I let my sister Rachel choose a wedding dress from my bridal boutique. As she left, a new intern stopped her, demanding $30,000 for the gown. Rachel explained, “I’m the owner’s sister. I don’t pay.” The intern rolled her eyes. “Nice try. Our boss has no sister. You’re just a freeloader.” She blocked Rachel’s path, threatening, “Pay now, or I’ll rip the dress off you and throw you out naked!” Rachel called me, stunned. I rushed over and heard Maria, my longtime manager, supporting the intern as she threatened Rachel. “Wise up,” Maria said coldly. “This is our boss’s wife. Cross her and regret it forever.” The intern pinned Rachel down, smugly accusing her of scamming. I froze, chilled. Immediately, I canceled my husband’s credit card and called him. “Have I been too good to you, Mark?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous. “Or did I give you too much money to chase other women?” 1 When my sister’s call came in, I was just about to drive over to the boutique. “What did you say?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “The new intern, Jessica, is claiming she’s the boss’s wife?” I let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking my head. “Didn’t you tell her you’re my sister?” The next thing I heard was the sharp, ugly crack of a slap, followed by Rachel’s cry of pain. My blood ran cold. I screamed Rachel’s name into the phone, but my voice was drowned out by Jessica’s shrill shouting. “This boutique belongs to my husband!” she shrieked. “You think I wouldn’t know if my own husband had a sister?” Maria’s voice, cold and mocking, followed right after. “Listen, sweetie, I’ll be straight with you. You’ve really messed with the wrong people today.” “This boutique belongs to Mr. Collins,” she continued, the lie rolling smoothly off her tongue. “And the woman you’re looking at is Mrs. Collins! The real owner’s wife! If you wanted to walk out without paying, you should’ve come up with a better excuse!” Their arrogant words echoed in my ears, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach. Just a week ago, on our wedding anniversary, my husband, Mark—who never showed the slightest interest in my boutique—had come to me with a request. “Honey, there’s a girl from my old neighborhood whose family I’m close with. She just graduated and can’t find a job,” he’d said, his voice earnest. “Her mom called me, and you know, for old times’ sake, I told her I’d help. Could you… could you let her work at your boutique?” He must have seen the hesitation in my eyes, because he quickly held up four fingers in a solemn vow. “I promise you, Evelyn, she’s a real go-getter, sharp as a tack. You’ll love her!” “Fine,” I’d said, giving in. I then forwarded Jessica’s resume to Maria, my most trusted employee. Now, the line to Rachel went dead, the last sound I heard being a furious curse from Jessica. My mind racing, I urged the driver to speed up, simultaneously pulling up the live security feed from the store on my phone. The image sharpened, and my breath caught in my throat. Jessica had Rachel pinned to the floor, her face contorted in rage as she slapped my sister again and again. “You wear a dress from our store and refuse to pay? That makes you a thief! A common freeloader!” Jessica screamed. “For a piece of trash like you, even beating you to death wouldn’t be enough!” Rachel struggled, but she was no match for Jessica’s brute force. What sent a wave of pure fury through me, though, was the sight of Maria—my manager of three years—acting as Jessica’s willing accomplice. She was crouched beside them, flipping through a ledger with a grim look of satisfaction. “Mrs. Collins, I’ve done a quick tally of the last three months,” Maria announced. “This little bitch has taken over a dozen dresses from the store. The total value is well into the hundreds of thousands.” Maria’s words were like gasoline on a fire. Jessica’s rage intensified. She grabbed Rachel by the throat, her voice a venomous hiss. “You say you’re my husband’s sister? Sister?” she spat. “What’s your real relationship? Before I showed up, just how many dresses did you steal from my store?” The scene made me tremble with a rage so potent it was hard to breathe. Seeing Rachel’s face, already swollen and red, sent a spike of pain through my heart. I dialed Mark’s number. I needed to ask him just how the sweet, capable girl from his neighborhood had turned into a violent maniac who dared to call herself the owner of my boutique. He picked up almost immediately, his voice light and cheerful. “Evelyn! Shouldn’t you be sketching designs right now? What’s up? Miss me already?” I took a deep, shaky breath. “Mark, I’m going to ask you one question. What, exactly, is your relationship with Jessica?” “Why is she telling everyone that she’s Mrs. Collins… your wife?” The other end of the line went completely silent. All I could hear was the faint hum of static and the sound of his heavy breathing. His silence was an answer in itself, and it fueled my anger. “Mark, answer me!” I snapped. “Have I been too good to you? Given you so much freedom and money that you thought you could get away with keeping another woman on the side?” He chuckled, a low, condescending sound. “Evelyn, we’ve been married for years. Don’t you have even a little bit of trust in me? Look, I don’t have time for your games. I have a meeting to get to.” The line went dead. When I tried to call back, it went straight to his voicemail. 2 In that moment, fury burned away every last shred of reason. Without hesitation, I called my executive assistant. “Revoke Mark Collins’s position as COO, effective immediately. Have security escort him out of the building. And freeze his corporate card.” Designing gowns was my passion, but I couldn’t run my fashion empire and my boutique at the same time. Mark had stepped in, promising to manage the corporate side so I could focus on my creative work. To thank him, I’d gone against the advice of my board and promoted him to Chief Operating Officer. I’d even given him a supplementary card to my personal account with no spending limit. A flicker of doubt crossed my mind. Was I being too impulsive? The memories of our good years washed over me, a painful contrast to the present. “We’re here, Ms. Hayes.” The driver’s voice jolted me back to reality. I stormed out of the car and shoved the boutique door open. Everyone inside froze. Jessica glared at me, her expression a mask of irritation. “Who do you think you are, barging in like that? Don’t you know how to knock?” I ignored her, walking straight to my sister on the floor. Rachel grabbed my hand, her grip desperate as fresh tears streamed down her bruised cheeks. “Evelyn, you’re finally here,” she sobbed. “What is going on? Who is this woman?” Her voice was weak, but Jessica heard every word. Her eyes, now fixed on me, narrowed with malice. “So you’re the sister this little tramp was talking about? Evelyn Hayes?” Maria looked at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “Ms. Hayes, I didn’t realize she was your sister.” Her surprise quickly curdled into contempt. “I know you’re the lead designer here, but that doesn’t give your family a free pass to freeload.” I let out a cold, humorless laugh. As I helped Rachel to her feet, I pointed to the red marks on her face. “Did you do this?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. Maria swallowed hard, a brief flash of guilt in her eyes before she hardened her expression. “She’s lucky we didn’t call the cops! Do you have any idea how many expensive dresses she’s stolen from this store, using your name? And on top of that, she had the audacity to claim she was Mr. Collins’s sister right in front of the real Mrs. Collins!” She punctuated her speech by spitting on the floor beside my sister. “Absolutely shameless! Doesn’t she know her place? Trying to impersonate family in front of the real deal!” Jessica, puffed up by Maria’s defense, crossed her arms, her posture dripping with arrogance. She scanned me from head to toe with a dismissive sneer, her eyes finally landing on my designer handbag. “That bag,” she demanded. “Where did you get it?” I glanced down at the bag in my hand. “And why would I need to explain that to you?” I shot back. “Furthermore, who told either of you this boutique belongs to Mark Collins?” This boutique was my baby. I’d poured my heart, soul, and the very first big check I ever earned into creating it. Suddenly, a thought struck me. “Is it because his name is on the business registration as a co-owner? Is that why you think he owns the place?” The idea was so absurd I almost laughed. “If that’s the case, let me clear things up for you. This boutique is—” “I asked you a question! Where did you get the bag?” Jessica shrieked, her face turning a blotchy red with rage. “Answer me, Evelyn!” Faced with her unhinged questioning, I drew myself up to my full height. “My husband bought it for me.” “You’re a liar!” In the next second, Jessica lunged, grabbing a fistful of my hair. “You stole it! That bag was supposed to be mine!” “You’re a thief!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “No wonder your sister is one too! It runs in the family! I’m going to teach you both a lesson you’ll never forget!” 3 My priority was protecting Rachel, who was still weak and shaken, so I didn’t fight back as hard as I could have. My face stung as Jessica’s nails raked across my skin. Seeing me get attacked, Rachel forgot her own pain and threw herself at Jessica, pulling her off me. That gave me the opening I needed. I seized the opportunity and landed several hard slaps across Jessica’s face. One against two, Jessica was quickly overwhelmed. “Maria, are you blind?” she screeched, flailing. “Don’t just stand there! Help me!” Maria, suddenly caught in the crossfire, hesitated. Her eyes met mine, and the predatory glare I gave her seemed to root her to the spot. “Maria, have you completely lost your mind?” I said, my voice low and cutting. “Think for a second. Who gave you Jessica’s resume? In all the years you’ve worked here, have you ever seen another manager besides me?” My words hit their mark. A visible wave of panic washed over Maria’s face. Even Jessica paused her assault, breathing heavily. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she panted. “This store belongs to my husband, Mark Collins. I wouldn’t have stepped foot in this place otherwise!” A dawning horror crept into Maria’s expression as she processed what I’d said. She took a shaky step back. “But… Mrs. Collins,” she stammered, her voice trembling, “your file… it was Evelyn who gave it to me.” When I first opened the boutique, the high salary and benefits attracted a flood of applicants, including the daughters of several business partners. I turned them all down. They were unqualified and hadn’t bothered to submit a proper resume. So when Mark sent me Jessica’s file, I hired her on the spot, assuming she was properly vetted. The atmosphere in the room grew thick with tension. Maria looked utterly lost, her eyes wide with a fear she could no longer hide. Jessica stared at me, her chest heaving. “What did you say?” she whispered, then a cold, cruel realization dawned on her. “I get it now.” With a sudden burst of strength, she shoved me backward into a rack of gowns. “Tell me!” she snarled, her face inches from mine. “You’ve been sleeping with my husband behind my back, haven’t you? You pathetic homewrecker! You’re the other woman!” The absurd accusation seemed to clear the fog in Maria’s head. “So that’s what this is about!” she exclaimed, her loyalty snapping back to Jessica. Jessica snatched my handbag and threw it violently to the floor. Not satisfied, she began stomping on it with her high heel, grinding the expensive leather into the polished wood. “This bag!” she seethed. “Mark promised this bag to me for my birthday! How did it end up with you? You must have seduced him! Coaxed him into giving you what’s rightfully mine!” “A homewrecker and a thief! You two really are a perfect pair of sisters!” With Maria now joining the fray, and me trying to shield Rachel, I was at a clear disadvantage. Jessica seemed to know it, yanking my hair with vicious glee. I could feel the tearing sting at my scalp. Just then, the door flew open. “Everybody freeze!” a stern voice commanded. “Police! Who is Evelyn Hayes?” 4 A wave of relief washed over me at the sound of the officer’s voice. Maria and Jessica immediately stopped, their hands dropping to their sides. “I am!” I called out, stepping forward. “I’m Evelyn Hayes. I’m the one who called.” I’d dialed 911 right after Mark had hung up on me. Thank God they’d arrived when they did. With the unhinged state Jessica was in, I dreaded to think what might have happened to me and Rachel. But before I could say another word, Jessica burst into tears and launched into a performance for the police. She pointed a shaking finger at Rachel. “Officer, this woman was trying to steal a dress from my store! I caught her red-handed! Is it a crime to stop a thief?” Maria immediately jumped in, nodding vigorously. “It’s true! If we hadn’t caught her, the store would be out thirty thousand dollars!” Rachel gripped my arm, her jaw set stubbornly. “This is my sister’s store! I wasn’t stealing anything!” “Liar! It’s my husband’s store!” Jessica shrieked back. Cutting through the chaos, I stepped toward the lead officer, pulling out the official ownership documents for the boutique from my briefcase. I then recounted the events of the past hour calmly and factually. To my utter disbelief, when I mentioned Mark’s name, Jessica collapsed into a fit of dramatic, gut-wrenching sobs. “Officer, I know I shouldn’t have hit her!” she wailed. “But I was hitting the other woman! The woman who’s trying to destroy my family! She seduced my husband! Doesn’t a woman have the right to defend her marriage?” The officer looked utterly bewildered. Finally, he sighed and decided to take all of us down to the station. In the precinct’s mediation room, Jessica continued her act, crying about how she was the real victim. “All I did was slap a homewrecker a few times!” she sobbed to the officer. “A woman like her, with her morals? Back in the day, she would have been shamed publicly! You have to understand!” I had reached the end of my patience. I opened my purse, took out my marriage certificate, and slid it across the table to the officer. In that moment, I was grateful for my odd habit of keeping the certificate in my car’s glove compartment ever since we got married. I’d slipped it into my bag before leaving the car, and now, it was my trump card. “Mark Collins and I are legally married,” I stated, my voice firm. “Officer, I have nothing more to add. As for her assault, I will not be settling this amicably. You can proceed with charges as you see fit.” But then, in a move I never saw coming, Jessica pulled out her phone and confidently swiped to her photo gallery. “Officer, that certificate is a fake!” she declared. “I have the real one right here! See for yourself!” I leaned forward, my heart beginning to hammer against my ribs. On her screen was a crisp, clear photo of a marriage certificate. With her name, and Mark’s. What the hell was going on? Did Mark have an identical twin I never knew about? The thought was absurd. No one would give twin brothers the exact same name. Rachel squeezed my arm, her whisper urgent. “Evelyn, what’s happening? Did Mark marry both of you?” The officer, clearly stumped by this unprecedented situation, placed my certificate and Jessica’s phone side by side on the table. “Alright,” he said with a heavy sigh. “This is something that needs to be cleared up face-to-face. You need to get Mark Collins in here.” Since I had presented the physical document first, the officer gestured for me to make the call. The irony was bitter. Mark’s phone rang and rang, unanswered. When it finally connected, it was his assistant. “Mr. Collins is in a meeting. Please do not call this line again.” He hung up. The sound of the dial tone was punctuated by Jessica’s smug, triumphant laughter. Beside her, Maria shot me a look of pure contempt and flashed a middle finger. “So, you’re the fake one after all,” she sneered. “And to think you were acting so high and mighty.” I tilted my chin toward Jessica. “Your turn.” Jessica raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and dialed. The call connected in less than ten seconds. “Honey,” she whimpered into the phone, her voice thick with fake tears. “I’ve been attacked! I’m at the police station!” A knot of anxiety tightened in my gut. Finally, a familiar voice came through the speaker. “Don’t worry. I’m on my way.” That voice—his voice—extinguished the last flickering ember of hope in my heart. Rachel shook my arm, her eyes wide with confusion. “Evelyn, what is happening?” I could only shake my head, my mind a blank slate of shock and betrayal. Under Jessica’s gloating, victorious gaze, the long, agonizing wait began. Half an hour later, a familiar figure rushed into the room. Mark went straight to Jessica, pulling her into a protective embrace. “Jessica, are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “Who did this to you? I’ll make them pay!” “That would be me,” I said, my voice flat and cold. I watched his entire body go rigid. He turned around slowly, his face draining of all color when he saw me. “Ev… Evelyn?” he stammered. “What are you doing here?”

