The day I went into labor, I was wheeled into the delivery room, only to find my husband, Liam Hayes’s childhood friend, Chloe Miller, was there to deliver my baby. She was wearing a tight, suggestive nurse uniform, holding a toy syringe, and posing for the camera. I was drenched in cold sweat from the pain. I forced myself to sit up and looked around. The entire delivery room was rigged with cameras, but there wasn’t a single professional obstetrician. My husband, Liam Hayes, stood by the operating table, reassuring me, “Chloe is an actress. She’s been working hard to land a role as a midwife in a film. Just let her practice on you one more time.” My lips trembled in shock. I shook my head desperately, pleading, as blood drenched the bedsheets beneath me. But he ignored me, pointing his camera at Chloe. “Go ahead, no one will come in to disturb your performance.” Chloe couldn’t even tell the surgical instruments apart, constantly simpering for the camera. “Scarlett, don’t be scared, I’m here. I won’t cause you to miscarry like the last two times.” Excruciating pain ripped through my body. I struggled to grab Chloe’s hand. “Get, get a doctor…” She shrieked and threw herself into Liam’s arms. “Ew, Liam, my hands are all bloody! It’s disgusting, I’m so scared!” He shielded Chloe, glaring at me with a look of disgust. “Scarlett, are you doing this on purpose? Can’t you just cooperate with Chloe to finish this performance?” Performance? I was enduring a woman’s most painful moment, yet they blamed me for not cooperating. The next second, Chloe walked towards me with a syringe. “An injection of this will keep you from moving around.” I widened my eyes in terror. They ignored my desperate pleas, injecting the anesthetic into my body. When I woke up again, the baby in my belly was gone. I cried until I couldn’t breathe… I made up my mind to call the police. I would personally make sure they rotted in prison.

I woke up in the hospital bed, the vast room empty. A nurse pushed the door open to change my dressing, and that’s when I learned I’d been unconscious for two days. My third child was gone too. I touched my flat stomach, and tears streamed from my eyes like a bursting dam. Suddenly, Chloe’s voice came from the doorway. “Liam, Scarlett lost another baby. She won’t blame me, will she?” Liam Hayes’s tone was cold. “It doesn’t matter. She’s healthy, so if the baby’s gone, it’s gone.” “You, on the other hand, need to be careful. You’ve just conceived, and the pregnancy is unstable. This is *our* first child, and it’s very precious.” Just on the other side of the wall, I suddenly overheard their conversation, right outside the morgue corridor. Every word was like a knife blade, deeply piercing my heart, and the pain made me feel like I was suffocating. Liam’s eyes were filled with deep affection as he gazed at her pregnant belly, his tenderness evident. Chloe Miller was Liam Hayes’s childhood friend, and her acting skills were terrible. But Liam, in an attempt to get her a role, had used me to practice delivering a baby three times. The first two times, I lost my babies without even realizing it. I thought it was my fault, that I hadn’t protected them well enough. I never imagined the truth would be this. My heart ached as if it were being pricked by a thousand needles. Now, she was carrying my husband’s child, while my children were cold bodies. Chloe blamed herself. “Liam, the doctor said she can’t have any more children after this. She won’t hate us when she finds out the truth, will she?” “It’s all my fault. All to get a tiny role with less than three minutes of screen time, I caused Scarlett to lose three children…” Liam gently stroked her forehead, pulling her into his embrace. “Don’t worry, she won’t find out. What you need to do now is rest and take care of your pregnancy.” “I’ve already invested twenty million in the film, making me the biggest investor. You can choose any role you want.” “I promised I’d make you a star, and I’ll make sure your child is born. As for Scarlett, I’ll find a way to compensate her properly…” It felt like I’d been struck by lightning. I leaned against the wall, numb and utterly disbelieving. I tightly covered my mouth to keep from crying out loud, but the pain threatened to drown me.

The next second, Liam Hayes pushed open the door, his face etched with sorrow. “Scarlett, you’re awake.” “I brought you pizza from that place we used to love. Let me feed you.” My face was pale. I didn’t eat the pizza he held to my mouth. Instead, I asked, “Where’s the baby?” Liam lowered his gaze. “This, this was an accident. I gave Chloe pre-op training, but she might have been too nervous…” “Anyway, we can still have more children later.” At his words, all the strength drained from me. I lay down and pulled the covers over myself. “Just go.” Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I cried uncontrollably. It felt like my insides had been hollowed out, leaving only a weak shell of a body. Liam was the one who said he loved children, that he wanted us to have our own baby. Back then, we had just gotten engaged, and I was reveling in the joy of our child’s impending arrival. But then Chloe Miller appeared, and the man who once loved me with all his heart suddenly had her presence woven into every part of his life. During my second delivery, I suffered an amniotic fluid embolism. Liam frantically had the entire hospital working through the night to save me. They both stayed by my bedside, not moving an inch, overjoyed when I finally woke up. My face was pale. I weakly whispered that I wanted to see the baby. Liam’s expression instantly turned cold. He just flatly said the baby couldn’t be saved. “Couldn’t be saved? I don’t believe it! It was a girl, her nose and eyes were just like yours! How could she not be saved?!” I practically knelt before Liam Hayes. Tears streamed down my face, but he remained unmoved. I cried hysterically, clutching the tiny clothes I’d already prepared for her. For several days, I locked myself in my room, refusing to eat or drink. Later, I found out that Chloe had injected an excessive amount of anesthetic directly into the fetus. She watched the fetus die on the spot, never once calling for any professional medical staff to intervene. Only when there was no movement left did she feign panic and call out to Liam Hayes for help. I gazed at their ultrasound photos; every fetal movement had filled me with joy. I had hoped this child would fill the void left by the previous losses, but reality dealt me another crushing blow. Pain racked my entire body, and my heart was twisted with agony. I was so weak I could barely stand. I immediately checked out of the hospital and hailed a cab to leave. In March, the city was still seeing flurries of snow. The cold wind cut across my face like a knife. I wandered aimlessly through the city in my hospital gown. I passed the downtown high-rise; that was where Liam Hayes had proposed to me eight years ago. He had once rented out the entire top floor for a lavish proposal that everyone in the city talked about. Giant screens projected my name, displaying our six years together, from our school days to our wedding day. Every single moment, meticulously documented in over eight thousand photos. Our memories alone would fill more than 20 gigabytes. Later, we chose a stunning cliffside castle in Bali for our wedding. I accepted his ring and said “I do.” He cried with excitement, holding me tightly. Everyone in the entire college knew Liam was madly in love with me; our romance was a campus legend. He not only tattooed my name over his heart, but he’d also picked out names for our children long ago. Before, I thought they loved me. But after Chloe Miller appeared, everything changed.

I walked into the bridal shop where we had picked out my wedding dress. A shop assistant was packaging up a six-figure, diamond-encrusted wedding gown. “I’m so jealous of this Chloe Miller woman; she’s so lucky. Her fiancé must adore her. I heard they’re having a wedding of the century next week…” Tears welled up as I lowered my head. My wedding dress had long since been burned. That was the first time I discovered his affair with Chloe. I stormed into his office, ready to make a scene. When I opened the door, they were tangled on a sofa, their clothes disheveled. He shielded Chloe behind him, angrily yelling at me, “Get out, you shrew! Get out!” “Chloe is innocent. Whatever you want to do, do it to me! If I had met Chloe earlier, I probably never would have fallen in love with you…” His words were like poison, and in an instant, bitterness spread through my entire body. Later, he burned all our wedding mementos, every single token of our love. At one point, I had given up all hope and thought of leaving, but then he cried and told me he was wrong. I never imagined his apology was just a ploy to make me keep having his children. Suddenly, Chloe Miller walked into the bridal shop to pick up her dress and saw me in my hospital gown. She was about to greet me when I slowly spoke. “Are you even human? For a minor role, you caused me to lose three children!” Chloe’s face darkened, and she smirked. “Yes, I did. So what? You can’t have any more kids anyway!” “Oh, Liam just adores me! When he saw I couldn’t get this role for three years, he just paid to get me into the cast!” “And I’m about to become Liam Hayes’s wife. You’re just a home-wrecker, the mistress in someone else’s marriage. Tsk tsk tsk, how pathetic…” I clenched my fists in anger. Seeing this, Chloe just laughed harder. “Hahaha, furious, aren’t you? What if I told you that the whole ‘fighting for a role’ thing was a complete lie? I just wanted your children to die…” “Not only will I make you experience the pain of losing a child, but I’ll also ruin your reputation!” I lunged forward and slapped her hard. “You wicked bitch! How can someone be so evil?!” The next second, I was kicked away, falling heavily to the ground. Blood instantly soaked through my hospital gown. “You wicked woman! How dare you lay a hand on Chloe?” “Why don’t you just die with your children? You’re nothing but bad luck!” It was Liam Hayes. He quickly pulled Chloe into his arms, utterly distraught. His eyes burned with rage, as if he wanted to tear me to shreds. “Even if the baby is gone, you shouldn’t have laid a hand on Chloe! Don’t you know she’s pregnant? If anything happens to her or the baby, I swear I’ll never forgive you!” Liam Hayes left with Chloe, completely ignoring me as I lay bleeding profusely. The shop assistant shrieked and called for an ambulance. In that moment, my heart died completely. I lay in a pool of blood, gradually losing consciousness. As I was rushed to the operating room, I thought of my lost children. I had already picked out names for each of them, but each time, they left me forever… “Dr. Hayes, Ms. Thompson has a severe laceration and massive hemorrhage. We might not be able to save her uterus.” Liam didn’t hesitate. He instructed the doctors to perform a hysterectomy on me while simultaneously setting up equipment to continuously draw my blood.

I opened my eyes two days later, staring blankly at the ceiling. There was no one by my bedside. The nurse changed my dressing, remarking how lucky I was to be alive, a true survivor. I gently touched my abdomen, and tears streamed from my eyes. I knew I would never have children again. And the devils who killed my children, I sighed. I downloaded the bridal shop’s surveillance footage and, along with all the evidence I’d collected of Liam Hayes’s affair and their causing my three miscarriages, sent it to the hospital. I’d make them both pay! Suddenly, Liam Hayes pushed open the hospital room door, holding a gift. “Scarlett, you’re awake. I bought you a gift to apologize. I was wrong before.” “Next week, the college has its promotion review. You know I’ve always wanted to become Dean. To have Chloe accompany me, would you be willing to admit that *you* were the one who broke up our relationship, that *you* were the mistress?” “Look, I bought you a new necklace, from your favorite brand.” My face was pale. I looked at the cold necklace and gave a self-deprecating laugh. That brand was Chloe’s favorite, not mine. He had long forgotten everything I loved. I refused, reaching out to put the necklace aside, ignoring it completely. In that instant, Liam Hayes suddenly felt like a complete stranger. How could he have tried to kill me? “No way! I’ll make sure the entire faculty knows you cheated. I’ll ruin both your and Chloe’s reputations!” I gritted my teeth as I said this. At my words, Liam Hayes froze. He had never imagined I would resist. He slapped me hard, and half my face instantly swelled up. After all, I had once said I wouldn’t have any more children, yet he repeatedly tricked and coerced me into getting pregnant. Until I fully saw the true face of the man before me, his phone dropped to the floor. His screensaver was Chloe. I remembered his private photo album, every single picture in it was of her. Every date, every kiss, every hug—all meticulously recorded. It was like a diary of all his deepest thoughts and longing for her. Three thousand pictures, all carefully preserved, but he didn’t know these would be the best evidence to destroy him! I clutched my swollen face, looking at him, an uncontrollable agony sweeping through my body, piercing me to the bone. Fury surged in my chest, and my whole body felt like it was on fire. Liam Hayes still wanted to hit me, but the next second, blood suddenly gushed out from below again. With my last ounce of strength, I tearfully grabbed him. “Liam Hayes, this is the second time you’ve hit me. Do you even remember our children who died?” “Help me, please, call a doctor! I’m dying…” Seeing my condition, Liam Hayes walked away without hesitation, locking the hospital room door from the outside. I knew I was hemorrhaging badly. My vision blurred. I desperately pounded on the door. “Let me out! Liam, please, let me out! I don’t want to die…” Liam Hayes lit a cigarette outside, his voice cold. “Just admit you were the mistress, and I’ll let you out immediately.” “I’m not, I’m not…” Darkness consumed my vision, and I couldn’t hold on any longer, falling unconscious. The next second, my mother, Eleanor, arrived with the police and representatives from the Hospital’s Internal Affairs Department. “Liam Hayes, as the Dean, having an affair with a student, ruining the school’s reputation, and causing my daughter to miscarry three times — they should both be arrested!”

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Every time I finished a night shift, all I wanted was to sleep. But my mom, Sarah, always insisted I eat three meals a day, on schedule. If I didn’t get up, she’d yank off my covers, throw open the curtains, and slam doors, making as much noise as possible. This constant disruption often left me with chest pains, foggy-headed at work, and prone to mistakes. I absolutely hated it. Still, I knew that for her generation, the fear was starving, not collapsing from sleep deprivation. My mom genuinely thought she was looking out for me. So that day, the moment I heard her knock, I got up. I walked out just in time to hear Sarah complaining to my younger sister, Chloe. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I made big portions of everything.” “I figured, with Audrey here, nothing would go to waste.” “But Audrey either doesn’t get up, or just picks at her food. Honestly, she just annoys me.” My heart sank. So I was just Chloe’s leftover trash can. Then, Sarah started complaining about me living off them. “If this keeps up, I’m going to charge her rent!” Had she forgotten? I was the one paying this house’s mortgage! Chloe, on the other hand, had been sponging off us since she graduated. She was the real freeloader. 1 Hearing Sarah’s words, all sleepiness vanished. A gust of wind swept through the apartment. My bedroom door slammed shut. Sarah and Chloe quickly quieted down, turning to stare at me. Sarah fake-glanced out the window, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, look at that. The sun must be coming up in the west.” “Some people get up on their own after just one call.” Chloe giggled, patting the chair next to her. “Audrey, what are you standing there for? Come eat!” I slowly walked over, studying the dishes. Every single one was Chloe’s favorite. And whichever dish Chloe ate more of, Sarah would immediately push it closer to her. My heart pounded, just like it did every time Sarah forced me awake. Eventually, it twisted into a sharp ache. I wasn’t a picky eater. Most of the time, I was so tired my eyes could barely stay open. I’d truly never noticed. Sarah’s favoritism was so incredibly obvious. I deliberately reached for the fried chicken in front of Chloe. Sarah couldn’t help but snap. “Can’t you see Chloe finally found something she likes? “Can’t you just let her have it? You always have to snatch things!” I couldn’t eat another bite. “Right, I should just wait until Chloe’s done, then come out.” “Eat her leftovers, be her leftover trash can!” Tears of frustration streamed down my face, unstoppable. Sarah’s face showed no trace of panic or guilt. “You clearly heard us, and now you’re just putting on a show to annoy me.” “Besides, what’s wrong with what I said?” “Chloe is delicate; it’s hard for her to find things she likes. What’s wrong with letting her have it?” “And you, you eat like you’re always starving, what difference does it make what you eat anyway!” My eyes widened in shock. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Chloe pushed the plate of fried chicken toward me. “It’s okay, I don’t have to eat it.” She said it, but her eyes were glued to the fried chicken. Since childhood, Chloe and I had almost identical clothes, food, and everything else. Sarah bought us the same things. But every single item was something Chloe liked. For instance, during blueberry season. Sarah would buy a box for each of us. But only Chloe liked them. I hated them! Or when our relatives bought us two backpacks, Sarah always let Chloe pick first, whichever one she liked. I’d always get the one Chloe didn’t want. I used to deceive myself, telling myself it was only right for me to make allowances for her. But now, I had to admit. My mom was undeniably biased. A surge of anger rushed through me. I grabbed the fried chicken and dumped it into the trash can. “This is where trash belongs!” Chloe’s mouth turned down, and her eyes immediately welled up. Sarah exploded in a fit of rage, roaring. “Chloe even gave you her favorite food, why are you being so aggressive?” “I think I’ve been too nice to you!” “From today onwards, if you want to stay in this house, you must pay me $2,500 for rent and $2,000 for household expenses!” I let out a cold laugh. My monthly salary was only $8,000, and the house mortgage was $3,500. To avoid going broke every month, I’d given up renting near my office, commuting three hours each way every day. Now Sarah wanted to completely drain me dry. She was playing a truly brilliant game. I had nothing more to say. I turned and went back to my room. “I won’t pay rent, and I definitely won’t pay household expenses!” “And from now on, don’t wake me up for meals after my night shifts. And keep your noise down!” Otherwise, I’d move out immediately and let the house go into foreclosure! But I couldn’t bring myself to say that last part. This house was in a good school district, bought by my parents so Chloe and I could attend high school in the city. When my dad was alive, we managed to get by. My dad passed away unexpectedly a few years ago. Sarah only had a modest retirement pension, about a thousand dollars a month. The two of them had been living off my dad’s compensation money for the past few years. As far as I knew, my dad’s compensation was almost gone. If I really washed my hands of it, their lives would become incredibly difficult. So, I went to sleep, fuming. I slept until 8 PM, then groggily got up to use the restroom. But I couldn’t open the bathroom door. Sarah sashayed over, handing me a QR code. “Five dollars for a pee, ten dollars for a poop, one dollar per sheet of toilet paper.” “Scan to open the door!” 2 I frowned, staring at Sarah. She explained with a fake smile. “If you don’t pay rent, you’re not entitled to use anything in this house.” “Either pay up now, or you’ll pay me $4,500 every month from now on.” That’s when I realized Sarah was serious. I said coldly, “I’m not entitled? Don’t forget, I’m the one paying the $3,500 mortgage every month.” “Many things in this house, I bought them!” “And Chloe? She’s been living off you since she graduated, sponging off us.” “You want rent and household expenses from me, why don’t you ask her?” Sarah instantly bristled. “So what if you’re paying the mortgage? “The deed is in *my* name. This house has nothing to do with you.” “Besides, you paying the mortgage? That’s just you repaying me for raising you, it’s what you’re supposed to do!” “And what I’m asking for is wear-and-tear fees for the house, and my labor costs for cleaning your room, cooking for you, and doing your dishes.” “These are separate issues, don’t you dare conflate them!” “As for Chloe,” Sarah suddenly stammered, fumbling for a while before finally saying, “Chloe is different from you!” Faced with Sarah’s twisted logic, my heart felt like it had been stuffed with broken glass, searing with pain. “How is she different?” “Aside from being two years younger than me, how is she different?” I took a deep breath, suppressing the bitter turmoil in my chest. Finally, I made my decision. “Fine, let’s keep matters separate.” “Then I’ll just move out. You won’t have any excuse to ask me for money then, right?” “And… figure out the mortgage on your own from now on.” With that, I immediately turned and went back to my room to pack my things. I didn’t want to stay in that house for another minute! Sarah, furious, tried to grab my arm. “You think you can just move in and out whenever you please? It doesn’t work that way.” “If you insist on leaving, you’ll pay me ten years of back rent and household expenses!” I didn’t want to argue needlessly with Sarah. I pushed her away, turned my back, and started looking for my ID and passport in the bedside drawer. Suddenly, Chloe screamed and rushed in, yelling. “Sarah, what’s wrong with you!” I spun around. Sarah was clutching her chest, groaning in pain in Chloe’s arms. 3 I didn’t have time to think. I immediately called 91

Even if a stranger collapsed in front of me, I couldn’t just ignore them. Especially not my own mother. The ambulance arrived quickly. Chloe followed me to the hospital. She wasn’t worried about Sarah’s condition; she just stared at me intently. I knew why. She was afraid I’d leave and no one would pay the medical bills. Soon, Sarah was wheeled out of the room by a nurse. The nurse told me. Sarah had collapsed due to acute myocardial infarction. She needed bypass surgery within three days, or her life would be in danger. But the surgery would cost $100,000. For five years, I’d scrimped and saved, doing odd jobs occasionally. My entire savings amounted to just $50,000. I was just about to completely break free from Sarah and start my own life. If I borrowed money to cover this sum now, my future would be incredibly difficult. As I hesitated, Chloe loudly declared. “Audrey, Sarah used her entire pension to buy a house in the city so you could go to school!” “For all these years you lived at home, Sarah never made you lift a finger.” “Now Sarah is like this, and you have money but won’t pay for her medical expenses? Are you just going to watch her die?” Chloe’s voice wasn’t quiet. People around us all looked over, their eyes filled with scorn. I wasn’t in the mood to argue about her half-truths. But one thing she said was right. No matter how much I resented Sarah, I couldn’t just watch her die. Fine. This $100,000 would be my repayment for giving birth to me. From now on, I owed her nothing. It took me a full day to gather the $100,000. The next morning, I went to the hospital cashier’s office, ready to pre-pay the medical expenses. Just as the money was about to be transferred, the cashier, Nurse Davis, suddenly whispered. “The nurse who told you your mother needed immediate surgery… she seems to be related to your mom.” 4 I was utterly confused. But I could tell something fishy was going on. So, I pulled back my phone. “I won’t pay for now, thank you.” I first found Sarah’s attending physician and asked. “Doctor, what are the chances of success for my mom’s bypass surgery?” The doctor looked confused. “Bypass surgery? Your mom is just having a stent procedure, you must have misheard?” My heart gave a sudden jolt. I tried to sound calm. “I apologize, I might have been too anxious and misheard. So, what’s the approximate cost for this stent procedure?” The doctor rubbed his temples, looking extremely tired. “Didn’t I have Nurse Davis tell you? The surgery cost isn’t high. If your mother has insurance, it’ll be around ten thousand dollars after reimbursement.” After leaving the doctor’s office, I went back to Nurse Davis. I got straight to the point. “If you don’t want me to report you and cost you your job, tell me the truth!” Nurse Davis sighed reluctantly, then spilled everything. It turned out Nurse Davis was Sarah’s distant cousin, Carol. Chloe, who had met Carol once with Sarah, had contacted her on the way to the hospital. The two of them had conspired to stage this scam. Anger consumed my reason. I dragged Carol to the hospital room, ready for a face-to-face confrontation! In the hospital room, Sarah was already awake. Chloe sat in front of her, beaming. “Audrey has already gone to pay.” “After your surgery, Carol will help us get the remaining money back.” “As long as Audrey doesn’t see the surgery report, that money will magically end up in our pockets.” Sarah chuckled with glee. “My daughter is so smart. After we get the extra medical money back, I’ll add a little more and buy you that car you like.” Chloe snuggled into Sarah’s arm, cooing. “Thank you, Sarah! You’re the best!” Sarah dotingly ruffled Chloe’s hair. A loud bang went off in my ears. My mind went blank. After a long moment, I regained my composure. Since she was so heartless, I didn’t need to consider any ‘debt of upbringing’ anymore. From this day forward, whether she lived or died was no longer my concern. I walked into the hospital room openly. The mother and daughter quickly clamped their mouths shut in a panic. Chloe put on an act, squeezing out a few tears. “Sarah, why did your heart condition suddenly worsen?” “But Audrey has already gone to pay, you can have the surgery tomorrow, you’ll be fine.” Then, she pretended to just notice me entering the room, asking excitedly. “Audrey, did you pay the medical bill?” Sarah glanced at me, snorting coldly. “This is all because of certain people making me angry. She wouldn’t dare not pay!” At that moment, I spoke with incredible calm. “Why should I pay for you? You’re going to charge me rent, so we’re just landlord and tenant.” “You don’t ask your own biological daughter for money, but you expect me to pay your medical bills? Don’t you think that’s funny?” Sarah was so angry she couldn’t speak a complete sentence. I suddenly remembered how she’d blocked me from the restroom earlier. I pulled out my PayPal QR code and held it in front of Sarah. “Oh, and I took care of you here last night. According to caretaker rates, you owe me $500.” “Please pay!”

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At two in the morning, my water broke, and I was staring blankly at Ethan’s latest Snapchat message. “Vanessa’s bathroom pipe burst, and her kid was so scared he got a fever. I’m going to help out. Won’t be back tonight.” Immediately after, an Instagram notification popped up, a red dot. From Vanessa. The photo showed a man’s hand holding a wrench, fixing a pipe, sleeves rolled up, revealing a long, firm forearm. The watch I’d scrimped and saved to buy him gleamed under the light, a painful stab in my eyes. The caption: “So grateful to have you in this city. Leo’s fever is down, and that back-view fixing the pipe? Hottest ever.” The baby in my belly seemed to sense my emotions and kicked me hard. Sharp pain, accompanied by warm liquid, instantly gushed out, soaking the bedsheet. I panicked, my hands shaking violently as I dialed Ethan’s number. The first call, hung up. The second call, still hung up. I wouldn’t give up, desperately dialing a third time. Finally, it connected. What came through the earpiece wasn’t an anxious inquiry, but a low growl, brimming with anger. “Chloe, are you done yet? Didn’t I tell you? Vanessa is a single mom, it’s not easy for her and her kid. Her house is flooded in the middle of the night. If I don’t go help, should I just watch them drown?” The heavy ache in my abdomen made it almost impossible to breathe. I pleaded with him, my voice cracking. “Ethan, my water broke… I’m in so much pain. Where are you? Can you come back and take me to the hospital…” The other end of the line was silent for a second. Then Vanessa’s panicked voice came through: “Ethan, Leo just threw up again! Is he having a seizure? Please come quickly!” Ethan’s slight hesitation vanished instantly. His tone became extremely impatient. “Are you jealous because of my Instagram post? Chloe, when did you become so manipulative? To trick me into coming back, you’d even lie about your water breaking? Your due date is still three days away. Stay home by yourself. Don’t be unreasonable.” “Beep—” The call was ruthlessly cut off. When I tried to call again, his phone was off. Outside, thunder boomed. Lightning tore through the night sky, illuminating my ghastly pale face. Despair washed over me like a tide. This old apartment building had no elevator. Ethan, in his eagerness to provide “on-call support” for Vanessa and her kid, had bought our marital home in a run-down building just two streets away from her place. Now those six flights of stairs became my gate to hell. I bit my lip until it bled, grabbed my hospital bag, and leaning against the wall, started to inch my way out, step by agonizing step. With each step, my lower body felt like it was tearing apart. Sweat mingled with tears, flowing into my mouth, bitter and salty. When I finally made it downstairs, the rain was pouring down. Soaked to the bone, I stood in the heavy rain for a full twenty minutes before finally flagging down a taxi willing to stop. The driver looked at me, his face turning pale with fright, and he ran two red lights to get me to the nearest hospital. Inside the emergency room, a nurse pushed a wheelchair toward me, shouting, “Family? Where’s the patient’s family? We need to get her checked in!” People came and went in the hall, but I lay alone on the gurney, feeling like trash abandoned by the world. Trembling, I pulled a card from my soaked bag, handed it to the nurse, and forced a smile uglier than a cry. “No family… I’ll sign for myself.”

The labor process felt like a trip through hell. Due to excessive amniotic fluid loss and extreme emotional fluctuations, my cervix dilated agonizingly slowly. The delivery room was filled with heartbreaking screams. The woman on the next bed cursed her husband in pain, and he was wiping sweat, forcing a smile, holding a Red Bull, ready to serve her. Only I lay there, all alone. The midwife looked at me with a hint of pity and asked softly, “Do you want to try contacting the baby’s father again? In situations like this, having family present helps a lot.” I stared at the glaring fluorescent light on the ceiling and shook my head. He wouldn’t answer. Just before I entered the delivery room, I’d seen Vanessa’s second Instagram update. “Leo finally fell asleep. Thank you, best godfather, for staying up all night. With you, we always have someone to lean on.” In the photo, Ethan was asleep by the bedside, his hand tightly holding the boy named Leo. Heartwarming, touching, a picture of fatherly love. And my child was fighting for her life. In that moment, the last shred of my love for Ethan, along with the pain in my body, shattered into dust. “Push! I see the head!” the doctor shouted sharply. I bit down hard on the towel in my mouth, turning all my hatred into strength. Ten hours. After ten grueling hours of torment, with a loud cry, my daughter was born. The nurse held the wrinkled baby for me to see. “It’s a beautiful little princess, six pounds, four ounces.” I weakly glanced at her, tears silently streaming down my face. Back in the hospital room, the anesthetic wore off, and the wound burned. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Ethan: “Are you awake? I just woke up. Leo was a handful last night. You said your stomach hurt yesterday? Try to relax, don’t always overreact. I’ll bring you breakfast later.” Every line was pure perfunctory nonsense. He didn’t even consider that my desperate call for help last night was real. I didn’t reply, tossing my phone aside. It wasn’t until noon that the hospital room door was suddenly pushed open. Ethan rushed in, looking disheveled, carrying a bag of cold sandwiches. When he saw me in a hospital gown, lying in bed, with a baby sleeping in the bassinet beside me, he froze. His expression went from impatience to shock, then to panic. “Chloe… you, you really gave birth?” He rushed to the bedside, trying to take my hand, but I coldly pulled away. “Don’t touch me.” My voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping a table. A flicker of embarrassment crossed Ethan’s face, quickly replaced by angry self-justification. “Why didn’t you call me? Giving birth is such a big deal, and you just came to the hospital by yourself without a word? Do you know how worried I was?” I laughed, a bitter sound that pulled at my wound, making me gasp in pain. “Ethan, did a dog eat your memory? At two in the morning, I called you and told you my water broke. You told me to stop acting, and you hung up on me.” Ethan froze, seemingly recalling last night’s events. A moment later, his eyes darted away, and his tone softened. “I thought… I thought you were just jealous of Vanessa, deliberately trying to trick me. You know, after hearing the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf too many times, who would’ve thought this time it was real…” “So in your mind, I’m someone who would joke about our child’s life just to create drama?” I looked at him calmly, my eyes hollow. Ethan looked a little guilty, placing the sandwiches on the table. “All right, I was wrong, I apologize, okay? Vanessa’s situation was an emergency too, she’s a woman…” “Is she more important, or is our unborn child more important?” Ethan frowned, lowering his voice. “Chloe, can you stop being so aggressive? The baby was born safely, wasn’t she? Vanessa’s kid was sick, it was an emergency! We’re all friends. What’s wrong with helping each other? Can’t you be a little more open-minded?” Friends. Helping each other. I looked at his self-righteous face, and suddenly the man I’d shared a bed with for three years seemed terrifyingly unfamiliar. Just then, his phone rang. A custom ringtone—it was Vanessa. Ethan instinctively glanced at me, then took his phone into the hallway to answer. Through the glass panel of the door, I saw his expression soften, even showing a hint of tenderness, as he nodded repeatedly into the phone. Five minutes later, he pushed the door open, looking troubled. “Chloe, um… Vanessa said she left in a hurry and forgot her keys, and Leo needs a follow-up checkup at the hospital. I need to take her a spare set of keys. Anyway, you’re at the hospital with nurses taking care of you, and your parents will be here this afternoon. I’ll be back soon.” With that, he turned and left without waiting for my reply. From beginning to end, he didn’t even glance down at his newborn daughter sleeping in the bassinet.

Ethan was gone for three days. During those three days, my parents rushed over from back home. Seeing my pale face and the empty bedside, my mother’s eyes instantly welled up, and she turned away to wipe her tears. My father was so angry he smoked an entire pack of cigarettes in the hallway; if I hadn’t stopped him, he would’ve gone straight to confront Ethan. Ethan’s Snapchat messages, however, never stopped. One moment it was, “Vanessa’s car broke down, I’m helping her fix it,” the next it was, “Leo needs an IV at the hospital, Vanessa can’t handle it alone.” Every excuse was righteous, and every one felt like a knife twisting in my heart. My daughter hadn’t been given a formal name yet, so looking at her sleeping face, I gave her the nickname Annie. I only wished for her to live a life of peace and safety, unlike her mother, who had been so blind. On the day of discharge, Ethan finally appeared. He drove up, but Vanessa and Leo were in the passenger seat. The car stopped downstairs from the inpatient ward. Ethan rolled down the window and waved to me. “Chloe, over here! Vanessa needs to bring Leo for a follow-up too, so I just gave them a ride home since it was on the way, saves her a taxi.” My mother was shaking with anger, pointing at Ethan and about to unleash a torrent of curses. I stopped her, and with a blank expression, I held Annie and opened the back door. “Mom, Dad, get in.” The atmosphere in the car was incredibly strange. Vanessa turned around, a perpetually soft and harmless smile on her face, but her eyes held blatant provocation. “Chloe, I’m so sorry to trouble Ethan again. Leo insisted on riding in Ethan’s car, saying his godfather’s car is the safest. Chloe, you’re so generous, I’m sure you don’t mind, right?” I looked at her coldly. “I do mind.” Vanessa’s smile froze. Ethan frowned at me in the rearview mirror. “Chloe, what kind of talk is that? Don’t be so harsh in front of your parents.” “Harsh?” I let out a soft laugh, pulling at my still-healing wound. “Ethan, I just got discharged, my wound hasn’t fully healed, and you make me and our newborn sit in the back, while another woman and her child sit in the passenger seat. Who’s being harsh?” Ethan choked, speechless. Before he could say anything, Leo suddenly shrieked, “Godfather! This bad woman is bullying Mommy! I want her to get out!” With that, he picked up his Transformers toy and violently threw it at me. The hard, sharp edges of the toy grazed my forehead, a sharp pain, instantly swelling red. Annie was startled and cried loudly. “Leo!” Vanessa feigned a scolding, but her eyes were full of amusement. Ethan wasn’t angry; instead, he reached out to pat the brat’s head. “Good boy, Leo, don’t fuss. I’ll take you to KFC.” My mother finally couldn’t take it anymore and slapped the back of the driver’s seat. “Ethan! Are you even a human being?! Your own daughter is crying her eyes out, your wife just got hit, and you’re still planning to take this brat for KFC?” “Mom—” Ethan stopped, then corrected himself. “Susan, why are you talking so nastily?” He slammed on the brakes, his face ashen. “Leo is just a kid. What does he understand?” “If a child doesn’t understand, do adults not understand either?” my father, Thomas, roared. The car descended into chaos. I took a deep breath and pushed open the car door. “Mom, Dad, let’s get out. We’ll take a taxi.” Ethan panicked. “Chloe, what are you trying to do now? Your parents are here. Do you want people to laugh at us?” I ignored him, got out of the car with Annie in my arms, hailed a taxi, and left without looking back. Behind me, I vaguely heard Vanessa’s insincere pleas and Ethan’s frantic honking. On the way home, watching the scenery flash by outside the window, I made a decision. This marriage was rotten to the core. Like a festering wound, it had to be cut out for me to survive.

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Fifteen years. That’s how long I spent locked in a one-sided war for the boy next door, twisting myself into a human Swiss Army knife just to make him look at me. From dominating state math leagues to playing the piano until my fingers bled, from a grueling double major at Yale to finally holding that Harvard MBA offer letter in my hands. I did it all for him. But when I stood on the porch of my family’s estate, dragging my suitcase behind me, Pete Carmichael did exactly what he had done a thousand times before. He bypassed my outstretched hand, didn’t even glance at my Ivy League sweatshirt, and walked straight toward my younger sister, Maddie, who was standing behind me clutching her sketchpad. “Have you been waiting long, Maddie?” he asked, his voice soft. The echo of a phrase he’d said years ago—I only like Maddie—felt like a rusted nail driving into my fingertips, making them numb. My best friend, who had driven me from the airport, silently offered me a tissue. I waved it away. Watching the broad stretch of his back as he took my sister’s bag, a sudden, breathy laugh escaped my lips. This is it? I thought. This is the man I spent my entire youth chasing? His white button-down was impeccably pressed, the line of his jaw as sharp and aristocratic as ever. But the longer I stared, the more… hollow the whole picture felt. He was like a vintage fashion magazine I’d found in a dusty waiting room. The cover was still gorgeous, but the content inside was hopelessly out of date. “Am I pivoting too fast?” I murmured later, idly stabbing the tapioca pearls at the bottom of my boba tea. My best friend pulled me into a fierce side-hug. “Oh, honey. It’s not that you changed too fast. It’s that you outgrew him miles ago.” … 1 Maddie and I stepped out of the black town car at the exact same time. Without any warning, the heel of Maddie’s Jimmy Choo gave way, and she pitched forward. Pete, our golden-boy neighbor, didn’t even blink. He lunged forward, catching her firmly by the waist. Leaning into his chest, Maddie peeked over his shoulder and shot me a silent, mocking smile. It was a look dripping with arrogant triumph. Around us, the estate staff lowered their heads, hiding knowing smirks. They knew the script. They were waiting for my cue. This was the part where I was supposed to march over, yank Maddie away, and scream about how she was faking it, how she was a manipulative little brat trying to steal the man I loved. Then, Pete would scowl, scold me for being a toxic, jealous shrew, and I would run off in spectacular, tearful hysterics. But I just stood there. Seconds ticked by. I didn’t move a muscle. For years, I had ground myself into dust trying to earn a single scrap of Pete’s validation. I had thrown myself into academia, launched a tech startup from a dorm room, built a massive digital footprint. I had navigated the cutthroat maneuvering of Silicon Valley boardrooms and held my own in rooms full of heavy-hitting politicians. Standing here now, watching my twenty-three-year-old sister fake a trip on a perfectly flat driveway? It was just… comical. “Glad you didn’t hurt yourself,” I said. My voice was entirely flat. I turned to the housekeeper, handing over a meticulously wrapped box. “Please let Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael know my parents sent this for them.” Maddie’s triumphant smile faltered. Pete shot me a sharp, scrutinizing frown. When we walked into the Carmichaels’ lavish dining room, the mahogany table was set beautifully. But there were only four chairs. Pete, his parents, and Maddie. That was four. Maddie let out a breathy, exaggerated giggle. “Oh my god, Vic, I am so sorry. I totally forgot to tell everyone you were coming back today. They didn’t prep a seat for you.” “Why are you even explaining yourself to her?” Pete’s voice was ice. He looked at me with open disdain. “Vicky, Maddie didn’t do it on purpose. Just go to the kitchen and grab yourself a stool. There’s no need to terrorize her over a chair.” There it is, I thought. The universal constant. Pete would always, without hesitation or logic, throw himself in front of Maddie like she was taking enemy fire. Yet, the strange part was the profound silence in my own chest. My heart wasn’t racing. My throat wasn’t tight. I felt… nothing. I couldn’t even fathom the girl I used to be, the girl who would have gone to war over this boy. “Pete,” I said softly, “I haven’t even said a word.” He stiffened, momentarily thrown off guard. In the past, my eyes would already be red. I’d be shouting, calling Maddie a two-faced snake. “Vic, you’re mad.” Maddie’s eyes instantly welled with practiced tears. She stepped forward, grabbing my wrist. “Please don’t be mad. I’ll go get you a chair right now.” She made a pathetic little move toward the kitchen, but Pete caught her arm, pulling her back. He glared down at me from his towering height. “You’re in the Carmichael house now, Vicky. This isn’t your little kingdom where you get to throw your weight around. If you can’t be civil and get your own chair, then you can leave before dinner is served.” A maid by the doorway failed to muffle a snicker. I caught the whispered exchange between two staff members: “Just watch. Miss High-and-Mighty will drag a chair out here herself.” “Oh, for sure. She’d swallow broken glass if it meant sitting across from him.” “That won’t be necessary,” I said, a genuine, light laugh escaping me. I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “I only stopped by to drop off the gift from my parents. I wasn’t planning on staying for dinner anyway. I actually have somewhere to be. Enjoy your evening.” Pete’s eyes narrowed, searching my face. He looked at me as if I were a stranger. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. I turned on my heel and walked out the heavy oak doors, my stride long and unbroken. From the foyer, I heard Maddie shrink against Pete. “Why is she in such a rush? Is she… does she just hate me so much that she can’t even stand to be in the same room?” Pete watched through the window as I got into my car. I could see the slight furrow between his brows. “Don’t let it get to you,” I heard him murmur to her. “She spent a few years away and thinks she’s learned how to play hard to get. It’s just a new tactic.” Maddie chewed her lip. “It’s working, though. She’s acting so cold. Are you… are you ever going to—” Pete stroked her hair, cutting her off. “I told you. You’re the only one I want.” 2 I genuinely did have somewhere to be. My co-founder and I were running an internet-based tech firm, and the workload was astronomical. I had a dinner scheduled with a major enterprise client. As my driver navigated the evening traffic, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my partner, Val: [Heard you finally touched down in the States. Got a massive surprise waiting for you~] I fired off a quick, noncommittal emoji. If I had known what her definition of a “surprise” was in that moment, I would have burned the company to the ground to stop it. I truly had zero intention of ever crossing paths with Pete Carmichael again. But a few days later, my grandfather’s milestone birthday arrived. Given our families’ generational ties, the Carmichaels were obviously on the guest list. But when I walked into the ballroom of the country club, holding a priceless antique gift for my grandfather, it didn’t look like an eightieth birthday party. It looked like a proposal. Pete was down on one knee. As I walked in, his eyes flicked to me. A slow, mocking smirk touched his lips. With agonizing deliberation, he slid a massive diamond onto Maddie’s trembling finger. “Yes!” My parents were the first to stand and cheer, clapping rapturously. I stood by the ice sculpture, totally lost. “Isn’t today Grandpa’s birthday?” I asked a passing aunt. “It is, sweetheart!” my dad said, suddenly appearing at my elbow. “But your grandfather insisted. He said he wanted a double celebration today.” I frowned, looking between my cheering parents and the newly engaged couple on the stage. “You guys were in this much of a rush to get them engaged? I honestly thought tonight was just—” “Ahem,” my dad coughed, leaning in close. “Look, we kept it from you because we didn’t want you causing a scene. You haven’t heard the news, have you? Pete just got tapped as the new Regional Director for Vanguard Tech.” Vanguard?! I froze. That… that was my company. The startup Val and I had built from the ground up. “A son-in-law of his caliber is one in a million,” my dad continued, oblivious to my shock. “Of course we wanted to lock him down with Maddie. Look, Vic, we know how much you care about the boy. But you can’t force love. He’s never felt that way about you, and it’s been years. It’s time to stop making a fool of yourself. Be a good girl and let it go, okay?” I didn’t say a word. I just looked down at my phone and frantically texted Val. [Your little “surprise.” Please tell me it is NOT Pete Carmichael?!] She replied almost instantly with a tongue-out selfie. [We all know you’ve been pining for him for over a decade! I handled the regional hiring while you were in transit. As the new director, he reports directly to YOU. You’re welcome, boss. Now you get to spend every waking minute with him. ] I pressed the heel of my hand hard against my forehead, staving off a migraine. Whispers began to drift through the ballroom, aimed squarely at my back. “Look… isn’t that Pete’s resident stalker, Vicky?” “Oh my god, it is! I can’t believe she actually showed her face tonight.” “Look at how devastated she looks holding her head. Yikes. I almost feel bad for her. Almost.” The buzzing of their petty gossip made my headache worse. I needed quiet. I slipped out of the ballroom and headed down the hall toward a private lounge to call Val and fix this colossal HR disaster. After a ten-minute call explaining, in graphic detail, that I would rather swallow a live grenade than date Pete, I opened the lounge door to head back. A hand shot out of the shadows, wrapping like a vice around my wrist. Before I could blink, I was yanked hard into the dimly lit stairwell. “Pete!” I gasped. My wrist throbbed. He shoved me back, letting go. He stood between me and the door, his posture rigid, his face carved out of ice. “You saw what happened out there today,” he said, his voice a low, threatening rumble. I rubbed my wrist, glaring at him through the dim emergency lighting. “I am officially engaged to Maddie now,” he continued. “It’s time you find someone to marry, too. Give it up.” “Marry?” I let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “I don’t have time for that right now.” “Are you really going to keep playing this desperate game?” I stopped rubbing my wrist. I stared at him, my mind short-circuiting as I finally realized what he was implying. He actually thought I was still trying to orchestrate my life around him. “Pete, let me be very clear. I’m not getting married because my company is entering a massive growth phase. I’m busy.” He stared at me in the heavy silence. Then, a dark, cynical smile broke across his face. “Don’t you think that’s a pathetic excuse, Vicky?” I blinked. “Excuse me?” “The CEO of Vanguard Tech is a woman around your age,” he sneered, quoting the very corporate lore I had created. “And even a woman of her magnitude isn’t using ‘career’ as an excuse to die alone. Who exactly are you trying to fool?” For a second, I was completely speechless. It was my own fault, really. I had spent fifteen years building a reputation as a textbook romantic martyr. I had been so notoriously obsessed with him that now, when I finally had an epiphany and moved on, literally no one believed me. Not even my own business partner. “Let me tell you how this works, Vicky,” he said, taking a slow, menacing step toward me. He leaned in, his cologne suffocating the small space. “I never loved you. And now that I have a ring on your sister’s finger, I am certainly never going to love you. If you keep stalking me, you’re only going to make me sick to my stomach. Unless…” His eyes darkened, dropping to my lips. “Unless your goal is to be my mistress?” In that claustrophobic stairwell, a profound sense of clarity washed over me. I looked at the man standing in front of me. He was arrogant. He was vulgar. He was aggressively mediocre. Why in the world had I spent the best years of my life treating this guy like he was the center of the universe? Why had I let him tear my relationship with my sister to shreds? I let out a sharp, genuine bark of laughter. Without a word, I shoved both hands hard against his chest, knocking him out of my way. I pushed open the heavy fire door and walked out. 3 Val texted me that she was on her way to the club to apologize in person. I sat at a secluded table near the edge of the ballroom, sipping a glass of sparkling water, enjoying the peace. Then, a sharp whistle cut through the music. Before I could react, seven or eight men—Pete’s frat brothers and country club sycophants—slid into the booths and chairs around me, boxing me in. “Well, well, if it isn’t her royal highness,” one of them drawled, swirling bourbon in a heavy crystal glass. “Can’t believe you actually showed up to watch Pete put a ring on someone else.” “We were taking bets, honestly,” another laughed. “Thought you’d be at home drowning in a bathtub of Pinot Noir.” “Guess she’s still holding out hope.” A clammy hand suddenly reached out, snapping the thin silk strap of my dress. I flinched, my blood running cold. I slapped his hand away violently. “Ooh, feisty!” The first guy leaned in. “Studying abroad gave you some teeth, huh? Whatever happened to the girl who used to beg us to put in a good word for her with the boss?” My stomach turned. It was true. During my darkest, most pathetic years, I hadn’t just worshipped Pete; I had catered to his entire orbit. Maddie had been the effortless, talented golden child. To compensate, I had bribed these overgrown frat boys. I memorized their favorite liquors, bought them VIP tickets to games, bought them designer watches for Christmas—all just to buy their loyalty, hoping they’d convince Pete to give me a chance. Looking at their flushed, entitled faces now, I felt a wave of profound nausea. I truly had been blind. “Look, Vic,” the guy next to me said, dropping his voice into a patronizing register. “Pete is off the market. You lost to your sister. It is what it is.” He leaned closer. The stench of stale tobacco and expensive whiskey hit my face. “But… that doesn’t mean your life is over.” “If you take care of us tonight,” he whispered, a vile smile spreading across his face, “we’ll talk to Pete. We’ll make sure he keeps you around for… extracurriculars. What do you say?” My skin crawled. I pushed against the table to stand up, but a hand shot out, gripping my jaw painfully tight. “Don’t be shy, princess. We’re good at keeping secrets.” “Hey? Pete!” someone suddenly called out. I wrenched my face away and saw Pete walking down the corridor right past our alcove. “Pete!” I stood up abruptly, but the man beside me grabbed my waist and forcefully yanked me back down onto the velvet sofa. Pete stopped. He looked over. He had absolutely heard what they just said to me. “Pete! Tell your friends to back off!” I demanded, my voice shaking with rage, not fear. A flicker of panic crossed the men’s faces. They glanced at each other, suddenly unsure if they had crossed a line with the newly minted fiancé. But Pete just looked at me. His expression was completely blank. He wrapped his arm securely around Maddie’s waist, turned his back to me, and kept walking. “Pete—“ “Hey, calm down, princess,” the man sneered, pulling me tighter against his chest, his fingers digging into my ribs. “How do you still not get it? In Pete’s world, Maddie comes first. Then us. Then his dog. Then you.” My face hardened into stone. “So,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear, “be a good girl. Entertain us, and we’ll convince him to let you be his favorite little pet.” “Yeah,” another laughed. “We won’t tell Maddie.” My fingers curled around the stem of my crystal water glass. I squeezed. Harder. Crack. The glass shattered in my grip, shards raining onto the table, water pooling over the velvet. The men froze, staring at the jagged glass in my palm. “Who exactly,” I whispered, the silence around us suddenly deafening, “do you think you are touching?” Before he could even blink, I pivoted my hips, driving a closed fist with all my weight directly into the man’s temple. 4 When I said I twisted myself into a Swiss Army knife to compete with Maddie, I didn’t just mean academics. I meant everything. Including Muay Thai. The man’s head snapped back with a sickening crack, blood instantly spraying from his nose as he went down. “You bitch!” Another guy lunged, swinging a heavy glass liquor bottle. It smashed against my hairline. The world tilted. A sharp ringing pierced my ears, but years of muscle memory kicked in. I dug my heels into the carpet, grounding myself. As a third guy lunged to tackle me, I sidestepped, grabbed him by the back of his collar, and slammed his face squarely into the mahogany table. I stood over them, chest heaving, blood trickling down the side of my face. “You think you can break me?” I looked down at the men groaning on the floor. “You’re out of your league.” Smack! The sharp sting of a slap exploded against my cheek. I stumbled back, catching the edge of the sofa to stay upright. Pete stood there, his face twisted in fury. “I put a ring on Maddie’s finger and you pull a stunt like this?!” he roared. My parents had rushed over, drawn by the shattered glass. When my mother saw the bloodied men on the floor, her face turned purple. She shoved me hard in the chest. “What is wrong with you?!” she screamed. “Just because your sister gets engaged today, you have to destroy the entire event?! It’s your grandfather’s birthday! When are you going to grow the hell up?!” The gathered crowd hadn’t heard the repulsive things those men had whispered to me. They only saw me, the jilted, crazy sister, standing over bleeding guests. “She’s twenty-five acting like a toddler,” an aunt muttered loudly. “Pete doesn’t want her. Throwing a violent tantrum isn’t going to change that.” Maddie stepped forward, her eyes brimming with spectacular, cinematic tears. “Vic,” she choked out, her voice trembling. “If you really… if you really can’t handle this… I’ll give you the ring. Just please, stop hurting people.” She made a dramatic show of trying to pull the massive diamond off her finger. Pete caught her hand, stopping her. “Vicky, do you have zero self-respect?” Pete sneered, looking at me with pure disgust. “I am engaged, and you’re throwing a riot. You want me that badly?” He pulled Maddie flush against his side. “You want a shot with me? Fine. You make sure Maddie is perfectly happy first. You serve her. Then, maybe, I’ll consider keeping you around.” “Pete?” Maddie looked up at him, her eyes wide. Pete laughed, a dark, cruel sound. “She won’t leave us alone anyway, babe. Might as well make use of her. But I’m only accepting her if she learns her place beneath you.” A flash of genuine thrill danced in Maddie’s eyes before she hid it behind her tears. Pete looked back at me. “Do we have an understanding?” I slowly reached up and touched the cheek where my mother had slapped me. I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. I took one step forward. SMACK. I drove my hand across Pete’s face with enough force to snap his head violently to the side. My mother lunged, grabbing my arm. “Are you insane?!” Maddie screamed, a piercing, theatrical sound. “Vic! If you want to hit someone, hit me! Don’t touch him!” “Hit you?” I laughed, shaking my arm free from my mother’s grip. “You’re a side character. You’re not worth bruising my knuckles over.” “You—!” “Pete Carmichael,” I said, my voice cutting through the chaos like a scythe. “As the CEO of Vanguard Tech, I am officially terminating your employment. Don’t bother showing up for onboarding on Monday.” He froze. “Vanguard?” Then, he scoffed, rubbing his reddening jaw. “You think you can just invent a fantasy where you work at Vanguard just to feel powerful? God, you’re pathetic.” Maddie looked at me with profound pity. “Vic… have you lost your mind? This is my fault. I should have told him to propose in private. The shock has completely broken you.” My mother glared at me. “Vanguard is a Fortune 500 company. If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable!” Laughter rippled through the crowd. “Okay, she’s actually psychotic,” someone whispered loudly. “She stalked him so hard she’s hallucinating that they work together. Vanguard’s hiring process is impossible. I’ve been rejected three times.” Right then, Pete’s phone rang. I glanced at the screen. It was Val’s name. Pete’s arrogant sneer vanished. He cleared his throat and answered, his voice instantly dropping into a tone of deep, reverent respect. “Yes, ma’am? You’re outside? Of course, I’ll come escort you in personally.” He hung up the phone and glared at the security guards. “Get her out of here. Drag her out if you have to. The COO is outside and I will not let this psycho ruin my introduction.” Two security guards immediately grabbed my arms. A murmur of excitement swept the room. “The COO of Vanguard is here? Oh my god.” “Pete is already bringing in tech billionaires. He’s incredible.” “Hurry up, get the crazy sister out the back door!” But before the guards could move me, the double doors at the end of the hall swung open. “Vic!” Val’s voice echoed through the marble foyer. Pete blinked, adjusting his suit jacket. “Ms. Cruz? Who are you calling—” Val blew right past him without a glance. she marched straight toward me. “Vic! Oh my god, this is a massive screw-up!” The security guards holding my arms went rigid. They dropped their hands as if they had touched hot coals.

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The roar of the wedding reception suddenly cut to a muffled hum, as if someone had pressed a giant mute button on the world. Right there, in the center of the ballroom, my husband was clinking glasses with his “ex-girlfriend.” Amidst the raucous cheers of the crowd, they leaned in, their lips nearly touching as they shared a single maraschino cherry from a cocktail glass, teeth grazing in a way that was far too intimate for a public stage. The guests’ eyes shifted toward me, sharp as spotlights, waiting for the inevitable explosion—the screaming match, the shattered glass, the drama they could gossip about over brunch tomorrow. Instead, I let a slow, practiced smile spread across my face. I raised my hands and gave two sharp, echoing claps. “Since you two are clearly so committed to the performance,” I called out, my voice cutting through the tension, “why don’t we just find an officiant and let you two tie the knot right here? It would be a shame to let all this romantic energy go to waste.” 1. Mallory licked her lips, a slow, cat-like movement, and looked down at me from the raised platform. “Jackson,” she purred, her eyes dancing with malice, “your wife is here. You don’t think she’s jealous, do you?” Jackson didn’t even look my way. He gave a dismissive shrug, a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t mind her. Let’s keep going.” And they did. They continued to flirt and touch as if no one else existed, eventually leaning into a kiss that lasted far too long for a “bit of fun.” They turned toward a photographer, their hands entwined, and formed a heart shape for the lens. Within minutes, the photos were being blasted across Instagram and Facebook. Someone commented that they looked like “the ultimate power couple.” My phone buzzed. It was a text from my best friend, Callie. Paige, are you okay? This is insane. Are you really just going to let them do this? I looked up at the stage. They were laughing now, a private joke shared between two people who clearly didn’t care about the woman standing ten feet away. It’s fine, I typed back. If they want to play, let them play. When they finally stepped down, Jackson naturally slid into the chair next to Mallory. They sat flush against each other, their thighs touching. Mallory picked up a piece of sushi, took a small bite, and then pressed the rest against Jackson’s lips. Even from across the table, the sight made my stomach churn with a cold, greasy nausea. Mallory looked at me, her head tilted. “We’re just old college friends catching up, Paige. You know how it is—nostalgia hits hard. You don’t mind, do you?” The provocation was as subtle as a sledgehammer. In the past, I would have lost it. I would have caused a scene that people would talk about for years. But now? Now, I just looked at them and saw two pathetic, desperate people. “Knock yourselves out,” I said, my voice flat. This wasn’t the first time. They had been pushing these boundaries for years, testing how much I would swallow. It started back in college. I’d caught them together, sneaking off for “study sessions” that ended in a secluded spot by the campus lake. When I found them, they were breathless and flushed. I had been a firebrand then. I’d grabbed Mallory by her hair, screaming, nearly dragging her into the water. But Jackson had stepped in, cold and calculated. He told me they were just “rehearsing a scene for drama class.” He told me I had a “filthy mind” and that my jealousy was suffocating him. He told me to apologize to her, or we were over. He always knew exactly where to twist the knife. My fear of losing him was a leash he kept short. I had bowed my head. I had apologized to the woman who was trying to steal my life. But my silence didn’t buy me peace. Rumors started spreading through the campus message boards—vicious, twisted lies about my past, painting me as the unstable, abusive one. I knew it was her. I knew she was the source. When I confronted Jackson, he demanded “hard evidence.” Without it, he said, I was just being malicious. He told me I was small-minded, that I didn’t have the “grace” a woman should have. Back then, I was pathetic. I was so desperate for his scraps of affection that I promised to change. I promised to be better. I apologized until my throat was raw. Looking back, I want to scream at that girl. At the table, the other guests picked at their salads, their eyes darting between us like they were watching a tennis match. When the bride and groom came around for the toast, Mallory hooked her arm through Jackson’s. He didn’t pull away. He smiled, and they rose together like the hosts of the evening. Mallory downed her champagne and “stumbled” slightly, collapsing into Jackson’s chest. Jackson didn’t look for me. He didn’t check to see if I was okay. He just wrapped his suit jacket around her shoulders, his eyes filled with a tenderness he hadn’t shown me in months. The table went silent, everyone waiting for my reaction. I just took a sip of my water and smiled at the person next to me. “Don’t look at me,” I said lightly. “The show’s only halfway through. Eat your dinner!” 2. I was used to their blatant disrespect, but the stench of it was still suffocating. Eventually, I couldn’t take the air in the ballroom anymore. I stepped out onto the terrace. The Chicago wind bit at my face, sharp and sobering. They weren’t hiding it anymore because they didn’t feel they had to. The mask was off. Fine. If the mask is off, the gloves are off. As the reception wound down, Jackson emerged, leaning heavily on Mallory. He was swaying, the bourbon finally catching up to him. “Paige,” he barked, spotting me. “Get over here and help me get her to the car.” I didn’t move. I didn’t even look at her. “She’s your woman, Jackson. You carry her.” Jackson’s jaw tightened. He thought this was just another bout of jealousy he could crush with a stern look. “Don’t start with the drama. I’ll explain everything when we get home.” Suddenly, Mallory “woke up.” she threw her arms around Jackson’s neck and planted a messy, wet kiss on his cheek, mumbling loud enough for the departing guests to hear that she was “the only girl who ever lived in his heart.” Then, she drifted back into her “drunken” stupor. The guests stared, mouths agape. Jackson just looked annoyed that I wasn’t helping. He dragged her toward the valet, shoved her into the backseat of his Audi, and then—without a single word to me—slid in right next to her. Mallory’s hand was clamped onto his. He didn’t let go. The car pulled away, leaving me standing under the flickering neon sign of the hotel. As the window rolled up, I caught a glimpse of Mallory. She wasn’t asleep. She was looking back at me, a sharp, triumphant glint in her eyes. I watched the red taillights disappear into the city traffic. My heart didn’t break. It didn’t even ache. It just went still. The whispers started behind me. Can you believe her? Her husband leaves with another woman and she just stands there? Someone muttered that Jackson and Mallory were “soulmates” and that I was just the “placeholder” who got lucky. They forgot one thing: I was his wife. They were blaming the wrong person. I took a separate Uber home. I stripped off my heels and my dress and sprawled out on the king-sized bed. It was the first time in years I felt like I could actually breathe. I remembered how hard I used to work to please him. I’d have dinner ready at six, his gym clothes washed and folded, his favorite craft beer stocked in the fridge. I thought if I was perfect, he wouldn’t look elsewhere. But then Mallory moved back to the city. Every time we went out, his eyes would track her like a heat-seeking missile. I became obsessed with my own perceived flaws. I worked harder, ran faster, stayed quieter. All he had to do was give me one scrap of praise, and I’d be his loyal dog again for another month. Then they got married—wait, no. We got married. He chose me. I thought I had won. I posted the photos, wanting the whole world to see that he belonged to me. Then came the night he came home late, “exhausted” from work. He went to shower and left his phone on the nightstand. A notification popped up. It was Mallory. My stomach dropped. I tried to stay calm as I swiped the screen. Jackson, you were incredible tonight. Below the text was a photo. A photo of them in a parked car, locked in a kiss that looked nothing like “rehearsing a scene.” My world didn’t just crack. It detonated. He had been telling me he was working overtime. He’d been coming home “too tired” to touch me, “too stressed” to talk. And all the while, he was with her. 3. Mallory was back, and they had never truly stopped. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw his phone through the window. But I was just so… tired. We had been married for barely a year, and I felt like I had aged a decade. Over the next week, Jackson announced he had to travel for “consulting gigs.” He’d be gone for days at a time. I just said, “Okay.” I knew he was lying. His firm didn’t even have out-of-state clients right now. He was just playing house with his “unfinished business” in some Airbnb across town. I didn’t bother calling him out. I didn’t care enough to hear the lies. One night, around 8:00 PM, I was curled up on the sofa. In the old days, I’d be frantic by now. I’d be calling him, worried he’d been in a car wreck or that some girl at a bar was hitting on him. Now? He could be face-down in a ditch for all I cared. I turned off my phone and went to sleep. The sound of the front door slamming woke me up hours later. Jackson’s voice boomed from the hallway, commanding as always. “Paige! Get up and get me some water.” In the past, I would have been up in a heartbeat, dimming the lights, warming up a snack, making sure his pillow was just right. I didn’t move. “I’m sleeping. Leave me alone.” Jackson marched into the bedroom. He reeked of expensive bourbon and a perfume that was aggressively floral—Mallory’s signature scent. “Are you still pouting about the wedding?” he snapped. “I told you, I was the best man’s partner for the procession. I had to sit with the bridesmaid. It was a job.” I let out a dry, sharp laugh. “Was the kissing part of the job description, too?” Jackson’s face went cold. “It was a bit! The DJ was egging everyone on. And she was wasted, Paige. What was I supposed to do? Leave her to wander into traffic?” I looked at him, really looked at him. “There were fifty people there, Jackson. Why did it have to be my husband who took her home? Mallory has been a pro drinker since freshman year. She wasn’t wasted. She was performing.” “Think what you want,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m not doing this with you.” “Fine. Go away then.” “What did you say?” “You heard me.” Jackson frowned. Usually, two sentences of “explanation” were enough to make me apologize for being “difficult.” He didn’t like the change in the script. “Paige, what is wrong with you lately? Are you on something?” “I’m fine,” I said, my voice steady. “Better than I’ve been in years.” “Stop being a brat!” Jackson was raising his voice now. “I said I’m fine. You shouldn’t have come back tonight. You should have stayed with Mallory. Isn’t that what you really wanted?” “So you are jealous!” He looked almost relieved. He liked it when I was jealous; it meant he still had power. “Look, I’ll try to stay away from her, okay? God, I’m sticky and I feel like crap. Go turn on the shower for me. I need to wash this night off.” He’d spent the night with another woman, and he expected me to play maid. “I told you,” I said, pulling the duvet up. “I’m sleeping.” 4. Jackson’s eyes flared, a dark, predatory look taking over. “I said I’d stay away from her! What more do you want?” he snarled. “Get up and fix the water. Don’t push me, Paige.” I sat up slowly, the calm inside me hardening into something icy and indestructible. “Jackson, since the day we got married, I have been your shadow. I’ve asked for nothing. I’ve served you. I don’t owe you a damn thing. Leave me alone, or I will start saying things out loud that you won’t like.” Finally, he snapped. “You think you’re so indispensable? Don’t forget who pays the mortgage on this place, Paige. Keep acting like this and see how fast I file for divorce!” I almost laughed. Every time he stayed out late, every time he ignored me, he used the D-word like a nuclear deterrent. He knew how much I “valued” our marriage. He knew I’d do anything to keep the “wife” title. I was bored of it. I looked him dead in the eye and smiled. “Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s get a divorce.” “What?”

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I was two months pregnant when I drank the “wellness tonic” Ken had his assistant deliver to my office. Within minutes, the world tilted. A jagged, white-hot blade of pain ripped through my abdomen, and I collapsed. By the time the paramedics wheeled me into the ER, the pain had blurred my vision into a hazy, pulsing red. I was drifting, caught between the sterile smell of the hospital and the cold reality of what was happening. Then, through the thin curtain of the recovery room, I heard Ken’s voice. He was on the phone, his tone a sharp, hushed hiss. “Who told you to send the abortifacients? Did I not tell you—specifically—never to take initiative on this?” Julia’s voice came through the speaker, trembling and thick with performative tears. “But you’ve been having me pick up her ‘supplements’ for five years, Ken. You’ve been giving her those birth control drops since the wedding. I thought… I thought you didn’t want the baby. I thought I was helping.” She sobbed, a sound that made my skin crawl. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it. Since I took a life, I’ll just… I’ll pay for it with mine!” A long, heavy silence followed. I waited for him to roar, to threaten her, to call the police. Instead, I heard a weary, resigned sigh. “I didn’t mean that, Julia. It’s just… you were too obvious. I’m not sure I can hide this from Margot.” He paused, his voice dropping into a register of terrifying intimacy. “I told you, our situation stays between us. Margot can never find out. That is my absolute line. I’ll cover for you this time, but don’t ever go rogue again.” When I finally opened my eyes in the dim light of the ward, Ken was there. He wasn’t the cold strategist I’d just heard on the phone. He was a man undone. He dropped to his knees by my bed, the sound of his knees hitting the linoleum echoing like a gunshot. Then, he began to slap himself. Hard. Crack. Crack. “It’s my fault,” he choked out, his eyes bloodshot. “The nurse… she swapped the labels. A horrific, localized error. I’ve already had her fired and blacklisted from every hospital in the state. Margot, baby, please don’t cry. We’re young. We’ll have another one…” I looked at him—at the handsome face I had loved since I was twenty, the eyes that used to burn for me. Now, all I saw was a stranger wearing my husband’s skin. I knew then. It was time to leave. 1 For a second, I wished I hadn’t woken up. The physical pain was a dull throb now, but the hollow ache in my womb was a constant, screaming reminder of the truth. Ken knelt there, his cheek swollen and red from his own blows, looking every bit the grieving father. “Margot, please. Say something. Anything. You’re scaring me.” When I remained silent, he shifted closer, his knees dragging across the floor. He took my hand—the one with the IV drip—and pressed it to his face. “I handled it, I promise. That nurse will never work in healthcare again. I made sure of it.” “We’ll have another one.” The irony was a bitter poison in my throat. We had been married for five years. For five years, I had dreamed of a nursery, of tiny socks, of a life we built together. Every time I went for a check-up, the doctors said I was “delicate” and needed “hormonal balancing.” To prepare my body, I drank the tonics he brought home every night. I endured a thousand needle pricks, my stomach a map of tiny blue bruises from the “fertility injections.” I threw away boxes of empty syringes, month after month, year after year. Ken had been so supportive. He told me he’d consulted top specialists in Switzerland, spending a fortune on “designer supplements” with minimal side effects. I had poisoned myself for half a decade on his command. It wasn’t medicine. It was a chemical gatekeeper. He took my hand again, trying to force me to hit him. I yanked it back, tears finally spilling over. “Ken, I’m not an idiot,” I whispered. “Where is Julia?” I asked, my voice gaining a jagged edge. “Bring her here. I want to hear her say it.” Ken’s brow furrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing his face before he masked it with concern. “Julia is just a kid, Margot. She’s only two years out of grad school. She’s messy and she makes mistakes, but believe me, this had nothing to do with her.” I let out a jagged, self-deprecating laugh. I was about to scream the truth at him when the door pushed open. Julia walked in, wearing a mask of practiced sorrow. “Oh, Margot! Thank God you’re awake. Ken was going to fire me on the spot if you didn’t pull through.” She set a bag of takeout on the nightstand. “I didn’t know what you’d want to eat, so I just grabbed something from that bistro Ken likes. Try to eat a little?” She sat on the edge of my bed, her voice tilting into a condescending croon. “I know the baby is gone, but life has to go on. You have to look forward, Margot. For Ken’s sake.” The rage hit me like a physical wave. I swung my arm, the IV line tugging painfully, and caught her square across the jaw. 2 The slap rang out like a whip crack. For a heartbeat, the room went dead silent. Then, the masks slipped. “Done playing the victim?” I spat. “This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?” Julia collapsed into a heap of theatrical sobs, clutching her face. “How can you say that? How was I supposed to know the hospital made a mistake? I know you’re hurting, Margot, but you can’t just take your anger out on me!” Ken moved faster than I’d ever seen him. He stepped between us, shielding her, his eyes flashing with a cold fury directed at me. “Margot, that’s enough!” “I explained the medicine to you! It was an accident! Just because you’re grieving doesn’t give you the right to assault my staff!” I dug my nails into my palms, the sting of the IV forgotten. “I’m the one who lost a child! I’m the one who almost bled out on a cold table while they scraped my insides out! And you’re telling me to be civil? Ken, swear to me. Swear on your life you aren’t sleeping with her!” “You’re being hysterical!” he roared. “Julia and I are professional. Period. I swear to God, if I’ve betrayed you, may I be struck dead where I stand! Is that what you want? Should I jump out the window? Would my death make you feel better about the baby?” He was panting, his chest heaving. “Look at you, Margot. Look at the way you’re acting. You look like a madwoman.” The words felt like a physical blow to the chest. My heart, already fractured, felt like it was being ground into dust. Seeing he had gone too far, his voice softened, though it remained brittle. “Julia and I have work to discuss. You need to calm down. What’s done is done. Arguing about it won’t bring the pregnancy back.” They turned together and walked out of the room. I waited ten seconds. Then, with trembling hands, I ripped the IV needle out of my vein. I ignored the trickle of blood and slipped into the hallway, following them. I found them in the stairwell. They didn’t even wait to get to the car. They were pressed against the concrete wall, kissing with a desperate, hungry intensity. The sounds of their breathing filled the small space. Finally, they broke apart. Julia playfully punched his chest. “Jerky,” she pouted. “You were so mean just now. You actually scared me.” “I told you not to come in there,” Ken grumbled, though his hands were moving down her waist. “Margot is unstable. If I hadn’t stepped in, she would have clawed your eyes out. What am I supposed to do if I can’t protect you?” Julia giggled, leaning into him. “Then let her hit me. It’s worth it as long as I get to take care of you later.” “You little demon,” Ken groaned, his voice thick with lust. “You’re going to be the death of me.” “I have a surprise for you tonight, Mr. CEO. Something you’ve been begging for. You’ll have to come over to unwrap it…” The air in the stairwell felt like it was disappearing. I turned and stumbled back to my room, collapsing into the bed before they could return. When Ken came back, he didn’t stay. He didn’t even look at me. “I’ll have the driver pick you up when you’re discharged,” he said coldly. “Focus on your recovery.” He never came back. I checked myself out the next morning and took an Uber home. That night, a notification chirped on my phone. A text from Ken: Going to London for three days. Business. Just wired you fifty thousand. Get yourself something nice. Think of it as an apology. The adult world is built on things you can’t say out loud—on rage you swallow and faces you save. I sat on our silk-sheeted bed and stared at our wedding photo on the nightstand. He was holding me on a beach in Maui, his smile bright and wild. I could almost feel the phantom warmth of that breeze. But that girl was dead. And the man in the photo was a ghost. Five years ago, we were the “it” couple of the city’s social scene. He had chased me with a persistence that was legendary. Back then, people in our circle joked about it. “Ken Maxwell? Oh, you mean Margot Thorne’s lapdog?” 3 I had been the ice queen back then, barely sparing him a glance. My family was old money, stable, untouchable. Until it wasn’t. I’ll never forget the night the foundations crumbled. My father’s long-term affair went public, and the fallout was nuclear. My mother, usually the paragon of grace, became someone I didn’t recognize. I watched her hold a kitchen knife to her own throat, screaming at my father to end it with the other woman and send their secret son away. Her desperation didn’t buy her an ounce of mercy. My father didn’t even look at her with pity. He looked at her with disgust. The next morning, the scandal was the only thing people talked about. My mother, in a fit of vengeful madness, liquidated assets and sabotaged the family firm, thinking that if she ruined him, he’d have to stay. Instead, the company went bankrupt. My father handed her divorce papers while standing amidst twenty billion dollars of debt. He preferred financial ruin to another day in her presence. The papers were never signed. My mother walked into the Atlantic Ocean two days later. My father fled to Europe with his mistress and the boy. And I became the city’s favorite punchline. Suddenly, no one wanted to be near me. The only people who looked my way were the trust-fund brats I’d once looked down upon. They offered me a hundred bucks for a night, telling me the great Margot Thorne was now worth less than a girl on a street corner. My dignity was a crumpled rag in the mud. I was ready to follow my mother into the dark. I had the pills laid out on the counter. That’s when Ken appeared. He put his entire career on the line, using his rising firm to shield me. He chased me all over again, not as a lapdog, but as a protector. He spent millions on our hundred-day anniversary just to show the world I was still a queen. Our wedding was the event of the season. In front of five hundred people, he knelt and swore, “Margot is my life. I will spend every breath I have protecting our home.” The dignity he had salvaged for me back then, he was now dragging through the filth with his own hands. I picked up the wedding photo, ready to smash it against the wall, when my phone buzzed. An unknown number. A GPS pin for a high-end lounge downtown. I knew what I would find. I went anyway. Standing outside the private VIP booth, I saw him. Ken, the man who was supposed to be in London, was surrounded by his inner circle, laughing and clinking glasses. Julia was draped across his lap in a dress that left nothing to the imagination. Scandal travels fast. One of his friends smirked, leaning in. “So, the Ice Queen lost the heir? You’re not home playing nurse? How do you have the heart to be out drinking with us?” In the old days, Ken would have defended me with a terrifying intensity. Now, he just looked annoyed. “Don’t start. I don’t know what it is lately, but looking at Margot just makes my head ache. I can’t even have a conversation with her. I say one word, and she’s looking for a hidden meaning.” He took a long pull of his scotch. “I go home to relax, not to add to my stress. To be honest, the thought of walking through my front door feels like a stone sitting on my chest. If I keep this up, I’ll be a shell of a human in two years.” His friends roared with laughter. “You chased her so hard, man! Five years and you’re already bored?” “I wouldn’t say bored,” Ken mused, his eyes tracking Julia’s hands. “Just… full. You know? You eat steak every night for five years, eventually, you just want a burger.” Someone chimed in, “They say a kid fixes everything. Why’d you pull the plug on the pregnancy anyway? Why not just let her have it?” 4 Ken’s gaze flickered to Julia. “Go wait in the car, honey. I’ll be out in a minute.” Julia gave him a coy, knowing look. “Fine. But remember my surprise. Don’t be late.” She slipped out. I pressed myself into the shadows of the hallway until she passed, then moved back to the door. Ken’s voice was cold now, clinical. “I’m young. I don’t want a kid tying me down. You think I could come out and do this if there was a baby at home?” His friend nodded, understanding the logic. “And the girl? The secretary? She’s a hell of a consolation prize. Bet she’s more fun in bed than Margot, huh?” Ken smirked. “It’s not even a competition. You eat high-end French cuisine your whole life, then you try some spicy street food… you realize what you’ve been missing.” “You should’ve told me this years ago,” Ken added, a dark glint in his eye. “Told you what?” “That I should’ve finished playing the field before I put a ring on it. Anyway, drink up. No more talk about the ball and chain.” I don’t remember leaving the lounge. By the time I regained focus, I was standing on a street corner, soaked to the bone. A light sleet was falling, the icy slush washing away the last embers of my warmth. In the blurred reflections of the puddles, I thought I saw the twenty-year-old Ken. He was smiling at me. Margot, why aren’t you home? I was worried. Don’t be afraid. I’m your family now. We have no secrets. I reached out, wanting to fall into those phantom arms and sob. My body lurched forward, but there was nothing but cold air. The vision shattered. A taxi driver honked, swerving around me. “You trying to get killed? Watch where you’re going, lady!” I got home at 1:00 AM, shivering. The unknown number messaged again. This time, it was a video. The background was a floor-to-ceiling hotel window overlooking the city. Two silhouettes were entwined. Julia’s voice, breathless: “Ken, who do you love? Look at me.” “You.” “No, say my name.” “Julia… I love you.” “Am I better than her?” “You’re a little demon. You know you are.” “Ken, let me have your baby. A real one.” “Whatever you want, baby. Anything…” The video cut off. A text followed immediately: Do you know why you only got pregnant once in five years? Because the ‘supplements’ Ken gave you were birth control. I bought them myself. He wouldn’t let you carry his child, but he’s letting me. You lost. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over my soul. I dragged myself up and walked into his study. On the bookshelf sat a large glass jar filled with a thousand hand-folded paper stars. He had given it to me on our first anniversary. He told me I had all the jewelry in the world, so he wanted to give me something that cost nothing but time. Inside every star, he said, was a reason he loved me. He told me we’d add one for every day we were together, and when we were old, we’d sit in rocking chairs and read them together. I hadn’t noticed that the level of stars hadn’t changed in a long time. I unscrewed the lid and unfolded a few. The handwriting was a ghost of a man who once loved me. Bought Margot a necklace today. Told her it was a million, but it was three. Don’t be mad when you read this in fifty years. Margot said I look hot in casual clothes. I’m banning suits at the office starting Monday. It’s my birthday, and Margot dressed herself up as my ‘gift.’ Best day of my life.

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The screams from our bedroom on our wedding night were guttural, a primal shredding of the soul. Every time she cried out, “Please, help me!” it felt like a branding iron pressed against my eardrums. My fingers shook as I turned the deadbolt in the study, locking myself in. Through the narrow gap in the door, I saw a jagged shadow draped over her, a silhouette of violence. I bit my lip until the copper taste of blood filled my mouth. When the heavy thud of a body hitting the pavement echoed from the street below, I knew the world had ended. Her parents knelt before me later, foreheads bruised from begging for the truth. I gripped the police report until my knuckles turned white and my veins throbbed. “I didn’t see anything,” I lied. For five years, I woke up at midnight, my pillow soaked in a cold, panicked sweat. Then, my brother-in-law finally dragged me into a courtroom. They pressed the cold electrodes of a memory extraction device against my temples. When the holographic projection flickered to life on the public screens, showing my cowardly self cowering under a desk, the gallery gasped in unison. They didn’t just see a monster’s crime; they saw how a husband’s silence could kill his bride just as surely as a blade. … 1. Five years after the “Wedding Night Tragedy.” I stood there, the sole witness and the primary suspect, finally facing a public hearing. Technology had caught up to my secrets. The state was using Neural Recall Imaging—the latest tech to pull memories directly from the folds of the brain and project them onto high-definition screens, a frame-by-frame reconstruction of that night. To witness the “truth,” the courtroom was packed with thousands of spectators, and the livestream numbers had climbed to a staggering two hundred million. People wanted blood. On the bench sat my brother-in-law, Detective Tyler Beckett. His face was a mask of cold stone. He didn’t look at me like family. He looked at me like a stain. “Bring in the witness, Cade Mercer,” he commanded. The heavy doors groaned open. I walked out in a faded blue-and-white jumpsuit, the heavy rattle of shackles dragging behind me. I kept my head down. I hadn’t taken ten steps before the first rotten egg hit my shoulder, followed by a shower of trash and venomous insults. “Coward! You watched your wife get destroyed and you just sat there!” “Madeline has been in a coma for five years because you refused to name the man who did it!” “Who are you protecting? Was the money worth her life?” The vitriol was a physical weight. People lunged at the barricades, their faces twisted with a self-righteous fury. The bailiffs had to fire a warning shot into the ceiling just to keep the mob from tearing me apart. When I was forced onto the stand, Tyler stepped down. He didn’t hesitate. He drove his knee into my gut with the precision of a trained fighter. I saw stars, the air leaving my lungs in a wheeze. I collapsed to my knees, coughing up a streak of red onto the polished floor. Nobody felt sorry for me. The room erupted in cheers. Tyler grabbed a fistful of my hair, jerking my head back so our eyes met. “Cade,” he hissed, his voice a jagged blade in my ear. “When the truth comes out today, I’m going to make sure you burn right alongside whoever you’ve been hiding.” The hatred in his eyes was absolute. It was impossible to reconcile this man with the bright-eyed kid who used to call me “brother” and ask for help with his bar exam prep. In the front row, Arthur and Martha—Madeline’s parents—looked like they had aged twenty years. They leaned on each other, their eyes brimming with a quiet, lethal resentment. “Madeline loved you,” Martha whispered, her voice carrying through the sudden silence. “She gave you everything. And you let her die in that room.” When we were first engaged, these two intellectuals hadn’t cared about my blue-collar roots. They had treated me like their own son. Even after the attack, they didn’t blame me at first. They told me it was okay to be scared. They begged me to just speak. But I had remained a vault. Even when they knelt on my doorstep, I stayed silent. I had spent five years in a cell, enduring Tyler’s “interrogations.” The system looked the other way because of my notoriety. They let him break my ribs and keep me in the dark, hoping he’d squeeze the truth out of me. I had nearly died three times. I never broke. Now, the machine was the only hope left. Tyler picked up a surgical prep blade. Without a hint of mercy or anesthesia, he shaved a patch of my hair and drove the five-centimeter metal interface directly into my skull. My body convulsed. White foam gathered at the corners of my mouth. A doctor stepped forward with a sedative, but Tyler blocked him. “He’s tough. He won’t die that easily,” Tyler snapped. “I want him wide awake. I want him to feel the agony of his own cowardice being broadcast to the world.” He gave the signal. The NRI hummed to life. The first image flickered onto the screen. 2. The light on the screen stabilized into a soft, golden hue. It was the university library. I was sitting by the window, buried in a textbook. I looked up, and there was Madeline. She was on her tiptoes, sliding a copy of The Little Prince onto the table next to me. The “me” on the screen reached out and ruffled her hair. she leaned her chin on my shoulder, her voice soft and sweet. “Once you graduate, let’s get that tiny apartment by the park,” she whispered. “I’ll cook, you’ll do the dishes, and we’ll spend our Saturdays at the farmer’s market. Deal?” The scene shifted. A cramped kitchen in a shitty rental. The smell of sautéed onions practically wafted off the screen. “Wash your hands, Cade! I got my paycheck today—I bought those steaks you like!” I walked over and wrapped my arms around her from behind. BEEP. System detects high-priority emotional anchor. The courtroom erupted again. “You animal! How dare you remember those moments!” “Madeline fought her own family to be with a guy like you! She gave you her heart, and you gave her a life sentence in a hospital bed!” “Does it hurt, Cade? Seeing how happy she was before you ruined her?” The insults were a tide, drowning the room. More trash flew at me. The bailiffs struggled to hold back the crowd. The noise was a dull roar in my ears. Tyler kicked me again, sending me sprawling. My knees hit the stone floor with a sickening crack. “Cade Mercer!” Tyler’s voice was pure ice. “You don’t get to keep those memories. You don’t deserve them.” I lay there, my vision blurred, looking toward Arthur and Martha. Martha was sobbing into her husband’s chest. Arthur’s hands were shaking so violently he had to grip his knees. He looked at me as if I were a demon crawled up from the vents. “If she knew what you’d become,” Arthur said, “she would have chosen the grave over you.” The screen changed again. It was our wedding photo shoot. Madeline was in her white dress, twirling on the grass, her hand tucked into the crook of my arm. “Enough!” Tyler roared. He reached for the interface on my head. “Shut it down! I won’t let him hide in the past!” The technician grabbed his arm. “Detective, stop! If you interrupt the sync now, you’ll cause permanent brain damage!” “Damage?” Tyler sneered. “He’s lucky I haven’t put a bullet in him myself. Why does he get to bask in her light while she rots in the ICU? It’s a joke!” The screams for my death grew louder. I lay on the floor, blood trickling from my mouth. Those memories—the ones that had kept me sane through five years of isolation—were now the very blades being used to flay me alive. You don’t understand, I thought, my mind screaming into the void. None of you understand. “Understand what?” Tyler grabbed me by the hair and slammed my face into the floor. “We know you hid in the study while she screamed! We know you protected a monster for five years! What else is there?” My forehead split open. Blood clouded my eyes. I knew they hated me. I knew they thought I was a spineless collaborator. But I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t ever speak. Because some truths are far more corrosive than death. 3. My fingers brushed against the jagged piece of ceramic hidden in my sleeve—a shard I’d broken off a bowl in the holding cell. It was razor-sharp. In the split second Tyler loosened his grip to bark an order at the tech, I flipped my wrist. I drove the shard into my own carotid artery. Hot, thick blood sprayed across my jumpsuit. Let it end, I prayed. No more torture. No more machines. The secret would stay buried in the dark where it belonged. Madeline, I’m sorry. This is the only way I can protect what’s left of you. “Stop him!” Tyler’s voice was a thunderclap. Suddenly, a weight crashed into me, pinning me to the floor. The bailiffs wrenched my arms back, crushing the shard out of my hand. Tyler knelt over me, his face inches from mine as he watched the blood pulse out of my neck. “You want to die, Cade? Not a chance.” His voice was a low, terrifying rumble. “Not until I find him. Not until Madeline wakes up. You stay alive if I have to sew you back together myself.” Medics swarmed the stand with hemostats and gauze. Tyler stood over them, barking orders. “Give him a stimulant. Give him a coagulant. I don’t care what it takes, keep his heart beating!” “Detective, the dosage… it could cause irreversible neurological collapse,” the doctor stammered. “Collapse?” Tyler laughed, a harsh, dry sound. “He’s a waste of oxygen. As long as his brain can project that night, I don’t care if he ends up a vegetable.” The doctor didn’t argue further. He plunged a needle into my vein, pushing a heavy dose of adrenaline and stabilizers. My heart didn’t just beat; it slammed against my ribs like a trapped bird. My muscles locked in a permanent, agonizing cramp. They hauled me back into the chair. My neck was a mess of bandages and seeping red, but the drugs kept me conscious. I couldn’t even faint. I was a prisoner in my own screaming body. “Continue the extraction!” Tyler commanded. The technician hit the switch. The metal probe in my skull began to hum, a high-pitched vibration that felt like a drill spinning at ten thousand RPMs. I felt a cold, invasive force tearing through my mind, bypasses my defenses, digging into the strata of my deepest, most guarded memories. “Warning! Subject is resisting extraction!” “Warning! Brain waves are erratic!” “Warning! Intracranial pressure exceeding safety thresholds!” The screen blurred. The happy memories shattered like glass, replaced by jagged, flickering static. My veins stood out like ropes on my forehead. The pain was a physical entity—a thousand needles driven into the soft tissue of my brain. “Stop! We have to stop!” one of the experts shouted. “He’s going to stroke out! Even if he’s a liar, he’s still a citizen—we don’t have the right to execute him on the stand!” A few people in the gallery murmured in agreement. “Yeah, we need him alive to find the killer.” But the mob drowned them out. “Kill him! Let him burn! Find the man who hurt Madeline!”

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The day the orchestra’s new soloist joined us, she walked straight up to Lennon. Her fingers trailed over the polished ebony of the grand piano at his side—the one everyone knew was off-limits. With a saccharine smile, she asked, “They say only the mistress of the house is allowed to touch this. Do you think I could try a piece on it?” Lennon didn’t even look up from his scores. “Go ahead,” he murmured. “Whatever you like.” The rehearsal hall went deathly quiet. Dozens of eyes swung toward me, sharp and stinging. Everyone knew who I was—the woman who had stayed by Lennon’s side for seven years, from the damp basement practice rooms to the world’s most prestigious stages. I was the girlfriend who had never once been allowed to touch his family’s piano, let alone his family’s name. That piano had belonged to his late mother. For seven years, I wasn’t even permitted to lift the velvet cover. As the chill of the air conditioning seeped through my collar, I suddenly saw the finish line of this relationship. Seven years of devotion didn’t weigh as much as a light, flirtatious request from a girl who had just walked through the door. 1 After the auditions that afternoon, the orchestra manager caught me in the hall. “Regina, about the piano four-hands piece you were supposed to perform with Lennon… you can stop prepping it.” My heart did a slow, painful roll. “Oh?” “Lennon wants the new girl, Daisy, to play it with him instead.” I’d seen it coming, but the sting was still fresh, like a paper cut to the soul. I didn’t make a scene. I just nodded and walked away. That night, I dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. My hand shook slightly as I held the phone to my ear. “Everett,” I said when he finally picked up. “You once told me you wanted to marry me at the Musikverein in Vienna. Does that offer still stand?” There was a long silence on the other end, followed by the sound of someone waking up from a deep sleep. His voice was thick with a heavy rasp. “Am I dreaming?” “You can say no,” I began, my voice wavering. Before I could finish, I heard a loud thud—the sound of someone falling out of bed. His voice returned, frantic and breathless. “Yes. Yes, it stands. It stands forever. Any time, any place. Just tell me where you are.” I let out a weak, shaky laugh. The suffocating weight I’d been carrying all day eased just a fraction. When Lennon finally came home, I was already packing. He didn’t notice the suitcase at first. He just tugged at his tie, looking exhausted and handsome in that effortless way that used to make me melt. “Make me some tea,” he commanded casually. “The newcomers were a handful at the welcome dinner. One of the girls kept badgering me to drink. I’m exhausted.” I looked at the faint smear of pink lipstick on his white collar. I didn’t move. “Lennon,” I said. “Let’s break up.” He froze, his hand still on his tie. Only then did his gaze drop to the suitcase by my feet. He rubbed his temples, his dark eyes flashing with irritation. “Is this because I let her play the piano?” I didn’t answer. “Don’t be so small-minded, Regina,” he sighed, his voice dripping with condescension. “I’m just trying to keep the talent happy. It’s business.” Talent? Daisy had fumbled through that piece, missing a dozen notes. She wasn’t a talent; she was a distraction. He turned toward the bathroom, dismissive as always. “Go make the tea. Stop overthinking things.” “Lennon,” I said, my voice like flint. “I told you years ago. My plan was to be married by thirty. I turned thirty today.” He stopped in his tracks. The fake patience he’d been wearing finally shattered. “Regina, are we really doing this again? This constant begging for a ring… it’s pathetic. It makes you look cheap.” He turned to face me, his words like serrated blades. “I’ve told you a thousand times—the orchestra is in a growth phase. I don’t have the energy to waste on something as trivial as a wedding right now.” Trivial. Every new investor we’d landed, every world tour I’d meticulously organized, every sleepless night I’d spent balancing the books while he practiced—all of that had cost me my health. My last medical report was a sea of red ink, a physical map of the stress I’d endured for his dream. And in return, he called me “cheap.” His “precious” energy was apparently too expensive for me, but he had plenty of it for a girl who’d been there less than twenty-four hours. He had enough energy to worry if her seat cushion was soft enough and if she was having fun at the party. I took a breath and met his eyes. “I’m done, Lennon. Either we get married, or we’re over. Choose.” His last shred of restraint snapped. He ripped off his tie and hurled it onto the sofa. “Fine. You want to break up? We’re broken up. Suit yourself.” As the sound of the shower started, a wave of cold clarity washed over me. I had always known I wasn’t his “first choice.” Lennon never lacked for admirers. I was just the one with the most endurance, the one who refused to leave when he was a struggling nobody. He hadn’t stayed with me out of love; he’d stayed because he was too “moral” to throw away a woman who had sacrificed everything for him. Love is a loud thing, but the absence of it is even louder. On my birthdays, he’d buy a cake, but it was never the flavor I liked. When I was sick, he’d buy medicine, but only days later after I’d already recovered. I’d buy bridal magazines and “Wedding Countdown” books, only to hide them away like contraband whenever he gave me that look of utter disgust. I wasn’t just tired. I was empty. 2 My phone buzzed repeatedly in my pocket. I pulled it out to find the orchestra’s group chat blowing up. Daisy had posted a video. It was her and Lennon at the dinner, playing a four-hands piece on his mother’s piano. She had even set a wine glass carelessly on the wood finish—something Lennon would have flayed me for. In the video, they leaned close, their eyes locked in a way that was undeniably intimate. At one point, their cheeks brushed so closely it looked like a kiss. Daisy had captioned it: “Just the new girl, but I’m already feeling more love than the ‘veterans.’ So touched. Thank you, Lennon, for the special treatment.” Lennon, who was supposedly still in the shower, replied instantly: “You deserve it.” He even used a heart emoji—something he used to call “childish” when I did it. I remembered three years ago, when I’d secured a prestigious industry award for the orchestra. I’d sent a playful message in the group chat: “Chief, wasn’t I amazing? Don’t I get a reward?” That message had hung there in total silence for twenty-four hours. No one replied. When I’d confronted him about the embarrassment, he’d just scoffed. “Regina, how old are you? That cutesy stuff is embarrassing. I’m not going to play along and humiliate myself.” I was twenty-nine then, and I had actually spent the night wondering if I was the problem. But look at him now. Even an iceberg melts for the right person. He wasn’t incapable of being sweet; he just didn’t want to be sweet to me. I walked out of that house with my suitcase and didn’t look back. Over the next few days, I began the process of resigning from the orchestra. I stopped putting in the eighty-hour weeks. I stopped fixing Lennon’s mistakes. I simply existed in the background, avoiding him as he and Daisy grew bolder by the hour. Then, the floor fell out from under me. My father called, his voice shaking. “Regina… your mother found out about the breakup. She… she collapsed. We’re at the hospital.” “Dad, what happened?” “It’s her heart. But Regina, we don’t have her insurance card. You had it, remember? You were supposed to find that specialist through Lennon.” My stomach dropped. I had given my mother’s card to Lennon weeks ago, begging him to pass it to a world-renowned cardiologist he knew. He’d never mentioned it again. I called Lennon frantically. No answer. I called again and again. Nothing. I drove to his villa. I tried the door code, but it didn’t work. He’d already changed it. In a panic, I grabbed a heavy garden stone and smashed a side window. I climbed inside, gasping for air, but I froze the moment my feet hit the floor. The house was unrecognizable. Gone was the minimalist, sterile aesthetic Lennon had always insisted on. The living room was cluttered with pink throw pillows, dolls, and a girl’s curling iron left plugged in on the coffee table. I remembered when I’d bought a simple, whimsical lamp for our bedroom. Lennon had looked at it with such revulsion. “Regina, don’t pollute my space with your cheap, tacky taste.” I didn’t have time to cry. I scrambled to his desk, searching for my mother’s card. Suddenly, a heavy blow hit my shoulder. I was tackled to the ground, my face pressed into the carpet by two police officers. “We got a call for a break-in,” one of them barked. “Don’t move.” In the interrogation room, the detective glared at me. “You claim you’re Lennon’s girlfriend, but he says he doesn’t know you. We checked the house—there isn’t a single item belonging to a ‘Regina’ in there.” “I’ve lived there for years!” I screamed. “He says you’re a stalker. And you claim to be the director of the orchestra, but we called them. They said the director’s name is Daisy.” My heart hammered against my ribs. My phone was sitting on the table, lighting up over and over with calls from my father. I knew what those calls meant. “Please,” I sobbed, finally giving up. “I’ll confess to whatever you want. Just let me go see my mother. She’s dying.” “First she’s sick, now she’s dying? You think we’re stupid?” the officer sneered. “Mr. Lennon and his girlfriend were very clear. You stay here until they finish an inventory of the property to see what you stole.” I was held for two days and two nights. On the third day, Lennon finally showed up. 3 He wasn’t alone. Daisy was draped over his arm, dressed in a designer outfit that probably cost more than my car. The rest of the orchestra board members were trailing behind them like a royal court. Daisy stepped forward, her face a mask of fake concern. “Oh, Regina! I’m so, so sorry. I had no idea it was you who broke in.” She sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I just took over as the Director of Operations, and I wanted to take everyone on a celebratory trip. I didn’t realize you were sitting in a cell all this time. My mistake! I hope you can forgive me.” Lennon pulled her back, his voice cold. “You don’t need to apologize to her. She broke into my home after we broke up. She’s lucky I’m not pressing charges.” I looked at him, my eyes burning. “Lennon… the card. My mother’s insurance card. Where is it? She needs it for the surgery.” Lennon blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten the one thing I’d begged him to do for my family. He started patting his pockets, looking around vaguely, but it was clear he had no idea where he’d tossed it weeks ago. Right then, my phone buzzed on the table. It was a text from my father. She’s gone, Regina. My hands went limp at my sides. I looked at Lennon, who was still pretending to look for the card. “Stop,” I whispered. “Don’t bother. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Lennon caught the look in my eyes, and for a second, he looked almost haunted. But I didn’t care. I stood up, my legs feeling like lead, and turned to leave. “Wait!” Daisy called out. “Regina, I feel terrible about the jail time. But since you did break in, we really should check your bag. Just to make sure nothing of Lennon’s is missing.” Before I could react, she snatched my bag and dumped the contents onto the floor. A shower of elegant, thick-stock envelopes spilled out. Wedding invitations. Daisy gasped, covering her mouth. “Oh… Regina. You were still planning a wedding with Lennon? You even made fake invitations? This is… this is really sad. Was the whole ‘sick mother’ thing just a play for attention too?” I didn’t have the energy to argue. “Are you done? Did you find your silver spoons?” Daisy had achieved what she wanted—the room was looking at me with pity and disgust. I gathered my things and walked out. I hadn’t gone ten paces before Lennon caught up to me, grabbing my arm. “Where are you staying?” he demanded. “None of your business. Go back to Daisy. You two deserve each other.” Lennon let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You’re actually jealous. This whole act—the ‘wedding,’ the ‘dying mother’—it’s just a play to make me jealous.” “Believe whatever helps you sleep at night.” “Regina, enough!” he snapped. “You’ve had your tantrum. Can’t you just wait a few more years? Why do you have to force my hand like this? It’s exhausting.” I wrenched my arm away. My voice was so calm it surprised even me. “I am getting married, Lennon. But the groom isn’t you. And I will never, ever force you to do anything again. Do you understand?” Lennon’s face pale for a split second, then he smirked. “Regina, you’re thirty. Let’s be realistic. Look at yourself—you’re a wreck. Who else is going to take you?” “That’s not your concern.” I turned to walk away, but he softened his tone, that old, manipulative warmth creeping back in. “Look, Saturday is your birthday. You’ve always wanted to meet my father. I’ll host a party for you at the estate. We’ll call it even. How does that sound?” I actually paused. Not because I was touched, but because I was stunned. In seven years, he had never once remembered my birthday. I was always the one planning his. 4 Saturday arrived. I went to the estate. I didn’t go for him. I went because the guest list he’d mentioned included the most powerful movers and shakers in the music industry. If I was leaving the orchestra, I needed a new network. I needed a clean break. But when I arrived, I realized the “birthday party” was a lie. It was the day Lennon was introducing Daisy to his father as his “protégée”—and his future wife. He hadn’t been “unready” for marriage. He just hadn’t been ready for me. I turned to leave, but the head butler intercepted me. “You must be the assistant Mr. Lennon hired to help with the event. You’re late. The dinner is starting.” He looked at my cocktail dress with disdain. “And why are you dressed like that? You think you’re a guest?” Before I could respond, the doors to the grand ballroom swung open. Lennon and his father, Arthur, entered with Daisy on their arms. I was shoved into a corner by the staff. Lennon took the microphone on the stage. “Tonight, I want to officially introduce the industry to my brightest star: Daisy.” I watched from the shadows, my chest aching. I remembered a few years ago when I’d made the finals of a national concerto competition. My parents had been so proud. But a day before the finals, a girl with “connections” took my spot. I had asked Lennon to help me, to use his influence to just get me a fair hearing. He had told me: “Regina, the world isn’t fair. Normal people don’t get hand-outs. You need to learn to adapt, not rely on my ‘privilege’ to get ahead.” And yet, here he was, throwing a gala just to hand Daisy the world on a silver platter. “And now,” Lennon said, his voice full of pride, “Daisy will perform an original composition of hers.” The music began. As the first notes floated through the room, my blood turned to ice. That wasn’t her song. It was mine. The melody was a key that unlocked a door I’d kept shut for a long time. When I was seven, my mother had just been diagnosed with her heart condition. We were poor; we couldn’t afford a piano. She used to draw the keys on the kitchen table with a marker and teach me the notes. One evening, watching the sunset, she hummed a melody. “This is our song, Regina,” she’d said. “A promise between us.” We had spent years perfecting that piece. It was titled The Sunset Promise. It was the only song I’d ever played for Lennon in the privacy of our home. There was only one way Daisy had it. He had given it to her. I looked at Lennon. He caught my eye and immediately looked away, his jaw tightening. My phone chimed. A text from him: “Don’t make a scene. Daisy is performing with me in Vienna next week. People are doubting her skills; she needs the ‘composer’ credit to boost her image. I’m doing this for the good of the orchestra.” Daisy finished the piece to a standing ovation. Lennon joined her on stage, beaming. Arthur, his father, stood up to applaud. “Not only a virtuoso, but a brilliant composer. Lennon, you’ve found a treasure. This is the kind of woman the family needs.” “I agree, Father,” Lennon said, his smile never wavering. I couldn’t breathe. I stepped forward, out of the shadows. “Stop.” My voice was raspy, but it carried. The room went silent. “That song was written by my mother and me. It is not an original work by Daisy.” Lennon’s brow furrowed. Daisy’s face flickered with panic before she settled into a pout. “Regina… I know you wanted to be part of this family, but you can’t just lie because you’re jealous.” Arthur’s face darkened. “You’re the woman who’s been hounding my son for seven years? No wonder he didn’t marry you. You have no class.” Lennon didn’t defend me. He just sighed, looking weary. “Regina, give it a rest. This ‘desperate for a wedding’ act is becoming suffocating.” The whispers started. “I recognize her. She’s the one who followed him around like a puppy.” “Is she crazy? He’s clearly with Daisy now.” “She’s obsessed.” Daisy leaned in with a cruel smirk. “Regina, if you’re going to claim I stole your work, surely you have proof on your phone? A digital trail? Show us. If you can prove it, I’ll apologize.” I froze. I didn’t have the original files on this phone—but I did have something else. I had a folder of photoshopped wedding pictures I’d made months ago, a pathetic hobby I’d indulged in when I was still dreaming of a life with Lennon. Arthur signaled the security guards. “Check her phone. Let’s see what else she’s lying about.” As they moved toward me, I fell, scrambling to hold onto my bag. Daisy reached down, pretending to help me, but whispered in my ear: “Give up. Lennon is mine. You’re nothing.” She snatched the phone from my hand and, with a practiced flourish, connected it to the ballroom’s giant projection screen. “Let’s see Regina’s ‘evidence’!” she announced. The screen flickered to life. But it wasn’t a music file. It was a photo of a woman in a stunning lace wedding gown, standing in a sun-drenched cathedral. She was laughing, and a man in a tuxedo was leaning in to kiss her forehead. The room erupted in laughter. “Oh my god, she actually photoshopped herself into a wedding!” “This is tragic. I’d kill myself if I were that pathetic.” Lennon looked like he wanted to disappear. He stepped forward to shut it down, but then someone in the front row gasped. “Wait… that’s not Lennon in the photo.”

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I’d brought my father-in-law here for a much-needed vacation, but the second we stepped toward the hotel pool, a man in a garish, overpriced designer shirt started running his mouth. “Since when does this place let just any stray in? You sure they didn’t sneak in through the service entrance?” He pinched his nose, eyeing us with a performative shudder of disgust. “Sharing a pool with people like this… I’m actually worried about catching something.” My mood, which had been light only moments ago, curdled instantly. I didn’t hold back. “We’re paying guests. We have every right to be here. If you’re so worried about the crowd, go build yourself a private villa.” The man’s face turned a violent shade of puce. He surged forward, jabbing a finger inches from my nose. “Do you have any idea who owns this hotel? My wife! I have the penthouse suite on a permanent lease!” He sprayed spit as he screamed. “Get out. Now. Your cheap, pathetic energy is polluting the water. It’s making me sick just looking at you.” I traded a look with my father-in-law, Antony. Our eyes went cold simultaneously. This was one of the flagship properties of the Whitmore Group—Octavia’s hotel. Since when did she have another husband? 1 Antony and I had intended to keep things low-key. We hadn’t flashed our credentials at check-in, wanting a genuine guest experience, but I never expected it to turn into a circus. Antony had been a titan of industry for thirty years. He didn’t even see this clown as a threat; he saw him as a nuisance to be swatted. “Who do you think you are, giving us orders?” Antony said, his voice level but carrying the weight of a gavel. “You’re the one who needs to leave. Your lack of manners is the only thing making this place feel cheap.” He turned to me, ignoring the man who was now vibrating with rage. “Beckett, let’s just swim. Ignore him. When we get back, I’ll have a very long conversation with Octavia about exactly what’s going on here.” Being ignored was clearly the man’s breaking point. A cruel, jagged smile twisted his face. “Fine. If you love the water so much, let’s see how long you can stay in it.” He barked into his phone, and a moment later, a burly, thick-necked guy in a staff polo jogged over. He looked at the garish man with fawning desperation. “Hey, Zane. What’s up? Ready for your lesson?” Zane pointed at us, his eyes gleaming with malice. “Rick, do me a favor. These two bottom-feeders need a lesson in humility. Show them how we handle ‘trash’ in Malibu.” Rick didn’t hesitate. He was a local swim coach, the kind of guy who thought muscles made him untouchable. “Don’t worry, Zane. I know exactly how to handle guys who can’t hold their breath.” Before I could react, Rick dove into the water. He surged toward Antony, and with a sickening splash, he jammed his hand onto the back of Antony’s head, forcing him deep under the surface. Antony was in his late sixties. He was fit, but he was no match for a man in his prime. He began to thrash, bubbles breaking the surface in a frantic, desperate rhythm. “Stop!” I screamed, lunging through the water to shove Rick away. But the coach was fast. He pivoted, using his momentum to shove me down, too. I swallowed a mouthful of chlorinated water, my lungs burning as I fought to get back up. I managed to catch Rick with a sharp, desperate kick to the groin. He let out a muffled groan underwater and released his grip. I scrambled to grab Antony, hauling him to the surface. He was blue around the lips, gasping for air, his body racked by a cough so violent it sounded like his lungs were tearing. This was a man who had built an empire from a single roadside motel into a global luxury brand. He was a man used to being treated with the utmost reverence. To be degraded like this… it was unthinkable. He leaned against the edge of the pool, his chest heaving. “You… you could have killed me,” he rasped, his voice trembling with fury. “This is assault. I’m calling my legal team. You’re finished.” Zane just laughed, swirling a drink he’d picked up from a nearby table. “Kill you? Who cares? My wife owns hundreds of hotels. She makes enough in a day to buy and sell your miserable lives ten times over. You want to talk about lawyers? You think you can afford to play in our league?” My heart hammered against my ribs, but not just from the exertion. This hotel was one of the many Antony had handed over to Octavia to manage. This man’s “owner” act was too specific to be a coincidence. I gripped Antony’s shoulder to steady him and looked Zane dead in the eye. “Is your wife’s name Octavia Whitmore?” He smirked, preening like a peacock. “So, you’ve heard of her. Good. At least you aren’t totally illiterate.” He leaned down over the edge of the pool. “If you get on your knees right now, apologize, and then scrub this deck until it sparkles, I might tell her to go easy on you. Otherwise, when she gets here, you’re dead meat.” A cold, hollow ache opened up in my chest. Octavia—the woman who had promised me forever, the woman I thought was my soulmate—was she really doing this? 2 Then, my eyes caught the tattoo just below his collarbone. It was a delicate, crimson maple leaf. I had seen the exact same design on Octavia’s lower hip. She’d told me she got it because the day we met, the autumn leaves were turning that specific, brilliant shade of red. She called it our “forever mark.” I remembered being so moved, so deeply touched by her romanticism. What a joke. It wasn’t our mark. It was theirs. The anger that rose in me was cold and sharp. It cleared my head. “As far as I know,” I said, my voice cutting through his laughter, “Octavia Whitmore’s husband is a man named Beckett Montgomery. And you don’t look like a Montgomery to me. You’re just the side-piece, aren’t you? A kept man who’s forgotten his place.” Zane’s smile vanished. His face contorted. “Don’t you dare mention that loser’s name to me. Love doesn’t follow a schedule. The person who isn’t loved is the real interloper. Beckett is just a ghost she hasn’t bothered to exorcise yet.” He pulled out his phone, his voice dropping into a sickening, performative whine as the call connected. “Octa? Baby, where are you? I’m at the pool and these two old creeps are harassing me. They’re calling me names, baby… it’s horrible. You need to get down here and handle this. And listen, I want the pool cleared. Just for us. I’ve been practicing some new… moves… in the water. I want to show you.” He hung up, his smugness returning tenfold. “She’ll be here in thirty minutes. You’re done. She has ways of making people like you disappear.” I was shaking, a wave of nausea rolling over me. To think of her whispering sweet nothings to me last night, only to plan “water moves” with this brat today… it was repulsive. Antony looked at me, and I saw the heartbreak in his eyes transition into a hardened, diamond-sharp resolve. He knew. “Octavia,” he whispered, his voice thick with disgust. “She’s exactly like her mother. Everything I gave her… I can take it all back.” Antony hated infidelity with a passion that bordered on the religious. His first wife—Octavia’s mother—had stripped him of everything years ago, running off with a younger man and leaving him to rebuild from nothing while raising a daughter alone. He had poured his soul into Octavia, only to find the rot was hereditary. Antony owned the empire. Octavia just ran a piece of it. And as for me—Beckett Montgomery—the world might think I was a “trophy husband” because I preferred the quiet of my art studio to the boardroom, but I was the sole heir to the Montgomery shipping fortune. I didn’t need Octavia’s money. I had only ever wanted her heart. “I can’t wait to see how she explains this,” I muttered. I noticed Antony’s face growing pale, his hand clutching at his chest. I moved to help him out of the water, but Zane gestured to the coach. Rick jumped back onto the deck and, as Antony reached for the ladder, Rick delivered a sharp, brutal kick to Antony’s shoulder. Antony splashed back into the pool, gasping. Zane roared with laughter. “Look at you! Like two drowning rats. You wanted the pool, didn’t you? Stay in it! Rick, don’t let them out until my wife gets here.” Rick smirked. “You got it, Zane. Just remember to tell Ms. Whitmore how helpful I was. I’m looking for that promotion to Head of Athletics.” Every time I tried to help Antony toward the edge, Rick was there, blocking us, threatening us with his heavy boots. Antony’s breathing became shallow, a terrifying whistling sound coming from his throat. “This isn’t a game!” I screamed at the shore. “He has a heart condition! Let him out or I swear to God, you’ll spend the rest of your life in a cage!” Zane just swirled his wine. “Nice try. The ‘heart attack’ gambit? Please. You were swimming fine a minute ago. Rick, go kill the heater for the pool. Let’s see how they like the cold-water treatment.” 3 “If he dies,” I spat, my voice cracking, “it’s murder. The police won’t care who your wife is.” Zane leaned back in his lounge chair, basking in the sun. “Oh, stop being so dramatic. You want out? Beg. I thought you were so ‘refined.’ Let’s hear it. Beg for your lives.” Antony’s lips were turning a terrifying shade of slate blue. He was shivering violently now, his eyes fluttering. I looked at him, ready to swallow every ounce of pride I had to save him. But Antony grabbed my arm. His grip was weak, but his eyes were fierce. “Don’t,” he wheezed. “I have never… knelt to a dog… and I won’t start now. Beckett… I’ll be okay. But after today… she is dead to me. I survived her mother. I’ll survive her.” Zane, annoyed by our defiance, turned to Rick. “Go to the kitchen. Bring out two buckets of ice. Let’s give these ‘high-society’ types a real chill.” The ice hit the water around us with a series of sharp splashes. The temperature plummeted. I held Antony close, trying to share my body heat, but I was losing the battle. He was slipping away, his consciousness fading. “Help!” I screamed, the sound echoing off the luxury tiles. “Somebody! He’s dying!” The pool area was secluded, reserved for “VIPs.” No one came. Rick finally looked a little nervous. He glanced at Antony’s limp form. “Hey, Zane… he looks pretty bad. Maybe we should let them up? If someone dies in the pool, the health inspectors will shut us down for weeks. Ms. Whitmore wouldn’t like that.” Zane paused, then shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. But they haven’t learned their lesson. I told them—apologize, or stay in.” He looked down at me. “Tell the truth, loser. Tell me I’m the man Octavia loves. Tell me Beckett Montgomery is a pathetic cuckold, and I’m the real king of this castle.” He didn’t know I was Beckett. He was asking me to curse my own name. I looked at Antony. His head was lolling back. His heart was failing. Nothing mattered—not my pride, not my name, not the betrayal. “I beg you,” I whispered, my voice thick with bile. “Please. Just let him up. He’s dying.” Zane grinned, a predator who had finally tasted blood. “Say it. Say Beckett is a loser and I’m the husband.” I squeezed my eyes shut, my nails digging into my palms. “Beckett is a pathetic loser,” I choked out. “You’re… you’re the only one she loves. Now let us up!” He laughed, a high, mocking sound. “I said I’d consider it. And I’ve considered it. I think you can stay in another five minutes.” 4 “You’re a dead man,” I hissed, my voice a low, terrifying promise. “That is her father. Antony Whitmore. If he dies, Octavia will skin you alive herself just to keep the cops off her back.” Zane froze for a split second, then doubled over in laughter. “Oh, that’s rich! Now he’s the father? You just called him ‘Dad’ ten minutes ago! You guys are desperate. What’s next? Is he the Pope?” Antony’s body went rigid in my arms, then suddenly limp. He stopped shivering. His breathing stopped. “Help! Help! Cardiac arrest!” I roared. Finally, the hotel manager came running toward the commotion. He didn’t recognize Antony immediately—it had been years since Antony had personally visited this site—but he saw the body in the water and turned pale. “Mr. Zane, what is happening?” “Just teaching some trespassers a lesson, Miller,” Zane said, though he looked a bit twitchy now. “They need to come out, now,” Miller said, his professional instinct for liability kicking in. “If a guest dies, we’re all ruined.” Zane sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “Fine, fine. Let them up. They’ve ruined my afternoon anyway.” Rick hauled us out. I collapsed on the deck, coughing, but immediately scrambled toward the locker rooms where our bags were. I needed Antony’s nitroglycerin. I found the bottle, my hands shaking so hard the pills nearly spilled. I ran back to Antony, who was sprawled on the tiles, silent. I tried to prize his jaw open to get the pill under his tongue. Suddenly, a foot shot out. Zane kicked the bottle right out of my hand. It skittered across the deck and fell through the drainage grate into the pool. “Enough with the theater,” Zane snapped. “You’re out. Now get your trash and get lost before I call security to have you arrested for trespassing.” The world turned red. I didn’t think. I lunged upward and landed a solid, bone-crunching hook right across Zane’s jaw. He went down hard. “If he dies,” I roared, “I will burn your world to the ground!” Zane screamed, clutching his face. “You hit me! Rick! Miller! Kill him!” The coach and the manager grabbed me, pinning my arms behind my back. Zane got up, his eyes wild with fury, and began raining slaps and punches across my face. My head spun, the copper taste of blood filling my mouth. I forced myself to stay conscious. I had to save Antony. I wrenched my arm free, nearly dislocating my shoulder, and lunged for my phone in my discarded bag. I dialed Octavia. “Octavia! Antony is having a heart attack at the Malibu pool. Get a medical team here now! If you’re not here in ten minutes, he’s gone!” Octavia’s voice came through, cold and irritated. “Beckett? What are you talking about? My father is in the city. Stop playing games to get my attention. I’m in a meeting. Call an ambulance if you’re so worried.” She hung up. I stared at the phone, my heart breaking for the final time. Then, the glass doors to the lobby slid open. Zane’s face transformed from rage to pure, ecstatic joy. “Octa! Baby! You’re finally here!”

