My sister died, and then she moved in. Not into her old room, but into my body. At first, my parents didn’t believe me. Then, they got used to the switch. And then, they found a hypnotist to erase me. 1 I destroyed the living room. Anything I could lift, I threw. Anything I could break, I shattered. The floor glittered with a thousand pieces of my soul, each one a silent scream. Mom covered her mouth, tears tracking through her makeup. Dad’s face was a mask of fury, but he didn’t stop me. “Why?” I screamed at them, my voice raw. “It’s my body! Why do I have to give it up for her?” Dad pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead, a gesture of someone who has finally made a terrible decision. “We saw a therapist, Chloe. This… arrangement. It isn’t working. Neither of you can live a full life this way. We have to choose.” He tried to soften his voice, but it was rough with false pity. “This is tearing us apart. You’re our daughter, too. We wouldn’t do this if there were any other way. You have to understand.” I snatched a water glass from the end table and hurled it at his feet. It exploded, and he flinched back. He opened his mouth to yell, then shut it, remembering he needed something from me. “I understand you,” I spat, the words tasting like poison. “But who understands me? You’re in pain? You have no other choice? So I’m the one who has to die? This was always my body. If anyone should disappear, it should be her. It should be Stella.” Rage and despair were a storm inside me. Just days ago, they had been my parents, the people who loved me. Now they were my executioners. My words made Mom sob harder. But Dad’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Don’t be so dramatic. Stella will live on through you, using your body. And it doesn’t matter if you agree. The decision has been made.” He had no more patience for this. He took Mom’s arm and pulled her out of the house, leaving me in the wreckage. After another fit of destruction, I collapsed onto the floor, a single question echoing in the ruins of my mind. Why me? 2 I had a sister, Stella, three years older than me. I was six when she died. Mom and Dad came home late that night, their faces hollowed out by grief. Mom saw me, crumpled to the floor, and pulled me into a suffocating hug. “Stella’s gone, sweetie,” she choked out. “Chloe, you don’t have a sister anymore.” I didn’t understand, but her grief was contagious, and I started to cry, too. Through my tears, I pointed to a pile of dolls in the corner. “But she’s right there.” At first, they didn’t believe me. They scolded me for making things up, for being cruel. But then I started repeating conversations they’d had in private, whispered behind their bedroom door. They accused me of eavesdropping, but over time, they realized I couldn’t have heard. They finally accepted the truth. I wasn’t lying. Stella was always there, a shimmering outline only I could see. She slept in her old room, walked to school with me, and told me everything our parents said. She knew she was dead. But when I told other people, they looked at me like I was broken. “The Millers?” I heard a neighbor whisper once. “Such a shame. One daughter dead, the other one crazy.” Friends at school called me a liar, an attention-seeker. They’d play with me on the playground, then I’d hear them laughing about me behind the slide. Stella would fly at them in a rage, but she was only a ghost. The most she could do was make them sneeze. Eventually, I stopped talking about her to anyone but my parents. At home, life went on, a strange new normal. They got used to me speaking for her, a living telephone to the dead. They couldn’t see her, but they would buy two of everything—one for me, one for the ghost of their other daughter. No distance, not even death, could stop them from loving her. I was their bridge, the translator for their grief. Then, on my sixteenth birthday, she vanished. I couldn’t see her anymore. At the same time, I lost two days. One moment it was Tuesday, the next it was Thursday. Mom and Dad explained it to me later. Stella had woken up. Inside me. The two days I couldn’t remember were the days she had been living in my body. After that, it became a regular thing. I’d go to sleep and wake up days later, with no memory of what had happened. We shared a life, documented in a spiral-bound notebook, leaving notes for each other about where we’d been and who we’d seen. We lived like that for three years. I never imagined that in just three years, my parents would decide she was worth more than me. 3 Maybe it was the pure force of my resentment, but I could feel Stella deep inside me, sleeping soundly. It was a relief, but then I remembered my parents’ words, and the air I’d just inhaled caught in my throat. After yesterday’s explosion, my mind was unnervingly clear. I’m not explosive by nature; that’s Stella’s territory. The rage was an aberration, born of pure terror. I showered and dressed, knowing what I would see when I went downstairs. The disappointment. I steeled myself and opened my bedroom door. And there it was. In the instant they saw it was me, Chloe, the hope in their eyes died and was replaced by a flat, weary resignation. To be rejected by your own parents is a unique kind of pain, a blade that twists in your very core. The wreckage from yesterday was gone. The house was clean, broken things replaced with new, unfamiliar ones. I walked downstairs, trying to look calm. Dad snorted and turned away, staring pointedly out the window. Mom opened her mouth to speak, then just sighed. My nose stung. And beneath the smell of my own silent grief, another scent filled the air. Flowers. There was a vase of lilies on the dining table. Another on the coffee table. More in the bathroom, and even a small bouquet on the kitchen counter. Lilies everywhere. Stella’s favorite. It was a passive-aggressive welcome mat for a ghost, and a clear message for me: You are not the one we want. I could almost hear the sound of their love for me cracking, the sound of my own heart breaking right alongside it. The cloying, funereal scent and the suffocating silence were too much. I grabbed my bag and ran. It wasn’t until I was outside the neighborhood gates that I realized my face was wet with tears. I got on the bus for school automatically, my body moving while my mind was stuck. Sobs shook my shoulders as I watched the scenery blur past the window, a perfect metaphor for the last three years of my life. When I walked into my art history lecture, my classmates stared. “Chloe? What are you doing here? We heard you transferred.” In that moment, a fire I didn’t know I had burned away the last traces of love I felt for my sister. 4 My academic advisor said it was too late. My major, a specialized fine arts program, was impossible to transfer back into once you’d left. I walked to the Business School in a daze. I sat in a cavernous lecture hall, listening to jargon about market caps and shareholder equity that sounded like a foreign language. The room buzzed with the chatter of strangers. I felt like I was on another planet. I endured the class and then, with the sun still high in the sky and no desire to go home, I just walked. I wandered the campus aimlessly, my thoughts a tangled mess. But one thing was clear: Stella had been planning this. That’s why her journal entries had become so sparse. She didn’t want me to know what she was doing. My legs ached. I sank onto a bench, exhausted, with no idea what to do next. On one side was a major I knew nothing about. On the other, a family who wanted to steal my life. I leaned back, letting the sky fill my vision. And then I saw it. Three words carved above a stone archway: University Library. By the time I left, my arms loaded with books, the sun had set. When I got home, Mom was setting the table. She saw the stack of business textbooks and her expression flickered with guilt. She knew. Of course she knew. It was probably her and Dad’s idea. Dinner was silent and heavy. I picked at my food, only taking a few bites of the roasted fish, one of my favorite dishes. Mom forced a laugh, trying to break the tension. “Look at that, honey. Chloe’s just like us, loves fish. Stella never would touch anything from the water.” Her words made it worse. The silence that followed was even more profound. Dad put down his wine glass. “I hear you got some business books. So you know Stella switched your major. Just listen to me, Chloe. Stella’s brilliant. She has the mind for this, for helping me at the company. You, even if you started now, you’d be in over your head. You wouldn’t be any help. You understand what I’m saying.” I nodded, pushing a few grains of rice around my plate. Seeing my compliance, they brightened. “So you’ve come around?” Dad said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Good. I’ll call the hypnotist in a few days. Finally, you can have a normal life.” I looked up, my eyes meeting his directly. “Will I be normal, Dad? Or will Stella?” He frowned for a second, then his smile returned, slick and practiced. “She’s your sister. You share a body. Her being normal is you being normal.” I nodded again. Then, as they beamed at me, I spoke each word with cold, clear precision. “I would burn this body to the ground before I let her have it.” The sound of his wine glass shattering against the wall echoed my father’s rage. He pointed a trembling finger at me, sputtering, too furious to form words. Mom rushed to his side, stroking his arm and glaring at me. I couldn’t stay here. Living with two people who were actively plotting my demise would drive me insane. I packed a small bag and moved into the dorms that night. 5 Campus life became my sanctuary. I spent my days in lectures and my nights devouring knowledge in the library. Dad always thought Stella was the genius, but he never noticed my gift: a nearly photographic memory. If I wanted to learn something, I only needed to see it once or twice before it was permanently etched in my mind. Mom called repeatedly. At first, she pleaded. Then, she accused me of being ungrateful. I didn’t understand. All I wanted was to live. We were both their daughters, but because Stella had died once, their guilt demanded a sacrifice. My sacrifice. When pleading failed, they sent in someone I couldn’t refuse. Leo. My childhood friend. The boy I’d had a hopeless crush on for years. “Chloe, please,” he said, his voice strained. “Just give her back to me.” A chill shot up from the soles of my feet. My own voice was a trembling whisper. “What do you mean… your Stella?” He didn’t seem to notice my shock. “I’ve known for a while, Chloe. About you and her. And I knew you wouldn’t agree to this. That’s why I’m begging you. I can’t lose her again. You’ve had all these years to live, but Stella… she died so young. She’s only had three years in your body, and who knows when she might disappear again. The thought of it… I can’t breathe, Chloe. So please, just agree. Your body, her soul… you’ll be one. Why are you being so selfish?” I was too stunned to speak, the world tilting on its axis. He pressed on. “We grew up together, Chloe. I’ve never asked you for anything. I’m asking now. Do you need me to kneel?” And then he did. He dropped to one knee on the damp grass. My hand trembled as I reached for him, but he grabbed it, his grip surprisingly strong. His eyes were bloodshot. “Chloe, just say yes.” His ferocity scared me. I tried to pull away, but he held fast. Panic clawed at my throat, and the words tumbled out before I could stop them. “You’re trying to kill me, too! All of you! Well, you won’t. I won’t die. Stella’s the one who should be dead!” I regretted it instantly. The words were a stupid, brave mistake. Leo’s handsome face twisted into something ugly. He stared at me with pure venom. “Then you leave me no choice. I will not lose her.” The last thing I felt was his hand, hot and heavy, clamping over my mouth. We were in a secluded corner of campus. No one could hear my muffled screams. No one saw as my world faded to black. 6 Leo looked down at the unconscious girl in his arms, a flicker of remorse in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I’ll spend the next life making it up to you.” He carried her out of the school gates and into a waiting car. The room was dim, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood. The gentle hiss of a white noise machine seemed to smooth the deep furrow in the sleeping girl’s brow. Mr. and Mrs. Miller sat nearby, their anxiety a palpable force in the room. They didn’t dare make a sound. Leo stood frozen, his eyes glued to the figure on the recliner. Time crawled by. The hypnotist’s voice was a soft, continuous murmur. Outside, it began to rain. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and in the following clap of thunder, the girl’s eyes slowly opened. She sat up, her gaze clouded with confusion. The three of them surrounded her. Their hands were trembling, betraying a mix of hope and terror. They were afraid of being disappointed, terrified that the person they wanted was not the one who had woken up. The girl on the recliner looked at their tense faces, and the fog in her eyes cleared. A bright, infectious laugh filled the room, a sound like sunshine breaking through clouds. “Dad? Mom? Why so serious? What day is it? And where are we? Leo, you look terrible.” The words were a release. The three of them sagged with relief, a collective, shuddering exhale. Mrs. Miller burst into tears. “Oh, thank God. Stella, you’re back. Don’t you ever leave me again.” Leo’s face was a study in adoration. But Stella looked confused. “Mom, what are you talking about? Was I asleep for a long time? When… when was the last time I was awake? I can’t remember.” As she tried to think, a sharp pain shot through her head, and she cried out, clutching her temples. The sound made her mother jump back. Leo rushed forward, pulling Stella into his arms. “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t try to remember. It’s okay.” Mr. Miller looked at the hypnotist, who offered a placating explanation. “We have effectively erased a personality. Given the long-term alternation, her own psyche was already unstable. This process can cause some memory fragmentation. It may come back over time, or it may not.” That was good enough for Mr. Miller. He could live with gaps in her memory. Stella was brilliant. She learned everything so quickly. He could reteach her whatever was lost. She was his daughter, after all. She would not disappoint him.