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A month after the divorce, I posted a picture to my Instagram: a stunning diamond ring nestled between two fresh marriage certificates. The caption was simple: It’s official. Two minutes later, my ex-husband’s call came through. “Tiffany, take down that post. Now.” “I know you’re just trying to make me jealous with fake marriage certificates, but what will people think if they see it?” “We’ll go remarry tomorrow. I’ve already calmed Anna down; she’s forgiven you.” I was about to tell him the certificates were very much real when a deep, masculine voice drifted from the bathroom. “Tiffany, I forgot a towel.” On the other end of the line, I could hear the distinct sound of teeth grinding. My ex-husband’s lazy tone sharpened into a blade. “Who is that? Who’s in the room with you, Tiffany?” 1 I hung up and got a towel for Jim. After he was dressed, he gave me a warm hug before heading out for a work emergency. Half an hour later, the front door was kicked open. Miles rushed in, his eyes wild. He grabbed my hands, spinning me around to check for injuries. Seeing I was unharmed, he let out a shuddering breath and pulled me into a crushing embrace. “Tiffany, baby, are you mad at me? I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again. Please, don’t use some other guy to make me jealous.” His eyes were red-rimmed, and he nuzzled his chin against my shoulder. “Baby, you know I love you more than anything. Even if it’s a joke, it drives me crazy.” “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He claimed he loved me most, but the moment his assistant, Anna, threw a tantrum, he’d filed for a “temporary” divorce without a second thought and jetted off to take wedding photos with her. He missed me so much that he took Anna to see orcas in New Zealand, then immediately flew her to Norway for the Northern Lights. Her Instagram had been a non-stop highlight reel of their romantic getaway for the past month. Hearing his heartfelt speech now, I let out a short, bitter laugh. “It wasn’t a joke.” His smile froze. My own expression was serene. “We’re divorced, Miles. I have no reason to make you jealous.” He forced a laugh, his posture relaxing instantly. “Still holding a grudge, huh? C’mon, baby, don’t be like that. She’s just my colleague. It’s not like I did anything to betray you.” “Look, to make it up to you for the whole divorce thing, I’ll propose to you all over again. We’ll be fine. Forgive me, just one more time.” He pulled a small, elegant box from his pocket. “It’s a custom-designed necklace. I had it made for you on my last business trip.” My gaze fell to his left hand. On his ring finger was the faint, pale band of skin left by a wedding ring. When we got married, he’d refused to wear a ring, claiming it was unprofessional. That tan line, combined with this sudden, extravagant gift, told me everything I needed to know about who he’d been wearing a ring for. Just then, our daughter burst through the door and threw her arms around me. She opened her small hand to reveal a delicate, lifelike butterfly hairpin. “Don’t be mad anymore, okay? The little butterfly is saying sorry.” I took the pin and clipped it into my hair. The cold refusal on my lips died away. You can’t stay angry at your own child. BOOM! The sound of fireworks crackled outside. Miles took my hand and led me to the doorway. A heart formed by 999 drones was drifting slowly through the night sky. As it reached our house, the drones shifted, spelling out my name. TIFFANY, HAPPY 10TH ANNIVERSARY. My daughter looked up at me with hopeful eyes. Miles’s smile was as warm and tender as the day he’d first confessed his love to me, surrounded by 999 candles. Passersby stopped, oohing and aahing, some even applauding. “Wow, that’s so romantic!” “Kiss her! Kiss her!” they chanted. I met Miles’s eyes, saying nothing. He bit his lower lip and leaned in, about to kiss my cheek. At that exact moment, a pair of bright headlights washed over my face, followed by Anna’s broken sobs. 2 Anna teetered towards us on impossibly high heels, her eyes swimming with tears as she stared at Miles. “We just had our wedding photos taken, and you’re already cheating on me? Miles, you told me you’d only love me for the rest of your life! You’re a liar! I’m just going to go kill myself then!” She made a dramatic run for a nearby tree, only to collide with Miles’s chest instead. She pounded his chest with her small fists. “You’re a monster, Miles! If you’re going to break my heart, you might as well just let me die.” Our daughter, Lily, ran to her side, gently wiping away her tears. “Mommy, don’t cry. Daddy and I love you the most.” Instantly, the curious gazes of the onlookers turned sharp, pointing at me. “So, she’s the other woman?” “Obviously. They have a child together. I can’t believe she has the nerve to seduce a married man.” I opened my mouth to explain, but Miles cut me off with a frown. “You should go, Tiffany. I can’t do this to Anna.” Lily reached up and yanked the hairpin from my head, taking a clump of my hair with it. She snatched the necklace box from my hand. “Did you really think this was for you? It was a gift from Daddy and me to Mommy.” In just one month, my daughter had started calling Anna “Mommy.” A smirk played on Miles’s lips. He dropped to one knee before Anna. “I kept feeling like I still owed you something. I think… this was it.” Lily clipped the butterfly pin into Anna’s hair. “Mommy loves butterflies. I picked this out just for you.” On a bystander’s livestream, the hashtag #RealLove was trending. Her husband and child adore her! She’s the real winner here! Oh my god, is that a two-carat diamond? It looks like the ‘Heart of the Ocean’ masterpiece that took three years to design. It’s worth over a hundred million, the only one in the world! Amid the chorus of praise, Anna shot me a look of pure contempt before melting into Miles’s arms. He held her with one arm and took Lily’s hand with the other, turning their backs on me. I simply pulled out my phone, screenshotted every single one of Anna’s gloating posts, and then blocked and deleted them both. I had no time for this pathetic homewrecker soap opera. 3 A little while later, a video call from Jim came through. “Tiffany, I’ve handled things at the office and I’m on my way back. Want me to pick up a late-night snack?” I thought for a moment. “No, thanks. I don’t really have an appetite.” Jim’s expression immediately grew tense. “What’s wrong? Did that guy from this afternoon bother you? He… he didn’t do anything to you, did he?” He tried to look casual, turning his head to the side, but the way he bit his lip betrayed his concern. I shook my head, a small smile touching my lips. “What are you thinking? It’s just the heat.” When Jim got home, he saw the empty living room and rushed into the bedroom, only relaxing when he saw me packing a suitcase. “I thought you weren’t leaving for another month. Why are you packing now?” I smiled and gave him a hug. “I changed the flight to three days from now. If we leave early, we can do some sightseeing.” I had agonized over buying that ticket for weeks, but the decision to finally leave took only a second. I had always stayed for Lily’s sake. Now, I realized there was nothing left here for me to hold onto. But before I left, there was one last important thing to do. The next morning, I arrived at the auction house. My parents had gone missing during a round-the-world trip years ago. An island up for bid today held the only clue I’d found to their whereabouts. I hadn’t even reached my seat when a stiletto heel shot out, tripping me. I stumbled and fell. Anna laughed. “Oh, Tiffany, I know your daughter calls me ‘Mommy’ now, but you don’t have to bow to me.” “You’re so much older than me. I’d hate for you to shorten my lifespan with such respect.” She didn’t move, however, instead motioning for her friends to help me up. “You’re so good at playing the victim. If I were a man, I’d probably fall for it too. Too bad for you, Miles is completely devoted to me.” I slapped their hands away. “You seem to be enjoying the role of the other woman. Is that why you’re so happy?” Her smile vanished. “You’ve got a sharp tongue. Let’s see if you’re still smiling in a few minutes.” I assumed she was talking about Miles and brushed it off. I couldn’t care less about a man who had already cheated. But to my horror, when the bidding for the island began, one of Miles’s employees walked to the podium and began presenting my proposal. They had stolen my work. I stared at Miles in disbelief. He couldn’t meet my eyes. I had poured my heart and soul into that proposal, working sleepless nights for a month, all for the chance to get access to that island and investigate my parents’ last known location. I never thought he would do this to me, all for Anna. Anna tilted her head, pointing to the presentation on the screen. “Isn’t it a great pitch, Tiffany? That island is mine.” To find the truth, I had no choice. I gritted my teeth and called my assistant. “Add ten percent to the budget. I don’t care what it takes. Get me that island.” Miles opened his mouth as if to explain, but Anna tugged on his arm. “Miles, you promised you’d give me this island. You can’t let Tiffany use your money to steal it from me.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. So, after all the years we’d spent building our company from nothing, in everyone’s eyes, I was just a gold digger living off his wealth. I was about to tell him I would fight him for it when he suddenly stopped Anna. “Why fight over a deserted island? I have a much better gift for you, Anna.”

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The richest man in the country wanted me. Not for himself, but for his son. He wanted me to be his wife. My job? To whip his spoiled, playboy, trust-fund-baby of a son into shape. He asked if I was up to the challenge. Are you kidding me? From this day forward, if that brat so much as looks at another girl, I’m breaking his legs. 1 I was at a dive bar with my best friend, demolishing a plate of BBQ wings. She was scrolling through her phone, making little “tsk-tsk” sounds. “Look at this,” she said, shoving the screen in my face. “The nation’s golden boy has a new girlfriend. Again.” I glanced at the screen. It was an article about David Brown, son of the wealthiest man in the country. The accompanying photo showed a guy more handsome than any movie star, with an air of effortless privilege that screamed “old money.” Too bad the guy was a complete train wreck. He went through a dozen girlfriends a month. With his looks and money, women lined up. He never said no, and when he inevitably broke up with them, he’d pay them off with a hefty “severance package.” “So what?” I said, downing another beer. The room was starting to spin. My friend nudged me, raising an eyebrow. “What would you do if he were your husband?” “What would I do?” That question sobered me up real quick. “If I were married to that moron?” I slammed my glass on the table. “If he even thought about another woman, I’d break both his legs!” “And don’t get me started on his ‘investments’!” I continued, getting louder. “He buys a stock, it tanks. He touches a company, it goes bankrupt. If he were my husband, I’d lock him in a closet. He wants to go out and burn through my money? I’d kill him!” “And look at those dark circles under his eyes! How many kidneys does he think he has to burn through at this rate?” Halfway through my rant, my friend’s eyes went wide with terror. She stared at something behind me, blinking frantically. I let out a boozy burp. “You got a twitch?” “And his dad! His dad’s an idiot too! He’s got one son, and he’s letting him run wild like this? What a mess!” “If I were his mom, I’d give him a good smack upside the head, then hurry up and have another kid. Start over with a new character!” I was getting worked up, losing control of my volume. Suddenly, a hand tapped my shoulder. “I think you have some excellent points,” a calm voice said. “Would you be willing to manage him for me?” Who? I squinted and turned around. Crash. The beer bottle slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. Standing behind me was a middle-aged man in a crisp white shirt. His gaze was sharp, his posture impeccable, and he looked incredibly familiar. Harrison… Harrison Brown? The richest man in the country? Can someone please tell me why the richest man in the country is eating at a dive bar on a Tuesday night? My friend covered her face and made a swift exit. “Don’t be alarmed,” Harrison Brown said, his expression serious. “I meant what I said. I think you’re right. Would you be willing to be his…” My eyes lit up. “His mom?” Harrison’s face darkened. “His wife.” 2 Harrison Brown brought me to the legendary Crestwood estate. I’d never seen a mansion this big in my life. The marble floors probably cost more per square foot than my entire apartment. I sat on a plush sofa while Harrison sat across from me. A few minutes later, the front door opened. A man in a black Gucci t-shirt walked in, holding a leash. David Brown. Harrison’s son. He froze when he saw us. “Dad? What are you doing here?” “What is this?” Harrison asked, his face grim as he pointed at the leash. “It’s my dog. You’ve seen him before… wait, holy crap, where’s my dog?” David panicked, yanking on the empty leash and looking around wildly. I just stared. A moment later, a husky trotted in nonchalantly. David dropped the leash and pointed a shaky finger at me, his face turning sour. “Are you really bringing your new girlfriend here? In front of me?” Harrison’s expression grew even darker. “My wife is still very much alive.” “Ahem.” I cleared my throat, feeling like I should probably say something. I chose my words carefully. “David, is it? Come here, kneel down. Mom has something to tell you.” David’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “What is the meaning of this?!” he snarled, turning to his father. Harrison was unfazed. “Get acquainted. This is the wife I’ve found for you. From now on, you will listen to her.” David was speechless. “Her?!” He looked me up and down with disgust. “She looks like she crawled out of a sewer. And you want me to listen to her? You must be dreaming.” Harrison ignored him and handed me a bank card. “This is for you. From now on, all of his allowances will be deposited into this account.” “What do you mean?” David sputtered. Harrison narrowed his eyes at his son. “From now on, all of your money is in your wife’s hands. That includes your cars and properties. They’ve already been transferred to her name. Understood?” “On what grounds?!” David roared. “Even my money is managed by your mother. You think you get a choice?” Harrison’s voice was like ice. “Now, shut up before I decide to slap some sense into you.” I held the heavy, black card in my hands, a giddy smile on my face. So this is what wealth feels like. “From now on, this waste of space is your responsibility,” Harrison said to me. “Keep him in line. The money is yours to spend as you see fit.” With that, he turned and left, ignoring David’s furious protests. Just before the door closed, he gave me a final nod. “Don’t hold back. Hit him if you need to. You were right.” “If you accidentally kill him, I’ll just start over with a new one. I’ve still got time.” Slam! The door shut. Me: … David: … There’s some fatherly love here, but not much. 3 What does it feel like to become a millionaire overnight? I was clutching the black card, too excited to sleep, so I texted my best friend. Me: I’m rich. Her reply was instantaneous. BFF: Blink twice if you’ve been kidnapped. Me: … Even if I had been kidnapped, you wouldn’t be able to see me blink. After I explained the whole story, she sent back a single number: 6. BFF: I almost feel sorry for David Brown. You, in charge of him? Tsk tsk. He’s about to experience all the