After a grueling recovery from a miscarriage that nearly took my life, our friends did everything they could to keep Sebastian away from that girl from the massage parlor. They acted like a human shield, blocking her calls and even cornering her in private. One of them—Mark, I think—had gone as far as to threaten her. “Sebastian gave you eighty thousand dollars to disappear. Isn’t that enough? If you try to crawl back into his life and mess with my friend’s marriage again, I’ll make sure you regret it.” I don’t know how that reached Sebastian’s ears, but when it did, he snapped. He found Mark and beat him so badly the police had to be called. It only stopped when I walked into the precinct with the divorce papers in my hand. That was the wake-up call, or so I thought. That night, Sebastian purged her. He deleted her number, scrubbed every trace of her from our house, and even took our wedding photo—the one she’d cracked in a fit of pique—to a professional restorer. He hung it back over our bed like a trophy of our “renewed” love. He became the “Perfect Husband” again. He was home by six every night, cooking three-course meals, doting on me with an intensity that felt like he was trying to grow me back into the woman I used to be—the one who hadn’t been broken by him. We lived in that fragile, beautiful lie for three years. Right up until the morning my prenatal check-up notification arrived in the same mail as an invitation to that girl’s wedding. Sebastian called it “trash” and threw it in the bin with a sneer. But on the day he was supposed to drive me to the clinic to see our baby’s first ultrasound, he never showed up. Instead, he drove two towns over and crashed a wedding. In front of a hundred staring guests, he grabbed the bride, pulled her behind his back, and slapped a check onto the groom’s chest. “Here’s two million dollars. Ten times whatever you spent on this circus. Now get the hell out of here and never look at her again.” Someone caught it on video. Within hours, it was viral. The internet was calling her the “Runaway Bride” and romanticizing their “star-crossed” love. It turned out that during these years when I thought Sebastian had finally found his way back to me, he hadn’t spent a single second letting go of Jade. That night, I called the clinic and scheduled a different kind of appointment. 1 I was simmering a pot of chicken corn soup for Sebastian when the video hit my phone. My best friend, Sarah, was the first to send it. Is this him? What the hell is going on? Did he seriously go back to that parlor girl? The notifications poured in like a dam breaking. Some were voyeuristic, some were pitying, some were dripping with “I told you so.” The world tilted on its axis, sending me back to that night three years ago. The night Sebastian threw a man off a second-story balcony at a bar because he’d made a crude comment to Jade. It was the same madness, the same “me against the world” fever. I scrolled through the comments, my heart hammering a jagged rhythm against my ribs. “God, the intensity! He’s been obsessed with her for years!” “If you won’t marry me, I’ll just steal you. This is some real-life Dark Romance shit.” “I want someone to love me enough to ruin their entire reputation for me.” I kept scrolling, my eyes blurring, forgetting the stove was still on. The ceramic pot hissed, then cracked under the uneven heat. Boiling broth erupted, splashing over my hands and legs. I stared at the red, blistering skin, but I couldn’t feel the sting. I just stood there in the wreckage of my kitchen and dialed Sebastian’s number. It went straight to voicemail. That familiar, clipped greeting played in my ear, followed by the silence of his absence. I started to laugh. It was a cold, hollow sound that died in my throat. He’d promised me this morning. He’d kissed my stomach and told me he’d be home by two. He’d knelt by my hospital bed three years ago and sworn on his life he’d be a better man. Was I heartbroken? I don’t think so. You have to have hope for your heart to break, and I’d burned through the last of mine a long time ago. I calmly cleaned the floor, wiped the broth from my skin, and called the hospital back. “Cancel the ultrasound,” I said, my voice steady. “I need to schedule a termination. As soon as possible.” 2 Sebastian didn’t stumble through the door until 3:00 AM. I was sitting on the sofa, my eyes raw and stinging from the lack of sleep. When our eyes met, the silence in the room felt heavy, like it was made of lead. On the coffee table, my iPad was on a loop, playing the video of him at the altar. “Here’s two million dollars…” Over and over. Sebastian strode across the room, snatched the iPad, and killed the screen. Then, slowly, as if his bones had turned to glass, he sank to his knees. He was kneeling for her. Again. The irony was so sharp it was almost funny. “I know there’s nothing I can say,” he rasped, his voice sounding like he’d been screaming. “But I swear, this was the last time. I just had to help her.” “Help her?” I asked quietly. “Her dad has Stage 4 lung cancer. She’s drowning in medical debt. She came to me weeks ago, and I turned her away. I tried to be the man you wanted. But then she decided to sell herself to that… that pig, just for the dowry. I couldn’t let her do it, Maya. It was out of pity. Just pity.” Pity. He’d used that word so many times I doubted he even knew what it meant anymore. But I knew. I knew because every time he “pitied” her, I was the one who bled. Putting her through school? Pity. Getting her that apartment? Pity. Buying her a car? Pity. Assaulting a man for her? Pity. And now, ruining our life to stop her from marrying someone else? Still “pity.” “Your heart is just overflowing with charity, isn’t it?” I said, the sarcasm tasting like acid. He moved to pull me into his arms, but I shoved him back with a strength that surprised us both. “Maya, please. Don’t do this. Don’t leave me.” He looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot and brimming with tears. “Sebastian,” I said, looking down at the man I’d loved since I was seventeen. “The person who gives up first doesn’t get to ask the other to stay.” 3 I never thought Sebastian would be a cheater. The day I found out was exactly 5,200 days since we’d first met. We were high school sweethearts, the couple everyone pointed to as the gold standard. A decade of history, and it all collapsed because of a girl in a shady spa. He’d started “working late” every night. My friends would joke about it, asking if I was worried he had a mistress. I’d just laugh it off. “Why worry? If a man is dirty, you just throw him out.” But I had overestimated his loyalty and underestimated my own capacity for self-destruction. Love is a debt, and I was about to go bankrupt. Sebastian had “gifted” fifty thousand dollars to that massage parlor. One of his business partners let it slip at dinner, thinking I already knew. The table went dead silent. That was the worst day of my life. Not just because of the betrayal, but because that morning, I’d seen two pink lines on a plastic stick. I had planned to announce the pregnancy over dessert. Instead, I ended up acting like a woman I didn’t recognize—screaming, demanding names, demanding addresses. When I finally confronted Jade, the man who had never raised his voice to me stood in front of her like a shield. “Have you had enough?” he’d roared at me. “I’m so sorry,” Jade had whimpered, looking up at him with those wide, tear-filled eyes. “It’s my fault. I tempted him. Hit me if you want, just don’t blame Sebastian.” I lost it. I lunged for her, my hand connecting with her face in a sharp crack. Sebastian grabbed her, pulling her into his chest, and glared at me with pure loathing. “Maya, stop it! You’re being cruel!” “Cruel?” I choked out. “You’ve always been the strong one, the demanding one, pushing me to be more, to do more. I just wanted to do something for someone who actually needs me. What’s so wrong with that?” Those words were a death sentence. We entered a cold war that lasted months. Everyone thought he’d be the one to break. After all, he was the one who had strayed. But in the end, I was the one who used the baby to beg him to come home. 4 I didn’t realize how much I was addicted to him. From the moment we were teenagers, he was the one who chased me. He was my shadow. The thought of a world without Sebastian felt like a world without oxygen. I started gaslighting myself. Maybe I was too hard on him. Maybe I didn’t appreciate him enough. When I finally called him, I let my pride die. “Just come home. If you break it off with her, we can pretend none of this happened. Please.” I was pathetic. I was small. But he told me he couldn’t. Not yet. He said he had to “protect” her because her life had been so hard. I agreed to let him send her a monthly “stipend” just to get him back in our house. I thought that would be the end of it. But he was always out. A box of pastries from a famous bakery? She needs to try these. A ticket to a concert? She’s never seen anything beautiful; I have to show her. He even helped her open a small boutique bar called “The Jade Mist.” When a drunk customer got aggressive with her, Sebastian threw him off the balcony. We spent a fortune on lawyers and hush money to keep him out of prison. “Did you think about me?” I asked him, clutching my swollen belly. “Did you think about our daughter growing up with a father in a cage?” He just accused me of having no heart. He went on a rampage, smashing the furniture in our bedroom. When he hit the wall, our wedding photo fell. The glass shattered, a jagged crack running right between our faces. A broken mirror can’t be fixed. I was too young to understand that then. On our anniversary, I sat in a five-star restaurant until the staff started mopping the floors. He never showed. Instead, I saw Jade’s Instagram post. “Thank you for showing me that being ‘imperfect’ is the best reason to be loved.” In the photo, she was wearing a designer dress I’d seen in my own closet. She had the same bag I did. She was living a mirror version of my life, funded by my husband. I drove to the house he’d bought for her, my vision blurred by tears. When I pushed open the door, time stopped. Jade was wearing my wedding dress. Not one like it. Mine. And they were kissing. I think that was the moment I actually lost my mind. I screamed until my throat bled. I lunged at them, and in the chaos, Jade shoved me. I hit the floor hard. And then I felt the heat. The blood. 5 The baby was gone. And with her, the last of the woman I used to be. Jade threatened to jump off a roof to “pay back the life she took,” and Sebastian was the hero who talked her down. But after that, he finally seemed to wake up. He cut her off. He stayed home. He became a ghost in our house. When I handed him the divorce papers, he looked genuinely terrified. “Maya, please. Are you really throwing us away?” He knelt. He swore. He cried. He looked exactly like the eighteen-year-old boy who used to leave “Goodnight, Princess” notes in my locker. I looked at our old photos. I remembered how he’d take a two-hour bus ride every weekend just to see me for twenty minutes. I remembered how he worked three jobs in college to buy me a designer lipstick, only to pick the ugliest shade of purple because he didn’t know any better. Memories are a trap. Our love was woven into my DNA. I didn’t know how to exist without it. For a long time, I suffered from severe insomnia and anxiety. I could hear my own heart beating in the silence, waiting for it to stop. Sebastian was the one who took me to specialists, who brewed herbal teas every night, who soaked my feet in warm water until I fell asleep. He had caused all the trauma, yet he was the only one I wanted to comfort me. It was a sickness. I chose to believe him one last time. So, finding myself back here, being the punchline of the joke again… that’s on me. Sebastian, the boy you used to be earned you one last chance. And the man you are just threw it away. 6 Sebastian insisted on holding me that night. He clung to me like a shivering dog, whispering promises into my hair. “I’ll be there tomorrow for the check-up, I swear. I’m done being a fool. Our baby is going to be fine. We’re going to be fine.” But when I woke up, the bed was cold. There was a post-it note on the nightstand. Emergency at the office. I’m so sorry, baby. I’ll make it up to you tonight. Love you. What a coincidence. Seconds after I read it, Jade’s social media updated. “Thank you for saving me, again and again.” It was a photo of Sebastian’s bruised knuckles, the background clearly the site of the wedding he’d just destroyed. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just laughed. I went to the hospital alone. As the anesthesia entered my spine, I felt the life draining out of me. A single tear escaped, carrying a decade of love and a lifetime of hate. But mostly, I felt light. Walking back into the house late that night, the first thing I saw was Jade. She was sitting on my sofa, wearing my slippers, drinking from my favorite mug. The air in the room turned to ice. Sebastian stammered, his face pale. “Her ex went crazy, Maya. He was at her door with an axe. I saw it on my way home from the office… I couldn’t just leave her there. It’s just for one night.” Jade stood up, her voice a practiced whisper of humility. “I’m so sorry, Maya. I’m such a burden. Don’t be mad at Sebastian; it’s all my fault.” She looked down, but I saw the spark of triumph in her eyes. I didn’t even look at her. “Who Sebastian brings into his house is none of my business,” I said, my voice eerily calm. I walked to the coffee table and dropped the divorce papers right in front of them. “You don’t need to worry about the check-up, Sebastian. There is no baby. I had the procedure today.” “Now, sign the papers.”

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My father is the wealthiest man in the city, a titan of industry whose name is plastered on skyscrapers and hospital wings. I, on the other hand, survive on an allowance that barely covers the cost of a few cups of coffee. My mother always told me the same story: my father left because he despised having a daughter. She said he vanished when I was six, leaving behind nothing but divorce papers and a cloud of dust. I never saw him again. Not until I saw his face on the news, beaming as he cut the ribbon on a hundred-million-dollar high-rise he’d bought for his new son. For years, a cold, hard knot of hatred sat in my chest. I was his child, too. Why was I discarded like trash while this new boy was treated like a prince? That hatred fueled me, right up until the day I accidentally met my father’s new son. The first thing the boy said to me wasn’t an insult. It was a question that shattered my entire world. “Where have you been all these years? Dad has been looking everywhere for you.” … “Honey, card’s declined.” The cafeteria worker, a kind woman named Mrs. Higgins, leaned over the counter as the card reader let out a harsh, rejecting buzz. The sound seemed to echo through the entire lunchroom. I froze, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. This month had thirty-one days. My budget, meticulously calculated from my part-time wages, only covered thirty. I forced a smile, though I could feel the heat creeping up my neck. “Sorry, Mrs. Higgins. I’m actually… I’m cutting back. On a diet. I’ll just take the plain rice today.” Mrs. Higgins didn’t buy it. She looked at my wrists, bony and fragile, and her expression softened into pity. “Child, you’re fading away as it is. You don’t need a diet.” Before I could protest, she ladled a heavy scoop of meat sauce over the white rice. “Next time you’re short, you tell me quietly, okay? I’ll slip you a drumstick.” Her kindness was a double-edged sword. It warmed me, but it also twisted the knife in my heart. Why did a stranger in a hairnet show me more compassion than my own flesh and blood? My best friend, Sarah, returned to the table with her tray. When she saw my bowl—just rice and sauce—she slammed her fist onto the Formica table. “This is insane, Norah! You should go down to Callaway Tower and scream until he hears you! He’s playing the philanthropist on TV while his daughter is starving!” “I want people to know what kind of deadbeat scumbag hides behind those charitable donations,” she hissed. I took a bite of the rice, the taste of humiliation heavy on my tongue. “It’s fine, Sarah.” But it wasn’t. If the university didn’t provide free plain rice, I wouldn’t be eating at all. Since the divorce, my mother, Diane, had collapsed into a black hole of alcoholism and self-pity. Any savings we had were funneled into cheap vodka and white wine. I remembered when our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, tried to intervene years ago. “Diane, you can’t go on like this,” she’d said gently. “Norah is just a little girl. She needs you to be strong. Look at her; the wind could blow her away.” Mom had been lying in bed, a wet rag over her eyes. She sat up and screamed, her voice jagged with venom. “If it wasn’t for that useless burden, I wouldn’t have been dumped! She’s a curse! You want her fed? You feed her!” I was too young then to understand the complexity of adult rage, but I understood the subtext perfectly: Mom’s life is ruined, and it is my fault. If I hadn’t been born, or perhaps if I had been born a boy, her life would have been a fairytale. In her rare moments of sobriety, she would pull out old photo albums, her fingers tracing the glossy images of a handsome man. “Look how much he loved me,” she’d whisper, eyes glassy. “He took me to Italy, to France. He wouldn’t let me lift a finger. He’d come home late from the office and still cook me dinner.” Looking at those photos—my parents, young and beautiful—I planted a seed of guilt in my heart. I watered it every day. I had broken this. It was my job to fix it. From the time I was seven, I did odd jobs for the neighbors—weeding gardens, walking dogs—just to bring home pocket change. They gave me food out of pity. I survived on the charity of strangers. Now, in college, I worked three jobs. But almost every cent went to keeping the lights on at home and keeping Mom’s glass full. I kept fifty dollars a month for myself. I survived on financial aid and grit. I was used to it. Until I saw the headline. [Robert Callaway, CEO of Callaway Group, Donates $100 Million Wing to Children’s Hospital in Honor of Son, Max.] It was the first time the disparity truly broke me. I went home that night, eyes red-rimmed. “Mom, why?” I asked, my voice trembling. “He has so much. Why has he never visited? Does he feel nothing for me?” Mom didn’t look up from her glass. She let out a cold, sharp laugh. “You know the answer, Norah. He hates you. You’re the mistake he wants to forget.” I shoved the last of the rice into my mouth, checking the time. I had to run. I had landed a lucrative gig tutoring a rich kid in English literature. The pay was triple what I made washing dishes at the diner. I couldn’t be late. “Norah,” Sarah said, her brow furrowed. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Take a shift off. Please.” I choked down the food, coughing until my face flushed. I pounded my chest to force it down. “I can’t. If I rest, who takes care of Mom?” Sarah looked ready to scream. “She is the parent! It is not your job to carry her! Has she ever thought about you?” I gave her a sad, weary smile. “I owe her, Sarah.” If I didn’t exist, she wouldn’t be this broken woman. I had no right to complain. It took three bus transfers and a twenty-minute hike up a winding private drive to reach the address. It was a mansion in the hills, the kind of place that had a name, not just a number. A butler in a crisp suit met me at the gate. “You must be the tutor for the young master,” he said, smiling kindly. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and nodded. The interior was breathtaking. Marble floors, vaulted ceilings. Even the dog in the yard had a kennel that looked nicer than my apartment. “Wait here in the library,” the butler said, handing me a glass of ice water. “I’ll fetch him.” I hadn’t even set up my books when a small boy burst into the room. He was a ball of energy, missing a front tooth, with a smile that lit up the room. “Hi! Are you the teacher?” “Hello,” I said, relieved. Rich kids could be nightmares, but this one seemed sweet. “You can call me Norah.” The boy’s eyes went wide. “Norah? That’s a pretty name! I’m Max! Max Callaway!” The smile froze on my face. The glass in my hand felt suddenly heavy. Callaway. Max. The boy from the news. The boy worth a hundred-million-dollar building. This was his house. My father’s house. Panic seized my throat. My hands began to tremble. Decades of resentment bubbled up—the hunger, the cold nights, the abuse. I wanted to scream. I wanted to storm into the office and demand to know why I wasn’t enough. But survival instinct kicked in. If I made a scene, I’d be thrown out. I’d lose the job. I needed this money to eat. I took a deep breath, forcing the bile down. I would be professional. The lesson went smoothly. Max was bright and eager to please. We actually clicked. He was a lonely kid, starved for attention. As I was packing up, Max grabbed the hem of my sweater. “Miss Norah? I don’t have many friends. You’re my only friend.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Can I tell you a secret?” My heart ached for him, despite everything. “Of course.” He leaned in close. “I have a big sister. My dad has been looking for her forever.” I went rigid. “What?” “Yeah! I’ve never met her. Dad says she was the best baby, but his ex-wife took her and ran away a long time ago. He tries to find her every day, but he can’t.” My mind reeled. Ran away? Mom said he left us. She said he abandoned us with a piece of paper. Who was lying? “Come look!” Max dragged me down the hallway to a closed door. “This is her room. Dad keeps it ready for when she comes home.” He pushed the door open. “Dad says her favorite color is orange, so he made it all orange!” I stepped inside. It was a shrine to a childhood I never had. The walls were a warm apricot, the bedspread a soft tangerine. It was beautiful. On the dresser sat a framed photograph. It was old and yellowed. A man—younger, happier—holding a baby girl on a lawn. It was me. “That’s my husband’s daughter,” a gentle voice said from the doorway. I spun around. A woman stood there—elegant, kind-eyed. My father’s current wife. “It’s a tragedy, really,” she sighed, looking at the photo. “Rob sends money every month. Millions, over the years. He just sent another two hundred grand last month as a graduation gift. But the ex-wife… she won’t let him see the girl. We don’t even know if the child gets the money.” The room spun. He sends money? Millions? I thought of the nights I went to bed hungry. I thought of the time I had pneumonia and Mom screamed at me for needing antibiotics because we “couldn’t afford it.” I excused myself, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I had to get out of there. I needed to know the truth. I took a week off school and went straight to the apartment. The smell hit me the moment I opened the door—stale air, unwashed laundry, and the overwhelming stench of cheap alcohol. Mom was slumped on the sofa, surrounded by empty bottles. She saw me and immediately grabbed an empty bottle, hurling it in my direction. It shattered against the wall. “You’re supposed to be working!” she screeched. “If you get fired, don’t come crying to me when we starve! Everything bad in my life is because of you!” Usually, I would clean up the glass. I would apologize. I would shrink. Not today. I walked over to her, staring into her bloodshot eyes. “Mom,” I said, my voice dead calm. “I couldn’t afford lunch today. I need ten extra dollars next month for food.” She exploded. “Money? You think we have money? You ungrateful little leech! If you weren’t a girl, your father wouldn’t have left, and I’d be living in a palace! Ten dollars? That’s a bottle of wine! You want to eat? Eat rice! Get out of my face!” Something inside me finally snapped. The tether that had bound me to her guilt for eighteen years disintegrated. She kicked me out, slamming the door. “Go make money! I don’t want to see you!” It was late. The buses had stopped running. I sat in the stairwell, shivering. Around 2:00 AM, the door creaked open. I held my breath. Mom slipped out, dressed not in her usual rags, but in decent clothes. She looked around, paranoid, then hurried down the corridor. I followed her. She didn’t leave the building. She went to the basement level, down a service hallway that led to a dead end. I watched from the shadows as she pressed a brick in the wall. A hidden door clicked open. The noise poured out instantly—shouting, smoke, the clatter of chips. An underground casino. I slipped in behind a group of men. The room was thick with smoke. And there she was. My mother, who “couldn’t afford” my antibiotics, was sitting at a high-stakes table. “Diane! You’re on fire tonight!” a man shouted. She laughed—a sound I hadn’t heard in years. She tossed a chip worth two thousand dollars to the dealer like it was a penny. “That’s for you, sweetie. My ex sent another wire. Two hundred grand. The man is an ATM!” I watched, horrified, as she burned through the money. In twenty minutes, she lost the two hundred thousand. Then she lost more. “You owe the house fifty grand, Diane,” a heavy-set man said, stepping out of the shadows. “Relax,” she waved him off, eyes manic. “I’ll make a call. I’ll tell him the brat has cancer. He’ll send a million for chemo. He always pays.” I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. She pulled out her phone. “Watch this. Ten minutes, money in the bank.” I turned and ran. I burst out into the cool night air and fumbled for my phone. I dialed the number Max had given me—the “emergency” number for the house. “Callaway residence,” the butler answered. “Tell Robert Callaway,” I gasped, tears streaming down my face. “Tell him it’s Norah. Tell him I know everything.” Ten seconds later, a voice I hadn’t heard in twelve years roared through the line. “Norah? Where are you? Stay there. I’m coming.”