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I was Cole Anderson, heir to a New York real estate empire. Then, in the time it took for a champagne toast, I was nobody. It happened at my own engagement party. My fiancée, Ava Sterling, stood before our world and announced that the Anderson Group—my family’s legacy, my life’s work—would be gifted, in its entirety, to a man named Leo. “The Anderson Group,” I said, my voice dangerously low amidst the stunned silence, “is not yours to give.” Ava just smiled, a cool, placid expression she had perfected. From her clutch, she produced a single, yellowed sheet of paper. An IOU. “Twenty years ago, my grandmother saved your family from a fire that would have wiped you all out,” she said, her voice carrying across the ballroom. “Your father signed this in gratitude. It’s a life debt. He promised to honor any request, no questions asked. This is my request.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. “As for us, nothing changes. I’ll still marry you, of course.” I knew the part she didn’t say aloud. If I wanted to be her husband, the price was my entire world, handed over to this stranger, Leo, as some sort of consolation prize. As a final flourish, Ava tossed a single quarter onto the table in front of me. Her idea of a dowry. “We grew up together, Cole. You know how I feel about you,” she said, her voice softening into a practiced caress. “A wedding is just a formality for everyone else. We can keep it simple.” She didn’t wait for my answer. She didn’t have to. Ava was certain that to become a part of the Sterling dynasty, I would swallow any price, any humiliation. And in a way, she was right. I did become a Sterling son-in-law. What she didn’t know was that she wasn’t the only Sterling daughter I could marry. 1 At the party, the press descended like vultures, shoving microphones in our faces, desperate for the bloody details. I put a hand on my father’s arm, stopping the furious words I knew were about to erupt, and managed a tight, respectable smile for the cameras. The moment we were home, the façade shattered. My mother wrapped her arms around me, her body trembling. “Forget us, Cole. That company… all the blood and sweat you poured into it. How could she? How dare she just give it away?” My mother’s voice was choked with tears. “We agreed to this arrangement because we trusted her grandmother. We thought she was a woman of honor, of integrity.” She pulled back, her eyes flashing with a pain that mirrored my own. “We never imagined her granddaughter would be a viper.” My father said nothing. He just stood by the window, his back to us, his fists clenching and unclenching. He looked smaller, older, as if twenty years had been piled onto his shoulders in a single evening. New York and Los Angeles might as well be different countries, but the distance had never mattered to our families. We were bicoastal, a unit. Our lives were a constant migration—winters building forts in the snow at their Aspen estate, summers chasing fireflies at our place in the Hamptons. We were debate partners in high school, and we launched our first startup from a dorm room at Stanford. The business world saw us as a package deal. The Anderson-Sterling merger wasn’t just a marriage; it was the dawn of a commercial dynasty that would dominate both coasts. Until tonight. When Ava, with a casual wave of her hand, signed it all away to a man I’d never even seen before. The rumors spread through the city like a contagion. “Cole Anderson? He always cared more about the money than the girl. Probably pushed her too far with the prenup.” “I heard he’s a total player. A friend of a friend saw multiple women leaving his penthouse in one night.” “Ugh, a gold-digging philanderer. If I were her, I wouldn’t even let him in the door.” Just last week, after a minor surgery, my father had been holding court in our living room, the entire house overflowing with flowers and well-wishers. You couldn’t take a step without bumping into a friend or a business partner. Now, days passed in suffocating silence. Not a single visitor. Not one call. Even my closest friends, the guys I’d grown up with, had quietly ghosted me. My fingers were still trembling when I pushed open the door to Ava’s office. The scene inside froze me in place. Leo was sprawled on the guest sofa, his eyes glued to the large projection screen on the wall. And Ava… Ava was sitting beside him, delicately lifting a single potato chip to his lips. The irony was a physical blow. Her voice echoed in my memory, from a time I’d tried to surprise her with lunch. “The office is for work, Cole. Let’s not bring our personal lives in here.” Eventually, she’d made an exception, allowing me snacks during late-night work sessions. I was so naive, I actually thought it was a privilege, a special rule bent just for me. When she saw me, Ava stood up, her movements fluid and unbothered. She even opened her arms, expecting an embrace. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” she murmured, her voice laced with that familiar, patronizing warmth. “Leo is like a little brother to me.” She let her arms drop. “In my heart, you’ll always be the only one.” She continued, as if discussing the weather, “You’re an only child, Cole. So what if Leo plays with your family’s assets for a while? Once we’re married, the Sterling Corporation will be more than enough to keep you busy.” All those dreams I’d shared with her, the business plans we’d mapped out on napkins at 2 a.m., they all curdled into a bitter joke. I opened my mouth, but what was there to say? When someone can so casually dismiss the very core of who you are, words become meaningless. So I didn’t argue. I just delivered the verdict. “Ava, the engagement is off.” 2 Ava’s pupils contracted, a flicker of shock in her serene gray eyes. After a beat of stunned silence, a low laugh escaped her lips. “Cole, you have nothing,” she said, the amusement in her voice sharp as glass. “If you want to maintain the life you’re accustomed to, what other choice do you have besides marrying me?” She stepped closer, her tone softening into practiced condescension. “Stop being dramatic. I know you’re just spooked by all that anti-marriage talk online. I promise, I will make you the undisputed power in the Sterling family.” She could see the agony in my eyes, could read the tremor of betrayal in my hands. And yet, all she could offer was a dismissive, “Stop making a scene.” From my bag, I took out the small, polished mahogany box I had carried for years. “The Sterling emerald. It belongs to your family.” I held it out to her. “It should be returned. After all, I’m no longer your future husband.” For the first time, her composure cracked. “You’ve worn this for ten years, Cole. You don’t just give it back.” Her voice was tight. “Who else would be my husband, if not you?” I pulled my hand back from her grasp, my jaw set. In the clumsy push and pull, the emerald pendant slipped from my fingers. It hit the marble floor with a sickening crack, splintering into a dozen green shards. The sound of it breaking seemed to snap the last thread of her patience. She looked down at the shattered heirloom, then up at me, her gaze imperious and cold. “If you don’t like it, we can get another one. There’s no need to take your anger out on a thing.” A hollow laugh escaped me. “You see? Even your family’s legacy is broken. We’re done, Ava.” As I turned to leave, I saw it in my periphery—her hand instinctively reaching out for me, just like it always did after every fight we ever had. But then, Leo’s smooth voice cut in. “Ava, honey, the guy’s on edge. Chasing after him now will only make it worse.” He patted the seat next to him. “Give him some space. He’ll come around when he realizes nobody on earth will ever treat him better than you do.” Ava’s hand froze in mid-air. Then, slowly, it fell to her side. I walked out without looking back. The moment the elevator doors slid shut, the strength I’d been feigning crumbled. Hot tears streamed down my face, silent and searing. The girl from my memory, the one who would hold my face in her hands after the smallest disagreement and whisper, “I love you the most, don’t you dare upset yourself,” would never have let me leave in tears. Now, she couldn’t even be bothered to take a single step after me. My phone screen lit up, a series of texts from her, one after another. The transfer of the company shares to Leo is already in motion. But don’t worry, you can keep the townhouse. Stop being sad. It’s not good for you. I’ve had legal draw up the papers. Be here at 10 a.m. tomorrow to sign. I stared at the words, a suffocating weight pressing down on my chest. How can you claim to love someone and stand by while they are stripped of everything? Not only did she humiliate me, but she had the audacity to frame it as an act of charity. The most laughable part? She was juggling a clandestine affair with Leo while discussing wedding dates with me, and never once did her mask of affection slip. Back at the townhouse, I was packing the last of my belongings into a box when the front door was kicked open with brutal force. Leo strolled in, flanked by two imposing men in dark suits. He gave me a theatrical shrug. “Don’t be mad, buddy. Ava insisted I come. She said she wanted her things back.” 3 My gaze swept over the uninvited guests, cold and hard. “There’s nothing of Ava’s here.” “Oh, I think there is,” Leo purred, pulling a folded list from his jacket pocket. “The antique jade statues, the emerald centerpiece, and oh, that Ming dynasty vase…” He let the list unroll. “Ava said these were all part of her dowry. She’d like them back now.” My eyes landed on the delicate porcelain vase. Ava had given it to me for my eighteenth birthday. She’d knelt on the floor of my parents’ living room and presented it to me with both hands. She’d written me a marriage promise that day, saying this was just a trinket, that she wished she could give me her own heart. I was so moved, I signed over fifteen percent of the Anderson Group’s preliminary shares to her as a betrothal gift. Now, those vows were just ash in my mouth. “Leo,” I said, my voice steady, “Ava and I are still technically engaged. Are you sure you want me as an enemy?” He feigned a look of innocent distress. “Don’t get me wrong, Cole. I didn’t want to do this. I know the old saying, ‘Never break up a happy home.’ I argued with her for three whole days. But she insisted. What could I do?” Even as he spoke, his greedy eyes were cataloging the art and antiques around the room. I saw it all. But the sharpest pain wasn’t his pathetic act. It was that Ava, the girl who once said, “A single tear from you would break my heart for months,” had sent her new lover to confiscate every memory, every token of our shared past. Love, I was learning, could be honed into a weapon for flaying a person alive. Leo flicked the list with his finger, a smug, triumphant smile playing on his lips. “Why don’t you just make this easy, man? The great Cole Anderson isn’t going to be petty about a few material possessions, is he?” I clenched my fists. “Stop the act. If Ava wants something, tell her to come get it herself.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper in my ear. “You still think you’re Cole Anderson?” Then, his voice shot up, loud enough for the gathering crowd of neighbors outside to hear. “I thought the Andersons were all about honor! A family of their stature, clinging to a few trinkets? How pathetic!” The murmurs from outside grew louder. “I heard they didn’t donate a cent to the flood relief fund this year.” “They probably pocketed the money!” “Look at him. He’s got guilty written all over his face.” A flicker of dark satisfaction crossed Leo’s face. In the split second I was distracted, he let out a theatrical gasp and stumbled backward. “Cole! What are you doing?” The two men in suits burst through the door. One of them grabbed me by the neck, slamming my face toward the floor. Boots crushed my back, and I heard the sickening crack of a rib. Someone yanked me up by my hair only to drive a knee into my stomach. Through a haze of pain, I saw that the front door had been shut. Leo knew I had no way to call for help. He was smiling. By the time Ava arrived, I was using the coffee table to haul myself to my feet. She rushed to my side, dropping to one knee to meet my gaze. “Cole…” Her eyes, the ones that had always looked at me with such adoration, were swimming with what looked like regret and pain. For a moment, she was the girl I remembered. I wiped a smear of blood from my lip with the back of my hand, forcing myself to stand straight despite the fire in my side. “There’s no audience here, Ava. Who are you putting this show on for?” She reached for me, her fingers just about to touch my bruised face, when a pained groan came from behind her. “What happened?” Ava spun around. Leo glanced at me, his eyes wide with feigned fear. “I think… I think Cole was just a little upset. When he pushed me, he didn’t realize his own strength. It’s okay. It was my fault for being clumsy.” Ava’s hand froze inches from my cheek. I saw the conflict warring in her eyes. She chose him. She turned her back on me and walked to Leo. “Cole, just because I love you doesn’t mean you can act like a monster.” Her voice was cold, laced with disappointment. “There is a limit to my patience. What did Leo ever do to you? Why do you have to humiliate him like this?” I laughed. A raw, broken sound. She was right. Leo had done nothing wrong. I was the fool. I was the one who believed twenty years of history was indestructible. Amidst the wreckage of my home, Leo draped an arm around Ava, his voice dripping with false magnanimity. “It’s fine, Ava. Let him keep this junk.” He looked at me, his eyes gleaming. “After all, it’s all he has left.” The wail of an ambulance grew closer. I stared at the half-packed boxes, at the life I was supposed to leave behind, and a strange, chilling clarity washed over me. The Anderson Group could be the payment for the life debt. So be it. Everything happening to me now, every cut, every bruise, every humiliation—I would use it all. It would be the fuel for my return. 4 My parents rushed to the hospital, my mother’s voice raw as she demanded Ava be brought there to answer for what she’d done. I forced a smile. “Mom, Dad, don’t. It’s a good thing. Seeing someone’s true colors, even if it’s late… it’s a gift.” The words felt like swallowing sand, and my fingernails dug into my palms until they drew blood. That night, I stared at the ceiling, sleepless. An apology? That was far too easy a price for Ava to pay. The next morning, the internet exploded. #AndersonHeirDumpsFiancee and #AvaSterlingCheatingScandal were trending worldwide. Lying in my hospital bed, I watched the Sterling Corporation’s stock price plummet in a sheer, vertical drop. For the first time in days, I felt a grim sliver of satisfaction. My phone buzzed incessantly. Ava. I turned it off. But someone else found me. When the door to my room opened, I assumed it was another one of Ava’s minions. I looked up and met a pair of calm, gentle eyes. It was Claire. We’d been inseparable for nine years, sharing a desk through middle and high school. We told each other everything. Then Ava’s jealousy became a suffocating presence, and to keep the peace, I let Claire go. She stood at the door, hesitating. “Can I come in?” she asked softly. I didn’t answer right away. She didn’t press, just waited patiently. After a long moment, I gave a slight nod. She walked in, but she didn’t mention the scandal, didn’t mention Ava. Her first words were simple, direct, and they shattered the dam I’d built inside myself. “You’ve been through hell.” That was it. Just those five words, and my eyes burned with unshed tears. Claire talked for an hour, distracting me with stories of her own failures. The venture capitalist who stood her up. The first big pitch where her presentation file was corrupted. The time she was so exhausted she fell asleep during a contract signing. Listening to her, I felt the knots in my shoulders begin to loosen for the first time in a week. Only at the very end did she mention it, almost as an afterthought. “I started a company. AI-driven medical tech. It’s still early days.” She paused, then looked me straight in the eye. “I’m short a partner with market experience. Are you interested?” It’s easy to find friends in triumph, but true allies appear in the trenches. Every resume I’d sent out had vanished into a black hole. Partners who had once clapped me on the back and called me a boy genius now averted their eyes. I was at the absolute bottom, and here was Claire, extending her hand. I didn’t have to think twice. On my last night in the townhouse, I watched the city lights glitter and the endless river of traffic flow below. Nothing out there had changed. But for me, everything had. A chapter of my life, a painful, all-consuming one, was finally over. I felt a hundred different emotions, but the strongest, surprisingly, was relief. I was finally free. The next morning, I dragged my suitcase to the front door and pulled it open.