childhood discipline he ever missed. I scoffed. I can be gentle. “Hey, you!” An annoyed voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned around. Whoa. David stood there, a towel wrapped low around his hips, his eight-pack abs glistening. He offered a sly smile. “Well, what do you think, gorgeous?” “Nice,” I said honestly, then added, “My name is Hannah.” He really was ridiculously handsome. “Hannah…” David moved closer, the scent of citrusy body wash filling the air. He leaned in, his face just inches from mine. Oh no. I think I’m about to get a nosebleed. “So… can I have my money back?” His words were a splash of ice water. I hugged the card to my chest and spat out a single word. “No.” He was handsome, sure. But he wasn’t “a limitless black card” handsome. Trying to seduce me? He picked the wrong woman. I’ve spent ten years gutting fish at the city market. My heart is colder than a walk-in freezer. Unless you’re offering cash. David’s face instantly darkened. “Don’t push your luck. That’s my money!” “No.” Still the same word. “Fuck!” he cursed, his face flushing with anger. “If you were a man, I’d punch you!” I tilted my chin up proudly. “If I were a man, I couldn’t be your wife, could I?” “Get out.” Now it was his turn to say it. 4 The next morning, I woke up with massive dark circles under my eyes. I’d been too excited to sleep. There was a knock on the door. I yawned and opened it to find a man in a black suit. “Ms. Reed? I am Mr. Brown’s assistant, Mr. Davies.” “These are Master David’s car and house keys. Mr. Brown asked me to deliver them to you.” Before I could process what was happening, Mr. Davies handed me a heavy, custom-made tote bag from a private bank. It was filled to the brim with keys of every shape and size. I nearly dropped it. His task completed, Mr. Davies gave a curt nod and left. Carrying the heavy bag, I took the elevator down to the underground garage. I hit the light switch by the door. One by one, rows of lights flickered on, illuminating the space. The bag of keys slipped from my fingers and hit the concrete with a loud jangle. Before me was a garage the size of an amusement park, filled with an endless sea of luxury cars. There were no Mercedes or BMWs here. The lowest tier was a Porsche 911. Further in, I saw Ferraris, Rolls-Royces, McLarens, Maseratis… you name it, he had it. I fell to my knees. So this was the fortune of a billionaire’s son. My apologies for my earlier disrespect, Master David. … After hauling the keys upstairs and locking them securely in my room, I made myself some breakfast. A little while later, David stumbled down, rubbing his eyes. The moment he saw me, his face soured. “Why the hell are you still here?” I just smiled and dangled the key to the Crestwood estate. “Sorry, this is my house now.” “Fuck!” He cursed, grabbing his jacket from the sofa. “Fine! You stay here, I’m leaving!” “Where are you going?” I stepped in front of him. “I’m your wife, remember? You have to tell me where you’re going.” “I’m going to the Dynasty Club, and you’re not following me!” he snapped, pushing past me. He stormed out the door, then stopped, patting his pockets. An enraged roar echoed back into the house. “Where the FUCK are my keys?!” Right here with me. I chuckled. David shot me a look that could kill before stomping off. I went back to my room, grabbed a random key, and headed down to the garage. I picked a sleek McLaren and sped off towards the Dynasty Club. Alright, pretty boy. Let’s see if I can’t knock you back into line today. 5 Before heading to the club, I made a detour to the city’s most exclusive shopping district. I bought myself a new outfit from head to toe. Looking in the mirror, I had to admit, I cleaned up pretty well. Dressed like this, I could almost pass for the heiress of some great fortune. Hey, all of David’s assets were mine to command now, right? By the time I arrived at the Dynasty Club, over an hour had passed. I figured David was probably well into his party by now. Time for my grand entrance. “Good evening, miss. Who are you here to see?” a hostess asked, rushing to greet me. I gave her a warm smile. “I’m looking for David Brown. Could you take me to him?” “Of course. Right this way.” She led me to the top floor, to a private suite at the end of the hall: 1603. As I approached the door, I could already hear David’s voice. “I swear, my dad has lost his mind. He found some trashy hick off the street and wants me to marry her. It’s driving me crazy.” “And he gave her all my money! All of it! Is he senile? He’s barely even met her!” So much filial piety. Another voice, a woman’s, cooed, “Oh, David, don’t be angry.” “Your father was probably just tricked by that woman. Don’t worry, we’re all on your side.” David sighed. “You’re the only one who understands me, Tiffany.” Understand this. I’d had enough. I kicked the door open and stormed in. The chatter in the room died instantly. David was sitting on the sofa directly across from the door, a delicate-looking girl practically draped over him. Four or five of his cronies were scattered around the room. “What are you doing here?” David asked, a flicker of shock in his eyes before it was replaced with his usual disdain. “David, who is this?” the girl, Tiffany, asked, tightening her grip on his arm. “She looks so… aggressive.” I smiled. What a perfectly brewed pot of green tea. “I’m his mother,” I said. And before anyone could react, I walked over, grabbed the fruit platter from the table, and slammed it upside down on David’s head. He was stunned, staring at me with a mixture of fruit salad and fury. “What the hell—” He didn’t get to finish. I stepped onto the coffee table, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and yanked him off the sofa. Then, I executed a perfect over-the-shoulder throw. THUD! David hit the floor, hard. I started training in taekwondo, kickboxing, and Muay Thai when I was ten. I was the national champion for fourteen years straight. Taking down a pampered pretty boy who spent his days chasing skirts? Child’s play. Everyone in the room was frozen in shock. 6 The little green tea, Tiffany, was especially terrified. She swallowed hard, trembling. “Ah… fuck!” David groaned, trying to push himself up. I promptly sat down on his back, pinning him to the floor. He was stuck, propped up on his elbows, unable to move. I calmly lit a cigarette and smiled sweetly at the room. “Hello, everyone. I’m David’s wife, Hannah.” “My apologies for the poor upbringing. Please forgive the embarrassing display.” His friends stammered, exchanging nervous glances, their earlier bravado completely gone. “Uh… Mrs. Brown… you’re… quite something.” “Yeah, definitely…” I nodded, taking a drag from my cigarette, and turned my gaze to the trembling Tiffany. She flinched under my stare. “Sweetheart,” I began, my voice dangerously soft. “I’m his wife. I assume you know that?” “I… I know…” she squeaked, shrinking back. “You know, and you’re still draped all over him like a cheap scarf?! Do you think I’m a vegetarian?!” My sudden roar made her burst into tears. I shook my head. Tsk. This generation of home-wreckers is so fragile. “I’ll let it slide this time,” I said, stubbing out my cigarette. I stood up, and David collapsed face-first onto the carpet. “But if I ever see you near him again, I’ll break your legs.” Tiffany nodded frantically, sobbing. “Get up. We’re leaving.” I hauled David to his feet and offered a final, apologetic smile to his friends. “Sorry to cut the night short. We’ll have to do this again sometime.” David croaked, “Help me!” His friends all stood ramrod straight, their faces grim. “Goodbye, Mrs. Brown!” “Come back anytime, Mrs. Brown!” No one paid any attention to David’s plea for help. Who would dare? I’d take them all on. “You’re all useless!” David roared in frustration. I backhanded him across the face. “Shut up.” 7 I drove David straight back to the mansion. In the living room, I leaned back on the sofa. David was squatting in the corner. “Did you have fun today?” I asked with a smile. “No… no, not at all!” David grimaced. I sighed and patted his shoulder. He flinched. “Look, David, we’re technically a married couple now… or at least in a relationship, right?” “There are some things I’d really rather not get physical about.” “You can probably tell that I’m a very gentle person. It takes a lot to make me angry enough to hit someone, don’t you agree?” David looked at me with a pained, conflicted expression and nodded. I smiled, satisfied. “See? You have me now, but you still went out looking for other girls. Don’t you think you deserved that?” Even though our relationship was a transaction, I still had a job to do. And I don’t tolerate cheating. As long as we were together, if he dared to look at another woman, I’d break his legs. It was the only way men like him learned. David opened his mouth to protest, but I narrowed my eyes, and he immediately started nodding vigorously. “Good. So you agree you deserved it. What happens next time, if you go looking for other girls again?” I was getting into his head. David looked confused for a moment. “…You’ll hit me again?” “Exactly.” I patted his head consolingly. Hey, his hair was surprisingly soft, like petting a dog. “So learn your lesson, okay? Don’t do it again.” “Any time you’re with another girl, it’s going to hurt my feelings, understand?” David nodded. I grinned. This brat. Not only was he physically weak, but his brain wasn’t much better. No wonder he lost money on every business venture. “Excellent. Now, sign this.” I pulled a document out of my purse and handed it to him. He stared at it, bewildered. “What’s this?” “The rules of engagement.” I crossed my legs. “From now on, if you break a single rule on this list, you lose all your allowance for the month, plus you get a beating.” David shot to his feet, his earlier submissiveness gone. He glared at me. “Hannah! This is exploitation! Are you some kind of slave driver?!” “I swear, today I’m breaking my rule about not hitting women! I’ll show you what a real fight looks like!” “Heh.” I scoffed. “You and what army, pretty boy?” “Fuck!” David’s face turned red. He rolled up his sleeves and lunged at me. 8 I sent him flying with a single kick. He landed several feet away. “Fuck!” David clutched his stomach, sprawled on the floor. “You… you really hit me?!” “What did you expect?” I retorted. “You were coming right at me. I’m a delicate flower, you know. I get scared easily.” “You call that delicate?!” David scrambled up and lifted his shirt. A nasty purple bruise was already forming on his perfect abs. Oops. That was from my foot. Well, it was self-defense. “Ahem.” I cleared my throat. “It’s not my fault you wanted to start something.” David gritted his teeth. “Can I ask what you do for a living?!” “Isn’t it obvious? I’m your wife. I’ll probably be a housewife after we’re married,” I said innocently. He just kept glaring, so I waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. I’m a martial arts coach. For the national team.” “Right.” David just stared at me, his expression a mixture of awe and horror. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “My dad is a goddamn genius for finding you to manage me.” I tried to be modest. “I do my best.” … Later that night, David was lying on his bed after a shower, waiting for me to put some ointment on his bruise. Every time I rubbed it in, he yelped. “Can you please shut up?” I said, annoyed. “I’ve been beaten up twice by you today! I think I’m allowed to make some noise!” he whined. Fine, fine. I glanced at him. He really did have a great body. Great face, too. Body, check. Looks, check. Brains… well, he had great looks. Aside from being a bit of an idiot, he was basically perfect. “A girl like you will never get married,” he grumbled after I finished. “You’re a monster. A she-devil.” “Don’t worry,” I said soothingly. “I’ll do my best to marry you.” “Get out!” he yelped, horrified.

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The night before my engagement party, my stepsister’s reckless driving left me broken. Joey Sterling, my once-gentle fiancé, lost his mind. He locked Ailsa away, pulling every string to make her pay for what she’d done. He burned through his fortune and called in every favor to keep me alive, but it was no use. I slipped into a vegetative state. In the last moment of consciousness, I saw Joey kneeling by my hospital bed, his face a mask of tears. “Elara,” he choked out, “I’ll wait for you. I’ll always wait for you.” Three years later, I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was Ailsa, her hand resting on a swollen belly as she flaunted a diamond ring on her finger. “Joey and I are getting married soon,” she purred. “So be a good girl, stay quiet, and get the hell out of our lives.” She flicked a wad of cash at my face, the bills scattering across my lap. I picked them up, one by one. Then, under Ailsa’s disbelieving stare, I shoved them into her mouth. As Joey rushed to her side, pulling her protectively into his arms, I swallowed the coppery taste of blood in my throat and slapped him across the face. “You’re disgusting, Joey.” 1 The force of the slap snapped Joey’s head to the side, a raw, red mark blooming on his cheek. His eyes were a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He reached for me, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before falling uselessly to his side. After a long, heavy silence, all he could manage was a hollow, “I’m sorry.” I wanted to scream at them to get out, but the words wouldn’t form. My breath came in ragged gasps. Panic flared in Joey’s eyes. He shot up, calling for a doctor. The physician who arrived assumed Joey was my next of kin and began to speak, but Ailsa suddenly clutched her stomach, crying out in pain. In an instant, Joey abandoned the doctor’s report. He swept Ailsa into his arms, barking orders and summoning half the medical staff to her side. “Elara, just wait for me,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” Then he was gone, leaving me in the sterile silence of the room. A dark drop landed on the pristine white sheet. It wasn’t a tear. It was a grim reminder of my borrowed time. The doctor had barely finished explaining my prognosis when my father, Arthur Gabriel, walked in carrying a bouquet. Trailing behind him was Ailsa’s mother, Miranda. After a few empty pleasantries, Miranda slid a stack of photos onto my bedside table, her smile saccharine sweet. “These are some of the most eligible young men in the city, Elara. See anyone you like?” I kept my eyes down, refusing to acknowledge her. She shot a wounded look at my father. He took his cue, his voice stern. “Your sister is getting married. It’s time for you to stop dwelling on the past and find someone to settle down with.” A flicker of triumph lit Miranda’s eyes. “Love doesn’t wait, dear,” she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “It’s a shame you and Joey didn’t work out, but you can’t interfere with their happiness now.” That was it. I snatched the photos and threw them in her face. “My mother is dead,” I snarled, my voice raw. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? Played the homewrecker for so long you’ve started to believe you’re the lady of the house?” For a moment, even Miranda’s practiced mask slipped, a flash of pure hatred in her eyes before she dissolved into crocodile tears. “Elara!” my father roared, his hand raised to strike me. For the first time in my life, I fought back. I grabbed his wrist, my grip surprisingly strong. My voice was ice. “A story about you cheating on my dying mother, or one about you striking your sick daughter… which do you think the tabloids would prefer, Dad?” We were locked in a standoff. Finally, he backed down, his face turning a shade of purple as he stormed out, dragging Miranda with him. “I can’t believe three years in a coma turned you into this monster!” he spat as he left. Only when they were gone did I allow myself to collapse. A violent cough wracked my body, and I spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. My eyes landed on the bouquet they’d left behind—a cluster of yellow roses, now trampled on the ground. With my mother gone, no one remembered my allergy. Leaving the hospital, the doctor’s words echoed in my head. I was diagnosed with stomach cancer right before the wedding, three years ago. They said I wouldn’t live to see twenty-five. I’d been on my way to tell Joey, to call everything off, when Ailsa’s car slammed into me. I had missed the window for effective treatment. Now, the clock was ticking. I had two weeks left. 2 A heavy rain began to fall as I arrived at the house my mother had left me. It was supposed to be my wedding gift, the home where Joey and I would start our lives. Only the two of us knew the passcode. I stood in the downpour, trying every combination I could think of, my fingers numb and clumsy. Finally, on a whim, I typed in Ailsa’s birthday. The door clicked open. The entryway was cluttered with Ailsa’s designer shoes. On the main wall, a large wedding portrait of her and Joey had replaced the landscape painting that used to hang there. My mother’s photograph was tucked away in a dusty corner, forgotten. Ailsa was lounging on the sofa, a smug look on her face, while Joey knelt before her, gently massaging her feet. The sight of me turned them to stone. Joey froze, his expression a mixture of shock and guilt. I didn’t even look at him. My voice was a shard of glass. “Get out.” Ailsa’s disbelief quickly curdled into a malicious grin. “This is my house now. You’re the one who needs to get lost. Guards! Drag her out of here!” As two burly men moved toward me, Joey shot to his feet. He kicked them both to the ground, his face dark with fury. “Don’t you dare touch her!” His gaze softened as he turned back to me, and he reached out to cup my face. I flinched away as if his touch were acid. “I said, get out,” I repeated, my voice flat. “Don’t you understand English?” A shadow passed over his features. “Ailsa loves this house, Elara,” he said, his tone pleading. “I have other properties. You can have any of them. Just… let her have this one, please?” My stare was glacial. “Hit-and-run. Unlawful occupation of private property. If you don’t leave, I’ll have you both thrown in jail.” Ailsa laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Oh, you poor thing. Don’t you know that Joey already—” “—Take Miss Gabriel back to the main estate,” Joey cut her off, his voice sharp. Ailsa’s face fell. As she was escorted out, she deliberately knocked over my mother’s portrait, the frame shattering on the floor. “Oops,” she said with a vicious smile. “Slippery hands.” The glass splintered, and a gust of wind from the open door caught the photograph, sending it tumbling into a pile of trash by the curb. Joey sighed, a familiar weariness in his voice. He didn’t even notice the note of indulgence as he made excuses for her. “She’s young, she’s used to getting her way. Don’t mind her.” I ignored him, bolting out the door and into the rain. I fell to my knees beside the garbage heap, desperately clawing through the filth, all dignity forgotten. Joey saw me, my hands covered in grime, clutching the torn, wet pieces of the photograph like they were priceless treasures. A strange ache bloomed in his chest. He pulled me up from the mud, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re Elara Gabriel. What do you think you look like right now?” I slapped him again. “You have no right to tell me what to do, Joey,” I sneered. The look in my eyes seemed to shatter him. “Elara, I can explain everything,” he pleaded. “I’m not going to marry her.” But his words were cut short by one of his men running up to him, breathless. “Sir, it’s Miss Ailsa! She’s street racing again. We couldn’t stop her!” Joey’s mouth snapped shut. He looked at me, his face a canvas of regret, and uttered a single phrase: “Wait for me.” Then he turned and ran, leaving me standing alone in the storm. The old Joey would have run to me, no matter what. The new Joey only ever showed me his back. A bitter smile twisted my lips as the rain washed over my face, mingling with tears I couldn’t stop. Joey, I’m done waiting for you. 3 News of my miraculous recovery slowly trickled through our social circle, but the lack of an official announcement fueled rampant speculation. Unable to stand the gossip, my father insisted on throwing a party to celebrate my return. It was the perfect opportunity to retrieve my belongings from the family home, so I agreed. At the party, Ailsa was the center of attention, preening in a designer gown as sycophants flocked around her. She caught my eye from across the room and raised her glass in a mocking toast. “You’re so pathetic, Elara,” she whispered as I passed by, her voice laced with venom. “Did you really think this party was for you? It’s my engagement party with Joey.” I clutched the documents in my bag, ignoring her. Her perfect face twisted in a snarl. She stepped in front of me, blocking my path and tilting her neck to reveal a series of fresh, angry-looking bruises. “Don’t run off just yet. I wanted to thank you. Joey was so angry last night… he didn’t stop until dawn.” She leaned in closer, her breath hot against my ear. “I bet you didn’t know this, but during the first week you were in that coma, Joey and I tried out every inch of your wedding bed. Have you ever seen him when he’s rough, when he just takes what he wants?” Her eyes were filled with contempt. “You’re just as useless as your mother. I hit you with my car three years ago, and no one lifted a finger to help you. I could still crush you today without a second thought.” “So tell me,” she purred, a strange smile playing on her lips, “who do you think he really cares about? You, or me?” With that, she stumbled backward and collapsed onto the floor. “Elara, I already apologized! Why would you push me?” she shrieked, her eyes filling with tears as she stared up at me with a look of pure betrayal. A crowd gathered instantly, their whispers and pointed fingers a fresh wave of assault. Joey pushed through them, his face a mask of concern as he rushed to Ailsa’s side and helped her up. The movement jostled me, and I stumbled back, the sharp corner of a marble pillar digging into my spine. The pain was blinding. I didn’t say a word. In front of everyone, I walked over to Ailsa and slapped her, hard. “How old are you?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “Is this pathetic little act the best you can do?” “Elara!” Joey’s shocked voice and Ailsa’s shriek of outrage echoed through the room. “The security cameras are right there,” I said, my gaze locked on Ailsa. “I dare you to let them play the footage. Do you?” I turned back to her. “You deserved that slap for your filthy mouth. We can settle all our scores, old and new. Why don’t you repeat those threats you just made to the police?” I pulled out my phone to dial 911. Joey knocked it from my hand. It clattered to the floor, the screen cracking. “That’s enough! Calm down,” he commanded. He stood there in silence for a moment before scooping Ailsa into his arms and carrying her away. The room erupted. Voices, sharp and pitying, sliced through the air. “Even if Ailsa’s a terrible actress and rotten to the core, she has him wrapped around her finger.” “Didn’t you hear? Mr. Sterling personally erased the records of the accident three years ago. No one even dares to mention it.” “It’s all part of their twisted game. The imprisonment, the drama… it’s just their version of foreplay. The great Elara Gabriel is nothing but a pawn.” My cold stare swept across the crowd, and they fell silent. A hot surge rose in my throat, and my hands began to tremble uncontrollably. I stumbled away from the scene, my legs barely holding me. Once I was out of sight, the strength I’d been faking deserted me. My whole body seized with pain, a fire tearing through my organs. I could barely stand. In a daze, I wiped away the blood streaming from my nose and mouth, but it just kept coming, a relentless tide telling me my life was about to end, right here, right now. I dug my nails into my palms, the sharp pain grounding me enough to pull out my phone again. My voice was steady. “Yes,” I said to the person on the other end. “I have the evidence.”

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Just before graduation, my boyfriend of four years, Scott, ended our relationship. As a parting gift, he gave me a villa, a Bentley, and eighteen million dollars — a token of gratitude, he said. Stunned, I demanded to know why. His voice turned cold: “For people like me, love and marriage are separate. I’m returning home for an arranged marriage.” He was engaged — to someone else. At the engagement party, I saw Scott, handsome in a bespoke suit. But opposite him stood his fiancée — short, severely overweight, with severe acne. Was this who he chose over me? My mind flashed to last night: he’d pinned me to the bed, whispering roughly, “Forget I’m human,” before devouring me. By morning, he was gone. His number disconnected, social media deleted. He vanished completely — until his lawyer arrived. He arrived at noon, explaining that Scott had given him specific instructions not to come any earlier, so as not to disturb my rest. He handed me a folder. I read the documents in a daze. It was a deed of gift. It stated that Scott was voluntarily transferring ownership of the villa, the Bentley, and eighteen million dollars to me, as a thank-you for our four years together. So that was it. He dumps me out of the blue and throws money at me like I was some prized canary he was setting free. The irony was, I didn’t need his money. I’d told him as much when we first got together. He’d just smiled with that infuriating confidence of his and said, “No matter how rich you are, you’ll never be as rich as me.” I never bothered to argue. I was in love with him, so what did it matter? But why break up now? Last night, the man who was usually so cool and composed had been so fierce, so desperate, whispering “I love you” over and over again like a prayer. How could it all be gone? I forced myself to be calm. Using my family’s resources, I found out where he was in less than an hour. And that’s how I ended up here, at his engagement party. I could see it in his eyes—Scott wasn’t happy. Was he being forced into this? “Kiss her! Kiss her!” someone in the crowd yelled. I watched as the woman reached for Scott’s hand. He flinched back, a purely instinctual retreat. Her face soured. Her thick lips twisted as she hissed, spittle flying, “Have you already forgotten what you promised me?” The color drained from Scott’s face. He took a hesitant step forward. He was being threatened. I was sure of it. I pushed my way through the crowd. “Scott!” I shouted, my voice ringing through the hall. “If you’re in trouble, just tell me! Don’t do this to yourself!” Every head in the room turned to stare at me. When Scott saw me, a flicker of joy ignited in his cold eyes, only to be instantly extinguished by a frost of panic. “Who is this bitch?” the woman on stage screeched, glaring at me. “Calling my fiancé by his first name. How very intimate.” Before I could declare who I was, Scott cut me off. He knitted his handsome brows, his voice dripping with disdain. “She’s just some pathetic groupie who won’t let go. Have security throw her out. Ignore her.” Groupie? I could feel the weight of their contemptuous stares. No one respects a desperate hanger-on. But that wasn’t me. We met at a university club event. I had just finished Muay Thai practice and was so hungry I could have eaten a horse. I ended up sneaking some of my roommate’s snacks. She teased me about it, jokingly demanding I call her “mommy” as punishment. We were always messing around like that, so I did it. Scott, ever the gentleman, stepped in to defend me. He told her she shouldn’t bully someone just because they were poor, then gently told me I shouldn’t steal. He was always like that—a man with a strong moral compass, always standing up for what was right. So I played the part. The poor, pitiful girl. I followed him around like a lost puppy until, before long, he was mine. The whole campus gossiped that he was my sugar daddy, that I was his gold-digging girlfriend. I was worried it would tarnish his reputation, so I told him the truth—that my family was ridiculously wealthy. He just shrugged it off, not seeming to care one way or the other. Our four years together were a sweet, steady love story. No dramatic highs or lows. We almost never fought. Which is why this sudden, brutal breakup felt like a betrayal I couldn’t comprehend. I had to know the real reason. I stared at the man on the stage and started walking toward him. Before I could reach him, the woman intercepted me. She was so short she had to crane her neck to look up at me, and I had to look down to meet her gaze. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming up here,” she snarled, and then she lunged, her hand swinging for my face. I stepped back easily, dodging the slap. I looked past her, my eyes fixed on Scott. “You broke up with me for this?” “What did you just say?” Scott strode forward, his hand raised. He slapped me. I could have dodged it. I dodged hers. But I didn’t dodge his. He’d been sick recently, and I was afraid a sudden movement might make him lose his balance. He was about to marry someone else, and here I was, still worrying about him. How pathetic could I be? I touched my stinging cheek, my heart shattering. “So you’re the college girlfriend,” the woman said, sauntering over with a sneer. “A cheap gold digger putting on airs. Do you have any idea who I am? I’m Veronica Thorne. The Thornes are the richest family in St. Claire.” I ignored her, my gaze locked on Scott. “You just left. No explanation. That wasn’t fair to me.” “Fair?” he shot back. “I gave you the villa, the car, the money. What more could you possibly want? Stop making a scene, Jane. We’re over.” His brow was furrowed in frustration. “You know how it is for families like mine. Love and marriage are separate. Thank you for the last four years, but my wife can only be Veronica. Understand?” “I just want to know one thing,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “Do you love me?” I knew all about strategic marriages between powerful families. My own parents were a product of one, though they were lucky—childhood sweethearts whose union was a natural conclusion. As for me… I was supposed to have one too, but my family’s position in New York was so secure, it was no longer a necessity. “Love?” Scott let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Jane, I’ve known since I was a child that my marriage would be an alliance. I don’t believe in love. I was with you because you were beautiful, and frankly, you were poor enough to be easily managed.” He smirked. “There. You have your answer. Now go.” So that was it. What I thought was a deep, sweet love was just an illusion I’d created for myself. In his eyes, I was nothing more than a beautiful, obedient pet. A canary in a gilded cage. It was laughable. I nodded, a bitter taste in my mouth. If that’s how it was, then fine. My heart felt like it was being ripped out of my chest, but I knew how to let go. I came here to fight for him. But if the fight was already lost, I would walk away. “Alright,” I said, forcing a brittle smile. “I wish you happiness, Scott.” With that, I turned to leave the stage. I saw Scott clench his fists out of the corner of my eye, but he looked away, refusing to meet my gaze. But Veronica stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “You’re not going anywhere,” she sneered. “You came all this way. You’ll stay and watch. If you leave now, you’re disrespecting me, my family, and all of St. Claire.”