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We had been together for six years. We were weeks away from the altar. And then, Carter told me to wait. He needed to give his childhood best friend and her son a home first, he said. Only then could he marry me. His reasoning? Her son, Toby, was terminally ill and wanted to know what it felt like to have a father before he died. Carter simply couldn’t bear the thought of the boy leaving this world with regrets. So, standing by the hospital bed, with tears welling in his eyes, he had promised the boy that he would be his daddy. Forever. But Carter forgot one thing. Our IVF embryos were already at the clinic, waiting for transfer. My body was still bruised from the hormone injections. I stared at him, the air suddenly too thin to breathe. “And what about our child?” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking at me like I was a difficult employee rather than his fiancée. “Can you have a little empathy, Maddie? You’ve waited six years. You can’t wait six more months? Even if the embryo takes, you’ll just have to get an abortion. It’s not a good time.” I told him my mother’s health was failing, that my parents were desperate to see me married and starting a family. In response, he pulled out his phone right in front of me and booked a courthouse appointment to marry Natalie. “Perfect timing, then,” he said without missing a beat. “I marry Natalie, you become Toby’s godmother. It’s basically the same as your mom getting a grandson. Tell her to get a nice gift ready.” I watched him turn his back on me and walk toward his office. The man I had loved, the man I had fought my family for, reduced to a stranger’s silhouette. My hands were shaking, but my mind was terrifyingly clear. I picked up my phone and dialed my brother’s number. “Harrison,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “The wedding is in ten days. I need you to find me a new groom.” 1 When Harrison heard I wanted to swap out the groom, his shock quickly curdled into a protective rage. “Did that son of a bitch do something to you? Is Carter backing out? Don’t tell Mom and Dad yet, their hearts can’t take this kind of shock.” That was exactly why I went to Harrison first. By some cruel stroke of luck, Carter had managed to avoid meeting my parents for the entirety of our six-year relationship, claiming he was intimidated by our family’s wealth. Aside from Harrison, no one in our social circle actually knew who the groom was supposed to be. “He’s not backing out, Harry,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I am. I don’t want to marry him anymore.” I braced myself for a lecture about treating marriage like a game. Instead, the line went quiet for a long second before Harrison exhaled a breath of profound relief. “Good,” he said fiercely. “I asked him to look out for you years ago, and he ended up taking you to bed and keeping you a secret from our parents. It was a coward’s move. If you’ve finally woken up and seen him for who he is, I couldn’t be happier for you.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Honestly, Mom and Dad were just talking yesterday about how they wished you’d agreed to marry into the Kensington family. Rumor has it Sebastian Kensington is prepping for a wedding, though nobody knows who the bride is…” A second later, Harrison let out a loud curse. “Holy shit. That quiet bastard. He actually did it. Sebastian texted me yesterday asking if your fiancé was a deadbeat, and if you’d mind if he crashed the wedding to steal you away.” Harrison’s shout didn’t startle me. Oddly, it made my shoulders drop. It felt like a release valve. Years ago, when my parents first tried to set me up with Sebastian Kensington to merge our families’ companies, I had already been secretly dating Carter for two years. My entire world revolved around Carter. I had flat-out refused the arrangement. When Carter found out about Sebastian, he had thrown a massive fit of jealousy. He dragged me to his apartment, making me swear on everything I loved. “Maddie, you’re mine. You will never marry another man.” He had gone down on his knees, holding my hands, swearing we would be together forever. He even finally faced Harrison, taking the punches and the yelling, promising he would cherish me more than my own family ever could. Forever. What a remarkably short amount of time that turned out to be. With the ceremony only ten days away, time was a luxury I didn’t have. “Tell Sebastian to be the groom, then,” I said into the receiver. “Walking down the aisle with me is a lot more dignified than crashing the ceremony, don’t you think?” “Crashing the ceremony?” I froze. Carter had walked back into the living room, his posture stiffening as he caught the tail end of my conversation. He stared at me like I was a threat to national security. “Let me warn you, Maddie,” Carter sneered, his tone dropping an octave. “Even if you pull some crazy stunt and try to ruin my wedding to Natalie, I won’t leave with you. Stop playing these pathetic games. If you do anything to ruin my image as a father to Toby, don’t blame me for turning ugly.” I hadn’t even said a word to him, yet in his mind, I had already morphed into the vindictive, hysterical ex-girlfriend. Turning ugly? Hadn’t he already done that the moment he decided to marry Natalie to play daddy? For six years, during every holiday and family gathering, he had promised me we would get married “next year.” But next year became the year after, and he always had an excuse. Every excuse was masterfully spun as being “for my own good.” He bought me expensive jewelry to placate me, and because I loved him, I blindly believed he was building our future. I spent hours talking Harrison down from beating him to a pulp. It took him six years—and relentless mocking from his own tech bros about his commitment issues—to finally propose. And now, days before the wedding, he still refused to fly to New York to meet my parents, claiming he wanted to give them a “massive surprise” at the ceremony. Oh, it was a massive surprise, alright. Natalie returned from Europe with a sick child, and in the blink of an eye, I was discarded. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I reached into my purse, pulled out his ID, and tossed it onto the coffee table. “You’re overthinking it, Carter. I have zero interest in being the other woman.” The phrase seemed to physically sting him. His brow furrowed deeply. “Are you deaf? I told you, I have to swap the bride for Toby’s sake. I already promised I’ll marry you afterward. Why are you being so passive-aggressive?” 2 “I’m not being passive-aggressive,” I said, my voice shockingly steady. “Go. Get your marriage license. Be the loving father. Your son is waiting for you.” The absolute sincerity on my face made Carter’s hand twitch as he reached for his ID. A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes. “I’ll divorce her and marry you right after,” he rushed to explain, sounding defensive. “Just be patient, Maddie. I promise—” Promises. The currency he’d been paying me in for six years, completely bankrupt. “Okay,” I said. My sudden compliance seemed to choke him. The rest of his words died in his throat. He took a step forward, reaching out to pull me into a hug. “Carter!” Natalie’s frantic voice shattered the quiet. “The nurse just called. Toby isn’t feeling well. Can you take me to the hospital, right now?” She came sprinting over the threshold, but her foot supposedly caught on the rug. She stumbled, falling directly toward me. Instinctively, I reached out to grab Carter for balance. But he forcefully swatted my hand away, diving to catch Natalie securely in his arms. Already off-balance, the force of his shove sent me crashing hard onto the hardwood floor. A sharp, white-hot pain shot up my tailbone, bringing instant tears to my eyes. Natalie curled into Carter’s chest, her cheeks flushed. In a voice dripping with coy vulnerability—just loud enough for me to hear—she whispered, “Your reflexes are still so good, Carter…” Carter glanced down at Natalie’s slipped camisole strap, coughing awkwardly to mask his flushed face. Gently, intimately, he pulled the strap back up her shoulder, then scooped her up bridal-style, carrying her to the sofa to inspect her ankle. “Oh, Maddie, I’m so sorry,” Natalie gasped, looking at me with wide, doe-like eyes. “I was just in such a panic, I didn’t mean to make you fall.” The sight of them, so deeply entwined in their little domestic drama, turned my stomach. I planted my hands on the cold floor, forcing myself to stand, ignoring the throbbing in my spine. “I’ll give you two some space,” I said, grabbing my coat. “Please, don’t rush on my account.” Carter’s face darkened, a mix of misplaced embarrassment and sudden rage. “Maddie! Why does your mind always go to the gutter?” My mind? She practically purred against his chest, but I was the one in the gutter? I didn’t answer. I just walked out and quietly pulled the door shut behind me. While I was waiting for the elevator, the door down the hall clicked open. Natalie hurried out, her cheeks still flushed, blocking my path. “Maddie, please, I’m so sorry. There is absolutely nothing going on between Carter and me. If Toby wasn’t so obsessed with him, if he didn’t insist on calling him Daddy, I would never impose like this. Please, have a heart. Can’t you just let my baby have his dream?” She grabbed my sleeve, her eyes brimming with calculated tears. “I swear to you, in six months, I will divorce Carter and give him right back to you!” She actually made a move to sink to her knees. Right on cue, Carter burst out of the apartment, looking perfectly composed again. He sprinted over, wrapping his arms around Natalie and glaring at me like I was a monster. “Maddie, you’re going to be a mother yourself soon,” he snapped. “Can’t you build up some good karma for your own child?” Without waiting for my answer, he pulled out his phone and called Davis, his executive assistant, barking at him to come over and “keep an eye” on me so I wouldn’t cause a scene. Then, checking his Rolex, he practically carried Natalie into the elevator to go see Toby. As the steel doors slid shut, I didn’t miss the triumphant, mocking smirk that ghosted across Natalie’s lips. Nor did I miss Carter’s gentle reassurance to her. “Don’t worry, Nat. The clinical trials for the new biologic are finishing up. Once Toby is cured, I’ll be his dad for the rest of his life.” Davis arrived quickly. Finding me calmly putting on my shoes to head out, he couldn’t hide his sneer. “Miss Maddie, you couldn’t keep your man, so what’s the point of going to pick up the wedding bands?” I ignored him. I had spent months working with a boutique jeweler in San Francisco to custom-design those rings. They meant something to me. But when I arrived at the jeweler, the manager looked at me in utter confusion. “Your fiancé came and picked them up a few days ago,” he said. “Weren’t you two together? The woman with him was trying them on, and he proposed right here in the store…” Seeing the blood drain from my face, the manager hurriedly pulled up the security footage. 3 On the tablet screen, the grainy video played out my worst nightmare in high definition. Natalie and Carter stood by the display case. She was wearing the ring I had designed. They were staring deeply into each other’s eyes. Carter’s face held a look of profound, tender devotion—a look he had never, not once, given me. “I regret it, Carter,” Natalie whispered in the video, tears slipping down her cheeks. “If only I had married you back then… how different things could be.” Carter’s face twisted in anguish. He leaned in, gently kissing the tears off her cheeks. Then, he turned to the manager, bought the most expensive diamond necklace in the case on the spot, and dropped to one knee. “Nat. Will you marry me?” Off to the side, little Toby clapped his hands, jumping up and down, yelling for “Mommy and Daddy” to kiss. The manager watched the screen, his face burning red with secondary embarrassment. He looked at me, horrified. “Miss Maddie… I am so, so sorry. We assumed she was… I’ll call him right now and demand the rings back!” The manager had clearly never seen a cheating fiancé act with such brazen audacity. He dialed Carter’s number immediately. Carter, likely already tipped off by Davis, answered with a roar. “Maddie! It’s just a pair of rings! Do you have to be this petty?” I wouldn’t let those two keep my rings even if I threw them into the San Francisco Bay. Before I could speak, my phone buzzed. A wire transfer notification from Carter. “That’s enough to buy rings for all ten of your fingers,” his text read. “Take the money and stop throwing tantrums.” The sheer shamelessness of it took my breath away. He knew exactly what those rings symbolized, the hours I put into them, yet he used them to propose to Natalie just to humiliate me. Six years together, and I realized I was looking at a complete stranger. I scrolled through my feed and saw his latest post—a picture of his and Natalie’s marriage certificates, posted out of sheer spite. I thought my chest would cave in, but… nothing. I just felt numb. Mutual friends flooded my DMs, offering awkward condolences or telling me to “hang in there.” I didn’t bother replying. I went to my office, finalized my resignation and project handovers, and went back to the apartment. When I unlocked the door, the sound of bright, happy laughter echoed through the hallway. Natalie was sitting on the couch, drinking tea with the distinct air of the lady of the manor. I didn’t have the energy for her. I walked straight to my bedroom to pack my things. When I opened the closet, my bags were already packed. Neatly zipped up and waiting for me. Carter, a man who had never so much as boiled water in the six years we lived together, was currently in the kitchen wearing an apron, making a heart-shaped omelet for Toby. “Maddie,” Carter said, stepping out with a spatula. “The doctor said Toby can come home today. Do you mind staying somewhere else for a bit?” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and started rolling it toward the door without a backward glance. As I reached the entryway, a sudden panic seemed to hit Carter. He rushed over, grabbing my wrist, his face a mask of awkward placation. “Hey, why don’t you stay for dinner before you go?” I glanced at the dining table. It was perfectly set. Two adult plates, one child’s plate. I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “No thanks. Enjoy your family dinner.” He couldn’t wait to erase me from this apartment. Why would I stay and beg for scraps? Seeing Carter hesitate, Natalie immediately scooped Toby into her arms and started toward the door. “Carter, I’ll take Toby to a hotel. This is supposed to be your home with Maddie. It’s not right for us to intrude…” Carter glared at me, then immediately turned to coddle Natalie. “Don’t be silly, Nat. I make the rules in this house. You can stay as long as you want. A family shouldn’t be separated.” Toby ran up and pushed my leg. “You’re a bad lady! This is my house with my mommy and daddy! Get out!” Natalie raised a hand, pretending she was going to scold him, but Carter caught her wrist. “Toby is right. This is our home.” Natalie shot me a triumphant smirk over Carter’s shoulder. I felt absolutely nothing. I opened the door and walked out. I checked into a hotel, slept for twelve hours straight, and went to the fertility clinic the next morning to sign the paperwork to destroy the embryos. As fate would have it, I walked out of the elevator and saw Carter. He was holding Toby in his left arm and holding Natalie’s hand with his right. To anyone watching, they were the picture-perfect American family. The doctor had asked me if I was absolutely sure about my decision. Looking at them, I knew I had made the right choice. Not long after I left the clinic, my phone rang. It was a coordinator. My bone marrow had matched with a critically ill pediatric patient. The doctor asked if I would be willing to donate. Before I could even process the question, a heavy hand clamped over my mouth and nose. A foul-smelling rag pressed into my skin. I was dragged backward into a van. Just before the darkness took me, I caught a glimpse of the man’s face. He looked terrifyingly like an older version of Toby. “I don’t care if you’re willing,” the man hissed. “You’re going to save my son.” 4 When I woke up, the pain in my lower spine was agonizing, a deep, throbbing ache that radiated down my legs. Remembering the man’s final words, a sickening realization hit me. I had been forcefully harvested for my bone marrow. I turned my heavy head. Across the dim, concrete-walled room, little Toby was tied to a chair, his face pale and tear-stained. The anesthesia was still thick in my blood. I forced myself to crawl toward Toby, my fingers scraping against the floor. Before I could reach him, the heavy metal door was kicked open. Carter stormed in, flanked by two security guards. Natalie shrieked when she saw Toby. “Toby! Oh my god, baby, are you okay? Don’t scare Mommy…” She frantically untied the ropes binding her son, then whipped her head toward me, her face contorted in rage. “Maddie, why would you kidnap my baby?! What did you do to him? People said you took him, but I couldn’t believe it…” Carter didn’t ask a single question. He marched over and delivered a brutal kick squarely to my ribs. I gasped, all the air leaving my lungs. “How can you be this evil, Maddie?” he roared. “I didn’t,” I choked out, clutching my chest. “His father… his father dragged me here…” Carter’s eyes blazed with a manic fury. He dropped to his knees and slapped me hard across the face, twice. “Toby’s father has been dead for two years! You’re still lying? Save it for the cops!” As Carter pulled out his phone to call the police, Natalie threw herself at him, sobbing hysterically. “Carter, no, wait! It’s my fault. I never should have asked you to help Toby. I just want my baby to be safe…” Carter’s eyes softened instantly. He stroked her hair. “Nat, I’m here. Toby is going to be fine.” Under Carter’s gentle coaxing, Toby finally seemed to snap out of his shock. He pointed a trembling finger at me and wailed. “Mommy! Daddy! I’m scared! She said if I die, no one will steal her husband anymore…” I tasted copper in my mouth. I spat a wad of blood onto the floor and glared at the boy. “Learning to lie at such a young age. No wonder karma caught up with you.” Natalie wailed as if I had stabbed her. She hugged Toby tighter. “What did we do to deserve this? Oh, Toby, you might not even make it to the clinical trials now…” Carter wrapped his arms around the trembling mother and son, shielding them from me. “You did nothing wrong, Nat. Maddie is just a sick, vindictive bitch. But I’ll make sure she atones for what she’s done to you.” He pulled out his phone again, dialing Davis. “Bring the prototype compound,” he ordered coldly. “I’ve found our human trial subject.” Davis arrived within twenty minutes. Carter took the small, unmarked vial and walked slowly toward me. “Maddie. This is the new biologic my company developed. It hasn’t passed FDA safety trials yet. So, you’re going to test it for Toby.” It was phrased as a statement, not a request. His eyes were completely devoid of emotion as he looked down at me. A violent shiver ripped through my body. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but the lingering anesthesia and the brutal pain in my spine made it impossible to stand. “Carter, I didn’t kidnap Toby. His father is alive. He kidnapped me. He took my bone marrow! If you don’t believe me, test my blood—” My pleas meant nothing. He pinned me to the floor, prying my jaw open with ruthless force. “It’s just a clinical trial, Maddie. Consider it your punishment.” The pill hit the back of my throat. Carter clamped his hand tightly over my mouth and pinched my nose, forcing me to swallow. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like a demon straight out of hell. Yet, a minute later, his voice wavered as he asked, “Are… are you feeling any side effects?” He had just forced an experimental, unapproved drug down my throat. His only concern wasn’t my safety—it was whether the drug was viable for Natalie’s son. Whether I, his lab rat, lived or died was entirely secondary. The line between love and indifference is devastatingly sharp. Years ago, when I accidentally took a double dose of cold medicine, this same man had rushed me to the ER in a blind panic, terrified I would suffer liver failure. Now, he was literally poisoning me to save another woman’s child. If I hadn’t seen Toby’s father with my own eyes, I would have sworn Toby was Carter’s biological son. Under my dead, hollow stare, Carter finally pulled his hand away from my mouth. “Don’t look at me like that, Maddie,” he muttered, defensive. “You brought this on yourself when you went after Toby. If we hadn’t shown up, you could have killed him. I’m doing you a favor, saving you from a murder charge…” Without a shred of proof, he had condemned me. The sound of sirens wailed in the distance. Someone had called an ambulance. Natalie, playing the benevolent saint, weakly suggested Carter go with me to the hospital. Carter’s cold voice echoed in the concrete room. “Leave her. If the trial works, she redeems herself. If it doesn’t, she won’t die from one pill.” Toby clung to Carter’s neck, crying for him not to leave with the “bad lady.” “As long as you’re a good boy and take your medicine, Daddy will never leave you,” Carter murmured, kissing the boy’s forehead. The three of them walked out, a picture of unity. Alone on the floor, the searing chemical pain in my stomach finally overwhelmed me, and I passed out. … The paramedics found me. When I woke up in the ER, with an IV in my arm and a raw throat from getting my stomach pumped, my first request was for a police officer. Carter, who hadn’t shown his face for hours, finally barged into my hospital room. “Are you insane, Maddie?” he hissed, standing at the foot of my bed. “The trial was a success. You got your stomach pumped, you’re fine. Why are you calling the cops? If Natalie wasn’t so forgiving, you’d be in a cell right now. Cancel the police report. I won’t marry a woman with a criminal record.” I didn’t even open my eyes. “Okay.” Satisfied with my submission, he turned on his heel and left without a single word of comfort. The day I was discharged was the day of my wedding. I went straight to the hotel, grabbed my luggage, and headed for the airport.