fed her. “Fine,” I said, wanting to end the nightmare. “How much for the glass? I’ll pay for the water.” I pulled out my phone to Venmo the business. “Is a hundred bucks enough for your ‘artisanal’ hydration?” Tiffany let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “A hundred bucks? What is this, a lemonade stand? That water is a hundred dollars an ounce. That glass holds ten ounces. Plus the service fee? You owe us a thousand dollars, or you sign the membership.” The onlookers gasped. “A thousand-dollar glass of water? I need to try that,” someone joked. “Look at her face,” Tiffany mocked, leaning into my personal space. “What’s the matter? Can’t scrape together a grand? Maybe you should have stuck to the water fountain at the park.” I stepped back, repulsed by the smell of her heavy perfume. “It was filtered tap water in a generic glass, Tiffany. You claim it’s a ‘limited edition’ import? Prove it. Show me the bottle.” “Prove it? Who do you think you are? You think a place like this keeps trash lying around for ‘low-lifes’ like you to inspect? This isn’t a recycling center.” The lobby erupted in laughter. My face went cold. In all my years running a multi-billion dollar firm, no one had ever dared to speak to me like this. I had a board meeting in an hour. I just wanted to leave. I reached for my wallet to throw ten Benjamins at her just to shut her up, when a cry came from the front desk. “Oh my god! Someone took a bite out of a Ruby Roman grape on the VIP platter!” 2 “You little thief!” Tiffany’s voice rose an octave. Her crimson stiletto nails pointed directly at my face. “I knew it! First the water, now the fruit. You’re a regular shoplifter, aren’t you?” She turned to the girl at the desk. “Call the police. Now.” The receptionist hovered her hand over the phone, her eyes darting between me and her boss. I realized then that this wasn’t an accident. This was a setup. “I knew she looked like a scammer,” someone muttered. “It’s always the ones trying to act ‘casual’ who are the most entitled.” “Just sign the membership,” Tiffany hissed under her breath so only I could hear. “Or I’ll make sure your face is all over the local news by tonight. ‘Local Professional Caught Stealing Grapes.’ Think about your reputation.” I swiped her hand away from my face. “Show me the security footage.” “Who the hell do you think you are to demand my footage?” Tiffany sneered. “I know your type. You spend all your ‘sugar daddy’ money on fake bags and then pinch pennies on the tips. Pay for the water, pay for the fruit, and get the hell out.” She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. The sting of it snapped something inside me. I didn’t think; I just reacted. I yanked my arm back and delivered a sharp, stinging slap across her face. The room went silent. Tiffany froze, clutching her cheek. I didn’t wait for her to recover. I stormed toward the front desk. The receptionist tried to block the screen, but I shoved her aside and grabbed the mouse. I saw the client database open. I found my name: Gwen Montgomery: Low-value. Pretends to be rich. Mark up all products by 50%. The blood rushed to my head. My ears were ringing. I’d always been private about my life. When they’d asked what I did for a living, I’d just said I “worked in an office nearby.” Because I occasionally wore Lululemon instead of Dior, they’d labeled me a “poser.” I scrolled down the list, reading the notes aloud for the whole lobby to hear: “Mrs. Gable: Idiotic and wealthy. Only recommend the ‘Platinum’ tier regardless of skin type.” “Sarah Jenkins: Desperate, low funds. Target her after the 15th of the month when her paycheck hits. Tell her the products are French imports.” “Ms. Lawson: High-maintenance. Dilute her serums with saline. Give her free samples to keep her quiet.” One by one, the women in the lobby began to pale. “Is this how you treat your ‘esteemed’ guests?” I demanded. Mrs. Gable, who had just handed over her Amex, snatched her card back from the counter. “Cancel it. I want a refund. Now!” Tiffany, her face mottled red and white, scrambled to the desk. “Mrs. Gable! Please, that’s just a misunderstanding! This… this disgruntled employee must have hacked the system! I’ll fire her immediately!” She pointed at the cowering receptionist. “You! Pack your things! You’re done!” Then she turned back to me, her eyes burning with pure hatred. “Security! Get this woman out of my sight!” Two massive guards moved in, grabbing me by the shoulders. I struggled, reaching for my phone. “Don’t you touch me! I’m calling—” “Calling who? The cops?” Tiffany snatched the phone out of my hand. With a cruel smirk, she dropped it into the koi pond. “Consider that payment for the fruit. Those grapes are imported from Japan, honey. They cost more than that cracked iPhone of yours.” I was hauled out of the building and literally thrown onto the sidewalk. My palms scraped against the concrete. My head spun. Tiffany stood in the doorway, looming over me. “Go ahead, call the police,” she spat. “My husband is one of the biggest developers in the city. He owns half the council. You’re nobody. Just another bitter mistress trying to play dress-up.” The heavy glass door slammed shut. From inside, I could hear her theatrical voice: “So sorry for the disruption, ladies! Let’s get you all a round of mimosas—on the house! Eighteen percent off all services today!” Then, her voice dropped, but I could still hear her through the glass. “That bitch really thought she was something. Acting like a hundred grand would kill her. We’ve got a fifteen-million-dollar corporate contract about to sign; I don’t have time for peasants like her.” I sat on the curb, nursing my scraped hand. I had a meeting to get to. I would swallow this rage for now. But that fifteen-million-dollar contract? She could kiss that goodbye. … That evening, I dragged myself home, exhausted and aching. My husband, Derek, popped his head out of the kitchen. “You’re back! I made that butternut squash soup you like. Drink it while it’s hot.” I slumped onto the sofa and checked my tablet. I opened Instagram, and there it was. Tiffany had posted four times in the last hour. [Broke-ass ‘influencers’ need to stay home. Can’t afford a membership but can afford to steal the VIP fruit! Pathetic.] [Note to the mistresses out there: Fake bags don’t make you a lady. Get a job.] [Caught a thief today. She threw a tantrum when we called her out. Pure comedy.] She’d