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“Maya, about that loan shark…” Jason began, his voice laced with a dark sort of humor. “I can’t make the payment. But I remember you have that pretty little insurance policy. Disability pays out, right?” I stared at him, a chill crawling up my spine. He took a drag from his cigarette, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. “Just kidding. Don’t take it so seriously.” But I knew. He wasn’t kidding at all. Jason was a scout for a human trafficking ring that operated out of a lawless border territory known as Blackwater. And for a long time now, his sights had been set on me. 1. “Be careful of your boyfriend. He’s dangerous.” When the anonymous call came, I brushed it off as a prank. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got spam protection,” I said, and hung up. The phone rang again immediately. I was about to let loose a string of curses, but I realized it wasn’t my phone. “Jason, your phone’s ringing!” I shouted toward the bathroom. The sound of the shower must have drowned me out. It rang again, persistent. Worried it might be an emergency, I answered it. A gruff voice on the other end didn’t even wait for a hello. “J, you got the girl locked down? Blackwater’s getting impatient. They need a heart and a set of corneas, like, yesterday.” A roar filled my ears, like a lightning strike inside my skull. Before I could even process the words, the phone was snatched from my hand. Jason stood there, a towel around his waist, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “What the hell kind of joke is that?” he snapped into the phone. “You’ll scare Maya.” The voice on the other end immediately shifted, turning jovial. “Sorry, boss’s lady! Just messing around. For real though, I booked a table at The Viper’s Nest tonight. Figured you two might wanna come hang.” “We’re in,” Jason said and hung up. He turned to me, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You didn’t actually believe that crap, did you?” I felt a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck. I’d met Jason at a gallery opening, and after a whirlwind, intense courtship, we’d started dating. This side of him, this world, was completely new to me. 2. Later that night, we were at The Viper’s Nest, their usual spot. Jason led me by the hand up the sticky stairs to the private lounge. “Hey, Maya’s here!” a big guy—everyone called him Gus—greeted us, his arm draped around a new girl. He seemed to have a different one every week. I never understood how Jason, who was so polished and smooth, ended up with a crew of thugs like this. They oozed bad news. Jason lit a cigarette, the smoke coiling upwards, blurring the sharp lines of his profile. He never smoked in front of me, but with his “brothers,” he was a different person. A prickle of unease ran down my spine. I was missing something important. “I need some air,” I said. “Want me to come with you?” Jason asked. “No, I’m fine.” 3. Leaning against the railing of the rooftop terrace, I replayed the phone call in my mind. It churned in my stomach, a cold knot of dread. Why would Gus’s friend assume I’d be the one to answer the phone? What if Jason had picked up? “Hey… hey, miss.” A small voice pulled me from my thoughts. It was Gus’s new girlfriend. She glanced nervously over her shoulder before grabbing my wrist and pulling me into an empty VIP room. “What’s going on?” I asked, unnerved by her cloak-and-dagger act. Her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Listen to me,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “These guys… they’re traffickers. They ship girls to Blackwater. We have to run. Now.” “How do you know that?” I asked, my own voice shaking. Before she could answer, a shadow fell across the frosted glass of the door. It was Jason. He stood there, his face a cold, emotionless mask. He crushed his cigarette under his shoe, opened the door, and pulled me out of the room without a word. A moment later, Gus lumbered into the room she was in. The club’s bass was a physical force, thumping through the walls. I couldn’t hear clearly, but through the chaos, I thought I heard the sickening thud of a fist, followed by a muffled cry. 4. Jason dragged me back to their booth. All eyes were on me. My hand closed around an empty beer bottle. With a surge of adrenaline, I smashed it against the edge of the table. The crash of shattering glass silenced the music for a beat. A jagged shard in my hand, I pointed it at Jason. “Who the hell are you?!” I demanded. For a second, he looked genuinely stunned. “Maya, what are you doing?” “I got a call from the police,” I bluffed, my voice ringing with more confidence than I felt. “And Gus’s girlfriend, she told me everything.” At my words, Jason’s expression relaxed. He actually chuckled, then gestured toward the lounge entrance. There was Gus, whispering and cooing with his girlfriend, Lily. She was clinging to his arm, looking up at him with adoring eyes, all traces of her earlier terror completely gone. Gus had the decency to look sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, sorry about that, Maya. That anonymous call? That was Lily. We were playing Truth or Dare and the guys dared her to prank call you. We took it too far. Our bad.” The rest of Jason’s crew chimed in with their own half-assed apologies. I didn’t buy it for a second. I locked eyes with Lily. “Is that true?” She nodded, a faint blush on her cheeks as if she were embarrassed by the childish prank. “It is. I’m so sorry.” Slowly, I lowered the broken bottle. Something felt deeply wrong, a knot of ice in my stomach, but the pieces weren’t fitting together. Jason wrapped his arm around me, pulling me into his side. “You were scared, weren’t you?” I forced a brittle smile. “No more games like that. Promise me.” He immediately swore up and down that it would never happen again. As the party wound down, Jason drove me home. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “My mom wants to meet you. I booked us flights for tomorrow.” “Tomorrow? But I haven’t prepared anything.” He stopped at a red light and gently flicked my forehead. “Leave it to me.” “Okay,” I said, pulling out my phone. “I should at least tell my dad.” 5. I dialed my dad’s number. “Hey, honey, miss me already?” he answered, the clatter of poker chips loud in the background. “Dad, you’re gambling again? It’s late, you should be home.” “Alright, alright, you got me. Winding it down now,” he said. I heard him tell his buddies he was cashing out. “So, what’s up, kiddo? You don’t usually call this late.” “I’m going to Crestview tomorrow to meet Jason’s parents. Just wanted to let you know so you don’t worry.” “Crestview, huh?” my dad said cheerfully. “Where in Crestview do they live?” I leaned my head against the seat and turned to Jason. “Where do your parents live in Crestview?” He kept one hand on the wheel. “Havenwood County.” I froze. Havenwood County? That was where my mother had been kidnapped by traffickers years ago. Jason’s family was from there? My dad went silent on the other end of the line. I knew he was thinking about Mom. “Dad, I’m not going. I…” “Don’t be ridiculous,” he cut me off, his voice firm. “What happened back then was a tragic accident. You can’t avoid meeting his parents forever because of it.” He told me to be safe and hung up before I could argue. Jason glanced over, sensing the shift in my mood. “What’s wrong?” I just shook my head, unwilling to dredge up the past. 6. The next day, we were up early, arriving in Havenwood County by ten. “Mr. and Mrs. Adler, it’s so nice to meet you. These are for you,” I said, handing them a gift bag. “Thank you, dear,” his mother said with a tight smile. “Come in, come in,” his father added. Their politeness was a thin veneer, stretched tight over something cold and hollow. It didn’t feel like a family home. While they were in the kitchen, Jason wrapped his arms around my waist from behind. “I was mostly raised by my grandmother,” he murmured into my ear. “We’re not that close.” Oh. That explains it. I placed my hand over his. “You have me now.” Dinner was an unnervingly silent affair. After a few minutes of just the clinking of silverware, they seemed to realize how awkward it was. “So, Maya,” Mrs. Adler started. “What did you study in school?” “I majored in Chemistry, with a minor in Psychology,” I replied. “I’m a therapist now.” His parents exchanged a quick, unreadable glance. “Well, eat up,” his father said. “Okay.” Later that night, I couldn’t sleep. I slipped out of bed, planning to take a walk, but froze when I heard voices from the hallway. It was Jason and his “parents.” “What were you thinking, bringing her here?” the woman’s voice hissed. “Don’t tell me you’ve actually caught feelings for her.” I heard the flick of a lighter, then Jason’s voice, colder than I’d ever heard it. “That’s none of your business. Your job is to play the part. If you blow your cover and she finds out who you really are, I’ll put you in the ground myself.” CRACK. My hand brushed against a small potted plant on a stand, knocking it over. The hallway light snapped on, flooding the space with blinding white. Jason stood there, his brow furrowed. “Maya. You shouldn’t have come out.” The woman’s eyes widened in panic. “Jason, she knows! We should just…” He cut her off with a look, then let out a chilling, humorless laugh. “You really think you have what it takes to replace her?” He took my hand, his grip like steel, and led me back to the room. He threw open the window, and a gust of icy night air swept in, making me shiver. I found my voice first. “Jason. Your entire relationship with me… it was all a setup, wasn’t it?” The charming mask was gone. His face was a landscape of pure, cold calculation. He sneered. “You’re not as dumb as you look, Maya. You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?” He gestured to the bed. “Get some rest.” Rest? In this house of lies, with this monster? It was impossible. And yet, a strange drowsiness began to wash over me, my limbs growing heavy. My last conscious thought, before the world went dark, was of the sweet, cloying scent of incense burning on the nightstand. 7. The road to Blackwater was a brutal, jarring ride. I woke to the sound of weeping in the suffocating darkness of a shipping container. “You’re awake.” It was Lily, Gus’s girlfriend. “Where are we?” I asked, though a sick certainty had already settled in my stomach. She gave a bitter, broken laugh. “On our way to Blackwater. I’m sorry, Maya. I lied to you. I couldn’t take Gus’s beatings anymore, so I helped them. I wasn’t the one who made that call.” Tears streamed down her face as she spoke, but I felt nothing for her. No sympathy. I peered through a crack in the container wall. After what felt like an eternity, the truck finally lurched to a halt. The doors were thrown open, blinding us with harsh sunlight. Two hulking men stood guard. “Get a move on! Out, now!” one of them barked. A few girls were too terrified to move. They were dragged out by their hair and thrown onto the dusty ground. “Get up!” The commotion drew Jason’s attention. He strolled over, exhaling a plume of smoke. “What’s the problem?” One of the guards grunted, gesturing at the sobbing girl on the ground. “She’s dragging her feet.” 8. Jason’s eyes found mine. He walked over, his expression unreadable. “Maya, if you cooperate, I won’t let anything happen to you.” I laughed, the sound sharp and ugly. “Cooperate how? By letting you cut out my heart? Or should I just sign the organ donor card now?” His face hardened. “The boss, Mr. Blackwood, is coming tonight. If you can catch his eye, you might just get to live.” I wanted to kill him. I always knew he was a scumbag, but this was a level of evil I couldn’t have imagined. “Oh, thank you so much for the opportunity,” I spat. “The first thing I’ll do when I’m his new favorite is have you killed.” “Maya!” he snarled, his eyes flashing with fury. “This isn’t the city. You want to die? Just say the word. I’ll be happy to arrange it.” SLAP. The force of my blow sent his head snapping to the side. My palm smarted, a dull throb that echoed the rage burning in my chest. “You lied to me, Jason. You used me, and you sold me. Mark my words. One of us is going to die here, and it won’t be me.” Gus wandered over, a smirk on his face. “Damn, J. Can’t even handle one little woman? That’s embarrassing.” “Get lost!” Jason roared. 9. We were all herded into a damp, dark basement. From the nervous whispers of our guards, I gathered that the arrival of this “Mr. Blackwood” was a very big deal. As a therapist, I’m trained to read people. The way they spoke of him wasn’t just respect; it was pure, undiluted fear. To survive, I knew I had to play the part. I made myself stand out, not through defiance, but through a chilling, calculated composure. It worked. I was the one chosen to “entertain” Mr. Blackwood. That night, lying in a luxurious bed in a silent, opulent room, I could hear my own heart hammering against my ribs. The door opened. A silhouette moved to the sofa across the room. I saw the brief orange flare of a lighter, then the glowing red ember of a cigarette in the dark. The air filled with the scent of expensive tobacco. I slipped out of bed. In the dim light, I couldn’t make out his face, but I could feel the sheer force of his presence. It was an aura of absolute power and danger that seemed to suck the very air from the room. I walked over and stood beside the sofa, my head bowed obediently. “Turn on the light.” His voice… it was deep, resonant, and disturbingly familiar. I scrambled to the switch by the door. Click. The room was flooded with light. I stared, my world tilting on its axis. “Uncle Damian??”

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The irises had withered. As I trimmed the dead stalks, Riel stormed into my greenhouse, destroying the orchids I’d nurtured. His voice was cold and triumphant. “Touch anything of my mother’s, even a leaf, and you’ll repay it a hundredfold.” When I stayed silent, he repeated, “Sooner or later, I’ll have you thrown out of this manor.” Looking at this child I’d raised for seven years, I felt no anger—only a deep weariness. “Fine. As you wish.” Blood dripped from my hand, cut by the shears during our struggle. I ignored the wound and knelt among the soil and shattered petals, saving what roots remained. These orchids had followed me to a foreign land, surviving seven winters, only to be destroyed on an ordinary spring day. Not getting the usual lecture, Riel lost some bravado. He straightened and switched to flawless English: “Don’t play the victim. You deserve this. You took my mother’s place—this is the price.” I steadied myself and looked up. “Where did you hear that?” The twelve-year-old had sharp Western features and Eastern grace. “None of your business.” He shot me a defiant glare from pale blue eyes, then turned and left. That evening, after I’d bandaged my hand, there was a knock on the door. “Mrs. Rockefeller, the Master is asking for you.” I nodded to show I understood. In the study, the man exuded an air of noble grace, his silver hair stirred by the occasional breeze from the open window. “I hear Riel was upset today.” I stood silently in the doorway. He crossed his legs, his posture a study in languid, aristocratic ease, and tapped his long fingers on the polished surface of the desk. “He’s just a child.” “However…” His voice, once mild, took on a sudden chill. “You’ve been here for seven years. You should know what you can and cannot touch.” I remained silent. It didn’t matter that those irises had sprung from a few seeds the lady of the house had scattered carelessly years ago. They were not mine to dispose of. Right now, I had no energy to argue. I simply obeyed. “Yes.” The icy atmosphere thawed slightly. “Come here,” the man behind the desk commanded. I moved toward him, but for the first time, I recoiled from the possessive, invasive nature of his kiss. Alander’s expression darkened, his tone laced with displeasure. “Don’t forget your place.” My place? For a moment, I was lost. “You are my wife,” he murmured, his breath hot against my earlobe. And then I remembered. It had been seven years since my sister’s death, seven years since my family had forced me into this marriage. I still held that hollow title. But the master of the house was a man consumed by devotion to his deceased wife. And so, I, his nominal second wife, was seen by everyone as nothing more than the head housekeeper. I smoothed the rumpled fabric of my collar and took a step back. “Mr. Rockefeller, there’s something I need to say.” Alander’s brow furrowed. “The contract between our families has expired. I believe it’s time for me to leave.” “Are you still angry with Riel?” Alander’s voice was cold. “It was just a few plants. I’ve had someone source several pots of the ‘Crowned Jade’ orchid. They’ll be delivered this evening.” It wasn’t about the poor, ruined flowers. I looked at the silver-haired man before me and shook my head. “The seven years are up. The contract is automatically terminated. It’s time for me to go.” The Rockefellers were one of Rosewood’s most illustrious families. Years ago, Alander’s love for Diana Windsor had allowed the Windsor family to secure their position by marrying into such a powerful clan. After Diana’s untimely death, the Windsors had used the pretense of caring for the child and their shared history to sign a seven-year marriage contract with Alander. Alander’s cold expression softened slightly. “Are you asking to renew the contract?” “No. I’m asking for a divorce.” As I spoke, I pulled a letter from my pocket. “All the details for the handover are written in here.” Realizing this wasn’t a tantrum, Alander’s face hardened. “Juliana.” “I don’t appreciate jokes.” A genuine smile touched my lips. “Sir, if you’re concerned about the manor, I’ve already found a suitable replacement for the head housekeeper position.” “Riel is your blood. After seven years, you can just walk away?” Alander’s voice was dangerously low. I was already turning toward the door. Hearing his words, I glanced back over my shoulder. “But he hates me more than anyone, doesn’t he?” … My mother’s tearful pleas from years ago were still vivid in my memory. “He’s only five years old, Juliana. He’s lost his mother.” “Living in that den of wolves, how will he ever survive?” Perhaps I was a fool. Perhaps I was just that desperate for a family’s affection. When I looked into that little boy’s clear, amber eyes, my resolve crumbled. “I’m your aunt,” I