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394893”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was a girl raised on dirt roads and dollar-store hand-me-downs. After eight years of dating the heir to one of the wealthiest families in the state, I broke up with him. The final straw? He called out my name. “You’re throwing eight years away just because I drove to your campus and called your name?” “Yes.” Carter’s lips twisted into a mocking, exasperated smirk. “Alright, spit it out. What do you want this time?” I shoved past him, stepping out into the biting evening air. “I don’t want anything. I just want you to leave me alone.” Because as long as he stayed away, I could finally have the one thing I truly wanted. My dignity. … 1 Carter didn’t even dignify my demand with a response. His gaze slid right past me, landing on my roommate, Peyton, who was standing a few feet away. Without missing a beat, he slung an arm loosely over her shoulder. His tone was a lazy drawl. “Tessa, your temper is getting out of hand. I literally just called your name.” “You didn’t seem to mind when I was buying you all those gifts. Why didn’t you ask for a breakup then?” He paused, letting his eyes drift back to me before turning his attention fully to my roommate. “Look at her. You’re way more reasonable than she is. How about it? Want to be my girlfriend instead?” My heart seized in my chest. Peyton didn’t shove his arm away. Instead, she leaned into his side, offering a breathy, placating laugh. “Tessa’s just throwing a tantrum, Carter. Don’t be mad at her.” Carter chuckled, pitching his voice just loud enough to ensure I caught every syllable. “Mad? Why would I be mad? If someone doesn’t know how to appreciate what they have, there are plenty of others lining up for the job.” He looked down at Peyton, his fingers casually kneading the tension in her shoulder. “Be my girl, and I’ll buy you that new Chanel bag that just dropped next week. Deal?” Peyton’s eyes lit up instantly. She opened her mouth to speak, but Carter suddenly tipped his chin in my direction. “So?” he challenged me. “Swallow your pride right now, and I’ll pretend this never happened. Otherwise…” He let the threat hang in the air, his hand sliding deliberately down Peyton’s arm until his fingers wrapped around her wrist. I took a shaky breath, the cold air stinging my lungs. I looked at that hand—the same hand that had held mine a thousand times—and suddenly, the tears I’d been fighting completely evaporated. When I spoke, my voice was steadier than I could have ever imagined. “No thanks. We’re done.” “Good luck to both of you.” I turned on my heel and walked away. Behind me, Carter’s arrogant smile cracked, replaced by a harsh scoff. “Keep playing hard to get! You’ll be crying outside my door in three days.” “But for tonight,” he added, dragging the words out so they’d hit my retreating back, “I guess I’ll just have to spoil my new girl.” He kept his eyes on me. I knew it. He was waiting for me to turn around. Instead, I kept walking, letting Peyton’s giggles and the low rumble of his voice fade into the campus background noise. I didn’t break down until I unlocked the door to my empty dorm room. It was the weekend; everyone was out. I slumped into my desk chair and let the tears fall, hot and heavy, until my chest ached. Once the sobbing subsided, I grabbed a cardboard box. I packed away the Tiffany necklace, the stuffed bears, the little expensive trinkets he’d showered me with over the years. I taped it shut and shoved it by the door. I’d mail it back to him in a few days. By the time I finished, the sun had set. I picked up my phone to check the time, only to be confronted by his latest Instagram post. It was a selfie. Peyton was sitting in the passenger seat of his Porsche, holding up an iced matcha latte and beaming. The caption read: New beginnings. Hanging from the rearview mirror in the background was the custom acrylic charm he’d bought to appease me after our last fight. It still read: Tessa’s Seat. I stared at the screen for two agonizing seconds. My chest felt dangerously tight. I called my best friend, Jade, powered off my phone, and walked out into the night. Jade was already waiting in a booth at our favorite diner. She took one look at my swollen eyes, asked absolutely zero questions, and just started shoving an excessive amount of fries onto my plate. Halfway through the meal, when the tremor in my hands had finally stopped, she gently rested her chin on her hand. “So, why’d you actually end it? Was it really just because he showed up on campus?” I kept my head down, stirring a pool of ketchup with a soggy fry, and slowly shook my head. “No.” 2 When I first met Carter, I had absolutely no idea who he was. He had rolled up to my family’s rundown porch in a beat-up, sputtering Chevy van, looking so sketchy that my younger brother actually tackled him to the dirt, thinking he was trying to kidnap me. It wasn’t until much later that I learned his actual car—a brand-new Bentley—had been sideswiped by a tractor, and he’d just borrowed the rusty van to get out of town while his ride was in the shop. He ended up crashing at our place for a few days to nurse his bruised ribs. Sometimes, he’d pick wildflowers from the overgrown weeds by the ditch and hand them to me. One afternoon, while I was out in the brutal humidity picking corn, he leaned against the fence post, grinning. “You look pretty out there. Be my girl, and you’ll never have to do manual labor again.” I thought he was joking. I said yes, laughing it off. It wasn’t until he drove back to our rural county a month later in a gleaming Bentley to take me on a date that I realized I was dating trust-fund royalty. Jade set her fork down. “So what changed?” “He started parking his sports cars right outside my lecture halls. People started whispering. They called me a gold digger, a sugar baby. He heard them, Jade. He never once defended me. Worse, he’d laugh with his frat brothers and say, ‘She threw herself at me, what was I supposed to do?’” I bit my lip, dropping my gaze as the familiar burn returned to my eyes. “Last month, I saved two months of waitressing tips to buy this gorgeous dress for his fraternity formal. I spent two hours getting my makeup perfect. When he saw me, he didn’t even look at my face. He just dragged me back to his hotel room. And when the dress snagged on the clasp of his Rolex, he didn’t help me unhook it. He got annoyed and just ripped the silk.” “He does this every time. He treats me like garbage, then buys me a designer teddy bear or a diamond bracelet to make up for it, as if paying the toll makes it okay.” I stared into the cold, half-eaten food. “When he shouted my name outside the library today, everyone stared at me like I was a piece of property he was coming to collect. It was like I suddenly woke up. It’s been eight years. I am so tired of being his pet.” Jade let out a long, heavy sigh. She didn’t press for more details. After we paid the bill, she dragged me to a karaoke bar. I gripped the cheap plastic microphone and screamed lyrics until my vocal cords felt like sandpaper, but I didn’t shed another tear. I had two cheap beers in the dimly lit booth, and by the end of the night, my head was spinning. Seeing how out of it I was, Jade packed me into an Uber by ten. The dorm hallway was pitch black. I fumbled for the doorknob, pushing the door open to an empty room. Peyton’s bed was unslept in. My heart sank, plummeting straight to the linoleum floor. Thankfully, I was too physically exhausted to spiral. I stripped off my jacket and collapsed into bed, dead to the world. I didn’t wake up until noon the next day, jarred out of sleep by my ringtone. I answered without checking the caller ID. The frantic voice on the other end belonged to one of Carter’s frat brothers. “Tessa, you need to get to Carter’s penthouse, right now! He drank half a liquor cabinet last night. Kept screaming that he couldn’t live without you. He’s barely breathing, Tessa, he’s not gonna make it!” A high-pitched ringing erupted in my ears. My heart slammed against my ribs. I hung up, didn’t bother brushing my hair, didn’t even change out of my sweatpants. I grabbed the keys to my electric scooter and flew down the stairs. I took every shortcut to his downtown high-rise. I was so panicked I took a wrong turn, narrowly avoiding the front bumper of a delivery truck. The driver laid on the horn and screamed something out the window, but I just gripped the handlebars tighter, pushing the throttle to the max. By the time I reached his floor, I was gasping for air, praying to a God I barely believed in that I wasn’t too late. I shoved the heavy oak door open—and froze. The penthouse was packed. At least a dozen people were lounging around the massive sectional, roaring with laughter. Right in the center sat Carter. He looked perfectly fine. Peyton was straddling his lap, holding a cluster of green grapes, popping one into his mouth as he casually leaned forward to accept it. He used to tell me he hated grapes. He used to make me peel mangoes for him, and when I brought him the perfectly sliced plate, he wouldn’t even eat them. He’d just pat my head and say, “Good girl.” Carter noticed me standing in the doorway. He raised an eyebrow, a slow, triumphant smirk spreading across his face. He turned to his friends. “Told you. I win the bet.” 3 Someone laughed and tossed a thick envelope of cash across the table. Carter caught it, slipped it into Peyton’s lap, and then turned his mocking gaze back to me. “Tessa, Tessa. You really are obsessed with me, aren’t you? Heard I was in trouble and came running before you even washed your face?” The room erupted into jeers. One of the guys hollered, “Damn, Tessa! Carter already said he’s sick of you. You guys are done. Why are you still throwing yourself at him? Got nowhere else to go?” Another chimed in, “Look how desperate she is, man. Probably came rushing over to grovel. Thinks she can get her spot back!” “Right? Playing the tragic, independent heroine yesterday, and today she’s practically begging.” “Breakup? Please. She was just playing hard to get, and she completely folded.” I stood glued to the hardwood floor. Despite my best efforts, a single, humiliating tear escaped, tracing a hot path down my cheek. Seeing me cry only deepened the vicious amusement on Carter’s face. He nudged Peyton off his lap, stood up, and closed the distance between us in three long strides. He pinched my chin, forcing my face up so I had to look him in the eyes. “What are you crying for?” He leaned in close. I could smell the stale alcohol on his breath. He brushed his lips against mine, a degrading, fleeting touch. “Regretting it already? Beg me. Say the words, and I’ll—” Smack. The sharp crack of my palm against his cheek echoed through the penthouse. The laughter died instantly. The entire room collectively inhaled. Carter’s face went rigid. The amusement vanished from his eyes, replaced by a dark, glacial fury. He swatted my hand away, his jaw clenching. “Tessa. You dared to hit me? Over this petty bullshit?” Peyton scrambled off the couch, rushing over to cling to his arm. “Carter, don’t be mad. She’s just jealous. She’s completely lost her mind.” She shot me a venomous glare. “She’s always like this in the dorms, you know. Constantly flirting with the guys in our study groups, trying to get attention. She just wants everyone orbiting around her. Don’t let her play the innocent victim.” I wiped my face with the back of my hand, my eyes burning red. When I spoke, my voice rang out loud and clear. “Carter, I was completely blind for the last eight years. From this second on, I will never, ever look for you again. You could drop dead, and I wouldn’t even blink.” Carter flinched. For a fraction of a second, genuine panic flashed in his eyes. But he quickly masked it with a cruel scoff. “Remember the last time you threw a tantrum? It took you three days to come crawling back, clutching that stupid bear I bought you.” “You want to play this game? Fine. I’m waiting.” “Just don’t come crying to me when you realize what you threw away.” He turned his back on me, dropping heavily onto the sofa and pulling Peyton into his side. He whispered something into his friend’s ear, looking entirely too smug, utterly convinced I’d break. He didn’t even grant me a backward glance. I didn’t stay to watch the circus resume. I turned and walked out. When I reached the street, I found my electric scooter toppled over against the curb. Both tires had been slashed flat. I dragged the heavy metal frame all the way back to campus. The streets were pitch black, save for the flickering streetlights. A few drunk stragglers shouted obscenities as they passed. My skin crawled with every step, and I pushed the broken scooter faster, my breathing ragged. When I finally made it back to the dorm, the cardboard box was still sitting by the door. The sight of it made my blood boil. I kicked it viciously into the corner, threw myself onto my mattress, and passed out from sheer exhaustion. 4 The next morning, I lugged the heavy box to the campus post office. When the clerk scanned the barcode for shipping, I tapped my phone to pay. The screen flashed: Card Declined. I frowned, opening my banking app. My stomach plummeted. Yesterday afternoon, Carter had used the joint-pay feature we set up years ago to drain my checking account. He took exactly $2,350—every last cent I had earned from two months of grueling waitressing shifts. “Miss, are we doing this or not? You’re holding up the line!” The clerk’s voice was laced with impatience. The students behind me leaned in, whispering. I caught snippets of the gossip. “Wait, isn’t that the sugar baby who just got dumped? I heard she survived off Carter’s credit cards. Guess she’s broke now.” Another girl scoffed, raising her voice on purpose. “Sugar baby makes it sound glamorous. She was basically an escort. Didn’t she just win some academic award, too? Wonder how she paid for that.” The words felt like razor blades scraping against my eardrums. I gripped my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. “Give me five minutes,” I told the clerk, practically fleeing to the alley behind the post office. I dialed the only number I had left. “Mom… I need to borrow a little cash…” My mother’s voice exploded through the speaker, so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “You ungrateful little bitch! I told you not to mess around with those rich city boys! You didn’t listen! Now he throws you out with the trash and you come begging me for money? You deserve it! You worthless—” I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, hanging up the phone without a word. Defeated, I picked the heavy box back up. Without money for postage, I had no choice but to walk it all the way to Carter’s luxury apartment complex. The sharp cardboard edges dug violently into my forearms. A few smaller items spilled out as I tried to readjust my grip; I stooped down, shoved them into my pockets, and kept walking. Just as I reached the gated entrance of his building, a familiar engine purred. Carter’s Porsche rolled to a stop right in front of me. Peyton was in the passenger seat, buried under a mountain of glossy luxury shopping bags. When she saw me, she deliberately hoisted a Chanel bag higher so it caught the sunlight. Carter rolled down his window. His eyes drifted to the cardboard box in my arms. A subtle, almost invisible wave of relief washed over his features, quickly replaced by that trademark arrogant smirk. “Told you you couldn’t stay away.” He pointed lazily to a wrought-iron bench near the gate. “Here, wait on the bench. Peyton and I are running down the street to grab a purse she wants. I’ll deal with you when I get back.” Before I could even open my mouth to say, I’m just returning your garbage, he gunned the engine. The car shot forward. Peyton leaned out the window, offering me a sickeningly sweet, victorious wave. … I dumped the box directly on the pavement outside his building’s front door and walked away. I needed to make money. Fast. The two grand he stole could just count as back-pay for all the dinners he’d bought me. I considered it the cost of severing the tie. That afternoon, an urgent email went out to our department. An emergency assembly was being held to honor the recipient of the “University Honors Grant.” My advisor had called me the day before, telling me to prepare a speech because I was going to be the student representative. But when the time came, the person walking across the stage to accept the plaque… was Peyton. She was wearing a designer dress I recognized as one of Carter’s favorites, her skin glowing with expensive treatments. She clutched the certificate to her chest, making a deliberate detour to walk past my row as she exited the stage. She leaned down, her voice a poisonous whisper. “Tessa, someone filed an anonymous report about your moral character. Such a shame. Guess the committee had no choice but to give the grant to me.” When I glared at her, her smile only widened. “I failed five classes last semester, you know. But Carter made a few calls to the dean. How else was I ever going to graduate?” She straightened up, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Oh, and Carter told me to pass along a message. He said, ‘All her hard work isn’t worth a single word from me.’” 5 I sat in the auditorium, my fingers crushing the speech I had stayed up all night to write. The injustice of it made my chest ache. The moment the assembly ended, I marched straight to the department head’s office to demand answers. The dean wouldn’t even look me in the eye. “Tessa… Carter’s family just fully funded the new STEM wing. Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill, alright?” I opened my mouth to argue, but my phone vibrated violently. It was a FaceTime call from my mother. “I’m at your campus gates, get out here right now!” I could see students pausing to stare at her in the background. Panicking that she was going to cause a scene, I abandoned my argument with the dean and sprinted across the quad. “What the hell did you do to Carter?!” The second I was within reach, she grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. “He came to the house yesterday. He said you owed thirty thousand dollars in back tuition! He said you got caught sleeping around with other boys!” My brain short-circuited. I opened my mouth to explain, but she violently shoved a heavy canvas bank bag into my chest. “This is the money we made selling the harvest. It’s eight thousand dollars. You take this right now, go find Carter, and beg him not to tell anyone in the county about this! Your brother needs a down payment on a house next year to marry that girl, and if her family hears about you acting like a whore, they’ll call off the wedding!” Suddenly, Peyton materialized from the crowd of onlookers. She offered my mother a sweet, sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry, ma’am. Carter is just a little hurt. Tessa is always throwing tantrums over the smallest things.” Hearing this, my mother’s face twisted in rage. She raised her hand, aiming a sharp slap at my face. “You stupid, ungrateful girl! He treats you like a queen and you pull this nonsense?!” I flinched backward, dodging her hand. The canvas bag slipped from my grip, hitting the concrete. Rolls of cash and loose bills scattered across the sidewalk. I dropped to my knees to gather it. Peyton casually stepped forward, using the toe of her designer heel to kick a wad of cash further away. “Oh, by the way, Tessa,” Peyton chirped. “Carter said if you crawl back and beg for forgiveness, he might consider putting your name back on the Honors Grant next year. And he’ll take care of your brother’s down payment.” “But,” she paused, kneeling down so only I could hear her, “you have to apologize to me first. Tell me you were faking being so high and mighty all along.” When I didn’t say anything, she leaned even closer, her perfume choking me. “Oh, and he also wanted you to know… he just bought out that coffee shop where you work. So when you show up tomorrow, consider yourself fired.” I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel. Was I sad? Not really. I just felt an overwhelming, bone-deep exhaustion. I methodically picked up every last dollar, stood up, and shoved the canvas bag back into my mother’s hands. “Take this home. Carter is lying. I don’t owe tuition, I haven’t been sleeping around, and I am absolutely never apologizing to him.” My mother panicked, grabbing the fabric of my jacket. “Are you crazy?! If you don’t ask him for help, how is your brother going to pay for his wedding?!” “That is his problem.” I shoved her hands off me, took a step back, and walked toward the bus stop. I didn’t look back. I ignored the relentless buzzing of my mother calling me again and again. I knew what Carter was doing. He was systematically barricading every exit, isolating me, starving me out until I had no choice but to crawl back to him on my hands and knees. But he missed one path. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I’d saved from a flyer downtown.