posted a photo of me being hauled out by security. It was a high-resolution shot of me facedown on the sidewalk, my face clearly visible. The comments were a bloodbath. I slammed the tablet onto the cushion. Derek walked over with a bowl of soup, a sympathetic smile on his face. “What’s wrong, babe? Who climbed up your back today?” I told him everything—the water, the grapes, the database, being thrown out. I was shaking with fury. “She violated my privacy, she assaulted me, and she’s slandering me online! I’m suing her into the ground.” Derek frowned, stirring the soup. “I don’t know, Gwen. Maybe you’re overreacting. I mean, you did drink the water, right? Technically, she’s not lying.” I froze. I looked up at him, my eyes narrowing. “You’re taking her side?” 3 “I’m just being objective,” he said, his gaze flickering away to the TV. “Besides, what’s a hundred grand to us? It’s pocket change. You could have just paid it and avoided the drama. People are just trying to run a business, Gwen. It’s tough out there.” His words felt like a bucket of ice water over my head. For the two years we’d been married, Derek had been the perfect husband. He cooked, he cleaned, he insisted on doing everything himself because he “didn’t want strangers in our home.” Seeing my expression, he quickly sat beside me. “Look, you’re just stressed. Let me run you a foot bath, okay? Just let it go.” “No thanks,” I said, my voice flat. “Actually, why don’t you sleep in the guest room tonight?” His face stiffened, but he quickly masked it with his usual “supportive” smile. “Alright, Princess. I’ll let you have your space. I’m right next door if you need anything.” I sat in the dark for a long time. A detail suddenly clicked into place. That spa had opened last year. Derek was the one who suggested it. He’d told me it was right near my office, a perfect place for me to unwind. He was the one who pushed for the corporate wellness vouchers, saying it would be a “great perk” for the staff. I’d trusted him. I’d authorized the pilot program without a second thought. The seeds of doubt started to sprout. I picked up my backup phone and called my secretary. “Cancel the spa vouchers. Now. And I want a full audit of every vendor Derek has recommended to the firm in the last eighteen months.” The next morning, the storm broke. Tiffany showed up at my corporate headquarters, screaming at the top of her lungs in the lobby. “You can’t just cancel a contract! Do you have any idea how much that deal is worth? Fifteen million! Who is in charge here? I want to see the CEO!” Her voice echoed through the open-plan glass offices. Employees were peeking over their monitors. My operations manager, Mark, stood his ground. “The order came directly from the Board Chair.” “I don’t care about some ‘Board Chair’! My contact is Derek! He’s the one who set this up!” Tiffany was disheveled, her expensive highlights frizzy with rage. Mark sighed. “Ma’am, the Chair has the final say. Even Derek has to follow her directives. Please leave.” Tiffany slammed her fist onto the marble reception desk. “Call him! He won’t turn me away!” The receptionist, a fresh college grad, looked like she was about to cry. “I hired extra staff for this! I bought new equipment! I spent a fortune on overhead because of this deal!” Tiffany screamed. “You can’t just back out! It’s breach of contract!” Several employees were filming now. Mark almost laughed. “There is no signed contract, Miss. It was a proposal. We’re well within our rights to decline.” “Liar! I’ll sue! I’ll go to the Better Business Bureau! I’ll go to the press!” Tiffany was so enraged she actually flipped a display table in the lobby. I decided it was time. I walked out from the executive elevator bay, still in my morning running gear—leggings and a hoodie. Tiffany saw me and froze. Then, a slow, mocking grin spread across her face. “Oh, look who it is. The shoplifter. What, do you work as a janitor here?” A collective gasp went up from the office. My staff knew exactly who I was. I ignored her and took a sip of my coffee. “Mark, you called for the executive team?” “Yes, ma’am. This woman is demanding to see Derek.” “Call him down,” I said, standing in the shadows of the hallway so I wasn’t fully visible from the center of the lobby. “Derek’s coming!” someone whispered. Tiffany stood taller, adjusting her blazer like a queen awaiting her consort. Derek stepped off the elevator, looking sharp in the suit I’d bought him for his birthday. “What is going on here?” He looked at the mess in the lobby, then at Tiffany. He blinked, his face going momentarily pale. “Derek!” Tiffany’s voice turned into a melodic pout. She ran over and grabbed his arm, leaning into him. “Your people are being horrible! They’re trying to cancel my contract! They’re being so mean to me!” She pressed herself against him, her red-nailed hand tracing circles on his chest. “You’re the one in charge of the partnership, right? Tell them they’re wrong.” I watched them from the shadows, my heart turning into a block of lead. Derek coughed, looking around nervously. He knew this was my building. “Tiffany… look, I’ll talk to the Chair. There must be a misunderstanding.” Tiffany pointed a finger at Mark. “He tried to have me kicked out! Me! Your partner!” Then she pointed toward the shadow where I stood. “And he let that little cleaning lady over there insult me!” Derek finally looked toward the corner. Because of the lighting, he couldn’t see my face clearly yet. Maybe it was Tiffany’s tears, or maybe he thought he had more power than he actually did, but he suddenly barked at the room: “Who authorized the cancellation of this partnership?” Mark started to speak, but Derek waved him off. “I’ve been too soft on you people. I’m an executive here. I say the deal is back on! We’re moving forward with Tiffany’s spa!” He pulled Tiffany closer, his hand sliding down to rest on her waist. The silence in the office was deafening. Every single employee was looking at him like he was a dead man walking. “Derek, honey,” Tiffany purred, casting a triumphant look in my direction. “That janitor woman over there? She was glaring at me. She’s creepy.” “Fired,” Derek snapped, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Pack your bags and get out. We don’t need that kind of energy in a professional environment.” I finally stepped out into the light, my coffee cup still in hand. “Fired? Really, Derek? That’s a bold move.”