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My husband gave our son’s spot at Northwood Preparatory Academy to his secretary’s kid. He said the application portal glitched when he was uploading the documents. That he’d accidentally submitted the file she had prepared for her own son. The secretary, a single mother, came to our home with her child to apologize. “Grace, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I never should have put our documents on the same flash drive.” “Carter was just trying to be helpful. It’s the kind of mistake any good person would make.” “I’ll go to the school first thing tomorrow and withdraw my son’s application.” I was peeling an apple for my son, my head down. “Don’t bother.” My voice was quiet. “The seventy-five-thousand-dollar donation was wired from our joint account. The memo on the transfer read, ‘For Noah’s happy school days.’ I already have the screenshot.” 1 Carter, my husband, stood across from me, his face a tight, angry mask. He was trying to project calm, but the slight tremor in his fingertips gave him away. Behind him, his secretary, a woman named Brooke, clutched her son, Noah, shrinking into Carter’s shadow. Noah was holding a Transformer—the limited-edition Optimus Prime, our son Leo’s absolute favorite. I finished slicing the apple, arranging the pieces on a small ceramic plate and pushing it toward Leo. Leo picked up a slice, the crunch of his bite echoing in the tense silence. “Grace, what is the meaning of this?” Carter’s voice was low, coiled with rage. “You took a screenshot. What are you planning to do with it?” I didn’t answer him. I just took a napkin and gently wiped a smudge of apple juice from the corner of Leo’s mouth. Brooke stepped forward, her voice trembling. “Mrs. Harrison, please, don’t misunderstand Carter. He was only trying to help me. It’s not easy, being a single mother.” Her eyes were wide and pleading. “I’ll find a way to pay you back the seventy-five thousand. I’ll withdraw Noah from the school right now.” I finally looked up, my gaze traveling past them to the large family portrait hanging on the living room wall. In the photo, Carter had his arms around me and Leo, his smile the picture of sophisticated charm. “Pay it back?” I asked softly. “How, Brooke? Does your monthly salary even cover the interest?” I shook my head. “And as for withdrawing… absolutely not. The donation was made in Noah’s name. The spot belongs to him now. The Harrison family’s reputation can’t be tarnished over something so trivial.” The color drained from Carter’s face. He understood my subtext perfectly. I wasn’t treating this as a family matter. I was treating this as business. 2 “Grace, do you have to blow this up into a crisis?” Carter took a step toward me. I picked up Leo’s plate of half-eaten apples and stood. “Carter, from this moment on, you and I will discuss rules, not feelings,” I said, my voice level. “First, I am unilaterally filing to have the joint account frozen, effective immediately. My legal team will conduct a forensic audit of every single transaction. Second, as the Executive Director of The Harrison Foundation, you used your position to misappropriate joint marital assets for the benefit of a third party. That constitutes a breach of your fiduciary duty. I have already notified every member of the foundation’s board via email. Including your father.” All the blood vanished from Brooke’s face. The hand holding her son’s shoulder was shaking. “Mrs. Harrison—no, Ms. Harrison… Carter had nothing to do with this. I begged him!” My gaze was cold. “Your begging is worthless against an audit report and bank statements.” The anger in Carter’s eyes curdled into panic. “You told my father?” he hissed. “You’re trying to ruin me!” I turned and walked toward the study, without looking back. “I’m not ruining you, Carter,” I said, my hand on the doorknob. “I’m cleaning house. You and your secretary should leave now. Security will be up in ten minutes, and I’d prefer they not have to deal with an unpleasant scene.” The moment the study door clicked shut, I heard the sound of a vase shattering against the wall, followed by Carter’s raw, strangled roar. I sat calmly at my desk and picked up the phone, dialing an internal line. “Mr. Ames, in Legal? I need you to begin the process of launching a malfeasance investigation into Director Carter Harrison.” 3 An emergency family meeting was convened at the estate. The atmosphere in the grand library was thick with unspoken accusations. Carter’s father, the Chairman of The Harrison Group, sat at the head of the massive mahogany table, his expression grim. “Grace, Carter was foolish. He let this woman take advantage of him,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Is it worth destabilizing our own foundation, our own family, for an outsider?” Carter sat beside him, head bowed, the very image of contrition. “Dad, Grace, I know I was wrong. I’ll get the boy withdrawn from the school immediately. I’ll replace the money.” I placed a slim file on the polished wood and slid it across the table toward my father-in-law. “Dad, I’d like you to look at this first,” I said. “It’s a list of all the grants approved by Carter under the ‘Emerging Leaders’ program in the last fiscal year, along with a flowchart of the funds.” He picked up the file, his brow furrowing as he read. His frown deepened. On the list, several names were flagged with notes indicating a relationship to Brooke. A former classmate. A distant cousin. A friend from her hometown. The total amount of the grants involved exceeded half a million dollars. “What… is all this?” His voice was unsteady. “That,” I explained calmly, “is Brooke’s social network. Carter has been using the foundation’s resources to build a web of influence for her. The spot at Northwood was just the first thread to unravel. What I want to discuss today isn’t a domestic squabble. It’s a security failure. Carter’s position has become a back door for targeted exploitation. This has moved beyond foolishness. This is corruption.” Carter’s head snapped up, his eyes bloodshot. “Grace, that’s a baseless accusation!” I met his glare without flinching. “Then please explain why the funds from those specific grants were all routed, through a series of shell corporations, into a single offshore account. An account held by Brooke’s brother, who happens to be studying abroad.” 4 The silence in the room was absolute. My father-in-law’s fingers trembled where they rested on the file. He stared at his son, his expression a mixture of profound disappointment and disbelief. Carter opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The flowchart tracing the money was the product of an all-nighter by my finance team. The evidence was irrefutable. “Dad, members of the board,” I continued, my tone resolute. “If this becomes public, it will be a devastating blow to the foundation’s credibility. Our entire mission is built on transparency and fairness. Right now, our own Executive Director is embezzling from the inside.” The Chairman closed his eyes, exhaling a long, weary sigh. “What do you want?” I met his gaze, my words precise and clear. “I demand Carter’s immediate and unconditional removal from all his duties at the foundation. I want the board to form a special committee to conduct a full, independent investigation. Furthermore, I propose that Ava Landry, the current Director of Risk Management for the Harrison Group, be appointed as interim Executive Director.” The proposal landed like a grenade. Everyone in the room stiffened. Ava Landry was known throughout the company as a brilliant operator—ruthless, efficient, and incorruptible. But her blunt, politics-averse nature meant she’d been consistently sidelined by Carter, her career stalled. My father-in-law’s eyes shot open, sharp and calculating. He understood. This wasn’t an emotional outburst. This was a coup. “You can accept my proposal,” I said, laying down my final terms. “We handle this internally, minimizing the damage and the publicity. Or, I will file a lawsuit in my own name. And then this won’t be a family scandal. It will be front-page news.” It was my ultimatum. Protect Carter, or protect the Harrison legacy. He stared at me for a long time, the fight draining from his face. Finally, he sagged back in his chair. “Do as she says.” 5 The news of Carter’s suspension sent shockwaves through the company. He tried to contact me, but his calls and texts were already blocked. He stormed up to my office, only to be politely but firmly escorted out by the security I’d already posted on my floor. “Grace, you can’t do this to me! We’re married!” he roared through the glass door. I sat at my desk, my eyes fixed on the transition plan Ava had just emailed me, and didn’t look up. Ava moved fast. On her first day, she froze every project Carter had personally overseen and began a comprehensive risk assessment. Her face, usually a mask of stoic professionalism, now held a spark—the sharp edge of a brilliant mind finally given the room to cut loose. “Grace, I’ve found something,” she said during our video call that evening. “There’s a ‘Digital Archives Initiative’ Carter was spearheading. Budget of three million dollars. But actual progress is near zero. Most of the funds were paid out to a consulting firm that was incorporated less than six months ago.” A cold certainty settled in my stomach. “Check the name of the firm’s owner.” Ava’s fingers flew across her keyboard. A moment later, she looked up. “The registered agent is a Brenda Mayes. She’s Brooke’s older sister.” Of course. The depth of their greed was far greater than I had imagined. “If this project blows up, it could have serious repercussions for the Group and several of our public partners,” Ava stated, her tone grave. “Which is why we have to defuse the bomb before it goes off,” I replied calmly. “Ava, as of now, you have full authority over this initiative. Whatever resources you need, you get. I have only one requirement: in two weeks, I want a solution that plugs every hole. I want everyone to see that without Carter Harrison, the foundation doesn’t just survive. It thrives.” 6 Ava did not disappoint. She and her team spent a week dissecting the mess of the archives project. They brought in a team of genuine experts, redrafted the budget, and created a viable execution strategy. Simultaneously, she terminated the contract with the shell company and had our legal department issue a notice of intent to sue for contract fraud. The following week, at a press conference for key investors and partners, Ava made her public debut as the new interim director. With hard data, impeccable logic, and a powerfully persuasive new plan, she transformed a ticking time bomb of a project into an undervalued asset brimming with potential. The room erupted in applause. I sat in the front row, watching Ava in the spotlight. She was like a sword that had finally been unsheathed, sharp and brilliant. She was living proof that suppressed talent, given a single opportunity, could create miracles.

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My mother forgot me on my fifth birthday. It happened after the accident—the one that stole her memories and left her wandering, lost, until some drifter from the edge of town coaxed her into his shack and kept her. That’s how I came to be. The day it all fell apart, the police finally arrested him for what he’d done to the other women in town. In the chaos, they figured out who my mother was, and the whole story spilled out into the open. The grandparents I never knew existed pulled up in a gleaming black sedan. They rushed to my mother, and the three of them collapsed into a mess of tears and choked sobs. All the noise, all the emotion—it was like a key turning in a rusted lock. Something inside her clicked back into place. And the mother who, just that morning, would have fought a bear for me, shoved me away with a look of pure horror. “I… I don’t have a child.” My grandfather’s eyes swept over me, cold and dismissive, before he turned back to comfort her. “It’s okay, Anna. You don’t have to claim it,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “Michael’s been waiting for you. You two can finally get married.” He stroked her hair. “The children you have with him… they’ll be our family’s real little princesses.” I stared at the woman I loved more than anything, my small world tilting off its axis. 1 My mother’s eyes were the eyes of a stranger. They terrified me. The whole town, it seemed, had gathered in a circle around us, their whispers like the rustling of dry leaves. “That’s her, the simple one he picked up…” “Lord, the things he did to her. The beatings…” “And that thing is the result… a little bastard…” A state trooper knelt down, his voice gentle. “Anna, you’re the victim here. We’re going to make sure he pays for what he did. But this little girl is your daughter. The law says you have to take care of her.” My mother flinched as if his words were hot pokers. She shook her head, frantically. “No… No! I don’t have a child! I don’t!” Her voice was a shrill, cracking violin string. I thought of the two hard-boiled eggs she’d pressed into my hands that morning. I knew she’d gone door-to-door, begging, just so I could have a birthday present. She’d peeled them with her chapped fingers and popped one into my mouth so fast I started to choke. She’d panicked then, her hands a clumsy flurry as she patted my back. She couldn’t mean it. All these people were just scaring her. I stumbled toward her on unsteady legs. “Mama,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “It’s me. It’s your Wren.” I fell to my knees and pressed my forehead to the cold, hard-packed dirt, again and again. A desperate, silent prayer. She was the only thing I had. But she looked at me like I was a ghost. Her leg shot out, the heel of her boot connecting hard with my shoulder. The impact sent me sprawling backward, a sharp pain lancing through my shoulder blade. “Get away from me! Don’t you touch me!” she screamed, her face a pale mask of terror. “You’re not my daughter! You’re a nightmare! You’re my shame!” Her voice dropped to a horrifying whisper. “I look at you and I want to die.” My grandfather immediately wrapped his arms around her, shielding her. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured, stroking her back. “We’ll forget all about it. You and Michael will have other children.” He turned to a man standing nearby. “Take the child to a county home. An orphanage.” The trooper stepped forward. “Sir, that’s not legally possible. The mother is present. She has a legal obligation to provide care.” My grandfather’s jaw tightened. He said nothing more, just helped my mother to her feet and guided her toward the black car. Panic seized me. I didn’t know what an orphanage was, but I knew I couldn’t lose my mother. I scrambled up from the ground, my whole body aching, and ran after that big, shiny car. The road was rutted and uneven, forcing the car to move slowly. I pumped my little legs as hard as I could. When I fell, I clawed my way back up and kept running, tears and dirt streaking my face. My lungs burned. My legs gave out. I collapsed onto my knees but kept going, crawling, my hands scraping against the gravel. I could not be left behind. The car stopped. My grandfather got out, his face a thundercloud. “What do you think you’re doing? Get lost!” I just sobbed, unable to speak, and kept dragging myself forward. The trooper walked over, sighing. “Sir, look… legally, this child is your granddaughter. You have to take her with you for now. You have to figure out a proper arrangement. You can’t just leave a kid this small on the side of the road.” My grandfather glanced at the growing crowd of onlookers, then at my mother, who was curled up in the back seat, weeping. He shot me one last look of pure disgust, then turned and got back in the car without another word. The engine rumbled to life. The car started moving again, but slower this time. I wiped my muddy face with the back of my hand and used the last of my strength to follow the cloud of dust it kicked up. I had no idea where I was going. I only knew my mother was in that car. 2 Even moving slowly, the black sedan was too fast for me. It rounded a bend and disappeared from sight for a second. My heart seized in my chest, and I forced my legs to move faster. I tripped and fell again, skinning my knees and palms, but I scrambled up without a thought for the blood. People on the street stared, pointing, but I didn’t care. All I could see was the car. All I could hear was my own ragged breathing and the frantic drumming of my heart. I don’t know how long I ran. It felt like something was about to explode in my chest, and the back of my throat tasted like salt and blood. Finally, the car pulled to a stop in front of a big, beautiful, quiet house. It had clean white walls and a dark roof, surrounded by a tall iron gate. It was grander than anything I had ever imagined. I practically dragged myself to the entrance, my body trembling with exhaustion. Sweat and grime were glued to my skin. I gripped the cold iron bars of the gate, gasping for air. The world spun, and black spots danced in my vision. My grandfather got out of the car, his brow furrowed in a permanent scowl of revulsion. “Damn leech,” he muttered. “Bad luck.” He strode over, not to help me, but to shove me away from the gate. I lost my balance and fell backward, the back of my head cracking against a hard, sharp stone. A sickening thud, a spike of blinding pain, and then the warm stickiness of blood trickling down my neck. Just then, the beautiful iron gate swung open from the inside. A man in a crisp, clean shirt rushed out. He looked kind, gentle. He ran right past me, lying crumpled on the ground, and straight to my mother as she stepped out of the car. “Anna. You’re back. You’re finally back.” He pulled her into a tight, desperate hug. My mother’s body was rigid. She kept her head down, trying to shrink away from his touch, her face a miserable canvas of shame and panic. “No, don’t…” she whispered. The man only held her tighter, his voice thick with emotion but firm. “Shhh, it’s over. It’s all over now. We’ll get married. I’ll protect you. We’ll have the most beautiful little girl in the world…” My grandfather added, his voice cold, “Michael, don’t you worry. Anna will be fine now. As for this…” he shot a glance at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe, “I’ll take care of it. Get rid of it. She won’t be upsetting Anna anymore.” Get rid of it? Even though I didn’t fully understand, the words hurt like a physical blow. Watching my mother in that man’s arms, hearing them talk about their “beautiful little girl,” a new wave of panic washed over me. Ignoring the throbbing pain in my head and the dizziness, I used my hands and feet to scramble up from the ground and lunged toward my mother. “Mama, I’m your daughter too! Please don’t leave Wren, please…” Before I could get close, my grandfather’s face hardened. He reached out and, with a grunt of effort, slammed the heavy iron gate shut. My fingers were curled around the bars. The massive weight of the gate crashed down on them. A sickening, soft crunch echoed in the sudden silence, followed by a wave of agony so intense it stole my breath. I heard my own bones snap. I screamed and yanked my hand back. My fingers were bent at unnatural angles, already swelling into a grotesque, purplish mess. The pain was a living thing, pulsing and white-hot. I couldn’t breathe. The gate was locked. Through the cold iron bars, I watched the man named Michael wrap his arm around my mother, his back to me, and lead her toward the beautiful house. My grandfather followed them without a single glance in my direction. I was locked out. The sky began to darken. A cold wind whipped at my sweat-soaked clothes, and I started to shiver. The blood in my hair dried, pulling at my scalp with a dull, throbbing ache. My hand was a swollen club of agony. I was cold and hungry and hurt. I huddled in the corner by the iron gate, watching the warm lights flicker on inside. I cried softly, whispering “Mama” over and over again. But no one came. Eventually, the tears ran out. My strength was gone. Darkness swallowed me whole, and I fainted. 3 I don’t know how long I was out. When I woke up, the wound on my head had formed a crusty scab that pulled with a dull ache. I was cold and desperately hungry, curled into a tight ball at the foot of the gate, staring at the house. A whole day passed. No one came out. My stomach twisted with hunger pangs, and my throat was as dry as dust. I saw a stray dog digging in a nearby trash pile, pulling out a foul-smelling bone. I was so hungry I crawled over, wanting to snatch it away. The dog bared its teeth, a low, threatening growl rumbling in its chest as it shielded its prize. I was scared, but the hunger was worse. I reached out a trembling hand. The dog lunged. I recoiled, watching it run off with the bone. I could only sit there, silent tears tracking paths through the dirt on my face. Just then, the iron gate clicked behind me. I whipped my head around. An old woman was walking out. It was my grandmother. Her eyes took in my filthy, wretched state, and her brow tightened. There was no pity in her face, only a deep, profound disgust. “You’re still here? Like a stray dog with mange.” Her voice was as hard and cold as the stone I’d hit my head on. “If you’re going to die, do it somewhere else. Don’t dirty our property. And don’t you dare upset Anna again.” I looked at her face, so similar to my mother’s, and I suddenly remembered the mother I knew before. The one who wasn’t all there, who would eat tree bark herself just to give me the scraps she’d begged or stolen. The one who would hold me tight, humming tuneless songs in her hoarse voice, patting my back with her rough, clumsy hands. “Grandma,” I rasped, the tears stinging my chapped lips. “I’m hungry. I want to see Mama. Just for a second…” “See her? She goes crazy every time she sees you! Are you trying to push her into her grave?” I dropped to my knees. Ignoring the pain in my head and hand, I began knocking my forehead against the hard ground, again and again. The newly formed scab on my head split open, and warm blood trickled down my nose, blurring my vision. “Please, Grandma, please. Just one look. I’ll be good after, I’ll leave, I promise…” I begged between sobs, my blood staining the pavement. Maybe she was frightened, or maybe she just figured me dying on her doorstep would be even worse luck. “Fine! Stop it! Get up!” she snapped impatiently. “One look. Then you get the hell out of here.” She made me stand far back as she opened the gate. I stumbled after her into the bright, warm house. It smelled clean and sweet, nothing like the drafty, rotting shack I’d come from. In the living room, the man, Michael, was sitting beside my mother, speaking to her in a soft, gentle voice, trying to make her smile. But her eyes were empty, her whole body lifeless. I took a shaky breath and whispered, “Ma…” The moment she saw me, her eyes flew wide. She grabbed her head and let out a bloodcurdling scream. “AAAHHH! Get it away! Make it go away! Don’t let it touch me!” She trembled violently, her eyes wild and unfocused. Then, she lunged, aiming her head straight for the wall. “Anna!” Michael and my grandfather screamed in terror, scrambling to grab her and hold her back. She thrashed in their arms, her cries ripping through the house. “Let me die! Just let me die!” My grandfather, holding her tight, cried out to my grandmother, his voice breaking, “My God, what has been done to my daughter? What kind of hell did she endure?” My grandmother rushed to them, and the three of them clung to each other, a tangle of weeping family. I was frozen in horror. I took a step back and bumped into a small table, knocking over a vase. It shattered on the floor with a sharp crack. The crying stopped instantly. My grandfather’s head snapped around. His red-rimmed eyes, full of fury, locked onto me. “It’s you,” he hissed, pointing a trembling finger. “You’re the curse. Why did you have to show up? Why didn’t you die out there? Are you going to be happy when you’ve finally driven her to her grave?!” He was shaking with rage. “Do us a favor and let our family have some peace! Just go! And never, ever come back! I am begging you! Do you want me to get on my knees? Will you finally leave us alone if my entire family begs you?” He started to bend his knees, as if to kneel before me. My grandmother and Michael grabbed him, holding him up. My grandfather’s breakdown. My mother’s madness. The cold, desperate hatred in their eyes. The tears just fell, one after another. 4 I stumbled forward and, with my good hand, tried feebly to help him up. “Grandpa… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” It was all I could say. When I couldn’t lift him, I let go and backed away. Then, I knelt. I looked at my mother, my grandfather, my grandmother, and the kind man holding him up, and I bowed my head to each of them, knocking my forehead solidly against the floor. The sound was a dull thud, and my wound split open again, but I couldn’t feel the pain anymore. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry, Grandpa, Grandma. I’m sorry, sir.” I repeated it over and over in a hoarse whisper. “I’ll go now. I’ll go, and I’ll never come back.” I knew then, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that my mother was truly gone. I tried to stand, to walk out, but my legs were made of cotton and wouldn’t hold me. That’s when my grandmother’s voice came from behind me. It sounded exhausted, maybe even a little pitiful. “Forget it… It’s the middle of the night. Where would you go? Just… stay for now.” A tiny flicker of light sparked in the darkness. That night, they made me a small bed on the floor in a corner by the front door. The floor was hard, with only a thin blanket underneath me. The pain in my head and hand throbbed, and my stomach ached with hunger. No one brought me any food, and I was too afraid to ask. It was cold. I curled into a ball but couldn’t sleep. Late in the night, I heard hushed voices coming from one of the rooms. It was my grandfather and Michael. “…have to send her away. The sooner the better. I think Anna’s had a complete breakdown. She can’t take another shock.” “I know… but where? The county homes, the paperwork…” “I made some calls. I have a distant cousin back home, a Mrs. Gable. We’ll give her some money, have her raise the child…” “I guess that’s the only way… It’s tough on the kid, though…” “Tough?! Is anyone’s life tougher than my Anna’s?! My daughter… my baby girl that I held in my arms… what that bastard did to her… forced her to… to have… When I think about the life she was living all those years, it feels like a knife in my heart.” Michael’s voice was choked. “Dad, don’t… It’s over. I’ll take care of Anna now. We’ll have a new life. We’ll have our own children.” Their words faded into the sound of muffled, heartbroken sobs. Their grief was like a hammer, striking me with every sound. And then I remembered. Every night, the man who kept us would drag my mother from our mattress into the other room. She wouldn’t come back until morning, often bruised and bloody. I would hear her awful cries, mixed with the angry shouts of different men. I would beat my fists on the locked door, trying to save her, but I could never get it open. Then one time, the man lost all his money playing cards and said he was going to sell me. My mother held onto me, terrified. Finally, like she’d made some terrible decision, she started nodding frantically at him, pointing toward the door and making desperate, pleading sounds. After that night, my mother started going out on her own every evening. The man never had to drag her again. She always came back dirty, smelling bad, her eyes emptier than before. But she would secretly press a little treat into my hand—a piece of candy, half a cookie. Then she would hold me and shake uncontrollably. I didn’t understand then. I was just glad the beatings had lessened, and I had more treats. But now, hearing my grandfather’s words, the broken pieces of my memory clicked together. To keep me from being sold, my mother had forced herself to do something she hated. Something horrible. Every time she looked at me now, she was seeing that dark, suffocating nightmare all over again. I suddenly felt like my entire existence was a mistake. A monstrous grief swallowed me whole, a pain a thousand times worse than the throbbing in my head, the ache in my stomach, or the cold seeping into my bones. I couldn’t breathe. I got up, moving like a sleepwalker, and felt my way toward the kitchen. There was only one thought in my head: I am wrong. I shouldn’t be alive. If I disappear, Mama will get better. Grandpa and Grandma and Michael won’t have to be so sad anymore. The kitchen was dark. My hand brushed against something cold and hard on the counter. A knife. I gripped the handle, the chill of the steel making me shiver. In the darkness, I saw two images of my mother. The first, her eyes shining as she handed me a birthday egg. The second, her eyes wild with madness and despair as she looked at me today. Mama. I’m so sorry. I closed my eyes and pushed the knife against my body with all my strength.

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My mother had her awakening after she divorced my father. Her new life, she declared, would be dedicated to loving herself. So she went to music festivals, flew to Cabo for girls’ weekends, and backpacked through Europe. She’d be gone for weeks, sometimes a month. What she seemed to forget was that the year of her great awakening, I was only five. Just a little girl who knew only how to stand in a dark house and cry for her mom. 1 I was in the middle of planning a graduation trip to Greece with my best friend, Chloe, when my mother’s name flashed on my screen. She told me she’d been in a car accident. She said she needed me. Her voice was thin and reedy, laced with a guilt that felt entirely foreign. But I didn’t hesitate. “Oh, wow. That’s tough,” I said, my tone breezy. “But my flight is in two days.” I paused, for effect. “Look, just… hang in there. I’ll be back in six months, we can talk then.” After I hung up, Chloe looked at me, her brow furrowed. “Are you sure you don’t want to postpone?” I shook my head, turning back to the half-packed suitcase on my bed. “Nope. No need.” “But, Mia… that’s your mom.” I offered her a tight smile and said nothing. For years, every messenger she sent started with that exact line. She’s your mother. She gave birth to you. They’d tell me we were the closest two people on earth could be, that there was no wound too deep to forgive. The closest two people on earth. I used to believe that ridiculous idea, back when I was a child. It’s why, when my parents fought over custody, I chose her without a second’s thought. I thought she’d be the one to hold my hand while I grew up. That belief shattered on my fifth birthday, during a trip to Disneyland she’d begrudgingly agreed to. We were in a restaurant when we saw him—my father, remarried. The moment she spotted him, my mother was in the middle of snapping at me, shoving her backpack onto the stroller with a huff. “Mia, do you have any idea how much stuff I have to lug around just for you? This is the last time you beg me to come to this place, you hear me—” Her words choked off. My dad was sitting with a tall woman, both of them smiling so wide their eyes crinkled. Between them sat a little boy. For a second, I froze. Then, a joyful, instinctive cry of “Daddy!” started to form on my lips. Before it could escape, my mother’s fingers dug into my hand. Her nails felt like tiny daggers pressing into my skin. I looked up at her, my eyes welling with tears. “Mommy, that hurts,” I whimpered. She didn’t hear me. She was lost in her own world, her gaze locked on my father. I watched as her eyes turned red. The moment a tear escaped her eye and traced a path down her cheek, my own tears started to fall. I buried my face in her leg, tugging on her hand. “It’s okay, Mommy. I’m here. Don’t cry.” Her gaze dropped to me, a single tear landing on my face. It was ice cold. She reached out and touched my face, her fingers tracing a slow path from my forehead to my chin. Every inch, measured and deliberate. Then, her voice changed. “I never noticed before,” she whispered, her tone hollow. “You look just like him.” She stared at me, but I knew she wasn’t seeing me anymore. “He was a monster. I wonder if you’ll grow up to be just as disgusting.” I stared up at her, at the raw grief in her eyes, and didn’t understand. I just knew that the way she was looking at me sent a spike of terror through my small body. A sob broke from my chest. But my mother just wiped her own tears away, pried my fingers from her dress, and walked away. She left my cries behind her, as decisively as if she were leaving me behind. After that day, everything changed. The morning pancakes disappeared. I learned to wait, my stomach aching, until she finally decided to get out of bed. Sometimes, when the hunger was too much, I’d fill my belly with cup after cup of cold tap water. I never dared to ask why there was no breakfast. I never dared to ask why she always looked at me with that strange, cold expression. I just tried to be quiet. I tried to be invisible. Until one afternoon, I was playing with a puzzle in my room, my stomach growling, when a sharp, pungent smell drifted through the door. I covered my nose and ran out. My mother was just coming out of the kitchen, carrying a steaming plate. When she saw me, her face split into a brilliant, unnerving smile. “You’re awake! Come, try Mommy’s new recipe.” 2 The plate was a sea of crimson red, dotted with a few pathetic-looking pieces of chicken. I instinctively recoiled. Chili peppers. I knew them. One of her friends, a woman named Sharon, had once dared me to eat one as a joke. The prank ended with me coughing and crying in the emergency room, my mother holding me and sobbing harder than I was. But now, her voice was bright, almost manic. “Before I had you, I lived on spicy food. It was my favorite,” she said, her eyes gleaming with a strange light. “You’re my daughter. I bet you’ll love it too.” She picked up a slice of pepper with her chopsticks and held it to my lips. “Go on, try a bite. It’s been so long since I’ve had anything this good.” I looked from the pepper to her smiling face, my own mouth trembling. After a long moment, I summoned my courage and took it. A searing heat exploded in my mouth, rocketing down my throat. Tears and snot streamed down my face as I choked. My mother burst out laughing. The sound was loud and clear, a sharp counterpoint to my desperate, gasping cries of “Mommy.” From that day on, the simple, mild dishes of my childhood were replaced by a parade of glossy, crimson meals. Each one felt less like dinner and more like a test. She would present the fiery plates with a flourish, then sit back and watch, a look of intense fascination on her face, as I cried my way through every bite. I forced it down. I shoveled the peppers into my mouth like a form of self-punishment, a single tear rolling down my cheek for every swallow. And through it all, I would force a smile and say, “It’s so yummy, Mommy.” Because only then would she transform back into the mother I remembered. Only then would she gently stroke my hair and murmur, “Good girl.” Until one night, a pain like a hot knife twisting in my gut woke me up. I stumbled out of bed, doubled over, and knocked on her door. It opened, and her footsteps stopped in front of me. I couldn’t see her face in the dark, but her voice was thick with annoyance. “What is it? Did you eat something bad?” The pain was so intense I could only curl into a ball on the floor, unable to speak. After a few seconds, a hand landed on my back, patting gently. A wave of relief washed over me, and I started to lean into her, ready to be held and comforted. But then I heard her mutter under her breath. “Such a pain. Another all-nighter.” A pause. “I can handle spice just fine. Why didn’t you get any of my genes?” In that instant, I looked up. And in the dim light from her room, I saw it clearly: the deep, profound annoyance in her eyes. The doctor called it acute gastritis and said I’d need an IV drip for a few days. My mother sat beside my hospital bed, silent, distractedly scrolling through her phone. After a long time, she turned to me. The strange delight she took in watching me eat the peppers was gone. So was the irritation from earlier. All that was left was an emotion I’d never seen before, something that terrified me. She took a deep breath, her voice clear and steady. “Mia, you being in the hospital has created a huge problem for me.” I stared at her, confused. Her voice was flat. “Did you know I have an important lunch meeting tomorrow? It’s something I’ve been looking forward to for a very long time.” She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. “And now, because of you, everything has to be canceled.” My mouth opened, and a small voice came out. “I’m sorry, Mommy. It’s my fault.” Her expression remained cold. She said my name in the same tone she used to tell me to eat my dinner or go to bed. “Mia.” “I’ve had a lot of time to think these past few days.” Her gaze, which had been drifting around the room, finally settled on me, sharp and determined. “After I married your father, I had no life of my own. There were endless chores. After you were born, it only got worse. I was so busy, so tired… I hated the person I saw in the mirror.” “My life just… stopped. It was all about the two of you.” As she spoke, her voice softened into something strangely gentle, almost wistful. “From now on, I’m going to live my own life.” I stared at her, the twisting pain in my stomach miraculously gone, replaced by a vast, hollow numbness that spread through my limbs like a fast-acting poison. She didn’t seem to notice the terror crystallizing in my eyes. She just looked at me. “Mia, you’re a big girl now. You’ll grow up, and you’ll understand. Right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Maybe she didn’t need one. She reached out and tucked the blanket around me, a gesture that was almost tender in its detachment. Then she picked up her purse from the bedside table and stood up. “Press the call button for the nurse when the IV bag is almost empty. I’ll be back in the morning.” The sharp click of her heels echoed in the hallway, growing fainter and fainter until they disappeared completely. In the sterile silence of the hospital room, only one sound remained: my own voice, hoarse and broken, repeating the word “Mommy” over and over again. I didn’t understand what she’d said. I didn’t know what “living her own life” meant. But I felt it in my bones. My mommy was leaving me. 3 When my mother picked me up from the hospital, I clung to the hem of her skirt, my knuckles white. I hadn’t slept the entire night, convinced she would never come back. Seeing her walk through the door had been a dizzying relief. The moment we got home, a secret joy bloomed in my chest. See? She still wants me. But the second we were inside, I watched her pull a large suitcase from the hall closet. With a manic, joyful haste, she began throwing clothes and makeup inside. There was a lightness in her movements I’d never seen before, a smile playing on her lips. “Mommy?” I whispered, reaching for her hand. She didn’t look up. “Oh, I made plans with Sharon. We’re going to that music festival in the desert. I have to leave now if I’m going to make it on time.” I stood frozen. “Mommy, what about me?” She finally paused, her eyes skimming over my pale, sweat-slicked face without a flicker of concern. “The medicine is in the bag on the counter. You’re a big girl. You can take care of yourself for a few days.” A few days? The residual weakness from the hospital was instantly consumed by a tidal wave of panic. I grabbed her sleeve, tears streaming down my face. “Don’t go! I’m scared to be alone… my stomach still hurts… Mommy, please!” My cries were shrill in the quiet apartment. Her brow furrowed, the cheerful smile vanishing, replaced by a familiar, sharp-edged irritation. She yanked her arm away, the force of it sending me stumbling backward onto the cold tile floor. “What are you crying for? Stop it!” she snapped. “I said I’ll only be gone for a few days! Can’t you be a little more independent? Stop clinging to me all the time! I’m exhausted enough as it is.” Her voice rose, cracking with a frantic self-pity. “No one has ever helped me! I just want a moment to breathe! Why is that so much to ask?” The zipper on the suitcase shrieked as she pulled it closed. The doorbell rang. My mother’s face instantly transformed, the anger replaced by a bright smile as she hurried to the door. Outside stood Sharon, dressed in a trendy festival outfit, and her daughter, Jessica. Jessica was wearing a brand-new pink dress, clutching a beautiful doll, her face alight with excitement. Sharon’s eyes fell on me, and she flinched. A flicker of awkwardness crossed her face. “Oh, Mia. Look how big you’ve gotten.” I didn’t speak. I was afraid of this woman, the one who had made me eat the pepper. After that incident, my parents had a huge fight, and I hadn’t seen her since. Sharon must have remembered too. She gave a strained laugh and turned back to my mother. “Ready? The Uber’s waiting downstairs.” My mother grabbed the suitcase. “Let’s go, let’s go. We’ll be late.” They turned, laughing and chatting, as they walked away. My mother glanced back at me one last time, not with concern, but with a warning. “Be good and stay inside.” The heavy security door slammed shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot. It cut off their laughter and locked my sobs inside. Through the thick metal, I faintly heard Sharon’s voice. “…Hey, are you sure about this? Leaving her alone? What if she tries to go outside?” My mother’s footsteps stopped. A few seconds of dead silence. Then, the distinct sound of a key sliding into the lock. Click. A clean, cold, metallic sound. From the outside, my mother had thrown the deadbolt.

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The takedown went sideways. My dad, Deputy Chief Miller, was taken hostage shielding a civilian. Then the feed went live, broadcast by the scumbag who had a knife to his throat. “You’ve got ten minutes,” the man snarled into the camera. “Let me walk, or he’s dead.” My hands shook as I frantically dialed Cole’s number. He was my father’s protégé, the detective my dad had personally trained. He was also the only person I knew who could get to that warehouse in time. The phone picked up. “Cole,” I choked out, my voice a raw whisper. “The address I just sent you—you have to go. Now! You’re the only one who can save my dad.” He cut me off with a light, condescending laugh. “Phoebe, is this another attempt to get my attention? Does this jealousy thing ever get old?” A cat meowed in the background, followed by a woman’s playful, syrupy voice. “Bro, that’s way too much soap!” “I just talked to your dad yesterday,” Cole said, his voice softening for her, not for me. “He put in his retirement papers. What kind of danger could he possibly be in? Just be good, okay? Don’t make things difficult.” He hung up before I could scream. Thirty seconds left on the kidnapper’s countdown. I called Cole again and again, my desperation clawing at my throat. Each call went straight to voicemail. He’d blocked me. At the same moment, an Instagram story popped up on my feed. It was from Jenna, his “best friend.” [Image: Cole and Jenna, heads close together, laughing as they lather a fluffy white cat in a sink. The lighting is warm, intimate.] Caption: My dad just has to say the word, and my bestie drops everything to come give my baby a bath. The brotherhood is real, people. The corners of his eyes crinkled with a joy I hadn’t seen directed at me in months. He was glowing with a sweetness that felt like a physical blow. On the livestream, the knife dragged across my father’s throat. His eyes, wide with shock, found the camera for a split second before he collapsed. My phone slipped from my numb fingers. My heart, in that precise moment, stopped beating and turned to stone. 1 The department brought my father’s body home. At the funeral, one of his oldest friends, a captain from the narcotics division, pulled me into a hug. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Phoebe. Your father cracked more major cases than anyone in the history of this precinct. He died a hero, saving a civilian. He’s the pride of the department.” He choked up then, his eyes filled with a pity that went beyond grief. I knew what he was thinking. Everyone in the department knew my fiancé had ignored a hostage situation involving his own mentor to stay home with his “best friend.” I stood before the polished headstone, dry-eyed, clutching the detective’s shield my father had been awarded years ago. Its sharp edges dug into my palm, the pain a welcome anchor, a reminder to stay upright. My phone buzzed. A text message. My condolences, Phoebe. I’ve been briefed on what happened. I will make sure you get justice. It was from Captain Evans, my father’s successor and a man I trusted implicitly. I scrolled through my phone. Not a single call, not a single text from Cole. Steeling myself, I dialed his number. I just wanted him to be here. To say one last goodbye to the man who had treated him like a son. Once. Twice. Three times. Nothing. My dad had poured everything into Cole, personally mentoring him, fast-tracking his promotion to Detective. He had been a good student. He had been a good fiancé. Until Jenna came back to the States. Then came the missed dates. He wasn’t there for my birthday. He wasn’t there when I had the miscarriage. He wasn’t there when my father was dying. And now, at his funeral, he was still gone. Hours later, after the last of the mourners had left and I was alone in the rain, his text finally came through. Phoebe, you need to be more understanding. Stop with the drama. It’s exhausting. Jenna is my friend. You have no right to be jealous of her. A second text followed. I took a couple days off to go hiking with Jenna, clear her head. The signal is bad up here. Don’t call me unless it’s an emergency. Those two messages shattered the last, fragile piece of hope I had for him. For us. I tilted my head back, letting the cold rain wash over my face, mixing with the tears I could no longer hold back. The sting was sharp, real. Then, with a decisiveness that felt foreign and terrifying, I blocked Cole’s number, his social media, every possible avenue of contact. Don’t worry, I thought. I’ll never bother you again. Back at the apartment, I locked myself in my room and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. He answered immediately. He didn’t speak, but I could hear the steady, calm rhythm of his breathing. I took a shaky breath. “It’s Phoebe Miller.” His voice was a low baritone, steady and reassuring. “I know. I’m here.” “I want to inherit my father’s badge number,” I said, the words coming out in a rush. “I want to finish what he started. I need you to approve my request to go undercover.” Silence. I could picture Captain Evans on the other end, his brow furrowed with concern. “That crew works for the Kael Syndicate,” he said finally. “Your father, a deputy chief, couldn’t get out alive. I can’t let you walk into that kind of danger. Besides…” “I already passed the internal evaluation,” I cut in, my voice sharp with urgency. “I’m the top candidate for this operation. You know my mother died when I was young; my dad raised me by himself. He’s all I had. I can’t let the men who did this to him walk free. I won’t.” A heavy sigh came through the line. “Does Cole know about this?” “No,” I said, the word like ice. “And he doesn’t need to.” “Alright,” he conceded. “Send me the report. I’ll make the arrangements. The operation begins in two days. That gives you time to get your personal affairs in order.” He paused for a beat. “Come back safe, Phoebe. For your dad. And for… for the people who truly care about you.” “I will.” After hanging up, I started packing. I decided to sell everything I owned, including all the gifts Cole had ever given me. While clearing my desk, I found a framed photo of us. We were at the beach, the sun bright in our eyes. He was hugging me from behind, his chin resting on the top of my head. We looked so happy. The sight of it was nauseating. I pulled the photo from its frame, tore it precisely down the middle, and dropped his smiling face into the trash. Just then, I heard a key in the lock. The front door swung open and Cole walked in, his arm around Jenna. She was practically draped over him, her chest pressed intimately against his bicep. Her eyes immediately landed on the baby grand piano in the corner—my father’s piano. Her face lit up. “Bro, there it is!” she squealed. “I played it last time I was here, remember? The acoustics are amazing, and it looks so good in photos! You promised you’d give it to me. No take-backs!” Cole’s smile faltered when he saw me standing in the middle of the living room. “Phoebe. You’re here. Good,” he said, forcing a casual tone. “Jenna loves this piano. I’m going to have it moved to her place. You haven’t played in years, anyway. It’s just collecting dust.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My father had spent his entire savings on that piano for me. And he was just… giving it away? Without even asking? “What did you just say? That was a gift from my father. It’s mine. Don’t you dare touch it.” Jenna let out a little “oops,” her eyes darting to the trash can. She leaned over, delicately plucked the torn half of the photo between two fingers, and dangled it in front of Cole. “Looks like we really pissed off the dragon lady, bro,” she said with a smirk. “She’s already tearing up pictures of you. We better get this piano out of here before she takes a sledgehammer to it.” Cole’s face darkened. “Phoebe, have you had enough? First, you lie about your dad being in trouble, and now this? How childish can you be?” He took a step forward, his voice dropping to a low, threatening tone. “This piano is leaving today, whether you like it or not. It’s not like you can play it anymore with that useless hand of yours.” The words struck me like a slap. “You forgot how my hand got this way, Cole?” I shot back, my voice trembling with rage. “I took a knife for you. The tendons were severed. Do you not remember that?” Jenna clicked her tongue, putting on a show of magnanimity. “Come on, Phoebe, that’s not fair. My bro remembers your sacrifice, he appreciates it. But he’s right, you can’t use the piano now. And what’s his is mine. It’s only natural that he’d give it to me. We’ve known each other forever. We don’t keep secrets, or possessions, from each other.” Cole looked at Jenna with sickening fondness. “Exactly. It’s just a piano. My best friend wants it. Can’t you just be generous for once? Instead of tearing up photos and throwing a tantrum?” I laughed, a sharp, broken sound. “My father is dead, Cole!” I screamed. “You think this is a tantrum? He was held hostage by armed criminals, and you were closer than anyone. The entire department knows you were the only one who could have saved him! And what were you doing?” I pointed a shaking finger at Jenna, who was smirking triumphantly. “You were washing her cat!” “He adored you! He was your mentor! Why didn’t you save him? You didn’t even show up for his funeral!” “That’s enough!” Cole roared, his voice cracking like a whip. “Are you still keeping up this act? Constantly talking about your dad being dead, cursing your own father… I never knew you were this twisted.” Jenna’s tone was pure innocence, but her eyes danced with malice. “You’re still holding a grudge over that? All he did was wash my cat. It wasn’t a big deal. We’re best friends, Phoebe. We don’t have all those complicated rules you seem to live by.” She ran a possessive hand over the piano’s glossy lid. “I really do love it, Cole.” He grinned, a flash of the old charm, and gave her a quick, playful slap on the ass. “Of course. We’re ride or die. I’d pull the moon down from the sky for you.” His gaze shifted back to me, his expression turning to ice. “The piano is moving today. And from this moment on, you are not to touch it.” He pulled out his phone and started dialing a moving company, right in front of me. Something inside me snapped. I grabbed the nearest thing—a heavy wooden jewelry box—and hurled it at them. It caught Jenna on the side of the head. Cole exploded. He lunged forward and slapped me, hard, across the face. The force of the blow sent me stumbling back into the piano bench. I put my hand out to catch myself, and a sickening crack echoed from my injured wrist. Pain, white-hot and blinding, shot up my arm. Tears welled in my eyes. For a second, Cole froze, a flicker of shock on his face. He reached out to help me up. I recoiled as if he were toxic. “Don’t touch me,” I spat. “You’re filthy.” He snatched his hand back, his face a mask of fury. “Fine. Have it your way. You care so much about this thing? I’ll have it chopped up for firewood.” Jenna dabbed at a tiny scratch on her forehead, her expression aggrieved but her voice triumphant. “Look, Phoebe, you’ve drawn blood. You can’t just assault me and get away with it. How about this? As compensation, you give me the piano, and I’ll convince my bro not to press charges.” “Get out,” I seethed. “Both of you, get out!” A surge of adrenaline drowned out the pain. I grabbed the piano bench and heaved it toward them. It crashed to the floor with a deafening bang. Jenna shrieked and hid behind Cole. I stood in front of the piano, my eyes blazing. “Anyone who touches this piano,” I snarled, “will have to go through me.” “You’ve lost your damn mind, Phoebe!” Cole was livid. He shoved me aside with brutal force. I crumpled to the floor. He loomed over me, his eyes filled with pure disgust. “Look at you. This pathetic, crazy act. No wonder your own father couldn’t stand you. If he really is dead, you probably drove him to it. You deserve this.” He still had the audacity to mention my father. With every ounce of strength I had, I launched myself up and slapped him across the face. The impact sent a shockwave through my already broken wrist. “Shut up!” I screamed. “You don’t have the right to even say his name!” His head snapped to the side. His eyes were wide with disbelief. Jenna gasped dramatically. “Phoebe, how could you hit him? I would never even dream of hurting a single hair on his head!” Just then, the doorbell rang. The movers had arrived. Cole’s face was tight with suppressed rage. “That’s the one,” he said, pointing at the piano. “Take it.” “No!” The movers hesitated, looking from my desperate face to Cole’s furious one. “Sir, the lady doesn’t seem to agree…” Cole scoffed and pulled a thick wad of cash from his wallet. “Triple the rate,” he snapped. “You don’t have to listen to a crazy person.” Jenna chimed in, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Gentlemen, please don’t mind her. She’s my friend’s girlfriend. She’s got… you know…” She tapped her temple with a single finger, a universally understood gesture for she’s not well. “Right,” the lead mover said, casting a pitiful glance my way before nodding to his crew. “Let’s get to work.” “No! You can’t!” I tried to block their path, but Cole grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. His grip was like steel, but his voice was a mockery of gentleness. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. Your doctor said this piano is a trigger for you. We’re just moving it for your own good.” They lifted my father’s piano and carried it out the door. I watched it disappear down the hallway until it was gone. Cole released me. His eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth. I was numb, hollowed out by despair. I looked at him, my own eyes burning. “Cole,” I whispered, the words tearing from my raw throat. “We’re done.” He didn’t even turn around as he slung his arm around Jenna’s shoulders. “Fine with me,” he called back. “Don’t come crying to me when you regret it.”

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Audrey and I had been together since college. Eight years. We were weeks away from the wedding when she told me. She wanted to bring the great love of her life, Leo, into our marriage. Both of us, serving her. I felt a vein begin to throb in my temple, a low, hot drumbeat of rage. I kept my voice level. “Are you saying you want your old flame to be your affair on the side?” Audrey just shook her head, a lock of perfect blonde hair falling across her face. “He wouldn’t be the one on the side, Cole. You would.” I stared at her, the sound in the room seeming to warp and bend. Had she lost her mind? Did she really just ask me, Cole Hayes, the sole heir to the Hayes fortune, to be her number two? … 1 Seeing the silence stretch, Audrey must have mistaken my shock for consideration. Her voice softened, dropping into that placating tone she used when she wanted something. “Leo’s just… he’s gentle. He doesn’t have a family with money, no real safety net. If he were the ‘other man,’ he’d get hurt. People would talk.” “So your solution is for me to take that role?” The fire was licking up my throat, but my voice came out cold as ice. A frown flickered across her perfect features, a brief crack in the facade. She was annoyed that I wasn’t making this easy. “Cole, I don’t want it to be like this. But Leo… he has nothing. I have to think about his future. And don’t worry,” she added, as if it were a grand concession, “you’ll both be my husbands. I can love you both equally. Leo is a kind soul. He won’t give you any trouble.” When she first chased after me on campus, she swore it was me or no one, that her world began and ended with me. Now, on the doorstep of our wedding, she was pitching a threesome where I was the consolation prize. It was laughable. Utterly, tragically laughable. I took a step back, a physical distance to match the chasm that had just opened between us. The disgust must have been plain on my face. “Miss Monroe, I think you should leave. Since you clearly have another great love, our engagement is off. There’s nothing more to discuss.” She sighed, a long-suffering sound, and looked at me as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. “Cole, be serious. The invitations have been sent. The venue is booked. If you call it off now, what will that do to your reputation? Don’t say things you don’t mean.” My entire body was trembling with a rage so pure it felt electric. Leo. He’d been orbiting her for years, this sad, handsome ghost. And now, he makes his move right before the wedding. It was calculated. They knew I was in a corner. They were counting on me being too proud to back out. “So, according to you, I should be thanking you?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “Thanking you for not just showing up with him at the altar as a wedding day surprise?” Her face hardened, the soft pleading gone. “It’s just a title, Cole! You’re a Hayes. Do you really think anyone would dare look down on you? Why are you being so petty?” She took a step closer, her voice rising. “What century are we in? Who says a beautiful woman can only have one man? Cole, I know you. I know you’re generous, and I know you love me. I need you to be the thoughtful, gentle man I know you are, not some toxic, possessive asshole.” I closed my eyes. I fought it. I really did. But I couldn’t hold it back. My hand moved before I’d even fully decided to let it. The crack of my palm against her cheek echoed in the cavernous living room. Her head snapped to the side. A furious red blotch began to bloom on her skin. She cradled her face, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Cole! You’re insane!” “The invitations went out to everyone in Port Sterling!” she shrieked, her voice turning shrill. “They all know you’re marrying me! You call this off now, and we’ll see what woman ever agrees to marry you again!” “I’m telling you, this wedding is happening, with or without your little temper tantrum! If you want to have any kind of future in this city, you’ll go to your parents and you’ll tell them this was your idea!” My face was a frozen mask. I stared at her for a long, silent moment. Of course. She’d come today for a reason. My parents were in Europe for the month, touring our international sites. She thought she had me isolated, cornered. She could force my hand, then wash hers clean of the whole mess, enjoying the best of both worlds. A strange question popped into my head. “What’s my name?” I asked suddenly. Audrey blinked. “Cole? Have you completely lost it?” I raised a hand, a subtle gesture. My security detail, always waiting just out of sight, materialized and moved towards us. “When we were dating, I didn’t mind you calling me Cole.” The absurdity of it all made a bitter laugh escape my lips. “But now… I think you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to. From now on, you’ll address me as Mr. Hayes.” My voice dropped, hard and final. “Get her out of my house.” Two large men flanked her, taking her by the arms. Her shock turned to panic. “You can’t! I’m going to be your wife! I’m the future Mrs. Hayes!” I scoffed. “You think? If I wanted to, I could have a line of women from here to Paris ready to take your place. Who the hell do you think you are, Audrey?” “Today, you’re getting a little reminder of why I can do whatever the hell I want in this town.” I met the head of my security’s eyes and sharpened my tone. “Throw her out.”

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Three days before our wedding, my fiancé sold the house we’d spent three years building into a home. His buddies were floored. “Are you insane, Liam?” Leo’s voice crackled through the speakerphone I could hear from the hallway. “You sold the house because Maya wanted some vintage handbag? Does Ava know? Where the hell is she supposed to live after you get married?” “Yeah, man,” Ben chimed in. “Ava poured her heart and soul into that place. Every paint chip, every fixture—that was all her.” I heard the glug of liquor being poured, then Liam’s dismissive sigh. “She’s so in love with me,” he slurred, his voice thick with arrogance. “She nearly died for me, took a knife that was meant for my back. You think she’s going to care about a house?” A bitter laugh. “Besides, she’s always saying, ‘Home is wherever you are.’ This is just a little test. Let’s see if she really means it.” I stood frozen outside the private room of the downtown lounge, the hot and sour soup I’d brought for him growing cold in my hands. I listened for another moment, then silently turned and walked away. On the day we were supposed to get our marriage license, Liam’s calls came one after another, frantic and demanding, like a death knell for a life I no longer wanted. “Ava, where the hell are you? My entire family is waiting at City Hall!” I gazed out the window at the familiar oak-lined street below, my street. “I already took care of it, Liam,” I said, my voice calm. “I’m home.” 1 That house was my masterpiece, the canvas for a life I’d spent three years meticulously planning, starting with the very first design sketch. But all it took was Maya whispering, “I want it so badly,” for Liam to liquidate my dream and turn it into a designer bag for her. Standing outside that lounge, my hand trembled so violently I thought I might drop the soup. Each breath felt like swallowing shards of glass. Inside, Leo pressed on, his voice laced with disbelief. “Look, Liam, you have to at least tell her. Selling a house isn’t like selling a used car. She’s going to come home, find the locks changed, and she’s going to kill you.” Liam waved it off impatiently. “Will you guys stop? It’s always ‘Ava, Ava, Ava.’ You think I’m gonna leave her on the street? We’ll rent something. It’s not a big deal.” “But it is a big deal,” Ben argued. “It was your wedding house. It’s different. This is… man, this is a really shitty thing to do.” Liam’s frustration boiled over. “If she knew, she’d just cry and ask a million questions, and I don’t have the energy to deal with that right now.” He paused, his voice dropping with chilling certainty. “Look, she worships the ground I walk on. She’s not going to leave me over this. Don’t forget about the scar on her back. That’s for me. Selling a house is nothing compared to that.” Someone in the background started snickering. “I get it, man. It’s all for Maya… Can’t blame you. A woman like that could make any man lose his mind.” “Haha, we all bet you’d end up with Maya anyway. Same background, perfect match.” Liam’s tone hardened. “Shut up. Don’t ever let Ava hear you say that. If she flips out because of you guys, I’ll have your heads.” The laughter grew louder. “Alright, alright, our lips are sealed. You’ve got Ava wrapped around your little finger, we get it.” Just then, Liam’s phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with a single name: Maya. The room fell instantly silent, the air thick with sly glances. “Speak of the devil.” Liam didn’t deny it. A slow smile spread across his face as he answered, his voice instantly dropping to a warm, gentle murmur. On the other end, Maya’s voice was a sugary purr. “Liam, did you really get ‘The Stardust’ for me? I heard it went for over three hundred thousand at the auction!” “Yep. All paid for. It’ll be in your hands next week.” “Oh, but… wasn’t that terribly expensive?” “Three hundred grand is nothing. If it makes you happy, it’s worth every penny.” A soft, contented sigh drifted through the phone. “You are just too good to me. The second I get it, you’ll be the first person I show it to.” Liam’s eyes crinkled with pleasure. “I’m counting on it.” The moment he hung up, his friends descended. “Three hundred thousand for a bag! Damn, Liam, is she just going to move right in with that thing? Does Ava have any idea?” Liam grabbed a bottle of whiskey. “Ava and I are basically an old married couple. She’s not into all that flashy stuff… Maya’s different. She’s fragile. She needs to feel secure.” Standing in that hallway, a profound cold seeped into my bones. The furniture in our home—my home—was a collection of treasures I’d hunted down in every consignment shop and outlet mall in the tri-state area. I remembered finding a beautiful mid-century modern sofa, priced at two thousand dollars. Liam’s face had fallen instantly. “Two grand for a couch? Do you think money grows on trees? We could sit on the floor for free.” He ended up picking one himself. As he grudgingly paid, I saw the bill: $188.80. It wasn’t that he was cheap. It was that his generosity was a currency he never spent on me. Driving home, I rolled down all the windows, letting the fierce wind whip against my face until my cheeks were numb. Three years. I had been a fool for three years. When I’d first told him I wanted to design our home myself, he’d spun me around in his arms, laughing. “Of course,” he’d said. “It’ll be perfect.” In that moment, I truly believed he cherished me. He had to remember. He had to. He had to remember the glint of the mugger’s blade, the way I’d moved without thinking, shoving him out of the way. The wound was an inch from my spine. I was in a coma for three days. He sat by my bedside, weeping, promising he would love me for the rest of his life. But he hadn’t cherished it. Or maybe, to him, my scar wasn’t a symbol of my love, but a get-out-of-jail-free card. A license to be reckless with my heart. My doctor had warned me that extreme emotional stress could aggravate the nerve damage around the old wound. I tilted my head back, trying to swallow the lump in my throat, but a dull, heavy ache was spreading through my chest. Liam’s call came through, his voice nearly drowned out by the thumping bass of a nightclub. “Ava, the guys are throwing me a last-minute bachelor party. Don’t wait up, okay? Go to sleep.” I was silent for a beat too long. “Okay,” I finally said. At 1 a.m., unable to sleep, I opened Instagram. Ben had just posted a nine-photo grid. The caption read: To my best friend on his last night of freedom! In the center photo, Maya was a vision of laughter, a shimmering handbag clutched in one hand. She was draped all over Liam, her body pressed against his, and his hand was resting firmly, possessively, on the small of her back. The comments were a dumpster fire: “Holy shit, is that ‘The Stardust’? Liam, you’re a legend!” “They just look so right together. What a shame.” “@Liam_G You better watch it, man. Don’t let Ava see this!” Liam himself had replied. “Ava’s not petty like that. If she threw a fit over something this small, maybe we shouldn’t be getting married at all.” I shut my phone, my face a blank mask. He was certain I wouldn’t dare. Just as he was certain I’d swallow the fact that he’d sold our house, that he’d bought another woman a $300,000 purse, that every time he was with her, the excuse was always, “We’re just friends.” But this time, the place where the knife had gone in… it didn’t hurt anymore. And I was done swallowing lies. 2 I went to my physical therapy appointment alone. “How many times do I have to tell you?” Dr. Evans said, his voice a mix of frustration and concern. “The scar tissue gets inflamed in damp weather. Someone needs to be with you to help apply the treatment.” I managed a weak smile. “I can handle it.” Not long after I left the clinic, the sky opened up in a torrential downpour. I ducked into a corner café to wait it out and saw them. Liam was holding a fork, a smile lighting up his face as Maya leaned in, delicately taking the bite of cheesecake he offered her. The infamous handbag, ‘The Stardust,’ was perched on her arm, sparkling even in the gloomy light. And the watch on her wrist was the one Liam had claimed last week was a “gift for an important client.” A bitter, mocking laugh escaped my lips. I turned and ran back out into the rain, not caring that I was soaked to the bone. When Liam got home, I had just finished showering, my hair still dripping onto my shoulders. He stopped short when he saw me. “What happened to you? You look like a drowned rat.” “I was at the hospital.” His expression froze. “What for? What’s wrong?” I let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “I’ve reminded you about my PT appointment every week for the last month.” He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “I’ve had a lot on my mind, Ava. Anyway, you’re healed. Missing one appointment won’t kill you.” I just stared at him. “The doctor said if I don’t keep up with the therapy, the nerve damage could become permanent.” That shut him up. For a moment. When he looked at me again, his eyes were glinting with annoyance. “Are you trying to use that scar against me again?” So that’s what this was to him. My pain was just a bargaining chip. When I didn’t respond, his temper flared. “Why are you giving me that look? So I forgot to go with you to one appointment. Is it really that big of a deal?” My gaze drifted to the collar of his shirt. “You have a little whipped cream,” I said softly, “right there.” He instinctively reached for his collar, then froze. “You…” I continued in that same, quiet voice. “The watch looks good on Maya. It suits her.” His face turned a dark, blotchy red. He pointed a trembling finger at me. “Were you following me? Ava, what is wrong with you? She just moved back to the States, she’s lonely, I was just keeping her company!” He was shouting now. “She’s been on her own her whole life, she has no one! It’s pathetic! All she has is me!” He took a breath, his voice dripping with righteousness. “Do you have to be so damn petty about everything? Does it make you feel good?” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “That’s rich. I was at the hospital alone, too. I don’t see you feeling sorry for me.” He was cornered, and he came out swinging. “It’s not the same thing… and when have I not cared about you? Do you really need me to hold your hand through everything?” Before he could finish, his phone rang. It was Maya again. He snatched it up. Her voice came through, thick with tears. “Liam… I think I’m getting sick from the rain. My head is killing me…” “Stay right there. I’m on my way.” He hung up and stormed towards the door without a second glance at me. He paused with his hand on the knob, turning back to deliver one last blow. “You need to stay here and think about your attitude. And tomorrow, you’re coming with me to finalize the flowers for the reception.” He sneered. “And stop with the whole stalking thing. It’s classless.” He was gone. His words, however, hung in the air, buzzing around my head. Classless. He was right. I just couldn’t believe it had taken me this long to see it. My heart, it seemed, had been blind for years.

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Everyone claimed Michael Long was obsessed with me. To force me to him, he severed my fiancé’s legs and sent them in a satin-lined box—my birthday gift. I retaliated swiftly: had him kidnapped, cut his hamstring, and gouged out an eye. He wasn’t angry. He just smiled, bloody and terrifying. “See? We’re cut from the same cloth. A match made in hell.” I smiled back, horrified he was right. We spent eight years carving a path of blood. Then a pristine, ethereal woman appeared beside him—clean, untouched by our filth. She came to my door, flowing white dress like an angel. “Michael says you’re too dirty now. Only I am worthy.” I nodded, unimpressed, then took a knife and carved a new reality into her perfect face. “An angel? Let’s see if heaven accepts scarred ones.” Her screams were a divine symphony. I took a photo of her blood-streaked face and sent it to Michael: “Come get your dog.” 1 Ten minutes. That’s how long it took for Michael to arrive, a pistol tucked into his waistband. “What did you do?” he growled. “I disciplined your disobedient pet. Shouldn’t you be thanking me?” I lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around my fingers as I rubbed my ear. “What’s that? I can’t hear you over all the barking.” “Elara, you—” The woman in his arms, Alyssa, was sobbing hysterically, clutching her ruined face. “Michael, kill her! Please, kill her for me!” she shrieked. “She destroyed my face! She’s just jealous that you love me!” Michael pushed her hands away. The moment he saw the bloody gashes, his eyes turned crimson. He whipped out his gun, pressed the cold muzzle to my forehead, and racked the slide. His voice was colder than the steel. “Elara. You’ve gone too far.” “She’s just a girl! She’s not like us!” I laughed, a puff of smoke clouding his face as I casually pushed the barrel aside. “So? You’re going to kill me to avenge her?” I took another drag, my voice laced with amusement. “Or maybe… you want to ruin my face, too? Give her a little payback?” My own blade was already pressed against his stomach. “You know I’m not this little fool. You know the consequences.” In a flash, Michael’s men surrounded me. I pressed the knife a fraction of an inch deeper, drawing a bead of blood. Michael hissed in pain. For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then, a slow, dark smile spread across his face. He raised a hand. “Stand down,” he commanded his men. “I didn’t call you. Get the hell out.” He turned his gaze back to me, his one good eye boring into mine. “Elara. You’ve got guts.” “Takes one to know one. You taught me well, after all.” To make me just like him, he’d presented me with my fiancé’s legs. To force me to marry him, he’d wrapped my hand around a knife and plunged it into my fiancé’s heart. “Once you’re as filthy as I am,” he had whispered, “no one else will ever have you.” He had dragged me from my pedestal down into the gutter with him. Now this pristine white lily was stained with blood, never to be clean again. And he was claiming he preferred purity? Hilarious. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like my gift?” I taunted. “Then again, you always preferred taking limbs. I suppose I was a bit too merciful. I’ll try to do better next time.” Alyssa, incensed, tugged at his arm, begging him to defend her honor. Michael watched me for a long, silent moment before finally turning to leave with his men. “Mark my words, Elara,” he snarled over his shoulder. “This isn’t over.” The consequences came faster than I expected. That night, Michael summoned every doctor on the Family’s payroll to treat Alyssa. He threatened their lives, demanding they ensure not a single scar remained on her precious face. The news reached me while I was feeding the sharks in my private aquarium. I clicked my tongue. “It’s been too long since you had a real meal, hasn’t it, my pretty?” I murmured to the circling predator. “Don’t you worry. I’ll make sure you’re fed soon.” My loyal retainer, Arthur, draped a coat over my shoulders, his face a mask of fury. “The Boss has gone too far this time, Miss Elara. This is the first time he’s ever turned on you for another woman.” He lowered his voice. “Without your support, this Family would have never fallen into his hands.” I just shook my head, a smile playing on my lips. “She’s just a toy, Arthur. Let him play. When he’s done, I’ll be there to clean up the mess.” I pressed a finger to his lips, my tone sharp. “And remember, there is no ‘Family’ anymore. We are a legitimate corporation now.” I turned back to the massive tank, to the hundred smaller fish Michael had so painstakingly curated. “Dump them in,” I said, my voice flat. “Useless things don’t deserve to live.” The small, colorful fish scattered in a panic, but there was no escaping the shark’s gaping maw. A crimson cloud bloomed in the crystal-clear water. I watched, fascinated, and sent a photo to Michael. “Fun, isn’t it? A bit of an appetizer. You should raise more next time.” He didn’t text back. Instead, a video call request popped up. It was Alyssa’s triumphant face that greeted me. “What’s the matter? Disappointed to see me?” she chirped. “I’m so sorry to tell you, but not only did Michael not abandon me over a few scratches, he promised to make you pay. All your personal doctors are here with me. I hear you need a shot every night just to sleep. I wonder if you’ll have sweet dreams tonight?” She leaned forward, deliberately revealing a fresh love bite on her collarbone. “You’re so foul, Elara. Disgusting.” Her voice dripped with saccharine pity. “But I’m different. My hands… are clean.” My lips curved into a smile. “Is that so? A word of advice: clean things don’t last long in the Long family.” I hung up. Moments later, Arthur entered with a file. “Miss Elara, you asked me to find these items. They’re up for auction tomorrow night.” Finally, some good news. “Eight years,” I whispered. “It’s taken eight years. Prepare fifty million. I’m bringing them home tomorrow.” At the auction, it was inevitable that our paths would cross. Alyssa clung to Michael’s arm, her voice dripping with mockery. “Miss Elara, what a coincidence. Is there something here that catches your eye?” she asked. “Though, Michael already told me everything tonight is mine. As compensation.” Michael felt my gaze on him and patted her hand reassuringly. “She’s right, I did,” he confirmed, his tone flat. “You went too far last time, Elara. Consider this your apology to her. Don’t be childish.” I almost laughed. When I’d dealt with a rival crew that came for his head, I left dozens of bodies in my wake. All he’d said then was, “Good girl.” Now, for Alyssa, I was being childish? I stared at him, my voice low. “You didn’t see my photo last night?” “I imagine not,” I continued, not waiting for an answer. “Otherwise, how could you possibly be in the mood for a night out?” Michael’s expression froze. He shot a look at Alyssa, who stammered for a moment before admitting she’d seen the photo of the fish being devoured. “They were just some stupid fish! I didn’t think they were important, so I deleted it for you.” Michael’s breathing hitched. “Who gave you permission to do that?” he hissed. But the moment a tear traced a path down Alyssa’s cheek, his anger deflated. “Forget it. Let’s just watch the auction. We’ll talk when we get home.” As the auction began, Michael, without even looking at the catalogue, bought out the entire event. He invoked the “Emperor’s Bid”—a single, massive payment that won him every lot for the rest of the night. Gasps echoed through the hall. My face went cold. One by one, the lots were hammered down, all to him. Then came the final three items. I shot to my feet. My mother’s emerald bracelet. My father’s crucifix, blessed in Rome. And my grandfather’s antique pocket watch. My last remaining heirlooms. I cornered the auctioneer. “Those three items. They must be mine, no matter the price.” The man turned pale. “Miss Elara, you know the rules of the Emperor’s Bid… please don’t make this difficult for me. Perhaps… perhaps you could speak to Mr. Long directly?” I found Michael’s private box. Just as I was about to speak, Alyssa pointed at the stage. “Michael, darling, I love those last three pieces! They’re my favorite. I want them.” Michael’s face tightened. “You just said they were tacky.” “Well, I’ve changed my mind,” she pouted, placing a hand on her stomach. “Are you going to deny me? Both of us will be very upset. When our baby is born, I’ll be sure to tell him what a cheapskate his father is!” My breath caught in my throat. I stared at her still-flat stomach. So that’s why this woman was so bold. She was carrying his child. Michael’s face hardened as he looked at me. “Elara, I promised these to Alyssa. If you like them, I’ll find you something similar later.” “You know what these mean to me!” Eight years ago, when a rival family ambushed us, those heirlooms were lost. I slaughtered a hundred of their men, but their leader, to spite me, would never tell me where they were. In the end, it was Michael who tortured the location out of them over the course of a month. His voice was tight with suppressed rage. “They’re just things from dead people, Elara. Why are you so obsessed?” “I said I’ll make it up to you. This time, they go to Alyssa. You owe her that much.” Alyssa stepped forward, her smile laced with poison. “That’s right, Miss Elara. Your parents are dead. Won’t keeping their things just make you sadder?” She leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you think… maybe they died so horribly as cosmic punishment for all your sins?”