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On the day we were supposed to get our marriage license, I waited for Carter at City Hall for four hours. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t show. When I texted him, demanding to know where he was, his response came through as a blistering barrage of venom: “Who the hell do you think you are, keeping tabs on me?” “My patience has a limit, Tina. If you don’t drop this right now, we are done!” I was in a daze when I stepped off the curb. I never even saw the drunk driver speeding through the red light. As the paramedics rushed my stretcher through the chaotic ER doors to treat my injuries, my eyes caught a familiar silhouette. It was Carter. He was half-kneeling on the linoleum floor, gently holding Mia’s hand as he pressed a small Band-Aid to her knuckle. His voice was a soft, reverent murmur. “Thank God it’s just a scrape. It won’t scar.” I tore my eyes away. With a chilling, hollow calm, I pulled out my phone and dialed my boss. “I’ll take it,” I said, the words tasting like ash. “I’ll take the transfer to head the foreign trade division in the London office.” 1 “That is fantastic news, Tina. With your fluency in four languages, having you anchor things in London is a massive relief.” The moment I hung up, the ER doctor began his examination. A few minutes later, his brow furrowed. “The muscle tear in your calf is manageable,” he said gently, “but there are clear signs of a miscarriage. I strongly recommend we proceed with a D&C surgery immediately.” My whole body went rigid. A baby? Seeing the sheer terror on my face, the doctor’s expression softened into pity. “You didn’t know you were pregnant?” A single tear hot-tracked down my cheek. I gave a numb, trembling nod. He offered a heavy sigh and a few gentle words of comfort I couldn’t process. I took his advice. My leg required twelve stitches, and that same afternoon, I underwent the surgical abortion. By the time I limped back into our apartment that evening, Carter was slouched on the sofa, bathed in the blue glow of his phone. A dopey, irrepressible smile played on his lips. I didn’t have to guess; he was texting Mia. He didn’t even bother to look up when the door clicked shut. “Where have you been? It’s late.” I told him the truth. I told him how I left City Hall, got hit by a car, needed twelve stitches, and had to have a minor surgery. Not a single muscle twitched in his jaw. No flicker of concern. He just gave a distracted grunt of acknowledgment and kept his eyes glued to his screen. I knew it then. He hadn’t heard a single word I’d said. Tears prickled like crushed glass in my eyes. It felt as though someone had taken a hunting knife to my chest, twisted it, and then plugged the wound so the blood couldn’t escape. The pressure was suffocating. “Well, don’t just stand there,” he muttered. “Go make dinner. I’m starving.” I balled my hands into fists, my fingernails biting into my palms until my knuckles turned a stark, bloodless white. It was the only way to keep the tears from falling. I didn’t have the energy to scream at him anymore. “I already ate. Order Postmates.” I dragged my bad leg toward the bedroom. Suddenly, Carter’s hand clamped down on my wrist like a vice. For the first time all night, he actually looked at me. “Are you seriously still throwing a tantrum because I forgot your birthday?” he demanded. “It was weeks ago, Tina. Are you really going to be this petty?” A pale, broken smile stretched across my face. “You’re right. It is petty. Which is why I won’t be sweating the small stuff anymore. You don’t need to worry about me. You just focus on playing nurse to your fragile little assistant.” I wrenched my arm out of his grasp and took a step forward. “What has Mia ever done to you?” he barked, stepping into my path. “Why do you have to be such a bitch to a young girl who looks up to you? Have you lost your damn mind?” “How many times do I have to tell you that she and I are strictly professional? Tina, I didn’t tell you you could walk away!” He shoved me. Hard. Off-balance and favoring my torn muscle, I crashed heavily to the hardwood floor. The sudden, violent bend of my knee ripped the new stitches open. Hot blood instantly soaked through the pristine white gauze, blossoming into a dark stain on my light jeans. My purse hit the floor, spilling its contents. My passport and my birth certificate—the documents I’d carefully gathered for City Hall—scattered across the rug. Carter’s eyes went wide. It was as if the sight of the documents finally jolted his memory. He had promised we’d get our marriage license today. Panic flashed across his face. He scrambled to help me up, dragging me onto the sofa. His tone instantly shifted, softening into damage control. “How did you get hurt?” he stammered. “Look, I had a massive crisis to handle at work today, that’s why I missed City Hall. We’ll just go tomorrow.” A massive crisis. A scraped knuckle on Mia’s hand was a massive crisis. Deep in my pelvis, the fresh trauma of the D&C began to throb—a vicious, hollow cramping. I curled my arms around my stomach. My body was in agony, but my heart was utterly decimated. A sheen of cold sweat broke out across my forehead. “Tomorrow is Saturday,” I whispered. “City Hall is closed.” Carter stared at me, flustered and entirely out of his depth. “Carter,” I breathed out. “Can you just get me a glass of hot water?” “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He sprang up like a man pardoned from death row, grabbing my mug to head to the kitchen. But just then, his phone chimed. He glanced at the screen. Instinctively, he set the mug back down. The corners of his mouth tilted up into that familiar, sickening smile. He was entirely consumed. He turned, walked into the guest bedroom, shut the door behind him, and never came back out. I curled into a tight ball on the sofa, the taste of bitter ash coating the back of my tongue. 2 For my birthday last month, Carter had promised to drive upstate with me to see my parents and officially ask for my hand. My parents had been over the moon. They’d spent days preparing. They woke up at dawn, went to the farmer’s market, scrubbed the house from top to bottom, and cooked a massive, beautiful feast to welcome him. The food grew cold. I couldn’t reach him. I had cried out of sheer humiliation, but my parents—always so gentle—just patted my back and made excuses for him, assuming he was caught up in an emergency. Later that night, I found his “emergency” on Mia’s Instagram story. He had vanished all day to take her to a pier carnival to watch the fireworks. When I finally confronted him, screaming until my throat was raw, asking how he could humiliate my parents like that, he had just looked at me with cold detachment. He called me a lunatic. “Dinner is just dinner. You can eat anytime. The fireworks were a one-night-only event,” he had reasoned, perfectly calm. “Besides, your parents would have cooked anyway. Stop being so dramatic.” After a week of icy silence between us, he declared that today was an “auspicious date” and told me to get dressed for City Hall. I knew it was his twisted version of an olive branch. And because we had survived the trenches of our twenties together, building a life for eight years just to finally reach the altar, I had spinelessly agreed. Usually, I was the one to break first after a fight. This time, because he had disrespected my parents, I held out for a week. Because I loved him, I had compromised. Again and again. I had drawn lines in the sand, only to let the tide wash them away the moment he smiled at me. I had inadvertently taught him that there were absolutely no consequences for hurting me. Our relationship had degraded from a partnership of mutual respect into a psychological game where he held all the cards. A slap in the face followed by a piece of candy. He had me entirely under his thumb. And then came Mia. It was as if she had a sixth sense. Whenever I needed Carter, she would miraculously face a crisis, cleanly extracting him from my life. Just like today. I had sat there clutching my passport, watching the numbers on the screen tick by for four agonizing hours. He was “handling an emergency.” In reality, he was escorting her to a clinic for a Band-Aid. It was almost poetic in its cruelty. But the well of my disappointment had finally run dry. The moment corporate processed my visa for London, I was a ghost. The next morning, Carter emerged from the guest room and tossed a small, velvet-wrapped box into my lap. “Consider it compensation for missing yesterday.” I popped the lid. Resting on the silk was the new limited-edition Bulgari necklace. I had been obsessed with it, dropping hints for months that I wanted it for my birthday. But before I could speak, he sneered, “It’s such a gaudy piece anyway. Honestly, even if you wear it, people are just going to assume it’s a fake.” The insult hit me like a physical blow. But then, the pieces clicked together. I had seen that exact necklace resting against Mia’s collarbone in her latest post. I weighed the pendant in my palm. The metal felt just slightly off. It was a replica. A high-tier knockoff. In his eyes, I simply wasn’t worth the real thing. In that split second, I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel the familiar sting of betrayal or the urge to weep. Instead, a profound, sweeping clarity washed over me. It was the liberating relief of sunlight breaking through a long, suffocating storm. I carelessly tossed the box onto the corner of the sofa. Carter’s brow pinched in irritation. I didn’t make his customary Sunday breakfast. Instead, I ordered a heavy delivery brunch for one, and a pharmacy drop-off of medical supplies. When the food arrived, Carter scowled. “Delivery again? I told you to stop eating that garbage. It’s loaded with sodium.” I ignored him. My abdominal cramps had been blinding last night, leaving me completely unable to tend to my ruptured stitches. I dry-swallowed a heavy painkiller and waited for the edge to blunt. The blood-soaked gauze had dried and adhered to my skin. As I slowly peeled it back, I had to gasp for air through my teeth to ride out the searing pain. Carter caught a glimpse and slammed his coffee mug down. “Jesus, Tina, I’m trying to eat! That is repulsive. Can’t you do that in the bathroom?” I gritted my teeth and gave the gauze a final yank. Before I could formulate a response, an automated Siri voice chirped cheerfully from his phone on the counter: “Reminder: Mia’s menstrual cycle begins today.” I froze, lifting my eyes to meet his. A flash of genuine panic crossed his face. He quickly flipped his phone over, clearing his throat. “Don’t read into that. She got horrible cramps last month and ended up in the ER. I just wanted to track it so I could remind her to take it easy, so her work doesn’t suffer.” I stared at him in the heavy, suffocating silence. Finally, I asked, “Carter, we’ve been together for eight years. Do you have any idea when my period is?” He shot up from his stool, defensive and annoyed. “Are you seriously picking a fight over this? You’re tough as nails. Why would I need to track yours?” He waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. Make me a thermos of ginger tea before I leave.” 3 A memory unspooled in my mind. A torrential downpour last spring. He had promised to pick me up from work but never showed. I had walked to the subway, soaked to the bone. When I finally dragged myself into our lobby, shivering violently, I ran into him. He hadn’t picked me up because he was busy driving Mia home so she wouldn’t have to take a cab in the rain. I was on my period that day. The freezing rain had triggered debilitating cramps. I had begged him to run down to the pharmacy on the corner for ibuprofen. He had rolled his eyes, calling me dramatic. “It’s downstairs, Tina. The walk won’t kill you. I’m not your errand boy. I’m just grabbing a jacket, I have to head right back out.” He had slammed the door in my face. I found out later he was rushing out to catch a movie premiere with Mia. Good, I thought now. I’m glad you’re leaving. I don’t want to look at your face anyway. Fighting through the dull ache in my pelvis, I boiled a pot of ginger tea. I skimped on the honey but dumped in enough raw ginger to strip the enamel off his teeth. I hoped it burned that manipulative little bitch’s throat. The moment the front door clicked shut behind him, I pulled out a suitcase. I started packing my essentials, arranging for a courier to ship them directly to my company’s temporary corporate housing. Once I landed in London, my coworkers would forward the rest. By 11 AM, I had purged the apartment of my existence. Anything I couldn’t pack, I tossed into the building’s incinerator in two agonizing trips. My phone buzzed. It was Carter. He ordered me to whip up a massive lunch. He was having “the boys” over. A cold fury settled in my chest. “Carter, you know my leg is injured. I can barely walk. And even if I were fine, look at the time. The fridge is empty. What exactly do you expect me to serve them?” Silence hung on the line. Then, a heavy, condescending sigh. “Is there literally anything I can count on you for?” He hung up. I was zipping up my suitcase, ready to walk out forever, when he texted me a pin to an upscale hotel downtown. “Bring the two bottles of vintage Bordeaux from my wine fridge. Pick up some high-end snacks. Leave it all at the front desk.” I let out a long, shuddering breath. The hotel was on the way to my corporate housing. If I didn’t bring the wine, he would blow up my phone all day, and I just wanted a clean getaway. Assuming his friends had brought their kids, I stopped at a boutique grocer and bought a massive bag of imported snacks. When I reached the hotel lobby, another text lit up my screen: “Don’t leave it at the desk. Bring it up to the suite.” When I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the private dining room, the first thing I saw was Carter peeling a shrimp and feeding it directly into Mia’s mouth. The table, packed exclusively with young women, erupted into obnoxious squeals. “Oh my god, Carter is literally the sweetest! Peeling shrimp for you, Mia? We’re so jealous!” Behind Mia sat a mountain of designer shopping bags, jewelry boxes, and a massive, tiered birthday cake. It was Mia’s birthday party. The guests were all her friends and former interns. When Carter saw me standing there, a flicker of guilt crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by a dark scowl. “What are you doing inside? I told you to leave it at the desk.” Before I could answer, Mia gasped, pressing a manicured hand to her chest. “Oh, Carter, don’t be mad at her! It’s my fault. I texted her that I was craving snacks. You’re not mad at me, are you?” She blinked up at him, her eyes wide, glassy, and completely devoid of guilt. The ice in Carter’s expression melted instantly. He reached out, affectionately tapping her nose. “You little glutton.” As he turned away, Mia’s gaze flicked to me. A smug, triumphant smirk played on her lips. Carter waved a hand at me like I was the help. “You dropped it off. You can leave now.” I turned on my heel, but Mia’s sugary voice called out. “Wait, Tina!” She bounded over to me like a sprightly little bird, holding a porcelain plate with a massive slice of cake. “It’s my birthday! Have a bite of cake and wish me a happy birthday before you go.” I didn’t have the patience for her theater. “I’m busy. I’m leaving.” But she grabbed my elbow, her voice amplifying into a performative pout. “Are you refusing my cake, Tina? Or do you just not want to wish me well?” She turned back to the table. “Please, Tina, just make my birthday wish come true.” Carter stood up, puffing his chest out to defend her honor. “Tina, just eat the damn cake. Don’t ruin her day.” I stared at him, the chill in my veins turning to absolute ice. “Carter. You know I am severely allergic to buttercream.” He rolled his eyes. “A single bite isn’t going to kill you. You’re always saying you’re allergic, but no one’s ever seen you have a reaction. Who knows if you’re even telling the truth.” Mia leaned in, her voice dripping with honey. “He’s right, Tina. This is a custom cake Carter ordered specifically for me. You couldn’t buy this anywhere.” She didn’t break eye contact. Her expression was a taunt. She was daring me to fight back. Leaning closer, she whispered so only I could hear: “If we make a scene right now… who do you think he’ll side with?” 4 “Let go of me.” I tried to pull my arm away, but Mia’s grip was surprisingly tight. My patience snapped. “I said, let go! I don’t have time for your pathetic little games!” “Are you just scared of losing to me, Tina?” I yanked my arm back with force. This time, her grip slipped, and the porcelain plate tumbled from her hand. The garishly colored cake smashed directly onto her chest, sending globs of heavy buttercream splattering into her face and eyes. Mia shrieked, stumbling backward in a perfectly choreographed swoon. Carter lunged forward, catching her firmly by the waist before she hit the floor. Fat, crocodile tears began to spill down Mia’s cheeks. “I just… I just thought you were so lucky to have such an amazing boyfriend, Tina. I just wanted some of your good luck. Why are you screaming at me?” Carter’s face twisted into a mask of pure rage. “Tina, you are out of your goddamn mind! I knew bringing you up here was a mistake!” “Apologize to her! Right now!” I stared at him, my face completely deadpan. “Did you even see what happened, Carter? And you’re demanding I apologize to her?” He pulled a sobbing Mia tighter against his chest. “Do you think I’m blind?! I saw you push her! Mia is the sweetest girl in the world, you think she’d frame you? You’re just insanely jealous of her, so you came here to ruin her night!” Hearing those words, I realized I was looking at a total stranger. The man I had loved for eight years did not exist. The fight drained out of me, leaving only a bone-deep, exhausted apathy. I looked him dead in the eye and delivered the eulogy of our life together. “You’re not just blind, Carter. You’re hollow. You don’t deserve a fraction of the love I gave you. We are done.” I turned to walk out the door. He lunged, grabbing my arm in a brutal grip. “Done?” he hissed. “Fine. Apologize to Mia, and I’ll accept the breakup.” “Go to hell.” Shock flashed in his eyes, instantly swallowed by a terrifying, violent fury. “I’m giving you one last chance, Tina. You are going to apologize to her, and you are going to eat a slice of this cake, or you’re not leaving this room.” Tears of sheer rage blurred my vision. “I didn’t do anything wrong! I’m not apologizing to her! And who the fuck do you think you are, telling me whether I can leave?” I wrenched myself toward the door, but he yanked me backward with a terrifying amount of force. “Don’t make me do this the hard way!” The sudden torque sent a jagged, blinding spike of pain through the torn muscle in my leg. Running on pure adrenaline, I spun around, raised my hand, and slapped him across the face as hard as I could. “You’re a monster, Carter!” I had never embarrassed him in public. For eight years, I had been the perfectly compliant, supportive partner. I had been his loyal dog. His face flushed a violent, mottled red. He grabbed me by the throat, dragging me backward until the edge of the dining table dug into my spine. Pinning me down with one hand, he grabbed a fistful of cake from the table. “You need to learn your place, Tina. A little punishment is exactly what you need to fall back in line.” I thrashed against him, beating my fists against his arms, but his grip on my throat was suffocating. I couldn’t make a sound. My eyes blew wide with terror as the mass of dairy and sugar descended toward my face. I managed to choke out a single, raspy plea. “Carter… please… it’ll kill me…” “Scared now?” he sneered. “Too late.” He jammed his fingers into my jaw, forcing my mouth open, and shoved the heavy lump of buttercream past my teeth. Grabbing a glass of red wine, he poured it directly over my face, forcing me to swallow the sickeningly sweet mass to keep from drowning. Satisfied, he threw me to the floor. “Look at that,” he panted, wiping his hands on a napkin. “No allergic reaction. You’re almost thirty years old, Tina. Is throwing tantrums for attention really all you have to offer? And now you’re using breakups as a threat?” Ignoring the bruising on my neck and the agonizing pain in my leg, I crawled toward the hallway, jamming my fingers down my throat, desperately trying to gag the buttercream back up. Disgusted, Carter dragged me by the collar out into the corridor. “Let’s see how long you keep up the act when you don’t have an audience!” He slammed the heavy oak door shut. Collapsed on the carpet, I caught a final glimpse through the closing crack of the door. Mia was looking down at me, a brilliant, victorious smile plastered across her face.