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My mother was dying. I begged my fiancé to advance our wedding settlement so I could afford her surgery. He didn’t even look back. Instead, he went straight to Gemma’s engagement party. In my darkest hour, my childhood best friend, Xavier, knelt in the sterile hospital hallway and proposed. He handed me a check for a million dollars—no strings attached, just the price of a life. I said yes without a second thought. I rushed to get the paperwork signed for my mother’s operation. But in the end, she never made it off the table. I was paralyzed by grief. Xavier stepped in, handling the funeral and the aftermath with a tenderness that convinced me I’d found my savior. We married shortly after, just as planned. Five years later, I accidentally overheard him talking to a doctor behind a heavy mahogany door. “Xavier, you kept the truth from Nora. You used her mother’s organs to save Gemma’s mother. Did you ever stop to think what happens if she finds out? You’re willing to ruin your life for Gemma?” “If I’m ruined, I’m ruined,” Xavier’s voice was cold, resolute. “I’d do anything for her. It was one life for another. I’ve spent the last five years paying Nora back with this marriage. That should be enough.” The tears hit the floor before I could catch my breath. I finally understood. My marriage—the house, the “love,” the security—was nothing but a curated lie. A penance. His heart had only ever belonged to Gemma. Fine. If he wants to be with her so badly, I’ll get out of the way. 1 The library door was a thin barrier between my life and the abyss. Inside, Xavier’s voice was thick with a regret that wasn’t for me. “Since she didn’t choose me, the only thing I could do was make sure she didn’t lose her mother. I wanted Gemma to be happy, even if it wasn’t with me. As for Nora… I’ve given her five years of my life. I’ve compensated her. It’s enough.” I heard Tyler, his oldest friend, let out a sharp, jagged breath. “Compensation? Xavier, that was a human life. If anyone finds out you forged those transplant consents, you’re spending the rest of your life in a cell. Is she really worth it? A woman who doesn’t even love you?” “My heart says she is,” Xavier replied, the sound of a lighter flicking open punctuating his words. “I’d do anything to see her smile. I didn’t care if it was Nora’s mother or my own heart—I wouldn’t have blinked.” “Don’t mention this again,” Xavier continued, his voice muffled by a cloud of smoke. “It’s in the past. She’s living her perfect life now, and that’s what matters.” “And Nora? She actually loves you, Xavier. If she ever finds out you’re the reason her mother is dead, you two—” Silence stretched like a wire about to snap. Then, Xavier gave a dry, self-deprecating laugh. “Then I’ll owe her my life, too. The money I’ve made these years… it’s enough to keep her comfortable forever.” “Man… I don’t get you. Nora is a good woman, and you’re obsessed with a phantom. Whatever. Do what you want.” Footsteps approached the door. I scrambled back, retreating into the shadows of the hallway and slipping into our bedroom. I was holding a cup of tea. It splashed onto my hand, scalding and hot, but I felt a bone-deep chill that no heat could touch. My mother didn’t die because the surgery failed. She died because she was a harvest. A sacrifice at the altar of his devotion to Gemma. Five years ago, when Harrison broke our engagement and left me as a public laughingstock, I thought Xavier’s proposal was my redemption. I thought he was pulling me out of the fire. I didn’t realize he was the one who had lit the match. All these years, I’d been parading my “happy marriage” like a trophy, oblivious to the fact that I was just a guilt-offering. The front door clicked. Tyler was gone. A moment later, Xavier stumbled into the bedroom. He smelled of expensive bourbon and tobacco. He reached out, cupping my face with hands that felt like ice, and kissed my forehead. His eyes were soft, filled with a mimicry of devotion. “Why are you standing by the door, Nora?” “Nothing,” I whispered, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. “I just spilled some tea. I was about to clean it up.” “Let the maid do it,” he murmured, pulling me closer. “You’re delicate. You need to rest. It breaks my heart when you’re tired.” He leaned in, kissing my lips with that same gentle, protective rhythm he’d used for half a decade. 2 I felt nothing. The warmth was gone. The man holding me wasn’t my husband; he was a stranger who had hollowed out my life to build a shrine for someone else. I closed my eyes, letting a single tear slip. He thought it was affection. I helped him into bed and tucked him in. The alcohol took hold quickly, and soon his breathing leveled out into a deep sleep. I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up his phone. I only had to guess the passcode once. I tried Gemma’s birthday. The screen glowed to life instantly. I started scrolling through his files. Contract after contract. Every single one was a partnership with Harrison Cole’s firm—Harrison, the man Gemma had chosen over him. I wasn’t a corporate expert, but even I could see the patterns. Xavier was bleeding his own company dry, handing over lucrative projects and taking massive hits just to ensure Gemma’s husband stayed successful. Just to ensure Gemma stayed rich. The brand ambassadors he hired? Gemma’s favorite actors. The project locations? Places Gemma had mentioned in passing on social media. Even the final payment amounts on the invoices were codes: her birthday, her wedding anniversary, the day they first met. My hands shook as I opened his private photo vault. A thousand photos. All of them were of Gemma. There she was at a gala. There she was laughing at a cafe. There she was celebrating a success with Harrison. In every photo, Harrison had been meticulously cropped out, leaving only Gemma. A digital obsession spanning five years. I checked the records from the major auction houses. Millions of dollars in jewelry, all shipped anonymously to Gemma’s address, disguised as “corporate gifts from a silent partner.” The “White Moonlight” trope wasn’t just a story. It was my husband’s religion. I looked at the necklace on my own nightstand. It was a “gift” he’d given me last month. I realized now it was a promotional freebie from the same auction house where he’d bought Gemma a five-carat diamond. I laughed, a quiet, broken sound. I didn’t need to see any more. I picked up my laptop and booked a one-way ticket out of the country for three days from now. I began the process of deactivating my accounts and filing for a name change. Three days to erase five years. It was more than enough. I didn’t sleep. When the sun rose, I went to the bathroom to wash my face. My phone buzzed on the counter. Xavier’s voice came from the doorway, curious and groggy. “Nora? What’s this notification about an identity deactivation?” I snatched the phone away, my face a mask of calm. “Nothing. My ID is expiring. I’m just making an appointment at the DMV to get it renewed.” “Don’t you have a meeting today?” I added, turning the faucet on. “You should get going.” He didn’t suspect a thing. He just wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, nuzzling into my neck. “Thank you, honey. I’m the luckiest man in the world to have a wife as graceful as you.” I smiled at his reflection in the mirror. I said nothing. “As a reward, I’m going to bring you home something special today, okay?” “Okay. I’ll be waiting.” As soon as Xavier left, his assistant arrived with a gourmet breakfast from my favorite bistro. For five years, he had ordered this for me every single morning. I used to think it was love. Now I realized it was just a routine to keep me occupied, a way to keep the “compensation” flowing so he could focus on Gemma. If he truly loved me, wouldn’t he have learned to cook at least one thing I liked in five years? I dumped the expensive pastries into the trash and walked out the door. This five-year masquerade was over. I filled out my paperwork at the government office and then headed straight to a lawyer. The divorce papers were standard—I wanted nothing. No alimony, no assets, no house. I just wanted my name back. I took the envelope to Xavier’s office. As I walked through the lobby, I heard the whispers of the staff. “Is that Mrs. Knight? She’s so elegant. No wonder the boss keeps her hidden away like a treasure.” “Definitely her. That necklace she’s wearing? I personally delivered the paperwork for it a week ago. Five hundred thousand dollars! I’d have to work three lifetimes to afford that. She’s so lucky.” 