My wife Eleanor despised our arranged marriage. On the day she tried to run away with her lover, a car crash left her paralyzed. I found her, saved her, and cared for her unquestioningly for the rest of our lives. We even raised three children together. I assumed we’d have a quiet, if not passionate, life. I never imagined she resented me every one of those years. As we grew old, she brought her lover home to live with us. “If it weren’t for you,” she spat, voice trembling with hatred, “Andrea would have saved me. You ruined my life and my true love. I never want to see you again!” My children echoed her, urging me into a nursing home. “You had Mom’s love for a lifetime. Be grateful,” said my eldest. “Uncle Andrea has no one. He’d be miserable in a home,” my second son pleaded. “Mom doesn’t have much time left,” whispered my daughter. “Let her be happy.” They cast me aside, spending my pension while playing family with him. Rage and grief overwhelmed me. A stroke left me paralyzed, trapped. When the flood came, I drowned alone. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day my wife ran away. If her greatest regret was never being with him, this time I would grant her wish. 1 “Father, I want a divorce.” Across the grand living room, a younger, vibrant Eleanor stood defiantly before her father. The suffocating feeling of floodwater filling my lungs still lingered, a phantom pressure in my chest. I looked around at the familiar yet strangely distant room, the heavy velvet curtains, the polished mahogany table. It took me a moment to understand. I was reborn. On the ornate chair at the head of the room, the old man’s face was a mask of fury. “Nonsense!” he barked. Seeing my father-in-law, Mr. Ashford, alive again after so many years, brought a sting to my eyes. I was an orphan, a beggar he had found on the street and brought into his home. In an era where most struggled for a single meal, he gave me new clothes and full bowls of rice. He taught me to read, sent me to school, and personally mentored me in his business. When I came of age, he gave me a home, a name, and his daughter’s hand in marriage. He was more of a father to me than anyone. I owed him everything. My lips parted, about to voice the name I hadn’t called him in decades, when Eleanor’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Father, I have never once disobeyed you. You told me to marry this… this coarse, uneducated boy you took in, and I did,” she declared, her voice dripping with disdain. “But I don’t love him. He can’t discuss literature or philosophy. He’s vulgar. We have nothing in common.” Her gaze softened as she continued. “Only Andrea understands me. He loves me, he respects me. Only with him do I feel alive, truly in love. Mother is gone. Can you really be so cruel as to watch me waste my life with a man I despise?” Her accusations sent a tremor through Mr. Ashford, but he controlled his anger, turning to me with an apologetic look. “Eleanor is young and foolish, Jacob. Don’t pay any mind to her words.” I gave a bitter smile. Young? Our three children were already old enough to run around the yard. But perhaps in a father’s eyes, a daughter never truly grows up. Eleanor’s cold, merciless gaze shifted to me. “My father says he raised you to take care of me. But I have hands and feet. I have a staff of servants. I don’t need you.” She took a step closer. “I’ve wanted to say this to you for a long time. I have never loved you. Not now, not ever. Jacob, I’ve made myself perfectly clear. Are you really going to shamelessly cling to this family where you don’t belong?” Those familiar words were a key, unlocking a vault of memories I had buried deep. I glanced at the calendar on the wall, my head spinning. In my last life, on this exact day, Eleanor had come to Mr. Ashford to demand a divorce so she could be with Andrea. My father-in-law, knowing my loyalty and my quiet, lifelong adoration for his daughter, refused. He had seen how I’d cared for her, and in his eyes, I was the only man for the job. When her father said no, she turned on me. Back then, I believed him—that she was just being spoiled and childish. I couldn’t bear to leave her or our children, so I refused as well. In a fit of rage, she tried to run away with Andrea. They didn’t get far. A car crash crushed her legs, leaving her crippled for life. I put aside my hurt and devoted myself to her. She, however, blamed me for her fate. She resented me for not letting her go, for “trapping” her. She cursed me for saving her, for caring for her, accusing me of using my service as a weapon to hold her captive, blocking the only path for Andrea to be with her. To the world, she was the tragic heroine, and Andrea was her lost love. And me? Her husband, who served her hand and foot for a lifetime? I was a relic of a bygone era, a symbol of her father’s feudal mindset, and the villain who had destroyed her one chance at happiness. Fine. This time, I would step aside. This time, I would grant her the love story she so desperately wanted. Eleanor and her father were still arguing. I sighed softly and looked at the old man. “Sir,” I said, my voice steady. “Her heart is set. Let her have her way.” 2 Though Eleanor and I had raised three children, we hadn’t gotten a proper marriage license for over a decade. Back then, all it took was her father’s approval and a written marriage contract. Annulling it was simple. All we needed was his nod. “Even after all this, you still won’t agree, you spineless…” Eleanor’s tirade faltered as my words finally registered. She stopped mid-insult. She shot me a surprised look, the hostility in her eyes lessening just a fraction. “Good, you’ve finally come to your senses,” she said, her tone shifting. “If you behave, I might consider your years of service to this family and make sure you don’t starve.” Her words were as arrogant as ever. Just like on our wedding day, when she stood beside me, a beautiful, untouchable statue of ice. The birth of our children had thawed her slightly; we lived as courteous strangers, sharing a roof but not a life. Then, six months ago, Andrea had arrived. Hired as a tutor for the children, he immediately caught Eleanor’s eye. From that moment on, she despised my lack of formal education. I couldn’t discuss foreign literature with her; all I was good for was fetching her tea and massaging her tired shoulders. I studied cuisines from around the world to please her palate; she complained I smelled of kitchen grease. I spent a fortune importing a rare cologne from France just to see her smile. She took it from me and gave it to Andrea. “Things of this quality,” she’d said, “are meant for cultured, educated men.” Andrea would fold a simple paper flower, hand it to her with a flourish, and murmur, “A beautiful flower for a beautiful woman.” She would blush and giggle like a schoolgirl. I planted an entire garden of roses for her, a breathtaking sea of color under the sun. She mocked me for it, calling me a pathetic, posturing clown. In her eyes, I could do nothing right. Even the sound of my breathing grated on her. She said I was loud as an ox and belonged in a barn, not a house. She saw me through a lens of prejudice. Andrea was her perfect man. She was blind to the truth. No one is perfect. The more perfect someone seems, the more likely they are a carefully crafted trap. In my last life, during my time in that desolate nursing home, I was consumed by a need for answers. I’d spent my last ounce of energy investigating Andrea and found a mountain of evidence. He was a grifter, a con man who left a trail of financial ruin wherever he went. But by then, it was too late. When I showed the proof to my family, they accused me of slander. The memories still stung, a fresh wave of injustice washing over me. Mr. Ashford’s voice pulled me back to the present. “Jacob, don’t be hasty. Think of your three children. What will happen to them if you two separate?” A triumphant smile finally broke across Eleanor’s face. “Don’t worry, Father. The children are very sensible. They feel the same way I do. They adore Andrea.” She leaned forward. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll call them in. They can tell you themselves.” A few moments later, the children entered, but they weren’t alone. The elegant, scholarly Andrea was with them. Mr. Ashford erupted. “Get out! This is a private family matter. You have no place here, outsider!” Before he could continue, our eldest son, Daniel, stepped in front of Andrea. “Uncle Andrea isn’t an outsider.” Our second son, Leo, sniffled. “Grandpa, please, we wanted him to come. Don’t make him leave.” And our youngest, Lily, nestled in Andrea’s arms, pointed a tiny finger at me. “I don’t want that dirty beggar!” she chirped. “I want Uncle Andrea to be our daddy.” Even knowing this was coming, seeing it with my own eyes—the children I had raised and protected siding with a stranger, shaming their own father—was a bitter pill