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Ever since the divorce, my mother had become a stranger. For three agonizing months, she had been playing a relentless, twisted game, putting my love for her through one bizarre stress test after another. The first time, she faked food poisoning during my lunch period, sending me into a blind panic just to drag me home. The second time, right in the middle of gym class, she called sobbing, claiming she’d been mugged and beaten on the street. And this time—right in the middle of my AP Calculus midterm—she claimed she’d been in a horrific car crash. She told me she was hanging by a thread. I sprinted through the pouring rain, my lungs burning, running through every catastrophic scenario in my head. But when I finally threw open the front door, gasping for air, I found her sitting on the sofa, popping fresh cherries into her mouth and binge-watching a Netflix show. I stood there, my face drained of color, my lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. “So. Your legs aren’t crushed after all.” 1 The hand lifting a cherry to her mouth froze. Instantly, her face twisted into a mask of pure indignation. “What kind of nonsense is that? Why would my legs be crushed? I’m warning you, Harper, don’t you dare curse me!” She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me, shouting, but then she paused, taking in the sight of my mud-splattered clothes and dripping hair. “Why do you look like a drowned rat? You didn’t even bring an umbrella.” Then, she gasped. “You got my soup all wet!” She snatched the plastic takeout container of butternut squash soup from my trembling hands, her face etched with exaggerated heartache, muttering a string of complaints about my carelessness. I stood rooted to the spot. Frozen. After a long moment, I forced the words past the lump in my throat. “Mom. I walked out of my midterm for this. I ran the whole way. Why…” Why would you lie to me? For a fraction of a second, a flicker of guilt crossed her eyes. But it vanished just as quickly. When she looked back up, she was the victim. She slammed the container of soup onto the hardwood floor. It burst open, orange liquid splattering everywhere. “What’s more important? Your little test, or me?” “Do you have any idea how much that hurts? Now I’m so upset I’m going to skip dinner entirely! If I get an ulcer from starving, it’ll be your fault!” “You just don’t care about me enough! If your father were still here, he’d never treat me like this!” As she screamed at me, the phantom text began to materialize in the air in front of me again, scrolling like a live-stream chat only I could see. [She just loves you too much. She’s terrified of losing you. Look at her hands shaking—go hug her and apologize.] [It’s not easy being a single mom. Even if you’re hurting, she’s hurting more. If your dad hadn’t cheated and left, she wouldn’t have to carry this burden all alone.] I collapsed to the floor, my knees hitting the wet wood, and sobbed uncontrollably. Even the simple luxury of getting angry had been stolen from me. My parents’ marriage had shattered without warning. I had spent my sophomore year living at a boarding school, and the weekend I came back, my dad abruptly packed his bags. I still didn’t understand the logistics of what had happened. All I knew was my mother shoving me toward the door, hitting my back over and over, begging me to be the one to fix it. “You’re his daughter!” she had shrieked. “He won’t abandon you! Go stop him!” So I cried. I begged. I wrapped my arms around his waist. It didn’t work. Right before he walked out, he knelt down and looked me in the eye. “Harper, I can’t do this with your mother anymore. It’s not a sudden choice. I’ve wanted to leave for years.” That night, my mother held me, weeping until she was hoarse. “He doesn’t want us anymore. It’s just you and me now, Harper, do you hear me? He let some homewrecker sink her claws into him, and he threw us away.” “You’re all I have left!” From that day on, I became my mother’s new husband. I was required, hour by hour, day by day, to patch up her bottomless insecurities with a suffocating, breathless brand of love. Today was the final day of midterms. Halfway through the test, Mr. Harrison had pulled me into the hallway. “Harper, your mother called. She said she was in a terrible pile-up on the North Bridge… she said it’s life or death. Her legs are broken. You need to go, right now!” I hadn’t even stopped to think. I grabbed my hall pass and ran. By the time I reached the bridge, sweating and hyperventilating, there was no sign of her. No ambulances. No shattered glass. Nothing. Dizzy and disoriented, I dialed her number with shaking fingers. Over the line, her voice came out muffled and childishly stubborn. “Harper, I want butternut squash soup from that place downtown. Go get it, or I’m not telling you what hospital I’m at.” The woman had scoffed, playing hard to get. I had scrounged the last crumpled five-dollar bill from my backpack, ran another two miles, and finally bought the soup. When I called her back, she casually laughed and said she was just at home. These were her obedience tests. They wrapped around my throat like ivy, tightening every day. And she loved every second of it. Whenever a spark of rebellion flared in my chest, those floating phantom comments would appear, flashing across my vision, condemning me for being an ungrateful, unfilial daughter. 2 Because of the freezing rain, I caught a fever and was forced to stay in bed for days. When I finally dragged myself back to school, the damage was done. My rank had plummeted from valedictorian track down to fifteenth in the class. My spot in the National Honor Society was gone. At the Parent-Teacher Conference that evening, my mother sat in stony silence, gripping my hand so hard her nails dug into my knuckles. I thought the worst was over. But just as the conference was winding down, she stood up abruptly. She glared at my homeroom teacher. “Mr. Harrison, I think Harper’s drop in grades has a lot to do with you!” Mr. Harrison blinked, totally caught off guard. I froze in my seat. My mother triumphantly pulled a crumpled pink envelope from her designer purse. Her voice went up an octave, piercing through the quiet classroom. “Did you seriously not know? There’s some degenerate boy in this class sexually harassing my Harper!” The room went dead silent. Every single pair of eyes snapped toward that pink envelope in her hand. My face burned with the heat of a thousand suns. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I had never seen that letter in my life. I had no idea where she found it! But her little stunt was practically a public execution. I gripped the hem of my school uniform, my own fingernails biting into my palms. A few parents in the front row started whispering. Someone discreetly held up a phone to record. I caught snippets of the venomous murmurs: “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. That girl doesn’t look innocent either.” And: “That whole family is a mess. I know her—ever since her husband dumped her, she’s been totally unhinged…” My chest tightened painfully. I grabbed my mother’s arm, my voice dropping to a desperate, pathetic whisper. “Please. Can we just go home and talk about this?” “Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding.” “A misunderstanding?!” she shrieked. “You bombed your midterms because you’re too busy whoring around with boys! You’re just a teenager, Harper! Have you no shame?!” “Is this how you repay everything I’ve done for you?” She paused to take a ragged breath, then went in for the kill. “Do you know I bragged to the whole family about you? I bet them all you’d be number one again!” “But no, you’re just worthless! You’re exactly like your cheating, garbage father!” “Go on, then! Go sleep around! Let’s see who takes care of you when you end up knocked up!” The blood in my veins turned to ice. Her voice echoed off the cinderblock walls, every single word plunging into my chest like a serrated knife. My hand went limp and fell from her arm. Tears pooled in my eyes, refusing to fall. The murmurs grew louder. Someone in the back actually scoffed. I stood there for a long time. Just breathing. Then, I slowly lifted my head. “But Mom… didn’t I fail those tests because of you?” 3 Mr. Harrison stood awkwardly at the podium, looking entirely out of his depth. He tried to run interference. “Harper has always been a stellar student. Her grades only slipped because she had to walk out of her final exam. It was an emergency absence. That’s why her rank dropped.” “Mrs. Davis, I think you’re really misunderstanding the situation.” My mother scoffed loudly. “At the end of the day, she’s just a failure. How come those kids on the news can miss an exam and still get into the Ivy League?” The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I couldn’t take it anymore. The urge to flee was overwhelming. I turned toward the door. She blocked my path, her eyes cold and hard. “If you walk out that door, you are no longer my daughter.” “I yell at you a little bit and you throw a tantrum? Who do you think you are?” The phantom comments flickered to life in my peripheral vision: [Just apologize to her! Your mom is harsh, but she means well.] [No matter what your mom does, you can’t talk back to her. She’s your mother.] [There’s no such thing as holding a grudge against your own family. Say you’re sorry!] Oh, please. I let out a dry, bitter laugh. Right in front of everyone, I walked out. I didn’t look back once. That night, I didn’t go home. I sat by the concrete pylons of the North Bridge until the sun came up. For some inexplicable reason, I missed my dad. I just wanted to crawl into his lap like I did when I was a little kid and pour out every single grievance I had. But my mother had spent the last year drilling it into my head: He was the villain. If he hadn’t abandoned us, none of this would have happened. She wouldn’t have lost her mind, and I wouldn’t have been subjected to this daily psychological torture. Yet, looking back, it was only ever my dad who had protected me unconditionally. He was the only one who made sure I wasn’t bullied. He was the one who hid birthday presents for me weeks in advance. The day he left, he looked so thin. His coat hung loosely on his shoulders. His footsteps had been so quiet. Exhausted, I curled up against the concrete wall and fell asleep. When I woke up, my phone screen was lit with a text from my mother. [Since you think you’re so tough, I’m cutting you off. Not another dime.] [Let’s see how long you can survive with that attitude.] Living without money was hell. I couldn’t afford meals. I couldn’t sleep. My phone service was disconnected. My cafeteria card was zeroed out. I couldn’t even pay the homeroom club fees. I found myself hoarding quarters just to buy a bottle of water. When the hunger pangs made the world spin, I would stand outside the school cafeteria, swallowing dryly as I smelled the hot food. Left with no other choice, I swallowed the last shred of my pride and started walking down the commercial strip, begging shop owners to hire me. I don’t know how far I walked before I stopped outside a brightly lit storefront: Lotus Day Spa. There was a handwritten sign taped to the glass: Nail Techs & Massage Therapists Wanted. Room & Board Negotiable. I clutched the crumpled sixty dollars I had left in my jacket pocket. Raindrops dripped from my bangs onto the glass door, smudging the neon reflection. I walked in and asked the manager, “Are you hiring part-time?” She clicked her tongue, looking me up and down. “You eighteen?” I nodded frantically. “Hundred bucks a day, under the table. Plus tips. Can you work weekends?” “Yes!” The job was simple, though physically grueling. I soaked feet, scrubbed calluses, and gave deep-tissue foot massages. I was terrified and humiliated. I lived in constant fear of a classmate walking in and starting rumors, yet I was overwhelmingly grateful just to have a job that let me buy food. I ate little, meticulously rationing my grocery budget each week. The money I made was enough to keep me afloat, with a little left over. Until one afternoon, a familiar customer walked through the door. It was my mother. 4 I was wearing a surgical mask, so she didn’t recognize me right away. She and a friend were lounging in the plush pedicure chairs, chatting away while their feet soaked. “Are you really going to just let the kid starve?” her friend asked. “She’s your own flesh and blood. What if something happens to her at school?” My mother scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. “That little ungrateful brat is useless. Her heart isn’t even with me anyway.” “This time, I’m going to teach her a lesson she’ll never forget.” She leaned her head back against the leather headrest, closing her eyes. “A while ago, I bet the family she’d be top of her class. I told them if she didn’t get first place, I’d marry her off to my cousin’s slow-witted son. And then look what she did to her grades.” “If that idiot boy actually shows up at her door, it’s her own fault. I’m certainly not paying for her college tuition anymore.” My hand froze in mid-air. The glass bottle of eucalyptus oil nearly slipped from my fingers. I barely caught it, my entire body trembling. I kept my head down, staring at the tiled floor. My mother kept talking. “Her dad called again the other day. He wants custody. Do you know what I told him?” “I told him Harper wishes he were dead. When he heard his own daughter said that about him, you should have heard the silence on the line. It felt so damn good. That’s what he gets for divorcing me! Claiming he ‘couldn’t do it anymore’!” “The more he wants Harper, the more I’m going to make her life miserable! And I’ll make sure he sees every second of it!” I bit down on my lower lip so hard I tasted copper. A loud, rushing noise filled my ears. “God, that poor girl must absolutely despise her father by now,” her friend muttered. My mother’s smug, triumphant laugh grated against my nerves like a rusted blade. I took a shaky breath. The room tilted. I couldn’t laugh. I couldn’t breathe. Tears completely blurred my vision. So my dad hadn’t abandoned me? He had been trying to find me this whole time? The glass bottle slipped. It shattered against the tile floor, shards of glass and sharp eucalyptus oil exploding outward. The woman finally leaned forward, peering at my face over the mask. Her expression twisted in horror. She practically leaped out of the chair. “What are you doing here?!” Her friend looked confused. “Who is this?” My mother stammered, a panicked, awkward laugh escaping her lips. “No—no one. Just my cleaning lady’s daughter.” I stayed completely silent. Then, a hollow, broken laugh spilled out of my chest. My mother looked frantic. After quickly ushering her friend out to the lobby with some excuse, she spun back to me, her eyes ablaze with sheer rage. “Just how desperate for cash are you to end up working in a sleazy joint like this?!” I pressed my lips together and looked her dead in the eye. “You cut me off. Did you forget?” That made her even angrier. She grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the front counter to scream at the manager. She kicked over a stack of magazines and knocked a display of lotions off a shelf. She caused an absolute scene. “Who hired her?! Do you realize she’s a minor? You people are basically running a brothel, forcing young girls to sell their bodies!” The manager was terrified. She tried to placate my mother. “Ma’am, please lower your voice. Let’s go to the back office and talk about this.” My mother refused. She screamed, “You run a filthy business and you’re scared of a little noise?! I’m going to let everyone in this town know you’re exploiting children!” The manager lost her patience. “Look, lady! The kid begged me for a job! Don’t come in here throwing around accusations like that!” My mother’s face turned purple. “Harper Davis, you are a shameless little tramp! Do you have any dignity left?! How could you beg for a job washing strangers’ feet?! All the money I spent on your education, completely wasted!” Oh, right. When you haven’t eaten a full meal in three days, dignity is the last thing on your mind. A wave of severe dizziness hit me. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs. It hurt to breathe. A crowd had gathered outside the large glass windows. I even spotted a girl from my AP History class standing on the sidewalk, whispering to her friends, a malicious smirk playing on her lips. When our eyes met, I went entirely numb. As my mother continued her self-righteous tirade, spitting venom in my direction, a dark, radical thought bloomed in my mind. The next second, I turned and sprinted straight out the door, aiming directly for the busy street outside. My mother screamed in terror. “Harper! What the hell is wrong with you?! Get back here!” “You think you can threaten me with this?! It won’t work!” The manager was tearing her hair out in a panic. “Ma’am, just stop screaming at her!” “Harper, sweetie, come back inside! We can talk this out!” SCREECH— CRASH! As I turned my head, an immense, crushing force slammed into my side. The sky flipped upside down. I hit the asphalt, my vision tinting red as blood pooled around me. Through the haze, I saw my mother standing on the sidewalk. Her face was frozen in a mask of absolute, unadulterated horror. Her eyes were blown wide, unable to process what she was seeing. And as my consciousness began to slip away, I saw the man jumping out of the silver sedan that had slammed its brakes. It was my dad.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394890”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Right before the holidays, my husband and I were supposed to drive back to our hometown together. I reached for the passenger door, only to find my husband ushering me to the back seat to make room for his female coworker. “Hailey gets carsick,” he told me, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re my wife, Tara. Be a team player and accommodate our guest.” He completely ignored the fact that I was pregnant, currently battling a brutal wave of morning sickness. Halfway through the drive, they deliberately lit up cigarettes in the enclosed space, the suffocating smoke forcing me to violently throw up. Disgusted by the smell, and wanting to “teach me a lesson” for ruining their vibe, my husband intentionally abandoned me at a highway rest stop. What they didn’t know was that my parents were already at that rest stop, waiting for me. And on that drive home with them, I made the silent, shattering decision to terminate my pregnancy and file for divorce. Later, when my husband found out our child was gone, he lost his mind. 1 This Christmas, my husband, Carter, and I had planned to drive back to our home state together. He left the house early that morning. I assumed he was just running to the store to grab some last-minute gifts or coffee for the road. But when I walked out to the driveway and pulled open the passenger side door of his SUV, I froze. A woman was already sitting there. I recognized her from Carter’s social media. She was a junior associate in his department. Hailey. She was undeniably young, with a fresh, effortless beauty that made the heavy winter coat she wore look like a fashion editorial. Seeing me standing there in stunned silence, Hailey offered a bright, entirely too comfortable smile. “Hi, Tara!” Before I could process that, two male voices boomed from the back seat. “Morning, Tara!” I blinked, my confusion morphing into a cold knot in my stomach as I turned to Carter. He didn’t look at me directly as he loaded the last bag into the trunk. “We’re all heading upstate for the holidays. It made sense to carpool.” “And you didn’t think to run this by me?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “I’m so sorry, Tara,” Hailey chimed in, her voice dripping with a soft, honeyed sweetness. “Carter was afraid you’d say no, so he thought it would be better to just surprise you. Please don’t be mad at him.” I swallowed the bitter taste of humiliation, deeply aware of the three pairs of eyes watching us. Not wanting to make a scene and strip Carter of his pride in front of his subordinates, I forced my voice to remain steady. “Fine. But Hailey, I need you to sit in the back. I’d like to sit up front.” Carter sighed, a harsh sound of exasperation. “Tara, come on. Hailey gets terrible motion sickness. You’re the host here. Try to be accommodating instead of acting so territorial.” “Carter, I’m pregnant,” I gritted out. “I’ve been dealing with severe morning sickness all week. You know this.” The moment the words left my mouth, Hailey’s eyes instantly welled with tears. Her lower lip trembled. “I’m so sorry, Tara. You’re right. I’ll get in the back right now.” She made a move to unbuckle, but Carter reached out, his hand firmly pressing against her shoulder to stop her. He shot me a glare sharp enough to draw blood. “Tara, you’re pregnant, you’re not dying. Stop being so fragile. Do you have no concept of hospitality? Get in the back.” My hands curled into fists inside my coat pockets. The tension in the car was suffocating. I thought of the baby growing inside me, and my parents eagerly waiting for us back home. For the sake of peace, I swallowed my pride, pulled the back door open, and slid into the cramped space. But I didn’t realize then that my initial silence was only the prologue to my humiliation. I was squeezed between two grown men—Kevin and Derek—in the back seat. Carter didn’t check on me once. Instead, he kept up a lively, flirtatious banter with Hailey. Catching a glimpse of my stiff posture in the rearview mirror, Hailey feigned concern. “Tara, is it too tight back there for you? With your… new shape, I mean. Maybe I should swap with you at the next rest stop.” Before I could even open my mouth, Carter let out an awkward, dismissive laugh. “Yeah, she’s put on a lot of weight since she got pregnant. Kevin, Derek, she’s not squishing you guys, is she?” The two men, who had been manspreading and forcing me into the middle sliver of the seat, chuckled and pulled their knees in a fraction of an inch. “Nah, we’re good.” “Good. Don’t worry about her, Hailey,” Carter said smoothly. “She’s the wife. It’s her job to look out for you guys.” His words sliced through the air, carving a deep, invisible hollow in my chest. Carter and I had been together for eight years. From our college days to our wedding, we had always been a team. Until Hailey joined his firm. At first, she was just “the new intern.” Then, she was “a really fast learner.” Eventually, he stopped saying her name altogether. Instead, Hailey simply began appearing in his social media photos—always standing just a little too close to him, both of them smiling a little too brightly. I had confronted him about it multiple times. His response was always the same cocktail of irritation and gaslighting. “Jesus, Tara! I kill myself at work every day, and I have to come home to your manufactured drama? It’s exhausting!” he had screamed during our last fight. “With your paranoia, I might as well just chain myself to the kitchen sink!” He had slammed the door and didn’t come home for a week, leaving me—pregnant and hormonal—sobbing on the bathroom floor. Looking at them now, laughing in the front seat, the devastating truth settled over me. I hadn’t been overthinking anything. Carter’s rage hadn’t come from false accusations; it had come from a guilty conscience. 