3 “I heard they’re childhood sweethearts,” another girl sighed. “She was his first love. He’s a billionaire and he’s only ever had eyes for one woman. It’s like a movie.” I reached the executive floor. I stood outside the heavy double doors of his office, but I didn’t knock. A familiar voice was already inside. “Is Harrison treating you well?” Xavier asked. His voice was strained, a low, vibrating chord of suppressed longing. “Yes, he’s great,” Gemma replied. I could hear the smirk in her voice. “He just bought me an island for our anniversary. He’s like a child, really, always trying to outdo himself…” Xavier’s voice dropped even lower. “That’s good. As long as you’re happy… that’s all I need to know.” “You’re too much, Xavier. Why did you send such an expensive gift again? If Nora finds out, she’ll be upset.” Gemma had always been like this. Taking everything and then using it as a weapon to mock me. Five years ago, when Harrison broke our engagement, she was the one who came to the hospital. She stood by my mother’s bed and told her the news, knowing my mother’s heart couldn’t take the shock. That was what sent her into the final, fatal surgery. Xavier and Harrison had both taken her side then, telling me I was being “dramatic” and “immature” for yelling at her. That day, I lost my mother and my fiancé. Xavier became my only tether to the world. And now, I realized he was the one who had cut the rope. A secretary rushed toward the door with a stack of papers, swinging it open before I could move. Xavier looked up, his eyes widening in a flash of panic. “Nora? What are you doing here? Don’t get the wrong idea—Gemma is just here for a meeting. She’s the lead on the Cole project…” “Nora, it’s been a while,” Gemma said, standing up. She was draped in the latest couture, making me feel like a ghost in my own life. I forced a smile. I pushed down the scream rising in my throat. “It’s fine. I was just in the neighborhood shopping and thought I’d drop by. Since you’re busy, I’ll go.” Xavier chased me into the hallway, explaining himself for ten minutes. Watching him scramble was almost funny. He had intentionally sabotaged his own company’s profits just to secure this contract with the Coles, just to have an excuse to see her. And now he was performing for me? “Don’t worry,” I said, cutting him off. “I’m not going to be ‘immature.’ Do your work. I’ll be at home.” He visibly relaxed. He had the secretary escort me to the elevator. As the doors closed, I saw the employees looking at me with thinly veiled pity and mockery. They knew. Everyone probably knew. I went home and started packing. Five years of gifts, jewelry, and clothes went into a large trunk. I dragged it down to the driveway and lit a match. As the flames began to lick at the silk and velvet, a car pulled up. Gemma stepped out. She kicked the trunk over, sparks flying onto her expensive shoes. She didn’t care. She was smiling. “Nora, after all these years, you’re still so pathetic.” “You couldn’t protect your mother back then, and you can’t protect your marriage now. You’re a joke.” My blood turned to fire. “You knew?” I whispered. “You knew what he did to my mother?” She laughed. I didn’t think; I just acted. I swung my hand and slapped her across the face. It wasn’t even that hard, but she stumbled back, falling toward the burning trunk. 4 I froze. Before I could even reach out to grab her, a shadow blurred past me. Xavier shoved me aside. I hit the pavement hard, the skin on my palms tearing. He gathered Gemma into his arms like she was made of glass. He looked at me, and for the first time in five years, the mask of the doting husband was gone. His eyes were full of pure, unadulterated rage. “Nora! What is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?” “Gemma just came here to talk to you, to try and clear up the misunderstandings from the past! How could you lay a hand on her?” He looked like he wanted to kill me. There wasn’t a shred of love left in his gaze. I let out a cold, jagged laugh. “She brought up my mother, Xavier.” “The ‘misunderstandings’ from the past? Don’t you think I deserve an explanation for those?” His brow furrowed. A flicker of guilt—or perhaps just fear of being caught—crossed his face. “What explanation? Your mother was sick and the surgery failed. You know that. Whatever happened back then is no excuse for being a violent psychopath.” “Nora, apologize to her. Now.” Before I could speak, Gemma leaned into his chest, her voice a fragile whisper. “Don’t… don’t be hard on her, Xavier. It’s my fault. We hurt her when Harrison left her. Just let this be my penance…” “Since she hates me so much, maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore. I don’t want to be the reason your marriage falls apart.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood. I watched them walk away, watched him carry her to his car. I knew then. It was over. I stood up and restarted the fire. I watched five years of “love” turn to ash. An hour later, Xavier sent a text. Gemma is the lead on the Cole project, Nora. Hurting her is bad for the company. I only made you apologize to keep the peace for the cameras. Don’t overthink it. I’ll come home tonight and make it up to you, okay? I have that gift I promised. Don’t be mad. He wasn’t performing for Gemma. He was still trying to manage me, to keep his “compensation” project under control. I sat in the dark living room with the divorce papers until midnight. He never showed up. Instead, a tabloid headline popped up on my phone: Billionaire Xavier Knight Rushes Local Socialite to ER After Domestic Dispute. Gemma had a tiny scratch on her arm, but Xavier had called in every specialist in the city. He’d donated a million dollars to the hospital wing on the spot just to ensure she got the best suite. In the photos, he was holding her. His eyes held a tenderness I had never, ever seen directed at me. The hospital was lit up like a fortress that night, all for a woman’s bruised ego. At dawn, I called him. He didn’t answer at first. I could hear him in the background, barking orders at his secretary. “Sir, are you sure about the contract revision? We’re going to lose over a hundred million on this deal!” “Just do it,” Xavier snapped. “It’s the compensation I promised her. And draft another document—I want to transfer half of my personal shares in the holding company to Gemma.” The secretary left, and Xavier finally realized the line was open. “Nora? Sorry, I’ve been swamped. I’m coming home soon. Did you need something?” I looked down at the burns on my hands. “Nothing. Keep working. I won’t bother you.” “Good girl. Wait for me at home. I’m on my way.” I didn’t wait. I signed the divorce papers and left them on the kitchen island. I took my suitcase and walked out of the house. I made one final stop: the hospital where my mother died. I requested a copy of the organ donation consent forms from five years ago. There it was. My signature at the bottom. Except I had never signed it. Xavier had forged my handwriting perfectly. 5 I made a copy of the forged agreement and mailed it to Xavier’s office. By the time it arrived, I’d be in the air. Twenty-four hours passed. I didn’t go back. Neither did he. Just as I was about to board my flight, a flurry of messages arrived. Nora, I sent my assistant with your gift. Why aren’t you answering the door? Are you still throwing a tantrum? Stop playing games. Behave. I’m coming home now. He was still lying. Thirty minutes earlier, a lifestyle blogger had posted a “secret” livestream of him and Gemma shopping. He was currently picking out a gala dress for her to wear to the upcoming shareholders’ meeting. I didn’t reply. I received a text confirming my identity deactivation was complete. I deleted his contact info, blocked his number, and stepped onto the plane. Back in the states, on the livestream, the secretary suddenly burst into the boutique. He was pale, clutching an envelope. “Sir! Something’s wrong! Mrs. Knight found out about the surgery from five years ago! I can’t reach her!”