to swallow. I looked at them, and they instinctively flinched, hiding the candy in their hands behind their backs. So that was it. Andrea indulged their every whim. They constantly complained of toothaches, so I was strict about sugar. Because of me, not one of them had a single cavity. But when they were older, they wrote bitter diary entries about my “tyranny.” It’s all genetic anyway. My friend eats candy for breakfast and never brushes her teeth, and she’s fine. My dad never bought us sweets, and if he caught us not brushing, we’d get a spanking. The pain of a toxic childhood… Thinking of this, I looked away. I wouldn’t interfere again. Andrea shot me a smug glance, then gently chided the children. “You mustn’t be rude to your elders. If you do that again, Uncle won’t like you anymore.” They immediately fell silent, chastened. Eleanor raised an eyebrow at her father. “You see? Jacob only knows how to use brute force. The children are afraid of him. Andrea uses modern, scientific methods. He is far better suited to be their father.” Mr. Ashford, who had been so vehemently opposed, now fell silent. Eleanor turned her gaze back to me. “Jacob, you were brought into this family. After the divorce, the children will stay with me. Do you have any objections?” The children stared at me, their eyes wide with alarm, terrified I might try to take them. I smiled, a hollow, empty thing. “That’s perfectly reasonable,” I said, nodding. “I have no objections.” Defeated, Mr. Ashford could only agree. When the marriage contract was brought out, he hesitated one last time. He looked at his daughter, his voice grave. “This contract is the only thing binding you. Once it’s torn, it’s over. Are you absolutely sure you won’t regret this?”

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The day the werewolf I’d raised for a decade defied me for an illegitimate girl, I had him lashed eighty-eight times. As my whip fell, the live-stream comments in my vision scrolled into a furious blur. [My God! Is this venomous bitch insane with jealousy?! She’s actually trying to kill him!] [How is this any different from treating him like a dog?! This is straight-up abuse! No wonder he chose to save the other girl instead of you!] [If she weren’t so tyrannical, always threatening him, he would’ve left her side ages ago!] Threaten him? Threaten a disloyal dog? I was silent for a long moment, then let out a bitter laugh. I ordered his things thrown out. Then, I went straight to the fighting pits and picked out a new wolf whelp. It wasn’t until two weeks later that he heard the news. He came from the girl’s apartment, running through a storm, and seized my arm. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice trembling as he asked, “Is it true? You got a new Beastman?” 1 When I brought the blood-soaked wolf whelp home, a chilling silence fell over the villa. No one had believed me. The day before, I’d made my threat, and today, I’d actually returned with a new Beastman. The butler, fumbling a vase he nearly dropped, steeled himself and approached. “Where shall we… put him, my lady?” I shot him a sideways glance. “Where do you think?” A Beastman had to be trained personally. His room would be next to mine. He hesitated. “And the things in the room…?” “Throw them out,” I said, my voice like ice. By now, everyone knew the story. The Beastman I’d raised for ten years had defied me for a slip of a girl, the bastard daughter of my father. When we both fell into the water, he hadn’t hesitated to swim in the opposite direction. Last night, I’d reined in my fury and given him eighty-eight lashes. But even as the whip grew slick with his blood, his face remained a stony mask. He refused to make a sound. I was soaked to the bone, my palm burning. With the final, vicious crack of the whip, a spray of blood erupted from his lips. “Speak!” I commanded. He finally looked up, his eyes empty of emotion. “Speak? What would you have me say, my lady?” He knew I was incandescent with rage, yet he goaded me with question after question. “You bought my life. You shattered my bones and set them yourself. You carved your every rule into my flesh. What’s wrong? Is the wolf you raised no longer obeying your commands? Has it wounded your pride?” It was laughable. He knew he was my creation, yet he’d chosen to save that wilting flower, the one trying to steal my inheritance. The endless night stretched around us like spilled ink. He tugged at the corner of his mouth in a smirk. “You