had told him. “I’m your family.” And the small, trembling child had launched himself into my arms. Back then, I never could have imagined that the boy with the cherubic face would one day hate me with such passion. … In the end, I couldn’t leave the manor just yet. Not only were there still matters to hand over, but my mother, Mrs. Windsor, had arrived and was now kneeling before me. “If you leave, what will happen to the Windsor family? To your father?” Her meticulously applied makeup was streaked with tears. I, however, felt a cold detachment. In Rosewood, the Windsor family’s entire standing was built upon their connection to the Rockefellers. For the sake of that connection, she had knelt just like this seven years ago. Back then, I had been helpless, and I had married him. I helped her to her feet. “The floor is cold.” Mrs. Windsor wiped her tears. “I knew you were a sensible girl.” “No matter what, blood is thicker than water. You take good care of Riel, and our family will continue to have a place in this city.” I walked her to the door. A blonde, blue-eyed maid saw us and smirked with open contempt. “As if she’d ever leave the Rockefeller family.” “My God, I lost the bet again.” “She schemed her way in here and clung on for seven years. Who besides herself has ever treated her like the lady of the house?” I was used to the whispers. During my first six months here, my English was so poor that people would mock me to my face, and I wouldn’t even flinch. As we reached the main entrance, my mother was still chattering away. “I hear Alander has another new flame causing trouble at the gates.” “Seven years, and you still haven’t learned how to handle a man? You need to be smarter, learn how to capture his heart.” “If you were half the woman Diana was, I wouldn’t have to… sigh…” She didn’t finish, but I understood. Once outside, I asked, “Are Father and my brother doing well?” My mother’s eyes darted around before she sighed dramatically. “Thanks to Mr. Rockefeller’s generosity, they have enough to eat. It keeps the worry from turning their hair gray.” “But I haven’t had a single good day here,” I said softly. “And there’s no one to be generous with me.” To the Windsor family, I was a button holding their lavish life together. To outsiders, I was a greedy social climber who had shamelessly married into wealth, a glorified housekeeper who would smile and placidly deal with her husband’s mistresses. To Alander, I was an insignificant stranger he tolerated only because of a passing resemblance to his dead wife. And to Riel, I was a scheming woman trying to replace his mother. Every day, I played a multitude of roles for a multitude of people. I could be anyone but myself. “I am leaving. As for what the Windsor family will do…” I lowered my voice. “Surely you can’t rely on an illegitimate daughter like me, can you?” “So, you know.” My mother’s face tightened with alarm. I simply smiled. I hadn’t known at first. I didn’t know why my brother and sister were sent abroad while I, at five years old, was left behind with only an old nanny, summoned back only when I was needed. I didn’t know why all my efforts never earned me a single glance of approval from my family. I wanted to be loved by my mother, gently, like my sister Diana was. I wanted to carry my father’s hopes and responsibilities, like my brother did. But nothing I did ever mattered. It wasn’t until recent years that I began to notice the inconsistencies, and piece by piece, I uncovered the truth. I was my father’s illegitimate daughter. That’s why Mrs. Windsor despised me, why the family would never truly accept me. But they hadn’t let me starve. They had raised me, fulfilling their basic duty. And in return, I had fulfilled mine, honoring the seven-year contract and preserving the alliance. “I’ve done more than enough. My debt is paid.” The shock on my mother’s face hardened into cold fury. “Then you should also know that without the Rockefellers, without the Windsors, you are nothing.” I turned away. “Mrs. Windsor, perhaps you should be more concerned with your own future.” Then I walked back into the manor. … I took a detour through the garden. The mess had been cleaned up. The newly delivered ‘Crowned Jade’ orchids were already in place, their leaves unfurling. They looked identical to the ones I had grown. I walked over, dug the seeds I had planted from the soil, and carefully repotted them in a small flower pot. When I returned to my wing of the house, I stopped short at the bottom of the stairs. My bedroom door was wide open. My suitcase lay by the landing, its contents strewn across the floor, marred with footprints. Clutching the little flower pot, I froze. Riel emerged from the room, standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at me. He kicked the suitcase, sending it tumbling down the steps. I dodged out of the way as it clattered to the marble floor. “Weren’t you leaving? I’m just helping you,” he sneered. “What’s that little game you people play? Hard to get?” “Do you really think my father falls for that kind of act?” The boy’s face was a mask of arrogance, his disgust for me unconcealed. I walked up the stairs, one step at a time, closing the distance until I stood right in front of him. His voice tightened. “What do you want?” At twelve, his frame was still slight. He took an involuntary step back, intimidated by my proximity. I looked at the childish face before me. “Why do you hate me so much?” When he was little, he had been so attached to me. I helped him through the grief of losing his mother, taught him Chinese, studied with him, cooked for him. But as he grew older, he pushed me away, becoming convinced that I was only kind to him for my own selfish gain. “You really don’t know?” Riel snapped impatiently. “Did Eleonora say something to you?” I pressed. I understood my mother’s methods. She wanted to use me to keep the Rockefellers close, but she also couldn’t bear the thought of Riel and me becoming too attached, of losing her own leverage. A flicker in Riel’s eyes told me I was right. “A few words from someone else can sway your judgment so easily,” I said, my voice steady. “You really are a long way from meeting your father’s standards for an heir.” “But you’re just a child. I don’t blame you. That doesn’t mean I forgive you, either.” Riel glared at me. “If you didn’t have such filthy ambitions, you wouldn’t be here, enjoying the status and privilege that belong to my mother.” “I never wanted any of this,” I said, my voice sharp. He scoffed. “Only because you know that in Father’s heart, you could never compare to her.” Looking at the smug satisfaction in his eyes, my voice turned to ice. “Riel Rockefeller, I don’t owe you a thing.” “But I have failed. I’ve raised an ungrateful child.” “But that’s alright. I don’t think we’ll ever see each other again.” Children really are the worst. Even the ones you raise yourself. I stepped over the scattered clothes, retrieved my important documents from a drawer, and walked out, holding my little flower pot. An indignant shout followed me. “If you walk out that door, you’ll never set foot in Rose Manor again!” “Running away is a childish trick! No one will care!” I didn’t slow my pace. No one saw me off. There were only the scrutinizing gazes of the maids and their incessant whispers. “Is she really leaving?” “Probably just throwing a fit because the Master and the young master don’t pay her enough attention.” “I bet she’ll be back in a few days.” “A pity. I thought she was a smart one. The Master is never short of other women.” Outside Rose Manor, the sun was warm and gentle. Alander’s other butler was waiting at the main gate, a polite smile on his face. “The Master is very busy and likely won’t have time to deal with the mistress’s moods. Please take these next few days to calm down. The money has already been transferred to your account.” The long, cold nights were over. Without a backward glance, I walked out into the blinding sunlight. I would never come back here again. I found a place and methodically erased every trace of “Juliana Windsor,” including the bank account and phone number. As planned, I boarded the next flight back to my home country. The plane ascended, gliding through a sea of clouds. I held my small pot of orchids and watched as the moon began to etch its pale outline against the light blue sky. I had returned. I received my new ID. On it were two simple words: Jules. From now on, there would be no more Juliana Windsor, a woman bound by the will of others. There would only be Jules, a woman who was free. I had grown up in the city, but I had no intention of going back. It would feel too much like living under the shadow of the Windsor family. I went to a small, quiet town called Havenwood. It was a place of canals and bridges, where spring seemed to last all year—the perfect place for growing flowers. The few stock market tips I’d picked up from my time around Alander had paid off; my secret investments had earned me enough to live out the rest of my days in this peaceful town. I bought a small house with a front yard and planted my seeds. The long journey had taken its toll on the delicate roots. I spent my days indoors, devouring books on horticulture and consulting with experts online. After a month, the dormant roots began to show signs of life. I was overjoyed. Just then, Havenwood’s annual Orchid Exhibition began. On a whim, I went to have a look and ended up making a few like-minded friends. Some of the older gentlemen were astonished to hear I had successfully cultivated ‘Crowned Jade’ orchids in my previous environment. They didn’t believe me until I showed them photos, at which point they were full of admiration. The sudden quiet in my life was strange, but I cherished it. With time on my hands, I invested in a local flower cultivation center. Between tending my own garden and occasionally acting as a consultant for my new friends, the days passed pleasantly. One afternoon, as I was leaving the center, my phone rang with an unknown number. I answered, but the line was silent. After a few “hellos” with no reply, I hung up. It was a weekday evening, and the streets were quiet. I ducked into a small restaurant, ordered a few local specialties and a small glass of wine, and sipped it slowly. Outside, the setting sun painted the sky in fiery hues, casting a warm, dazzling glow across the cobblestone street. After a few sips, my head started to feel light. Silhouetted against the light, a tall figure looked hauntingly familiar. I shook my head. I could usually hold my liquor, but perhaps because I’d rarely drunk during my years at Rose Manor, I was feeling the effects more than I expected. For a dizzying moment, I thought I was seeing Alander. Then I laughed at myself. As if he would ever come looking for me in a small, insignificant place like this. But the figure was getting closer. The black silhouette sharpened, resolving into a man with silver hair and blue eyes, his face a mask of noble indifference, so perfect it seemed blessed by the gods. “Juliana. It’s time to come home.”

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At the parent-child workshop, I received a note from my son, titled “My Honest Words for Mom.” 【Mom, can you please stop clinging to Dad?】 【If you hadn’t saved him, Dad would never have married you.】 【Dad has two Go world championships, but you only have one national title.】 【You trapped Dad by having me. Only bad people do that.】 【My friends all say their moms are the most beautiful people in the world, but I think Sienna is.】 【Please divorce Dad and let Sienna be my new mom.】 【Thank you.】 1 In the car, Jordy sat with his head bowed, fiddling with his fingers. Suddenly, the kid’s smartwatch on his wrist buzzed to life. Dwight’s voice, tight with barely suppressed rage, crackled through the tiny speaker. “Jordy! What on earth did you write at the workshop today?” “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Another kid took a picture of your note, and now it’s spreading through every parent group chat! How could you humiliate your mother like that?” Jordy’s lower lip trembled, and then he burst into tears. “I didn’t make it up! I heard you say it, Daddy! I heard you!” “That night you drank too much, you were crying when you said it. I remember every word!” On the other end of the line, Dwight’s furious tirade choked to a halt. A few seconds of dead air passed before his voice returned, laced with a new, frantic edge. “Your mother… is she there with you? Did she hear any of that?” Jordy scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “She’s not my mom! I don’t like her!” he wailed. “She’s driving right next to me! I wanted her to hear it!” Even through the phone, I could picture the color draining from Dwight’s face. He fumbled for an explanation, his words stiff and hollow. “Claire, it was just the alcohol talking. You can’t take it seriously. Jordy is so focused on Go, his emotional intelligence is… underdeveloped. He gets it from me. I’m so sorry.” “It’s your birthday today,” he added. “I’ll definitely be home tonight.” A flicker of surprise went through me. In ten years of marriage, he’d never once celebrated my birthday. How convenient. We could settle everything at once. My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Good. When you get back, we can sign the divorce papers.” My words were like a switch. Jordy’s sobs instantly vanished, replaced by a triumphant cheer. “Yay! That’s great!” “Sienna was right! She said you’d agree to anything I asked!” The line went silent. After a long moment, Dwight’s voice came back, strained. “We’ll talk when I get home.” I ended the call. Outside, a massive billboard flashed past the window. It featured Dwight’s profile—his brow furrowed in concentration, a white Go stone held between his fingers. 【Two-Time World Go Champion Aims for a Third Title】 The sun glinted off the sign, a blinding flare of light that made me wince. A wave of dizziness washed over me. It felt like a lifetime ago, but ten years ago, I was the one everyone expected to win it all. 2 Dwight slid a few documents across the table towards me, the paper making a soft, crisp sound. “Here’s the divorce agreement and the asset division. I’ve looked them over. Everything seems to be in order.” He spoke with the detached air of someone reviewing a boring, predictable game. “The assets are split fifty-fifty. It’s fair. And you can see Jordy whenever you want.” I flipped open the folder. He was right. It was fair. Until my eyes landed on the date at the bottom of the page. A month ago. He’d had this drawn up a month ago. I set his papers aside and pulled a different folder from my own bag. “Let’s sign this one instead.” My voice was as calm as his, if not calmer. “You take seventy percent, I’ll take thirty. But on one condition.” “I completely renounce my custody rights to Jordy. I won’t pay any child support, and I think it’s best if we have as little contact as possible from now on.” Dwight’s hand, already holding the pen, paused for a fraction of a second before descending. The scratch of the nib on paper was sharp, decisive as a blade. “Done. Your turn.” The moment my signature was on the page, I saw the tension leave his shoulders. He visibly relaxed. His voice softened, adopting a tone of gentle magnanimity. “Thank you, Claire. Thank you for being so gracious, for not making this ugly.” “After all, if you decided to make a scene, it could have been very… difficult for me.” He trailed off, but we both knew what he meant. I gathered my copy of the agreement and stood up. As I did, my gaze fell on the elaborate cake sitting on the dining table. The first birthday cake I’d received in ten years of marriage. Jordy seemed to notice where I was looking and immediately threw his arms around the box protectively. “This is for Sienna! It’s her birthday today, too! I’m giving it to her!” Dwight’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Jordy, stop talking nonsense!” he hissed. “That’s for your mother.” “No, it’s for Sienna!” Jordy insisted, his little neck stiff with defiance. “I already called her! She’s on her way over right now!” As if on cue, the soft beep of the electronic lock sounded from the front door. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. In this house, only one person besides the three of us could walk in without knocking. Sienna breezed in as if she owned the place. Jordy immediately scrambled into her arms. “Mommy! You’re here! Let’s have cake!” He tilted his head back, his voice ringing out, loud and clear, “Sienna, you’re going to be my mommy now!” Not a flicker of surprise crossed Sienna’s face. She knelt gracefully, gently tapping Jordy’s nose. “Store-bought cake is so unhealthy, sweetie. I’ll make you a special handmade one.” I couldn’t be bothered to watch this performance. I grabbed my bag and walked toward the door. The motion-activated light in the hallway flickered on as I stepped out. Frantic footsteps echoed behind me. “Claire! Wait!” Sienna called out, her voice catching. I stopped but didn’t turn back. “Claire,” she began, her voice trembling as if she were the world’s greatest victim, “I don’t think I did anything wrong.” “In love, the one who isn’t loved is the third wheel.” “You were smart to just bow out gracefully. It’s better for everyone.” I felt no anger, not even a ripple of emotion. “You haven’t changed a bit, Sienna.” “In Go, you could only ever study my old game records.” “In life, you can only pick up what I’ve thrown away.” “It’s a good thing Master Alistair expelled you from the academy when he did. You would have been a complete disgrace to his name.” Without waiting to see the furious blush creeping up her neck, I turned and walked away. The elevator doors slid shut, reflecting my perfectly composed face. It was over. And that was for the best. 3 On my first day of freedom, I got a call. It was from the director of the Stonegate Go Academy, one of the most prestigious in the country. They had tried to recruit me as a coach years ago, but I’d turned them down, citing my need to focus on Jordy’s training. Now, they were extending the offer again. This time, I didn’t hesitate. When I walked into the main hall, a crowd was gathered around one of the large demonstration boards. In the center, a young girl was studying a complex endgame problem, her brow furrowed in concentration. The coaches surrounding her were murmuring amongst themselves. “Lily’s talent is just off the charts. To get this far in the ‘Art of War’ problem is incredible.” “What do you expect? She’s Lucas Thorne’s niece. That kind of intuition for the game is in her blood.” “But it looks like she’s stuck on this final variation…” I overheard their hushed conversation. Lucas Thorne? The only “Lucas” in the Go world revered enough to be called a god was the man who held nine world championship titles. The girl looked up, her expression puzzled. “Coach Miller, if Black doesn’t sacrifice here and plays a wedge instead, after White executes the ‘under-the-stones’ tesuji, is Black’s group really dead? I feel like there might be a sliver of a chance…” The coaches exchanged glances, each offering a textbook explanation, but none seemed to hit the mark. The girl’s eyes remained clouded with confusion. One of them caught sight of me out of the corner of his eye and his face lit up. “Claire! Perfect timing! Come take a look at this!” The board was set up with the infamous “Art of War” problem. It had been solved by a team of grandmasters over a decade ago, but for a child, it was profoundly difficult. I studied the position for only a few seconds before picking up a white stone. “Stop thinking about killing everything,” I said, my voice steady. “Force Black to connect, and solidify your own eye shape first. To save his group, he’ll be forced to reduce his own liberties. Then go back and look at the ‘under-the-stones’ position. The entire situation will have changed. This isn’t a calculation problem; it’s a question of sequence and feel.” Lily’s eyes widened in a flash of understanding. “Oh! I get it! Secure my own position before attacking! This placement here isn’t just a probe, it’s a way of building potential! Thank you, Miss!” She looked at me with a newfound sense of wonder. “Miss, your way of thinking is just like my uncle’s!” Coach Miller chuckled beside her. “Well, your uncle and Coach Vance studied under the same master. They were senior and junior at the academy.” Lily’s mouth formed a perfect “O.” “You’re the senior he’s always talking about? The one he said was even more brilliant than him?” I was taken aback, waving my hand dismissively. “I’m hardly a genius.” “But he said the genius senior had a tiny mole right here,” she insisted, pointing to the corner of her eye, “like a tiny red Go stone! And your name is Claire! It has to be you!” I subconsciously touched the minuscule mole by my eye, a mark I usually forgot was even there. I never imagined Lucas would remember such a detail. “Claire, you should be Lily’s coach,” the other instructors chimed in. “Her talent is immense, and most of us can’t keep up with her thought process. You’re a certified professional eight-dan, the highest-ranked player here. You’re the perfect fit.” Lily looked up at me, her eyes wide and pleading. I nodded. “Alright.” That evening, as I was walking Lily out after class, I saw him. A tall, slender figure was leaning against a car by the academy’s entrance, engrossed in a book of endgame problems. “Uncle Lucas!” Lily shouted with glee. Lucas scooped her up in a hug, but his eyes found mine over her shoulder. Our gazes met. The air grew thick with an awkward silence. He was the first to speak. “I thought you’d be spending the rest of your life with pots and pans. I never thought I’d see you in an academy again.” I couldn’t find a response. The path I’d chosen had led me to this humiliating end. It was shameful. “You’re divorced?” he asked, his tone casual. “I saw Sienna’s post.” I looked down, my voice barely a whisper. “There’s still a twenty-day cooling-off period.” Maybe I was imagining it. But I could have sworn I heard him mutter a curse under his breath. I quickly dismissed the thought. Lucas Thorne was famously refined, a perfect gentleman. He wouldn’t swear. “Well, Lily’s safe with you now. I should get going.” I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me again. “Claire. There’s this game I’ve been stuck on. I feel like I’ve hit a dead end. Could you take a look for me?” My eyes shot open, and I spun around in disbelief. “Are you talking to me?” “Who else would I call Senior?” A nine-time world champion was asking me, an eight-dan, to solve a problem he couldn’t crack? I hesitated. “I haven’t played seriously in a long time.” “And… my head isn’t what it used to be.” That day, after I’d pushed Dwight out of the way of the car, the impact had saved his life but scrambled my brain. The intuition, that genius-level feel for the game, had vanished overnight. I couldn’t even solve the endgame problems I had created myself. But a slow smile spread across Lucas’s face. “Master Alistair always said you were the only one whose thinking could break any mold.” “If you don’t come, you’ll definitely regret it.” I swallowed hard. The “Go fanatic” in me was stirring, that old obsession that made it impossible to walk away from a worthy challenge. After a long pause, I heard my own voice, thrumming with excitement. “Let’s go.” 4 Lucas’s home was a masterpiece of minimalist design. He went straight to his study to set up the board. I settled onto the couch. Lily snuggled up next to me, suddenly whispering, “You know… Uncle Lucas isn’t my real dad.” I nodded. “I know.” It was a well-known story in the Go community, though no one dared speak of it openly. After Lily’s parents died in a tragic accident, her uncle, Lucas, had taken her in and raised her as his own. She sighed like a world-weary old woman. “Good. As long as you know, I feel better.” “I’m glad I haven’t held him back.” Her mature act made me curious. “Held him back from what?” Lily gave me a look loaded with meaning but refused to elaborate. Just then, the study door opened. Lucas emerged. “It’s ready, Senior. Please.” On the board in his study lay an endgame of breathtaking complexity. Black and white stones were locked in a brutal, intricate struggle, the relationships between liberties and eyes so delicate it defied anything I had ever seen. For a moment, I was transported back ten years, the blood singing in my veins. I was completely absorbed, my fingertips hovering over the board, unconsciously tracing patterns in the air, searching for the one critical move—the tesuji—that could unravel the entire knot. Suddenly, my phone rang, shattering the silence. It was Dwight. “During the cooling-off period, you can withdraw the divorce petition at any time.” “I wouldn’t object.” 5 Was that it? I was speechless for a second, then sputtered, “You called me just to recite a legal statute?” For some reason, the other end of the line went quiet. After a long pause, his voice came back, strained. “It’s been ten days, Claire. Haven’t you cooled off enough?” His cryptic words left me completely baffled. “The law specifies thirty days. I can’t just skip the next twenty. What are you trying to say?” Dwight’s voice suddenly grew sharp with frustration. “Can’t you read between the lines?” It was always like this. Vague hints, expecting me to decipher his hidden meanings. My patience snapped. “Is there anything else? If not, I’m hanging up. I’m busy.” “Jordy’s sick,” he blurted out, his tone suddenly urgent. “He has a fever, and he keeps calling for his mom. Can you please come home and see him?” I froze. For the past few years, whenever Jordy got sick, he only ever called for Sienna. Why would he be calling for his mom now? But then, through the phone, I heard Jordy’s weak, whimpering voice clearly: “Mommy… Mommy…” Followed by: “Sienna! I want Sienna! Mommy…” I see. So that was it. They were scared. Scared that something would happen during this twenty-day waiting period, scared that I might change my mind. So they were using a sick child as an excuse to test me, to lure me back and ensure the divorce went through without a hitch. A cold smile touched my lips, and my voice was perfectly calm. “You two can relax.” “When Claire Vance gives her word, she doesn’t go back on it. I will absolutely not be withdrawing the divorce petition. You won’t have to wait a single day longer than necessary.” Just then, Lucas’s gentle voice came from outside the study door. “Senior, I made you some chamomile tea. Is it a good time to come in?”

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My childhood sweetheart, Finnian Croft, coaxed me into taking naked photos. He promised they were for his eyes only. I was scared, but a part of me felt triumphant for finally winning him over. Until the day I was competing with Chloe, a scholarship student, for the top prize in the university’s music competition. Finnian’s voice was casual, almost bored. “Sia, let her have it.” “You wouldn’t want those pictures getting out, would you?” I froze, then nodded like a fool. A week later, Chloe won, just as he’d planned. Finnian deleted all the photos. A wave of relief washed over me as I boarded a flight out of the country. All those years of devotion… I might as well have been feeding a dog. 1 Finnian said it so casually, his words were short and sharp. “You agree, and I delete the photos.” The summer heat was suffocating, but I felt like I’d been plunged into an ice bath. It was a blow to the head, stunning me into silence. I opened my mouth, but my voice trembled. “You promised me…” “I did,” he cut in. “I promised I’d be the only one to see them.” His gaze was heavy, pinning me in place. “And I won’t break my promise.” “As long as you give the first-place prize to Chloe.” I tried to argue, the words tumbling out in broken fragments. “It’s a singing competition… it’s supposed to be about talent.” “I… I won’t.” He seemed to have expected this. He pulled my chair closer, trapping me in the circle of his arms, and took out his phone. He guided my hand to unlock his private album. The explicit images filled the screen. A low chuckle vibrated in his chest. “Sia, you really do have an incredible body.” His lips brushed against my ear. “This one’s my favorite. You’re all flushed, your mouth open for the camera…” “Like you’ve been completely wrecked…” My fingers trembled. “Don’t look,” I whispered, my voice thick with tears. Finnian stopped, turning the screen off. The pads of his fingers were warm as he wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. “Hey, don’t be scared. Just say yes, okay?” My fingers twisted in my lap, my mind a blank. “Okay.” A satisfied smile curved Finnian’s lips as he stood up. He smoothed my messy hair, his voice a gentle murmur. “I’m going to the class party tonight, so I won’t be walking you home.” “I’ll have the driver take you.” … The air conditioning in the music room was blasting. I pulled my jacket tighter, curling into a ball on the chair. So cold. So, so cold. I pressed my hands to my mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that wracked my body. Finnian was the person I trusted most in the world. When I was seven, my parents brought me to the city from the countryside. Our small, cement house was replaced by a sparkling villa. But I never fit in. I was small, skinny, and dark from the sun. The other kids always picked on me. I learned to hide and cry in silence, thinking that if I just didn’t fight back, they’d eventually leave me alone. Until the day a group of boys tried to pull my pants down. I cried out, grabbing a dead branch from the ground. “D-don’t come any closer!” They didn’t stop. They laughed. That’s when Finnian appeared. He had a brick in his hand, and he chased them off. Then he held his hand out to me. “Hey, little stutterer. I’ll walk you home.” But my legs were jelly. I couldn’t stand. Finnian frowned, looking annoyed. But he still crouched down. “Get on.” I hesitated for a second before climbing onto his back. He carried me home, his steps slow and steady. After that, I followed him everywhere, a timid shadow for eleven years. Until the end of freshman orientation, when I finally worked up the courage to confess my feelings. Perhaps he’d finally softened. He smiled down at me and gave a regal nod. So when he asked me to take the photos, I swallowed my fear. “Will… will anyone else see?” I’d asked in a small voice. Finnian, holding the camera, had reassured me with a gentle smile. “Never. They’re my private collection.” I hesitated for a moment, then pulled off my nightgown, posing for him again and again. Now, that intimacy had become the knife twisting in my gut. My trust in him shattered into a million tiny shards. I finally broke, the sobs tearing from my throat in ragged waves. I don’t know how long I cried, but eventually, the tears ran dry. A message from Finnian popped up on my phone. He was as meticulous as ever. “You cried today. Your throat will be sore. Remember to drink honey water when you get home.” I clutched my phone, walking home in a daze. I almost stumbled into the path of a truck. My body was numb as I fumbled with the keypad to my apartment. The living room was pitch black. I didn’t turn on the lights, just sank onto the sofa and hugged my knees to my chest. The clock on the wall ticked, its hands circling again and again. My phone chimed. I opened it mechanically. It was my best friend, Jenna. Her message was blunt. “Sia, be honest with me. Did Finnian… did he take naked photos of you?” 2 A wave of suffocating shame washed over me. I frantically turned off the screen. I promised I would… The screen lit up again. Jenna had sent a video. My hand trembled as I pressed play. It was a dimly lit private room at a bar. Finnian was holding a cigarette, his voice lazy. “Don’t worry, the first prize in the singing competition is yours.” Chloe, the scholarship student, was sitting right next to him. They were impossibly close. She forced a smile. “Don’t joke around. Sia is beautiful and rich. I could never compete with her.” Finnian stared at her, lost for a moment, as if completely captivated. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft. “She won’t dare.” Chloe grabbed his hand, her eyes wide and innocent. “Why not?” Finnian fell silent. Chloe didn’t push. She just reached for a glass of wine on the table. The neon lights flickered over them. Finnian sighed, catching her hand. “You’re on your period. Be good, no drinking.” Chloe just blinked at him, her gaze steady. Finnian seemed to crumble under her stare. He cupped her face, a helpless smile on his lips. “I have naked photos of her.” “Happy now, you little troublemaker?” The video ended. It felt like a gaping hole had been torn in my chest, and Finnian had poured acid into it, burning me from the inside out. Jenna’s voice messages continued. “Sia, did you and Finnian have a fight?” “How could he…” “And who is that girl with him?” “Did he take… those kinds of photos of you?” My throat felt like it was sealed with cement. I wanted to tell Jenna not to worry, but when I opened my mouth, no sound came out. I typed back a reply. “No, he was just joking.” “Are you still at your part-time job? Go home soon.” My head throbbed. I collapsed onto the sofa. Chloe… Chloe… I closed my eyes, letting the silent tears fall. During freshman orientation, Chloe was the student representative. She stood on the stage, her hair in a neat ponytail, delivering a speech that was powerful and confident. At that moment, I was suffering from heatstroke, leaning weakly against Finnian. He fanned me, chuckling. “Look at her, full of life. And you’re like a sick kitten.” “How will you ever survive without me?” My head was spinning. “Finn, I want a popsicle,” I mumbled. He poked my forehead. “Nope. You’ll get a stomachache.” I buried my head in his neck, forgetting all about Chloe. But it turned out Chloe was a music major too. She was bright and cheerful, a ball of endless energy who got along with everyone. When Finnian came to pick me up from class one day, he teased, “I wish you had half her energy.” At first, I didn’t think anything of it. But then he started mentioning her more and more. The honey water he brought specifically for me? He started bringing an extra one for her. I got angry. “Why are you being so nice to her?” I demanded. Finnian crossed his long legs, rubbing his temples. “Sia, it’s hard for a scholarship student to major in music. Her life is tough; she just pretends to be happy. It’s just honey water.” But soon, it wasn’t just honey water. It was desserts, snacks, afternoon tea… Our fights became more frequent. He always said Chloe had it hard, that I should be more understanding. Until today. Today, for her, he had thrown everything away. My dignity, my privacy—it was all just currency for him to win Chloe’s favor. I stared at the single, lonely star outside my window, wondering what I had done so wrong. Why didn’t Finnian want me anymore? I bit down on my wrist, the salty taste of tears mixing with the metallic tang of blood. I didn’t let go until the pain was sharp enough to distract me. I didn’t want to feel this way ever again. Finnian was right. I was a coward. My first instinct was always to hide in my shell. But I couldn’t bear this pain anymore. I opened my phone and booked a one-way ticket out of the country, for seven days from now. … I lay in bed, a throbbing pain in my temples. But I couldn’t sleep. I pulled out my phone, searching again and again. “What to do if boyfriend takes naked photos?” “Will my boyfriend leak my private photos?” “Intimate photos leaked by ex-boyfriend.” … Reading stories similar to mine, my chest ached until I couldn’t breathe. I pulled the covers tighter around me, my finger hovering over a link: “How to survive revenge porn.” The advice was all so simple. Tell your family, your friends. Seek help… It sounded so easy, written there in black and white. I played it out in my head, over and over. But none of it would work on Finnian. He wasn’t afraid of anything. He could make any problem disappear. Tears soaked my pillow until I finally passed out from exhaustion. My sleep was restless. In a haze, I heard the distinct click of a camera shutter. 