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The deal I’d spent six months nursing was finally ready for ink. Then my wife—the CEO of the company—had HR cancel my flight and booked me a twenty-hour ticket on a cross-country Greyhound bus instead. When I confronted her, she didn’t even look up from her laptop. She just accused me of being “fiscally irresponsible.” “The flight exceeded the standard reimbursement cap for senior staff,” Brooke said, her voice like dry ice. “I know you’re my husband, Nate, but I can’t go breaking company policy for you. It sets a bad precedent for the rest of the team.” She finally looked at me then, her eyes full of a cold, shimmering disdain. “A bus isn’t going to kill you. Stop being so fragile. You’re a grown man.” I didn’t have time to argue. I spent twenty-four hours cramped in a seat that smelled like stale coffee and diesel, my joints screaming, only to arrive at the client’s office and be told the contract had already been signed. I pulled out my phone. Tyler, the new intern, had just posted an update on LinkedIn. The photo showed two first-class boarding passes and a blurred-out copy of the contract I had built from the ground up. His caption: “Mission accomplished. So grateful to my incredible CEO for trusting me with the heavy lifting. #GrowthMindset #Blessed” — It was early summer. The sun was draping itself lazily over the city, but I couldn’t feel the warmth. My blood felt like it had turned to slush in my veins. The truth was out. “Company policy”? Give me a break. Brooke hadn’t changed my travel plans to save money. She’d done it to bury me in a bus for twenty-four hours so Tyler would have a head start. She’d handed him my victory on a silver platter. The project I’d sweated over, the late nights, the missed dinners—she’d wiped it all away with a single keystroke, turning my hard work into his fast-track to a promotion. She was obsessed with him. He was a few years younger, a “protegé” from her alma mater, and her favoritism was becoming a sickness. But why the bus? If she wanted him to sign it, she could have just told me to stay home. Why make me suffer through the ride? “That was my suggestion, actually,” Tyler said. I was back at the office, and he was leaning against my desk, a jagged, ugly smirk on his face. “I told Brooke that even though you almost fumbled the deal at the goal line, you’d worked hard. I told her you needed a little ‘slow travel’ to clear your head. Consider it a company-funded retreat, Nate. You should really work harder to repay Brooke’s kindness.” I wanted to put my fist through his teeth. I really did. But the whole office was watching, and I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of a meltdown. Tyler only acted this way because Brooke allowed it. She didn’t just open the door for him; she laid out the red carpet. I took a sharp breath, turned on my heel, and walked into Brooke’s office. “Tyler, babe, do you have more of those funny—” She stopped. The moment she realized it was me and not her golden boy, her voice dropped an octave into a snarl. “You don’t know how to knock anymore? Get out and try again.” Tyler never knocked. I’d seen him barge in a dozen times, and she always met him with a smile. I felt a bitter laugh bubble up in my chest. For the first time in seven years of marriage, I didn’t play along. I didn’t go back out. I stayed right where I was and made the first non-work request I’d made in years. “I’m taking my vacation days. Starting tomorrow.” A designer pen flew across the room, grazing my earlobe before thudding into the carpet behind me. My skin stung, a sharp, hot heat. Brooke slammed her hands on the desk, standing up. “Do you have any idea how busy we are? You’re my husband. Instead of stepping up to help me, you’re trying to bail? You want a vacation?” She scoffed, her lip curling. “Tyler was right. I’ve spoiled you these last few years. You’ve gotten soft.” “Spoiled me?” I repeated, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Is that what you call giving my project to an intern?” Her face flickered—just for a second—before hardening back into a mask of corporate logic. “I did that for your own good. You’ve been exhausted. I didn’t think you could handle the execution phase of a contract this size. Tyler needs the experience, and you need the rest. It was a win-win. Don’t let your petty jealousy get in the way of what’s best for this company.” If she really believed that, she wouldn’t have had to lie about the bus. She tapped her manicured nails on the desk. “You’re not the lead anymore, but I still expect you to put in the hours. Tyler is green. He has the instinct, but he lacks the technical depth. You need to mentor him through the transition.” She wanted me to bleed so he could drink. I watched her face. When she mentioned Tyler’s name, there was a softness in her eyes, a spark of genuine light that I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. My wife had found someone else to love. Or at least, someone else to admire. I looked down at the floor, hiding the hollow ache in my chest. “I haven’t taken a day off since we launched this startup. Between my accrued PTO and my seniority, I have four weeks coming to me. I’ll submit the request through the portal this afternoon. I’m gone tomorrow.” Brooke narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll tell HR to reject it.” I threw her own words back at her. “It’s company policy, Brooke. You can’t go breaking the rules.” We were months away from an IPO. For the last year, I’d been the first one in and the last one out, working until the stars were the only things left in the sky. Walking out of the building at 5:30 PM felt illegal. I stood on the sidewalk, the sun still high, and realized I had no idea what to do with myself. My phone buzzed. Two notifications hit the screen back-to-back. Company-wide: “Team dinner tonight at Delmonico’s to celebrate the new contract. All hands on deck!” Personal: “Nate, honey, the blackberries are heavy on the bushes back home. I’m going to pick some this weekend and mail a jar of jam to you and Brooke.” The first was from Brooke. The second was from my mother. Two images flashed in my mind: Brooke looking at Tyler with that doting, prideful gaze, and my mother, standing in a sun-drenched garden in Virginia, thinking of a son who barely called anymore. Spousal love can evaporate. It can shift, sour, and vanish. But a parent’s love? Even when you’re distant, even when you’re a ghost, it stays. I realized with a jolt of guilt that as Brooke’s ambition had grown, our visits home had dwindled