“With only $250.41 left in my bank account, I took a screenshot and posted it to my socials as a joke. “Giving up on adulting. Slightly used, great personality. Best offer.” A minute later, a message from Carter Hayes popped up in my chat window: “”Please accept payment of $20,000.00.”” Me??? “”Marriage.”” “”$20,000 a month.”” Hah, am I the kind of person who can be bought with money? My immediate reaction was to… Confirm payment. 1 My checking account balance was $250.41. I took a screenshot and posted it to my Instagram story with a caption born of desperation and dark humor. “Giving up on adulting. Slightly used, great personality. Best offer.” A minute later, a Venmo notification popped up on my screen: Carter Hayes sent you $20,000.00. I blinked. Then blinked again. A text message from him followed immediately. “For our wedding.” “And $20,000 a month.” “This is to satisfy our parents. We will live separate lives after.” What the hell? A laugh bubbled up from my chest, sharp and incredulous. Had my life suddenly turned into one of the ridiculous romance novels I secretly devoured? Was I the kind of woman who could be bought with a Venmo transfer? My thumb hovered over the “”Accept”” button for a fraction of a second. Turns out, yes. Yes, I am. With a trembling heart and shaking hands, I typed back the first thing that came to mind. “Okay, hubby.” There was no refusing this. Absolutely no way. Let someone else climb the corporate ladder. I was done. This dead-end job, this soul-crushing routine—I was so profoundly over it. They say a person without dreams is no different from a salted fish. But what if your dream is to be carefree? No one was going to stand in the way of my new career as a professional layabout. 2 Carter Hayes. A rising star in the business world, a man who had it all: wealth, looks, and a Midas touch. His net worth was in the nine figures. And me? Chloe Pierce. A corporate drone whose entire net worth was, as we’ve established, embarrassing. While I was personable, he was personally worth a fortune. The only reason I even knew a man like him existed was because my former boss had been desperate to land a deal with his company. To be more accurate, my ex-boss engaged in a level of sycophantic groveling that was painful to watch, but which, to my surprise, actually worked. For Carter to propose marriage to me, there were only two possibilities: either he was having a psychotic break, or this was his bizarre, one-man charity initiative. Whatever his reason for plucking me from the sea of anonymous faces, I couldn’t help but feel moved to tears by his generosity. I, Chloe Pierce, was about to become a kept woman. Twenty thousand a month. That was one hundred and twenty thousand in six months. Two hundred and forty thousand a year. In just one year, I could bank enough for a down payment on a life of blissful early retirement. I’d be skipping forty years of the rat race. I could already picture it: his mother, or perhaps a long-lost love—the one that got away—showing up at my door with a check, telling me I wasn’t good enough for him and demanding I leave. I could make a whole second bonus on the exit package. This was a win-win. Marry him? I’d do it yesterday. Forget just dealing with his parents; for that kind of money, I’d scrub his ancestral tombstones with a toothbrush until they gleamed. 3 That very afternoon, Carter and I went to City Hall and got the marriage license. I was the one rushing. An opportunity this good had a shelf life, and I didn’t want to waste a second. What if he came to his senses and changed his mind? I couldn’t bear the thought of losing out on millions. There was no emotion between us. We signed the papers, collected the certificate, and walked straight out, bypassing the cheesy photo-op station completely. Clutching the official document, a wave of relief washed over me. I felt revitalized, buzzing with a newfound sense of purpose. It’s amazing what a six-figure annual salary can do for your motivation. “Mr. Hayes,” I said, my voice bright. “Your wish is my command. I am at your service.” A frown creased his handsome face. “What did you call me?” “…Hubby?” I tried. The frown softened, replaced by a flicker of satisfaction. He nodded. “Good. We’ll stick with that.” “You got it. Whatever makes you happy.” I knew I was laying it on thick, but this man was my patron, my golden goose. I’d call him Grandpa if he paid me enough. “So,” I asked, “what’s our next move?” “We move you in.” Of course. The plot demanded we cohabitate. It was a shame I’d just paid three months’ rent on my apartment that morning. Non-refundable. I felt a painful twinge in my wallet. I packed a single suitcase, traveling light, and moved directly into Carter’s sleek, modern townhouse. Most of my belongings stayed behind in my rental. My reasoning was twofold: first, I’d already paid for the place, so I might as well use it; second, if Carter ever decided to bring home his real girlfriend for a romantic evening, I’d have a place to discreetly disappear to. See? I was already a thoughtful, considerate wife. Mostly, I was just terrified he’d wake up one day, realize what he’d done, and kick me out. I needed an escape hatch. 4 Carter left on a business trip the night we got our license. For a solid week, the sprawling townhouse was mine alone, save for the housekeeper who came for a few hours each day. And every single night, I woke up. From laughing in my sleep. This was the life. It was glorious. Husband away, direct deposit hits on time, no in-laws, no kids, no drama. I couldn’t stop grinning. This was the best damn job I’d ever had. My days were a blissful cycle of binge-watching shows, scrolling through TikTok, and playing online poker with my best friend. During that week, a viral TikTok trend was making the rounds, based on some old folk tale about a woman who waited eighteen years for her husband while living in poverty. I shook my head, screenshotted it, and sent it to my group chat. “A cautionary tale, ladies. Don’t end up waiting eighteen years for a man who’s out chasing his dreams.” Carter liked the post. It was the only contact we had since we’d gotten married. It seemed we were both on the same page, two pragmatic people in a business arrangement. That settled my nerves. Though I looked like a slacker, I maintained a strict daily regimen of self-reflection. My three essential questions were: When will Carter’s mom show up to pay me off? How much will she offer? How much should I counter with? I even bookmarked articles on negotiation tactics for just such an occasion. I waited and waited. Finally, a few days later, my phone rang. It was Carter. He told me his mother was coming to visit that evening. I shot up from the couch, my heart pounding. It was happening! The mother-in-law was making her move! Before I could say anything, his voice came through the phone again. “I’ll be home tonight to meet her with you.” I immediately shut that down. “No, no, that’s not necessary! I can handle it. You’re busy with work, don’t trouble yourself.” What was he thinking? If he was there, how was I supposed to gracefully accept his mother’s buyout offer? This was my golden opportunity, and he was about to ruin it. “It’s the first time you’re meeting,” he insisted. “It’s better if I’m there.” I refused. He insisted again. I refused again. After a few rounds of this, his tone shifted, laced with a new, sharp sarcasm. “What’s the matter? Is my being there going to get in the way of you taking her money and running?” Damn it. Was he a mind reader? How did he know exactly what I was planning? “My mother isn’t going to pay you to leave me,” he said, his voice flat. “Chloe, give it up.” I wanted to scream and punch a pillow. Instead, I forced a sweet, accommodating tone. “Of course not! I was just worried about your work schedule. But if you insist, then I’ll wait for you to come home.” 5 He’d said she was coming in the evening, but Carter’s mother arrived at three in the afternoon. She caught me completely off guard. I was deep in a nap when the housekeeper woke me. I barely had time to splash water on my face and run a comb through my hair before heading downstairs. I didn’t even get a chance to text Carter. She was seated on the sofa, the picture of elegance in a chic cream-colored pantsuit. Her smile was warm. “I’ve heard so much about you from Carter. You must be the daughter-in-law I’ve yet to meet.” I perched on the edge of the cushion opposite her, my hands folded neatly in my lap. “Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you.” “Oh, none of that ‘ma’am’ business. You’re married to my son now. You should call me Mom.” I… so that’s where Carter got his thing about titles. When she learned that Carter hadn’t been home once since the wedding, her warm expression clouded with concern. “You poor thing,” she said, her voice laced with sympathy. “You must feel so neglected.” I managed an awkward laugh and told her the honest truth. “Not at all. I’m fine, really.” Honestly, I was better than fine. I was getting paid for this. How could I possibly feel neglected? But she seemed to think I was just being brave, that I was suffering in silence. She became instantly indignant on my behalf. “I’ll have him home tonight to spend more time with you!” My eyes widened in panic. “Mom, really, there’s no need.” She wasn’t listening. She was on a roll. “What’s the point of working so hard if he leaves his new bride all alone at home? It’s disgraceful!” She stood up abruptly. “Come on! Let’s go.” I was bewildered. “Go? Go where?” “To do some damage.” 6 I thought she meant we were marching down to Carter’s office to give him a piece of her mind. Instead, she took me to Saks Fifth Avenue. “Buy whatever you want,” she declared, sweeping her arm out in a grand gesture. “My son and his father are exactly the same—married to their work. So, we’ll just have to make them pay for it. Don’t hold back.” With that, she had a sales associate pulling the latest designer collections. So this was the joy of the truly wealthy. But I hesitated at the entrance. A single t-shirt in this store cost more than my entire bank account pre-Carter. My fun money wasn’t built for this. Eleanor—I mean, Mom—saw me lingering. “Come on, Chloe! Don’t you dare try to save Carter any money!” Ma’am… Mom… the thing is, it’s not that I’m trying to save your son money. It’s that I don’t have any of your son’s money. Or his credit card. I made an excuse about needing the restroom and ducked into an alcove to frantically call Carter. “Carter, code red! SOS!” “What’s wrong?” His voice was low and calm. “Your mom dragged me to Saks.” I was practically vibrating with anxiety, but he just gave a quiet, “Mm.” Mm? Mm?! That’s all I get? An “mm”?! Just as I was about to lose it, he finally spoke again, his voice smooth and unbothered. “Buy whatever you want. Call me when you’re done, and I’ll pick you both up for dinner.” “Right, but, uh… is this a reimbursable business expense?” I asked cautiously, terrified he’d say no. “I mean, it’s not for me, it’s for… corporate morale. You know?” A low chuckle came from his end of the line. “Yes, Chloe. It’s all reimbursable.” I breathed a huge sigh of relief. As long as it wasn’t my money, I was good. A moment after we hung up, a notification popped onto my screen. Carter Hayes sent you $50,000.00. My hand shook so badly I almost dropped my phone. A text followed. “If that’s not enough, let me know. Have to get back to my meeting.” “More than enough, thank you!” For rich people, sending fifty grand was apparently like sending fifty bucks. My God. The resentment was real. 7 Eleanor had the time of her life. The world of the wealthy is, it turns out, beautifully simple. Still, holding that much of Carter’s money made me feel a little guilty. So while I was picking out a few things for myself, I made sure to buy him a couple of nice dress shirts. Just when I thought our shopping spree was over, Eleanor made a sharp turn and strode into a high-end men’s lingerie store. I froze at the entrance. She beckoned to me. “Come on in. You can pick out a few pairs for Carter.” I… what? “Oh, I don’t think so,” I stammered, my face heating up. “We’re… not that close.” “You’re husband and wife, dear. No need to be shy.” She came over and gave me a gentle, motherly nudge. “We’ll each pick our own things. I won’t look, I promise.” With that, she propelled me into the store. Save me. This was a nightmare. Forget for a second that our relationship was purely transactional and we were nowhere near the “picking out underwear” stage. The real problem was… I had no idea what size he wore. I couldn’t possibly text him and ask, could I? ‘Hey hubby, what size underwear do you wear? Asking for a friend.’ Mortifying. But Eleanor was watching me, a determined look on her face that said I wasn’t leaving until I’d made a purchase. Left with no choice, I gritted my teeth and pretended to browse. Whatever, I thought. It doesn’t matter what size I get. I’ll just hide them when I get home so he never sees them. The second her attention was elsewhere, I snatched two boxes off a rack, threw them on the counter, and hissed at the cashier, “Just ring these up, please. Quickly.” 8 It was six o’clock by the time we left the mall. Eleanor had her driver drop me off in front of Carter’s office building. “I won’t intrude on your evening together,” she said with a wink, and then she was gone. I stood in the massive, marble-floored lobby, laden with shopping bags, unsure whether to stay or go. She had, very thoughtfully, arranged for someone to come down and escort me up to Carter. Before my escort could arrive, however, an unwelcome guest appeared. “Chloe.” That familiar voice. I turned. Oh, great. It was my ex-boyfriend, Mark. What a turd. We’d had an office romance. My pervy ex-boss had tried to use his position to get handsy with me. When I told Mark about it, his first reaction was to tell me to just let it go and pretend it never happened. “I’m up for a promotion this month,” he’d said, his face a mask of anxiety for his own career. “If you make a scene, it could look bad for both of us.” There wasn’t a shred of anger on my behalf. Only concern for his future. I just smiled, said nothing, and ate the piece of steak I’d been about to offer him. Go to hell, I thought. I broke up with him on the drive home and quit my job the next day. He was probably here trying to land a deal with Carter’s company. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “None of your business.” I had no interest in talking to him. I turned to leave. He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “I got the promotion.” “So? And you are…?” I started, then switched back to English. “What does that have to do with me?” “I know you were hurt by what happened,” he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “But I’m a manager now. I can support you even if you don’t work. We should get back together.” The earnest look on his face just made me feel sick. “Mark, I’m expensive. That thousand-dollar raise you got isn’t going to cut it.” “Chloe, you never used to be so materialistic,” he snapped, grabbing my wrist. His eyes fell to the designer shopping bags. “Where did you get the money for all this?” This was absurdity on a whole new level. He was lecturing me about materialism over a thousand-dollar raise. “Let go of me,” I said, trying to pull away. Just as I was wondering how to get out of this, my savior arrived. 9 “Chloe. Over here.” Carter was standing a few feet away. I didn’t know how long he’d been there. His gaze was fixed on Mark’s hand, and his expression was thunderous. I yanked my arm free and practically ran to Carter’s side, a brilliant smile plastered on my face. “Carter! There you are!” “Mm,” was all he said, his face an unreadable mask. “Well, shall we go?” Carter reached for the bags, but I swatted his hand away. “No, no, I’ve got them!” I knew my place. The moneybags doesn’t carry the bags. But my refusal only seemed to make him angrier. His face darkened, and he started walking toward the exit at a brisk pace. I had to half-jog to keep up with him. It wasn’t until we were in the car that he finally spoke. “Who was that?” “My ex,” I said, clicking my seatbelt into place. “It’s completely over. We just ran into each other by chance.” At that, the tension in his jaw seemed to ease slightly. If I didn’t know our marriage was a contract, I would have thought he was jealous. But I have a mischievous streak. His reaction was too good not to poke at. “Mr. Hayes, are you jealous?” I teased. “I thought we agreed on ‘separate lives.’” “Don’t be ridiculous. I was just asking.” I knew it. He started the car, changing the subject. “What do you want to eat?” “Whatever’s fine.” Half an hour later, Carter pulled up in front of a tiny, unassuming restaurant. “So, what are we having?” Without even looking at me, he said, “Dumplings.” I… okay. 10 The car rolled to a stop in the driveway of the townhouse. I wrestled the mountain of shopping bags out of the back seat, ready to say my goodbyes. “Thanks for the ride home.” As the words left my mouth, Carter opened his door and got out. “Chloe,” he said, his tone flat. “This is my home, too.” I was a little surprised. “You’re staying here tonight?” He shoved a hand in his pocket and stared at me. “You seem disappointed.” He saw right through me. I forced a laugh. “What? No! Of course I want you to come home more often.” “Good. Because starting today, I’ll be staying here every night.” In other words: your freewheeling, solo vacation is over. I could have kicked myself. Why did I have to open my big mouth? But Carter was the owner of this house and, technically, my husband. I had no grounds to object. Defeated, I handed him the bag with the shirts I’d bought for him. “You bought these for me?” “Yeah. See if they fit.” He sat down on the sofa and started looking through the bag. He pulled out one of the small boxes and examined it. “Ahem,” I coughed. “Too small.” I was still sulking about my lost freedom and wasn’t really paying attention. I retorted automatically, “How would you know? you haven’t even tried it on!” I glanced over. In his hands was one of the boxes of underwear I’d grabbed in a panic. Oh, crap. Because I never intended for him to wear them, I hadn’t even looked at the size. In my haste at the store, I’d just tossed the boxes into the same bag as the shirts, thinking I’d hide them later. His sudden announcement about moving in had completely thrown me off my game. My face burned. I snatched the box from his hand and hid it behind my back, trying to salvage the situation. “That’s not for you.” “Not for me? Then who is it for?” His voice was dangerously quiet. “Your ex-boyfriend?” He glanced at the box behind my back, a single eyebrow raised in mocking amusement. “He’s… that small?” “You—you—!” I was so flustered I could barely speak. “You’re shameless!” A slow smile spread across his face. “Size XXL,” he said, his voice a low drawl. “Remember that for next time.” He was provoking me! And I was not about to lose. If he wanted to play games, fine. “Why?” I shot back. “You need a two-bedroom apartment for that thing?” Carter leaned in close, his lips curving into a smirk, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Not convinced? You could always check for yourself.””