3 I woke with a start, clutching the blanket to my chest. The room was dark, the only light a small, blinking red dot from a camera. Finnian was a shadow in the corner. His lips were curved in a smile, his eyes flushed from drinking. “Beautiful,” he murmured. I scrambled out of bed, trying to snatch the camera away, but he easily caught me, pulling me into his arms. The cloying scent of cologne and stale smoke filled my lungs, and I coughed, my body shaking. Finnian’s arms tightened around me. “Don’t move,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I missed you.” My nerves were stretched taut, like a string being endlessly plucked. I grabbed his sleeve, my voice a raw rasp. “Delete… it.” He pressed me down onto his lap. “What’s wrong with your voice? Didn’t you drink the honey water last night? Are you still mad the driver couldn’t find you?” A wave of nausea rose in my throat. I dug my nails into my palms, struggling to get away from him. He sighed, a sound of weary resignation. “I saw your phone.” The fog in my mind cleared for a brief, terrifying second. I started to tremble. My plane ticket… “Your friend told on me, didn’t she?” he said, stroking my back soothingly. “I did take Chloe to the class party last night. It was her birthday, and she had no one to celebrate with. It was just a small thing, Sia. Don’t overthink it.” All the fight went out of me. My voice was barely a whisper. “Finnian, please, delete the picture you just took. I don’t like it. I don’t want to do this anymore.” He froze. His voice turned cold, laced with ice. “Still throwing a tantrum?” “I knew I shouldn’t have told you. How many times do I have to say it? I just feel sorry for her. Sienna, my patience has its limits.” His accusations rained down on me, blow after heavy blow, leaving no room for escape. I shoved him away and ran to the bathroom, my stomach churning. I heaved over the toilet, but I hadn’t eaten all day. Only bitter acid came up. I heard hurried footsteps behind me. Finnian swept me up into his arms. His lips were a thin, tight line. “You haven’t been eating again? I’m taking you to the hospital.” I clung to his shirt, my voice choked with sobs. “No, please, no. Finnian, just delete the photos, please?” He looked down at me, at my swollen, red-rimmed eyes. A flicker of conflict crossed his face. But just then, his phone, lying on the table, began to ring. He glanced at the screen, and his expression hardened. He placed me gently on the bed and handed me the camera. “I’ll call the family doctor to come over. You get some rest.” “You can delete whatever you want from the camera.” “As for the other photos…” He paused, tucking the blanket around me. “After the competition is over in seven days, I’ll delete them for you.” He stood up and answered the phone, his voice instantly melting into a gentle murmur. “What’s wrong?” “Stay right where you are. I’m coming to find you.” The door slammed shut. Faintly, through the wood, I could hear Chloe’s muffled sobs. … The camera was heavy in my hands. The screen showed the photo he had just taken of me sleeping. My brow was furrowed, tear tracks still visible on my cheeks. My nightgown had slipped off one shoulder, revealing a hint of skin. I slowly pressed the delete button. Then, I went through the rest of the camera’s memory. Nothing… nothing… My fingers flew across the screen, but in the end, all I found were pictures of Chloe. She was fully dressed, smiling brightly at the lens. I kept scrolling. There was Chloe, reading quietly in the library. Chloe, from behind, carrying her books to class. A side profile of her in music class, her head bowed as she took notes. … Countless photos. So many. A chronicle of her life, moment by moment. It looked so… happy. I started laughing, and the laughter turned into tears. So this was what he meant by “just feeling sorry for her.” When Finnian had first bought the camera, we went to the beach. Someone asked him to take a picture for them. He had smiled, a distant, polite smile, and said, “I only take pictures of Sienna.” The sun was so bright that day. I remember blushing. I had believed, with all my heart, that I was the only one. Now, I saw that I was just another one. Like a madwoman, I tore through the apartment, pulling out every photo frame, smashing them one by one with the heavy camera until I was completely exhausted. Shards of glass littered the floor. Amid the wreckage, I sat, suddenly realizing how tired I was of this one-sided devotion. I couldn’t chase him anymore. Night fell, and my empty stomach protested. I picked my way through the glass, my feet bare, and made myself a bowl of noodles. The calm surface of the water reflected my own devastated face. While I waited for the water to boil, my phone buzzed. A screenshot from Jenna. It was Chloe’s latest social media post. “Got harassed during my gig at the bar tonight, but thankfully, he was there.” The accompanying photo was of Finnian. He was sitting casually on a sofa, his head bowed as if giving orders to someone out of frame. Jenna was furious. “What is this, a hard launch? Doesn’t Chloe know you’re his girlfriend and fiancée? And he just lets her post this? Where are the boundaries?!” The water boiled over. I dropped the noodles in. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore,” I typed back. “And I’m not going to marry him.” After I’d confessed my feelings, Finnian had arranged for our families to meet. They’d agreed on our engagement. We were supposed to get married after graduation. Jenna was silent for three seconds. Then my phone started vibrating nonstop with her calls. “Hahahaha, you finally saw the light! But wait, how are you going to explain this to your family? Is it going to be a huge mess?” A warmth spread through my chest. I cleared my throat. “It won’t be.” My parents had always thought I was too submissive with Finnian. It had taken months of pleading for them to agree to the engagement in the first place. I carved a smiley face into a slice of carrot and dropped it into my bowl, then stood at the counter and ate the whole thing. Outside, lightning split the sky. The wind whipped the white curtains into a frenzy. I shivered. My phone rang. It was Finnian. His voice was warm, apologetic. “Sia, a friend of mine got into some trouble. I won’t be back tonight. If you can’t sleep, there are sleeping pills in the cabinet.” A flash of lightning illuminated my pale face. I have insomnia. And I’m terrified of thunderstorms. When I was little, in the countryside, my grandmother would hold me. After I met Finnian, he took her place. The first time he found out, he’d scoffed. “Why are you such a coward?” Then, he’d opened his arms. “There’s an empty spot right here. Come on.” For eleven years, he had never missed a storm. Until tonight. I didn’t reply. I didn’t know how. Should I pretend I didn’t know? Should I scream at him? It felt like neither option was worth the effort anymore. None of it mattered. I called my parents. “A broken engagement? Did you and Finnian have a fight, honey?” my mother asked, her voice filled with concern. “Nothing like that,” I said vaguely. “I just don’t think we’re a good fit.” My mother sighed. “Alright. Finnian is a wild spirit. This might be for the best. Don’t worry, your father will handle things with the Crofts.” I choked back a sob, my voice steady. “Mom, can we… can we not tell the Crofts just yet?” “Okay, sweetie. Whatever you want,” she said with another sigh. “If you’re unhappy, just come home. Mom’s here.” I hung up quickly, my eyes burning. But I couldn’t cry anymore. I curled up in bed and fell into a heavy sleep. Six more days. In six days, the photos would be gone. And Finnian and I would go our separate ways, never to meet again.

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The System bonded with me just as I finished whipping Sierra Bright. A shrill, static shriek erupted in my mind. [Host, stop! She’s the female lead! The one who’s destined to kick you out of your home and leave you for dead in the streets!] My gaze drifted down to Sierra. She was kneeling at my feet, hands bound behind her back. Expanses of pale skin were bare, crisscrossed with the angry red welts I’d just left. As if sensing my eyes on her, she lifted her head. Her expression was a blank mask, her eyes as cold and empty as a winter lake. Not a flicker of emotion. The System’s voice trembled. [Host, it’s not too late! Untie her! Put some ointment on her wounds! Ask her if she’s cold, if she needs anything…] I let out a cold laugh and slapped her across the face. A dog that bites just needs to be taught its place. 1 Sierra’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. Her breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. Her chest rose and fell, her legs pressed tightly together. She looked like she was at the very edge of her control. I gripped her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. Sierra’s gaze was a black, suffocating void. It had a way of making you feel pinned, even when she was the one bound and kneeling, covered in marks. There was no sense of defeat in her, only a coiled, predatory stillness. The kind that promised she would rip your throat out the second she was free. “Do you know why I hit you?” I asked. She said nothing, just stared, her eyes burning into mine. I patted her cheek. “If you don’t know, then you can stay on your knees.” “Kneel here until I wake up from my nap. Then we can go to class together. How does that sound?” I stood up and walked past her toward the bedroom. The leg of my trousers brushed against her cheek. Her dark eyes shuttered, and after a long moment, she slowly closed them. 2 Sierra was a toy I’d acquired by chance. She had the looks, the brains… it didn’t take long for her to become a campus legend after starting university. I saw her around a few times and decided I wanted her. I pursued her, but she acted as if I didn’t exist. It was the first time I’d ever been rejected, and the blow to my ego was significant. So, I had her investigated. It turned out her family was dirt-poor and her mother was gravely ill. No matter how many part-time jobs she killed herself working, she could never scrape together enough for the medical bills. Conveniently, I had more money than I knew what to do with. Our relationship was simple. I paid her bills, and she played the part of my dog. I have a vindictive streak and a long memory. The flicker of attraction I felt for her wasn’t nearly enough to erase the humiliation of being ignored. And that face of hers… every time she looked at me with those placid, emotionless eyes, I felt an overwhelming urge to make her feel something. I wanted to rip open her prim white blouses, to leave my mark on her flesh. But Sierra rarely showed any emotion. Even when I hit her hard, she would only gasp for breath, glaring at me, stubbornly refusing to make a sound. It was as if she knew exactly what I wanted to see, what I wanted to hear. And so she denied me, her face a mask, her lips sealed. 3 But now, thanks to the System, I had some new information. Apparently, the world I lived in was a novel. Sierra was the protagonist, destined to rise from the ashes and become a titan of the business world. And I was the villain. The sadistic asshole who subjected her to endless humiliation in the early chapters. The first thing Sierra did after clawing her way to the top was to eliminate me. The System also informed me that Sierra and I had, in fact, been switched at birth. My own biological mother was the one who had swapped us in the hospital nursery. So, the life of immense wealth and privilege I enjoyed was a sham. Sierra was the true heiress. I was just the impostor. One of the novel’s major “satisfying” plot points, I was told. For me, however, it was anything but satisfying. I had no desire to live Sierra’s life of miserable poverty. I couldn’t stomach a single one of the hardships she endured as a matter of course. The System was practically weeping in my head. [Then why are you still hitting the female lead, Host?! This will only make her hate you more! When the truth comes out, your fate will be even worse than what was written in the book!] [Hurry up and untie her! Apologize! Let her go!] “No,” I said, cutting it off. “Remind me, what is it you’re supposed to do?” The System sulked. [My purpose is to help you raise the female lead’s affection score, thereby changing your tragic ending.] [It’s my fault for arriving so late… you’ve already been treating her like this for a month. Forget raising her affection score, we’ll be lucky if it’s not in the negatives!] “Why don’t you check what her affection score is for me right now?” I suggested. The System muttered as it ran the scan. [I’ll eat my own code if it isn’t negative… Affection Score: 95%?!?] [That’s impossible!] [Is this a bug?!] [Something is seriously wrong! Either I’m broken, or the female lead is broken… Who gets whipped every day and falls more in love? Is she a psychopath?!] I yawned. “She is.” You can suppress your emotions. You can control your expression. But you can’t fake a physiological reaction. Every time I laid a hand on her, Sierra’s face remained a mask of cold indifference, but her body betrayed her. A flush would creep up her neck, staining her ears crimson. A sheen of moisture would film over her eyes, making them glisten. She thought she had it all under control, but every pore of her skin was screaming for me to come closer, to touch her, to punish her. But I never truly gave her what she wanted. 4 During the university’s anniversary festival, I had a run-in with an old acquaintance. Mark, my roommate from freshman orientation. Back before my family’s influence was widely known, he’d spread a rumor on the campus gossip blog that I was being kept by some rich old cougar. I confronted him directly, threw a wad of cash in his face, and publicly humiliated him. Then I had my lawyers send him a cease and desist letter. He ended up posting a tearful apology video, which made us both infamous on campus. He’d avoided me like the plague ever since. Now, for some reason, he’d found his courage again. And all because I’d sent Sierra to grab me a bubble tea from off-campus? Mark was practically vibrating with self-righteous fury. “Julian Derringer, you think you can bully people just because you have money? Why should Sierra have to go get your damn bubble tea? Don’t you have legs?” “You’ve been ordering her around like this for a month! Do you think she’s your servant? If you’re such a sick bastard, go home! Why even come to school?” One of my friends scoffed. “Who are you to Sierra, Mark? You’re acting like Julian just ordered your girlfriend around.” “Yeah, man, don’t be so possessive of someone else’s girl. Julian just finished performing; he’s exhausted. What’s the big deal about getting him a tea?” “Unless… you have a crush on Sierra, and you can’t stand seeing her be so good to Julian?” Mark’s voice rose. “She’s never publicly admitted they’re a couple!” “I just think what you’re doing is disgusting! We’re all supposed to be equals here, but you, Julian Derringer, you act so special, treating a fellow student like your personal slave…” His shouting drew a crowd. Nothing attracts college students like a bit of drama. Right on cue, Sierra returned, a single bubble tea in her hand. She seemed oblivious to the argument swirling around her, walking through the parted crowd and silently presenting the drink to me. I was still in my stage costume, slouched in a chair. “Put the straw in for me,” I said, completely ignoring Mark’s pathetic yapping. Without a word, without a change in her expression, Sierra did as she was told and handed the drink to my side. I took a sip, then sighed dramatically. “Ugh, my hands are full. And my feet are killing me in these leather shoes.” I looked at Sierra. “Be a dear and change my shoes for me, would you?” 5 The crowd gasped, their expressions a mixture of shock and thrilled excitement. Mark stared for a moment, then sputtered, “Sierra, don’t listen to him! He’s…” Before he could finish, Sierra was already moving. She sank down before me, resting on one knee, her hand closing around my ankle. A shiver went through me. The air conditioning was on high, and my feet were cold, but her hand was burning hot. Her grip was firm, leaving faint prints on my skin as she slowly eased off my leather shoe. All I could see was the top of her head, her expression hidden from view. I took another sip of my tea and glanced at Mark’s pale, horrified face. A malicious grin spread across my lips. “You know what? You’re right. I do treat her like a servant. Why don’t you ask her if she wants to go with you?” I said it casually, as if bored. “If she says yes, I’ll let her go. I promise.” “Of course she’ll say yes,” Mark declared with a bizarre confidence. He looked at her with heroic determination. “Sierra, I know you’re being forced into this. You never smile when you’re with him. You must be sick of Julian constantly harassing you.” I started to lift my foot, but before I could tap her chin, she caught my foot, holding it firmly in her grasp. My breath hitched. After a moment, I spoke. “She’s talking to you. Are you sick of me harassing you?” Sierra was tying the laces on my sneakers. Her voice was low and steady. “No.” I smiled. “Do you want to go with him?” I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper. “This is your only chance to walk away, you know.” Sierra paused. The System’s voice was frantic in my head. [Host, are you really letting her go?! I know her affection score is high, but…] No sane person would endure this kind of treatment. If given a chance to escape, anyone would take it. I said nothing, just watched her. She shook her head, her voice slightly hoarse. “I’m not leaving.” 6 After getting into university, my family bought me a condo near campus. It made for a perfect little love nest. The moment we got home, I stripped off Sierra’s shirt. My thumb pressed against a whip mark that hadn’t yet faded. I traced the long, thin line, feeling the breath hitch in the body beneath me as she instinctively leaned into my touch. I shoved her away. The whip and ropes were always within arm’s reach. A month was a long time. My initial fascination with her had started to wane, but the System’s arrival had rekindled my interest. Sierra closed her eyes, probably expecting another lashing. But not this time. I stepped forward, and under her surprised gaze, I cupped her face, my other hand stroking her side. “Sierra, you made me very happy today.” She stared at me, bewildered. I met her gaze, my hand sliding down to hook a finger in the waistband of her jeans, leading her toward the bedroom. It was the first time I had ever brought her into my room. Usually, she slept on the sofa or the floor. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at her. “Kneel.” Her eyes darkened slightly, as if she suspected this was just a new form of torture. She knelt without a word, her expression unreadable. I had a new toy. A collar. I leaned forward to fasten it around her neck. Her gaze flickered to my own throat for a second before dropping again, submitting to my touch. Once it was on, I gave it a sharp tug. Sierra tumbled forward onto me. Her bare chest heaved, her breathing ragged. Her eyes were feral. “Julian, don’t push it too far.”

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