to nothing. Maybe a frantic forty-eight hours at Christmas. Lately, I’d been going alone. Whenever I’d asked Brooke to come, she’d just sigh in exasperation. “You go. I have a company to run. Do you really think I have time to sit on a porch and talk about the weather?” Even when I was there, she’d call me every hour, demanding I come back to work. But it wasn’t always like that. In the early days, when we were working out of a garage, she was the one who insisted we visit my parents. She said it kept us grounded. I guess she didn’t need grounding anymore. She wanted to fly, and she wanted Tyler to be her co-pilot. I hadn’t planned on actually leaving town, but the impulse hit me like a physical wave. I needed to go home. I packed a bag, bought a train ticket—a real one this time, in a sleeper car—and headed south. By the next morning, I was breathing in the humid, sweet air of the Blue Ridge foothills. As I stepped off the platform, a voice cut through the morning quiet, sharp and dripping with sarcasm. “Well, look at that. Nate Miller, returning to the scene of the crime. Alone, as usual.” I didn’t have to turn around. Cassidy. My childhood best friend, the girl next door who’d grown up to be a shark of a corporate lawyer with a tongue like a straight razor. I managed a weak smile and tossed my bag into her trunk. “Nice to see you too, Cass. I heard your last date ended in a restraining order.” She rolled her eyes, pulling out of the station. “Hardly. Men just don’t like dating lawyers. They’re terrified that if we break up, I’ll take the dog, the house, and his dignity in under thirty minutes.” I leaned back against the headrest. “I thought you did M&A, not family law.” She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, hitting the gas a little harder than necessary. “I don’t. But for you, Nate? I’d make an exception. I’d take her for everything she’s worth.” I stayed silent. She glanced at me, her expression softening. “Wait. You’re quiet. Usually, you defend her. Is it… is it actually happening?” The truth is a blade. “Just drive, Cass. I’m not in the mood for an autopsy of my marriage.” “Right. Got it.” She went quiet, but the air in the car felt heavy, vibrating with all the questions she wasn’t asking. Before we got to my parents’ place, she asked, “Are we telling them?” I sighed. “Not yet. Let’s just let them have a nice weekend.” Three years of dating, seven years of marriage. Unless I caught Brooke in a room with a smoking gun, I wasn’t ready to pull the trigger on a divorce. Not yet. But parents have a sixth sense. They want you home, but they can tell when you’re staying because you have nowhere else to be. By the fifth day, my mom was practically pushing me out the door. “It’s a beautiful morning, Nate. Go for a walk. Go see the world. You’re moping around this kitchen like a lost puppy.” I stepped out onto the porch just as Cassidy was heading to work. I felt like a teenager caught playing hooky. “Rough morning?” she teased, leaning against her car. “Look, I have to visit a few clients today. If you’re bored, you can play chauffeur. It beats sitting here and letting your mom interrogate you.” I didn’t have anything better to do. I hopped in. We spent the whole day on the road. By the time we pulled back into her apartment complex that evening, my ankles were sore. I watched her hop out of the car, looking perfectly poised despite being in three-inch heels all day. “How do you do that?” I asked, gesturing to her feet. “I’m exhausted just watching you.” “Practice,” she said, but as she stepped onto the curb, her ankle gave way. I moved instinctively, catching her by the waist before she hit the pavement. “See?” I muttered, steadying her. “Tough talk and sharp heels. This is why you’re single.” “What the hell is this?” I froze. Brooke was standing ten feet away, her face a mask of cold, vibrating fury. She marched toward us, her designer handbag looking like it was about to become a weapon. “I actually believed you came home to see your parents. I thought, Maybe he just needs a break. But you’re out here reliving your high school glory days. How could you do this to me, Nate?” I frowned, letting go of Cassidy. “It’s not what it looks like, Brooke. What are you even doing here?” “I see you two wrapped around each other, and you ask me what it looks like?” Tyler stepped out from behind a parked SUV, trailing Brooke like a loyal golden retriever. He looked at us with a slow, knowing smile. “I mean, she did just get out of the passenger seat,” Tyler noted, his voice dripping with faux-concern. “And she looks a little… disheveled. I guess we know why Nate’s been so tired lately.” Then, he did a little mock-shudder, hiding behind Brooke’s shoulder. “Oh, man. Nate, did I say that out loud? I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. I’m just guessing here!” If his eyes weren’t gleaming with pure malice, I might have believed he was just an idiot. Cassidy had found her footing by then. She smoothed her skirt, her lawyer persona clicking into place like a loaded gun. “Under state law, defamation can lead to a very messy, very expensive civil suit,” she said, her voice cool and rhythmic. “If you want to keep talking, kid, I’d suggest you bring a checkbook.” She glanced at Brooke. “And as for you, Brooke—I’d keep your ’employee’ on a shorter leash. Or is he a ‘business expense’ now? Honestly, since you’re paying for him with marital assets, I should probably thank you for the entertainment.” Brooke went scarlet. “Don’t you dare. Tyler is a dedicated employee who was worried about me. He came along to make sure I was okay.” Cassidy just let out a short, bark-like laugh. She didn’t need to say another word. Brooke turned her fire back on me. “The office is drowning, Nate. I’ve had enough of this tantrum. Get in the car. We’re going back. Now.” “No,” I said quietly. “I’m on vacation.” Brooke’s jaw set. “The games are over. I’m here, I’m giving you a chance to save face. Don’t push me.” Tyler chimed in again. “Nate, look, Brooke just likes having me around because I’m a fast learner. If my being on the team makes you this upset, I’ll apologize. I just want Brooke to be happy. If you come back, I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.” “Whatever it takes?” I repeated. I looked at Tyler, then at my wife. “Fine. Fire him. If Tyler resigns and leaves the firm, I’ll come back tonight.” Tyler’s face crumpled. He looked like I’d just kicked a puppy. He turned to Brooke, his eyes glistening. “I… if that’s what it takes for you to have your husband back, Brooke… I’ll write my resignation tonight.”