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“My wife, the movie star, got caught by the paparazzi in a hotel room with her high school sweetheart. She called me to fix it. So I put on the same Tom Ford suit to create a diversion, and in the process, I was cornered in an alley by her most extreme fans and beaten to death. When my mother finally found me, I was slick with blood, my heart a dead, silent thing in my chest. She collapsed, sobbing, her knees hitting the grimy pavement as she frantically called my wife, dozens of times, begging for help. All she got in return was a voice crackling with rage. “You couldn’t even handle the paparazzi? You’re pathetic! Why don’t you just go die?” But… I already had. 1. My soul didn’t scatter after I died. It lingered, a ghost tethered to the world of the living. I watched my mom, her body stooped with a fatigue that went bone-deep, handle the arrangements for my funeral. It was well past midnight by the time she was done. She sat slumped in her wheelchair, her fingers tracing the smooth, cold ceramic of my urn. The tears she’d held back finally broke free, a string of pearls snapping, scattering grief across her worn face. “Oh, Ethan, my sweet boy.” “Why did you have to go before me? A mother isn’t supposed to live without her son.” Her voice was a raw, shredded thing. Her eyes were swollen and bruised from crying. There is no pain in this world like a parent burying their child. Seeing the silver in her hair bloom overnight, conquering the last of the black, it broke what was left of my heart. I regretted it all. I knelt beside her, my ghostly form a useless comfort, whispering her name over and over. “Mom.” But I was dead. She couldn’t hear a thing. Tears of regret I could no longer physically shed burned in my soul, dissolving into a faint white mist that vanished as quickly as it formed. I pressed my forehead to the floorboards before her. Mom, I’m so sorry. Your son failed you. “Ethan!” It was as if she felt me, a sudden chill in the room. She started to turn her head, but at that exact moment— BANG! The front door slammed open, kicked in with such force that my mother flinched violently. Framed in the doorway were two unwelcome guests: my wife, Ava Sterling, and her first love, Caleb. Ava’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows were knotted in fury, her voice a low burn of unrestrained anger. “Ethan! I told you to lead the press away, and you couldn’t even manage that! I could’ve hired a trained monkey and gotten better results!” Her eyes scanned the small apartment, finding it empty of me. The frustration morphed into something uglier, more volatile. “Because of your incompetence, Caleb’s face is plastered all over TMZ!” With a guttural scream of rage, she kicked over a box of my belongings—things my mother had painstakingly gathered and organized. Then, she strode toward my mom. “You, old woman! Where is he? Tell him to get his ass out here right now!” I balled my fists, a pointless gesture. There was no strength, no substance, just a cold, impotent rage. “My Ethan…” Mom’s voice was a whisper, her hand caressing my urn as if it were my cheek. She didn’t look up, her whole being seemed to have been hollowed out. “…he’s gone.” She had been crying for a day and a night straight. Her voice was sandpaper, each word a struggle. But when she spoke my name, it was still so gentle. Just like when I was a kid, coming home from school, and she’d be standing on the porch, waving, calling out to me. “Gone?” Caleb blinked, then shot a look at Ava, a small, exasperated smile playing on his lips. “Come on, Ava. Let’s just go. If Ethan doesn’t want to come out and fix this, I’ll handle the PR myself.” Seeing Caleb’s look of magnanimous resignation sent Ava’s fury into overdrive. “No!” Her gaze fell on my mother, cold and sharp. “You listen to me, you old hag,” she snarled. “I don’t care where Ethan is. You get him on the phone and tell him to get back here right now. He is going to get on his knees and apologize to Caleb.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a venomous hiss. “You clearly failed at raising a decent son, so I’ll teach him a lesson myself.” “Or else, I’ll make sure your whole family pays the price!” That’s enough, Ava! I’d been your workhorse, your secret, your shadow, all to support your career, to make sure you shone on screen. I swallowed the hidden marriage, the constant humiliations. But I’m dead. I just died. How can you come here and threaten my mother? How can you unleash this poison on her? I clenched my fists so hard I thought my spectral form might tear apart, but it did nothing to stop Ava’s tirade. “Well? Speak up! Where is he?” Ava grabbed the front of my mother’s worn blouse, her face a mask of savage rage, her eyes boring into my mom’s. My mother, my strong, unbreakable mother, trembled. Her fingers clutched at the fabric over her heart. But the pain of losing a child had forged a new kind of strength in her. Her gentle eyes hardened, and she stared right back at Ava, each word landing like a stone. “I said… my son is dead.” Ava froze, her face a canvas of shock. For a single, suspended moment, even her breathing stopped. But then Caleb’s smooth voice sliced through the silence, pulling her back. “Ma’am, I understand you’re upset, but you can’t just curse your own son to death to avoid taking responsibility.” He shook his head, a performance of profound disappointment. “Ava is Ethan’s wife. Couples fight. For you to get in the middle of it at your age, to stir up trouble… it’s no wonder Ava has had to carry this family on her back.” My teeth ground together at his sanctimonious act. And, like always, Ava bought it completely. Her expression hardened. Her eyes swept over my mother, from her white hair down to the wheels of her chair. A cold dread washed over me. Ava, no! I screamed. She didn’t hear me. She took a step forward and slapped my mother across the face. The sound was like a gunshot in the silent room. Before I could even process it, she drew her leg back and kicked the wheelchair with all her might. “Mom!” I screamed, a silent, agonizing roar, as I watched my mother tumble from the chair, her head cracking against the sharp corner of the coffee table. “Ava! Stop it! She’s not lying! I’m really dead! You killed me!” I roared at her, my voice lost to the space between worlds. This monster couldn’t hear me. “Mom! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” I knelt on the floor, watching the woman who had once seemed so strong, so capable of carrying the world—the woman who had carried me—now lying broken on the floor, so easily toppled. “Ava! What more do you want?” As I tried again and again, in vain, to help my mother up, I saw Ava stalking toward her. Ignoring my desperate, unheard screams, she bent down, wrapped her hands around my mother’s throat, and hauled her up. “AVA!” Blood trickled from the gash on my mother’s forehead, dripping onto Ava’s hands, onto the bulging veins of her knuckles as she squeezed. Her next words were delivered with chilling precision. “Call him. If he’s not here in three minutes…” She slammed my mother back against the floor. Ava’s eyes were blazing. “…I’ll let him see your ashes instead, you old bitch!””

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For five years, I lived a perfect life with my gentle, poetic husband. One bloody night shattered the illusion. A hidden file on his computer revealed the truth: Our love story was a lie. I wasn’t his wife. I was his mission—a promise he made to my dead sister. 1 I always joked that my husband, Sévérine, was the reincarnation of some gloomy poet from another century. For a software engineer, he was almost comically frail, his skin so pale it seemed to have never seen the sun. He’d get winded carrying in a case of sparkling water, and he had to physically look away from even the mildest gore in movies. Then came the night of the pile-up, a chain reaction of screeching tires and shattering glass in a downpour that left us stranded on the icy street. My blood had frozen in my veins, but it was like a switch had been flipped in Sévérine. He moved through the cacophony of car horns and human screams like a blur of motion. Beside an overturned sedan, he tore the warped metal of a door off its hinges with his bare hands, clearing the airway of a trapped victim whose blood was blooming across the rain-slicked asphalt. His movements were precise, clinical, and possessed an eerie, inhuman grace. Stunned, I raised my phone and snapped a picture of him—splattered in blood, his eyes as sharp and fierce as a hawk’s. I posted it with the caption: “My hopelessly delicate husband, playing the hero tonight. I think he might be a god.” The comment section immediately exploded. One anonymous comment was quickly voted to the top: “That’s not a normal rescue. The strength to rip off a car door, those ice-cold eyes in the middle of all that chaos… That’s not human. Your husband is one of the Blood Kindred. Run. Get away from him. You’re a mortal, you don’t belong in the company of the night.” “Girl, they’re messing with you. Why would something like that marry you? You two don’t even have the same vibe.” “I’d bet my last dollar he’s with you for a reason. You should look into your family. Any dark secrets?” Secrets? The only thing remotely unique about me was my sister, Liana. And she was gone, killed in a “hiking accident” years ago. Sévérine walked back to me, shrugging off his blood-soaked coat. Just like that, he was my pale, weak husband again, leaning on my shoulder, his body radiating an unnatural chill. “Sophie,” he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. “My legs are giving out. Can we go home?” I wrapped my arm around his trembling frame, but inside my own chest, a tidal wave of terror was cresting. I supported Sévérine’s weight, the heavy, sweet scent of blood clinging to him like a shroud. It wasn’t the coppery smell of a normal wound; it was something else… cloying and dangerous, a scent that churned my stomach. It completely overpowered the clean, cool scent of cedarwood he always wore. Back home, I helped him onto the sofa and fled to the bathroom. In the mirror, my face was a ghostly white mask. I turned on the tap, scrubbing my hands under scalding water, trying to wash away the phantom sensation of sticky, warm blood that felt like it had seeped into my pores. Sévérine appeared behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin in the curve of my neck. His breath was cool against my skin, like a winter fog, lacking the warmth of a living person. “That must have scared you,” he said, his voice laced with its usual fatigue. A wave of revulsion washed over me. I pried his fingers from my waist, one by one. “I’m going to make dinner.” In the kitchen, I pulled out tomatoes and steak. The thud of the knife against the cutting board echoed my frayed nerves. I heard his soft footsteps behind me. “Let me, darling.” “You need to rest,” I said, my voice flat. He didn’t argue, just sat quietly at the dining table. His eyes never left me. I used to think his unwavering gaze was a sign of devotion. Now, it made the hairs on my arms stand up. I felt like prey being watched by a snake coiled in the shadows. After dinner, our daughter, Luna, begged for a bedtime story. Sévérine picked up a book of fairy tales, his voice its usual gentle murmur as he told her the story of Sleeping Beauty. Luna drifted off, and he tucked her in before coming back out. I was sitting on the sofa, the light from my tablet illuminating my face. I had a forum open, one dedicated to European folklore. A bolded headline read: “Identifying the Kindred: Strength, Speed, and an Unnatural Reaction to Blood.” His footsteps faltered. “What are you reading?” I looked up at him, gesturing to the screen. “Just… after what happened tonight, it made me think of all those urban legends.” He managed a weak smile and sat beside me. “It’s all just stories, you know. Creative writing to scare people.” He picked up the remote and switched the TV to a classical music station. “It’s easy to talk a big game online,” he said, tucking a throw pillow into my lap. “But when you’re really in it, not many people can keep their cool.” I hugged the pillow to my chest. “You did.” “I was… I was terrified. Running on pure, dumb adrenaline.” He rubbed his temples, putting on a show of exhaustion. “My heart is still pounding just thinking about it.” I switched off the tablet. The screen went dark, reflecting our two silent faces. “Luna,” I began, my voice barely a whisper. “You said you chose her name because she was born on a night with a beautiful moon.” He nodded, a soft smile in his eyes. “That’s right. A moon as bright and clear as she is.” “My sister’s name was Liana,” I said, watching his eyes, searching for the slightest flicker in his pupils. The smile on his face froze for a fraction of a second before melting into something even more tender. “Yes, it’s a beautiful coincidence.” He reached out, stroking my hair. “Maybe Liana is watching over us from heaven, and wanted Luna to carry a piece of her with her.” He had an explanation for everything. Flawless. Seamless. Later that night, I lay beside him, wide awake. His breathing was so even and quiet it was almost silent, as if he were in a deep, death-like slumber. I slipped out of bed and went to the study, booting up his laptop. The password was my birthday. I checked his browser history. It was nothing but coding websites and tech forums. It was too clean, too sterile for a normal man’s computer. Taking a deep breath, I found a hidden, encrypted drive. It required a second password. I tried my birthday. Access denied. I tried Luna’s. Access denied. My fingers, cold and trembling, hovered over the keyboard. Then, slowly, I typed in a new set of numbers. The date my sister, Liana, had died. The folder opened. 2 There was only one file inside the folder. A document titled, Log. My hand trembled over the mouse, the clicker feeling as cold as a tombstone. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs. The file’s creation date was the day Sévérine and I had first met. It had last been modified yesterday. I opened it. There were no words. Just scanned photographs and sketches. The first photo was of me, on a street in Paris, taken decades ago. I was wearing a vintage sundress, beaming at something off-camera. In the corner of the shot, almost lost in the crowd, was a man in a black trench coat that seemed out of place among the tourists. It was Sévérine. But we had met five years ago, at a friend’s party. I kept scrolling. A photo of me asleep in a chair at my floral studio on its opening day, a man’s jacket draped over my shoulders. A photo of me on stage, babbling incoherently after winning my first design award. A photo of me in a hospital bed, a man’s hand in the foreground, meticulously peeling an apple. On and on they went, a secret history of my life’s most important moments. And in every single one, there he was. Sometimes in the light, sometimes a shadow in the darkness. He wasn’t my husband; he was my chronicler. At the very end of the log was a single, faded photograph. A young Liana, fierce and beautiful, leaned against a vintage motorcycle. Standing beside her was a young man, tall and sharp-featured. His energy was harder, colder than the man I knew, but there was no mistaking him. It was Sévérine. And in the photo, there was no trace of the frail man I knew. His eyes held the hard gleam of polished steel. I zoomed in. There was writing on the back. I used a photo editor to invert the colors, and a line of elegant, forceful script appeared. “Sévérine, if I can no longer see the sun, promise me you’ll keep Sophie safe. Let her live her whole life in the daylight.” It was dated the day before her “hiking accident.” My fairy-tale romance. My carefully built family. It was all a mission. The fulfillment of a dying wish, made by one woman to another. A promise being carried out by an ancient vampire, a five-year-long assignment. The next morning, I dressed Luna. “How about we go stay with Grandma for a few days?” Sévérine came out of the bedroom and froze, seeing us dressed and ready to go. “Sophie? It’s not the weekend, what’s…” “My mom misses Luna,” I cut him off. “Can you give us a ride?” He drove us to my mother’s apartment building. I got out, holding Luna in my arms. “I’ll come get you both tonight,” Sévérine said. “Don’t worry about it.” I shut the car door. “We’ll stay a couple of days. You should focus on work.” He studied my face, his own gaze searching. I forced a smile, then turned and walked away without looking back. In my old childhood room, I pulled a dusty box from under the bed. Liana’s things. I sifted through them until I found her last photo album. Tucked between the pages was the original photograph. The paper felt old, authentic. It was the same one from his computer. It was all real. That evening, Sévérine called. “Darling, when are you and Luna coming back? The house feels so cold without you.” He sounded exhausted. “Let’s just stay one more night. Luna doesn’t want to leave,” I said, my own voice sounding strangely calm and distant. After I hung up, my mother came in. “Sophie, did your sister… did she ever mention a friend named Sévérine?” I stiffened. “Why do you ask?” “I just remember… right before her accident, Liana called home one day. She sounded so sad. She said she’d met someone very special, someone like a knight from the darkness, but also like… an endless abyss. She told me that if anything ever happened to her, she hoped that ‘knight’ would protect us for her.” In that moment, my heart didn’t just break. It sank into a true abyss of its own. I took Luna home the next day. Sévérine had cooked a feast. The moment we walked in, he rushed over, scooping Luna into his arms. “My little moonbeam, Daddy missed you so much.” During dinner, I spoke as if the thought had just occurred to me. “Sévérine, I was going through Liana’s old things, and I found a photo of her with a friend.” The fork in his hand paused mid-air. “Oh?” “There was even writing on the back. Something about… asking him to do something for her.” I stared at him, watching for any crack in his perfect facade. His expression didn’t change. He just smiled. “Soldiers make promises like that to each other all the time. It’s normal to entrust your life to a brother-in-arms.” He was impenetrable. For the next few days, I acted as if nothing had changed. But I lay awake all night, every night, listening to the near-silent breathing of the man beside me, feeling like I was slowly drowning in an ocean of lies. Every detail I had once overlooked now felt like a needle in my heart. Friday was the anniversary of Liana’s death. Sévérine was dressed for the office early that morning. “Darling, we have an emergency project at work. I might have to work late tonight.” His eyes darted away, unable to meet mine. I nodded. “Okay,” I said softly. After he left, I dressed Luna in a small black dress. “Sweetheart, today we’re going to go visit Aunt Liana.” I drove straight to the old cemetery on the outskirts of the city. 3 Among the silent stone angels, I hid with Luna behind a massive cypress tree that overlooked Liana’s grave. Before long, a familiar figure appeared. Sévérine. He wasn’t wearing his usual soft, comfortable clothes. He was in a perfectly tailored black suit, as if attending a solemn ceremony. He had shed the skin of my gentle, fragile husband, and in its place was a man who looked like an ancient, sheathed sword—sharp, silent, and deadly. He stopped before my sister’s headstone. The wind carried his voice to me, no longer the warm tone I knew, but a voice filled with ancient power and sorrow. “Liana. I’ve come to see you.” My heart plummeted with his first word. “It has been five years since I made the blood vow,” Sévérine said, his voice low but perfectly clear. “I’ve kept Sophie well. She’s naive, kind, a little foolish. Just as you wanted.” A little foolish. The words were a poisoned dagger in my ear. In his eyes, all my trust and devotion was just… foolishness. I wasn’t his lover; I was a project. A ward to be managed and protected. “Luna is healthy, too… but I can’t keep this up much longer.” His voice was raw with a pain he could no longer hide. “I think about it every day. What if I had been the one turned that night? What if, that morning, I had been the one to greet the sunrise for you? Would you be the one standing by her side now?” A roar filled my ears. The last string in my mind snapped. My marriage, my love—it was all a task, a performance by a vampire to honor a promise. All his kindness, all his tenderness, was born from his love and guilt for my sister. I wasn’t even a person to him. I was a substitute.

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For ten years, I was the girl who was one of the guys. Plain, dependable Faye, the sidekick in Leo Gunn’s world. In the eleventh year of my hopelessly one-sided love for him, I was handed a miracle: a chance to play the part of his girlfriend. “My parents are driving me insane about setting me up,” he’d said, all casual charm. “Just help me get them off my back for a while?” The night I said yes, we ended up in his bed. I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of his voice, low and triumphant, drifting from the bathroom. “I told you she was into me. All I had to do was hint at it, and she fell right into my lap. That new Porsche of yours is mine, buddy.” He’d seen through my act all along. He’d known exactly how I felt and had simply chosen to ignore it. A decade of friendship, my deepest secret, was nothing more than leverage for a bet. I pressed my hands over my ears, forcing back the tide of delusion. The next morning, I woke up tangled in his arms. He toyed with my fingers, a lazy smile on his face. “Well, you’ve officially had the honor of being my first. So, what’s the feedback? I can work on any notes for next time.” I wiped the faint, dried salt from the corner of my eye and shoved him with my foot, hard. “Get off. I do you a favor, and you help yourself to an all-you-can-eat buffet. And for the record? The technique was awful. As for yesterday, let’s just pretend it never happened. Find someone else to play your fake girlfriend.” 1 Leo’s face hardened into a mask of stone. He rose without a word, gathered the clothes from the floor, and threw them into the washing machine. A few minutes later, dressed in a clean t-shirt and sweats, he was gone. The front door slammed with a force that rattled the walls. The world revolved around Leo, or so he thought. One word he didn’t like, and the thunderclouds rolled in. I stared at my phone on the nightstand, my thumb hovering over his contact. I didn’t call. The last fragile barrier between us had been shattered. I had no idea how we were supposed to exist around each other now, and I needed time to figure it out. I thought back over the past year, over the string of dates I’d sabotaged under the guise of being his protective best friend. A bitter self-awareness washed over me. Humans really are insatiable creatures. At first, it was enough just to be near him, to have a front-row seat to his casual beauty. Then it was the easy comfort of his wealth, the way he was so easily swayed into indulging my whims. But somewhere along the way, my heart grew greedy. I started to dream of a world where Leo never dated, never married, where he was just… mine. I walked into the gaming room, fired up his high-end rig, and launched CS:GO. For the next hour, I channeled all my frustration into digital slaughter. Around noon, my phone rang. It was Ryan. “What the hell is Leo’s problem?” he asked. “He just posted an open call for a wife on his Instagram. Weren’t you two just…?” He cut himself off. I opened the app. It only took a few swipes. There it was: a picture of Leo, devastatingly handsome, with the caption: “Seeking a serious relationship, marriage-minded. Looks as pictured. Assets north of eight figures.” I had taken that photo last month. I’d just gotten back from a business trip, and as I walked out of the arrivals gate, I saw him waiting. He was wearing a crisp dress shirt, tailored trousers, and a pair of thin, gold-rimmed glasses he didn’t need. The whole look was devastatingly academic-hot-meets-asshole, and it hit every single one of my buttons. I’d snapped a few pictures before he caught me. The comment section was a frat house reunion. “Damn, Leo, saving the thirst traps for a special occasion?” “Dude, your vision is 20/20. You trying to look all intellectual with the glasses?” “Never seen you in that outfit before. Who are you trying to impress?” “Only eight figures? Slumming it, are we, Gunn?” Among the sea of comments, one stood out, sharp and painful. It was from Bianca Wells, one of his former setups. “I’ve been dying to go skiing in New Zealand. I heard you’re a certified instructor. Any chance you could teach me?” Leo had replied: “Absolutely. Next Friday work for you?” I remembered Bianca vividly. Even after I’d managed to ruin two of their dates, she’d relentlessly asked him out for a third. She only backed off when she saw Leo and me crammed onto his single-person armchair, controllers in hand, bodies pressed together as we played a game. And that was just the public declaration. How many others were sliding into his DMs? A familiar, acidic jealousy burned in my chest. Leo was never going to choose me. I had simply stolen a few years in his orbit under the false flag of friendship. Yesterday’s fleeting joy was just the punchline to a bet. Ryan’s voice came through the phone again. “I thought he asked you to be his girlfriend?” I forced a lightness I didn’t feel into my voice. “And just because he asks, I have to say yes? Hell, Ryan, I could ask you to be my boyfriend. You gonna take me up on it?” I heard a clatter on his end, like he’d dropped something. “Ha, Faye, you’re hilarious,” he stammered, then quickly hung up. The call killed my desire to play. I looked around the room. The dual monitors, the ergonomic chair, the custom keyboard—Leo had bought it all. He’d gotten me into CS:GO, bought me every rare skin he ever unboxed for himself. “We’re a team,” he’d said when I tried to protest. “What’s mine is yours.” I took a closer look at my in-game inventory. The total value had to be over a hundred thousand dollars. I tossed the mouse aside. A single thought, clean and sharp, cut through the haze. I should sell it all. 2 To combat the gnawing emptiness, I called my friend Chloe and dragged her shopping. We bought new clothes, new shoes, and then I saw it—the ski shop where Leo had taken me a few years ago. He’d insisted on outfitting me from head to toe himself. On a whim, I tried on a new helmet and a pair of mirrored goggles, checking my reflection. That’s when I heard her voice from the next aisle. “Leo, you can’t get mad at me if I’m terrible, okay? You have to promise you’ll be patient.” “And oh my god, I remember you have a jacket in this style. I want to get the matching one so we can be twins on the slopes.” I turned. It was Leo and Bianca. He looked vaguely annoyed, but he promised he’d be the epitome of patience. He even agreed to the matching jackets. Bianca then skipped over to the snowboards, her voice dripping with excitement. “Leo, I want to get the same board as you, too! Which one is yours?” I didn’t want to watch this saccharine performance. I pulled off the goggles and started for the exit, but Chloe’s voice rang out, betraying me. “Faye, you’re not getting the new goggles?” I froze. When I turned back, my eyes met Leo’s. Bianca was staring, too. “What a coincidence,” I managed. A smug smile played on Bianca’s lips. “Well, if it isn’t Leo’s little buddy.” She directed her next words at me, a purr of victory in her tone. “Leo’s taking me to New Zealand in a few days. So no matter what happens—whether you get a sudden fever or get into a fender bender—he won’t be coming back for you. I hope you’re strong enough to learn how to walk on your own.” I gave a careless nod. “Right. Thanks for the heads-up.” Leo didn’t say a word. He just picked up the goggles I’d put down. “You liked these? Let me get them for you. Anything else you want, just pick it out. It’s on me.” “Leo!” Bianca’s voice was a sharp whine. “You said you were buying me gear.” He offered me a small, tight smile. “Consider it my apology for yesterday. We’re still friends, right?” I stared at him, a wave of pure humiliation washing over me. What did he think I was? For hire? Someone he could pull into his bed when the mood struck, then discard for the next shiny thing, smoothing it all over with a few expensive trinkets? I grabbed Chloe’s arm and walked out of the store. I didn’t see the argument that flared up between him and Bianca, nor did I see him storm out moments later, leaving her standing there alone. 3 Chloe took me to a dark, loud bar and, in a grand gesture of solidarity, had the bartender line up a row of handsome men for my inspection. I made each of them say a single sentence. I kept the one whose voice sounded the most like Leo’s. Chloe pulled me aside, her eyes wide. “Oh my god, you actually picked one? What if Leo finds out?” I twisted the cap off a beer and poured myself a glass. “You’re the one who set this up. Now you’re getting cold feet?” She put her hand over mine. “Are you and Leo really over? Maybe he’s just doing all this to make you jealous. You said it was his first time, too.” I didn’t want to tell her about the bet. I just raised my glass and drank it down in one go. “Forget it. He and Bianca are perfect for each other—good families, good looks. Where does a joke like me fit into that picture? The stars of the show are finally getting together. If the villainous side character doesn’t exit gracefully, she’s bound to have a bad ending.” Drinking alone was too depressing, so I turned to the guy I’d chosen. “Can you sing? Find me a karaoke track. Something devastatingly sad.” Your forever doesn’t belong to me anymore… I can see now, he’s better for you than I ever was… With each line of the song, I downed another drink. Just pretend this is you, Leo, I thought. Pretend this is your apology. Through a drunken haze, I thought I saw him. A phantom Leo who carried me out of the bar, laid me gently on my bed, and pulled the covers over me. But when I woke up from the hangover from hell, I was sprawled on my bedroom floor next to Chloe. I propped myself up, my head pounding, and started typing my resignation letter. 4 On Monday, my boss, Sarah, rushed over to my desk, her face etched with worry. “Faye, did you and Mr. Gunn have a fight?” I was completely lost. “What? Why would you ask that?” “That contract we were supposed to sign last Friday,” she said, her voice frantic. “His procurement department just called. They’re saying any purchase over two hundred thousand has to go out for public tender now.” “But they were the ones rushing us! They said our companies have worked together for years, that the paperwork was just a formality, and that we should start production. We’ve already ordered the raw materials, the lines are already running! Now they’re pulling this? The partners and the legal team have been grilling me all morning about why I didn’t follow protocol.” I nodded, my stomach sinking. “Let me ask him about it. It might just be a change in their corporate policy. Sarah, can you call the suppliers and the factory floor? Stall them as much as you can.” I sent Leo a series of texts and called him twice. No reply. No answer. I had no choice but to go through his executive assistant. I told her I’d be stopping by his office at lunch to eat with him. At twelve-thirty, I walked into Leo’s office holding two bags of takeout from the Italian place I’m obsessed with. I almost collided with Bianca Wells, who was standing right inside the door. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What are you doing here? Is that… food from The Hearth? Don’t tell me you’re trying to ruin my date with Leo again.” I set the bags on his coffee table and sat down on the sofa. “Ruin your date? You might have the wrong idea. I’m just here to grab lunch with my best friend and talk about a little work thing.” A few minutes later, Leo walked in. He placed his laptop next to the food, then picked up a woman’s handbag from the armchair. He smiled at Bianca. “Sorry about that, the meeting ran long. Thanks for being so patient.” Bianca’s voice went up an octave. “It’s okay, I don’t mind waiting for you.” She pointed at me. “It looks like your friend brought you lunch. Didn’t you tell her we had plans?” Leo turned, feigning surprise. “Faye. What are you doing here?” He paused. “Didn’t my assistant tell you I had a lunch meeting today?” He tapped his forehead. “Ah, you know what, it’s my fault. I got so busy I forgot to mention it to her.” He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Here to talk about the procurement issue? Why don’t you wait in the conference room. Bianca and I will just grab a quick bite, and I’ll be in to chat after.” He buzzed his assistant. “And from now on, Faye doesn’t get buzzed straight into my office. She’s not an employee, after all. If there was ever a security leak, I wouldn’t want people pointing fingers at her.” I picked up my bags of cooling pasta and walked out of his office. It was really time to go. Just as soon as I fixed this mess. 5 I waited from noon until seven in the evening. Leo never came back. His assistant, a kind woman named Kate, knocked softly on the conference room door. “Maybe you should try sending Mr. Gunn a message? The office closed half an hour ago.” I gave her an apologetic smile. “It’s okay. I’ll just wait for him in the lobby.” Kate’s face was a study in awkwardness as she escorted me to the grand, empty lobby. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered, “I have a family thing I have to get to…” I nodded, playing my part in the charade. This was the same woman who had once driven across town at 1 a.m. to bring me stomach medicine. I watched her leave. At nine o’clock, with the building nearly deserted, I finally saw him striding through the doors. “Faye, what are you… Oh, my god. I am so, so sorry. Taking Bianca shopping is an ordeal. The same dress in five different colors, trying on every single one, and I have to have an opinion on all of them. I’m completely wiped. I totally forgot you were waiting. Come on, I’ll drive you home.” He launched into a practiced explanation as we walked. “About that contract—procurement brought it to my attention this morning. But it’s a new company-wide policy, and I can’t be seen interfering. It would set a bad precedent. You’ll just have to go through the bidding process. I’m sure if the terms are similar, they’ll still prioritize you guys.” He kept talking, a flood of words that left no room for me to speak. I followed him silently to the underground parking garage and got into his car. The first thing I noticed was something new: a small, sleek car refrigerator installed in the center console. I reached for the handle. Leo’s hand covered mine, stopping me. “Bianca insisted on it. It’s just full of her coconut water, nothing to see.” A memory from last week surfaced, sharp and bitter. I’d been sitting in this same passenger seat, complaining. “It’s so hot, my sparkling water is practically boiling. You should get a car fridge.” What had he said then? “Warm is better for you. Cold drinks give you cramps, and then I have to go to all the trouble of making you ginger tea.” At the time, I’d allowed myself a sliver of hope. I thought he was worried about me, that he cared. A car fridge costs next to nothing for him. But now I understood. It wasn’t about my health. It was the trouble. Buying a fridge was trouble. Making tea was trouble. Dealing with me was trouble. I pulled at the chain around my neck until a small glass vial emerged from under my shirt. “Leo, can you do one thing for me?” A strange, knowing smile touched his lips. “Of course. Anything. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” I unclasped the necklace and placed the vial in his hand. “I’m asking you to sign that contract for my company. After that, we’re even. We go our separate ways.” 6 The small glass vial held the last remnants of melted snow. Five years ago, Leo and I, full of the arrogance of youth, went backcountry skiing alone. We were carving down the mountainside, blissfully unaware of a group of novices far above us. Led by an irresponsible guide, they cut across a dangerous pitch and triggered an avalanche. When I fought my way out of the snow, I used my transceiver and shovel to find him. His condition was critical. He was upside down in a tree well, his strength completely gone. I dug him out, performed first aid, and raced him down the mountain to the nearest hospital. When he woke up, he told me that after freeing himself from the initial snow pile, he’d taken two steps before tumbling headfirst into the hidden cavity. Once he recovered, he bought this tiny bottle and filled it with a pinch of snow from that mountain. “I owe you my life,” he’d said. “From now on, this bottle is your proof. Whatever you wish for, just ask.” I had just clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re best friends. Don’t be ridiculous. If it were me trapped in there, you’d have done the same thing.” Later, I found a silver chain and started wearing the bottle as a pendant, keeping it with me always. I’d replayed this moment in my dreams a thousand times. In them, I would present the bottle and ask, “What if I want to be with you? What if I want to be your girlfriend?” And the Leo in my dreams would always smile and say, “Faye. I’ve been in love with you for years. But you were always so platonic, I thought you didn’t feel the same. I had to hide it, to stay close to you as your friend.” But dreams are the opposite of reality. I was the one who had been secretly in love, the one with ulterior motives. If I asked now, Leo would probably just see me as pathetic, someone shamelessly leveraging a past debt. So today, I was giving it back. To solve the problem I had created for Sarah, and to finally set myself free. Leo’s face darkened. “This is what you want to use it for? My life… is worth one contract? And then we’re even?” I nodded, forcing a light tone. “Is that too small of an ask? I didn’t want to be greedy.” His hand opened. The glass vial fell. He pointed to the door. “You want to go your separate ways? Fine. Get out of my car.” The bottle landed on the soft floor mat, bounced once, and then lay still. Just like me. Given a fleeting moment of hope, only to be ruthlessly crushed. “Goodbye, Leo,” I said. I opened the door and walked away.

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My best friend, my fellow struggling actress, turned out to be the long-lost heiress to one of New York’s old-money families. The day she left our tiny walk-up in Queens, she swore she’d pull me up with her into the good life. Two months later, she blocked my number. Fueled by a white-hot rage, I chased her to the city, arriving just in time for her wedding to the son of a titan of industry. Ava, that ungrateful snake. The second she got a taste of the high life, she forgot all about me. For the sake of appearances, I swallowed my anger, stuffed some cash in an envelope as a final goodbye to our friendship, and prepared to walk away. But when I looked up, I saw the woman in the wedding portrait wasn’t my best friend. It was Chloe, the Davenports’ adopted daughter. Mr. and Mrs. Davenport, the same couple who had once plastered their tear-streaked faces all over national television, begging for their daughter’s return, now spoke of Ava with utter disgust. “That morally corrupt creature has been thrown out of this house. From this day forward, Chloe is our only daughter!” “She’s just a no-name extra who learned all her dirty tricks from TV. Since she loves acting so much, we decided to let her star in her own horror show—naked and screaming.” I just stood there, stunned, the world tilting on its axis. On the day of that wedding, I brought the Davenport empire to its knees. A no-name extra? Hardly. I am Jade, the Crown Princess of Starlight Entertainment, the largest media conglomerate in Asia. And my best friend? She is destined to win an Oscar. 1 The woman next to me on the flight to New York had been talking for the last hour about the wedding of the decade: the union of the Davenport heiress and Carter Sterling, son of the real estate magnate. “Twenty custom Rolls-Royces, circling Central Park twice,” she’d gushed, scrolling through a gossip blog on her phone. “The gown was designed in Paris, took a year to hand-bead. And the party favors? The new Hermès Kelly. For everyone.” She sighed, a cloud of envy. “That Davenport girl, she hit the lottery. Disappeared for twenty-three years, and the moment she’s found, she’s wrapped in cotton wool. Parents who adore her, in-laws who basically own the Eastern seaboard… God, I’d wake up laughing in my sleep.” I gripped the cheap airline blanket bunched in my lap, my knuckles white. Ava. That ungrateful, forgetful… friend. She’d sworn on the day she left our shoebox apartment that she’d bring me with her, that we’d finally live the life we’d always dreamed of. Two months later, my number was blocked. Now she was handing out designer bags like party mints while I was still counting my tips to make rent. I took a cab straight from JFK to the Sterling family’s sprawling Long Island estate. The sheer opulence of the place, with its manicured gardens and fountains that glittered like diamonds, should have made me angrier. Instead, a strange calm settled over me. I pulled all the cash I had from my wallet—a couple hundred dollars—and stuffed it into a wedding envelope. A final transaction to close the account on our friendship. As I walked toward the entrance, I glanced up at the massive, elegantly framed portrait of the happy couple. And I stopped dead. The bride smiling in the photograph wasn’t Ava. It was Chloe, the Davenports’ adopted daughter. A cold dread washed over me. Something was terribly wrong. I pushed past a confused-looking usher and stormed into the bridal suite, searching for any sign of Ava. Inside, Mr. and Mrs. Davenport were fussing over Chloe, their faces beaming with pride. They looked up, annoyed by my intrusion. The moment I said Ava’s name, their expressions curdled. “That morally bankrupt creature has been thrown out,” Mrs. Davenport said, her voice dripping with disdain. “From now on, the Davenports have only one daughter: Chloe.” She gave me a dismissive once-over. “If you’re here for the wedding, have some champagne and find your seat. But if you’re here to make a scene on that little tramp’s behalf, you’ll find we are not nearly as polite as our staff.” My heart sank to the floor. The way she spat the words “little tramp,” referring to her own flesh and blood… “I’m here to find Ava,” I said, my voice dangerously steady. “Where is she? Why is her phone off?” Chloe, who had been watching me with a look of curated curiosity, suddenly shrank back, clutching her mother’s arm. “Dad, it has to be her! I bet Ava sent her! She’s still furious that I won Carter’s heart, and now she’s trying to hurt me again!” she cried, her voice trembling. “Mom, you have to protect me!” The Davenports’ eyes narrowed, instantly protective and hostile. I let out a short, cold laugh. This whole damsel-in-distress act was so pathetically outdated. If she wanted to play the victim, I’d be happy to give her a reason. I snatched a bottle of champagne from a silver bucket on the table and, in one smooth motion, dumped the entire contents over her perfectly coiffed head. “Aaaah! My dress! You’re insane!” Chloe shrieked. “Mom, my wedding is ruined! It’s ruined!” Mrs. Davenport lunged at me with a scream, her manicured nails like claws. I sidestepped and slapped her, hard, across her powdered cheek. The sound echoed in the silent room. “You… you hit me!” she gasped, her hand flying to her face. As I raised my hand again, Mr. Davenport quickly pulled his wife and daughter behind him, his eyes boring into me with pure hatred. “You really were sent by that monster to destroy Chloe’s day!” he snarled. “Security! Get this woman out of here! She’s trespassing!” Two large men in black suits started toward me. I didn’t move. Instead, I crossed my arms, sank into a velvet armchair, and casually crossed my legs. “Inform the guests,” I said, my voice calm and clear, “the wedding is cancelled.” The head of security, a man with a jaw like a cinder block, stopped in his tracks, gave me a short, respectful nod, and said, “Yes, ma’am.” The expressions on the three Davenports’ faces shifted from outrage to utter confusion. For the security of the Sterling Estate to obey me, a complete stranger, meant something they couldn’t comprehend. “Who… who in God’s name are you?” Mr. Davenport stammered. 2 “You don’t need to know who I am,” I said, my gaze locked on him. “You just need to know that I’m Ava’s friend. And if you want this wedding to happen, you will bring her to me. Now.” The security team formed a loose circle around the three of them, a silent, intimidating wall. Chloe stomped her foot, her champagne-soaked dress squelching pathetically. “If you’re her friend, why are you doing this to us? Everyone who’s anyone in New York is out there! Ava isn’t just embarrassing me; she’s making a mockery of the entire Davenport family!” “That viper! That ungrateful snake!” Mr. Davenport’s face was turning a blotchy, furious red. “By tomorrow, this will be all over the society pages! The Davenports will be a laughingstock!” He turned on his wife. “I told you we should have just left it alone! People lose children every day, it’s fate! But no, you had to go looking!” “What good does saying that now do?” she shrieked back. “If I’d known she was this much trouble, I would have preferred she’d died out there! A gutter-born animal with no manners, after all the money I wasted on her!” The story of the lost Davenport heiress had been national news. They had poured millions into a TV drama about missing children, a vanity project designed to find their daughter. Every episode began and ended with Mr. and Mrs. Davenport, weeping into the camera, pleading for her return. Ava had been hesitant, unsure about re-entering their world. But they’d gone on talk shows, they’d sworn to the entire country that they would spend the rest of their lives making up for the years they’d lost. Their performance had convinced me. It was I who had encouraged Ava to go back to them. Two months. How had their hearts turned to stone in just two months? My jaw tightened. I pulled out my phone and tried Ava’s number again. Straight to voicemail. My patience evaporated. I held out my hand, and the captain of the security detail, as if anticipating my need, placed a long, thin riding crop into my palm. “Tell me where Ava is,” I demanded, the leather tip tapping against the marble floor with a sharp crack. Just then, a man pushed through the security cordon and strode into the room. “What the hell is going on? Why was my wedding cancelled?” The Davenports lit up like they’d seen a savior. “Carter, darling, you’re finally here!” Mrs. Davenport cried. “Mr. Sterling, this girl cancelled your wedding without your permission! You have to stop her!” “Carter!” Chloe wailed, running to him. “Look what she did to my dress! She’s just some nobody extra Ava used to know! She’s here to cause trouble, to disrespect your family, to disrespect you!” She looked up at him, her beautiful face streaked with tears and mascara, a perfect picture of wounded innocence. “All our guests are watching! You have to put her in her place!” A thunderous look crossed Carter’s face. “Who the hell did this to my wife?” he boomed, scanning the room. “Who thinks they can come to New York and screw with the Sterling family? You got a death wish?” Whispers erupted from the onlookers who had crowded the doorway. “That’s Carter Sterling! His family practically built this city. They’re old-world power, serious political connections.” “No wonder the Davenports kicked out their real daughter. The adopted one landed the biggest fish in the sea.” “Carter’s family is untouchable in this town. It doesn’t matter if this girl is right or wrong, she’s about to get flattened.” As the crowd waited for the fireworks, I flicked my wrist. The riding crop sliced through the air and struck Carter across the chest. I’d spent six months in intensive training with a world-renowned stunt coordinator for a role. My technique was flawless. Even with only a fraction of my strength, a bright red welt blossomed instantly on his white tuxedo jacket. “Who the hell hit me?” he roared, stunned. I took a step forward. “Do I need an appointment?” Carter clutched his arm, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and fury. Then, recognition dawned. “You! What are you doing here?” “Is that any way to greet your elders?” I gestured with the crop toward Chloe. “I thought you were marrying the Davenport heiress. Who’s the impostor?” A flicker of guilt—or maybe fear—crossed his face. “I saw you last on a film set in Vancouver. This is my business. Stay out of it.” Your business? A humorless smile touched my lips. “Kneel.” Carter’s jaw clenched, his eyes burning with defiance. Chloe scoffed from behind him. “He’s Carter Sterling! Why in the world would he ever kneel to a nobody like you?” I didn’t even bother to look at her. With another sharp flick of my wrist, I struck the back of Carter’s knee. His leg buckled, and he fell to the ground with a grunt of pain, landing heavily on one knee. “Jade,” he choked out, his face pale. “I thought you said you were too busy to come to the wedding.” 3 A wave of gasps rippled through the onlookers. “What did he just call her?” “She can’t be more than a few years younger than him… How is she his… elder?” The Davenports just stared, their mouths hanging open, unable to process what they were seeing. I ignored the murmurs and pointed the tip of the crop at Carter’s chin. “Tell me where Ava is. Were you involved in this?” “Hmph. I’m not telling you anything,” he spat, his neck muscles straining. “That woman is nothing but a conniving snake. I personally saw her push Chloe down a flight of stairs. She spread the most vicious rumors about her! She deserves everything she’s getting!” “You little fool,” Carter growled, trying to get up. “I call you Jade out of respect for my grandfather, but you better not push it. This has nothing to do with you.” I laughed, a sound devoid of any warmth. What had Chloe done to these people? It was like they were all under a spell. I looked at the four of them—the gullible fiancé, the social-climbing fake, the cruel, heartless parents. “You,” I said, my voice cutting through the air as I addressed the Davenports, “were supposed to be her parents. You didn’t raise her for a single day, and in the eighteen years she was lost, did you ever once try to understand her? To trust her?” I turned back to Carter. “And you. Your grandfather arranged a match with the Davenport daughter, not some imposter you picked. You knew her identity was a lie and you said nothing to your family. You have no honor.” With that, I began to strike them, the crop landing with sharp, punishing cracks. They cried out, trying to scramble away, but the security team moved in, holding them firmly in place as they howled. “Ava was born bad! We don’t have a daughter like that!” “Do you know who you’re messing with? The movie star Seraphina Roche is Chloe’s god-sister! Her fans will eat you alive!” “Don’t think because my grandfather respects you that I’m afraid of you!” Carter yelled. “You’re not blood! Without the Sterling name, you’re nothing!” Just as he said it, a new commotion started at the door. “It’s Marcus Sterling! The man himself is here!” “Mr. Sterling, you have to see what’s happening to your son! He’s been beaten!” A distinguished, middle-aged man in a tailored suit strode forward, his face a mask of authority. “What is the meaning of this circus? Everyone, stop this instant!” I lowered the crop, my breathing heavy. Seeing his father, Carter immediately scrambled over. “Dad, it’s Jade! She’s lost her mind! It’s my wedding day, and look what she’s done to me!” Chloe rushed forward as well. “Mr. Sterling, thank God you’re here! This woman not only ruined our wedding, she attacked my parents! They’re not young, what if she seriously hurt them?” Marcus Sterling looked from his battered son to the weeping bride, to the cowering Davenports, his mind clearly struggling to catch up. I cleared my throat softly. His head snapped in my direction. “Jade! Why are you here? If I had known you were coming, I would have sent a car for you myself!” The Davenports’ jaws dropped so low they nearly touched the floor. They looked utterly, hopelessly stupid. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, Marcus,” I said. “We need to talk about your son. My father, before he passed, arranged for Carter to marry the Davenport heiress. So you tell me why he’s marrying this… replacement. And where is my real niece-in-law?” The color drained from Marcus’s face as he finally understood. “He’s right. Where is Ava? And you,” he said, pointing at Chloe, “you’re the adopted one. Why are you in the wedding dress?” Carter had clearly planned to get the ceremony over with, forcing his father to accept Chloe in front of all their guests. Now, his plan was in tatters. He just stammered, unable to form a single coherent sentence. “Speak up! Where is Ava?” Marcus roared. The room fell deathly silent. Chloe peeked out from behind her parents. It was Mrs. Davenport who spoke, her voice shrill. “That Ava girl is no good! Chloe may not be our blood, but we raised her to be a perfect lady!” “That’s right!” Mr. Davenport chimed in. “That little stray can’t compare to our Chloe! She isn’t worthy of the Sterling family!” “The woman our family chooses is not for you to approve or disapprove of!” Marcus thundered. “Now if you don’t tell me where she is, I will personally ensure the Davenport name is erased from this city by morning!” I was done wasting time. In a single, fluid motion, I stepped toward one of Marcus’s bodyguards, pulled the handgun from his hip holster, and turned, pressing the cold muzzle against Chloe’s forehead before anyone could react. “Where. Is. Ava?” Carter, seeing the look on his father’s face—a look that offered no help—finally broke. He whispered three words, his voice trembling. “Blackwater Street… the warehouse.” For a second, the world went silent, and then my mind exploded.

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“When it was time to bring the operation home, I was the one who snapped the cuffs on his wrists. He tilted his head back, looking up at me from his knees. The flashing blue and red lights painted his face in strobing color. “”Ava,”” he asked, his voice low and steady despite everything. “”Did you ever love me? Even a little?”” A smile found my lips. I leaned down and patted his cheek, the metal of the cuffs cold against my knuckles. “”Not for a second.”” I straightened up. “”Enjoy the food in federal prison, Sebastian. My own personal Medal of Valor.”” … The next day, the man who had taken half the city’s police force and a six-month surveillance operation to catch, escaped from custody. 1 The news broke while the ink on my commendation paperwork was still drying. The transport van heading to the East End correctional facility was hit by an IED. Nine officers dead, one critically wounded. Sebastian Vale, the target of a multi-agency task force, the man we’d spent two years hunting, hadn’t even had time to get used to the feel of a prison bench before he was gone. I stood on the scorched asphalt, the ghost of smoke still acrid in the air, staring at the blackened blast pattern on the road. And to make a catastrophic situation worse, the consensus back at the precinct was clear. As the undercover officer who had spent two years by his side, who had not only played with his heart but had driven the final knife into his back, I was now, without a doubt, his number one target. 2 “”You don’t look too happy, Agent Reed.”” …Nobody’s happy when their Medal of Valor goes on the run. Twenty-seven hours after Sebastian Vale’s escape, we had nothing. Fifteen drones, nearly every K-9 unit in the state, and a city-wide lockdown had turned up zero trace of him. He hadn’t just vanished; he’d left a message. Scrawled in the blood of a dying officer on the overturned door of the transport van were four words: I’ll recapture my rose. Who was the “”rose””? Every head in the briefing room swiveled to face me. “”You can all stare,”” I said, crossing my arms and shrugging. “”But the only thing this proves is that Sebastian Vale is a sucker for a love story.”” What else could explain it? A man with the world crashing down around him, and his last question is whether I ever loved him. It was pathetic. Of course I didn’t. My job was stressful enough without adding real feelings to the mix. 3 In the back of the squad car, my partner, Mark, handed me a tablet. “”We tracked a call Vale made from a public payphone after the breakout. The location might look familiar.”” I looked down at the photo on the screen. An old brick apartment building in the warehouse district. “”Yeah,”” Mark said, reading my expression. “”It’s the place you two shared.”” After we’d made the “”relationship”” official, Sebastian and I had lived there for quite a while. Stepping inside, the first thing I saw was a pair of women’s slippers next to a pair of men’s boots by the door, a staged tableau of domesticity that felt like a lifetime ago. Everything looked untouched, except for the ashtray on the coffee table. It was filled with fresh ash. “”Lab report on the cigarette butts came back. It’s Vale’s brand, alright,”” Mark said, walking into the bedroom. He let out a low whistle. “”Guy’s got balls. Hiding out here just hours after the escape. Playing the ‘hide in plain sight’ card.”” Crime scene techs were dusting for prints, their cameras flashing, but I was somewhere else entirely. This was the first place Sebastian and I had called home. He was the first kingpin I was ever assigned to. 4 Right after graduating from the academy and inheriting my father’s badge number, I was tapped for the undercover operation targeting Sebastian Vale. The reasons were simple: I looked like a college student, my eyes had a disarming clarity, and I had been the most ruthless hand-to-hand combatant in my graduating class. Back then, Sebastian wasn’t the head of the largest narcotics syndicate on the West Coast. He was just an ambitious number two, but his youth and rapid ascent had put him on our radar. To take down the whole organization, we had to plant a fuse deep inside, and I was that fuse. My cover was a cashier at the 24-hour bodega on the ground floor of his apartment building. Every night, usually between eleven and midnight, he’d come down for a pack of cigarettes. He had this intense gaze, deep-set eyes, and always wore a black tactical jacket. The first time I saw him, I was surprised. For a rising drug trafficker, he was beautiful in a way that was almost jarring—skin so pale it was nearly luminous, with features that seemed carved from cold marble. To avoid spooking him, I waited two weeks before saying more than “”have a nice night.”” I finally made my move, a simple comment as I handed him his change. “”You know, you buy a pack of these every night. You should try to cut back.”” He raised an eyebrow, his cool gaze sweeping over me for a fraction of a second before he grunted a noncommittal “”hmph.”” After that, I used that tiny opening to exchange a few sentences with him every night. Honestly, after weeks of this, I felt like I could have charmed a statue into bloom, but Sebastian remained completely unmoved. Thankfully, my backup team decided to accelerate the timeline. They orchestrated a small-scale bust on a lower rung of the supply chain. It wouldn’t hurt the organization’s core, but it was designed to wipe out a few minor crews, including the one Sebastian was affiliated with. Letting him escape, bleeding and barely alive, was part of the plan. It was my cue to “”find”” him in a dumpster-filled alley nearby. He was covered in blood when I got to him, the crimson stark against his pale skin. Even then, on the verge of collapse, his guard was up. I played my part perfectly—the terrified bodega girl. When he rasped, “”No hospitals,”” I took him back to my place. He stayed with me for the next few weeks, recuperating. Everything was meticulously staged. The location of his room, the way my towel “”accidentally”” slipped when I walked out of the bathroom, the unavoidable physical contact as I changed his bandages. I was bubbly, cheerful, doing everything I could to make him smile. I made him curry with the rice shaped like a teddy bear and tied his bandages into neat little bows. And yet, even with a man and a woman alone in a small apartment, he kept his distance for weeks. Night after night, I’d feel his eyes on me, dark and unreadable. The Captain kept telling me to be patient, but there were moments, watching him watch me, that a cold dread washed over me—the fear that I’d already been made. Then one night, after a late debrief with my handlers, I came home to a dark apartment. That was unusual; he always left a light on. “”Sebastian?”” I called out tentatively as I slipped off my shoes. No answer. As my hand fumbled for the light switch, a gentle touch grazed the back of my neck. In a split second, I fought down the instinct to spin around and throw him over my shoulder. Instead, I froze. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his breath warm against my ear. My body went rigid. The feeling of being controlled by this stranger, this target, sent every nerve ending screaming in protest. But I had a mission. I knew what I had to do. Slowly, deliberately, I forced my body to relax, to melt into his embrace. His lips found the side of my neck, his kisses tender and searching. … I had to be the naive girl, looking at him with wide, trusting eyes. Even after we were officially a “”couple,”” Sebastian remained quiet, watchful. His suspicion was a wall between us. That wasn’t good enough. He had no idea the lengths I’d gone to for him. The things he liked, the things he hated, his subtle tells—the way his brow would lift almost imperceptibly when he liked a meal I cooked, the way the corner of his mouth would twitch into a half-smile when I wore a certain dress. I cataloged every detail, replaying them in my mind each night. Slowly, it started working. He began to laugh when I’d get spaghetti sauce on my nose. He’d gently stroke my hair when he found me asleep on the couch, waiting for him to come home. One night, he knelt in front of me, looking up with a soft expression. “”Sunshine,”” he murmured, “”why are you still up?”” In that moment, I knew. Phase one was complete. I had won. But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t part of his future; I was a girlfriend he could discard at any moment. He never told me about his deals, his locations, or what exactly he was moving. Then, my opportunity arrived. I was targeted by one of Sebastian’s rival syndicates. They snatched me off the street on my way to the farmers’ market. Their goal was simple: use his girlfriend as leverage. They tied me to a chair and set up a camera. The man across from me laid it all out—told me my loving boyfriend was a ruthless drug lord, detailing Sebastian’s cruelty, painting a picture of a monster. My mind was racing. I had to appear terrified, but not useless. Heartbroken, but not weak. I had to be a woman who was resolute, brave, and above all, utterly devoted to Sebastian. Eleven hours later, Sebastian walked into that dusty factory. He was born to wear black; it was the color of the shadows he commanded. My eyes, wide and tearful, locked onto his. But the man I had been sleeping next to for months just gave me a single, dismissive glance. “”The terms,”” he said, his voice clipped and devoid of emotion. “”Your three main suppliers,”” the man holding me said, pressing the barrel of a gun to the back of my head. “”And fifty kilos of the new product.”” There was a long pause. Then, a cold, sharp laugh from Sebastian. “”You really think she’s worth that much?”” He gave me one last look, a look of pure contempt, and turned to walk away. I watched his tall frame disappear into the darkness. In that moment, I truly believed I was going to die. But then, the gun at my head moved, shifting its aim toward Sebastian’s retreating back. “”LOOK OUT!”” The instant before the trigger was pulled, I threw my entire body weight backward, knocking the gunman off balance. The shot went wide, but the momentum was uncontrolled. A bullet, meant for Sebastian, tore through the flesh of my arm. I’d been shot before, but always while wearing a vest. The searing pain blanked out my vision for a second. When it cleared, the men around me were being cut down in a hail of gunfire. Of course. Sebastian hadn’t come alone. He had a fire team hidden in the shadows. He walked over to me, his face unreadable. The pain on my face was real. I stumbled toward him and collapsed into his arms, sobbing. He stiffened for a moment, surprised by the embrace. Then, after a long second, I felt his hand gently stroking my hair. “”Why?”” he whispered, his voice rough. “”I abandoned you. Why would you still save me?”” Because your backup would have Swiss-cheesed him before the bullet even left the chamber, I thought. But what I said was, “”I… I just reacted. It was just… instinct… to protect you.”” In the darkness, I heard his voice soften. “”You don’t care what I do?”” I shook my head against his chest. Sebastian Vale, I thought, the pain in my arm a searing promise. One day, you will be the shiniest medal on my uniform. 5 “”What’s on your mind?”” A hand holding a lit cigarette pulled me from my thoughts. The smell of tobacco was foreign; it had been a long time. Many of my colleagues chain-smoked when they were stressed. But Sebastian didn’t smoke. And to maintain my “”good girl”” image, neither did I. “”So, after this Medal of Valor comes through, they’ll put you on desk duty, right?”” Mark and I were sitting on the steps of the precinct’s back entrance. He ran a hand through his messy hair as he flipped through a case file. I nodded. For people like us, no matter the outcome, we were meant to fade away, to become ghosts in the system. “”What do you want to do? After you retire.”” “”Teach English,”” I answered without hesitation. He raised an eyebrow. “”I think… I think I’d be a good teacher.”” … Sebastian had never finished high school. So I was the one who taught him English. Maybe I really did have a talent for it, or maybe he was just that smart. The same man who once struggled to say “”You are mine,”” could now declare war on the entire police department in perfect, taunting English. Because that’s what this was. A declaration of war. A way to force me out into the open. By brazenly returning to our old apartment and leaving a trail, he was sending me a message: I will find you. No matter how many cops are protecting you, you can’t run from me. … “”That’s why I don’t think holing me up here is the right move,”” I said, leaning against the doorframe of the cheap motel room they’d stashed me in. Mark sighed, his shoulders slumping. “”He’s coming for me, Mark. You should let him.”” “”Don’t talk like that,”” he said tiredly. “”Nobody’s life is expendable. We don’t sacrifice our own unless there is absolutely no other choice.”” When I didn’t respond, he stood up and put a hand on my shoulder. “”Ava, you know better than anyone what these monsters do to undercovers who are burned.”” … Bright sunlight sliced through a gap in the blackout curtains, a single, dancing line of dust motes in the dim room. Of course I knew. My father had been the captain of the Westbridge City Narcotics Division. A foreign cartel put a million-dollar bounty on his head. I was still at the academy when my uncle, also a cop, found his body. I should thank my father. He gave his daughter one last, brutal lesson. Because in my entire life, I have never seen a corpse more mutilated than his. After that day, nothing I saw on the job could ever shake me. My dad always told me that for a narcotics detective, a Medal of Valor is something you usually get after you’re dead. I decided then and there that I was going to get one while I was still alive, just to show him, wherever he was. … Day three of Sebastian’s escape. The department’s criminal profiler was grilling me for details again. As the person who had been closest to him, every insight I had was priceless. After I took that bullet for him, Sebastian had slowly started to let me in. And I discovered something crucial: he was starved for love. It was the perfect vulnerability. He’d had almost no romantic contact with women his entire life. He was an orphan, raised by human traffickers. He was smart and charming enough to avoid the fate of the other kids—maimed and sent to beg on the streets—but his childhood was a wasteland of cruelty and pain. He probably didn’t even realize how desperately he craved a gentle, kind soul to love him. Sebastian was a natural criminal: decisive, calm, obsessive, and brutal. But as a lover, he was a fool. He was too eager to drown in affection, desperate to please the person he cared about. He tried to act indifferent, but his micro-expressions betrayed him every time. So, even though I was no expert in romance myself, I used every psychological tactic I’d learned at the academy to reel him in. It was clumsy at times, but I got him. The final step was to embed a hook in his heart so deep he could never remove it. What’s more powerful than a lifetime of devotion? A lifetime of devotion that is suddenly, violently snatched away. As Sebastian climbed the ladder of his organization, women naturally started to gravitate toward him. They knew about me, the official “”girlfriend,”” but that didn’t stop the butterflies from flocking to him. The most dangerous of them was a woman named Ruby. Ruby was her business name, I assumed. She was stunning, a completely different style from me. If I was sunshine and innocence, she was a beautiful, poison-tipped needle. And she had her sights set on Sebastian, and my position. On paper, she was the owner of a chain of local nightclubs. In reality, she was the biggest independent distributor in her territory. If she and Sebastian teamed up, it would be a power merger, and I’d be out of the picture. She saw me as a naive little student, someone she could crush without a second thought. At the time, my relationship with Sebastian had hit a plateau. He was still good to me, doting even, but he never explicitly rejected Ruby’s advances. And I thought, Perfect. The hero, the villain, the other woman. It was the setup for a perfect tragedy. If I played my part right, he would never, ever forget me. …The stage was a corporate yacht party. Publicly, it was the annual gala for some shell corporation. In reality, it was a summit for the region’s top traffickers. We had assets on board, hidden among the crew. The whole night was a powder keg. I was there as Sebastian’s girlfriend. But Ruby pushed, relentlessly. First, she tried to humiliate me during the reception, then she brazenly flirted with Sebastian right in front of me. He didn’t stop her. And right there, I knew something was wrong. Even if he was losing interest, he wouldn’t disrespect me so publicly, not when I was known to everyone as his girl. Later that night, I walked into his stateroom after a shower. He grabbed my wrist and slammed me against the doorframe. “”Ava,”” he said, his voice dangerously low. “”Swear to me. Swear you’ve never lied to me.”” For a second, my blood ran cold. I saw my entire mission, my life, crumbling. I had already pictured my triumphant return, but now I wasn’t even sure I’d make it back in one piece. But he’d said “”swear.”” Swear. That meant he had no proof. It was just a suspicion, probably planted by Ruby. He was trying to decide if I was a cop. He wasn’t sure. I couldn’t be too defensive, but I couldn’t be too calm either. “”I have never lied to you,”” I said, meeting his gaze, repeating his words back to him like a sacred vow. He let go of my wrist. “”Sebastian, I—”” I reached for him, but he pulled away. “”I didn’t lie to you…”” My voice trembled, a perfect performance of hurt. “”Go back to your room, Ava,”” he said, his tone softening slightly, but the command was absolute. I didn’t move. I reached for his hand again. He pushed me away, not hard, but enough to make me stumble back. I just stared at him, my eyes wide with disbelief. “”Ruby was right,”” he said, his dark eyes boring into me. “”Maybe you are just a very, very good actress.”” I watched him, incredulous. “”You’d rather believe her than me?”” … The only answer I got was the solid click of the door shutting in my face. The tears that welled in my eyes vanished the second I was alone. Sebastian’s instincts were sharp. I didn’t think it was just Ruby. It was his own gut, his seventh sense, telling him something was off. With a man like that, no matter how perfect my cover was, suspicion was always a risk. And once the seed of doubt was planted, it was only a matter of time before it grew into a conviction. I needed to do something drastic. And thanks to Ruby, I had the perfect stage. 6 I had always told Sebastian I was afraid of the water. In truth, I was the captain and gold medalist of my high school swim team. The pieces you put on the board early in the game sometimes come in handy when you least expect it. There was another undercover officer on the yacht, disguised as a crew member. He’d told me that a specific spot on the edge of the top deck was perfectly covered by a security camera. According to the ship’s route, we would be passing a small, uninhabited island about half a mile off our port side. The sea was calm that night. By 2 a.m., the deck was deserted. I stood in the exact spot we’d planned, perfectly framed by the camera. The wind whipped my white dress around my legs. I typed out a text message to Sebastian. I know I’m not as smart as her, or as powerful. But maybe this… …maybe this will prove I never lied to you. Then I jumped. … The drama of faking a suicide to prove your love and innocence is amplified a thousand times when the target is a man starved for affection. I won’t bore you with the details of that night: how I navigated half a mile of open ocean with only a compass and the glowing dial of my sports watch; how I collapsed on a sandy beach, fighting off birds that thought I was a corpse, while waiting for my contact. It was the kind of harrowing experience you could write a novel about. Eventually, an officer picked me up in a small inflatable boat, and I spent the next few weeks hiding out and recovering in a fishing village on a different island. The ordeal had left me with more than a few injuries. During that time, I heard that Sebastian was tearing the ocean apart looking for me. Even with the security footage clearly showing his “”non-swimmer”” girlfriend leaping into the sea to prove her devotion, he refused to believe I was dead. Witnesses said they’d never seen him so unhinged, commandeering dozens of fishing boats for the search. He found me on a day when the setting sun bled across the water. I was sitting on a small stool outside a fisherman’s hut, my hair in a single braid, watching the light fade. I had calculated the angle. From where he would first see me, my profile would look tragic, beautiful, and devastatingly fragile. All that effort paid off. He stumbled toward me, his steps unsteady, and pulled me into an embrace so tight I thought my ribs would crack. Men. They’re all the same. They crave a woman who will destroy herself for them, a woman who asks for nothing in return. I could feel myself being absorbed into him. I parted my lips, my voice deliberately soft and hoarse. “”Sebastian,”” I whispered. “”You could have just let me go.”” “”I’m okay.”” “”If you want to be with her, just let me go.”” “”Just… just tell me to my face,”” I choked out, “”that you don’t want me anymore…”” I felt his body go rigid. His fingers threaded gently through my hair. This was different from before. This time, it was real. Sebastian was hooked. He was the one who couldn’t leave me now. I rested my chin in the crook of his neck. If jumping into the ocean was a gamble, then in that moment, I knew. I had won the whole damn pot. “”So, where do you think he’d go? Now that he’s out.”” “”He’s a madman, Mark. How am I supposed to know what a madman is thinking?”” In the office, the ceiling fan spun lazily. Light filtered through the blinds, striping the room where my exhausted colleagues were hitting one dead end after another. No tips, no sightings. He’d vanished. And yet, we all knew he would surface again. Sebastian Vale was not the type to let things go. “”Ava’s family is secure, right?”” the captain asked the room. “”She’s burned. We can’t rule out the possibility that Vale will retaliate against her relatives,”” Mark said, rubbing his temples as he looked over at me. He was right. Now that my identity was compromised, my entire family was under 24/7 police protection. Everything should have been fine. But my right eye had been twitching all day. I’m not superstitious, but some of the older guys on the force are. They have little rituals, like eating their favorite meal before a big bust to see if the taste is off—a “”tell,”” they call it. My breakfast this morning tasted like ash. I sat at my desk, my head down. This mission was supposed to be my ticket to a quiet desk job. I was already planning my vacation. It felt like the universe was playing a cruel joke. The door to the briefing room burst open. A uniformed officer rushed in, his eyes wide with panic. When his gaze landed on me, my stomach dropped. “”Agent Reed,”” he panted. “”It’s your nephew.”” … “He was found at nine this morning, near the East Maple Road market.” I sat in the car, a thick fog filling my head as the officer recited the report. “”Multiple injection sites. Upper arm, wrist, inner thigh. Prelim tox report shows a massive, repeated overdose of heroin.”” “”He’s at First General. In surgery now.”” “”…”” Sebastian’s revenge… had begun. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. A buzzing filled my ears. Stay calm, stay calm. What did I need to ask? What was the question? “”He had a protection detail, didn’t he? How the hell did this happen?”” Mark’s voice was sharp, cutting through my haze. “”The kid’s a senior in high school. Finals are coming up,”” the officer explained, looking miserable. “”His mom said he couldn’t miss any more school. So they scaled back the detail to just escorts to and from.”” “”Somehow, they still got to him…”” … I remembered. I’d promised my nephew, Leo, that if he got into a top-tier school, I’d buy him a top-of-the-line gaming PC. Now, he was in an operating room, and I was standing outside it. My cousin’s raw, guttural sobs echoed in the sterile hallway, hammering against my eardrums. In my hand, I clutched an evidence bag containing a small, folded piece of paper. They’d found it in Leo’s pocket. A message from Sebastian. His handwriting was messy, but sharp, just like him. It said: Don’t you dare not love me.”