2 The low, constant thrum of the highway made my stomach churn. Terrified I was actually going to be sick, I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, desperately trying to force myself to sleep. But the group up front was bored. They cranked up the stereo and decided to play a music trivia game. The bass vibrated in my teeth. The chaotic noise made it impossible to drift off. Just as I started to doze, Kevin let out a deafening shout right next to my ear. “‘Toxic’! It’s Britney! That’s five points for me!” he roared with laughter. I snapped my eyes open, turning a dark, exhausted glare his way. Kevin’s laughter died in his throat. He shifted uncomfortably. “Uh… Tara? Do you want to play?” Carter snorted from the driver’s seat. “Don’t bother asking her. She’s a total wet blanket. She’ll just kill the vibe.” He had forgotten. He had conveniently forgotten that when we met in our college debate club, it was my vibrant, outgoing energy that he claimed he fell in love with. He used to say my brightness gave him life. Now, to protect the fragile ego of his pretty coworker, he tore me down without a second thought. “Well, what made you marry her, then?” Hailey asked, her voice light, innocent, probing. “I mean, someone as successful as you, Carter… she must have some amazing hidden talent, right?” Carter smirked, a cruel, dismissive curve of his lips. “She’s… domestic, I guess. She knows how to keep a house running.” “Wait, so like a manager? Or a maid?” Hailey giggled. “I’m sure she’s a very high-end maid.” Kevin and Derek snickered. “Yeah, that’s the word. A built-in housekeeper.” My fingernails dug crescent moons into my palms. Staring at the back of their heads, I let the silence stretch for a beat before I spoke, my voice dangerously soft. “Someone as entertaining and clever as you, Hailey… you’d be a much better match for Carter, wouldn’t you?” Hailey whipped her head around. In the blink of an eye, her face crumpled, and tears spilled over her lashes. “Tara! How could you say that? You’re completely misunderstanding us! I just look up to him as a mentor!” She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with perfectly timed sobs. “I know you’re just jealous, Tara. And I get it, pregnancy makes women so emotionally unstable. Carter, please, just pull over at the next exit. I’ll get an Uber the rest of the way. I don’t want to ruin your marriage.” Carter’s face instantly softened into a mask of pure panic and heartbreak. “Hailey, no, stop. Tara’s just being psychotic. She loves to start drama. Ignore her.” He reached out, grazing her arm. “You are not getting out of this car. I would never just leave you stranded.” Then, he tilted his head back, his voice hardening into a vicious bark. “What the hell is wrong with you, Tara? Can you shut your mouth for five minutes? Are you happy now that you’ve made her cry?” “If you can’t behave, I’ll kick you out at the next rest stop. You’re embarrassing me. Show some damn class.” Kevin and Derek immediately rallied to Hailey’s defense. “Yeah, Tara, that was super out of line. Carter and Hailey are totally professional. You can’t just throw accusations around.” “Seriously,” Derek muttered. “Does being pregnant just strip away all basic logic? You’re being insane.” Their voices piled on top of me, a suffocating wall of noise. My blood boiled, rushing to my ears. I wanted to throw myself out of the moving car. But watching the blurred gray of the interstate flying by, I knew I was trapped. My voice trembled with a mix of rage and absolute heartbreak. “Carter… I am your wife.” “So what?” he snapped, his eyes fixed on the road. “Just because you’re my wife means I have to coddle your delusions? Apologize to Hailey. Now.” A physical pain seized my chest, sharp and absolute. I turned my head to stare out the window, completely ignoring him. Quietly, I pulled out my phone, opened my maps app, and found the name of the nearest upcoming rest area. I texted it to my parents. I was done being a passenger in this car. And in this marriage. 3 Carter caught me looking at my phone in the rearview mirror, and his volume spiked again. “Are you seriously playing on your phone right now, Tara? I said apologize!” “It’s fine, Carter,” Hailey sniffled, playing the martyr. “She didn’t mean it.” “I am absolutely not apologizing,” I said, my voice dead flat. “You test me one more time, Tara, and I swear to God I will dump you on the side of the highway,” Carter threatened, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. I met his gaze in the mirror, unblinking, unyielding. Finally, Kevin cleared his throat, sensing the danger. “Hey, man, maybe let’s not pull over on the interstate. State troopers are everywhere. Not worth the ticket.” Carter exhaled a sharp breath, forcing himself to calm down. “Fine. We’ll deal with your attitude when we get home.” I leaned my head against the cold glass, squeezing my eyes shut to stop the tears from falling. In that moment, whatever residual love I had left for Carter evaporated into the dry, heated air of the SUV. A heavy, awkward silence descended over the car. After a few miles, Carter seemed to remember he was supposed to be the benevolent patriarch. He softened his voice, aiming for a patronizing gentleness. “Look, Tara. We’re all friends here, and we’ve got a long drive ahead. Don’t ruin the trip over one stupid comment. Just be the bigger person, show them my wife isn’t crazy, and let’s move on. Okay?” When I didn’t respond, he tried to sweeten the deal. “Be good, and when we hit the rest stop, I’ll buy you those sour gummies you like.” A hollow, humorless laugh escaped my lips. I didn’t say a word. Carter’s jaw ticked. Embarrassed that his grand gesture had failed in front of his audience, his face flushed dark red, and he went back to ignoring me. Time slipped by. I was hovering in a restless half-sleep when an acrid, chemical smell assaulted my senses. I jolted upright, gasping. “Who is smoking? Are you kidding me? I’m pregnant!” A plume of vapor and tobacco smoke drifted back from the front seats. Hailey peeked over her shoulder, an e-cigarette in her hand. “Sorry, Tara. I asked Carter, and he said it was fine.” “Yeah, you really stressed me out back there,” Hailey added with a pout. “I needed a hit to calm my nerves. Just deal with it.” “Hailey’s upset because of what you said,” Carter justified without missing a beat. “You brought this on yourself. Deal with it.” Hearing this, Kevin and Derek perked up. “Well, if we’re lighting up…” Derek pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. “I’m dying for a smoke.” I stared at them, my eyes wide with disbelief. “You are intentionally exposing my unborn baby to secondhand smoke?” “It’s just one cigarette. Stop being so dramatic,” Kevin scoffed, rolling his window down a fraction of an inch. He lit his cigarette and offered one to Carter. “You’ve been stressed lately, man. Take the edge off.” Without a second of hesitation, Carter took it. “Yeah. Just one.” “Carter! Have you lost your damn mind?” I screamed, my voice cracking. “That is your child in my stomach!” Carter froze. The lighter hovered inches from his face. Slowly, he handed the cigarette back to Kevin. “Never mind. I’ll pass. You guys wrap it up quick.” “Carter, can I at least finish mine?” Hailey whined, touching his arm. “Yeah, go ahead, Hailey. It’s Tara’s fault you’re stressed anyway.” “Well, we might as well finish ours too,” Derek chimed in, taking a long drag. Carter glanced at me in the mirror. “Just crack your window, Tara. A little smoke isn’t going to kill the kid.” A sharp cramp seized my abdomen. I clutched my stomach, staring at the back of Carter’s head like I was looking at a stranger. “What kind of father are you?” “He’s right, you know,” Hailey exhaled a cloud of fruity vapor. “They say if you’re too careful, kids grow up weak. You need to toughen the baby up early. It builds immunity.” 4 The enclosed space quickly filled with a sickening mix of cheap tobacco and artificial strawberry vapor. The fumes burned my throat and sent my already fragile stomach into a violent tailspin. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I grabbed a plastic grocery bag from the seat pocket and vomited. The sound of my retching and the sour, acidic smell instantly ruined the party. “Jesus! Watch my jacket!” Kevin shrieked, pressing himself against the door. “Oh my god, that is so disgusting. I’m going to throw up,” Hailey gagged, rolling her window all the way down. Carter didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t pull over. He panicked. “Tara! Do not get that on my leather seats! I swear to God!” Because of the sharp swerve of the car, a small amount splashed onto the floor mat. Tears of physical exertion streamed down my face, but beneath the nausea, a dark, vindictive satisfaction bloomed in my chest. I had ruined their sanctuary. And I didn’t have to suppress my sickness for their comfort anymore. I wiped my mouth with a tissue, my voice hoarse. “I told you I have severe morning sickness. Now you can deal with it.” Because we were on the highway, they couldn’t keep the windows entirely down due to the freezing wind. The car remained filled with the lingering stench of vomit and smoke. Everyone looked pale and miserable. Except me. I closed my eyes, rested my head against the cold window, and actually managed to fall asleep. Finally, the car rumbled to a stop. We had reached the rest area I had mapped out. The doors flew open, and everyone scrambled out like they were escaping a burning building. Carter included. He stormed off with a dark scowl, not throwing a single glance my way. Not a word to ask if I needed water, or to help me out of the cramped back seat. He was probably embarrassed by me. He probably wanted to put as much distance between us as possible. I watched his retreating back through the tinted glass, my expression entirely hollow. I remembered when I first found out I was pregnant. Carter had cried. He had picked me up and spun me around, and for the first three months, he treated me like glass. Looking at him now, I realized the man I loved was dead. All that remained was a man playing a role when it suited him. I took my time getting out of the car. I walked to the restrooms, washed my face, and rinsed out my mouth. As I walked out into the biting winter air, I spotted them huddled behind a vending machine, smoking and chatting. I stepped into the shadow of a pillar and listened. “I am so sorry, guys,” Carter was saying, shaking his head. “I can’t believe my wife did something so revolting. You guys didn’t deserve that.” Derek took a drag of his cigarette. “Pregnant women are a nightmare, man. The mood swings, the throwing up on command… I don’t know how you put up with it.” Hailey stepped closer to Carter, her voice low and conspiring. “She’s only acting like this because you let her get away with it, Carter. You spoil her too much. You need to set boundaries. Show her you won’t be manipulated.” Carter nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right, Hailey. I’ve been too soft on her. But how do I fix it?” “Before she comes out of the bathroom, let’s move the car,” Hailey suggested, her eyes gleaming. “We’ll park it behind the building where she can’t see it. Let her panic for a bit. When she calls you crying and begging for you to come back, then you show up. It’ll put her right back in her place.” “That’s brilliant. Let’s go do it now.” I stood in the shadows, watching them hurry away to move the SUV. A freezing laugh escaped my lips. Beg? They were delusional. I waited until I heard the engine start and saw the SUV pull around the back of the Starbucks. Then, I pulled my coat tight around myself, walked straight across the parking lot, and climbed into the back of the black sedan waiting near the exit. “Tara, sweetheart! How are you feeling?” My mother turned from the front seat, her face etched with deep concern. The dam broke. I collapsed forward, burying my face in her shoulder, and sobbed until I couldn’t breathe. As my dad pulled onto the highway, I poured out everything. Every insult, the smoke, the plotting. My parents were livid. My dad gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, cursing Carter’s name. “Mom. Dad. I’m divorcing him.” My mom stroked my hair, tears in her own eyes. “Okay, baby. We support you. You come home, and we’ll help you raise this baby. You’ll never be alone.” I shook my head, my hands resting on my slightly rounded stomach. “No. I’m not keeping it. I am not bringing Carter’s child into this world.” A heavy silence filled the car. My parents exchanged a heartbroken look in the rearview mirror. Finally, my dad nodded. “Whatever you need, Tara. It’s your body. It’s your life.” Perhaps the emotional whiplash was too much, or the stress had finally broken my body. As we approached the toll booth, a searing cramp tore through my abdomen. A warm rush of fluid soaked my jeans. “Mom! Dad! It hurts!” I screamed, clutching my stomach. The world tilted, fading to black, and I lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the harsh, fluorescent ceiling tiles of a hospital room.

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My body is a traitor. To be specific, my nervous system has its wires crossed. In the cutthroat ecosystem of Hollywood, I am universally known as the ultimate crybaby. The diva who weeps at the drop of a hat. Then, I booked an extreme horror reality show. We filmed in a house where actual murders had taken place. And there I was, tears streaming down my face, revving a beat-up motorcycle with a sidecar, dragging five terrified A-listers through the dark, and belting out The Star-Spangled Banner at the top of my lungs. I became the patron saint of unhinged survival. The internet’s verdict? “I bow down to our new terrifying queen.” 1 I had been out of work for six months when the offer came in. The production team was top-tier. For a C-list actress like me, hovering dangerously close to the “where are they now” lists, this was the equivalent of a winning lottery ticket fluttering through my open window. But my manager, Valerie, looked like she was aging in dog years right in front of me. “Delilah, this cast… everyone who goes into production has to sign a liability waiver.” She slid the thick stack of papers across the desk, her manicured fingers hesitating before letting go. It was a horror-themed survival show. The first of its kind on American network television, backed by a massive budget, promising absolute, unscripted psychological terror. And I… well. I was the industry’s designated weeping willow. I cried while suspended on wire-rigs during action shoots. I teared up when interviewers raised their voices. If a harmless spider dropped onto my sleeve, my eyes would flood with red-rimmed panic. The tabloids called me manipulative. They said I weaponized my tears for sympathy. It was a spectacularly unfair accusation. I have a stress-induced lacrimation condition. An involuntary reflex. Since I was a kid, any surge of intense emotion—rage, excitement, profound injustice—bypasses my vocal cords and goes straight to my tear ducts. Sometimes, I cry so hard I literally cannot form words. The truth behind the headlines? I cried on the wire-rig because the stunt coordinator was ignoring safety protocols, and I was furious, fighting for my life. I cried in that infamous interview because the journalist was hurling misogynistic insults, and I was trying to rip him a new one. It was a never-ending cycle. In my head, I was a gladiator; on the outside, my tears stripped away every ounce of my authority. When I was seven, I got into a fight with an older boy in my neighborhood. My condition flared up. I was sobbing uncontrollably—while simultaneously pinning him to the asphalt and beating the living daylights out of him. When his parents ran over, they saw my tear-streaked face, assumed I was the victim, and dragged their son home by his ear to ground him. From that day on, I was branded with a reputation: the girl who folds and cries at the first sign of trouble. It followed me all the way to Hollywood. I had begged my PR team to release a statement explaining the medical reality of it. They refused. In their eyes, the “fragile, weeping ingenue” label was great for engagement. The internet loved to hate me. Over time, that’s just who I became to the world. When I got angry, I just stayed quiet. The bitterness pooled in my chest, unseen. “Maybe we just pass on this. A liability waiver is no joke. If you have a panic attack on live television, the studio will drop you completely.” Valerie leaned in, her voice softening. As she looked at me, I caught that familiar, fleeting look of distraction in her eyes. It was my face. The industry dragged my personality, mocked my tears, and despised my supposed fragility, but no one ever criticized my face. “We can just stick to playing the quiet, pretty girl next door…” she murmured, already pulling the contract back. Before the papers could slip off the edge of the desk, I grabbed a pen, signed my name with sharp, deliberate strokes, and pushed it back to her. “I’m fine,” I said, my voice steady. “I can do this.” What the world didn’t know was that I was a hardcore, borderline-obsessive horror fanatic. 2 The show premiered with a blitz of marketing. The call time was midnight. The location: a sprawling, desolate cemetery miles outside of city limits. To maximize the raw terror, the producers opted for hidden cameras and a live, unedited stream. The cast list had been kept strictly under wraps, leaving the internet to discover our identities in real-time as we arrived. [Wait, Cole Montgomery? They actually got Cole for this?!] [Blair Kensington is here! The scream queen herself. Lmao, remember that escape room show where everyone was sobbing and she was just casually drinking tea? She said she’s naturally desensitized to fear.] [Knowing this network, it’s a cast of six: three alphas, three absolute cowards. I’m just here to see who breaks first.] As the cast members stepped out of their SUVs one by one, the live chat was a blur of hyperactive text. Alongside the brooding, A-list heartthrob Cole Montgomery and the “fearless” Blair Kensington, there was Jaxson Ford, the martial arts action star; Dominic Russo, the gritty crime-show lead; and Garret Boyd, a massive retired NFL linebacker. It was a roster of certified tough guys and badasses. But the final guest was taking their sweet time, and the suspense was killing the internet. [Where is the last one?] [Producers are messing with us. This is a hardcore horror show, but they booked an entire team of fearless tanks. How does that even work?] [Plot twist: if they booked all tough guys, how terrifying is this show actually going to be?] Just as the collective patience of millions of viewers snapped, a sleek black production van crept into the camera’s view, rolling to a stop in front of the cast. The tinted window rolled down. The harsh floodlights caught my face, broadcasting my arrival to the world. The internet imploded. [BRO. The Crybaby is here?] [Now it makes sense why they brought five tanks. They needed to balance out the ultimate liability.] 3 I couldn’t see the live chat. But judging by the five pairs of eyes staring at me with varying degrees of utter disbelief, I knew exactly what the internet was saying. “Did production make a mistake? Why are you here?” Blair stepped forward first. She yanked the van door open, craning her neck to peer into the back, confirming I was alone. Her manicured brows pinched together. “Aren’t you just going to be a liability to us?” she muttered, just loud enough to carry. The show’s mechanics required absolute teamwork to survive the escape rooms and challenges. In Blair’s eyes, I was dead weight. [Lmao, Blair isn’t even trying to hide her disgust.] [I’d be mad too. Who wants to deal with someone who cries every five minutes?] [She’s just here for clout. Watch her pretend to be terrified so she can throw herself into the guys’ arms. Stay away from Cole!] A hot spark of irritation flared in my chest. Thankfully, six months of unemployment had taught me some self-restraint. I took a breath, gave her a flat look, and said, “I’m under contract. Let’s get to the checkpoint.” Blair immediately threw her hands up, her voice dramatically loud. “Oh my god, please don’t start. I’m just worried you won’t be able to handle it. Please don’t cry…” The sheer volume of her voice made my temples throb. Which eye of hers saw me crying? I wanted to snap back, but I could feel the familiar, traitorous prickle of heat behind my eyes. The harder I tried to force the anger down, the closer I got to losing my voice entirely. While I was swallowing down my own biology, the heavy van door on the passenger side clicked open. Cole Montgomery, who hadn’t spoken a single word since I arrived, slid into the passenger seat. “She isn’t crying,” his voice was a low, resonant rumble. “Stop stalling. Get in the car.” I blinked, startled. Did Cole… just defend me? As the undeniable heavyweight of the cast, his word was law. The guys immediately piled into the back. Only Blair remained frozen on the dirt path. She looked me up and down, then suddenly grabbed the handle of the driver’s side door. “Delilah, you’re so timid. Maybe I should drive.” She phrased it as a suggestion, but her hand was already gripping my forearm, trying to physically leverage me out of the seat. The sheer audacity. I instantly shook off her grip. “Sit in the back. Me driving is part of the mission directive.” Rejected, Blair’s face tightened into an ugly sneer. She stared at me for a long, heavy second before throwing her hands up in a mock surrender. “Fine, fine, I’ll sit in the back. Just don’t cry. You’re making it look like I’m bullying you.” Excuse me? Since the moment I stepped onto this set, my emotional baseline had been a flatline. But Blair was ruthlessly pushing her narrative, twisting every interaction to fit the internet’s preconceived notion of me. And worse, the camera angle only showed the back of my head. To the millions watching at home, Blair looked like the exasperated victim of my fragile ego. The live chat was a bloodbath. [Why is she crying already?!] [Typical Delilah manipulation. So annoying. If she’s this weak, why didn’t she just go on a dating show so she can sob into some guy’s chest?] [Ngl though, she looks really pretty when she cries.] [Bro, you are starved.] 4 Blair eventually relented, sliding into the back seat. But for the entire drive, the micro-aggressions didn’t stop. “Delilah, your agency is practically throwing you to the wolves. Letting you take a gig like this just for the paycheck,” she sighed dramatically. “When we get inside, if you get so scared you can’t walk, just ask Garret to carry you.” She shot a pointed look at the former NFL player sitting in the very back. Garret was a mountain of a man, built like a brick wall, with a friendly, unassuming face. Always eager to be the good guy, he thumped his chest. “Yeah, absolutely. I got you.” Blair was playing a masterful game. Under the guise of looking out for me, she was neatly pairing me off with Garret, ensuring she could monopolize the rest of the A-list men when we got inside. “I just want everyone to look out for you, Delilah. After all, you’re not like me…” She let the sentence hang, her eyes heavy with subtext. I met her gaze in the rearview mirror. We were both veterans of this industry. Who was she trying to fool? This was high-school mean-girl politics wrapped in faux-concern. To my surprise, Dominic Russo leaned forward, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s 2026. Are we really still doing the whole ‘fragile damsel’ routine?” Ah, so there was an idiot in the car. Dominic belonged to a rival management company; of course he was going to take any opportunity to dig at me. Between Blair’s passive-aggression and Dominic’s blatant hostility, my patience snapped. I opened my mouth to verbally eviscerate them both— BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. The van’s dashboard erupted in a frantic symphony of alarms. This was a state-of-the-art smart vehicle, heavily marketed for its advanced pedestrian-detection system. The high-pitched warning meant only one thing: there were people directly outside the car. But we were driving through an abandoned, unlit cemetery in the dead of night. Who could possibly be out here? The relentless beep-beep-beep drilled into our skulls. The cabin plunged into a heavy, suffocating silence. “It’s just production messing with us… right?” Dominic asked, his voice losing its arrogant edge. Outside, the darkness was absolute. Even knowing it was likely a trick, the primal fear was contagious. On the dashboard’s radar screen, little red blips began to multiply, darting frantically along both sides of the digital car icon. [Holy shit, midnight in a graveyard and the car radar is picking up bodies?!] [Lmao, look at the action star. Jaxson is literally shrinking into his seat.] [Production is not holding back. This is terrifying.] The chat was a wall of terrified emojis. Just as the audience was bracing for a jump scare, the van violently lurched forward, shuddered, and died. “AHHH!” Blair shrieked, a piercing sound that shattered the silence. The entire car jolted. Everyone in the back seat scrambled backward in panic. Only Cole and I remained completely still in the front. “Delilah, do you even know how to drive?!” Blair yelled, her voice trembling. “What the hell was that?” Dominic demanded. “Are you trying to get us killed?!” I slowly turned around, resting my arm over the back of my seat. “The engine stalled.” For a split second, the van was dead quiet. The live feed seemed to freeze. For five long seconds, the guys just sat there, frozen in their defensive postures. I turned the key. Nothing. I tried again. Dead. In the suffocating silence, Dominic finally cleared his throat, his eyes darting to the pitch-black windows. “You know… they say if your car breaks down in a graveyard, you’re supposed to step outside and pay your respects to the dead. Ask for safe passage.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking pointedly at Jaxson. “Someone should probably go try it.” Jaxson’s face was completely devoid of expression. Very slowly, the martial arts badass scooted a few inches further away from the door. [Hahahaha! Jaxson’s tough-guy image is in shambles.] [Dominic is such a fake. Jaxson is scared, but at least he’s quiet. Dominic is terrified but trying to force someone else to be the sacrificial lamb.] [Can we talk about Blair? ‘Naturally desensitized to fear,’ my ass. She screamed louder than anyone.] [Notice how Delilah hasn’t made a single sound this whole time?] The comments rolled by, a few people finally catching on to the reality of the situation. From the moment I got in the car, I had been profoundly, beautifully calm. I was radiating the unbothered energy of a capybara at a spa. After my fourth failed attempt to turn the ignition, I looked over my shoulder at the terrified men. “Do you want me to go out and check?” 