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It was my daughter’s fifth birthday, and after months of begging, my workaholic wife finally agreed to take our very first family portrait. I was ecstatic. I woke up at dawn, my heart racing with a kind of nervous energy I hadn’t felt in years. I had pulled every string I possessed to book a session at The Silver Frame, the most exclusive photography boutique in the city—the kind of place where the waiting list usually stretched into the next year. But as the appointment hour ticked closer, the world went quiet. My wife and daughter simply vanished. I sat in that plush, velvet-lined studio until the “Closed” sign flipped on the door. Finally, a text lit up my screen. It was from Mallory. [Forgot to tell you—the company organized a year-end retreat. I decided to take Sophie along for the trip. We’re already on our way.] A second later, a voice note from Sophie arrived. Her high-pitched, sweet voice echoed in the empty studio: [Daddy, the trip is so much fun! We’ll take the picture when we get back, okay? Bye!] I didn’t get angry. Not yet. I just stared at the phone and typed back a single word: Okay. Then, I turned my attention to a different chat. I pulled up the contact for the Chairman of Mallory’s company—a man who also happened to be one of my oldest friends. [Funny,] I messaged him. [I didn’t realize the firm was hosting a retreat today. As the majority shareholder, you’d think I would’ve received the memo.] … My phone rang almost instantly. When I picked up, Luke’s voice was thick with confusion. “What retreat? Nate, are you dreaming? It’s the end of the quarter. We’re all buried in spreadsheets and coffee. I haven’t seen sunlight in three days, let alone a beach. Everyone is in the office except for your wife—she took personal leave starting today.” I gripped the phone, my knuckles turning a ghostly white. “I see.” “Wait, Nate. What’s going on? You sound… off.” I bit my lip, catching my reflection in the studio’s vanity mirror. I was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit, my hair styled to perfection, looking every bit the successful man—yet I looked like a complete and utter fool. Standing there alone, I was a punchline to a joke I hadn’t realized I was in. “Come pick me up,” I said, giving him the address. “Five minutes. Stay put.” I sat back down at the vanity. The staff was beginning to pack away the lighting rigs and umbrellas. I could feel their eyes on me. Earlier, they had looked at me with envy—the man who had paid triple the standard rate to buy out the entire studio for the afternoon. Now, that envy had curdled into pity. I heard the whispers behind the heavy curtains: “Stood up,” “Poor guy,” “All that money and he can’t even get his wife to show up.” The studio manager walked over, clutching a heavy, leather-bound portfolio. “Sir, please don’t be too discouraged. I’m sure your wife had an emergency,” she said, her voice dripping with that professional kindness that feels like sandpaper on a wound. “Since we couldn’t shoot today, why don’t you look through our sample gallery? You can pick a style for next time.” I had no interest in looking, but out of some ingrained sense of politeness, I flipped open the first page. And the world stopped spinning. There, on the very first page—the “Gold Standard” family portrait used to market the studio—was a massive, high-definition photograph. The background was a warm, sun-drenched library. A woman in a silk cream dress was smiling with a radiant, soft warmth I hadn’t seen in years. Beside her, a man in a perfectly tailored navy suit looked at her with adoration. Between them sat a little girl in a tulle tutu, her eyes crinkling into crescent moons as she clutched a bouquet of daisies. That was my five-year-old daughter, Sophie. That was the woman I shared a bed with, Mallory. But the man… the man wasn’t me. The manager, seeing me freeze, assumed I was impressed. She leaned in, her tone brimming with pride. “Exquisite, isn’t it? This is our ‘Model Family.’ They’ve been loyal clients of ours since the little girl was just a month old. They come in every single year to document her growth.” She continued, oblivious to the fact that she was dismantling my life word by word. “The mother is a high-level executive, very successful. And the father—oh, he’s just a dream. He’s famous in the studio for how much he dotes on them. And the little girl? She’s a natural. She loves the camera. She’s always so happy to be here.” “In fact,” the manager added, “they’re celebrating her birthday today at the Grand Regency Hotel. Our lead photographer was actually hired to cover the party.” Each word was a jagged blade, flaying me alive. Years ago, I had stepped away from the spotlight to let Mallory chase her dreams of being a power player. I had secretly used my influence to get her into Luke’s firm. I had funneled anonymous investments into her projects, ensuring her “stellar performance” made her the youngest Managing Director in the company’s history. I wanted her to have the world. And then, there was Sophie. Every time I tried to take a photo of her at home, she would scowl. She would hide behind Mallory or slap the camera away, screaming, “Go away, Daddy! I hate pictures!” Mallory would always shield her, throwing me a look of cold disdain. “Just leave her alone, Nate. Don’t force her. Besides, your photography skills are mediocre at best.” Looking at the photo of my daughter beaming at the camera, my blood turned to ice. She didn’t hate pictures. She just hated taking them with me. I shifted my gaze to the man in the photo. He looked familiar—vaguely, like a ghost from a past life. Then it clicked. Dominic Vance. (Wait, Vance is a forbidden name. Let’s call him Dominic Thorne. No, Thorne is forbidden too. Let’s go with Dominic Black.) Dominic Black. He was the “charity case” I had personally sponsored through four years of university. I had seen a hardworking kid from the streets and paid his entire tuition. When he couldn’t find a job after graduation, I had made a few calls and landed him a prestigious role at a government-affiliated firm. I had funded his education. I had built his career. And apparently, I had provided him with a family. The manager was still talking. “Sir? If you like this style, we can book you for—” The roar of a high-end sports car outside cut her off. A moment later, the door swung open. “Nate!” Luke burst in, looking around the empty studio. “Damn, look at you. You look like you’re heading to the Oscars. Where are Mallory and Sophie? Are we done already?” I snapped the portfolio shut. The shame was a physical weight in my chest. “Nate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I looked at him and forced a smile that felt like breaking glass. “Take me to the Grand Regency. I hear my daughter is having a birthday party.” Luke didn’t ask questions. He saw my face and drove like a man possessed. The Grand Regency wasn’t just the most expensive hotel in the city; it was one of the crown jewels in Luke’s family portfolio. We stood before the grand ballroom. A massive welcome banner stood at the entrance. It featured the same family portrait I’d seen in the studio. Mallory leaning into Dominic’s chest, Sophie perched on Dominic’s shoulders. The gold lettering read: [Happy 6th Birthday to