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My father-in-law was dragged for a mile by a drunk driver on his way home from his late-night walk. By the time I got the call, he was already in the morgue, his face unrecognizable. After the police showed me the surveillance footage, I was shaking with a rage so pure it felt like ice in my veins. I swore I would get justice for him. The next day, my husband, Ethan, asked me to meet him at a bistro. He slid a folder across the polished table, the sound sharp in the quiet restaurant. “Ava, what’s done is done. Your father is gone, but Nikki is only twenty-one. She has her whole life ahead of her. You can’t be so vicious as to demand she sacrifice her future for a dead man.” He tapped the folder. “Sign the settlement agreement. Fifty thousand dollars. It’s a fair compensation for your father. We drop the case, and this all goes away.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low threat. “Or I’ll make sure you don’t see a single cent.” I didn’t sign. And Ethan, true to his word, made sure I didn’t get a penny. But he never could have imagined that he would be the one kneeling on the courthouse steps, bashing his head against the concrete until it bled, begging for the case to be reopened. 1. “What… what did you just say?” “Fifty thousand? To settle?” I stared at Ethan, the words failing to connect in my brain. The man lying in the morgue right now was his father. His. Ethan had a rough childhood. His mother, unable to handle the poverty, had left when he was just a baby. It was his dad, Bob, who raised him, working two jobs, never complaining, never remarrying because he didn’t want his son to ever feel second best. “What? Is it not enough?” he asked, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. I opened my mouth, my voice trembling. “This isn’t about the money, Ethan.” I took a breath, trying to soften the blow I thought he was too grief-stricken to process. “The person… the man who died… it was our dad.” I’d braced myself for his breakdown, chosen my words with surgical care. Instead, he glanced at his watch, a frustrated frown creasing his brow. “I know. You don’t have to keep repeating it.” He waved a dismissive hand. “So if it’s not about the money, just sign the damn thing. Don’t waste my time, I have a meeting.” Numbly, I opened the folder. My eyes scanned the legalese, my mind a fog, until a single sentence snapped everything into sharp, horrifying focus. It described my father-in-law bending down to tie his shoe as a deliberate act of “staging an accident for insurance fraud.” It claimed that because of his attempted scam, the driver, a Miss Nicole Sanders, who was feeling unwell at the time, was understandably distracted and failed to notice the “minor impact.” It was a complete and utter fabrication. A desecration. My fingers tightened on the thin sheet of paper. “Did you watch the surveillance video at the police station?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. He sighed, took a loud sip of his iced tea, and leaned back in his chair. When he spoke, his voice was a notch too loud. “Watch what? You want me to watch your father trying to scam some poor girl? For Christ’s sake, Ava, he’s a grown man trying to shake down a college kid. Aren’t you embarrassed? Because I am.” “He wasn’t scamming anyone!” “Ethan, he raised you for thirty years. You know him better than anyone. Don’t insult his memory with this… this garbage.” Heads began to turn in our direction. I pushed the folder back toward him. The terror and grief that had been strangling me for twenty-four hours were slowly being replaced by a cold, sharp clarity, an awareness that was chillingly sober. “What ‘raised me’? That was your father, Ava. Are you losing your mind?” I thought I had been perfectly clear, but it was like he was speaking a different language. He glared at me, his patience worn thin. Then, as if remembering something, his expression softened, shifting into a mask of strained compassion. “Look, Ava,” he said, his voice now gentle, patronizing. “I know you’re upset about your father’s passing. It’s a shock. That’s understandable.” “But think about it logically. The man was old. He wasn’t contributing anything to the family anymore. If we’re being honest, he was a financial burden on you. On us.” He shrugged. “If he were alive, do you think he could ever earn another fifty thousand dollars? Or even five? We have to be realistic, honey. If you really think fifty is too low, then name your price.” In that instant, something inside me clicked. A terrible, sickening understanding. I lifted my head, and the smile I gave him was brittle. “So when someone gets old, when they stop earning money, they become a burden? Their life can be slandered, bought off for fifty thousand dollars…?” I held his gaze. “Is that what you think of your own father, too, Ethan?” “Shut up.” He snapped. Like a firecracker, he was on his feet, grabbing his glass of iced tea and throwing the contents in my face. Cold liquid and ice cubes dripped down my chin onto my blouse. “Ava, why do you have to be so goddamn difficult?” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “I’m trying to do what’s best for you, and you sit here and attack my dad? What kind of daughter-in-law are you?” “So you’re not signing it? Fine. I’m telling you right now, you take this to court, you won’t get a dime.” He snatched the settlement agreement off the table and stormed out of the restaurant. My eyes followed him, watched his rigid back as he pushed through the glass doors and disappeared onto the street. The answer was so obvious now. And so pathetic. My parents didn’t have jobs. That’s true. They had worked for the city for over twenty years before a round of budget cuts forced them into early retirement. But between their pensions and their savings, they were more than comfortable. I’d begged them to travel, to enjoy themselves. They refused. Instead, they lived modestly, saving every extra dollar to help us. To help our family. Ethan didn’t have a mother. So for years, my parents were the ones who watched our son, Leo. They were the ones who picked him up from school, who stayed with him when he was sick so we wouldn’t have to miss work. When Ethan wanted to start his own law firm, it was my parents who sold their large family home, downsized to a small condo, and gave him the money to make his dream a reality. He remembered none of it. And in his mind, my father’s life wasn’t even worth fifty thousand dollars. After twelve years of marriage, I saw it with perfect clarity for the first time. Ethan didn’t love me. Because when you love someone, you love the people who are a part of them. And when you resent someone… that resentment bleeds over, too. When I walked out of the bistro, Ethan’s sleek black BMW was still parked at the curb. A young woman in a bright red dress sat in the passenger seat, pouting playfully as he leaned over to carefully apply her lipstick. He finished, and she rewarded him with a laugh and a long, slow kiss. I stood there, watching them through the windshield. As Ethan pulled back, he saw me. The smile vanished from his face, but there was no guilt in his eyes. Only cold annoyance. The girl’s curious gaze followed his, landing on me. Ethan immediately started the engine and peeled away from the curb. It had rained that morning, and a dirty puddle had collected by the steps. The tires hit it at speed, sending a wave of greasy brown water splashing all over my legs and shoes. I walked home in a daze. When I opened the door, my son, Leo, ran toward me, his arms outstretched for a hug. He stopped short. “Mommy, what happened? Did you fall down?” A fist squeezed my heart. I knelt and pulled his small, warm body into my arms, burying my face in his hair. My mom heard his question and hurried out from the living room. She came back from the bathroom a moment later with a damp washcloth. “Weren’t you having lunch with Ethan? How did you get so filthy?” My throat was thick with unshed tears, but I forced a smile for her. “I just tripped on the way home. It’s nothing.” After I’d cleaned myself up, she pulled me aside, her voice low. “So, about your father… what is Ethan planning to do?” Remembering Ethan’s parting words, the answer felt like swallowing glass. “He… he said we should take it to court.” “Good,” my mother said, nodding firmly. “That’s the right thing to do. Your father deserves justice.” She reached into her pocket and pressed a check into my hand. “This is some money your dad and I have saved up. This process will be expensive. Take it. If you need more, you tell us.” “Mom, I…” “I’m heading home now,” she said, cutting me off gently. “Your father’s waiting for me to make him dinner.” She patted my hand and walked out the door, the soft click of the lock echoing in the sudden silence. The check in my hand felt like a burning coal, searing every nerve. I wanted a divorce. But I couldn’t tell her that. I couldn’t tell my parents that all their years of love and sacrifice meant absolutely nothing to the man they had treated like a son. And that the person he considered worthless… included me. That night, Ethan didn’t come home. I didn’t sleep in our bed. I curled up next to my son in his small twin bed, holding him tight, and stared into the darkness until dawn. The sky was just beginning to lighten when I got up to make breakfast. Just as I was putting out the plates, the front door opened. It was Ethan. He scanned the apartment, and seeing that Leo wasn’t around, he sat down at the kitchen table. He tapped his fingers on the wood. “We need to talk.” My gaze caught on a smudge of bright red lipstick just inside his collar. I sat down opposite him without a word. He cleared his throat, a faint flush on his cheeks, and pulled two folders from his briefcase, pushing them toward me. One was a divorce agreement. The other was yesterday’s settlement. “You saw us yesterday, so there’s no point in hiding it anymore,” he began, all business. “Her name is Nikki. We’ve been seeing each other for a while.” He took a breath. “I wasn’t planning on a divorce, Ava. But she’s pregnant. And the doctor said… with her condition… she can’t terminate the pregnancy.” Nikki? Nicole Sanders? My hand, reaching for the divorce papers, froze. I stared at him. I had just heard that name at the police station two days ago. The lipstick. The red dress. The fifty thousand dollars. The lies about the accident. It all crashed together in my mind with a sickening, surreal force. Was it possible? Had Ethan gotten his father’s killer pregnant? Seeing my silence, Ethan’s tone softened, becoming almost pleading. “Ava, she’s just twenty-two. For the sake of the sixteen years we had together, please, can you just let this go? Let her go?” “If you sign the settlement, I’ll give you the house, the cars, everything. I’ll add another fifty thousand to the compensation. One hundred thousand. Please.” It was almost funny. In sixteen years together, it was the first time he had ever spoken to me with such humility. And he was doing it for the woman who killed his own father. I picked up the divorce papers and flipped through them to the last page. I held out my hand. A wave of relief washed over his face. He thought I’d agreed. He scrambled in his briefcase for a pen and placed it in my palm. I signed my name, then pushed both folders back to him. “The divorce, I agree to. As for the settlement… I don’t have the right to sign that.” I was speaking the simple truth. But to Ethan, it sounded like a deliberate provocation. His face darkened. He slumped back in his chair, his chest heaving. He couldn’t hold it in. He grabbed the pen and threw it at me. “Ava, I was trying to be nice about this because of our history, but don’t think for a second that I’m begging you,” he snarled. “He was your father. If you don’t have the right, who does?” “When it comes down to it, you just won’t let Nikki go. You’re vicious. Your whole family is vicious.” “What did you say?” I clenched my fists, a hot rage finally boiling over. He could say whatever he wanted about me, but how dare he insult my family, again and again? He slammed his hands on the table and stood up, leaning over me. “I said your whole family is vicious, and your father deserved to get hit by a car!” Crack. The sound of my hand hitting his face echoed in the kitchen. I had used every ounce of my strength. His head snapped to the side. He was stunned for a second, then his eyes narrowed with fury. He lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of my hair. “You bitch. I gave you a chance.” He raised his other hand to strike me. “Daddy, don’t hit Mommy!” Leo stood in the doorway of his room, his little feet bare on the cold floor, his eyes wide with fear. Ethan’s hand froze in mid-air. He looked at our son, then back at me, his jaw tight. With a final, guttural curse, he shoved me away. I stumbled backward and fell to the floor. “You’re going to regret this, Ava.” The front door slammed shut, shaking the walls. I pulled Leo into my arms, holding him tight, my body trembling. I bit down on my lip to stop its quivering and whispered to the empty room. No, Ethan. You’re the one who’s going to regret this. The video of Ethan’s father’s accident went viral. His aunt Carol showed up at my door, her phone in her hand, her body shaking with rage. “Those monsters! My brother died in such a horrible way, and they’re smearing his name like this? Are they even human?” I poured her a glass of water and took the phone. The video trending online was heavily edited. It wasn’t the clear, raw footage I’d seen at the station. This version was grainy, the angle cleverly manipulated to hide the fact that he was tying his shoe. They had slowed down the footage, adding captions that framed his movements as the “preparations of a seasoned insurance scammer.” If I hadn’t seen the real video, I might have believed it myself. No wonder the comment section was a cesspool of vitriol. It’s not that old people turn bad; it’s that bad people grow old. You can tell he’s a pro. Look at that technique. Trying to score one last payday for his kids before he kicks the bucket. What a great dad. He got what he deserved. I should have been heartbroken. But knowing that Ethan was likely behind all of this, all because he thought the dead man was my father, I felt a strange, cold detachment. Aunt Carol slapped her thigh, her voice rising. “Ava, call Ethan right now! Tell him to send a cease and desist, to sue these soulless pigs!” I didn’t tell her that the soulless pig she was referring to was very likely her own beloved nephew. Before I could put my phone down, it rang. It was the police department. “Mrs. Miller? I’m calling to follow up. Have you and your husband decided whether to press charges in your father-in-law’s case? You mentioned you needed to discuss it with him.” I was about to tell the officer to contact Ethan directly when his aunt snatched the phone. “Charges? Of course we’re pressing charges! You go arrest her right now!” she yelled into the receiver. “What is this world coming to? She kills a man and then gets to slander him online? Unbelievable!” “Ma’am, may I ask who is speaking?” the officer asked, taken aback. “I’m the victim’s sister! His flesh and blood! And what I say goes for my nephew, too!” After she hung up, Carol grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the door. “Come on. We’re going to Ethan’s office.” When we arrived at the firm, Ethan’s assistant saw me and rushed forward, her expression panicked. “Mrs. Miller, he’s in a meeting…” Carol shoved her aside without breaking stride. “Get out of the way. Do you have any idea who I am? I’m his aunt, and this is his wife. Are you trying to get fired?” Before the poor woman could respond, Carol threw open the door to Ethan’s office. Ethan was in his large leather executive chair. And perched on his lap, straddling him, was the girl, Nikki, feeding him a cookie from her mouth to his. Carol froze for a single second, then a warrior’s cry escaped her lips. She lunged, grabbing Nikki by the arm and yanking her off Ethan’s lap. “You shameless homewrecker! Seducing a married man!” “Ah! Ethan! Ethan, help me!” the girl shrieked, scrambling away as Carol raised her hand to slap her. Before the blow could land, Ethan caught his aunt’s wrist. “You dare stop me?” Carol sputtered, incredulous. “Do you have any idea what’s going on right now? At a time like this, you’re in here messing around with this… this trash?” Ethan shot a venomous glare in my direction, clearly believing I had orchestrated this entire scene. “Carol, this is my personal life,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Don’t you think you’re overstepping?” “What did you say?” His aunt stood frozen, unable to believe the words coming from the nephew she had always adored. “Fine. Fine! My mistake. I shouldn’t have bothered to care.” She turned on her heel and stormed out. I started to follow her, but Ethan’s voice stopped me. “Ava. If it weren’t a conflict of interest for me to represent you in court, I would personally take Nikki’s case and I would destroy you.” I paused, a cold curiosity taking hold. “I have to ask, Ethan. Why are you treating me like the enemy in all this?” He tilted his head, leaning forward so I could see the faint red mark still on his cheek from my slap. “This? I will never forget this.” I nodded slowly. There was nothing left to say. With the intense media scrutiny, the case was fast-tracked. Less than two weeks later, we were in court. I didn’t hire a lawyer. I sat alone at the plaintiff’s table. Ethan sat in the gallery, catching my eye and giving me a smug, triumphant smirk. As friends and relatives filed in, one of them asked him, “Ethan, why is your wife up there? Shouldn’t that be you?” He waved it off with the air of someone explaining a complex matter to a simpleton. “One of my firm’s lawyers is representing the defendant. You can’t have two lawyers from the same firm on opposite sides of a case. It’s a conflict of interest.” The relative stared at him, confused. “You… you had one of your own employees defend the person who killed your dad? Are you insane?” Ethan didn’t even bother to look at him. “So what? As lawyers, our duty is to justice. Even if it’s family, if they’ve done something wrong, they have to face the consequences.” Such noble words. I allowed myself a small, cold smile from across the courtroom. I wondered if he would still feel that way in about five minutes. The judge’s gavel struck the bench, the sound echoing through the silent room. The clerk began to read the case details aloud. “The court is now in session for the case regarding the vehicular incident on August 29th on Sunnyside Avenue. The deceased, Robert Miller…”