have plenty of people who care about you, my lady. You don’t need me.” “Don’t need you?” I scoffed. “Lucian, have you forgotten why I raised you in the first place?” His gaze was mocking, his posture defiant. “I can’t begin to guess your motives, my lady.” “I only know that you stand above everyone, the sun around which all planets orbit. On the shore, a dozen hands reached for you. But she… she had no one.” “Perhaps you’ve never known the feeling of drowning, with only a single blade of grass to cling to. But I have. In that moment, she was the only one I saw.” The chill of the night wind seeped into my bones. I gave a sardonic twist of my lips. “And?” His eyes were cold, his words sharp and clear. “She only had me.” Only you? The absurdity of it all bloomed in my mind. For a full thirty seconds, our eyes locked in a battle of wills. He didn’t flinch. I clicked my tongue against my teeth. “You want to be her dog?” I asked. “Fine.” “I’ll deliver you myself.” A werewolf’s pride, his very blood, screamed against the insult of being called a dog. But I needed to humiliate him. I drove him through the night to Lily’s little rental. When I kicked him out of the car, he barely winced. He simply stood,Enduring the blood seeping through his shirt, and began to limp toward the distant lights of her building. His silhouette was proud and cold, his head held high. He would never bow. 2 They say once bitten, twice shy. No one expected me to get another wolf whelp. At the underground fighting pit, the owner showed me a parade of different Beastmen. But I surveyed them all, row after row, and found none to my liking. Annoyed, I decided to leave. Just as I rounded a corner, about to step out of the long, damp corridor, a blood-caked hand shot out from a cage in the shadows and gripped my boot. I turned my head, my gaze drifting down. I had seen countless beasts on the brink of death. They were usually hysterical, numb, or begging pitifully. But this was different. Amidst the filth and the cold, flickering light, I saw a pair of black eyes, stubborn and startlingly clear. He told me he would be my dog. All he asked for was a scrap of food. I glanced at the tag on his cage: REJECT. The chattering owner beside me saw what I was looking at and broke into a cold sweat. I raised a hand, stopping him before he could intervene. Pulling off my black leather glove, I slowly crouched down. In the perpetual stench of rust and rot that was the Pit, a single shaft of light happened to fall on my fingertips. I tipped up his chin, studying him. If he had watched me select my prospects, he would know how impossibly high my standards were. And here he was, broken and bleeding, hovering on the edge of death. His heart hammered in his chest, so loud I could almost hear it. He was conscious of every ragged breath. The three minutes I spent assessing him must have felt like a century. Yet, he saw no flicker of emotion on my cold face. Just as the light in his dark eyes began to fade, I raised an eyebrow. “You’re willing to come with me?” His drooping wolf ears shot straight up. He began to wag his tail frantically, like a puppy, and a fire ignited in his pupils. He nuzzled my wrist, repeating the words with a desperate, fervent heat. Willing. Willing to go with me, willing to be my dog, willing to be loyal for a lifetime, to never betray me. Good. Those were the words I liked to hear. I looked at the terrified owner. “He’ll do.” 3 I had no intention of keeping the wolf whelp. He was a reject, after all. He would never survive my long and brutal training. When his wounds had mostly healed, I told him, “You can go.” He stared at me for a long time before asking, “Why?” A storm of emotion churned in his damp, black eyes. He watched me, unblinking. I nonchalantly flipped a page of my newspaper. “No reason. Consider it an act of charity.” The butler stepped forward to lead him away, whispering, “Look, kid, our lady only keeps the strongest, most loyal Beastmen. Don’t get your hopes up. Your predecessor was sent away overnight for being disloyal, and he’d been with her for ten years. She didn’t even bat an eye…” As the butler rambled on, the boy suddenly vanished from his side. The young Beastman had returned. His voice was raspy, still laced with breathlessness from his sprint back to me. “Can I have a chance to be better than him?” For once, I bothered to lift my gaze. “In what respect?” He clenched his fists, enunciating each word with fierce determination. “In every respect.” Strength. Loyalty. He would surpass the predecessor the butler spoke of in every conceivable way. I set down the newspaper and studied him properly. In the spacious, brightly lit living room, he waited, tense and anxious, for my verdict. I hadn’t paid much attention to his appearance when I brought him back. Now that he was clean, I saw that every line of his face was sharp and aggressive. A high brow, blade-like eyes. But the effect was softened by his damp lashes, creating a strange vulnerability. His eyes were the same as that day in the Pit—stubborn and clear. That was the real reason I’d taken him. After a long, silent appraisal, I finally spoke. “Very well.” “If you can survive it.” 4 My training methods were notoriously cruel. The ones I’d acquired before—One, Two, Three, Four, and Five—none of them had survived this period. He was to be the ninth. The name was just a designation. Besides bearing my family name, the name “Kai” had no special significance. But he still nodded with solemn gravity. I didn’t intend to start with high intensity. But his potential far exceeded my expectations. In just one week, he completed all the basic training and was already asking for more difficulty. It made me wonder if the “Reject” label had been a mistake. At dusk, he had just finished a sixty-mile mountain run with a two-hundred-pound pack. The muscles in his calves were twitching uncontrollably, and he had to brace his hands on his knees to keep from collapsing. A hundred kilometers in six hours, maintaining perfect marksmanship even as his muscles were tearing themselves apart. He achieved it on his third try. I was leaning against the window of my SUV, one hand on the frame, talking idly on the phone, but my eyes never left his retreating figure. Suddenly, as if sensing my gaze, he turned. Our eyes met across the distance. Backlit by the setting sun, he began to run towards me, down the slope. The wind on the summit tossed his damp, dark hair. He drew closer, until I could see the flushed skin of his neck and the single drop of sweat clinging to his throat. The call was from my father, summoning me to a gala. He said if I would just bow my head, he would forgive my “aggression” towards his illegitimate daughter. Laughable. A man so ruthless in his youth had become sentimental about family in his old age. I gave a few noncommittal replies and hung up. “My lady.” He fought to even his breathing as he came to a stop before me. Watching his chest heave, I suddenly realized he did this every evening—ran to me, gasping for air. Even today, when his body was at its absolute limit. I chided him gently, “What’s the hurry?” “I was afraid you’d get bored waiting.” My hand, poised to put the key in the ignition, paused. I glanced at him. “Get in,” I said coolly. “I came to pick you up. There’s no ‘bored’ about it.” After he buckled his seatbelt, he turned his head, his throat bobbing as he finally managed to say the words he’d been holding back. “It only took six hours today.” “Hmm.” “And I didn’t miss a single shot.” “Hmm.” He didn’t need to report to me. A team was already recording all his data. His physical stats, his reaction times—they were all top-tier. I knew that Lucian’s best time had been seven hours and three minutes. And Kai had shattered that record in just one week. The comment stream was in an uproar. [No way a new Beastman is stronger than the main love interest!! Who is this guy?! He’s totally stealing the male lead’s thunder! Someone needs to fix this!!] [What’s the big deal? Did everyone forget this is a polyamory story? A stronger Beastman showing up is totally normal. Why is everyone so shocked? In the end, they all fall for our sweet heroine anyway.] [Exactly. Who could resist our gentle, kind, and complimentary heroine, Lily! Once this little wolf sees the bitch’s true colors, he’ll run straight into our girl’s arms.] [Ugh, I wish it was our heroine there instead. The little wolf is so obviously looking for praise!! He worked so hard, finally got the courage to ask for it, and all he gets is a couple of cold ‘hmms’! My heart breaks for him!!] I had learned to ignore these idiotic comments. But the last one that floated by made me pause and think. Was he asking for praise? 5 The car entered the city, and the evening glow washed over the congested traffic on the overpass. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at the passenger seat. His ears did seem to be drooping a little. His lips were pressed into a thin line. He stared down at the bloodstains on his clothes, lost in thought. I rehearsed the words in my head a few times before finally speaking his name. The young Beastman looked up. His thick lashes fluttered, half of his body bathed in the sunset’s glow, which unexpectedly softened the fierce aura he usually carried. Damn it. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t say them. I started to speak, then stopped. Then started again. “Take tomorrow off,” I finally said, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. It wasn’t praise, but it was concern. That should be enough to lift his spirits, right? But after a moment of stunned silence, he protested, “I’m fine. I can continue training.” I turned my head, my gaze falling to his blood-streaked calves. Fine? I frowned. The comment stream helpfully provided the answer. [He thinks he didn’t do well enough today, that he failed to meet her expectations. Poor little wolf. Lily, where are you?! This evil villain is going to crush his confidence!] [Sigh. He’s terrified of being thrown away for not being good enough, so he’s trying to prove himself. Too bad he’s stuck with a heartless monster. If it were the heroine, she’d be showering him with praise right now.] [Hold on, let’s be rational. The heroine has a lot of love to give, so she can share it. But for a villain like this, who was never loved as a child, it’s hard to learn how to love others. I kind of get her.] [You’re defending this venomous bitch? Get real. Her being twisted is her problem. What did our little wolf ever do to deserve this?] The argument in the comments intensified. I ignored it, my gaze fixed on Kai’s face. The last rays of sunset fell across his cheek, making the blood on his neck seem almost beautiful. The colors of the sky spread out like spilled ink, so vibrant it was dizzying. My prolonged stare made his knuckles clench. His heartbeat grew stronger, more frantic. He couldn’t bear being scrutinized like this. His ears turned a burning red, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from dropping. Just as he was about to turn away completely, to escape my gaze, I spoke. “You were brilliant today.” He froze mid-turn. “So,” I added, “you can have tomorrow off. This is your reward.” The gridlocked traffic on the overpass finally began to move. Not everyone is born knowing how to love, but I didn’t mind learning. Especially for the wolf whelp I was raising with my own two hands.

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The pop superstar adjusted my earpiece, and then, on instinct, kissed my hair. We both froze. Because this was a reality show about divorce. And we were from different couples. 1 After I divorced Ashton, everyone thought I would be the one clinging to him. He had announced our marriage at the peak of his fame. After successfully transitioning his career and finally winning awards, my name would always come up. “How did she get so lucky?” they’d say. “She doesn’t deserve him.” I was the one who asked for the divorce. But he had been waiting for it for a long time. While he was on set with his co-star, an actress named Vera, wearing his clothes, using his phone case, playing the part of a “set couple”… I was still at home, flipping through a calendar, waiting for him to come back, only to have my calls rejected again and again with the excuse of being “busy.” Until one day, I ran into Vera in first class. She greeted me with a warm, beaming smile. “Did you know,” she whispered in my ear, “I paid for this flight with his card.” She was doing it on purpose. Trying to force me to divorce him. I gave her what she wanted. I went home and was packed and gone within half an hour. I don’t want things that other people have touched and soiled. Thank God, we didn’t have any children. Ashton leaned against the doorframe, watching me. His reaction was muted. He only asked one thing: “What else do you want?” “Your phone.” He was taken aback but handed it over without a fight. In the years when he loved me most, when I was by his side as he climbed from obscurity to stardom, I had always been his one and only pinned contact. Now, I had been replaced. All that was left was “Do Not Disturb.” We signed the papers. He gave me everything he had earned over the years, just begging me to let him go quickly. He said he was truly in love with Vera. After signing a non-disclosure agreement, I left, thinking I would never have contact with him again. Until he called me, one month after the divorce. “We need to meet.” “We can’t let the fans find out you cheated. The show still has to air.” I had arrived early. In the break room, Ashton’s manager was trying to persuade him. “You’re divorced, but you’re still a top-tier actor. And her? She’s just a nobody waiting to become a laughingstock.” “She’s definitely not going to take this lying down.” “So, you just trick her. Tell her you want to go on a divorce reality show with her.” “Let her think she still has a chance to win you back, make her grovel and please you.” “Then, in the final edit, we’ll make her look annoying, and you’ll get to keep your ‘devoted lover’ persona.” The manager nudged him. “Are you even listening?” Ashton had his legs propped up on a low table, lazily playing a game on his phone. “Yeah,” he grunted. “I’m telling you, you snap your fingers, and she’ll come crawling back like a grateful puppy.” In the meeting room. Ashton toyed with his phone with one hand. He said a few simple words. And I agreed. “I’ll do the show.” He stared into my eyes, hesitating for a moment. “Are you really that… desperate for me?” He was so confident, so easy to fool. I lowered my lashes. “Yes.” “Ashton,” I whispered, “is there still a chance for us?” His gaze was cold. He turned his face away and said softly, “We’ll see how you perform.” “But,” he added, “the premise of this show isn’t what you think.” This divorce reality show was set to air during the broadcast of his new drama with Vera. It was all to hype up their on-screen couple pairing. The show’s theme was “Try a different lifestyle, see the problems in your marriage.” Vera would be in a room with him. And I would be in a room with Vera’s husband. The man who, at nineteen, shot to fame with a single drama, won every major award, and then promptly retired to get married: Cole. Ashton had basically picked up Cole’s scraps. He had risen to fame with a face that was seventy percent similar to Cole’s. The rumor was that Vera and Cole lived apart after their marriage. That she loved him, but he didn’t love her back. 2 A hot spring resort. Two rooms, separated by a single wall. A live broadcast. There was an observation room for the cast and a live comment feed for the audience. 【OMG, Ashton and Vera are on a divorce show, in the same room! They’re playing with fire!!!】 【They have insane chemistry. They look so good together.】 【I’ve been saying for ages that Ashton and his wife had no feelings left. Who wants someone who just drags them down?】 【I’ve been waiting for them to get divorced for so long!】 【He must have been blind… he used to love her so much…】 The staff fitted Ashton and Vera with heart rate watches. “Once your heart rate hits 70, you can leave the room.” 【That’s gonna be instant, right?】 But to everyone’s surprise, both of their heart rates stalled at 68. In private, he and Vera had done everything. They were too familiar with each other, so they were afraid of slipping up on camera. In front of the cameras, they put on an act. 【Vera is so polite. She doesn’t even dare to get too close.】 【Ashton, don’t hold back! We support you!】 Vera sat by the door. Ashton stood on the balcony for some air, from where he could see a corner of my room. Cole hadn’t arrived yet. I sat alone on the bed, wearing my own heart rate watch. There was a knock on the door. It was a tall, slender man. A baseball cap shadowed half his face, and his bangs were damp with the mist from the hot springs. A light rain was falling outside. He smelled of the deep, misty night. 【My first love is back!!!】 【What can I say, Ashton? There’s no harm without comparison.】 【No hate, please.】 “You need to put this on,” I said, handing the other heart rate watch to Cole. Ashton hated it when people said he looked like Cole. In the first year of our marriage, we were taking a late-night walk when I stopped, mesmerized by a giant luxury ad featuring Cole. Ashton had pulled my hat down over my eyes and said sourly, “I knew you liked that type.” Now, in the other room, Ashton, on his balcony, watched clearly. He watched Cole enter the room and close the door behind him. He watched him put on the watch. Ashton wasn’t worried. He had known since that night that Cole, the man he could never catch up to, the man he was sick with jealousy over, was in a contract marriage with Vera. Cole didn’t even like Vera. So, of course, he wouldn’t be interested in an ordinary, divorced woman like me, someone Ashton himself had cast aside. Ashton scoffed, unconcerned. But he watched my every reaction, missing nothing. “Hello, Chloe,” I said, my heart rate steady at 50, extending my hand to Cole. “I’m Chloe Taylor.” “Cole,” he said, taking my hand. A few seconds later, the watch emitted a shrill, piercing beep. Cole’s heart rate had skyrocketed. But he himself was calmer than anyone. “The watch is broken,” he said. “Oh,” I replied. 