5 Maybe it was their bruised egos not letting a woman take the risk, or maybe it was a desperate attempt to save face on national television. Either way, Dominic practically threw himself out of the car. He let out a guttural, macho yell, stomping toward the hood and delivering a solid, aggressive kick to the bumper. Nothing happened. Jaxson awkwardly stepped out next, followed by Garret. The three massive men stood in the dark, facing different directions, nervously muttering disjointed apologies to the empty air and throwing random shadow-boxing punches into the fog. It was a masterclass in absurdity. After ten minutes of this embarrassing ritual, the van still wouldn’t start. Inside, Blair was curled into a tight ball on the leather seats, pale as a sheet and visibly trembling. Cole, meanwhile, was quietly attempting to radio the production crew. The internet was losing its mind: [Some people are busy. Some people are pretending to be busy. Some people can’t even pretend.] CLANG. A heavy metallic thud echoed from the darkness behind the van. The three tough guys instantly shrieked, dropping to their knees and covering their heads. Blair began to sob hysterically. In the midst of the total chaos, I calmly stepped out from behind the rear of the van, a flashlight in one hand and a heavy wrench in the other. I looked at the men cowering in the dirt, my expression completely deadpan. “We’re out of gas.” Absolute, deafening silence. Then, millions of viewers collectively lost their minds. [I am SCREAMING. The producers are evil. They gave them an empty tank and stranded them in a cemetery just to mess with their heads.] [God bless Delilah. If she had waited five more minutes, those three grown men would have been fully bowing to the dirt.] [Okay, I’m officially a Delilah stan. She is so logical! First she tries the engine, then she grabs a tool and checks the back. Standing in the dark with a wrench? Mother behavior.] [Compared to Blair whining and crying all night, Delilah is a breath of fresh air. So much for Blair’s ‘fearless’ brand.] Blair, realizing how badly she was coming across, snapped. The humiliation of being shown up by the “crybaby” was too much. She scrambled out of the car, her face twisted in a vicious sneer, and marched right up to me. “You were driving! How could you not know the tank was empty? Did you plan this with the producers to make us look like idiots?! Is this your little strategy to look cool?!” Her voice was shrill, cutting through the night air. Dominic, sensing an opportunity to deflect from his own cowardice, immediately chimed in, backing her up. That was it. My fuse burned out. “Production obviously rigged the—” I tried to defend myself, but the moment I opened my mouth, the familiar, suffocating burn of acid rushed to my throat. My eyes welled up violently. The angrier I got, the harder I fought it, and the harder I fought it, the more paralyzed my vocal cords became. Seeing my eyes shine with unshed tears, Blair moved in for the kill. “Oh, here we go! Can you stop crying every time there’s a problem?! It’s so annoying! If you’re innocent, say something! The fact that you’re crying just proves you’re guilty!” I couldn’t speak. My condition was a physical trap. My face was flushed red, my heart pounding in my ears, my mind completely blank with rage. She was dancing on my last nerve. And the worst part was, my body was betraying me again, cementing my reputation as the pathetic, weeping victim right when I wanted to tear her head off. I wanted to hit her so badly. “It has nothing to do with her. It’s a production stunt.” A voice cut through the dark like a blade of ice. Cole emerged from the shadows, his sharp features illuminated by the pale moonlight. He looked utterly untouchable. I don’t know if it was the sudden backup, but something inside me clicked. The invisible dam broke. I planted my hands on my hips, leaned forward, and screamed at the stunned Blair with the force of a hurricane: “EXACTLY!” The chat went wild. [LMAO, Delilah getting furiously angry for exactly one second.] [Am I the only one who thinks she’s adorable? Honestly, I’d be pissed too. She solved the problem, and they attacked her to cover up their own embarrassment.] [Blair has a point though. For someone who cries so much, she’s weirdly calm about the haunted cemetery. It is suspicious…] [Does crying automatically mean you’re a coward?] I couldn’t see the defense mounting for me online. But Cole’s intervention had the desired effect. No one dared to say another word. 6 The rules dictated we had to reach the main set before dawn. According to the GPS, we were miles away from the target location. With the van dead, walking through the pitch-black woods meant we would likely fail the mission. As the group stood around in defeated silence, Cole stepped forward. Without a word, he held out a set of keys and dropped them into my palm. “Production left a motorcycle down the dirt path,” he said, his voice flat. “Keys were in the ignition. It runs.” The relief was palpable. The group realized Cole hadn’t disappeared out of fear; he had gone scouting ahead for a solution. The live chat flooded with praise for Cole’s stoic leadership. But Blair couldn’t let it go. Glaring at the brief moment of connection between Cole and me, she snapped, “Cole, if you found the bike, why didn’t you just drive it back here yourself?” Dominic and the others nodded, looking equally confused. Cole had a naturally intimidating aura. When he wasn’t speaking, his dark eyes held a weight that made people physically shrink back. He stared at the group, his expression unreadable, letting the silence stretch until it became profoundly uncomfortable. The entire internet seemed to hold its breath. Finally, under the collective gaze of millions, Cole looked slightly to the side and said, with deadpan simplicity: “I don’t know how to ride a motorcycle.” I blinked. Everyone blinked. The chat exploded. [HAHAHAHA. I thought he was being mysterious. I thought he was being arrogant. No, he just literally doesn’t know how.] [Cole: You’re questioning my methods? Sir, I do not have a license.] [We love a secure king. While the rest of them were praying to ghosts, he was negotiating with producers and scouting ahead.] [Is it just me, or do Cole and Delilah have insane chemistry?] [You are not alone, bestie.] … I was the only person standing there with a motorcycle endorsement on my license. Blair looked like she had swallowed a lemon. When we finally walked down the path and saw the bike, she couldn’t resist one last dig. “Still going to claim you aren’t colluding with production? A motorcycle just happens to be waiting out here, and you’re the only one who can drive it?” Even on live television, she couldn’t mask the sheer jealousy radiating off her. My emotional baseline had leveled out. I gripped the handlebars, swung my leg over the leather seat with practiced ease, and looked down at her. “If you don’t want to get in, you can walk.” Blair shut her mouth. 7 The moment I revved the engine, dragging an overloaded sidecar and five terrified A-listers through the dark, I broke the internet. Twitter was a bloodbath of trending hashtags: #DelilahMonroeBikerQueen #DelilahDrifting #SixPeopleOneMotorcycle #HellOnWheelsDelilah The show’s viewership skyrocketed to unprecedented, record-breaking numbers. The live chat was moving so fast it was a blur. [Put this in the history books. The Founding Fathers wept.] [Delilah Monroe single-handedly carrying the entertainment industry on her back.] [Wait, is that even legal? Five people crammed into a rusted-out Ural?] [Lmao, you think the ghosts care about traffic laws?]

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The new maid threw the custom-made ring I had designed for my husband straight into the trash. When I confronted her, she fell to her knees, sobbing like her heart was breaking. “Mrs. Montgomery, I am so sorry! I thought it was just an empty box. I swear on my life I didn’t know the ring was inside.” Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks. “I know I’m poor. I know my cheap life isn’t worth a fraction of that ring. Please, Mrs. Montgomery, I’m begging you, please don’t hold this against me.” I took a deep breath, chalking it up to an honest, albeit careless, mistake. I didn’t yell. I didn’t punish her. Instead, I put on a pair of gloves and dug through our kitchen trash alongside her until we found it. The next day, my husband, Preston, returned from a business trip. I didn’t even mention the incident. It was over and done with. That night, he told me to get dressed. He wanted to take me somewhere special. He blindfolded me, his hands warm against my temples, his voice low and teasing. Preston had always loved grand gestures, sweeping me off my feet with extravagant surprises. I smiled, letting him lead me into the night. I thought it was a date. I never expected him to throw me out of a private helicopter into a sprawling, hundred-ton municipal landfill. I stumbled, my knees sinking into the rancid, decomposing filth. Above me, the helicopter hovered, its deafening blades kicking up a storm of stench. Sitting right next to Preston in the illuminated cabin was our maid, Madison. She was looking down at me, a sickeningly triumphant smirk playing on her lips. Preston leaned out, his face a mask of cold fury. “Do you have any idea what you did?! Because you forced Madison to dig through the garbage, she lost her mother’s bracelet—the only heirloom she had left in this world!” His voice boomed through a PA system, echoing across the wasteland. “You like digging through the trash so much?! Have at it! I’m giving you all the time in the world. Do not even think about coming out until you find her mother’s bracelet!” It was the dead of a sweltering Houston August. The oppressive humidity magnified the nauseating, rotting stench, forcing me to dry heave the moment I opened my mouth. I had given this bastard and his pathetic mistress entirely too much grace. Furious, my survival instincts kicking in, I reached into the hidden pocket of my tactical jacket—a habit from my past life—pulled out an emergency marine flare, aimed it straight at his cockpit, and pulled the trigger. 1 The flare shot into the night sky, exploding in a brilliant red flash just inches from the windshield. The helicopter jerked violently, swaying in the air as the pilot scrambled to regain control. Madison shrieked, nearly tumbling out of her seat. Preston caught her, pulling her tightly against his chest. He glared down at me, his eyes wide with shock and rage. “Blair, are you out of your goddamn mind?!” He was wearing a headset, and his furious roar vibrated through the landfill. As the red light faded, I noticed other shapes in the sky. Three more private helicopters were circling above. They belonged to Preston’s country club elite—the trust-fund babies, the heirs, the socialites. Men and women leaning out with masks over their noses, watching me like I was the main event at a gladiatorial arena. “Does Blair have a death wish? Look at her, standing in literal garbage and still throwing a tantrum!” a voice crackled over the airspace. “I guess you can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trash out of the girl! She forgot where she came from.” “Exactly. A broke scholarship kid marries Preston Montgomery, lives the high life for a few years, and suddenly she thinks she can torture the hired help!” “Preston is doing the right thing. If he doesn’t break her in now, she’ll actually start believing she’s one of us.” They all had microphones. Their sneering, mocking laughter rained down on me, mingling with the sickening stench of rot. I didn’t bother screaming back. The flare had already been fired. It was a signal. It wouldn’t be long before my organization saw it and came to clean up this mess. Did they really think I was just a jealous housewife? I wasn’t born into old money, no. But the power I yielded in the shadows eclipsed every single trust fund hovering above my head. By crossing me, Preston hadn’t just made a mistake—he had strapped himself to a bomb. “Mr. Montgomery,” Madison’s voice drifted through the speakers, dripping with manufactured sweetness. “Mrs. Montgomery’s body is too delicate for this. Let me go down and look. I’m used to her making me dig through the trash anyway. I’m just a nobody. It’s fitting work for me.” Preston’s eyes softened as he looked at her. He spoke to her with a tenderness that made my stomach churn. “You are too innocent for your own good. Women who are this sweet only get walked all over. I won’t let you be a martyr, Madison.” The words felt like physical blows. He had hired Madison a month ago. A single month. Five years of marriage, of unconditional devotion, had just been erased by thirty days with a manipulative little maid. Seeing me standing perfectly still, my hand covering my nose, Preston barked another command. “Find her mother’s heirloom! You are not leaving this yard until you do!” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Watch me leave! God, I was blind to ever marry you! We are done, Preston!” My defiance turned his face a blotchy, furious red. “I spoiled you! I gave you too much love, and it turned you into a monster. I am done indulging you!” He tapped his earpiece, calling his head of security. “Release the toads. Keep dropping them until my wife decides to use her precious hands to dig.” 2 He knew. He knew my deepest, most visceral phobia was toads. I have a severe heart condition. Two years ago, I accidentally stepped on a toad in our garden. The sheer terror of the wriggling, clammy texture beneath my shoe sent my heart into a dangerous arrhythmia. I collapsed in a cold sweat, every hair on my body standing on end, my chest seizing. I nearly died that day, saved only by the emergency pills I kept in my pocket. When Preston found out, he spent an entire day and night leading his security team through our sprawling estate, catching every single toad they could find. He blanketed the perimeter in repellents. Whenever he was home, he would carry me from the car to the door, refusing to let my feet touch the grass. I told him he was overreacting, but he had looked at me with eyes full of religious devotion. “I love taking care of you. I’ll carry you for the rest of our lives. I will never, ever let you experience that fear again.” The memory felt like a rusted knife twisting in my ribs. The sweetest protection he had ever offered me was now the very weapon he was using to break me. Moments later, a hatch opened on one of the supply choppers. Dozens of toads rained down from the sky, plummeting straight toward my head. Because he had dragged me out of the house so suddenly, I didn’t have my heart medication on me. As the wet, heavy bodies began hitting my shoulders, my back, the ground around my feet, a primal, suffocating terror paralyzed me. My scalp prickled. My limbs went numb. I couldn’t breathe. It felt like invisible blades were slowly peeling my skin away. Panic overriding logic, my survival instinct forced my legs to move. I ran. But the helicopter tracked me like a spotlight. They chased me across the mountains of garbage, continuously dropping the squirming amphibians. I was a rat in a maze, sprinting for my life. To a normal person, a toad is harmless. To me, dodging them was like dodging crocodiles. The terror was absolute. “Hahahaha!” “I told you she was a paper tiger! What kind of useless woman is terrified of a frog?” “She wasn’t useless when she was terrorizing the maid, was she?” “Do you guys think she’s going to get on her knees and beg?” “Definitely. Come on, Blair! Just dig in the trash and find his little sweetheart’s bracelet! You brought this on yourself!” “You didn’t really think Madison was just a maid, did you, Blair? She’s the center of Preston’s universe now. You being a jealous shrew is a you problem!” The heirs and socialites above me howled with laughter, treating my trauma like a circus act. Madison’s voice drifted down again, heavy with fake empathy. “Mrs. Montgomery, please stop being so stubborn. Just listen to him. When you made me dig through the trash that day, I accidentally dropped the only thing I have left of my deceased mother.” “It’s somewhere in that garbage. If you just put your heart into it, you’ll find it. The sooner you find it, the sooner you can come home. Why put yourself through this?” There was no solid ground. Every step sank into rotting waste. I didn’t make it far before my foot slipped, and I crashed hard into the filth. The toads kept falling. They landed near my feet, by my hands, against my legs. Everywhere. The terror finally peaked. A sharp, agonizing spike of pain shot through my chest, and the world went black. As my consciousness faded, I heard a panicked security guard crackle over Preston’s radio. “Sir, Mrs. Montgomery has a heart condition. She collapsed. She’s not moving. What if something goes wrong?” Preston’s scoff echoed through the darkness. “She’s faking it! She doesn’t have a damn heart condition. It was always just an act so I would baby her!” “A woman who can fight off wild dogs barehanded isn’t going to die from a toad!” Madison added her poison, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Mrs. Montgomery, stop playing dead! Get up! It’s dirty down there. The doctor already told Preston you don’t have a heart condition.” “Why degrade yourself like this? It’s honestly making me pity you.” 3 Her blatant manipulation worked instantly. Preston’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a whip. “Blair, get up right now! Stop playing dead!” Madison sighed softly. “Maybe she’s suffering from the heat, Mr. Montgomery? Should we give her some ice water?” He hung onto her every word. He instantly barked at his men. “Get the coldest water we have and hose her down!” A torrential downpour of freezing water blasted me from above. I couldn’t feel anything, but I could hear it. The deafening roar of the high-pressure water hitting the trash actually managed to scare the toads away. I don’t know how much time passed before I slowly blinked awake. A bone-deep, agonizing cold had swallowed me whole. I was half-submerged in a puddle of liquid garbage, floating trash brushing against my lips and nose. The water crept into my nostrils, triggering the instinctual panic of drowning. My body violently rejected it, yanking me back to reality. I shot up, hacking and coughing violently, feeling like my lungs were tearing apart. I was shivering uncontrollably. The September night air had dropped drastically, and the biting wind whipped against my soaked clothes. I felt like I was freezing to death in an icebox. “Hahaha! See? I told you she was faking it!” “Look at her! The act is over! Women like her are just like onions—you have to peel away the layers of entitlement!” “She looks like a drowned rat! This is priceless!” “I have never met a woman as ridiculously stubborn as Blair.” The peanut gallery above me raised their phones, recording my lowest moment. Their raucous, cruel laughter suggested this was the highlight of their miserable lives. Madison leaned into the mic again. “Mrs. Montgomery, please just find it! The water is cold, you’re going to catch a chill. Preston is the head of the house. Even if you look down on me, just pretend to look for his sake.” “Don’t make him angry. You need to care about his blood pressure. Men shouldn’t be stressed out like this.” That load of absolute garbage melted Preston’s heart. Through the harsh glare of the spotlights, I looked up and saw his hand resting on Madison’s waist, his other hand trailing down her thigh, right over her sheer black tights. His eyes were clouded with raw, unfiltered lust. This was the man who once swore to me that even if every other man on earth cheated, he would remain fiercely loyal. Now, he was openly fondling the maid while I froze in a landfill. When Preston caught me glaring at them, his romantic expression hardened into a vicious scowl. “Oh, so you know how to be angry? When you were torturing Madison, did you stop to think about how unsanitary the trash was?” “All over a stupid, meaningless ring, you made her lose her mother’s heirloom! Did you even care how heartbroken she was?!” “I thought this would teach you some humility, but look at you. You’re still so incredibly arrogant. It’s my fault for indulging you.” “From now on, the fairy tale is over.” I spat out a mouthful of dirty water, looking dead into his eyes. “Are you done spewing bullshit?” The airspace erupted. “Holy shit! She’s got nerve, I’ll give her that. I’ve never seen anyone talk to Preston Montgomery like that.” “Calling him out for spewing bullshit? To his face? Goddamn.” “She’s literally sitting in trash and her mouth is still running. She really isn’t afraid to die.” Preston’s face turned a dangerous, mottled purple. He stared at me with pure venom. “If you aren’t afraid of humiliation, then I’ll make sure the whole world sees it.” He grabbed his radio, speaking to the circling helicopters. “Stop holding back. Start the livestreams.” 4 His friends practically salivated. It was like they had been handed a drug. Within seconds, high-definition cameras were pointed down at me. They began enthusiastically brainstorming titles over the open comms. “How about Taming the Montgomery Wife?” “What about Wife Gets Punished for Abusing the Help?” “No, I got it! Billionaire’s Wife Digs in 100 Tons of Trash for a Bracelet!” Preston pretended to think about it before leaning into the mic. “That last one. Let’s use that.” He paused, looking down at me with the smug satisfaction of a bully who had just backed a victim into a corner. The moment the streams went live, plastered with the powerful Montgomery name, tens of thousands of viewers flooded the rooms. The numbers climbed exponentially. The socialites played the role of commentators perfectly. “Hey guys, welcome to the stream! Tonight, we have an exclusive: Mrs. Preston Montgomery, digging through a 100-ton landfill.” “What you’re looking at is a woman who abused her power. She forced a poor maid to dig through the trash, making her lose her dead mother’s heirloom. Now, Mr. Montgomery is demanding justice.” They began reading the cruelest comments aloud, making sure the audio echoed down to me. “Preston is a king for this! Teach that snob a lesson!” “She’s not even old money! What gives her the right to torture normal working-class people?” “Look at her. She looks pathetic. I’d pay to go down there and slap her myself!” My limbs were numb from the cold. Mustering every ounce of strength I had left, I dragged myself out of the freezing puddle, stumbling blindly toward where I thought the exit was. The helicopters hovered lower, aiming military-grade spotlights directly into my eyes, blinding me. Seeing that I still wouldn’t break, Preston pulled his final card. “Blair! I’m going to ask you one last time. Are you going to find Madison’s bracelet? Or would you rather I scatter your mother’s ashes over this landfill? Is your pride really worth that?” My heart stopped. The blood drained from my face. I gripped a rusty oil drum to keep from falling and stared up at the chopper. He was holding a familiar cherry-wood urn. My mother’s ashes. He stared at me with dead eyes, popped the latch, and slowly tilted the box. A faint wisp of white dust fluttered out into the wind. My pride shattered instantly. I broke. “I’ll dig! I’ll dig!” I screamed, my voice tearing from my throat. “Preston, we were married! I’m begging you, please don’t do this!” Terrified he would empty the urn, I dropped to my knees in the rancid waste and started frantically clawing at the garbage with my bare hands. “I’m looking! I’m looking right now! Just close the box. Put it down, please, I’m begging you!” Madison sighed into the microphone. “Mrs. Montgomery, why did it have to come to this? You talk about being married, but you literally fired a flare at Mr. Montgomery’s helicopter. You broke his heart.” I ignored her, digging wildly into the rotting muck. “Mr. Montgomery,” Madison continued, her voice laced with poison. “Look at her. She’s just swatting at the surface. She’ll be here for years at this rate. If she doesn’t want to find it, just let me go down.” Her words destroyed whatever sliver of patience Preston had left. He tilted the urn further, his voice a cold threat. “I am out of time, Blair. You have exactly thirty minutes. If you don’t find it, your mother will become part of this dump.” I sobbed, ripping through garbage bags. It was 100 tons of waste. Thirty minutes was a physical impossibility. I begged him as I dug, pleading for more time, but he was completely unmoved, only calling out the countdown. I prayed for a miracle, but my bare, bleeding hands found nothing. When the time was up, I looked up to beg one last time. Preston’s face was utterly devoid of emotion. Without a word, he turned the urn completely upside down. I watched the ashes—the remains of the woman who raised me—spill out into the wind, drifting down like dirty snow to settle into the decaying filth. My soul fractured into a million pieces. “NO!” I screamed, scrambling wildly toward the falling dust, desperately trying to catch it with my bare hands. Above me, the helicopters erupted into a chorus of uproarious laughter. But suddenly, a deafening, thunderous roar swallowed their voices. From every direction, dozens of sleek, matte-black military aircraft swarmed the airspace. They boxed Preston’s civilian helicopters in completely. Over a massive loudspeaker, a voice boomed—one that made my chest heave with relief: “Which one of you sons of bitches is messing with our girl? Boys, light ’em up!”