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“My twin sister and I were canaries for Caleb Hayes for five years. A perfect little arrangement in his gilded cage. She slept with him, I handled the money. We had our roles. The night we graduated from Columbia, my sister, Zoe, was draped over some male model with an eight-pack at a downtown speakeasy. She looked up from his abs, suddenly thoughtful. “Chloe,” she said, “the wedding. Are you going, or am I?” I swirled the ice in my drink, grabbing a pair of dice from a nearby table. “Let’s roll for it. Loser goes.” Before we could settle the bet, a familiar, deep voice cut through the noise behind us. “Bro, how was she? My little canary.” “Serviceable,” another voice, identical, replied. Staring at two faces—the exact same face—Zoe and I froze. We spoke in perfect, horrified unison. “Which one of you is Caleb?” 1 We ducked behind a velvet curtain, peeking at the VIP booth, our minds racing. “It’s the one on the right,” I whispered. “No, the left,” Zoe shot back. I stared at her. “You’ve been sleeping with him for years. You can’t tell them apart?” “I don’t exactly look at his face when we’re in bed. And anyway, they’re identical!” she hissed, chewing on a fingernail. “Unless he dropped his pants right now, I’d have no clue.” She had a point. It was an impossible situation. Before we could solve the riddle, we saw the man we knew as Caleb—let’s call him Caleb One—smirk. The smirk was a lazy, cruel curve of the lips. He turned to his twin. “So, bro,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. “The wedding. You going, or am I?” His brother—Caleb Two—paused for a fraction of a second. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he picked up the dice from the table. “Let’s roll for it. Winner takes the prize.” “Deal.” Caleb One grinned, picking up his own shaker. Their booth erupted in laughter. “Better bring your A-game, Caleb,” one of his friends shouted. “Roll snake eyes and you’re the one walking down the aisle.” “Hell, why don’t you both go?” another slurred. “Give Chloe a real surprise.” “Can you imagine her face on the wedding day?” a third chimed in, his voice laced with venom. “When she finds out she’s been passed between the two of you for the last two years? Priceless.” A woman perched on Caleb One’s lap giggled, covering her mouth. “That Chloe girl is so lucky, having two Hayes brothers fighting over her. I’m almost jealous.” The whole table howled at the jab. Caleb One took a sip of his whiskey, then tilted the woman’s chin up and passed the liquor from his mouth to hers. He laughed softly. “What, you want in on the action? Maybe my brother and I could take care of you, too.” She melted against him, a puddle of feigned desire. “Oh, no,” she cooed, “I only have eyes for you, Caleb.” Zoe and I locked eyes. The disgust was mutual. But beneath it, in her gaze, I saw a flicker of something else. A quiet, heartbreaking disappointment. 2 “You lose, bro.” The dice shaker was lifted. Caleb One had rolled a six. He didn’t seem bothered. He glanced at the woman in his arms and smiled. “This little thing wants to see the Northern Lights. I’m taking her to Iceland. The wedding’s in five days. You hold down the fort. I’ll be back before the big day, I promise.” Caleb Two just gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. A few minutes later, someone in the group yelled, “Let’s go race the cars.” Caleb One stood, clapping his friend on the back. “Anyone who loses better have a fat check for me on the wedding day. Chloe loves counting her money.” No one caught the strangeness in his tone. They all just laughed and agreed. “You got it, man. We’re ready.” “Solid. Let’s roll. Bro, you coming?” Caleb One asked his twin. The group started to get up, but Caleb Two remained seated, staring into space. When he heard his brother’s question, he seemed to snap out of a trance. “Nah, I’m good. Gotta go home and… keep up the act.” Keep up the act. We all knew what that meant. After Caleb Two had also left, Zoe and I finally emerged from our hiding spot, both letting out a breath we didn’t realize we’d been holding. The dice sat on the abandoned table, a relic of a decision we no longer had to make. It seemed our little dilemma had been solved for us. After some quick analysis, we figured it out. The loud, playful, life-of-the-party one was the younger brother, Caleb. The quiet, gentler, more reserved one was the older brother, Connor. “Well, with the economy the way it is, I guess this particular freelance gig is over,” Zoe said grimly. I thought for a long moment. “So, we run?” She nodded, her eyes hard. “You run, I run.” 3 That night, we split up. Zoe went to a clinic for a full check-up, and I went back to the penthouse to pack our severance. On the way, I called a friend from my hometown in Maine and had her rent a secluded house for us on the coast. I booked two one-way bus tickets for five days from now. The same day as the wedding. When I got back to the apartment, I ran right into Connor. He was fresh from the shower, a towel slung low on his hips, his dark hair still dripping onto his shoulders. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, toying with a small, velvet box. He saw me and beckoned with one finger. I walked over, and in the next second, he pulled me into a tight embrace, resting his head against my chest. A cold, thin band of platinum slid onto the ring finger of my left hand. Then he took my right hand, lifted it to his lips, and placed a soft kiss on the bare ring finger there. He smiled. “Baby, in five days, we’re getting married. And I’m going to put the most beautiful pink diamond in the world right on this spot. Okay?” I crushed the heavy feeling in my gut and nodded numbly, unable to speak. He reached out to pull me closer, but his phone buzzed on the nightstand. When he saw the caller ID, his expression shifted, just for a second. He answered, a simple, “Okay,” into the phone. “Are you going out?” I asked. He stood and kissed my forehead, his voice a warm, gentle whisper. “Something came up at the office. I have to take care of it. You be good and get some sleep. Don’t wait up for me.” He disappeared back into the bathroom to dry his hair. The phone on the nightstand buzzed again with a text notification. I picked it up. The passcode, for both their phones, was my birthday—a detail meant to be a sweet part of their charade. They both knew I’d never check. This would be the first and last time. Two messages from someone named “Ash.” Ash: Connor, darling, I heard you’re getting married to that Chloe girl. A show like that? You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Ash: I’m back. Come pick me up. Waiting for you xo. Ash. The name echoed in my mind, and then it clicked into place. Ashley Davenport. The queen bee of the New York social scene, Caleb’s childhood sweetheart. The one he’d worshipped, followed around like a puppy, until she left for Oxford after high school. Of course. It all made sense. Connor came out of the bathroom, dressed in a sharp suit. He saw me lying in bed and leaned over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. “I’m leaving now, baby.” I forced a smile. “Okay.” “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he murmured, his eyes fixed on my lips. I tilted my head up, and our lips met in a brief, feather-light kiss. Satisfied, he lingered, kissing me again and again as if he couldn’t bear to leave. Finally, he pushed himself up. “Get some sleep. I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.” The roar of his car’s engine faded into the night. I wiped my mouth, as if touching something unclean. Then I swung my legs out of bed. Sleep? Not a chance. The walk-in closet full of bags and jewelry wasn’t going to pack itself. An opportunity like this only comes once. I had to hand it to them, Caleb and Connor were generous. The designer bags were all limited editions. The necklaces and rings were either emeralds or diamonds. My mouth practically watered as I looked at a flawless, emerald-cut diamond the size of a pigeon’s egg. Pack it. Pack it all. 4 While I was clearing out the closet, I found the crimson-colored stationery where we had written our vows. I opened it. The handwriting inside was a messy, joyful scrawl. I spread the paper on the floor and, with a blank expression, took a black marker and drew a thick, final line through my name. I had to remind myself. A promise, like a heart, once it’s cracked, can never be repaired to look like it was never broken. After packing everything, I put the voided vows back in the safe. It was where Connor kept his most precious things. Suddenly, a different box caught my eye. On impulse, I pulled it out. It was filled with letters, none of them addressed. The envelope simply read: For Ashley. “Ashley, how’s London? Are you okay?” “I heard you cried over your thesis. Don’t cry, my Ashley. Your beautiful eyes should only shed tears of joy.” “I found it. The pink diamond you always wanted.” “You said you wanted a wedding dress that looked like it was made of stars. I’ve already designed it.” “When you walk down the aisle, I should be the first one to take your hand, right?” “Ashley, I miss you so much. I’m lying. I’m not trying to pressure you to come back.” After reading them, our own vows felt like a sickening joke. I was about to put the letters back when my phone buzzed. Three screenshots from Zoe. The first was a photo of a girl holding a bouquet of roses. In front of her, a man was on one knee, holding a ring box. I stared at the back of the kneeling man for a long time. It was the same suit Connor was wearing when he left. The next two photos were close-ups of two different diamond rings, each one breathtaking. The caption read: “Pink or white, girls? I think the white is so basic. Help me choose!” Followed by another post: “No surprises, no drama. Just my childhood sweetheart, back with the pink diamond he promised me. He proposed! Wish me luck! #blessed #isaidyes” I looked at the simple platinum band on my own finger and laughed until tears started to stream down my face. I pulled it off and placed it on top of the crossed-out vows. I searched for her Instagram profile and scrolled through it for a while. Then I liked the post and left a comment: Congratulations. Just then, a message from Connor came through: Baby, so much to do tonight. I’m not coming home. Love you. The man who had just proposed to another woman was now, as if nothing had happened, calling me baby and telling me he loved me. For a second, I wanted to ask him. Connor, does it ever get tiring, playing this devoted character? But in the end, I swallowed the words, deleted the text, and replied with a simple: Okay.”

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“My husband was keeping a girl. She was young, fresh, and uninhibited in bed, giving him experiences he’d never had before. He’d remind her to take her pill, and she’d pout, joking that she wanted to have his baby. He would warn her, dead serious, that if she ever got pregnant, she’d get an abortion and a goodbye. He would only allow his wife to bear his children. It sounds almost romantic, in a twisted way. So, I told him: “”I’m pregnant.”” He just fell silent. Because we hadn’t slept together in five years. 1 “I cheated on you.” I expected Harris to be completely unfazed, to ask me with a smirk if I’d had a good time. Instead, his brow furrowed. He stared at me for a long moment, saying nothing. Did he not believe me? Oh, right. I’d tried this bluff once before, five years ago. The hatred in my heart had been a living thing back then, but at the last possible second, a sliver of clarity broke through. Ruining myself just to get back at him wasn’t worth it. I pushed Leo, Harris’s best friend, away and got out of the bed. Still, I let my malice guide me. I covered my skin in marks, went home, and told Harris I’d had an affair. “Let’s get a divorce,” I’d said. For a split second, his eyes turned red. But that was the extent of it. The moment I found out about his affair, the elegant, composed woman I was supposed to be shattered. A panic attack seized me, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my fingers curling into rigid claws. I thought I was dying. Harris, ever the pragmatist, calmly found a paper bag for me to breathe into. He calmly explained. He calmly made promises. “Sloane, we’ve been married for five years. I’m a man with needs. Anyone would get tired of eating the same meal every day.” “I’m under a lot of pressure at work. Sometimes I need an outlet for my stress, but you’re my wife. I have to respect you.” “I can give you everything you want. Everything except total physical fidelity.” I looked at him through a blur of tears, the question burning on my tongue. Do you still love me? But I didn’t say a word. He was sleeping with someone else. Love was no longer part of the equation. 2 I washed my face and demanded a divorce. Harris wasn’t surprised. He told me to calm down, to think it through. Of course. Since I’d discovered his infidelity, he had remained perfectly composed, managing the situation with unnerving stability. Even after I slapped him with all the strength I could muster, his gaze remained steady, as if he were watching a child throw a tantrum. When I raised my hand to strike him again, he caught my wrist easily. The chasm of strength between a man and a woman was absolute; I couldn’t break free. Instead, he pulled me into an embrace that had once been my sanctuary but now felt like a cage of ice. He urged me to reconsider. My parents urged me. Even my best friend urged me. And why wouldn’t they? In everyone’s eyes, including my own parents’, I was no longer in Harris’s league. I had simply gotten in on the ground floor, weathering the toughest years of his startup. I was an early-stage venture capitalist who had hit the jackpot. He was a titan of industry, and I was reaping the rewards. A divorce? The sunk costs were too high. The public humiliation would be unbearable. And when three people tell you you’re a tiger, you start to believe it. Back then, I hesitated. To win me back, Harris spared no expense. Gifts arrived in a relentless stream. Beyond the jewelry, he bought me a yacht and a private island in the San Juans, complete with a glass-walled villa and a full-time caretaker. He even cleared his schedule for two weeks to sail there with me, just the two of us. We watched the sunrise over the Pacific and ate sashimi from tuna caught an hour before. We walked along the beach, the sky painted with the brilliant colors of sunset. He was more attentive, more tender than he had been even when we first started dating. For a moment, I allowed myself to be swayed. Until the dead of night. Harris emerged from the shower, his warm body, still damp, wrapping around me from behind. My mind, a traitor, instantly flashed to the chat logs on his phone. The girl’s endless stream of flirty messages and life updates, which he never responded to. But then she’d asked him to pick a style of lingerie for her to wear. He had replied. Just one word. A claw seemed to seize my heart, squeezing tighter and tighter. “Do you kiss her when you’re with her?” I asked, my voice cold. Harris’s hand on my waist went rigid. I tore his arm away and ran to the bathroom. The exquisite dinner we’d shared ended up as a pool of sick in the toilet bowl. The two-week vacation was over in two days. 3 After that, I became a detective, obsessively searching his clothes for a clue, a trace of her. A smudge of lipstick on a collar, the lingering scent of perfume. Nothing. His shirts were always pristine. I found nothing. But the string inside me, pulled tighter and tighter with each late night he came home, finally snapped. After one particularly vicious, hysterical fight, he resorted to the silent treatment. The moment I realized I had become a shrew, a bitter nag, panic set in. And then, the cruelest irony of all: I discovered I was pregnant. This should have been the happiest news of my life. I wanted a child more than anything, but we’d struggled for years. We went to clinics. There was nothing wrong with me, nothing wrong with him. It just never happened. We had started the IVF conversation. I’d already endured hundreds of injections, my body a pincushion of failed hope. In the emotional wreckage of his affair, I had been bleeding intermittently, too consumed by misery to pay it much mind. I never imagined that this little life I had longed for would choose to arrive now, when all my hope was gone. I didn’t tell Harris. I went to the clinic alone and had the abortion. When I woke up from the anesthesia, I felt a profound, soul-crushing emptiness. That’s when Harris appeared. His face was pale, his eyes filled with a deep, cutting disappointment. “Sloane, is this your revenge? The baby was innocent…” “That’s why I couldn’t bring it into this world. How tragic is a child who isn’t born into love?” “Harris, let’s get a divorce,” I repeated, my voice flat and numb. “No. No divorce.” His resolve was even stronger than mine. 4 Five years passed. We were strangers living under the same roof. The women in Harris’s life came and went. I heard the latest one was a student from a prestigious dance academy. A girl full of life, lithe and supple. He must have really liked her; she’d been around for over six months. The last time I saw him was a few days ago. The circumstances were pure melodrama. A fender-bender on the freeway. His car rear-ended mine. He was clearly taking the girl for a day trip, maybe to the coast. She wore a floral sundress and a wide-brimmed straw hat. She didn’t know who I was. The moment she got out of the car, she rushed over, her face a mask of panic. “Ma’am, I am so, so sorry. It was my fault. I was trying to feed my boyfriend something—he gets an upset stomach if he skips breakfast, and we were in such a rush this morning… I distracted him.” She bit her lip, glossed in a shade of cherry pink. Her cheeks were flushed with a healthy, youthful glow. She was so vibrant, so beautiful, it was hard to look away. “It’s fine,” I said. My gaze shifted to Harris, and I offered him a small smile. “Our tenth anniversary is next Thursday. We should have dinner.” Harris’s expression was unreadable, but the girl’s face went white. She glanced at me, then back at him, her body instinctively pressing closer to his for support. A perfect picture of damsel in distress. Harris, however, subtly shifted away from her touch. “I’ll drive you home,” he said to me. “No need. I have somewhere to be. I wouldn’t want to ruin your plans.” The impact hadn’t been severe, but the seatbelt had jerked tight across my stomach. I was worried about the baby. I got back in my car. Just as I was about to shut the door, a hand stopped me. A shadow fell over me. “Sloane,” Harris said, his voice low as he looked down at me, his eyes dark and turbulent. “Is there nothing you want to say to me?” “Like what?” I replied, my tone laced with irony. “Did you expect me to fly into a rage and attack your mistress?” I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t mistake me for someone so naive. The amount of money you give me is more than enough to buy your peace and quiet.” “Alright, then. We’ll talk next week.” Harris didn’t move. He kept his hand on the door, his gaze locked on mine, a storm brewing beneath the surface. I met his stare calmly. Finally, he pulled his hand away. I hit the gas, merging back into traffic. At the next exit, I took it, leaving the congested freeway behind. The road ahead opened up, wide and clear. Five years of marriage to Harris, and I could never get pregnant. Once I changed the father, it turned out to be the easiest thing in the world. It seemed fate had decided it for us. Our paths were always meant to diverge.”

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“My son, Leo, loved the stupid horror mask. He’d sit in my passenger seat, a cheap piece of plastic pulled over his face, and wait for a car to pull up alongside us at a red light. Then he’d turn, slowly, and watch them jump. It was his masterpiece, his little slice of internet content. This time, his prank went too far. The woman in the silver sedan shrieked, her hands flying off the wheel. Her car swerved, tires screaming, narrowly missing a telephone pole. The rage that surged through me was tidal. I didn’t think; I just reacted. The slap was loud, a crack in the quiet afternoon air. His head snapped back. For a second, there was just shock in his eyes. Then it curdled into something else. Something ugly. “You hit me?” he snarled, his voice a stranger’s. “I’m twenty-five years old. You don’t get to put your hands on me!” He lunged for the steering wheel. The world went sideways, a blur of green and gray. Then, a brutal impact, the shriek of metal, and darkness. When I opened my eyes again, the world was a cramped, dark box. The coppery taste of blood was on my tongue. Duct tape, sticky and suffocating, was plastered across my mouth. My wrists and ankles burned, bound tight with coarse rope. I was in the trunk of my own car. Muffled sounds came from the driver’s seat. It was Leo’s voice, artificially casual. “Hey, man. Need some work done. Money’s not an issue, just need it fast.” “The trunk won’t open, though,” he added, a little too quickly. “Got a baby goat back there for my cousin’s farm. Thing’s a runner.” 1 “Leo, honey, your mom’s not picking up. Can you tell her not to forget your sister?” My husband Mark’s voice, tinny through the car’s speakers. Leo mumbled a reply, his voice sullen. After he hung up, I heard him talking to himself, a low, urgent whisper. “It’s not my fault. She shouldn’t have hit me. If she can’t take a hit, that’s on her. The car’s fine, I’m fine. See? Even God’s on my side.” The car drove for a while, then stopped. A moment later, the rear door opened and the car dipped with new weight. My daughter’s voice. Maya. “Where’s Mom? She was supposed to pick me up.” Through a tiny crack near the taillight, I could see a sliver of the backseat. Leo, impatient, laid on the horn. “Does it matter who picks you up? Mom had to go out. Get in or get out.” Maya pouted, climbing into the back instead of the passenger seat. I heard the familiar tap of her fingers on her phone screen. A moment later, a muffled ringing started. My phone. Then, the automated voice: The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Another sound, the digital chime of a FaceTime call. It rang and rang before cutting out. “That’s weird,” Maya said, her voice closer now. “She never ignores my calls. Something feels wrong.” Hope, sharp and painful, pierced through my terror. My daughter, my clever, intuitive daughter, knew. She was just on the other side of the seat. If I could just make a sound, a single, loud sound. But it was impossible. The space was so tight I felt fused to it, wedged between the spare tire and the frame. I was a part of the car. “Hey,” Maya’s voice again. “I feel a vibration back here. Can you drive a little smoother, Leo?” Leo’s reply was a low growl. He knew. He turned onto a rougher road, one of the old, unpaved service roads by the reservoir. Each bump, each pothole, was a fist slamming into my body. Pain blossomed behind my eyes, sharp and blinding. My teeth rattled in my skull. By the time the car stopped, my clothes were soaked in sweat, and every breath was a struggle in the hot, stale air. “Mom’s not home to cook and Dad’s working late,” Leo announced. “Let’s get some pizza.” “Okay!” The engine cut out. I lay in the suffocating darkness, counting the seconds, which stretched into an eternity. They came back, smelling of pepperoni and garlic, and started the drive home. My body was beginning to fail me. A faint, metallic smell filled my nostrils. With a surge of horror, I realized what it was. My head. The wound on my forehead from the crash was still bleeding. A slow, steady drip. If it didn’t stop, I would die in here. “You know,” Leo said, his voice weaving its way into my fog of pain, “you’re almost done with your driver’s ed. Dad and Mom aren’t here. Want to take a spin?” “I don’t know, Leo… I’m not supposed to drive without an adult.” “I’m an adult. Come on, I won’t tell.” The car stopped. Doors opened and closed. Maya was in the driver’s seat. The car lurched forward, then stopped. Forward, then a sudden brake. Each movement was a fresh wave of agony. She took a turn too fast, and my head slammed against the wheel well. Stars exploded behind my eyes. Forgetting the pain, I started rubbing my face against the rough carpet of the trunk, trying to create any noise, any friction that might be heard over the engine. But the sound of my own skin burning was nothing compared to the groans and rattles of my novice daughter’s driving. Clang! She’d hit a speed bump without slowing down. For a weightless second, I was airborne. Then I crashed down, my spine screaming in protest. A sharp turn. A sudden stop. Another speed bump. Blood, warm and sticky, trickled into my eyes, gluing my eyelids shut. It felt like invisible fists were pummeling me from all directions, breaking me apart piece by piece. My taped mouth couldn’t scream, couldn’t even whimper. Silent tears of pure, desperate agony streamed down my temples. The tape, already a torture device, shifted with the impacts. A corner of it was pushed upwards, forming a small, hard ridge that blocked one of my nostrils. My breathing became a desperate, ragged gasp. Then, one last, violent stop. A sharp, acidic pain shot through my nose. A gush of warmth. A nosebleed. The last of the air was gone. The darkness behind my eyes consumed everything. 2 Maya parked the car at the curb in front of our house, flushed with the thrill of her illicit drive. “That was… intense,” she said, her voice breathless. “I was a little scared, honestly. I almost hit the curb a few times. I think I put a few new scratches on the bumper.” Leo laughed, a sound completely devoid of humor. “Did you get out and check? Did you check the trunk?” Maya shook her head. “Why would I? No one rear-ended me. Is there something in there?” She sniffed the air. “Ugh, what’s that smell? Smells like… old pennies.” She fanned the air with her hand. Leo draped an arm over her shoulder, steering her toward the front door. “Come on, let’s go up. Dad will be home soon. And you have to listen to me now, got it? Otherwise, I’ll tell him you took Mom’s car for a joyride.” “What? You can’t do that! You said you wouldn’t tell!” The threat worked. Maya forgot about the strange smell and scurried up the walkway and into the building. Leo’s eyes flickered to the trunk. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head, the excuses forming. She drove too. It wasn’t all my fault. If there’s blame, it’s shared. He rested a hand on the trunk lid, his fingers inches from the release latch. “Don’t move!” He jumped back, startled. It was Maya, returning from the building. “What is wrong with you?” he hissed. “I told you to go inside!” Maya shrank back, clutching her phone. “I’m just worried about Mom, Leo. She’s never had her phone off for this long. What if something happened to her?” Leo’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. He fumbled in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, his hands shaking slightly as he lit one. “You’re overthinking it,” he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “She’s just pissed. We’re growing up, we don’t need her hovering over us 24/7. She’s got this crazy control thing, and she can’t handle that we’re not her little robots anymore. She’s probably just off somewhere sulking.” He took another drag, leaning in conspiratorially. “Or maybe… there’s another possibility.” Maya’s eyes widened. “What?” “Think about it,” he said, his voice low and slick. “Mom and Dad have been… distant. What if she’s finally had enough? What if she’s leaving us? Found someone else.” The idea hit Maya like a physical blow. Her face crumpled, her voice trembling. “No…” Leo saw his opening. He put an arm around her, a parody of a comforting brother, and led her away from the car and back toward the house. The next time I woke, the pain found me first. The wound on my head had scabbed over, pulling the skin tight. My bones felt like chalk, ready to crumble. I took a reflexive breath and felt the familiar blockage, the suffocating pressure. The terror came rushing back. My body was as stiff as a board. If Leo didn’t come back soon, I would die. For real, this time. The fear of death was a powerful motivator. My survival instinct took over. I twisted my head, rubbing my face against the abrasive trunk liner again and again. Millimeter by millimeter, I worked a corner of the duct tape loose. Hundreds of repetitions, my skin raw and bleeding, pushing with my tongue from the inside. Finally, a section of my mouth was free. I gulped at the stale, hot air. After a moment, I tried to scream, to call for help. But the trunk’s insulation, a feature I’d once praised for its quiet ride, was now my prison wall. My voice was a hoarse, broken croak. It was the ultimate irony. I had bought this car. This quiet, safe, family car. My own cocoon had become my coffin. The blood from my nose had run down my throat. My mouth was coated in a vile, sticky film. Every breath was a mix of rust and rot that made my stomach heave. And the person responsible for it all was my son. The thought broke me. Sobs wracked my stiff body. The tears, at least, were useful. They lubricated my crusted-over eyes, allowing me to blink them open. Screaming was useless. But I could still move my head. I gathered what little strength I had left and slammed my head backwards into the trunk lid. Again. And again. Maya’s bedroom window overlooked the parking spot. After what felt like a hundred impacts, a piercing electronic shriek split the night. The car alarm. I saw her silhouette appear in the window. She rubbed her eyes. “Is that our car?” I heard her faint voice. “There’s no one around. Who would have hit it?” She went to knock on Leo’s door, but he was already passed out. The noise of her knocking finally roused him. He emerged, his face a mask of groggy anger. “Maya, our car alarm is going off.” “It’s not,” I heard him slur. My movements were getting weaker, my head a dull, throbbing weight. I couldn’t trigger it again. “You’re imagining things,” Leo snapped, his voice rough with sleep. “It was probably just some kids messing around. Go look if you’re so worried.” He gave her a shove. “And lay off the fantasy novels. I let you drive today, don’t push your luck. You bother me again and I’ll lock you in the car for a night.” His threat landed. Maya stared down at the silent car for five long minutes. Not a soul was in sight. A shiver ran down her spine. “Maybe I did imagine it,” she whispered to herself. “Maybe I was just too stressed from driving.” 3 At ten-thirty, Mark came home carrying a bottle of bourbon and a bag of takeout from the deli. His daily reward for a long day. He was exhausted. Seeing that both kids were in their rooms, he didn’t bother them. But after two sips of his drink, a sudden stillness registered. Normally, I would have complained about him drinking on a weeknight before relenting. Tonight, the house was silent. And the light in our bedroom was off. He knocked on Maya’s door, then Leo’s. “Leo, where’s your mother? I forgot to ask you earlier. She wasn’t answering her phone. I thought she was with you.” Maya appeared in her doorway, her eyes misty. She repeated the theory Leo had planted in her head. “Dad… what if Mom left us? What if she found someone else?” Mark’s face hardened. He poked her gently on the forehead. “What kind of nonsense is that? Your mother and I argue sometimes, sure. But we’ve been married for almost thirty years. Stop reading that garbage online. Your mother has a good head on her shoulders.” He turned to Leo. “What did she say to you today?” Leo shifted his weight. “Just… that she had to go out of town for a bit. Urgent business. A friend picked her up. Said you’d take care of us.” Maya’s brow furrowed. That wasn’t what he had told her. Mark, however, looked relieved. He ruffled Maya’s hair. “See? It’s fine. Her phone probably died. She’s probably on a plane by now. Try calling again in an hour.” He went back to his bourbon, and the kids retreated to their rooms. Thirty minutes later, the car alarm blared through the neighborhood again. “Shut that thing up!” someone yelled from a window above. “Seriously! People have to work tomorrow! One more time and I’m calling the cops!” Mark grumbled along with them. “Whose car is that? So obnoxious.” He sighed. “Your mother would be out there giving them a piece of her mind right now. I wonder who she went to see. She must have been in a real hurry not to even text. I’ll have to get the full story when she gets back.” Mark and I, we were a story that started in college. The daily grind of life hadn’t eroded our foundation, but it had built walls. We still shared the little things, the trivial annoyances and victories of the day. But as the kids got older, we’d become more ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ than ‘Claire’ and ‘Mark.’ It’s hard to let that guard down once it’s up. He finished his drink and started cleaning up the table. Down below, the alarm finally sputtered into silence. Maya burst out of her room, staring down at the street. “Dad! It’s our car! I wasn’t wrong!” she exclaimed. “It went off two hours ago, too. Either someone is messing with it, or something’s broken!” Mark rubbed his temples, a headache forming. “Alright, alright. I’ll go check it out. Can’t have one night of peace without your mother around.” He started for the door. “You two stay put.” A bead of sweat trickled down Leo’s temple. “Dad, wait!” he called out. “You’ve been drinking. I’ll go. You’ve got work tomorrow. Don’t want you catching a cold out there.” A flicker of warmth crossed Mark’s face. “Okay. Thanks, son. That’s good of you.” Leo grabbed his jacket and was out the door before Maya could say a word. 4 I didn’t know what was happening outside, but triggering the alarm a second time had filled me with a desperate, renewed hope. I had rested. I had strength now. Maybe this time, I could pop the trunk open. Freedom was right there. I heard the soft crunch of footsteps on the pavement approaching. Joy surged through me. Someone was finally here. I adjusted my position, using my back for more leverage. I coiled my body and pushed. The alarm shrieked, a beautiful, beautiful sound. The footsteps stopped right behind the car. “Help…” I rasped, the word a mangled sob. “Help… me…” The next sound made my blood run cold. The chirp of the car being unlocked. The alarm cut off abruptly. I heard Leo’s voice call up towards our apartment. A moment later, I could just make out Maya waving back from her window. I took a deep breath, but the hot, stagnant air only made me colder. I knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that it was Leo. And he wasn’t here to let me out. “Mom,” his voice was a strained whisper, right outside the trunk. “Can you promise you won’t tell anyone?” “I… promise,” I croaked, trying to pour every ounce of sincerity I had into the broken word. I prayed it would be enough to reach whatever was left of my son. He didn’t answer. Instead, I heard the power-on chime of my phone. The tap-tap-tap of his thumbs on the screen. Then, a bitter, humorless laugh. He read the text aloud, his voice dripping with false sentiment. “‘Mark, don’t look for me. I’ve found someone new. Our life together… it’s become so predictable. I can’t do it anymore. Forgive me. Raise our children well. I know this is hard, but I don’t have the courage to face you. Let’s just say goodbye.’” My body went rigid. Every word was a nail in my coffin. I saw flashes of my life—Leo as a baby, his tiny hand wrapped around my finger. How had that innocent child become this monster? Click. The trunk popped open. I gasped, sucking in the cool night air. A dark silhouette loomed over me, blocking out the stars. “You see, Mom,” Leo said, his voice shaking, “I’m scared. After what I did… you’d call the cops. My whole life would be ruined.” He glanced around, his movements jerky and paranoid. “And you hit me first! I’m twenty-five! I have a right to be respected! This is on you. This is karma.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out another roll of tape. This one was wider, thicker. Industrial. His face was a twisted mask of fear and fury as he leaned over me.”

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