our darling Sophie] Sixth birthday? I went numb. Sophie was five. She had to be. Luke’s face went purple with rage. He was the owner of this building. He reached for his phone to call security, but I put a hand on his arm, stopping him. I pushed open the double doors. The roar of the party died instantly. A hundred pairs of eyes turned toward the entrance. Most of the people there were Mallory’s employees. I didn’t show my face at her office often, but I’d dropped off lunch for her a few times. They recognized me. “Wait, isn’t that Manager Cross’s stay-at-home husband?” someone snickered. The whispers began, a rising tide of mockery. “What a buzzkill. Why is he here on such a big day?” “I heard he’s basically a maid. Cleans, cooks, lives off her paycheck. Total embarrassment of a man.” “Look at that suit. He probably put it on her credit card.” Mallory was standing in the center of the room, her hand on a long silver knife, poised to cut a towering cake. Dominic’s hand was resting firmly over hers. They looked like the picture of domestic bliss. Seeing me, Mallory didn’t look guilty. She looked annoyed. “Nate? What are you doing here? I told you to stay home. Don’t come here and make a scene!” She didn’t even bother coming down from the stage. She just barked at me from her pedestal. I walked toward the stage, one heavy step at a time. “Make a scene?” I pointed at the banner, at the giant number six. My voice was a jagged rasp. “Mallory. Is Sophie five, or is she six?” Mallory’s eyes flickered for a fraction of a second before hardening. “What does it matter? Five, six, she’s a child.” Dominic stepped forward then, wearing a smug, practiced grin. He looked every bit the successful executive I had helped him become. He raised his champagne flute toward me—a gesture that was meant to look polite but felt like a slap. “Look, Nate, since you’re here, grab a plate and find a corner. Mallory and I wanted to give Sophie the best day possible, and the team is also celebrating my recent promotion. Don’t ruin the mood.” “Go away!” A small figure darted out and shoved me with all her might. It was my daughter. The girl I had stayed up with through every fever, the girl whose hand I had held as she learned to walk. She was wearing a dress that cost more than a mid-sized car, and she was glaring at me like I was a monster. “Don’t you dare bully Daddy Dominic! He said you’re just a useless loser! You’re just a burden to Mommy!” My heart didn’t just break; it disintegrated. “Sophie… I’m your father…” “No, you’re not!” She grabbed Dominic’s leg, tilting her chin up with a cruel pride. “Daddy Dominic is my real daddy. He makes lots of money and buys me whatever I want. He said I have his ‘elite blood,’ not the blood of a failure like you!” The room erupted in laughter. “Wow, talk about a reality check!” “Imagine raising another man’s kid for five years. This guy is the king of losers.” The very employees who used to call me “Sir” out of politeness were now vying to see who could insult me louder to please Mallory and Dominic. I realized then: six years ago, while I was paying for Dominic’s senior year of college, Mallory had “met” me. She had cried about a bad breakup and her need for a stable man. From day one, I had been nothing but a free meal ticket for her and Dominic’s child. “Mallory,” I said, breathing through the searing heat in my chest. “So, these five years… it was all a performance?” Luke couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved past me and pointed at the executives. “You blind idiots! Do you have any idea who I am? And the man you’re mocking—Nathaniel Cross—is the majority shareholder of—” “Security!” Mallory cut Luke off, her voice cold and sharp. “Get these two lunatics out of here. Especially that one next to Nate—he looks like a common street thug. Probably some low-life relative of yours, Nate?” Before the actual security could arrive, a few of the larger department managers, eager for a bonus, stepped forward, rolling up their sleeves. “Don’t you touch me!” Luke roared. He usually stayed at the corporate headquarters and rarely visited this subsidiary. Combined with his casual clothes today, these idiots actually didn’t recognize the Chairman of the board. “Is this guy for real?” a manager laughed, shoving Luke hard. “Do you know who Manager Cross is? She could crush you like an ant!” Dominic stood on the stage, holding Sophie in one arm and pulling Mallory close with the other. He watched the chaos with a smirk. “Listen up, everyone. Whoever gets this trash out of my sight so it doesn’t spoil the night for Mallory and me—I’ll personally see to it that your year-end bonus is doubled.” Money is a powerful motivator. The shoving turned into a frenzy. Someone kicked Luke in the back of the knee, and he buckled. I lunged to help him, but a heavy fist caught me in the kidney, sending black spots dancing across my vision. “Nate, did you really think you were someone?” I spat out a mouthful of blood and looked up at Mallory. “The fallout for infidelity and fraud… are you ready for it?” Mallory stepped off the stage and stood over me, her eyes full of pure, unadulterated disgust. “Since we’re being honest, I’ll let you in on a secret.” She reached into her clutch, pulled out a document, and threw it at my face. It was a marriage certificate. Mallory and Dominic. The date was a full year before she and I “married.” My pupils shrunk. “Don’t bother looking,” she sneered. “The certificate we signed? Fake. A prop. Dominic was just starting out back then, and we were broke. I needed a ‘nice guy’ to pay the bills and provide for us while he built his career. You were an orphan with no family to ask questions. You were easy to control.” “Fake,” I whispered. My internal organs felt like they were being shredded. Every night of the last five years, every sacrifice—it was all built on a void. “There’s no need for a divorce because there was never a marriage.” Dominic walked over and ground his heel into the back of my hand. “Thanks for the tuition, ‘Big Brother Nate.’ And thanks for raising my kid. But I’m a big man now. It’s time for the help to leave.” I tried to stand, but a boot to my chest sent me sprawling. Luke tried to shield me, but someone shattered a wine bottle over his head. Blood poured down his face. “You… you’re going to regret this…” Luke choked out. “Regret?” The manager who hit him spat on him. The crowd roared with laughter. “Hit them! Hit them until they can’t walk! Manager Cross will handle the fallout!” Luke and I were curled on the floor, a rain of blows falling on us. The smell of copper filled my nose. My vision was fading. Mallory just watched, then reached over to cover Sophie’s eyes. “Don’t look, sweetie. It’s just trash being cleared out.” Just as a manager lifted a heavy wooden chair to bring it down on my head— BOOM. The ballroom doors were slammed open so hard they hit the marble walls like cannon fire. A squad of elite security detail swarmed the room. Behind them, a middle-aged man in a sharp suit and gold-rimmed glasses ran in, looking frantic. He was the Executive Assistant to the Chairman. When he saw Luke lying in a pool of blood, he turned gray. “Chairman?!” Then he saw me. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “Mr. Cross…”

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