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I was at a luxury car dealership, scrolling on my phone while waiting, when I stumbled upon a livestream of my husband Adrian’s graduation. The camera briefly showed a young woman—one of his grad students—linking arms intimately with him. Just then, the salesman pointed at my screen. “I know that guy! He bought a car here the other day.” I pointed at Adrian. “Him?” “Absolutely. A client that generous? Unforgettable.” He gestured to the girl. “That must be his wife. The car was for her.” “A seven-figure car… rich and devoted,” he added. An icy knot tightened in my chest. After the stream, I called Adrian. “Honey, my car’s old. What’s a reasonable price for a new one?” He dismissed me. “Just get it fixed. Stop being materialistic, Beth.” I found the girl’s social media and commented under her new car photo: 【Nice car. Too bad the broke freeloader who bought it will soon be kicked out with nothing. Hope he can still afford you then.】 1 I put my phone away and pointed to a car in the center of the showroom—the exact same model Adrian had bought for his student, Bianca. “That one. I’ll take the fully-loaded version.” The salesman’s eyes lit up. “M-Ms. Thorne, are you sure? The top-of-the-line model is over two hundred thousand dollars…” Without a word, I pulled a black card from my purse and handed it to him. My only condition was that I wanted to drive it off the lot within the hour. The old car I had been driving was a wedding gift from my father. After all these years, it was falling apart. I’d mentioned wanting a new one several times, but Adrian always lectured me about how, as a professor’s wife, I needed to be modest and not chase after material possessions. And I, like a fool, had believed him. I never imagined it was just a script he used to manipulate me. With the new keys in my hand, I drove straight to Northwood University. It was 5 p.m., just when Adrian would be getting off work. I parked the car in the most conspicuous spot right by the main entrance. Students stopped in their tracks, pulling out their phones to take pictures. This was exactly the effect I wanted. I didn’t have to wait long, but it wasn’t Adrian who showed up first. It was Bianca. When she saw my new car, identical to hers, a flash of panic crossed her face. Her voice was already trembling as she approached me. “Mrs. Thorne…” “I’m so sorry, this is all my fault. Please don’t misunderstand Professor Thorne.” Her eyes were red-rimmed, tears welling up as if on cue. “The university doesn’t provide housing for grad students, and Professor Thorne saw how exhausted I was commuting four hours every day from the suburbs. He was just worried about me, a young woman traveling alone… that’s why… that’s why he helped me buy the car.” “I’m going to pay him back! I promised I would, as soon as I start working.” She dabbed at her eyes with a delicate hand, her performance drawing the attention of passersby. “Is that Professor Thorne’s wife? She looks so intimidating.” “Yeah, Bianca is such a sweet, hardworking person. She would never do something like that.” “Rich wives are always so paranoid. They think every younger woman is a homewrecker.” I watched her act, a perfect, pitiful little victim. What a masterclass in manipulation. Just then, Adrian arrived. He saw the tear-streaked Bianca and the whispering crowd, and his face instantly darkened. He walked straight past my car without even glancing at me, handing a tissue to Bianca with a soothing murmur. “Don’t cry. I’ll handle this.” Then, he turned to me, his voice barely suppressing a roar. “Beth! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” He shouted my full name, loud enough for half the campus to hear. “Can’t you bring this up at home? You have to come here and make a scene in front of a student? Have you no decency?” He pointed a shaking finger at me. “And what was that comment you left on Bianca’s photo? Delete it, right now! And apologize to her!” “Apologize?” I laughed as if he’d told the funniest joke in the world. “Why should I?” Adrian’s eyes finally landed on my new car, and his brow furrowed. “This car… you bought this?” I stepped out and dangled the keys in front of his face. “That’s right, darling.” I raised my voice, making sure every single gawker could hear me. “Since you were so generous as to buy one for your student, I couldn’t let your actual wife look too shabby, could I? So I bought this one for myself. Fully loaded. Paid in full, with my own card.” “If you want something in life, you work for it. That’s what real strength is. A young woman with her whole life ahead of her shouldn’t be looking for shortcuts, getting involved in things she’ll be ashamed of later.” I shot a pointed look at the now-pale Bianca. “After all,” I paused, my gaze returning to Adrian’s thunderous face, “his gravy train is about to come to a screeching halt.” 2 We walked into the house, one after the other. Adrian tossed his keys onto the console table and sank into the sofa, adopting his usual cold-war stance. I changed my shoes and poured myself a glass of water, ignoring him completely. When I met him, Adrian was just a poor kid from the countryside. I married him against my parents’ adamant objections. In his eyes, that desperation became proof that I was weak, that I could be easily controlled. He was convinced that if he gave me the silent treatment, just like he always did, I would eventually break and come crawling back, apologizing and begging for his forgiveness. But this time, I said nothing. And just as I expected, he couldn’t stand the silence. “Beth, what is it you want?” “There’s nothing going on between Bianca and me.” He walked over, his tone softening slightly, but still laced with that infuriatingly paternalistic air. “She’s a gifted student from a poor family. I was just trying to help a talented person in need.” “She said she would pay me back. Why do you have to be so unreasonable? Humiliating her in front of the entire university? How is she supposed to face anyone now?” Every word was a defense of Bianca, an indictment of me. I laughed inwardly, my face remaining a placid mask. “Is that so? Well, if she’s such an exceptional student, then I really should get to know her better.” “How about this? Let’s take her out for a meal sometime. It can be my apology for my… rash behavior today.” Adrian stared at me, clearly taken aback by my sudden capitulation. A flicker of smug satisfaction crossed his face before he nodded in agreement. The dinner was at an exclusive private kitchen. Bianca was wearing a white dress, her makeup flawless, looking even more radiant than the day before. Adrian took the menu and spoke to the waiter with an easy familiarity. “Bianca is allergic to seafood, and she doesn’t like cilantro or spicy food. Extra sugar in the braised pork belly; she has a light palate, prefers things sweet.” He had it all memorized. Then he turned to me. “Beth, what do you want?” I smiled and told him to order for me. A few minutes later, a large platter of grilled lamb chops was placed in front of me. He had forgotten. Or perhaps, he had never bothered to remember that I am severely allergic to lamb. Bianca pointed at my plate with a giggle. “Mrs. Thorne, you’re so amazing. You can eat anything. I’m so picky with my food, it must be such a hassle for Professor Thorne to always remember my preferences.” “It’s no trouble at all,” Adrian chimed in immediately. “You’re perfect just the way you are.” Watching his fawning display, my heart grew colder with each passing second. I put down my chopsticks and casually brought up the past, my tone light as I spoke to Bianca. “You know, it wasn’t easy for your Professor Thorne to get where he is today. When I first met him, he was an apprentice at a hair salon. Everyone called him ‘Tony’.” Bianca choked on her tea, nearly spitting it out. Adrian’s face went black. I ignored them and continued. “He was so poor back then, he couldn’t even afford rent. I thought it was a waste for a university graduate to be washing hair, so I paid for his master’s and his Ph.D.” “Even his current teaching position at the university… my father had to pull a lot of strings to get that for him.” Bianca probably never imagined that the brilliant professor she so admired had such a sordid history as a kept man. Adrian looked like he was about to explode, but under my calm, steady gaze, he didn’t dare say a word. Because every word I’d said was the absolute truth. The rest of the meal passed in a strange, suffocating silence. As soon as we got home, Adrian clutched his stomach and announced he had diarrhea, a frequent excuse of his lately. I used to believe him, naively buying him all sorts of probiotics. Now I knew it was just a cover. While he was in the shower, on a whim, I picked up his phone from the nightstand where it was charging. I had never checked his phone before, so his password was simple: his birthday. I opened his messaging app. Pinned to the top was Bianca’s profile picture, a cute little white rabbit. The chat history was completely wiped. But then I went back and opened his text messages. The most recent one was sent just a few minutes ago. 【Bianca, don’t listen to her nonsense. I’m the one in charge of my family now. She’s just a clueless housewife who’s been depending on me for years. Stick with me, and I’ll take care of you.】 ‘Depending on me for years.’ The words made me tremble with rage. His meager professor’s salary could barely cover a designer coat, let alone the lavish dinners he used to impress people. But the naive Bianca had bought his lies, replying with a shy emoji. Followed by: 【So… same place tomorrow?】 3 A jolt went through me. I remembered something. Not long ago, Adrian had mentioned wanting to stay at our other, unused villa for a few days, claiming the quiet environment was better for writing his thesis. I hadn’t suspected a thing and had given him the keys. Now I realized, it was indeed a quiet, perfect place for… certain activities. The next morning, I drove directly to the suburban villa. A faint, unfamiliar perfume lingered in the air. I had never worn that scent. I slipped on a pair of house slippers and walked inside. The closer I got to the bedroom, the tighter an invisible hand squeezed my heart, making it hard to breathe. Just then, the bedroom door opened. Bianca emerged, wrapped in a sexy silk nightgown, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Honey, is that you? I’ve been waiting for you…” Her words died in her throat when she saw it was me. I didn’t give her a chance to speak. I walked up and delivered two sharp slaps across her face. Smack! Smack! Bianca stumbled back, stunned, clutching her rapidly swelling cheeks. “You… you hit me?” “Hit you?” I sneered. “You’re lucky that’s all I’m doing. This is my house. You’re trespassing. I could have you arrested.” The mask of innocence dropped. “Don’t act so high and mighty, Beth,” she spat. “You think you’re still the untouchable heiress? Stop deluding yourself! Adrian told me everything. Your family is nothing but an empty shell now. Even this villa is in his name!” At that moment, the front door opened. Adrian walked in, carrying breakfast. He froze when he saw the scene. His eyes locked on the red handprints on Bianca’s face, and his gaze shifted to me, blazing with fury. “Beth, are you insane?! Why are you hurting Bianca?!” He rushed to her side, shielding her behind him. Watching him protect her so fiercely, my heart turned to ash. “Adrian,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, “have you forgotten who bought you this house?” His pupils contracted. “I’ll give you one last chance,” I said, pointing to a utility knife on a nearby table. “You have two choices.” “One, take that knife and shave her head. If I’m satisfied, we can pretend none of this ever happened.” “Or two,” my voice dropped to an icy whisper, “you can keep protecting her. But I will call my father right now and have him cut off all your project funding and get you kicked out of the university.” He knew, better than anyone, that my father could and would do exactly that. Everything he had—his title, his status, his reputation—was a gift from my family. “Beth, do we have to do this? After all our years of marriage…” “Marriage?” I cut him off. “Did you think about our marriage when you were lying about writing a paper and screwing her in this bed? Did you think about our marriage when you were using my family’s money to buy her a luxury car, while refusing to buy me a new one?” With every word, the color drained from his face. I pressed the knife into his hand. “Choose. Your future… or your true love.”

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