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When my son got a full-ride scholarship to college, it came with a ten-thousand-dollar cash stipend. He gave two thousand to his dad, two thousand to his grandparents, and kept the remaining six thousand for himself. I had been waiting, full of anticipation, foolishly thinking he was going to surprise me—that this would be his way of thanking me for the years I spent pouring my soul into his upbringing. Instead, when he noticed I was just standing there, waiting, he rolled his eyes. “Mom, you’re just a housewife. It’s not like you have anywhere to spend money anyway. Why should I give you a cut?” He scoffed, adjusting his posture. “I just achieved something huge, and you haven’t even given me a reward yet. Just give me another ten grand. I need to buy those limited-edition sneakers, and I’m planning a trip to Europe to see that music festival.” I refused. My husband, Kevin, immediately chimed in, rushing to our son’s defense. “I give you a two-thousand-dollar allowance every month. Over the years, you must have saved up at least fifty or sixty grand, right?” “You’re being so stingy with our own kid, and now you want to take his money? You’re incredibly selfish, Claire. Keep this up, and you’ll die alone. Don’t expect him to take care of you when you’re old!” Years later, our son bought a massive suburban estate. He moved the whole family in, and they spent the holidays gathered around a roaring fireplace, a picture-perfect family. At that exact moment, I was lying in a sterile hospital bed. My body, entirely broken down from decades of stress and overwork, finally gave out. As the clock struck midnight, ringing in the new year, I took my last breath and left this world. Alone. Then, I opened my eyes. I had been reborn. I was standing in our living room, and my son was in the middle of screaming at me, refusing to go to my parents’ house for Christmas. 1 “I don’t want to go with you! It’s so damn annoying. All you ever do is force me to do things!” “I hate you, and I hate those two old farts!” Connor screamed in my face, his cheeks flushed with rage. He shoved me hard by the shoulders and turned to slam his bedroom door. I stumbled back, looking around. The sheer familiarity of the living room sent a jolt of shock through my system, which quickly dissolved into an overwhelming, dizzying euphoria. I had been reborn. I was back on the exact day Connor refused to come home with me for the holidays! I was an only child; Kevin was an only son. Before we even tied the knot, we had an ironclad agreement: for the holidays, we would alternate between our families. Once we had a kid, the child would rotate with us. But this year, Connor—currently in the eighth grade—was fighting tooth and nail against going to my parents’ house. The second he walked in and saw me packing my suitcase, he started throwing things across the room. “Why are you so selfish? You just want to go to your family’s house whenever you feel like it, without ever caring about what I want!” “I’m going to Grandma’s! I’m not going to your parents’ crappy house. Why haven’t those old freaks just died already?” “You’re a control freak, and they are too! You’re always forcing me to do this and do that. I’m not your little puppet!” Smack. My hand connected with Connor’s cheek before I could even process the movement. I gave him life; I could damn well give him a slap. Consider it a bonus. Connor clutched his face, his eyes wide with absolute shock. “Did you just hit me? I am done with you! You are not my mother anymore. Don’t ever expect me to look after you when you’re old!” He cursed at me, turned on his heel, and slammed the front door so hard the walls shook. That was the first time I had ever struck him. In my past life, panic had seized me. I chased after him into the freezing December night. He told me to leave him alone and shoved me backward into a snowbank. I sat in that freezing snow for an hour, consumed by guilt, convinced that I had been too strict, too demanding. I stayed out there until I was completely numb. I didn’t move until Kevin happened to walk past on his way home from work and pulled me up. This time, I didn’t chase him. Instead, I stood my ground, my hand stinging, wishing only that I had hit him harder. I sat down on the sofa, ignoring the mess he had made of the living room, turned on Netflix, and waited for Kevin to get home. The moment Kevin walked through the door, he started in on me. “Claire! I bust my ass at work all day, and I come home to this?” “You get to sit around comfortably in this house all day, and what? You’re too lazy to even clean up now?” “How about you go out and get a job, and I’ll stay home and enjoy the luxury!” I had spent a lifetime running myself ragged for this family, managing every invisible detail of our lives, and all he could see was a momentary mess. With a few flippant words, he erased a decade of my sacrifices. I looked at him, feeling nothing but a cold hollow in my chest. “Kevin, Connor said he doesn’t want to go to my parents’ house for Christmas this year. He wants to go to your mom’s. Did you know about this?” Kevin didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, I knew. My mom is getting older and misses her grandson. It’s completely normal. In fact, it’s not just Connor—you should come to my mom’s for Christmas this year, too.” “We’ve been married for over a decade, and you never spend Christmas with my family. It’s embarrassing.” I let out a dry, humorless laugh. His mother missed her grandson, but what about my mother? Did she not miss her only grandchild? He was using “getting older” and “saving face” as cheap excuses to shatter a decade-long agreement. Beautiful. I stared at the man I had spent half my life with. This, I realized, was his true inner monologue, finally spoken out loud. Since the box was open, we might as well unpack it. “Connor spent exactly one day at my parents’ house last year. My mom’s health isn’t great either, and she wants to see him. A son-in-law who refuses to visit his wife’s parents for ten years is also pretty embarrassing, don’t you think? We go to my family’s first this year.” Kevin’s face hardened. “What is this ‘your family, my family’ crap? We’re one family. Look around, Claire. What kind of wife doesn’t spend the holidays with her husband’s family?” “I’ve given you so much leeway in the past. You need to start making me look good. Every year I go back alone, and people ask me if we’re divorced or if I’m a widower.” “Connor wants to go to his grandma’s. Have you even bothered to ask yourself why?” I shifted my gaze to Connor, who had crept back into the house and was hovering by the kitchen. “Connor. I genuinely don’t know why you prefer Grandma’s. Why don’t you tell me?” Connor sneered, crossing his arms. “At Grandma’s, I can do whatever the hell I want. If I want five milkshakes, she doesn’t say a word. I can eat as many burgers and fries as I want.” “When I go to those old farts’ house, it’s lights out at nine and wake up at five. Is that even human? They’re gonna drop dead from exhaustion at that rate.” “I have to take a nap on a schedule. I can’t look at my phone, I can’t eat snacks. Am I going home for Christmas or going to prison?” “And I have to practice that stupid classical piano and read those boring, snobby literature books. They’re just a bunch of pretentious losers!” “And you! You control when I drink water and when I eat. Your whole family is a bunch of psycho control freaks!” He rattled off his grievances, painting my family as if we were some sort of oppressive cult. In the past, my maternal instinct had blinded me. I only ever wanted to pour all my love into my only child, entirely missing the fact that I was raising an ungrateful monster. My father was a renowned composer, his private lessons heavily sought after by prodigies. My mother was a former principal ballerina for a major city ballet company. Yet, to my son, they were “pretentious losers.” If he wanted to go to his grandmother’s to rot his brain and gorge himself, there was nothing I could do. In my previous life, I had pleaded with Kevin. “Connor is genetically prone to weight gain. He’s five-foot-five and weighs a hundred and ninety pounds. I’m trying to lower his risk for cardiovascular disease. Is that wrong?” “People wait on waitlists for years to get an hour of my dad’s mentorship. He offered Connor one-on-one piano lessons, and Connor threw a fit.” “Am I in the wrong here?” Kevin had just scoffed at me. “You don’t understand men. Boys need to eat to grow. He’s just storing up energy.” “I’m six-foot-one, you’re five-foot-nine. When Connor hits high school, he’s gonna shoot up to six-foot-three, and all that weight will stretch out into muscle.” “You’re just hitting early menopause. You sound like a nagging old crone. But I guess women are just built like that—you can’t help but act like a martyr.” 2 In my past life, Kevin and I had a screaming match, but to fulfill my mother’s deepest wish, I dragged Connor to my parents’ house anyway. The result? I stepped out to run an errand, and Connor threw such a vile temper tantrum that he gave my mother a massive stroke. My father, consumed by the sudden grief of losing his lifelong partner, passed away shortly after. Overnight, I lost both of my parents. As I planned their double funeral, my husband and son couldn’t even hide their giddy excitement, eagerly calculating how to divide my parents’ estate. This time, I dropped the idea of forcing him to come with me entirely. If this ungrateful parasite didn’t want me, fine. The lives of my actual parents were worth infinitely more. I didn’t hesitate. “Alright. The two of you go to your mom’s for Christmas. I’ll go to my parents’.” Kevin blinked, completely caught off guard. “Are you trying to play some kind of reverse psychology game with me? Because I’m not falling for it, Claire!” “We are going to my mom’s. Whether you come or not is your problem!” “Now go pack my and Connor’s bags.” Kevin collapsed onto the sofa, grabbed the TV remote, and started cracking sunflower seeds between his teeth, dropping the shells on the rug. Back to barking orders. Connor, noticing the test prep books I had already placed near his duffel, quickly added, “Mom, don’t pack my homework or my practice tests. I am not doing schoolwork.” “Pack more snacks. I get hungry on the road!” Kevin backed him up instantly. “He’s only in eighth grade, why are you pushing him so hard? This tiger-mom stuff doesn’t work!” “My son used to get straight A’s without even trying. He’s brilliant. Even if he coasts for the next few years and crams in his senior year, he could still get into an Ivy League.” “He’s just a kid. If he doesn’t have fun now, when is he supposed to? When he’s eighty?” “Look at all these kids getting depressed nowadays. Are you trying to push him over the edge?” Kevin looked incredibly smug. He delivered his little monologue, waiting for the familiar look of defeat to wash over my face. When I remained completely indifferent, he nudged Connor to keep the momentum going. Connor eagerly chimed in, “Yeah! I already know everything on those tests. I’m a genius.” “Mom, you don’t actually think I’m going to end up mediocre like you, going to some average state school, do you?” His words dripped with thick, unadulterated contempt. He was looking down on me. Connor had always lacked discipline. If I stepped away to use the bathroom while he was doing his homework, I’d come back to find him playing video games or wandering around the house. Middle school was foundational; high school was about building on that. He wanted to run before he even knew how to crawl. Keep dreaming. I kept my voice perfectly neutral. “If you want to go, then go. Have fun.” “Then I’m staying there until school starts,” Connor challenged. “Suit yourself.” “Yes! Finally escaping the evil stepmother’s clutches!” Connor jumped up, cheering. Then he narrowed his eyes at me. “Mom, what if you change your mind? I’m going to record a video. Say exactly what you just said again. If you try to back out, I’m posting it online so everyone can see how toxic you are!” 3 I agreed. I wasn’t going to change my mind anyway. If anything, this video would serve as my official waiver of liability. Kevin shot me a knowing smirk. He was so certain he had me figured out. He fully expected me to crack within five minutes, to pull rank and use my authority as a mother to force them into submission. When exactly did the title of “Mother” become a shackle in their eyes? Before we got married, I had decided I only wanted one child. From the second Connor was born, I poured every ounce of love I possessed into his tiny body. I walked away from a lucrative career in Human Resources to stay home with him. I woke up at 5:00 AM every single day. After finishing the endless household chores at night, I would lay out his clothes and pack his backpack for the next day. At 5:00 AM, I was in the kitchen, making him a hot, nutritious breakfast from scratch to ensure he was healthy. I baked sugar-free desserts, meticulously adjusting recipes to fit his preferences. And yet, Connor never appreciated an ounce of it. He complained my cooking was bland, my desserts weren’t pretty enough, and threw them straight into the trash. I’m not trying to sing praises to the concept of maternal sacrifice. I just poured my entire being into him because he was my only child. I never dared to relax. I was terrified he would fall behind, terrified he would get sick. I held my breath until his senior year when he finally got accepted into a top-tier tech program. During college, I mapped out his entire career path. When he won that massive scholarship, the thought of thanking me didn’t even cross his mind. Eventually, he landed a six-figure job in Silicon Valley, bought a mansion, and celebrated the holidays surrounded by everyone but me. While I died in a sterile hospital room. He never even came to visit. I looked at him now, feeling not a shred of attachment. “From today onward, I will never force you to do anything again. You can live however you want. Whatever you achieve in this life has absolutely nothing to do with me.” And, of course, the consequences of your own destruction will have nothing to do with me either. 4 Hearing my absolute surrender, Connor lit up. “Dad! I want a massive boba tea, a strawberry milkshake, and a mango slushie! Extra ice, full sugar!” He grabbed the remote, cranked the TV volume to the max, and ripped open a bag of potato chips, letting the crumbs cascade all over the carpet. He strutted over to me, practically vibrating with arrogance. “Fried chicken is the best! Dad and I are ordering two whole buckets. We get all the drumsticks. Mom, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you have the scraps.” Eat up, I thought. Keep eating until you look like the garbage you consume. Kevin’s side of the family were all notoriously short, but by some fluke of genetics, Kevin hit six-foot-one. He constantly bragged about winning the genetic lottery. Connor, currently in eighth grade, was five-foot-five and weighed a hundred and ninety pounds. And that was with me strictly monitoring his diet. Kevin sighed loudly, stretching his arms. “It’s not like we’re broke. A man needs meat. What’s the point of eating boiled greens every other day? We’re not peasants.” “Claire, I bet you’re dying for a piece. When I’m done, you can have the leftovers. Don’t let it go to waste.” Standing up, Kevin pulled out his phone and tapped away. A moment later, my feed updated. Kevin had posted a photo of his feet kicked up on the coffee table. The caption: Life is good. Eat what you want, go where you want. No nagging. Let the maid clean up the mess. #Freedom #BoysNight. Kevin never posted on social media. We didn’t announce our relationship, we didn’t post wedding photos, and we didn’t announce Connor’s birth. And now, he was practically throwing a parade over a bucket of chicken. Kevin looked up from his phone. “Going home by myself every holiday is embarrassing. My mom worked hard her whole life, I can’t expect her to cook and clean for all of us. And I’m certainly not doing it. I’m a man, I don’t belong in the kitchen.” “So it’s settled. You’re coming to my mom’s for Christmas this year. And every year after.” I rolled my eyes. “Who agreed to that? We go to our own families. If you don’t like it, don’t come back to this house at all.” “I’ll live a lot longer without you dragging me down.” “Keep dreaming if you think anyone is going to wait on you hand and foot. I quit.” Seeing me grabbing my coat, Kevin frowned. “It’s freezing out. Where the hell are you going?” “I haven’t finished packing yet.” I didn’t even turn around. “Grown-up business. Don’t hurt your brain trying to figure it out.” Where was I going? To catch a flight. Three tickets. Me, my mom, and my dad. 5 In my previous life, Connor had the audacity to use his scholarship money to beg me to fund a European vacation. The last time I had left the country was when I was in college. After getting married and having Connor, vacations—let alone international ones—became a thing of the past. It wasn’t a lack of money, and it wasn’t a lack of time. It was simply because Connor would get winded walking up a flight of stairs. Traveling with him was a nightmare. I sent a quick text to my parents. Twenty minutes later, they replied, saying their bags were packed. They didn’t understand why the sudden change of plans, and they didn’t pry. They just said they were waiting for me. The three of us. Traveling the world. Free as birds. Initially, I planned to drive us across the country, but my parents, worried the long drive would exhaust me, simply went out and rented a luxury Airstream RV, complete with a professional driver and a private guide. We watched the sunrise over the rim of the Grand Canyon. We walked beneath the neon lights of Times Square. We listened to live jazz in the sultry heat of New Orleans, and we watched the snow fall over the pines in Aspen. We drove down the Pacific Coast Highway, the ocean breeze whipping through our hair, and we drank cocktails in the Florida Keys. I took thousands of photos and videos. My phone storage filled up entirely. Since I had already taken them, and deleting them felt like a waste, I started uploading them to TikTok and Instagram. I didn’t track the metrics; I just kept posting. By the time I actually checked my notifications, I had over a million followers. A video of my father playing a breathtaking, original classical piece on a public piano in a train station hit ten million views. He tried to play it cool, but the quiet pride in his eyes was unmistakable—the classic elegance of a true artist. My mother, who could never stay still for long, learned the choreography to trending pop songs and danced alongside the younger crowds. Those videos went viral too. My follower count skyrocketed steadily. Without even trying, I had become a massive influencer. Kevin had called me 99+ times. I didn’t answer a single one. When the notifications got too annoying, I simply changed my phone number. I was done playing the modest housewife. I had money, and I was going to enjoy it. But since I had apparently “abandoned my husband and child,” I was going to spend every dime on myself. Back in the day, I had signed Connor up for coding camps, private art lessons, and piano tutors. I wanted him to have hobbies, to find his passion so he wouldn’t resent me later for not giving him opportunities. I never actually cared if he mastered any of it; I just wanted him to explore. But he would want to learn to skateboard one day, and the guitar the next. He had zero attention span. When I tried to create a structured schedule so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed, he accused me of suffocating him, of mapping out the next ten years of his life. He would beg for a class and then refuse to go. The tuition for those private academies was astronomical. Before I left, I canceled every single enrollment. The refunds hit my bank account beautifully. If he couldn’t appreciate fine dining, he could go eat garbage. I wasn’t going to let him abuse my wallet anymore. I was completely fine with that.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394886”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel