1 My mother-in-law had been accidentally poisoned. She was knocking on death’s door, and I, the only toxicologist in the city who could save her, was her last hope. I had just hung up the phone and was about to leave when my husband, Aiden, blocked my path. “Today’s the grand opening of Nina’s Terror Dome,” he said, his voice laced with annoyance. “If you take off, who’s going to play the penniless NPC?” My face hardened. “The golden window for the antidote is thirty minutes. One second late, and your mother could die.” Aiden just rolled his eyes. “If your janitor mom kicks the bucket, she kicks the bucket. I’ll throw some extra cash at her funeral, big deal. But if you dare cause a scene today, I’ll ruin you.” His female bestie, Nina, draped herself over him with a playful laugh. “What’s the hurry, Dia? Itching to sneak out and meet some other guy? Look at that long face, longer than when you’re getting off. Right, my big boy?” I almost laughed at their shamelessness. It clicked. Aiden thought the one dying was my mother. “Fine,” I said, my voice eerily calm as I put the case containing the serum back down. “I won’t go.” Aiden blinked, clearly taken aback. He probably expected me to burst into tears, to beg him, or to make a desperate run for the door. He sized me up, a frown creasing his brow. “Scared, are you? Good. Nina’s grand opening is a hell of a lot more important than your worthless mother.” Nina giggled, playfully punching his chest. “See? I told you my big boy knows how to train a woman. I bet you broke her in bed to make her this obedient. That new position you tried on me last time had my legs sore for three days!” They collapsed into a fit of laughter, grabbing at each other. I cleared my throat. Aiden’s patience snapped. “What now, Dia? Just let your filthy, foul-smelling mother die. The stench of piss and shit just clings to her.” He sneered. “Did she poison herself digging through another dumpster for dinner? Honestly, why would you even go? To collect her corpse? Just flush it down a sewer and be done with it.” I had always told myself that Aiden was just being influenced by Nina, this toxic “one of the guys” type of woman. That his cruelty was a temporary lapse in judgment. But I never imagined he would think it was my mother who was dying. And that my mother’s life, in his eyes, was worth less than the grand opening of Nina’s tacky haunted house. The disgust was suffocating. I pulled out a chair and sat down. “Fine. I’m not leaving. Your good time is what’s most important. What’s a life in comparison?” Aiden stared for a second, the contempt in his eyes deepening. “Glad you know your place. So you finally admit your stinking mother’s life is cheap.” Nina cackled, hanging off Aiden like a vine. “It’s for the best you see reality, Dia. I bet your mom is just trying to scam some money before she croaks. Were you planning to rush over and grab your cut before she stopped breathing?” Aiden basked in her attention, letting her hands roam over his body. “Let me tell you something, Dia. I invested thirty million dollars in this Terror Dome. It’s my gift to Nina. If you dare ruin our mood, I won’t just let your mother die. I’ll make sure your entire family joins her.” Just then, Aiden’s phone rang. He answered on speaker, his voice dripping with irritation. “Is this Mr. Blackwood? Your mother is fading fast! If Dr. Hayes doesn’t get here with the serum, there’s nothing more we can do!” That’s when Aiden exploded. He lunged at me, grabbing my arm so violently that the serum case I was holding clattered to the floor. “Don’t you dare compare that old hag to my mother!” he roared into the phone. “If she’s going to die, tell her to get on with it! Call and harass me again, and I’ll burn your damn hospital to the ground!” He slammed the phone down and, in a fit of rage, brought his heel down on the serum case. The delicate vial inside shattered, the sound echoing the final snap of my mother-in-law’s lifeline. To create that single, tiny vial, my team had spent three years locked in a lab. We’d failed over a thousand times, burning through enough funding to buy ten of his ridiculous theme parks. That was the only finished dose in existence. Aiden, however, looked triumphant. “Just let your broke-ass mom rot and stink up the hospital,” he sneered. “If it weren’t for that pretty face and the fact that you put out in bed, do you think you would have ever married into the Blackwood family?” Nina stood on her toes and kissed his chin. “Isn’t it a good thing your mom’s dead, Dia? Now we won’t have to deal with her constantly trying to leech off us. Last time, she asked me to find her a job sweeping a park, said she could collect an extra twenty bottles a day! Can you believe it? So pathetic!” I had to laugh. The annual interest from my mother’s trust fund alone could buy out the Blackwood family ten times over. Who the hell did they think they were? The Blackwood business was a sinking ship I had secretly bailed out because I felt sorry for him. Ever since I was kidnapped as a child, the resulting trauma had made my mother insist I keep my identity a secret. And here he was, using my money to buy gifts for Nina while humiliating me for my supposed poverty. The audacity was breathtaking. “Whether you want to save a dying person is your business,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “But if you dare insult my mother again, don’t blame me for what happens next.” Aiden’s face twisted in a sneer. “Are you threatening me? Don’t want to collect your mother’s corpse anymore? I’ll have you know, her dying today is a sacrifice to bless the opening of Nina’s Terror Dome!” His friends chimed in. “Yeah, Ryan! The park opens tonight! We still haven’t tested that new extreme horror theme.” Aiden glanced at me, then waved at his bodyguards. “Since you’re so eager to run your mouth, you can be Nina’s test subject!” I fought, but they were too strong, pinning me to an operating table in a room designed to look like a biohazard lab. Nina stood over me, holding a massive, prop syringe. “Welcome to my laboratory of horrors!” she announced to the room. “Today, we will be conducting a thrilling live experiment!” The crowd roared with laughter. “Damn, this is good! The effects are amazing. I’m gonna live-stream this; it’ll create a huge buzz for tonight’s opening.” Just then, my phone, still in my jacket pocket, began to ring incessantly. Annoyed at the interruption, Aiden snatched it. His eyes fell on the caller ID: “Chairman Hayes.” With a roar of fury, he smashed the phone against my head. “You’ve got some nerve, Dia! Already found yourself a sugar daddy!” Nina poked him in the chest. “A Chairman, huh? You’re really something, Dia. Stringing my big boy along while you’re hooking up with some old geezer on the side?” Her voice turned venomous. “I bet you killed your own mother on purpose, just to scam some cash so you could run off with your new rich boyfriend!” As she spoke, she drew a viscous, unnerving liquid from a beaker into the syringe. “Let me teach you a lesson, you shameless whore.” Aiden’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Great idea, Nina! Later, we’ll strip her naked and lock her in a cage for all the visitors to see!” Hearing this, Nina lunged, aiming the needle straight for my neck. But the escape artist training from my childhood kidnapping hadn’t faded. In a fluid motion, I broke the rope bindings and twisted, redirecting the syringe and plunging it deep into the back of her hand. “AHH!” Nina’s scream was bloodcurdling. The skin on her hand began to corrode, sizzling as white smoke rose from it. “My hand! My hand!” she shrieked in terror. Her friends, who had been laughing moments before, backed away in horror. “What the hell? I thought that was a prop!” “Is… is that real acid?” Panic seized Aiden. He rushed to Nina, cradling her and kissing her rotting hand, before turning on me and slapping me across the face. “You bitch, Dia! You dare hurt Nina! If you don’t get on your knees and beg for her forgiveness right now, I swear I’ll make sure they never even find your mother’s ashes!” At that moment, a commotion erupted at the entrance. “Dr. Hayes! We tried calling you a dozen times! We had to use your phone’s GPS to find you!” Several paramedics rushed in, their faces grim. “The patient was still holding on, waiting for your serum, but on the way here…” One of them sighed heavily. “She’s gone. We’ve brought the body for the family. You should start making arrangements.” Aiden looked disgusted. “God, Dia, your mother is relentless even in death.” Nina, her face a mask of pain and hate, screamed, “They brought the corpse here? Well, isn’t that a grand opening gift! A special guest of honor for the premiere!” Her twisted joke broke the tension, and the friends started laughing again. “Aiden, you’re a genius! A real corpse as a prop for opening night? The publicity will be insane!” “It does stink a bit, though. What is that smell?” Aiden pinched his nose, then kicked the gurney with disgust. “Get this unlucky trash out of here! Can’t even die in peace!” The body rolled off the gurney and hit the floor with a sickening thud. The face was swollen and purple, completely unrecognizable. But Aiden had found a new source of amusement. He grabbed my hair and forced my face down toward the corpse on the floor. “Dia, if you get on your knees right now and bark like a dog to apologize to Nina, I might consider sparing your mother’s remains. Otherwise, she’s going to be the Terror Dome’s first real ghost!” The pain in my scalp was excruciating. But all I could feel was a strange, dark amusement at the scene unfolding before me. I slapped his hand away. “You’re the one who’s so good at acting like an animal. Why don’t you show me? Let’s hear what a pair of dogs in heat sound like.” Aiden’s face contorted with rage. “You dare talk back to me, you bitch!” He lifted his foot and brought it down hard, stomping on the head of the corpse. I just smiled. “Aiden, I only ever said ‘my mother’ was poisoned and dying.” “What if,” I continued, my voice sweet as poison, “the head under your foot isn’t my mother’s… but yours?” He threw his head back and roared with laughter. “My mother? Dia, has grief finally broken your brain? My mom is on vacation in Europe. You’re wishing death on her now?” He sneered. “Let me tell you, the entire world could die before my mother does. Comparing your dumpster-diving, filthy old hag to my mother is like comparing heaven and hell.” Nina clutched her blackening hand, her eyes spitting venom. “Don’t waste your breath on her, big boy! She’s doing it on purpose! Look what this bitch did to my hand! Chop up her dead mom! Do it now!” Aiden’s eyes turned murderous. He grabbed a fire axe from a wall display and raised it over the body. “Whatever my precious Nina wants, she gets. These limbs will look great in the haunted house tonight. Give the guests a touch of realism!” The heavy, wet thud of the axe echoed through the room, over and over. But I just laughed. Aiden was truly, stupendously idiotic. I couldn’t wait to see his face when he found out whose body he was currently dismembering. He was still gloating. “How about that, Dia? This is your mother’s final contribution to our Terror Dome. You should be thanking me.” “I’ll give you one last chance. Get on your knees, chop off the hand that hurt Nina, and I’ll let you collect what’s left of your mother.” He reached for me. I grabbed a heavy iron skillet from a nearby prop table and swung it with all my might into his face. The impact sent him staggering backward, blood gushing from his nose. Everyone froze, stunned into silence. Nina pointed a trembling, corroded finger at me. “You hit my big boy! Get her! Cut off her hands and feet!” The bodyguards started to move, but Aiden wobbled back to his feet. He wiped the blood from his face, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, manic light. “Good. Very good,” he hissed. “It seems I’ve been too kind to you. You’ve forgotten what you are.” He grabbed the severed head of the corpse and began dragging it toward the back courtyard. The guards seized me, forcing me to follow. In the courtyard was a massive industrial shredder. “Dia,” Aiden snarled, his voice a low growl, “since you refuse to learn your lesson, you can watch your mother get turned into pulp!” He switched on the machine. With a triumphant roar, he tossed the dismembered body parts into the grinder. The machine roared to life, a gruesome fountain of blood and viscera spraying everywhere. Aiden stood beside it, drenched in the gory mess. He even spread his arms wide, reveling in it. “HAHAHA! DO YOU SEE THAT, DIA? THAT’S YOUR MOTHER’S FINAL FATE! GROUND TO A PASTE! YOU WON’T EVEN BE ABLE TO COLLECT HER ASHES!” He turned his head, his crimson eyes locking onto me. “Now, it’s your turn!” Just as he raised the axe and charged toward me, the courtyard gates burst open. My father-in-law rushed in, his face pale with urgency. He swung his cane, cracking it across Aiden’s face. “Your mother is dying, and you’re stopping Dia from saving her?” he screamed, his voice breaking. “Where is her body? The hospital said they delivered the body! Where is it?”

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It all started because I walked in on them. Mike Connolly—the city’s most powerful CEO—and Isabella Thorne, his first love, fucking wildly in a stairwell. The next day, she stood before him with red-rimmed eyes, accusing me of spreading vicious rumors about her, claiming she’d nearly slit her wrists from the shame. But in that critical moment, Mike stood firmly by my side. He even weathered the storm of public opinion to give me the wedding of my dreams. On our wedding night, however, he had me bound and taken to international waters, where he auctioned off my virginity to the highest bidder. I was tortured to death, my body posed in grotesque positions and filmed for a series of naked videos. Isabella then used an AI deepfake to plaster her own face over mine in the footage, weeping to Mike that I had thrown her to a pack of wolves. Fury coiled in his gut, Mike came looking for me, only to find my sister, Renee, cleaning up the makeshift memorial in our family home. His face was a mask of ice. “Where is Emily Monroe? Tell her to get her ass out here.” Renee gave a numb, cold laugh. “My sister’s already in the ground, Mike. Are you planning on joining her?” 1 The words had barely left her lips when Mike’s hand cracked across her face, his rage boiling over. “Renee Monroe, you’re a loyal dog to the very end. You’d even say your sister is dead just to protect her.” He snarled, his voice a low growl. “I’m telling you, if Emily doesn’t get out here and apologize to Isabella this instant, I don’t care if she is dead. I will personally dig up her corpse and grind her bones to dust.” His tone was venomous, as if he longed to devour my flesh and drink my blood. My sister smiled, a desolate and mocking expression. “Then you’re doomed to disappointment, brother-in-law. You will never see my sister again in this lifetime.” Mike’s face turned ashen. He lunged forward, his fingers wrapping around Renee’s throat as he hissed, demanding to know where I was. She said nothing, just stared at him, her gaze slowly tracing the lines of his face, her swollen cheek a canvas of pure contempt. Seeing her defiance, Mike let out a cold chuckle and released her. “Fine. You won’t talk. Since you’re so determined to shield Emily, don’t blame me for what comes next.” With a sharp wave of his hand, a flood of black-suited bodyguards poured into the house, their presence instantly shrinking the spacious living room. Mike’s gaze swept disdainfully across the scene—the floor littered with white flowers, memorial cards, and the ash from burnt candles. In the center of the room, a large memorial portrait of me still hung on the wall. “Trash it,” he commanded. A symphony of destruction erupted. Glass shattering, wood splintering. Renee’s face went white with horror. “No!” she screamed, her voice tearing from her throat. Her eyes, blazing with grief, fixed on Mike. “Mike, she was just buried! How can you desecrate her memorial? Wasn’t killing her enough for you? Do you have to torment her even in death?” A cruel smirk played on Mike’s lips. “I told you. I want her to come out and apologize to Isabella. If she won’t, this is the only way.” He checked his watch. “I’ll give you three minutes, Renee. If Emily isn’t here in three minutes, breaking things will be the least of your worries.” Renee stared at him, disbelief warring with horror on her face, her chest heaving. She threw herself at the bodyguards, a moth trying to stop a hurricane, forced to watch as they ripped our living room to shreds. CRASH. The sound of the family portrait hitting the floor echoed off the walls. She froze, her eyes fixed on the shattered glass. Tears streamed down her face as she stumbled forward and dropped to her knees, desperately trying to shield the broken frame. Shards of glass bit into her palms, but she didn’t seem to notice the pain. Mike glanced impatiently at his Rolex. Three minutes were up. His patience had run out. “Find her,” he ordered, his voice devoid of warmth. “I want her alive, or I want her body. Tear this house apart if you have to, but bring Emily Monroe to me.” His men scattered, beginning their ruthless search. “No!” Renee cried, her voice raw with desperation. “Mike, please, my parents are resting upstairs! You can’t do this! Tell them to stop! My sister is really dead! She’s been buried!” She scrambled to her feet, grabbing his pant leg. “My parents were devastated by her death. They can’t take any more of this. Mike… brother-in-law… I’m begging you. For the love of God, have mercy. Stop them.” She knelt before him, pleading, but her words fell on deaf ears. “I told you,” he said coldly, “I only want Emily. My patience is wearing thin. If she doesn’t show herself, I can’t guarantee what I might do.” He then raised his voice, letting it carry through the house. “Emily Monroe, I know you’re in here! Listen to me! If you come out and apologize to Isabella like a good girl, I might let you continue being Mrs. Connolly. But if you insist on being stubborn… you know what I’m capable of.” Yes, I was there. But only as a wisp of a soul. Mike didn’t know. I had died a month ago, at that godforsaken auction. And as for being Mrs. Connolly? Even if I were alive, I wouldn’t want it anymore. 2 The bodyguards tore through the house, their search fruitless. They didn’t find me, but they did wake my parents. They stumbled down the stairs, their eyes widening at the wreckage. My father, his face contorted with rage, swung a fist at Mike. “Mike! Wasn’t it enough that you killed my daughter? Now you dare to come here and cause this scene? You heartless bastard, why don’t you just die?” Before the punch could land, Mike caught his wrist, twisting it with brutal efficiency. A sickening crack echoed through the room, and my father’s face went pale. Mike shoved him away with cold indifference. “You old fool. You’re the heartless one, cursing your own daughter.” My father crumpled to the floor, his arm bent at an unnatural angle. My mother screamed in terror and launched herself at Mike, a wild animal protecting her young, only to be kicked to the ground. My own non-existent heart seized. I rushed to help her, but my hands passed straight through her body. Renee’s broken sobs filled the air. “Mike, my father nearly died helping your family years ago! How can you repay his kindness with such cruelty?” For a moment, Mike froze. Years ago, the Connolly family had been targeted by rivals, pushed to the brink of bankruptcy. My father, to help them through the crisis, had poured most of our company’s capital into the Connolly Corporation. In doing so, he became a target himself, narrowly escaping several staged car accidents. It was only after the Connollys regained their power that the threat to my father subsided. A flicker of guilt crossed Mike’s face. He took a half-step forward, but just then, a figure rushed in from outside. “Mike, did you find Emily?” Isabella Thorne cried, her face pale and tear-streaked. “That video… it’s gone viral. People are harassing me, calling me… I’m so scared.” Mike’s expression softened instantly, all thoughts of guilt vanishing as he pulled her into a protective embrace. His face hardened once more. “I’m giving you one last chance,” he growled at my family. “Tell me where Emily is.” Renee just wept, her voice hollow. “I told you, she’s been buried. You just won’t believe me.” Mike scoffed. “I only auctioned off her first time. Is she really so fragile that one night with a man would kill her?” He sneered. “Since you all insist on bringing this suffering upon yourselves, why should I hold back?” A bitter laugh escaped my spectral form. Just her first time. He had no idea what I had endured that night. He had his men bring in several vicious attack dogs and then forced my parents and Renee into separate iron cages. I stared in horror, my ghostly heart pounding. The dogs snarled, their eyes glowing with feral hunger as they circled the cages. No! I shook my head, screaming until my soul felt raw. But no one could hear me. I could only watch as the dogs crept closer and closer to the cages. Renee’s face was as white as a sheet. She gripped the iron bars, her voice a shredded scream. “Mike, you’re insane! Don’t hurt my parents! I’m begging you, please! My sister is dead! I’m not lying to you! I swear I’m not!” “She’s buried in Evergreen Memorial Park!” she shrieked. “Go and see for yourself! You’ll know I’m telling the truth! Just go!” Ignoring her pleas, a bodyguard opened my father’s cage. The dogs, starved and frenzied, lunged. A chorus of horrific screams and growls filled the living room. One of the dogs tore a chunk of flesh from my father’s thigh. Blood gushed from the wound, and his agonized cries pierced the air, an assault on everyone’s eardrums. My mother’s pupils constricted. She clapped her hands over her ears, shrieking in terror, curling into a tight ball against the bars of her cage, muttering over and over. “She’s dead… she’s dead… she’s dead…” Suddenly, she scrambled to the edge of the cage and screamed at Mike, her voice cracking with madness. “She’s dead! DEAD! You killed my daughter!” Mike’s dark eyes narrowed, his gaze locking onto my mother with pure fury. A moment later, a chilling, mirthless smile spread across his face. “Emily once told me that liars have to swallow a thousand needles,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “Since the whole Monroe family seems to love lying, I’ll teach you all a lesson today.” So he remembered. He still remembered our past. Back when we were in love, he’d been hospitalized for two weeks and had hidden it from me. When I found out, I was furious. I’d threatened him, half-joking, that if he ever lied to me again, I’d make him swallow a thousand needles. He’d pretended to be terrified, swearing he would never deceive me again. I never imagined those careless words would come back to haunt my family. 3 The long, silver needles glinted under the lights. I surged forward, trying to snatch them from the bodyguard’s hand, but my form passed right through him. One guard grabbed my mother’s hair, while another dislocated her jaw. I screamed in helpless rage, forced to watch as they shoved needle after needle down her throat. Blood bubbled from her lips. Guttural, choking sounds were the only noises she could make, her face a mask of unimaginable agony. My heart felt like it was being torn apart. I regretted ever meeting Mike Connolly, ever falling in love with him. I threw myself at him, punching and kicking his form, screaming his name, trying to snap him out of his madness. A sudden, unnatural chill swept over him. Mike frowned, instinctively reaching out a hand, but he grasped nothing but air. He looked at the gruesome scene before him, and for the first time, a flicker of unease stirred in his gut. He called for them to stop. The dogs were led away. My father lay in a heap on the floor, barely breathing, his body a canvas of blood and torn flesh. In some places, bone was visible. My mother’s mouth was a gaping, bloody wound, her eyes crimson, her face smeared with gore. Mike watched it all, his expression unreadable. “Even now,” he asked coldly, “you’re still protecting Emily?” “She did a disgusting thing, and all I’m asking for is an apology. I don’t want her life. Is it really worth all this? Tell me, where is she?” Renee, her face a deathly gray, just repeated the same numb words. That I was dead. That I was buried in Evergreen Memorial Park. Her words ignited Mike’s fury once again. “Renee Monroe, you’d rather watch your parents die than give up that bitch, wouldn’t you?” he spat. “Fine. Truly fine. You Monroe women… you’re all venomous snakes.” Isabella, hiding behind Mike, flashed a triumphant smirk before wrapping her arms around him, her voice dripping with feigned concern. “Mike, I just wanted Emily to clear things up. It’s not Uncle and Auntie’s fault, and it’s certainly not Renee’s.” She sighed dramatically. “It’s my fault. I never should have come back and disrupted your life with Emily.” “Since she won’t help me, then let it be. The video has been shared millions of times anyway. If I can’t live here, I’ll just go abroad. I’ll leave and never come back.” She dabbed at her eyes, and as she moved her hand, fresh scars on her wrist came into view. Mike’s pupils contracted. He seized her wrist. “You did it again? Isabella, I told you, don’t punish yourself for other people’s mistakes! Why won’t you listen?” “If you really died,” he said, his voice tight with emotion, “what would I do? I can’t bear to lose you again.” Isabella pulled her hand away, a bitter smile on her face. “But I can’t control it, Mike. Everyone knows I’m… soiled. I don’t want to live every day with people fantasizing about me, hearing their filthy words, being pointed at on the street.” “I’m so scared,” she sobbed. “I don’t understand why Emily would do this to me. Spreading rumors is one thing, I can explain, I can endure it. But why did she have to hire men to violate me? And why film it and post it online, so I can never hold my head up again? How is that any different from killing me?” With a cry, Isabella lunged toward the wall. Panic seized Mike. He moved in a blur, catching her around the waist. “Don’t!” he pleaded, his voice trembling. “Isabella, don’t do this. I’ll make Emily clear your name. None of it is true. I’m begging you, just calm down.” She collapsed in his arms, weeping uncontrollably. The spectacle was too much for Renee. She knew Isabella’s true colors, knew how she had framed me time and again. Gripping the bars of her cage, she screamed, “Isabella Thorne, stop your act! My sister never hurt you! You’re the one who set her up, over and over! All she did was walk in on you screwing some other man, and for that, you wanted her dead! You’re a monster, and you will get what you deserve!” Mike’s face darkened with rage. He slapped Renee hard across the face, then grabbed a fistful of her hair, shoving his phone in her face. “You say Isabella framed her? Renee Monroe, open your damn eyes and look! Does this look like a frame job?” Renee’s eyes widened in stunned disbelief as she stared at the screen. A cold dread crept into my own soul. I had a sickening feeling I knew what it was, but seeing it still sent a spear of ice through my heart. How could this be… 4 In the video, Isabella Thorne was surrounded by several men, the scene a graphic depiction of sexual assault. But it was me. I was the one who had lived through that nightmare. It was Mike who, on our wedding night, had me taken to the open sea and auctioned me off. I couldn’t fight, couldn’t escape. In the end, my body was dumped into the ocean. I felt like I was trapped in a block of ice. Why? Why, even after I was dead, couldn’t Isabella just leave me alone? Renee shook her head, refusing to believe it. “No. This has to be fake. My sister would never do something like this. That bitch Isabella is lying.” Her eyes blazed with hatred. “Mike, you’re blind and heartless, and you will pay for this. You’re going to hell.” Mike’s face was a thundercloud. He yanked her hair, striking her again and again. “You dare call Isabella a bitch? Who’s the real bitch? Your sister! Your sister is the venomous, cold-hearted bitch!” He sneered. “You two sisters are quite a pair. Since you’re so determined to protect her, you can pay her debt.” My heart leaped into my throat. I had a terrible premonition. I spun in frantic circles, wanting to scream at Renee to just apologize, to not provoke him. A cornered Mike was capable of anything. But Renee just stared back at him with a mocking gaze, her swollen face devoid of life, as if nothing mattered anymore. Mike waved his hand dismissively. His bodyguards immediately dragged Renee from the cage. His smile was chilling. “She’s all yours. Make sure you get it on video. Every angle. Then upload it online. Let’s see how long Emily can stay hidden then. How dare she let her own sister take the fall for her crimes?” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. My mind went blank. Seeing the dead look in my sister’s eyes, I collapsed at Mike’s feet, weeping and begging him to spare her. But no one heard my desperate cries. I threw myself over Renee, trying to shield her with my ghostly form, but countless hands passed right through me to grope and tear at her clothes. A wave of nausea washed over me, the disgusting touches and vulgar whispers dragging me back to that horrific night on the boat. My soul turned to ash. I watched the sneer on Mike’s face, the phony protests from Isabella, and I wished with every fiber of my being that I could become a vengeful spirit and drag them both to hell. Just then, a bodyguard rushed in, whispering something urgently in Mike’s ear.

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For five years, I dedicated myself to saving Alberto Morris, trying to rewrite the tragic ending where he dies for the story’s heroine. But when she was in danger again, he didn’t hesitate for a second to throw his life away for her. He stopped fighting, letting his enemies plunge their knives into him, again and again, all to protect her. When I rushed to the scene, I found Alberto kneeling in a pool of his own blood, his trembling hands wiping away the heroine’s tears. He gently soothed the terrified Amelia. “Don’t cry, Mia. It’s okay. I don’t feel a thing.” Looking at this picture of devoted love, who would have guessed that just yesterday, this same man was whining to me about a tiny scratch on his hand? “Babe, it hurts.” Back then, I was naive enough to believe I was special to him. Now, I finally understand. The devoted male side character belongs to the heroine. And dying tragically to save her is the ending he would willingly choose. Five years. This time, I’m truly done. 1 The warehouse was a wreck. The man across from them sneered. “Three more cuts. Do it yourself, and we’ll let her go.” Alberto looked down at Amelia, who was shivering in his arms. His throat bobbed. “Fine,” he rasped. I stood behind them, my nails digging into my palms, unable to move a single step. I watched as Alberto picked up a blood-stained knife from the floor. He gently covered Amelia’s eyes. “Mia, close your eyes. Don’t look.” He raised the knife, his movements fluid and without a trace of hesitation. Seeing this, my heart felt like it was being squeezed by an iron fist. Just as the blade was about to fall, I forced myself to speak. “Wait.” Every eye in the room turned to me. Alberto looked over his shoulder. His pupils contracted when he saw me. His lips parted as if to say something, but all that came out was a violent cough. I deliberately ignored his gaze, walked past him, and handed the briefcase in my hand to the kidnapper. “The money’s here. I’m taking them with me.” The leader of the group grinned, taking the case. He leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. “We’ll take the money. But a pretty thing like you… why don’t you stay and play with us for a while?” As his hand reached for me, I instinctively took a step back. I bumped into a tall metal pole behind me. It teetered for a second before crashing down with a deafening clang. The pole landed right between Amelia and me. Alberto reacted on pure instinct, shielding Amelia with his entire body, his back to the falling pole. “Mia, look out!” It slammed onto the concrete an inch from my feet, the impact kicking up a cloud of dust that settled on the hem of my dress. My heart stopped. Watching them clinging to each other, a loud ringing filled my ears, and the world went silent. “Hands up!” A swarm of people rushed in. My backup had finally arrived, subduing the kidnappers. Only then did I manage to regain what little composure I had left. I took a deep breath, slowly righted the fallen pole, and walked toward the two still locked in a desperate embrace. Amelia looked up from Alberto’s arms, her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you for saving me and Alberto, sister.” I didn’t answer her. I just stared at Alberto. He immediately let go of Amelia, his eyes wide with a flicker of panic as he looked at me. “I…” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. “The ambulance is here,” I said flatly, cutting him off. He refused to get into the ambulance until Amelia’s private driver arrived to take her home. Inside the vehicle, he carefully tugged at the corner of my shirt, his voice impossibly soft. “Babe, my arm really hurts…” The moment Amelia was gone, he was back to being the Alberto who knew how to play on my sympathy. Before, my heart would have ached for him. Now, I found it almost funny. Hurts? That’s not what he told Amelia just a few minutes ago. I looked at the red stain his bloody hand had left on my clothes. After a long silence, I pried his fingers off my sleeve. “It’s dirty,” I said softly. He froze. When he spoke again, his voice was laced with confusion. “Babe, I lost a lot of blood today…” “Yes,” I replied calmly. “I saw.” His breath hitched. He stared at me for a long moment, and when he saw that I remained unmoved, he finally turned his head away and fell silent. He was sulking, expecting me to coddle him. But this time, I didn’t. I saw things more clearly than ever. This was a man who had been the young heiress’s personal bodyguard since he was eight years old. A man whose body was a roadmap of scars from knives and bullets. How could he possibly be fragile? And yet, he had shown me his vulnerability time and time again, making me believe that I was different, that I was special to him. But now… I lowered my eyes, hiding the emotions swirling within them. I felt a dampness on my fingertips. Looking down, I saw that the gash I’d gotten from the falling pole was bleeding. And Alberto hadn’t even noticed. 2 We didn’t speak for the rest of the ride. I stared out the window, the passing city lights blurring into a meaningless smear. My mind drifted back five years, to the day I first met him. He had been covered in blood then, too, kneeling ramrod straight outside the gates of Amelia’s family estate, taking the blame for her mistake. Rain mixed with the blood running down his body, staining the pavement a dark crimson. I had knelt in front of him, holding an umbrella over his head. “Do you need help?” I had asked. He had lifted his dark, bottomless eyes, studying me for a long moment before raising an eyebrow. “And if I do? You’ll save me?” I had nodded. From that day on, I used the points I had accumulated over the years to piece his broken body back together. His tendons were torn, his back and abdomen a mangled mess from the beating he had taken. The healing process was excruciating. But he never made a sound. He would just stare at me with those dark, guarded eyes, his body tense with suspicion. Until the very last treatment. He had suddenly reached out and grabbed my sleeve, forcing out a single, clumsy word: “Hurts.” That was the first time he had ever shown me his weakness. After that, he grew more and more dependent on me. He would reach for me in his sleep when nightmares plagued him. He would rest his head on my shoulder when the pain from his old wounds flared up. He would cling to my hand during thunderstorms. It was then that I confidently accepted the mission from the System. Save the devoted male side character. Change his tragic fate. I naively believed I could be the light that saved him. But gradually, I came to understand. In the world of a devoted side character, the heroine is always the exception. Even though he only ever showed his vulnerability to me, even though he spent months planning our wedding, even though he whispered “I love you” in my ear countless times. The moment Amelia needed him, he would drop everything and run to her side. He would protect her with a self-destructive recklessness that tore open all the wounds I had so carefully healed. The first time was the day after our wedding. He took a call and left in a hurry. When he came back, he had seven new bullet holes in him. The wounds were too compromising to take him to a hospital. I had to treat him myself, at home. Covered in his own blood, his eyes shimmering with tears from the pain, he looked utterly pathetic. He clung to my sleeve, his feverish eyes hazy as he called out my name over and over again. “Babe… babe…” I should have been furious. But with every weak call of my name, my heart softened. The second time was on my birthday. He abandoned me in front of all our friends, diving off a yacht to save Amelia, who had “accidentally” fallen overboard. I stood on the deck that day and watched a real-life reenactment of Titanic. When I found him, he was half-frozen, but he was still clutching our wedding ring so tightly that his palm was bleeding. And in that moment, my resolve wavered again. It had been like this for years, one time after another. The heroine truly was the heroine, always surrounded by danger, always in need of a protector. I told myself over and over again that it was a matter of life and death, that of course he would choose to save her. I just hadn’t been in that kind of danger. The moment I was, he would surely choose me. Until today. When that pole came crashing down, he didn’t hesitate for a second. He chose her. And I finally saw the truth. His choice would never be me. 3 Alberto’s injuries were severe. He passed out from blood loss on the way to the hospital. The System’s life-support alarm blared in my head, over and over again. I sighed. I had no points left. If I wanted to save him, I would have to trade something else. I leaned in close to his pale face and whispered in his ear, “Alberto, this is the last time.” In the end, I chose to trade all of my feelings for him in exchange for a sliver of a chance at his survival. The moment the System extracted those emotions from my heart, the world went quiet. I looked down at the unconscious man on the gurney and saw a stranger. All the pain, the joy, the sleepless nights—it all vanished in an instant. There were six months left on the mission timer. An idea, one I had never considered before, popped into my head. So what if the mission fails? The worst that could happen is I don’t get my bonus. If he dies, I won’t. Besides, if he was so determined to walk into his own grave, what could I possibly do to stop him? I looked at the blood splattered all over the ambulance and took a disgusted step back. 4 I considered just leaving, finding some quiet corner of the world to hide in until the mission was over. But abandoning a mission mid-task would likely result in some unforeseen punishment. I decided to just phone it in, to do the bare minimum until the end. On the third morning, Alberto finally woke up. He shifted slightly and let out a soft groan.

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The first time I saw Victor, he was just another street punk, slick with blood. The only clean thing about him was the raw, clumsy sincerity in his eyes when he tattooed my name over his heart. Later, when he seized power, he gifted me half the Waterfront as a wedding present. Everyone in the city knew: I, Ava Costello, was his everything. Until today, when the little starlet Victor was keeping shimmied into my home. She stood there, one hand on her swelling belly, her eyes curving into a smug smile as she offered her advice. “Ms. Costello, are you going to walk out of here with your dignity, or are you going to wait for my son to grow up and throw you out?” I raised a hand and had my men drag her away to “take care of the problem.” Victor saw the pool of blood spreading beneath her and his face twisted with fury. He pressed a knife to my throat. “Ava,” he hissed, his voice a low growl, “you need to learn some goddamn gratitude.” I just laughed, the sound soft as I pressed the muzzle of my pistol against his heart. “You’ve really changed. Good thing I haven’t.” “The only thing real in my heart… has always been my ambition.” Bang. The gunshot echoed through the hall. 1 The one who fell was Limpy, the man who had hobbled in Victor’s shadow for a decade. “That attached to her, are you? It makes sense. Limpy was the one who so carefully trained that little actress before delivering her to your bed. I suppose he did a fine job, if she could make you this furious with me.” My gaze dropped to the sliver of cold steel still resting against my neck. I scoffed. “Aren’t you going to do it, Victor? You were never this indecisive before.” “What’s the matter? Your hand is shaking.” My mocking gaze was a physical blow. In the silent war of our eyes, he was the first to break. He threw the knife down, the clatter echoing his defeat, and sank back onto the sofa. “Limpy was with me for ten years. What you did… it was too much, Ava. Too cruel.” A faint smile touched my lips as my men dragged Limpy’s body from the room. “He wasn’t you.” “You’re the only one I’m ever soft on.” Victor looked at me, his expression a tangled knot of emotions. “I want Vivian to stay.” “This life… it’s all blood and shadows. I’m tired, Ava. Vivian is like… an open window. She lets me breathe. She makes me feel like a simple man, someone who could have a normal life, buying groceries and cooking dinner.” I didn’t answer right away. I placed my gun on the table beside me. I took my time lighting a cigarette, the smoke curling around my fingers before I finally spoke. “Normal?” “Victor, have you told her about the blood on your hands? The dirty money in your ledgers? The enemies who hunt you in the dead of night? You want to place her quiet little world of picket fences into the middle of all this?” “That’s not a simple life. That’s a death wish.” Victor’s brow furrowed, his patience wearing thin. “Ava, I’m not discussing this with you.” “I’m informing you.” He stood and walked into the other room, returning with Vivian in his arms. Her bleeding had stopped, and her pale, unconscious face was nestled against his chest. In the flickering lamplight, she looked disturbingly like a younger version of me. “Ava, just be the lady of the house.” “This is your last chance. If you dare touch Vivian again, I won’t show you any mercy.” Victor swept out with his men, the wide-open door letting in a gust of wind that extinguished the cigarette between my fingers. My right-hand man, Justin, stepped forward and relit it for me. “The gun was aimed off-target,” he murmured. “Did you go soft?” I exhaled a plume of smoke, repeating his words with a dry, mocking tone. “Soft? I never intended to kill him.” “One bullet is all it would take to end Victor’s life. But what I want are the passwords to his Swiss accounts, the ledgers of his gray-market dealings, and every last one of his legitimate businesses.” “Death would be getting off easy.” Justin, who had just been unsettled by my apparent mercy, now felt a chill run down his spine at the venom in my words. He asked a question that was almost naive. “Don’t you… don’t you love him?” A thousand memories flashed behind my eyes, leaving only a faint shadow of something like exhaustion, or perhaps nostalgia. “Love him? Of course, I do.” “Otherwise, what were the last ten years of dodging bullets with him for? A game?” “But love is a painkiller, Justin. Power… power is oxygen. You take a pill when you’re in pain, and it helps. But you can live without it. Cut off the oxygen, and you’re dead in minutes.” As if on cue, the grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour, its crisp notes slicing through the silence. Justin glanced at a text that had just appeared on his phone. “Latest update, boss. The head of the Northside Outfit, Don Costello, just died. They’re saying… heart attack.” “Hm,” I replied, a single, cold syllable. Justin couldn’t help but take a half-step closer, his voice laced with confusion. “You’re… not surprised? He was your father, after all.” The corner of my mouth twitched into something that might have been a smile. “Why would I be surprised?” “That was my work.” Justin’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened, and the color drained from his face. I watched his horrified expression, my voice as calm as if I were discussing the weather. “Any stone in my path gets cleared.” “My own father… was no different.” The ember at the tip of my cigarette reached my fingers. I crushed it out in the ashtray and looked at him. “Any more questions?” Justin bowed his head, not daring to ask another word. I stood, picking up the gun from the table and gesturing vaguely toward a spare room. “Victor said he wants Vivian to stay? Fine. Let her stay.” “The show’s just getting started.” 2 The sharp click of heels echoed from the foyer. Vivian’s sweet, cloying voice drifted in as she directed Victor’s men with her luggage. “Be careful with that!” “Victor bought that for me at an auction. Don’t you dare scratch it.” She stood in the center of the opulent villa, her eyes sweeping over everything with a greedy, defiant hunger. Her gaze finally landed on my back as I sat on the sofa, reviewing a stack of documents. She sauntered over. “Sister,” she began, the word dripping with false sweetness. “Victor said the air is better out here. He wants me to move in so we can get to know each other.” “You don’t mind, do you?” I didn’t look up. I turned a page of the financial report, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. “I do.” Vivian was taken aback by my bluntness, by the fact that I wouldn’t even pretend to play nice. She froze for a second, then her smile widened, blooming with a foolish arrogance. “It doesn’t matter if you mind.” “This is what Victor wants. He said that once I learn the ropes of the business, I’ll be the new lady of this house.” As she spoke, she wandered over to the liquor cabinet. She picked up one of my prized crystal glasses. “This is nice. I’ll use it to drink my sweet tea.” Seeing that I was still ignoring her, Vivian marched over and sat down beside me, snatching the documents from my hands. “What are you looking at?” “You’re not allowed to see these anymore. From now on, only I can read these papers!” The freshly printed A4 paper was sharp. As she ripped it away, its edge sliced a thin, stinging line across my palm, drawing a bead of blood. Only then did I finally turn my gaze to her. I looked at her the way you might look at a piece of trash, with a coldness utterly devoid of feeling. Honestly, it had been years since I’d met someone so eager to die. “Who let you in here?” “Victor, of course. Who do you think you—” I cut her off, my voice still quiet, but carrying the weight of unspoken threat. “There is only one master in this house.” My presence seemed to stun her for a moment. But she quickly recovered, puffing out her chest and standing to look down on me. “You dare touch me?” she sneered. “Victor told me that yesterday was the last time he’d tolerate your behavior. If you lay a hand on me again, he’ll throw you out on the street!” A small, cold smile touched my lips, but it never reached my eyes. I stood up, pulling the pistol from the small of my back and reloading it right in front of her. “Touch you?” “You’d dirty my hands.” I suddenly raised the gun— Vivian shrieked, dropping to the floor and covering her head, her eyes squeezed shut. But the shot she expected never came. My aim wasn’t on her. It was on the liquor cabinet behind her. The next second—CRACK! The explosive sound of shattering crystal ripped through the room. Flying shards of glass peppered the air, one of them slicing a deep, bloody gash across Vivian’s calf. She was frozen in terror, her face ashen. She had forgotten how to even cry. “It’s filthy now,” I said calmly. “Have someone clean it up.” Justin immediately nodded. I looked down at the trembling girl and leaned in close. I spoke each word with chilling precision. “The last person who dared to act like this in front of me was named Limpy. Yesterday, I sent him to meet his maker.” “If you don’t believe me, I can send you down to ask him yourself.” With that, I straightened up, pulled out my phone, and dialed Victor’s number. I put it on speaker. “You have twenty minutes to get your girl and her trash out of my house.” “Otherwise, you can start planning a funeral.” 3 Twelve minutes later, the screech of tires tore through the quiet afternoon. Victor stormed into the villa, his face a mask of thunder, with his top enforcer, Bruno, right behind him. His eyes immediately found Vivian, collapsed on the floor with a bloody leg, weeping hysterically. Behind her, a massive hole had been blown through my liquor cabinet. His rage ignited. The moment Vivian saw Victor, she scrambled toward him like he was her savior, collapsing into his arms. Her sobs grew more pathetic. “Victor, she… she’s trying to kick me out!” “And… and she tried to shoot me! I was so scared…” Victor murmured a few comforting words to her before turning his fury on me. “Ava, what the hell is the meaning of this?” “I just warned you yesterday! She lost our child because of you! She’s still recovering!” I remained seated on the sofa, not having moved an inch. I met his blazing eyes with a calm that was almost terrifying. “The meaning?” “Was I not clear enough on the phone?” My unshakable composure only fueled his anger. “Ava, this is my house!” “I’ll have whoever I want live here. You don’t get to give the orders.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. An image flashed in my mind: Victor bringing me here for the first time. His young face was flushed with excitement as he showed me the unfinished house, waving his arms around wildly. “Ava, this will be our home. You can decorate it however you want, do whatever you want. In this house, you’re the boss!” And now, here he was, ordering me to tolerate his mistress. I stood up. “Your house?” “Victor, have you forgotten? This villa… whose name is on the deed? And while we’re at it, the legal ownership of all your ‘clean’ businesses… who holds that title?” Victor was momentarily speechless. But one look at the weeping girl in his arms hardened his resolve. “You…” My gaze flickered to Vivian, still playing the victim. “For her? A toy you’ve known for seven months, one who was hand-picked and trained just for you?” “You’re willing to burn everything down between us for that? Have you thought this through?” Victor’s towering rage suddenly deflated, his bravado gone. I smiled and stepped closer. My voice dropped to a low hiss, like a viper’s whisper. “What do you think would happen if I took those real ledgers from your safe and sent them over to the Northside Outfit? I hear their new boss is looking to make a name for himself. Or perhaps I could give them to Detective Miller at the Financial Crimes Unit…” “Do you think you’d still be able to stand here, parading your little lover in my face?” Victor fell silent. When my eyes swept over Bruno, even he instinctively lowered his head, unable to meet my gaze. I gave Justin a slight nod. He immediately understood and stepped forward, making a polite, but firm, “this way” gesture to Victor. “Sir, the car is waiting outside.” Victor’s face was dark as a storm cloud. He held Vivian tight and stalked out of the villa without a backward glance. “Ma’am,” Justin said quietly once they were gone. “Showing your hand so openly like that… Victor is bound to make a move.” “You…” I just shook my head, a faint smile on my lips. “That wasn’t a trump card, Justin. That was me, being merciful, and giving him one last chance.” “If he dares to make a move, that’s when he truly loses.”

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I am the top engineer at the National Oceanic Institute. The only person on Earth with a successful deep-sea rescue at ten thousand meters to my name. So when my brother’s submarine went down, trapping him at the bottom of the ocean, I hung up his distress call. Then I calmly walked into a police station and confessed to leaking state secrets. Minutes later, my father’s furious call came through. “Your brother’s life is on the line, and you’ve vanished! Where the hell are you?” “I’m ordering you to the incident site to lead the rescue, now! If you don’t, you won’t see a single cent of the Grant family fortune!” I pulled a coarse blanket over myself and spoke into the phone. “I’m busy. Don’t interrupt my nap.” 1 I was sound asleep when Captain Miller of the Rescue Center shook me awake. “Dr. Grant! We have an emergency!” “It’s your brother, Ethan. His submersible, the Challenger, has gone dark at 10,900 meters in the Mariana Trench!” “An unidentified underwater tremor… all communications are down. The chances of survival are… slim.” I blinked my eyes open, my gaze settling on him. “So?” I asked, my voice flat. Miller stared, clearly thrown by my lack of reaction. “We need you!” he pressed. “You’re the only person in the world with a successful rescue at this depth. You’re their only hope!” I simply lay back down, turned over, and prepared to go back to sleep. “Sorry. I’m afraid I can’t help.” “What?” “I said, I can’t help,” I repeated, my tone as calm as if the men trapped at the bottom of the sea were my mortal enemies. “Adrian, are you insane? Your brother is down there! Along with twenty researchers! Their oxygen will last seventy-two hours, max!” “My wife, Dr. Evelyn Reed,” I interrupted him, “was the Mission Commander on my last rescue. In terms of experience, she’s more qualified than I am. You should be talking to her.” Miller grabbed my shoulders and hauled me upright, his voice a furious roar. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course we tried to contact Commander Reed! She’s not even in the country!” A small, cold smile touched my lips. “I know.” With that, I pulled the blanket over my head, shutting him out. He stomped his foot in frustration and stormed out of the detention cell, muttering curses under his breath. Finally, silence. A few minutes later, a specific ringtone cut through the quiet. It was my father, Robert Grant. I answered. “Adrian! Why are you refusing the rescue? Your brother is down there!” His voice was a barrage of accusations, thick with suppressed rage. “Dad, I already told them. Get Evelyn. She’s the expert.” “I can’t reach her! Her satellite phone is off!” Robert’s voice was frayed with desperation. I chuckled softly. “Oh, that’s to be expected.” “Because right now,” I said, my voice light, “she’s on board the Challenger.” On the other end of the line, Robert’s breathing hitched. It was followed by a thunderous explosion of fury. “What damn nonsense are you spouting? I personally arranged for Evelyn to join Project Borealis at the North Pole! She’s not due back for another month! How could she possibly be on the Challenger?” “Is that so?” I feigned surprise. “Then I must have misremembered.” “You—” I hung up before he could finish. The phone immediately rang again. This time, it was my stepmother, Linda Quinn. Her voice was a fragile, broken thing, choked with sobs. “Adrian… I’m begging you… please, save your brother…” I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, listening to her performance. “Besides,” she continued, her voice gaining a sharp, manipulative edge, “more than half of the twenty researchers on that sub are your own students! Are you just going to sit back and watch them die at the bottom of the ocean?” “Can you live with that?” 2 I smiled. Of course I could. An hour later, my father and stepmother arrived at the detention center. I watched them through the cold iron bars, my gaze fixed on the television mounted on the wall, which was broadcasting live coverage of the Challenger emergency rescue mission. The news anchor was somberly reading the names of the missing crew, painting them as national heroes making the ultimate sacrifice. The atmosphere was perfectly crafted. I raised my cuffed hands and gave them a helpless shrug. “As you can see, I’m in a bit of a jam myself.” “I’ve been detained on suspicion of leaking the Challenger’s core technical secrets.” In the span of a few seconds, Linda’s expression shifted from shock to disbelief, and then to pure, venomous hatred. Her perfectly maintained face twisted in fury. “It was you!” she shrieked. “Adrian! You did this on purpose!” “You’re jealous of your brother! Jealous that he was named the chief designer of the Challenger at such a young age!” “If you can’t have it, you destroy it! You have a black, evil heart!” Every accusation she hurled was a perfect echo of the press releases from my past life. It seemed they had this script prepared long ago. My father, Robert, was far more composed. He was frantic, but he still wore the mask of the dignified Director. He stared at me, his eyes burning. “What is going on?” “Not sure,” I said, leaning lazily against the wall. “The disciplinary committee burst into my workshop late last night. Said they had an anonymous tip that I sold the Challenger’s structural blueprints and sonar codes to a foreign agency.” Robert’s face turned a sickly shade of gray. He knew it was a frame-up. Half of the submersible’s core technology came from my own research. I would never betray my life’s work. “Damn it!” he growled, pulling out his phone. “I’ll make some calls. I’ll pull every string I have. I’ll have you bailed out before the end of the day!” “Don’t waste your breath,” I said flatly. “What do you mean?” “Until the official investigation is concluded, leaving this cell would be an admission of guilt.” I looked at him, my gaze calm and sharp. “Dad, you and I both know that if this charge sticks, my life is over.” Robert froze. He understood perfectly. I asked him a simple question. “Dad, if today, only one of us—Ethan or me—could live…” “Who would you choose?” His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Just then, his phone rang. He snatched it up like a lifeline. It was the Arctic Research Center. “Director Grant, we’ve just made contact with Commander Evelyn Reed!” Robert’s eyes lit up. “Thank God! What did she say? Does she have a plan?” “Commander Reed has suspended her mission at the North Pole. She’s using a backup channel to attempt a remote connection with the Challenger’s operating system! But…” “But what?” “But the sub’s physical port is locked down. The remote signal can’t get full access! Someone has to pilot a rescue craft to the site and perform a physical interface to reboot the system!” “And the only person who can perform that interface is Dr. Adrian Grant!” 3 The call was on speakerphone. Every word echoed clearly in the small room. Robert hung up, his eyes red-rimmed as he stared at me. “Adrian, did you hear that?” he said, his voice raw. “This isn’t just about saving your brother anymore. It’s about executing Evelyn’s rescue plan! This is an order!” I let out a lazy yawn and ignored him completely. Just then, a commotion erupted outside the detention center. The parents of the missing students, having somehow gotten wind of my location, had arrived. The moment they saw me, they fell to their knees in unison. “Dr. Grant! We’re begging you! Please, save our children!” “Please, Dr. Grant, he’s our only son! He can’t die!” A chorus of sobs and pleas filled the air. I looked down at them, my expression as cold and hard as ice. “What do their lives have to do with me?” My words sliced through the crying, silencing it instantly. They stared at me in disbelief, as if I were a monster. One of the fathers scrambled to his feet, fumbling for his phone. He pulled up a screenshot of a bank transfer and held it up to the bars. “What do you mean, it has nothing to do with you? This is the record of the ‘research fund’ my son paid you!” “He said you required every student to deposit fifty thousand dollars into this account every month, or you wouldn’t let them work on your project, wouldn’t let them graduate!” “Our children’s futures are in your hands! How can you just let them die?” Others followed suit, holding up their phones. The screen after screen of transfer records were like hammers, pounding away at my name. “Yes! We paid too!” “We all paid! For two whole years!” Robert saw the records and began to tremble with rage. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “You… you disgraceful son!” “Not only are you heartless, but you’re also a common criminal, extorting your own students! You have shamed the Grant family name!” He roared with righteous fury, as if he truly believed I had committed these sins. But we both knew the truth. The owner of that bank account wasn’t me. It was his precious, favored son, Ethan. No matter how much they begged, cursed, or even threatened to harm themselves, I remained unmoved, a silent spectator to the unfolding farce. Time was running out. The golden window for the Challenger rescue was closing fast. Online, the public opinion had turned into a firestorm. #LeadEngineerAdrianGrantRefusesRescue #AdrianGrantDetainedForLeakingSecrets #AdrianGrantExtortsStudents The hashtags trended, searing and ugly. In a matter of hours, my name became synonymous with greed, cruelty, and corruption. Then, a faint, static-laced voice crackled through the live rescue broadcast. It was Ethan. “Adrian… brother… can you hear me…” His voice was weak, filled with a primal fear of death and a desperate will to live. “Brother… I believe in you… I know you can save me…” “You’ve always been the brother I looked up to… you wouldn’t abandon me… would you?” 4 His heartfelt, brotherly last words, broadcast live to the world, were a masterstroke. Millions of viewers were instantly moved to tears. 【My God! What a tragedy! His brother is waiting for him, and he’s just sitting in a cell!】 【Adrian Grant isn’t human! He’s an animal! That’s your brother!】 【I’m sick. How did someone like him become a lead engineer? This needs a full investigation!】 【Go save them! There’s no time left!】 The tsunami of outrage and condemnation washed over me. My stepmother, Linda, seized the moment perfectly. She dropped to her knees again, not before me this time, but before the cameras of the news crews that had gathered outside. Her sobs were gut-wrenching. “I’m begging you… Adrian… if you just go and save Ethan…” “I… I’ll have him sign over all his inheritance rights to you! We won’t take a thing!” As she spoke, she actually pulled a pre-prepared “Renunciation of Inheritance” document from her purse. Ethan’s signature was already on it. All she needed was my consent. It was a brilliant performance. She was the great, self-sacrificing mother, willing to give up everything for her son. I looked at her and smiled. As everyone stared in stunned silence, I spoke two simple words. “Alright.”

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1 At his bachelor party, the notorious germaphobe sipped from his protégée’s glass. That’s when I knew he had feelings for her. I watched them, lost in their own world, talking effortlessly from projects to ambitions. I didn’t make a scene. That night, alone, I gave him an ultimatum: “Call off the wedding, or I’ll have her honors revoked.” He disappeared all night. The next day, he returned, looking haunted. “The wedding is still on,” he said. But at the ceremony, seeing me walk down the aisle, he froze. His mic’d voice echoed: “You’re not the bride I wanted. I regret this. I should never have let her go.” He posted our divorce papers online, making me a laughingstock. Meanwhile, a photo of him kissing his protégée at the airport—still in his tux—went viral. Every choice has consequences. Ten minutes later, Bridget Corp’s stock dropped ten points. If he chose betrayal, he couldn’t blame me for pushing him to the brink. … My phone screen was still frozen on Fred Bridget’s social media post. The caption was a single, defiant line. 【This time, I choose love.】 The picture showed him in the suit I had hand-picked for him, passionately kissing Amy Lin at the airport. Below it, a flood of comments from our mutual friends poured in. 【Fred Bridget has some serious nerve. How is Zara Caldwell supposed to show her face now?】 【He dumps his bride at the altar and flies off to kiss his protégée at the airport? My girl Zara deserved so much better.】 【Has Fred lost his mind? Sacrificing the reputation of two powerful families for some girl.】 I finally looked away from the screen, my gaze falling on the wedding rings sitting on the table. The inside of each band was engraved with the initials of our names. Fred had designed them himself. He’d embedded powerful magnets within the bands, so that whenever the two rings came close, they would snap together. He had explained that because of his severe mysophobia, he might not always be able to show physical affection. The rings were meant to be proof of his love—a symbol that his heart would never resist my touch, and that he was determined to overcome his condition for me. I never pushed him. I was willing to respect his boundaries. But then, at his bachelor party, I saw him pick up Amy’s glass and drink from it without a second thought, without the slightest hesitation. When she noticed me staring, Amy turned to me with a saccharine smile. “Zara, please don’t get the wrong idea. We spend hours in meetings together, so we’re just used to sharing drinks. You won’t mind, will you?” Before I could answer, someone else linked their arm with mine. “Oh, Zara would never get upset over something so trivial. Don’t underestimate her generosity.” They called me by my first name, but their tone was a subtle poison, gracefully excluding me from their inner circle while putting me on a pedestal. If I showed any sign of displeasure, I would be the one who was insecure, the one who didn’t trust Fred. But how could I not mind? When I brought it up with Fred that night, he was the picture of embarrassment, apologizing profusely and promising to be more careful next time. Looking back now, it was all a lie. He wanted the power and backing of the Caldwell family, but he also wanted to be with the woman he truly loved. He was trying to have it all. He was dreaming. My assistant knocked and entered. “Ms. Caldwell, Mr. Bridget Senior is on your private line. Should I put him through?” I glanced down at the blinking light on the console. “What’s the damage?” “Down seven points. Nearly forty million in market value.” Not enough. Not nearly enough to pay for the humiliation I’d endured. “I see,” I said, my voice betraying no emotion. “Tell Mr. Bridget that if he can’t control his own son, someone else will do it for him.” “Understood. And should I have the PR department handle the online chatter?” “No need.” I looked at the photo again, at the lovesick expression on Fred’s face. “He chose love. Let’s let everyone see if it was worth it.” My assistant quietly left the room. I rose and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. The city lights were just beginning to flicker on, painting a glittering, cold silhouette against the darkening sky. My assistant must have relayed the message, because Fred’s father didn’t call back. But I hadn’t anticipated how forceful he would be with his son. A few moments later, my phone vibrated again. This time, it was Fred. The name that had once been pinned to the top of my contacts list flashed on the screen. I let it ring, a persistent, desperate sound that eventually died into silence. A second later, a text message appeared: 【Zara, you are shameless. Just because I chose Amy, you’re going to destroy me? Are you really that jealous and vicious?】 Another one followed immediately. 【I know I hurt you, but you can’t force feelings. If you really loved me, shouldn’t you be willing to let me go for the sake of love? Why resort to such dirty tactics to force my hand? You’ve disappointed me more than I can say.】 I paused, a faint, cold smile touching my lips. He could have been honest with me weeks ago. But he didn’t, not with the benefits of our union so close at hand. Who was it that was so germaphobic he had to wash his hands a dozen times if I so much as touched him, yet didn’t mind Amy’s saliva? Who was it that had looked me in the eye and promised, with gentle resolve, that our wedding would proceed as planned, only to publicly abandon me and make me a laughingstock? He thought he was playing a brilliant game, manipulating two women at once. He had nailed me to a pillar of shame in the most public, humiliating way possible. And now he had the audacity to accuse me of not being able to “let go for love”? I sent a quick text to my assistant. 【Faster. I want it down ten points by the end of the night.】 After receiving her confirmation, I swiped away from the airport photo and watched the market value of the Bridget Corporation evaporate, bit by bit. I had faith that Fred’s father would not disappoint me. My phone lit up again. It was him. This time, his tone was considerably softer. 【Zara, can we please talk? This isn’t good for anyone. My parents are going crazy. Just give me one more chance, please?】 【I know I embarrassed you today. I’ll make it up to you. Punish me however you want, just please, leave my father out of this. He has nothing to do with it.】 My fingertips tapped against the screen. I replied. 【If you want to negotiate, you need to prove you’re serious.】 A message came back almost instantly. 【Okay. I know what I have to do.】 I read the words, a flicker of unease stirring within me, but I quickly dismissed it. After finishing up at the office, I started the drive back to my villa. On the way, my best friend called, her voice frantic. “Where are you?” “Just left the office, heading home—” She cut me off. “Turn around! Go back to your office, now! Fred is on the roof of your building! He’s telling everyone you’re trying to drive him to suicide! He just posted about it, the reporters are probably already there. You need to do something, the entire narrative has turned against you!” My brow furrowed. So that’s what he meant. He wasn’t repentant at all. He was just plotting his next move against me. I forced myself to remain calm and opened his social media feed. The latest post was a screenshot of our text exchange. The caption read: 【It’s all my fault. If my life can appease her anger and she’ll stop tormenting my parents, then perhaps this is the best ending.】 I read it over and over, a cold laugh escaping my lips. Fred Bridget had truly abandoned all shame. I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat and sped back to the office. As expected, the street below was already swarming with police cars and emergency vehicles, a large inflatable cushion being set up on the pavement. I took the elevator straight to the top floor. Fred was standing on the very edge of the roof. His mother had fainted from the stress. His father was pleading with him, his voice strained. Amy was sobbing hysterically, repeating over and over that it was all her fault, that she should be the one to die. What a performance. And I, the villain, had just arrived. Standing at the edge of the crowd, I immediately spotted the people Fred had planted, live-streaming the entire spectacle to the world. A torrent of vitriol from online commenters flooded my phone. 【So if a man doesn’t love you, you destroy his entire family? Is that all you know how to do, bully people with your power?】 【This is textbook sociopathic behavior. Anyone who doesn’t worship you deserves to die?】 【Who do you think you are, some princess? If you can’t have it, you destroy it? The world doesn’t revolve around you!】 【Being rich and powerful gives you the right to do whatever you want? Just drop dead already!】 I was still reeling from the online abuse when Amy spotted me. She rushed over and dropped to her knees with a loud thud. “Zara, it’s all my fault, every last bit of it! Fred just fell in love with me. You can’t actually want him to die for it, can you?” My phone screen was still lit up. The online mob grew even more frenzied. “We’re truly in love,” she cried, “and there’s nothing wrong with being in love! But if you’re so unhappy that you’d drive him to his death, then let me be the one to pay the price!” Her words were chosen with surgical precision, painting a picture of me as a monster who would demand a man’s life simply because my feelings were hurt. After her dramatic declaration, she leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper only I could hear. “Do you know what your greatest failure is, Zara?” I raised an eyebrow. So, she had another face after all. “You thought your love was so righteous, so noble. But the truth is, Fred never felt a thing for you. You try to use his family to control him, you think you hate him, but you can’t let him go. In that, you’ve already lost. The Bridget stock will recover. You, on the other hand, will end up with a much uglier fate.” With that, she suddenly threw herself backward, crying out in feigned shock. “Zara, are you trying to push me off? Is that it? If I die, will you finally leave Fred alone?” I looked at the two figures on the rooftop, the ones claiming I was driving them to their deaths. I walked toward them, step by step. “Fred Bridget,” I said, my voice cutting through the drama. “You say I’m forcing you to die?” Fred looked at me, his eyes filled with a theatrical sorrow and disappointment. “Aren’t you? You use your investments to control me, threatening my family’s company whenever you’re the slightest bit upset. My father is a respected man in this city, but he has to live every day bowing to your whims. You may be powerful, Zara, but we are human beings, not dogs on your leash!” Dogs on my leash? A good dog would never bite the hand that feeds it. The news of Fred’s attempted suicide exploded. Countless netizens organized a boycott of all Caldwell Industries products. Our stock took a nosedive. Several A-list celebrities who endorsed our brands moved to terminate their contracts. I managed to quash their attempts, but then they banded together with Amy, releasing online statements about my tyrannical and predatory business practices. Our PR department issued a rebuttal, but our account was hacked and shut down within five minutes. Amy then launched a public petition demanding my removal as CEO, claiming that a person like me, holding so much power, was like wielding a deadly weapon. The petition went viral, shared millions of times, even by some of my own employees. It was then that Fred and Amy arrived at my office. The smug satisfaction on his face was unmistakable. “Really, Zara, was all this necessary? Things have gotten so ugly. I doubt you’ll be able to hold your position on the board much longer. Why don’t you beg me? For old times’ sake, I might even help you out.” I leaned back in my executive chair, my voice calm. “Oh? And how would you do that?” He raised an eyebrow playfully. “I could produce a diagnosis of severe depression, proving my recent actions were the result of immense pressure, something beyond my control. We could say I’ve been in treatment this whole time. Amy, not having seen me, would have assumed you had me locked away, which would explain her ‘over-the-top’ online statements. Just like that, the problem is solved. No one gets hurt. Everyone’s happy.” Listening to his flawless, self-serving plan, I felt nothing but contempt. My eyes settled on Amy for a long moment before I spoke. “And what would this cost me?” Fred chuckled and clapped his hands together. “I knew you were a smart woman. This is so much easier. I want the ten points of stock that originally belonged to my family, liquidated and transferred to my account. And those two pieces you won at the auction last month—the jadeite heirloom and the Victorian-era royal tiara. Amy is quite fond of them.” My blood ran cold. The jadeite was a family heirloom. The tiara was meant to be worn with my wedding dress. The sheer audacity of his demand was breathtaking. “Fred, you have an insatiable appetite. Six hundred million. Aren’t you afraid you’ll choke on it?” Amy shot me a startled look before quickly averting her gaze. Fred just shrugged. “That’s my bottom line. Take it or leave it.” As soon as he left my building, Fred started a live stream. His eyes were red-rimmed, his expression one of forced stoicism—a stark contrast to the cool arrogance he’d displayed in my office just moments before. “I’m sorry,” he began, his voice hoarse and cracking. “I was too weak. I couldn’t protect the woman I love, or my family.” He took a shaky breath. “For all these years by her side, I’ve lived like a puppet. She used investments and our families’ alliance to threaten me, until even the most basic freedom became a luxury. Who I saw, what I said—everything required her approval. She saw Amy as a threat and used all her power to crush her, nearly destroying her career. She thought that would be enough to break me.” He paused, his knuckles white from clenching his fists. “Today, I gathered my courage and begged her. I begged her to let me go, to let Amy go, to let my family go. All I wanted was to keep one last shred of dignity. But as you all saw, she wouldn’t even grant me that. She is using my family’s future and Amy’s career to punish me for daring to defy her. She will stop at nothing to get what she wants.” The live chat erupted. 【This is terrifying. I had no idea the glamorous world of the elite was this dark! Stay strong, Fred!】 【Now I get why he left her at the altar. Who could live like that?】 【This is chilling. I actually thought Zara was the victim at first, but wow…】 【I support Fred! Coercion is a crime! Zara Caldwell owes everyone an explanation!】 The image of Fred fighting back tears was the perfect catalyst. Public opinion swung entirely to his side. The storm was reaching its peak. And I had all the evidence I needed. I had been waiting for this exact moment. The moment when the public opinion reached its zenith, so I could utterly demolish Fred Bridget’s carefully constructed façade and ensure he could never recover. In the boardroom, the faces of my top executives were grim. I laid out everything on the table: a list of every gift I’d ever bought him, our complete chat logs, and meticulously printed records of every investment and financial transaction between myself and the Bridget Corporation. “One man is not going to bring down Caldwell Industries,” I said, surveying the room. “Why the long faces?” A senior board member, a man who had worked with my father, suddenly threw his pen on the table. “Zara, I’ve been with this company since your father’s time. With all due respect, now is not the time for action. You need to take a temporary leave of absence. Wait for this to blow over, and then you can come back. We will appoint an interim replacement.” Beneath the table, my hands clenched into fists. I looked around at the faces staring back at me. “Is that the consensus?” The head of Public Relations cleared her throat. “Ms. Caldwell, the evidence you’ve presented only proves you were in a relationship. It doesn’t refute the claim that you used your power to coerce Mr. Bridget…” I cut her off with a short, sharp laugh. “How to refute it, how to spin it—isn’t that your job?” He took a deep breath and removed the ID badge from around his neck. “Ms. Caldwell, if that’s your attitude, then there’s nothing more I can do. I’m a publicist, not a miracle worker. I can’t clean up a mess this big.” Several other department heads stood up. The head of Commerce, who was also Fred’s cousin, looked at me with a heavy heart. “Ms. Caldwell, please, stop fighting a losing battle. You used to call me ‘cousin.’ After what you’ve done to my family, you can’t possibly expect to walk away from this unscathed, can you? You’re putting us all in an impossible position.” I looked at him, the absurdity of it all hitting me. I was the one who had pushed for his promotion, against everyone’s advice, all because of Fred. He, more than anyone, knew how I had treated Fred. And now, he was turning on me, slandering me without a shred of evidence. Looking at the faces before me, I understood. The Bridgets had sunk their claws deep into my company. “My dear niece,” the old board member said softly, “don’t be stubborn. With your father gone, it’s my duty to look after you. Go home, rest for a while. The company will be fine in our hands.” I said nothing. The silence in the room was so thick you could hear every breath. They were all waiting for me to announce my leave. Then, my desk phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and put it on speaker. Fred’s voice filled the room. “So? Have you made up your mind, Ms. Caldwell? You’re besieged from within and without. Zara, you have no other choice. Just accept it.” Accept it? Fred, after all our years together, you still don’t know me at all. When I decide to destroy someone, they don’t get a second chance. And that includes you.

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At the 70th birthday gala for Mr. Sterling, the wealthiest man in Crestwood, I casually lit a cigarette. My wife’s assistant slapped it from my hand with a furious crack. “Nina, for God’s sake!” he cried, turning to my wife. “This is Mr. Sterling’s gala! How could Julian do something so classless?” His voice was a stage whisper, loud enough to turn heads. “If you don’t take a drag for five minutes, you won’t die. But if people find out this crude nobody who crashed the party is your husband, how will you ever show your face again?” My wife, Nina Bouquet, shot me a look of pure disgust. “Go ahead, smoke yourself to death for all I care,” she hissed. “When will you ever be as considerate as Caleb? If you cost me this investment tonight, I swear, we’re done!” I let out a cold laugh and turned my gaze to the man of the hour. “Grandfather,” I said, my voice dripping with irony, “since when is smoking at your birthday party a capital offense?” 1 It was the 60th birthday of Crestwood’s most powerful man, yet my wife, who had claimed to be on a business trip, was currently gliding through the crowd with her assistant, Caleb Hale. They were arm in arm, looking for all the world like a devoted couple. I felt a knot of irritation tighten in my gut and retreated to a quiet corner, pulling out a cigarette. I lit it, but before it could even touch my lips, Caleb’s hand shot out and knocked it to the floor. “Julian! How can you smoke at an event this important? Have you no respect?” He raised his voice, a deliberate act that drew a constellation of curious eyes to our secluded corner. He even shifted his body slightly, ensuring everyone got a clear view of my face. “This is exactly why Nina never wants to take you anywhere,” he continued, his tone dripping with condescension. “You’re an embarrassment. You’re lucky you even got in here, but for God’s sake, don’t let anyone know you’re her husband.” For someone who supposedly didn’t want my identity known, he was making a hell of a scene. Caleb, in his desperate attempt to cause trouble, was the real clown here. Surely Nina, a veteran of these events, could see that. But when I looked at her, her eyes were filled with nothing but contempt. “Did you really have to light that cigarette?” she demanded. “Puffing away at home is one thing, but do you have to be so self-absorbed here, making a spectacle of us? Are you deliberately trying to make people look down on me? To ruin my chances of securing an investment?” You’d think I’d committed some unforgivable crime, not just tried to have a smoke. Emboldened by Nina’s support, Caleb’s smirk grew wider. “You should get out of here before you really piss off Mr. Sterling and get thrown out. That would be even more humiliating. If you have no shame for yourself, at least think of Nina.” I calmly took out another cigarette, lit it, and looked him straight in the eye. “Is there a rule against smoking here? The host hasn’t said a word. Who are you to tell me to leave?” My direct challenge wiped the smirk off his face, leaving him flushed with embarrassment. Nina, seeing her precious assistant wounded, shot me a venomous glare. “Put that out. Now.” I not only refused, I took a long, slow drag and signaled a passing waiter for an ashtray. Nina was incandescent with rage. “Julian! Pick your battles! This is not the time or place to defy me!” A bitter laugh escaped me. “I’m defying you? Your ‘good’ assistant is the one picking a fight over nothing, putting on a show for everyone.” Her ability to twist reality was truly something to behold. Her face hardened. “Fine. Smoke. I hope you choke on it.” But Caleb, not content with the scene he’d already made, wasn’t finished. He strode toward Mr. Sterling, who stood at the center of the room, carrying a gift and an air of self-righteous indignation. “Mr. Sterling, my deepest apologies,” he began, his voice ringing with false sincerity. “Nina’s husband… well, he doesn’t seem to understand basic etiquette. Please don’t let his behavior reflect on her.” He offered the gift. “This is a small token from Nina and me. Many happy returns!” He was trying to use me as a stepping stone. I couldn’t help but scoff. “An assistant like you can only get attention with cheap tricks like this.” 2 Caleb’s expression froze for a second before melting into a look of profound hurt. “Julian, Nina came here tonight hoping to make connections. Why must you be so determined to sabotage her?” He turned to Nina, his voice soft with pity. “Nina, you deserve so much better than this.” Then back to me, “Look, Julian, you can treat me however you want in private, but please, for Nina’s sake, show some class.” I had to laugh. The performance was almost convincing. Nina, completely taken in, looked at me with renewed fury. “Julian, Caleb is humbling himself for you. What more do you want? Mr. Sterling already looks displeased. Are you going to keep smoking until my chances for investment are completely ruined?” I glanced at Mr. Sterling. He did look displeased, but I knew for a fact it had nothing to do with my cigarette. Ignoring Nina and Caleb, I walked over to the old man and offered him a smoke from my pack. “This is a pretty good brand. Care to try one, sir?” Mr. Sterling’s stern expression softened, his eyes twinkling with affection. “I’m more of a cigar man, but you go right ahead, son. Smoke if you want to.” I grinned. “You smoke cigars every day. Why not switch it up for a change?” Before he could answer, a splash of cold liquid hit my face. Nina had thrown her wine at me. “Julian! When are you going to stop embarrassing yourself?” she shrieked. “You’re an unemployed nobody who probably only got in here by using my name! Who do you think you are? Mr. Sterling is a gentleman, that’s the only reason he’s tolerating you. And now you’re trying to force your cheap cigarettes on him? Apologize! Apologize to him right now!” The red wine dripped down my face, leaving a dark crimson stain on my shirt. A stain that would never wash out. Just like the one now permanently etched onto our marriage. Caleb seized the opportunity to shove me, kicking the back of my knee and nearly forcing me to the ground. “Everyone’s watching, Julian! Just apologize!” I shoved him back, my voice low and dangerous. “Don’t touch me.” He lunged again, aiming another kick at my legs, this one harder. That was the last straw. I grabbed the front of his collar and my fist connected with his jaw. A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. All I could hear was Nina’s voice in my head—you’re embarrassing me, you’re costing me my investment. She seemed to have forgotten that the only reason her company was still afloat was because of the investments I had secured. Even the invitation that got her into this very gala had come from me. I had wanted us to come together. Instead, she’d lied about a business trip, brought her assistant, and let him provoke me. Caleb’s cheek swelled instantly, and a tooth clattered to the floor. Nina screamed. She launched herself at me, kicking and clawing at my hands, prying them off Caleb. Caleb clutched his face, a venomous glint in his eyes. “It’s okay, Nina,” he mumbled through his swelling lips. “If this is what it takes for him to blow off steam and not ruin your deal, then it’s fine.” Tears of pity streamed down Nina’s face. “Don’t be ridiculous! As if I’d let you get hurt for some investment!” She whirled on me, her voice a raw scream. “Get out, Julian! Get out, or I’m divorcing you!” 3 I stared at her, stunned. That she would throw our marriage away for Caleb, here, in front of everyone. The disappointment must have been written all over my face. Nina sneered. “For years, you’ve lorded those initial investments over me, acting like you’re king of the world! But let’s be honest, they invested because of my potential, my talent. What does it have to do with you? You don’t even set foot in the company!” Her words were like shards of ice in my heart. When I first brought her that funding, she had been so moved she’d sworn she would never let me down. Now, ever since Caleb became her assistant, that promise had become a bitter joke. A sour taste filled my mouth. “Fine,” I said, each word heavy. “Let’s get a divorce.” She seemed taken aback that I’d agreed so readily, but she doubled down. “Don’t think I’m bluffing, Julian! Caleb works his heart out for the company. And you? You act like a lunatic, starting fights and attacking him! I am so disappointed in you.” Caleb, looking deeply moved, spoke up as if reluctant. “Nina, working for you is an honor. There’s something… something I have to say. The real reason Julian is making this scene is to sabotage you. He’s trying to impress his little mistress from your rival’s company!” Nina’s face twisted in shock, then rage. “Julian! You’re cheating on me?” She grabbed a plate from a nearby table and hurled it at me. “How dare you! I work myself to the bone for our family, and you’re siding with your slut against me? Are you even human?” Caleb fanned the flames. “I knew it! How else would he get into this party? His little girlfriend must have given him an invitation just to spite you.” And just like that, based on a few baseless accusations, she believed him. The look in her eyes was murderous. Mr. Sterling’s face had grown dark. He struck the floor with his cane, his voice booming. “That’s enough! Don’t just parrot whatever you hear. Julian would never do such a thing, and I—” Caleb cut him off, pulling out his phone. “Mr. Sterling, you’ve been deceived! Julian’s little mistress is your own kept woman!” He shoved the phone forward. On the screen were several photos. One set showed a vibrant young woman laughing on Mr. Sterling’s arm. In another set, the same girl was hugging my neck, a playful grin on her face while I looked on with exasperated affection. Nina snatched the phone and slammed it against my chest. “And I actually believed you when you said she was your sister! Your ‘little sister,’ was it?” The room buzzed with scandalized whispers. Mr. Sterling, keeping a mistress young enough to be his granddaughter? And being cheated on? I looked at Nina, and the last shred of feeling I had for her withered and died. My voice came out hoarse. “Nina, I have never done anything to wrong you. And you won’t even grant me a sliver of trust.” Just then, the waiter I’d spoken to earlier returned with an ashtray, stopping short at the chaotic scene. “Mr. Miles, uh… do you still need this?” Nina’s eyes, red with fury, locked onto the ashtray. She snatched it from his hands and brought it down on my head. “I told you to stop smoking!” At the last second, Mr. Sterling stepped forward. The heavy glass ashtray crashed against his forehead with a sickening thud. Blood began to well up instantly. 4 Nina froze, her hand dropping to her side. Then, without missing a beat, she started pointing her finger at me. “Julian! You slept with Mr. Sterling’s woman, and now you deliberately hide behind him so he’d get hurt? Are you and your mistress trying to scheme your way into his fortune?” She frantically tried to dab at the blood on Mr. Sterling’s forehead. “Mr. Sterling, please, don’t be angry. I’ve already decided to divorce him. I had no idea he was capable of something so depraved. He was probably smoking in here just to provoke you.” I had never known Nina was so adept at twisting the truth, all to distance herself from me. Fearing Mr. Sterling’s wrath would cost her access to this elite circle, she shouted at me, “How dare you challenge Mr. Sterling? You’re finished in this city! You’ll never work in Crestwood again!” Caleb chimed in, feigning concern. “Julian, you’ve hurt Mr. Sterling badly. Get on your knees and apologize to him. Now!” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Shouldn’t you two be the ones apologizing to him?” Caleb’s face was a mask of innocence. “But you’re the one who was fooling around with his mistress, smoking at his party to insult him, and getting him injured. If it weren’t for me, Mr. Sterling would still be in the dark, thinking it was all an accident. Do you have any idea who he is? Or who you are? By dragging his name through the mud, you’re going to ruin Nina’s company!” Nina’s face was grim as she nodded in agreement. “Even though you’re still my husband, I will not let my entire company go down with you. You will explain to Mr. Sterling that this was all your doing, that my company had nothing to do with it. Then, we get a divorce, and I’ll drop the whole cheating issue. But if my business suffers because of you, I’ll make you pay!” Mr. Sterling clutched his bleeding forehead, his face pale and strained. Caleb, however, mistook his pained expression for anger directed at me. “Julian, hurry up and kneel! Any later and it won’t matter if you lick his shoes clean, it’ll be too late!” he hissed, giving me a shove. He leaned in close, his voice a triumphant whisper. “Pretending to be so close to Mr. Sterling… now that you’ve offended him, let’s see how you get out of this.” I took a long, hard look at Nina. If she hadn’t made this disastrous scene, she could have walked out of here tonight with any investment she wanted. I turned to Mr. Sterling. “Grandfather, when did you make a rule against smoking at your parties?” “And since when is my sister your ‘kept woman’?” “Someone else smashed your head open, Grandfather. Do I really need to lick your shoes and apologize for it?” I had only wanted to introduce Nina to my grandfather tonight. The guests, already shocked by the “kept woman” scandal, now stared with their eyes wide in disbelief. Nina’s gaze darted between me and Mr. Sterling, her expression flickering from confusion to dawning, horrified realization. “Why didn’t you ever tell me,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, “that Mr. Sterling is your grandfather?”

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Seeing the scar on my husband’s secretary’s wrist as she served me tea shattered her world. That night, her depression returned; she tried to kill herself again. My husband’s eyes were bloodshot, his hands around my throat. “Evelyn was finally hoping again,” he snarled. “Why trigger her?” On the rooftop edge, Evelyn whispered, “It’s not Annie’s fault… I remembered the pain. I can’t bear it.” As she swayed, my husband lunged—not for her, but at me. He forced a device onto my head. My mind broke. Countless leering faces swarmed me, hands tearing at my clothes, crawling on my skin. I knew it was just Evelyn’s memory, but the terror was real. I screamed, begging him to stop. But he walked away, holding Evelyn like a princess, never looking back. With that memory transplanted, Evelyn improved. Thrilled, he transferred all her trauma into me. He held the renewed, smiling Evelyn, never noticing the light fading from my eyes. He’d forgotten the device’s final cost: Exchange too many memories, and you lose yourself completely. 1 I was on the floor like a broken animal, clawing at Nathaniel’s pants, pleading with him to remove the Memory Exchange Device. But the man who once cherished me, who once worshipped the ground I walked on, kicked my hand away. The polished leather of his shoe ground into my fingertips, a deliberate, cruel pressure. “Cut the act, Annie. You know none of it is real.” This was the same man who had whispered love songs in my ear just last night. Now, his voice was laced with bitter disappointment. “You can’t even handle watching the images. Can you imagine how helpless Evelyn must have felt, living through it?” he demanded. “She was finally crawling out of that hole, and you… you pushed her right back in.” “A spoiled princess like you, who’s had everything handed to her, will never understand. It’s time you learned some empathy.” He knew. He knew the device didn’t just transmit sights and sounds. It replicated the five senses of the memory’s owner, including pain. Evelyn had relived this particular memory countless times, amplifying the agony with each recollection. The pain hit me in waves, so intense I started convulsing, tears and saliva streaming down my face. My suffering earned a tender kiss, which Nathaniel placed on Evelyn’s forehead. The same Nathaniel who hadn’t shed a single tear when I miscarried our child now buried his face in Evelyn’s chest, his shoulders shaking with repressed sobs. “Evelyn, my poor Evelyn. You’ve suffered so much.” “From the moment I learned about your past, I swore I would invent something to take your pain away,” he whispered. “But seeing it for myself… only now do I truly understand the hell you went through.” As they walked away, my fingernails scraped bloody tracks into the concrete floor. So this was it. This was the project that had consumed him, the reason he’d worked day and night, the reason he couldn’t even spare an hour to take my mother to the hospital when she had a heart attack. It was all for another woman. The first rays of dawn touched my face before the nightmare finally released its grip. A sticky warmth spread beneath me. I looked down. My white dress was soaked in blood. I stumbled to the hospital, a strange, hollow feeling in my chest. Evelyn’s most painful memory had been traded for one of my happiest. And I had no idea which one it was. I’d barely walked through the hospital doors when I saw them. Evelyn, her cheeks rosy, was being spoon-fed porridge by Nathaniel. The moment she saw me, she clutched her chest, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. “Oh, Mr. Price, thank you. Thank you for giving me Annie’s happiest memory when I was in such a dark place.” Her voice was a fragile, grateful whisper. “I… I can’t even remember what the nightmare was about anymore.” “But to experience what it’s like to marry you… even in a memory… I can die with no regrets. Even without a family, this beautiful memory gives me the strength to face anything.” She looked at me, her expression pleading. “Let’s give it back to Annie now.” Nathaniel pulled her into a fierce embrace, his voice trembling. “How could I ever let you relive that pain?” So that was it. The memory she’d stolen was my wedding day. I stood in the doorway, a ghost in my own life, watching my husband hold another woman with the delicate restraint one would use for fine porcelain. A doctor rushed over, his forehead beaded with sweat. “You miscarried nearly ten hours ago! Why are you only just getting here?” he demanded. “If we don’t clear the uterine lining now, you could get a fatal infection. We might have to perform a hysterectomy!” Nathaniel finally noticed me. His eyes widened in shock. He let go of Evelyn and strode towards me. For a foolish, fleeting second, I thought he was coming to comfort me. Then his hand cracked across my face in a vicious, stinging slap. 2 “Annie, are you insane?” he roared, his face a mask of fury. “I show you a glimpse of Evelyn’s pain, and you get rid of our child just to get back at me?” “No! It wasn’t like that! The pain from her memory, it was too much, I—” Before I could finish, he slammed the device onto my head again. “You grew up with a loving family, didn’t you? Is that why you don’t give a damn about our child’s life?” he spat. “Since you clearly don’t appreciate the importance of family, why don’t we give those memories to someone who will? Someone like Evelyn!” I was still reeling from the shock of a second miscarriage when I felt it—a massive, gaping void opening in my mind. Years of love, of warmth, of belonging, were being siphoned away in an instant. The terror of utter isolation consumed me. I collapsed, my legs giving out. The doctor tried to help me up, but I couldn’t stand. I was utterly alone. When I came to, I was on an operating table. A surgery had just ended. The doctor shook his head, his voice heavy with pity. “The infection was too severe. We had to remove your uterus. You should call your family; you’ll need a lot of care during your recovery.” I stared at him blankly. “I’m an orphan,” I replied, my voice flat. “I have no family. No husband.” I walked out of the operating room and straight to a window at the end of the hall. The wind whipped my hair around my face. I closed my eyes and leaned forward, ready for the fall. Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, yanking me back. I slammed onto the hard floor. Before I could even process what had happened, the person who had saved me—Nathaniel’s assistant—was scrambling to his feet and bowing to someone behind me. “Mr. Price, she’s showing genuine suicidal tendencies. It’s a good thing I got here in time.” The man called Mr. Price grabbed my chin, his grip painfully tight. “Are you putting on a show, Annie? Is this some pathetic, low-life attempt to get my attention just because I’ve been looking after Evelyn for a few days?” I squinted, my head throbbing. I had no idea who this furious man was. “Sir,” the assistant interjected nervously. “Mrs. Price has undergone two memory transfers in quick succession, both involving traumatic input. Psychological instability and cognitive dissonance are to be expected. It’s clear she doesn’t recognize you. A failed suicide attempt will likely be followed by another. We should restore her memories before it’s too late.” The man’s brow furrowed deeply. “Evelyn is finally smiling again. If we send her back to that dark place, she won’t survive it.” He scoffed. “Annie studied for her psychology license to help me through my own kidnapping trauma. She’s mentally tough. This is just a stunt to win back my affection.” “We’re not swapping the memories back. Once Evelyn is stable, I’ll… I’ll arrange another wedding for Annie. That should compensate her for the lost memory.” The assistant hesitated. “But sir… her father died saving you during that kidnapping. Her mother passed away from a heart condition, broken by grief. How do you compensate for the memory of her family?” The man’s voice rose, sharp with irritation. “Who’s your boss, Evans, her or me? You seem to be taking her side on everything.” “Letting her be Mrs. Price is reward enough for her father’s sacrifice,” he snapped. “As for the memories, we can look at photo albums, watch videos. I’ll help her remember.” Just then, his phone rang. The anger on his face melted away when he saw the caller ID. He answered, his voice turning gentle as he gave his assistant an order. “Take Annie back to the villa. Keep a close eye on her. Don’t let her try anything stupid again. Evelyn would feel terrible if she found out.” He started to walk away, then turned back, covering the phone’s mouthpiece. “That scrape on her elbow,” he muttered to the assistant. “Clean it up. And no adhesive bandages. She’s allergic to the glue.” Even after he left, I couldn’t make sense of their conversation. My brain felt like mush. Trying to think sent daggers of pain through my skull. It wasn’t until the assistant, Mr. Evans, handed me a tissue that I realized I was crying, tears streaming silently down my face for a reason I couldn’t comprehend. 3 Mr. Evans took me back to what he called “Mr. Price’s home.” Standing at the entrance, I couldn’t bring myself to step inside. Everything was decorated in purple, a color I instinctively loathed. The walls were covered in photos of Mr. Price with a strange woman, their smiles sickeningly sweet. The air was thick with the scent of white florals, a fragrance that gave me an instant headache. Every detail of the house screamed that I didn’t belong. “…Is this really my home?” I whispered. “I don’t have a family. I don’t have a husband. Am I… am I this Mr. Price’s mistress?” I backed away, bumping into a solid chest. Mr. Price leaned down, his breath warm against my ear. “After the memory exchange, Evelyn thinks she’s the lady of the house. So I redecorated everything to her taste.” “Just bear with it for a little while. Once she’s stable, I’ll explain the truth to her.” Before I could even process his words, a force shoved me hard, sending me sprawling to the floor. “There you are, you little tramp! Seducing my husband in my own house!” The woman from the photos was on me, her slaps raining down on my face. I tried to scramble away, but she grabbed a fistful of my hair. “You shameless homewrecker! I’m going to ruin that pretty face of yours!” Mr. Price jumped between us. “Evelyn, Evelyn, it’s a misunderstanding!” “She’s a patient I met during my recovery,” he explained frantically. “She has nowhere to go, so I’m letting her stay here for a while.” “A patient? Looks more like a predator to me!” A stinging slap bypassed his defense and caught me square on the jaw. My left ear rang, and the world spun. Mr. Price scooped Evelyn into his arms and carried her inside. The heavens opened up, and rain began to pour. The villa door slammed shut. The iron gate to the garden was locked. I was trapped outside with nowhere to shelter, huddling miserably under the thin eaves of the roof. By the time the door opened again, I was soaked to the bone, my body burning with a fever hot enough to fry an egg. Mr. Price frowned deeply. “Annie, you’re not a child anymore. Why do you always resort to hurting yourself to manipulate me?” His voice sounded distant. I had to turn my good ear toward him to hear properly. When he saw my bruised face, he sighed. “Did Evelyn do that? Come inside. I’ll clean you up.” He led me to a small, cramped room. The dust was so thick it made me cough. “Shh,” he hissed, covering my mouth. “Evelyn just fell asleep.” Once I was quiet, he brought out antiseptic and cotton swabs, kneeling to gently tend to my wounds. I looked at his face, and inexplicably, the tears started again. A sharp pain lanced through my heart, for a reason I couldn’t name. Seeing his frown deepen, I reached out and pressed a finger to his lips. “…Mr. Price,” I began, my voice hoarse. “I feel like I’ve forgotten so much. It hurts to even try to remember.” “Did we meet at the hospital? During therapy? Did you feel sorry for me and hire me as your secretary after I was discharged?” “My last clear memory is from this morning. At the hospital. The… the abortion.” I wiped my tears away, my resolve hardening. “I must have been confused, getting involved with you and your wife. I see my mistake now. Thank you for your kindness, but I should leave.” He grabbed my arm, forcing me to sit back down. “It’s not what you think. This is all because of Evelyn’s… never mind. I’ll explain everything later.” He brought me a bowl of steaming porridge, carefully blowing on each spoonful before offering it to me. “Don’t worry about anything. Evelyn has a big heart. She’s already accepted you. She even made this porridge herself to help you warm up.” I hesitated, then took a mouthful. The next second, I was vomiting violently all over the floor. The porridge was full of crushed glass.

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Ten years. Ten years of living in a different city—a different world—from my husband, and we still couldn’t have the one thing we wanted most: a child. To finally make my husband’s long-held dream of being a father come true, I did the unthinkable. At the absolute peak of my career, I quit. I walked away from it all to come home, to him. But the moment I pushed open the door to our house, a seven-year-old boy, a miniature version of my husband, came laughing and barreling out into the hall. My heart stopped. I grabbed the arm of the cleaning lady who was passing by, my voice tight. “Excuse me, is this the Walker residence? Eric Walker’s house?” “It is,” she said, her eyes flicking to the gifts in my hands. “I hear his wife bought him the house. Everyone on the block knows it.” She smiled warmly. “Are you here for the party? They’re celebrating some good news.” 1. My eyes drifted past her to the backyard, where I saw a woman with a swollen, pregnant belly. The little boy who looked so much like Eric ran laughing toward her. In a flash, Eric’s face tightened with alarm and he lunged forward. Just as the boy was about to collide with the woman, Eric threw out his arms, catching his reckless son. “Leo, you’re about to be a big brother, and you’re still acting like this? What if you’d hurt your mom and the baby?” The boy made a face, grinning. “But I want a little sister.” Eric ruffled his son’s hair, the affection in his eyes so thick it practically spilled over. Eric’s parents hurried over, gently scolding the boy. “You can’t be so rough from now on, sweetie. You could have caused a terrible accident.” I stood frozen, watching this perfect picture of a happy family, and the cold truth finally dawned on me. They all knew. They all knew about this little family, and I was the only one left in the dark. But… every time I came home, he was always so passionate, as if we were newlyweds. He’d hold me until dawn, whispering how much he’d missed me. Because of that, even after eight years without a child, I never questioned us. I never once doubted his love. Before I boarded my flight, I’d texted him that I had a surprise. He’d replied, “Can’t wait.” That was only a few hours ago. How could everything have changed so completely? My gaze found Eric. His eyes scanned my face for a long moment before landing on the gift box still clutched in my hand. His voice was a raw, barely audible rasp. “What are you doing back?” He saw me staring at the pregnant woman beside him and quickly dropped the hand that had been resting on her waist. Suddenly, all the small, ignored details from our eight-year marriage exploded in my mind. The way he’d always cut our video calls short, blaming a bad connection. The gifts I’d sent home, always returned with the excuse that “the storage closets are full.” The way he’d shot down my idea to take a vacation last month, insisting that “work is just too crazy right now.” “A surprise,” I said, my lips pulling into a grim parody of a smile. My throat felt like sandpaper. “Weren’t you the one who said you couldn’t wait?” The woman took half a step forward, subtly positioning herself in front of him. “Excuse me, do we know each other?” I ignored her, my eyes glued to Eric’s face. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Eric snapped out of his trance, forcing a brittle smile. “This is Claire,” he said. “The mother of my children.” He then gestured toward me, and for a split second, he hesitated. I didn’t give him the chance to lie. I held out my hand. “I’m Mia. Eric’s wife.” Claire didn’t move. My hand hung there, stiff and awkward in the cold air between us. The color drained from Eric’s face. He tugged at Claire’s sleeve. “Mom, Dad, why don’t you take Leo inside?” Claire gave me a long, meaningful look as Eric’s parents quickly ushered the boy away, their coaxing voices fading into the house. Once they were gone, Eric’s entire demeanor shifted. His eyes reddened, and his face crumpled with a look of profound betrayal. “Why would you just show up like this? Are you checking up on me?” I held myself together, my voice miraculously steady. “I quit my job.” Eric’s head snapped up. “What?” I knew exactly what that “what” meant. My salary, earned from years of grinding away overseas, was more than enough to support his entire family in luxury. My quitting meant that lavish lifestyle was over. It meant the gravy train had come to a screeching halt. I had given up years of progress, my entire network, to come back and start from scratch. For years, he’d grown accustomed to a life of ease funded by my hard work. Now, facing a sudden fall from that paradise, he couldn’t handle it. “You always said I didn’t spend enough time with you,” I said, the words tasting like ash. “So I quit. I gave up everything over there because I thought we could finally start our life together, for real.” “I wanted to tell you the good news in person, so I came straight from the airport with your gifts.” It was as if he was only just now noticing the pile of shopping bags at my feet. I had rushed here, not even stopping for a sip of water, and my clothes were damp with sweat. He beckoned to a housekeeper I didn’t recognize, a flicker of guilt in his voice. “Could you help take these gifts inside? And show… show this lady to a guest room.” He turned back to me, avoiding my eyes. “I’m taking Claire for a check-up. Just tell the housekeeper what you want for dinner.” And with that, he guided Claire out the door, as if this whole catastrophic reveal had never happened. As if he owed me, his actual wife, no explanation at all. I watched them go, a lump forming in my throat. This was my house. He was my husband. Those were my in-laws. But here I was, being sent to a guest room. An intruder in my own home. I couldn’t help but wonder… if our baby had survived all those years ago, would our family have been this happy, this whole? 2. Getting married to Eric had been a dream. Everything was so easy, so perfect. From meeting his parents to the engagement party, they had always looked at me with such genuine approval, telling everyone how lucky their son was to have found such a hardworking, dedicated woman. I still remember my first time at their house. Eric’s father, after three glasses of whiskey, had clapped me on the shoulder and boomed, “Mia, you marrying our Eric means you’re our daughter now. We’ll treat you like our own.” Back then, Eric was always by my side, his eyes filled with a nervous energy as he’d try to block me from drinking too much, secretly squeezing my hand under the table and mouthing, “Take it easy.” He told me he loved quiet, peaceful places, so I took all my savings and bought this sprawling house, a place worth millions. Eric was ecstatic. He insisted on decorating it exactly how I liked. I didn’t really care about the details, so I let him have free rein. But he involved me in everything. He ran around tirelessly, picking out deep blue curtains because he knew it was my favorite color, insisting on a durable gray couch, and even choosing the wedding photo for the main wall—the one where he said I had the goofiest, most beautiful smile. “This is our home now,” he’d said, his fingers tracing the edge of the picture frame, his eyes shining. “Once you’re settled in your job overseas, I’ll come join you.” But when I finally secured a permanent contract with the company, he changed his tune. “My parents are getting older, Mia. If I leave, there’ll be no one to look after them,” he’d said over a crackling phone line. “Besides, I just got promoted to department head. It’s a terrible time to quit. Just wait a little longer. I’ll come over as soon as I finish this big project.” And I believed him. I used to think that distance was no match for love, that as long as our hearts were connected, we could overcome anything. I threw myself into my work, sending him the majority of my paycheck so he could buy supplements for his parents and nice clothes for himself. Every time he received the money, he’d laugh and say, “It’s more than enough,” but then a package would arrive at my apartment with cured sausages from our hometown. “Don’t you dare neglect yourself out there,” the note would read. Thinking back on it now, maybe he wasn’t the one who made them. Just like his “bad connection” during our video calls was probably just an excuse to hide the sound of a crying baby. And the gifts I sent, returned because the “storage closets are full,” weren’t full at all—he just didn’t want another woman’s belongings in his house. Even every rushed “I miss you” might not have been born from longing, but from a desperate need to cover something up. I stood in the living room of my own house, staring at the large family portrait hanging on the wall. Eric was leaning against Claire, and their son, Leo, sat between them. All three were smiling, their happiness a blinding glare. The frame holding the picture was the birthday gift I had sent him last year. He’d told me it was “too expensive, too precious to use.” It wasn’t that he couldn’t bear to use it. He just didn’t want a gift from me hanging in their home. Footsteps echoed on the stairs. Eric’s mother came down carrying a platter of fruit, her smile strained. “Mia, dear, have some fruit. It’s all your old favorites.” I didn’t move. I looked her straight in the eye. “Leo… is he Eric’s son?” I wasn’t blind. I knew the answer. But a weak, cowardly part of me still wanted to believe that all those beautiful memories weren’t just a carefully constructed lie, a performance put on by his entire family just for me. Her hand trembled, and a grape rolled off the plate, tumbling onto the floor. She scrambled to pick it up, her voice muffled. “The children… they’re both very well-behaved…” I closed my eyes. “He’s seven.” The pain was like a fist squeezing my heart. “That means he was born the year after I went abroad.” She froze, her head snapping up. The panic in her eyes was impossible to hide. “Mia, let me explain…” “Explain what?” I laughed, a tight, strangled sound. “Explain how your entire family lied to me for eight years while I worked myself to the bone, sending my money back like an idiot to support another woman’s husband and child? Or explain who he was thinking of every time I came home and he held me, telling me he loved me?” Eric’s father emerged from his study and pulled his wife behind him, his face stern. “Mia, it’s too late for all that now. Eric can’t live like this anymore. You two… you should just get a divorce.” “A divorce?” I repeated the word, a bitter taste in my mouth. I suddenly remembered my wedding day, eight years ago, when this same man had stood before me, smiling, and said, “You take good care of my boy.” How could a heart change so much in just eight years? “Claire was Eric’s high school sweetheart,” his father said with a sigh, his tone laced with a bizarre sort of sympathy. “After you went abroad, Eric was all alone, and he went through a lot. Claire was the one who was there for him. They… they couldn’t help it.” Couldn’t help it? And what about me? All my struggles abroad, all the sleepless nights, all the days and years I spent counting down until I could come home—what was all that for? I snatched a fruit knife from the table, not to hurt anyone, but just to have something solid to grip. The cold steel bit into my palm, but it did nothing to quell the fire raging inside me. Just then, the sound of a car engine cut through the silence from the garden. Eric and Claire were back. 3. They walked into the living room, and Claire’s face went white when she saw the knife in my hand. “Mia, what are you doing?” Eric immediately stepped in front of her, his brow furrowed. “Let’s just talk, okay? Don’t scare Claire.” “Scare her?” I looked at her swollen belly, and the whole scene felt like a twisted, surreal nightmare. “Don’t you think I’m the one who should be scared?” I turned my glare back to him. “Eric, tell me, in all these eight years, was there ever a single second you felt even a shred of guilt?” He bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m sorry…” “And that’s it? ‘Sorry’ makes it all go away?” I slammed the knife down on the coffee table. The sharp clang echoed in the tense silence. “I quit my job, threw away my future, and came back to build a home with you, only to find out you’ve been playing house with someone else for eight years! What did you take me for, Eric?” Leo came running down the stairs, saw the knife, and burst into tears, throwing himself into Eric’s arms and crying for his mom. Eric hugged the boy, his back to me, his shoulders shaking as he gently patted his son’s back. Claire walked over and slid a document in front of me. “There’s a saying, Mia. The one who isn’t loved is the third wheel. This is a divorce agreement. Let’s just end this gracefully.” I didn’t even glance at the papers. My eyes were fixed on Eric’s back. He never turned around. So those nights that felt like a second honeymoon were just an act. That “can’t wait” text was probably meant for Claire, sent to me by mistake. I was a clown, performing in his twisted play for eight years, only realizing I’d been written out of the script when I finally pushed open the door myself. The gift box I’d been holding had fallen to the floor at some point. The necklace inside had spilled out, its diamonds catching the light with a cold, indifferent sparkle. I had gone to three different jewelers to find it, a piece that was supposed to bring good luck. I heard the sound of paper being ripped, followed by what sounded like a slap. Then came Eric’s broken, desperate cry. “Who said anything about a divorce? Since when do you get to make decisions in this house?!” He screamed my name, his voice thick with tears. I felt dazed, turning and walking toward the door, leaving the wreckage behind me. Some debts can’t be settled with a simple “I’m sorry.” And some homes, once shattered, can never be put back together. 4. I went to my mom’s house. I’d been away for so long that my rare visits home were mostly spent with Eric. My parents, always so understanding, would tell me, “You have so little time. Of course you should be with your husband.” Looking at the gray that now peppered their hair, I was struck by the sudden, painful realization that I had been a terrible daughter. I had poured all my money, my love, and my energy into Eric and my career, rarely sparing a thought for them. I tried to pull myself together, to act like nothing was wrong. But my mom saw through it instantly. “Did you and Eric have a fight? You haven’t been home in so long, honey. Why would you argue now?” she murmured, her brow furrowed with worry. “Men have their pride. Don’t be too hard on him. It hasn’t been easy for him either, waiting all these years.” My dad came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. “Alright, let her be. The girl just got home. Let’s have a nice meal, get some rest. Whatever it is, it can wait.” He looked at me, his eyes soft. “She’s tired and hungry. Don’t pester her.” Their gentle words were the final straw. The dam inside me broke. As I served myself rice, tears began to fall, one after another, splashing onto the table. Dinner was silent after that. Neither of them asked another question. They just kept quietly placing more food on my plate. That night, lying in my old bed, I could hear them talking through the thin walls of the old house. “Go buy her favorite snacks tomorrow,” my dad said. “Good food and a full stomach can solve half of life’s problems.” “I’ll talk to Eric,” my mom replied. “Married couples fight. It’s never as serious as it seems. They’ll make up.” I curled up under the covers, a fresh wave of tears soaking my pillow. If Eric had just told me he didn’t love me anymore, I would have let go. I wasn’t the type to cling. But he hadn’t. He and his entire family had conspired to build a separate life in the house I paid for, right under my nose. I tossed and turned, sleep eluding me until the early hours of the morning. I was jolted awake by the sound of cheerful laughter from the living room. It sounded like… Eric. Dazed, I scrambled out of bed and threw open my door. And there he was. Eric, sitting on my parents’ couch with Claire and their son. How dare he? How dare he bring his mistress and his illegitimate child into my parents’ home? My chest tightened, and I couldn’t breathe. Before I could say a word, Eric spoke, his voice breezy and casual. “You’re awake! We were just saying, with Claire due any day now, maybe we should work on giving you two a playmate. It would be nice for them to be in-laws, right? We all know each other so well.” He even had the audacity to wink at me. My mouth opened, but no words came out. What could I say? Could I call him a liar in front of my parents? Tell them that Leo wasn’t just Claire’s son, but my husband’s too? Tell them that my perfect husband had cheated on me the year after we were married? How could I possibly… I had to admit, Eric knew me perfectly. He had me completely trapped. I looked around the room. Everyone was smiling, laughing, a perfect portrait of familial bliss. Everyone except me. I was an outsider, separated from their happiness by an invisible wall. Claire smiled sweetly at my parents. “Mia has always been so busy with her career, flying everywhere. I already told Eric, when Mia has her own baby, I’ll be there to help take care of everything. You two won’t have to worry about a thing.” She looked at me, her eyes glinting with a hidden, mocking light, and I suddenly felt exhausted. If the rest of my life was going to be this charade, then I wanted out. Now. I took a deep breath. “Well, I don’t think we’ll be in-laws, seeing as the two children are—” Before I could finish, Eric shot up from the couch and grabbed my arm. “Mia, didn’t you say you were taking Claire to her appointment? We’re going to be late. Mom, Dad, we’ll be back soon. You guys chat.”

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The Instagram post hit my feed with the quiet violence of a car crash. A picture, and a caption. Best boss ever! Thanks for the amazing birthday surprise, E! #workperks #bestbossever The author was Maya, my husband’s assistant. The photo was of her and Ethan, my husband, beaming at a small, candlelit table. Today was Maya’s birthday. It was also mine. I had asked Ethan, begged him, to clear his schedule. Just for one night. To celebrate with me. He told me he was busy. Swamped. I stared at the post, timestamped 1 minute ago, and dialed his number. “Where are you?” The acid was already in my voice. “Are you still mad?” Ethan’s voice was slick with that practiced, patient tone he used when he thought I was being hysterical. “Sloane, it’s just a birthday. You know how crazy things are with the company. I’m in Boston, closing the Sterling deal. I can’t get away.” “Right. You do that,” I said. I hung up, my thumb immediately zooming in on the photo. I knew that place. The grain of the wood table, the specific pewter candle holders. And I knew I had to go there. I wanted to see the look on Ethan Cole’s face when his carefully constructed worlds collided. 1 There’s a discreet door in a West Village mews, unmarked and unassuming. Behind it lies The Reserve, a tiny, private dining room run by a chef named Arthur. It’s not a restaurant; it’s a sanctuary. Our sanctuary. When we were happy, Ethan and I would come here to celebrate. When life felt overwhelming, we’d come here to hide. Arthur’s cooking was more than just food; it was a way of drawing a line between us and the world. This place was our Eden. I never brought friends here. Ethan never brought clients. It was our one, unspoken rule. Tonight, he hadn’t just broken the rule. He’d shattered it. Maya’s Instagram post was a digital postcard from our sacred ground. She was sitting in my chair. I drove downtown, the city lights blurring into streaks of angry color. I saw his Mercedes S-Class parked just outside the alley. So this is Boston, I thought. I sat in my car for a long time, the engine humming quietly. A sharp, cold thing twisted in my gut—part pain, part fury. It was clear now. As the Cole family’s star had risen over the past few years, fueled by my family’s money and connections, Ethan had started to see me less as a partner and more as a stepping stone he’d already used. Fine. Let’s see how he likes the woman he built his empire on when she decides to burn it down. I got out of the car and walked into the alley. “Oh, this is delicious. And this one, too,” Maya’s voice chirped. I paused in the doorway, unseen. She was pointing at dishes scattered across the table. Then, she gestured dismissively at Arthur, who stood by the wall, his arms crossed. “Hey, Arthur? Can you make another round of everything for me to go?” I saw the flicker of annoyance in Arthur’s eyes. Even I, who had known him for years, always addressed him with respect. I would never dream of ordering him around. To Arthur, cooking was an art form, dictated by mood and inspiration. He never made the same dish twice, not exactly. It was his creative process. Arthur looked at Ethan, his face a polite mask. He was holding his tongue for Ethan’s sake. “Maya likes it. Just do it,” Ethan said, his tone flat. “Do what, exactly?” I asked, stepping into the room. Ethan’s head snapped up. The color drained from his face. “Sloane.” “Mrs. Cole,” Maya said, scrambling to her feet. “I was just hoping Arthur could pack some dishes for my mom to try.” I let my eyes drift over her, cold and slow. “And who the hell is your mother that she deserves to taste Arthur’s food?” The air went still. Maya’s face flushed a blotchy red. She shot a desperate, pleading look at Ethan, begging him to intervene. Even Ethan seemed stunned by my tone. He hesitated, then looked at Maya. “Why don’t you wait outside.” Maya nodded, grabbing her purse. “Of course, Mrs. Cole. I’ll… I’ll see you at the office.” I didn’t even look at her. As she scurried out, Arthur met my gaze. “I was just perfecting a new recipe for your birthday dessert. Let me go prepare it.” “I’ll eat in your office, Arthur,” I said quietly. He nodded, understanding. As he left, he pulled the heavy wooden door closed behind him, leaving us in silence. Ethan finally spoke. “Don’t you think that was a little harsh?” I sat down in the chair opposite him, the one Maya had just vacated. “Harsh?” I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “You lie about a business trip to celebrate your assistant’s birthday, and you want to talk about what’s harsh? Or do you think harsh is me merely insulting the little tramp you brought into our place?” I leaned forward. “You want to see harsh, Ethan?” “Don’t,” he said, his voice dropping. “It’s not what you think. There’s nothing going on between us.” He launched into a well-rehearsed speech. “Maya… she grew up without a father. Single mother. She has this deep-seated need for male approval, a sort of… absence of a father figure.” He was actually trying to sell me this. “She told me I remind her of the father she never had. That she’s never had anyone make a big deal about her birthday. As her boss, I thought it was a harmless gesture of support. A mentorship thing.” My voice was ice. “So, when you two are fucking, does she call you ‘Daddy’?” “Sloane! That’s a disgusting thing to say.” “You do disgusting things and expect me to use pretty words?” I took a breath, forcing the tremor out of my voice. “Forget it. We’re past words. If this is the kind of thrill you’re looking for, let’s just get a divorce.” The word ‘divorce’ hit him like a physical blow. The anger flared in his eyes. “For God’s sake, I had a meal with an employee! You don’t have to go nuclear.” “It’s my birthday, too, Ethan. You made a choice.” He deflated, his shoulders slumping. He was switching tactics. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” “Fire her.” “What? No. Maya is a dedicated, hardworking employee. You’re the one who’s always telling me to give young talent a chance. I can’t fire her over one dinner. That’s not fair.” “I will handle her performance review personally,” I said. He shook his head, pleading now. “I promise, there will be no more contact outside of work. Strictly professional.” “‘Maya’?” I scoffed. “You two are on a first-name basis now? Does she call you Ethan? Or just E, like in her post?” I stood up, looking down at him. “Tomorrow. Nine a.m. The courthouse.” I knew, in that moment, that this wasn’t just about a dinner. When he chose to be here with her, on this day of all days, he had made his decision. He chose her over me. And now, he was defending her. A marriage can’t survive that. “I’m just trying to cultivate a promising employee,” he insisted, standing to block my path. “I’ll transfer her to a subsidiary. But I can’t fire her. If I do, what will people say? It will just confirm that there was something inappropriate going on. Think of the optics.” He reached for my hand. “You’re overthinking this. I swear. I just… I felt sorry for her. We don’t have kids yet. I guess my paternal instincts are kicking in.” He tried a weak, pathetic smile. “Maybe… maybe we could go home and make a baby tonight?” “I’m not in the mood.” “What do you want from me, Sloane? You’re really going to end our marriage over one dinner? Is that all the trust you have in me?” “Trust?” My voice was dangerously low. “Do you know what this place is? No one has ever set foot in here but us. This was our world. Our escape hatch. A place where nothing and no one could touch us. And you brought her here. You didn’t just cross a line, Ethan. You desecrated something.” “I’m sorry,” he whispered, finally sounding genuine. “I wasn’t thinking. Please, don’t be angry. Arthur is making your dessert. Let’s just… go try it. I promise. I will never bring anyone here again. I swear it.” Arthur’s saffron pear tart was, as always, exquisite. But it couldn’t soothe the rage burning in my chest. I felt like a predator whose territory had been invaded, restless and violent. I sent Ethan away; the sight of him made me sick. Arthur sat with me, and we shared a glass of whiskey in silence. “If you’ll forgive me for overstepping,” Arthur said finally, his voice gentle. “The rumors about your family’s company… they’re getting louder. You should be careful right now. If Bishop Industries is really in trouble, you’ll need the Coles to help pull you through.” I took a long swallow of whiskey. “Arthur, why do you think he feels brave enough to do this now?” Arthur didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. We both knew. The whispers on the street were that the Bishop empire was crumbling. Ethan was showing his teeth. “If those rumors were confirmed tomorrow,” I said, looking into my glass, “he wouldn’t have apologized tonight. And I wouldn’t be the one asking for a divorce.” Arthur just refilled my glass. He knew I was right. “The world’s gone rotten,” he murmured. “If it weren’t for your family dragging the Coles out of the gutter, they’d be nothing.” I managed a thin smile. “The family I pulled up, I can just as easily push back down.” He gave me a sad look, the kind you give someone clinging to a fantasy. The entire world was waiting for the Bishops to fall. I didn’t bother explaining. A decision was solidifying in my mind, cold and hard. Let Ethan be the catalyst. Let the world watch and see if the House of Bishop truly falls. … When I got home, Ethan was waiting. He was wearing a pair of silk pajama pants I’d bought him years ago. He’d always refused to wear them, claiming they were undignified for a man. Tonight, he wore them like an offering. I felt nothing. In the first year or two of our marriage, he was endlessly inventive in his efforts to please me. Back then, his family was desperate, and they needed the backing of my father’s corporation. But in the last two years, as the Cole name clawed its way out of the mud and began to climb, he’d stopped trying. He was always too busy, too tired. I had thrown myself at him, only to be met with a cold, passive body. I had started to hate myself for it. It’s easy to forgive yourself, but so much harder to forgive someone else. The resentment had been building for years. Tonight was just the final crack in the dam. I walked right past him. I went upstairs to the master bedroom and locked the door. Lying in bed, I realized with a jolt that we’d been sleeping in separate rooms for nearly two years. The memory of the last time we’d been intimate was a hazy, six-month-old ghost. It used to be his door that was locked. Tonight, it was mine. In the morning, he’d made breakfast. Another first. He sat at the table, waiting for me, a hopeful look on his face. I ate two bites of toast in silence and left for work. Around noon, his mother called. It had been too long, she chirped, and we absolutely had to come for dinner tonight. My parents would be there, too. An invitation I couldn’t refuse. I knew Ethan had arranged it, a pathetic attempt to use our families as a bandage. But this was more than a cut. The rot went down to the bone. The dinner with Maya was just the spark. The kindling had been drying for years. Still, I’d been awake all night. Was one dinner, however symbolic, really grounds for divorce? It felt… impulsive. I decided to wait. To watch. That evening, at the dinner table, Ethan slid a binder across the table to my father. “Dad, this is the proposal for the Southport project.” My father put on his glasses and began to read. “Impressive,” he murmured after a few minutes. “Very ambitious. If you follow this plan, the profit margins could be enormous. I’ll take this home, give it a closer look.” Ethan smiled, a picture of filial devotion. “More than a look, I hope. We can’t get this project off the ground without Bishop’s full support.” And there it was. My family still had value. There was one last thing he could squeeze from us. That’s why he couldn’t let me go. Not yet. I said nothing for the rest of the meal, playing the part of the dutiful wife. The dinner was loud, the atmosphere warm. Only Ethan and I knew we were strangers sitting side by side. I had a little too much wine. He drove us home. “That proposal,” he began, his eyes on the road. “Maya wrote it. Your father himself said it was brilliant. She’s a real talent, Sloane. A genuine asset. That’s all my dinner with her was about. Securing that talent for the company. There was nothing else to it.” “I thought tonight was about us,” I said, my voice flat. “About fixing things. But it was about saving your assistant, wasn’t it?” “You’re twisting things! I’m trying to keep a valuable employee from getting poached by our competitors. She may be fresh out of college, but every firm in the city is trying to get her. You have to offer special treatment for talent like that.” “And if she told you the only way she’d stay is if I gave you to her, would you expect me to do that, too?” “You’re being irrational,” he snapped, his face hardening. “If I fire her, we can’t use her proposal. I don’t know how I’d explain that to your father. So you can be the one to tell him.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. So that was his move. Talent? What a joke. A new crop of brilliant graduates floods the market every year. This city isn’t short on talent. It’s short on opportunity. If Ethan wanted to play games, it was time I reminded him just who he was playing with. It was time to see how much power I still held in the face of the mighty Cole family he thought he’d built. The next morning, I went to the office. If he wouldn’t fire Maya, I would. At 9:30 a.m., I was sipping tea in my office, enjoying the panoramic view of the river, when my door was thrown open. Ethan stormed in and slammed a termination contract on my desk. “What the hell is this, Sloane? I told you, she’s a talent! I already showed her proposal to your father. Why would you fire her?” “Ethan, do you really think I’m that stupid?” I pushed a different document across the desk toward him. “You showed my father that proposal, but you never mentioned Maya’s name, did you? You let him think it was yours. And let me tell you something. Because you are the Bishop family’s son-in-law, my father would have praised that proposal if it were written in crayon. You actually thought it was good?” He picked up the document. It was the Southport proposal, the one he’d given my father. It was covered in red ink. “The red lines are for revision,” I said calmly. “The parts circled in red are, to put it bluntly, complete bullshit. They run contrary to the entire strategic goal of the Southport development. You were proud to show that to my father? Every proposal you’ve ever shown him has come back to you revised, hasn’t it? That was me, Ethan. I was the one fixing your work. My father gave this to me to fix for you, too. So maybe Maya’s a talent, maybe not. But your competence as CEO? That’s definitely up for debate.” He stood his ground. “Even if it’s not perfect, her ideas are innovative! The company needs that fresh perspective. Sloane, I want you to hire her back. And don’t forget, you may be a Bishop, but this is the Cole Corporation. I am the CEO. You are the Vice-Chair. You do not have the authority to fire my personal assistant.” “And what if I don’t hire her back?” I asked, my voice soft, my eyes locked on his. The new money and influence had clearly gone to his head. He was testing the limits. I waited to see if he would say the word again. Divorce. He didn’t. He just turned and stormed out. Just as I thought. My family still had use. He wasn’t ready to give that up. But he wasn’t going to let me win, either. Instead, he escalated. He found a way to hurt me that was more deliberate, more cruel, than anything before. Another Instagram post from Maya appeared. It’s official! A real vote of confidence from the boss. #fulltime #careergoals The picture was of her newly signed, official employment contract. The location tag was unmistakable. The Reserve. He knew exactly what he was doing. He had taken her back there. To our place. This time, I didn’t call him. You only make that mistake once. The first time, I had a sliver of hope. Now, there was none. I didn’t have to call. My phone rang. It was Arthur. “Sloane,” he said, his voice heavy. “I wasn’t going to call. But I have to tell you. I’m leaving.” “Leaving? Arthur, what do you mean?” “I’m tired, kid. I want to see the world. Someone else will be taking over The Reserve.” “Arthur, I understand,” I said, my voice tight. “What they did to you… I’ll make it right.” “It’s not what you think,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. “I’m just tired. Don’t let this affect your relationship with Mr. Cole.” After we hung up, I drove straight to The Reserve. I found Maya there alone. She jumped up when I walked in. “Mrs. Cole! Mr. Cole said my proposal was excellent. He insisted on making me a permanent employee. It wasn’t my idea, I swear. There’s nothing going on between us.” Her posture was submissive, but her eyes held a glint of victory. I ignored her. “Where is he?” “Arthur was… unhappy. He said he wouldn’t cook for me and left. Mr. Cole said he would cook for me himself. I tried to stop him.” Ethan, cooking for her. The pretense was well and truly over. Just as I was about to go to the kitchen, I heard the sound of leather shoes on the hardwood floor approaching from behind. “Mrs. Cole, I’m sorry! I know I was wrong! Please don’t hit me!” Maya suddenly cried out. She snatched a wine bottle from the table and smashed it against her own forehead. Blood trickled down her temple. She’s committed, I’ll give her that. “Sloane, that’s enough!” Ethan yelled, emerging from the kitchen holding a plate. He saw the blood and his face contorted with rage. “Apologize to Maya. Right now.” “‘Maya’,” I repeated softly. He knew how I hated it. He was doing it on purpose. Did he really think I was that easy to break? I walked over, picked the unbroken part of the wine bottle off the floor. CRACK. I brought it down hard on her other temple. “Now you can scream.” “Sloane, have you lost your mind? You’ve gone too far!” Ethan shouted, rushing to Maya’s side. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cole, I’m so sorry,” Maya whimpered, leaning into Ethan and playing the part of the terrified victim. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” Ethan cooed, helping her up. “I’m taking you to the hospital. And trust me,” he said, glaring at me, “this is not over.” I sat alone in the desecrated sanctuary and dialed my father’s private number. “Dad,” I said, my voice shaking with contained fury. “I’m a little choked up.” My father said nothing, he just listened. “For the past two years, as the Cole business has grown, my marriage has withered. A few days ago, on my birthday, he spent the evening celebrating with a female subordinate who shares my birthday. I made a scene. Today, he cooked for her in my place. I think the Coles’ wings have gotten a little too strong.” “What do you want me to do?” My father’s voice was calm, steady, and lethal. A real smile touched my lips for the first time in days. “Break their wings. Let them fall.” It wasn’t long after I hung up with my father that Ethan called. He told me to meet him at the courthouse. Half an hour later, we stood on the steps. He’d changed into a sharp Italian suit. I hated him, but I had to admit he looked impeccable. Polished. Powerful. Maya was there beside him, a crisp white bandage on her head. Her eyes, however, were full of undisguised triumph. In the battle for Ethan’s affection, she believed she had won. But a man like Ethan is never truly driven by affection. He looked down at me, his expression one of magnanimous condescension. “Sloane, you don’t seem to grasp the situation. The Bishop family is finished. I’m going to give you one last chance. Kneel down, right here, and apologize to Maya. Do that, and I’ll reconsider this divorce.”

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