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When my husband, Denis Pierce—an S-Tier shifter and the most lethal man in the Coalition—woke up from his coma with severe amnesia, there was absolutely no room left for me in his new world. While he was lying in the VIP trauma ward, he refused all visitors. Yet, the absolute second he was discharged, he sent me a message. There was no How have you been? or I miss you. Just a cold, sterile digital document: a divorce agreement. “Ms. Sullivan,” the text in the chat bubble read, sharp and freezing as cracked ice. “Our past marriage is clearly the byproduct of my compromised mental state at the time. Let’s process the paperwork as soon as possible.” Staring at the glowing screen, a laugh actually bubbled up in my throat. Sure, having an apex predator shifter for a partner meant you were fiercely protected, but who could actually survive his relentless, borderline-feral demands every single night? Honestly, the fact that his amnesia led him to initiate the breakup felt like a literal godsend. A divorce agreement? Sign it. Sign it right now. Once I was officially single again, I was going to find myself a gentle, soft-spoken partner. Never again would I tie myself to a terrifying beast with a terrifying amount of stamina. 1 “Understood.” Looking at the harsh text, I typed my reply without a single ounce of hesitation. The man on the other end of the screen seemed to exhale a digital sigh of relief. “Excellent, Ms. Sullivan.” “Thank you for your cooperation. All marital assets will be transferred entirely to your name. Should you encounter any logistical issues, you can contact my assistant at any time.” Me: “Sounds good.” “Thank you for agreeing to the divorce. Someone will be in touch shortly.” Me: “Great.” Closing the chat, I practically threw myself onto the plush mattress, humming happily. I pulled out the sleek black bank card linked to Denis’s military salary and opened the banking app. Tens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands… Behind the first five digits, there were four more zeros. I couldn’t suppress the giddy, ear-to-ear grin spreading across my face. “Heh. Hehehe.” I was rich. No matter how I spun it, I had hit the absolute jackpot. As the most elite S-Tier shifter in the entire Coalition, Denis had become the youngest General in the Armed Forces shortly after his graduation. His compensation package was astronomical. In our three years of marriage, he had not only bought me a sprawling coastal estate, but he had also filled a massive walk-in closet with designer bags. And yet, there was still this much liquid cash left over. I rolled around on the high-thread-count sheets, my mind racing with all the delicious ways I could spend this money. First, I’d sell the estate and the bags. Once I had the cash, I’d move to some quiet, picturesque colony world, find myself a sweet, handsome rabbit shifter, or maybe a domesticated cat shifter, and live out the rest of my days in absolute, unbothered comfort. Just thinking about it made my chest feel light. I was right in the middle of scrolling through real estate listings on a gorgeous little ocean planet when my phone suddenly buzzed. It was Benjie. His voice on the other end of the line sounded thoroughly defeated. “…Ma’am.” “The General’s brain is completely broken. You’re not actually going to divorce him, are you?” 2 Benjie was Denis’s executive assistant. He was also a deeply traditional shifter—a Golden Retriever mix, to be exact. He held the firm belief that high-level shifters belonged with other high-level shifters. Someone of Denis’s unparalleled S-Tier pedigree, in Benjie’s eyes, should have been politically matched with a flawless, old-money shifter bloodline. When Denis fell in love with me at first sight, Benjie had a meltdown. When we actually got married, Benjie had a second meltdown. And now that Denis and I were getting a divorce? For some reason, it sounded like Benjie was on the verge of his third. I picked at a loose thread on my blanket and softly reminded him, “It’s not that I want to divorce him, Benjie. It was Denis’s idea.” Benjie sounded like he was physically shattering. “But Ma’am, his brain is broken! He’s—he’s got brain damage!” “Before the wedding, I helped him pick out the flowers, the cars, the designer bags. During the wedding, I stood between you two and those stubborn, traditionalist elders to make sure your ceremony was flawless. After the wedding, I spent every single day talking to the General about life, the universe, and how to make you happy… I practically became the president of your fan club! And now you’re telling me you’re getting a divorce?!” “What was the point of sacrificing my youth for you two?!” he wailed. “What was it all for?!” Me: “…” Even my conscience twinged a little at that. I rubbed my lower stomach, suddenly feeling a bit guilty, and stammered, “Well, I mean…” Benjie caught the hesitation and his tone sparked with sudden hope. “Ma’am, you still love him deeply, don’t you? You don’t actually want to leave him, right? Don’t worry, leave everything to me. I promise you, give me one month, and I’ll have the General’s memories fully restored!” Me: “…” One month. Wasn’t that a little too soon? During the entire time Denis had been in his coma, the faint, bruised-looking marks on my skin had only just started to fade. Even now, my thighs ached a little when I walked too fast. Benjie was still aggressively pitching his plan. “Just one month, and you two will be as sickeningly sweet as you used to be. Just hold on a little longer, Ma’am. Think about all the beautiful moments you shared. Do you really have the heart to just walk away from him like this?” I kept my hand resting on my stomach. Suddenly, a vivid memory flashed behind my eyes. Denis’s large, calloused hands gripping my waist, pinning me down. The low, rumbling vibration of his chest as he laughed against my ear, his voice a dark, breathless whisper: [Such a good girl for me.] A full-body shiver wrecked through me. I sat bolt upright, my resolve instantly hardening. “Forget it, Benjie.” “You can’t force something that isn’t meant to be. If Denis wants to divorce me, I’m sure it’s a carefully considered decision. Please schedule the appointment as soon as possible. I’m going to go sign those papers!” Benjie: “…?” 3 I didn’t wait to hear whatever Benjie was going to say next. I hung up the phone. Denis and I had met through the Federal Genetic Registry. Rumor had it that Denis used to be violently opposed to the idea of marriage. But because his genetic markers were so flawlessly elite, the Registry hounded him relentlessly. After being badgered for the hundredth time, the man finally snapped. He wrote down an impossibly specific, entirely ridiculous list of demands and threw it at the Registry directors, threatening to dismantle their entire building if they couldn’t find someone who fit the exact criteria. Terrified, the Registry fed his impossible parameters into the Holo-Net matrix. And matched with me. In exactly one second. On the day of our forced blind date, Denis looked like he was ready to murder someone. But the moment his eyes landed on me… Denis: “Hi, wife.” Me: “?” And just like that, I was married. At first, I thought I had won the lottery. But barely two days into the marriage, the regret set in. …Because Denis was, quite frankly, terrifying. And incredibly wicked. On the nights he came home from the base, even if I was crying and trying to crawl to the edge of the mattress, he would just effortlessly drag me back by the ankles. He would cage me in his massive arms, kissing away my tears while wickedly teasing me for being so soft. It never stopped until I literally passed out. … I bit my lower lip and started reviewing the divorce checklist. Benjie sent me several crying-face emojis. Then, radio silence. Honestly, I trusted Benjie’s professional competence entirely. Even though he was a loyal little Golden Retriever shifter, when Denis had decided he wanted to marry me, Benjie had handled the resulting political nightmare perfectly, even while having a mental breakdown. Now that Denis wanted to divorce me, I was sure Benjie would execute it flawlessly. Sure enough, after a period of quiet, Benjie dutifully sent me the time and location. Three days from now. 2:00 PM. The Civic Records Bureau. Me: “Received.” Now that the dust had settled, my heart calmed down slightly. But thinking of Denis—injured and missing his memories—a quiet pang of worry surfaced. The details of Denis’s injuries were highly classified. The Coalition had placed a strict embargo on the information, so I hadn’t seen a single media report about it. While he was in the trauma ward, he had explicitly banned me from visiting. So even now, as he was discharged, I had no idea what kind of damage he had sustained, or how severe it had been. After hesitating for a long moment, I finally typed: “How is Denis… doing right now?” Benjie replied instantly: “WAHHHHHHH!” “MA’AM!!!” “I knew it! I knew you still loved the General! (Loud Crying Emoji)” I winced. Let’s not talk about love. We were literally getting divorced; what was the point of romanticizing it now? But Benjie wasn’t deterred by my lack of enthusiasm. He enthusiastically bombarded me with text walls, including a recent photo of Denis. In the picture, the man’s expression was an icy mask, his sharply sculpted face noticeably pale. Benjie: “Ma’am, the General was hurt really badly this time. Otherwise, his brain wouldn’t have locked away his memories of you.” “His external wounds are mostly healed, but his core is still dangerously weak. The med-techs told him to rest for at least three months, but he refuses to listen. He’s demanding to be cleared for active duty.” “When you see him, please try to talk some sense into him. (Puppy Wagging Tail Emoji)” I tapped on the photograph, enlarging it. Looking at the familiar, sharp line of his brow, now shadowed by a sickly pallor, an unnamable ache settled in my chest. I didn’t know what right I had to advise him anymore. But I agreed to Benjie’s request anyway. …Even setting aside the fact that he was my husband, Denis was still a decorated hero of the Coalition. Both personally and objectively, I owed it to him to tell him to take care of himself. The three days blurred by quickly. Thinking that this might be the very last time we ever saw each other, I spent over an hour doing my makeup, pulling on a sharp, professional tailored skirt suit, wanting to treat this final transition with the gravity it deserved. But right before I walked out the door, I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror. A dark memory suddenly spiked in my brain. A man pressing my chest against the cold glass of this exact mirror. His voice, hoarse and heavy with lust: [Dressed up so beautifully for me, baby? Who are you trying to impress?] [Oh… you just wanted to look pretty for your husband.] [Such a good girl.] I violently shuddered, shaking my head to clear the phantom sensation. I immediately marched into the bathroom, scrubbed my face completely bare, and threw on a simple, unassuming white sundress. I checked the mirror again. Bare-faced, looking like I had literally just rolled out of bed and thrown on the first piece of fabric I could find. Thoroughly unbothered. Perfect. Satisfied, I grabbed the finalized divorce folders and walked out the door. 4 Because of my last-minute wardrobe crisis, I was running slightly late. To give us time to review the paperwork before going inside, Benjie had booked a table for us at an upscale coffee shop right across the street from the Civic Records Bureau. The moment I stepped through the cafe doors, a visceral chill ran down my spine. Even suppressed, the ambient pressure of an S-Tier shifter was completely suffocating. It felt like being locked in the crosshairs of a terrifying, apex predator lurking in the dark. A primal, hair-raising dread. The other patrons in the cafe were visibly tense. Some of the lower-level shifters were so overwhelmed that their traits were slipping out—I saw a girl with long white rabbit ears flattened in sheer terror against her head, trembling in a corner booth. Shifters of Denis’s caliber almost never walked around casually in public. His aura was simply too crushing. Even when he wasn’t doing anything, it bore down on weaker shifters like gravity. It was like putting a locked-up lion in a room full of toy poodles; the cage didn’t stop the poodles’ legs from giving out. Add to that the fact that he hadn’t fully healed… there was a distinct, metallic undercurrent of blood in his scent that made it even more terrifying. I quickened my pace, hurrying toward the secluded corner. Stopping by the table next to the window, I said softly, “Mr. Pierce.” Denis was sitting by the glass. He wore a simple, unbuttoned dress shirt, his dark military jacket tossed carelessly over the back of the plush sofa. He was leaning back lazily, looking incredibly bored as he tapped at his smart-watch interface. At the sound of my voice, his icy eyes flicked up. “Ms. Sullivan. Punctuality is a virtue you seem to lack—” The absolute second his eyes fully registered me, his entire body seemed to jolt. He slowly, rigidly sat up straight. “…W—Wife?” 5 I looked down, feeling a sudden rush of guilt, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I ran a little late.” Denis’s breathing actually hitched. His eyes completely lost their focus for a second. “…I—It’s fine.” “I was just early.” I slid into the booth across from him, pulled the meticulously drafted divorce agreement from my tote bag, and slid it across the sleek wooden table. “Husban—I mean, Mr. Pierce.” “This is the agreement my lawyers drafted. Could you review it and let me know if there’s anything you want amended?” The moment the words left my mouth, I closed my eyes in pure agony. My toes curled inside my shoes, desperate to dig a hole straight through the floorboards. …God, that was so humiliating. Husband? The man had literal amnesia. He didn’t want to see me, the first thing he asked for was a divorce, and I had just called him husband. After a brutal internal war with my own embarrassment, I slowly realized the air between us had gone dead silent. I cautiously opened my eyes and peeked across the table. Denis suddenly looked incredibly busy. His lips were pressed in a tight line, his fingers flying across his smart-watch as if he were negotiating a national security crisis. But out of the corner of his eye, he kept throwing erratic, panicked glances at the divorce papers on the table. Me: “…Mr. Pierce?” It took him a half-beat to respond. He looked up, his pupils still slightly dilated. “…Ms. Sullivan.” I offered an awkward smile. “Um, are you busy with work right now? We can go process the paperwork quickly so you can get back to it.” “Or… are you unhappy with the terms? It’s totally fine, we can just split the marital assets fifty-fifty.” Denis: “…” All the color drained from Denis’s already pale face. His large, scarred knuckles clenched, then released, then clenched again over his knees. “I…” he grit his teeth. “Actually…” I blinked, watching him with genuine concern. Something was wrong with him. He looked like he was about to pass out. I wasn’t sure if his injuries were acting up. Remembering Benjie’s desperate plea, I softened my voice. “Mr. Pierce, I know your work is important, but you really need to take care of your body.” “Otherwise, the people who care about you are going to worry.” A sudden, intense light flickered in Denis’s eyes. “Really? There’s someone… who worries about me?” What a ridiculous question. Did Benjie not count as a person? I nodded earnestly. “Yes, of course. So please, prioritize your health.” “Now, should we head over and get our certificates?” Denis shot to his feet so fast the table rattled. His face was ashen. “…I apologize, Ms. Sullivan. The Coalition just flagged an emergency. I have to leave.” I looked up in shock. “Wait, right now? We can just go inside, it will literally take ten minutes—” Denis choked out another panicked apology, spun on his heel, and practically sprinted out the door. He walked so fast it looked like the hounds of hell were snapping at his ankles. Me: “…” Well, what was I supposed to do now? I had actually lined up a blind date with a cat shifter for this exact afternoon. For the sake of my beautiful, peaceful future, I planned to line up several potential gentle shifters, vet them all, and pick the sweetest one. The plan was to get the divorce certificate, then seamlessly pivot to the date. Peak efficiency. But now… I didn’t have the divorce papers signed. Was it morally wrong to still go on the date? Would that make me a bad person? 6 Ultimately, I still went to meet the cat shifter. It wasn’t because I was desperate. It was mostly because the guy had sent me a video message right before I left the house. Soft, messy black hair, framing a pair of pristine, fluffy white cat ears that twitched nervously. His voice was soft, sweet, and incredibly endearing. “These are my ears, miss.” “I don’t know if they’re the kind of ears you like… but I really hope they are. >_<" My resolve instantly crumbled. "Oh my god, you are the sweetest baby! I love them!" [Location Pin Sent] "Sweetie, I'm already here. Come meet me, coffee is on me~" While waiting for him to arrive, a small voice in the back of my head whispered: Is it really appropriate to have a date in the exact same spot you were just sitting with your husband? But Toby was already on his way. Changing the venue at the very last second on our first date would make me look like a chaotic, red-flag player. While I was still debating, he walked in. I had seen his shifter profile—a long-haired Ragdoll—but in person, he was even cuter than I imagined. He was a bit on the shorter side, but his face was perfectly cherubic, his eyes round and sparkling. Objectively, a textbook pretty-boy feline. He walked over hesitantly, his fluffy ears flattening slightly as he sat down. His nose crinkled. "Miss... who was sitting here before me? The scent is making me a little nauseous." I coughed, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty. "Uh... my husband—I mean, my ex-husband. We were supposed to finalize our divorce today. But he got called away on an emergency, so you don't need to worry about him." Toby nodded timidly, his big, watery eyes looking up at me with absolute adoration. "I see... Well, I'm here to keep you company." "If you're feeling sad about anything, you can tell me. I'll always be here to listen." I was melting. I was absolutely melting. After a few minutes of chatting, I managed to coax him into shifting his hands so I could play with his soft, pink toe beans. We were having a great time until suddenly, the fur on Toby's arms puffed out. His nose flared. "Wait. Miss, something's wrong. I feel... danger." "It's really close. Like... someone is watching us." I was entirely too invested in squishing the pink toe beans to look up. "Danger? You mean my ex? He got called away by Military Command. There's zero chance he'd come back." Toby's voice cracked, dropping an octave in sheer panic. "...No, miss. Look. Is that... is that your ex-husband?" I snapped my head up. Right outside the cafe window, separated only by a sheet of glass, stood a towering, broad-shouldered man. I had no idea how long he had been standing there. His dark, suffocating gaze was locked entirely on me, like a beast of prey stalking from the shadows. Through the glass, his lips moved, silently shaping the words: [Wife.] [Who is he?]

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