3 After changing the watch, it worked normally. Ashton and Vera played a few “chemistry games,” and their heart rates surpassed 70, allowing them to leave the room early. As for me and Cole, his heart rate remained stubbornly at 25. Pathetically low. “If it never goes up,” I asked a staff member, “do we have to spend the night in the room?” Cole overheard. He stood tall, shoulders broad in a thin black hoodie, his gaze distant and empty. The staff member replied, “It counts as a failed mission. You can come out in an hour.” Cole and I were the last to leave. 【What a failure.】 【They have absolutely zero chemistry.】 【Get them out of here. Can we please not look at her? I just want to see Vera and Ashton.】 The comments were brutal, right up until the live stream ended. The post-interview rooms were crowded with cameras, lights, and people. Ashton stood in a corner, watching Vera’s interview, his gaze inadvertently sweeping over to me. “Excited?” he asked out of the blue. “Was there a moment when you thought Cole might actually be interested in you?” I ignored him and tried to walk away, but he blocked my path. “What am I going to do, Chloe?” he said, hands in his pockets, tilting his head to look at me. “I’m starting to think divorcing you was the best decision I ever made.” Someone passed by. Ashton straightened up, instantly transforming back into that gentle, soulful, yet heartbroken man. As if I were the one who had hurt him the most. After her interview, Vera walked over to me, under the watchful eyes of everyone, and took my hand. “Chloe,” she said, an old red string tied around her wrist. “You should cherish Ashton. He really loves you.” That red string. I had seen it before. Last year, on our wedding anniversary, Ashton had a minor car accident after being followed by obsessive fans. He was fine. I took him to a temple to pray for his safety. I closed my eyes, my heart filled with prayers for him. When I opened them, I saw him buying a red string. I thought he was going to give it to me. But he said he was getting it for himself, to put my mind at ease. And now, it was on Vera’s wrist. “Stop being difficult,” Vera continued, playing to the cameras. “More than anyone, I want you two to be happy.” I didn’t say a word. Ashton didn’t know. Vera didn’t know. The truth was, I had agreed to do this show for another, more hidden reason. That day, when I closed my eyes to pray, Ashton wasn’t the one on my mind either. 4 The show filmed on weekends, following a “weekend couple” concept. During the week, I went back to my old profession, trying to get my job back as a talent manager at my former entertainment group. “Cole and Vera are divorced,” my old boss told me. “His ten-year contract with her father’s company is finally up. He’s setting up his own studio, and I recommended you to him.” I went to the address he gave me and found Cole at a photo studio. His profile was silhouetted against the light, his features sharp and untamed. It was a face made for the screen. He was even harder to approach than I had imagined. I waited outside for a long time. Finally, his assistant came out. “I’m sorry, Ms. Taylor, we probably can’t talk today.” On the way back, my car broke down. Eleven o’clock at night, in the middle of nowhere, and it was raining. I stood under my umbrella, waiting for a tow truck, watching the cars pass by like phantoms in the night. None of them were for me. Headlights flashed. The window of a black minivan rolled down. Cole’s assistant said to me, “Ms. Taylor, get in.” Cole was in the back seat, a baseball cap pulled low, asleep. His breathing was shallow, his long legs slightly bent. The space was a bit cramped for him. The van was filled with clutter, and two suit jackets hung by the window. The crisp scent of pine. The same scent from the day he had held my hand. “Ms. Taylor, I’m going to grab a drink from the gas station up ahead. Do you want anything?” the assistant asked quietly. “Just call me Chloe. I’ll go with you.” “No, no,” he said, waving his hand as he got out. “I’ll go. I’ll be right back.” The door closed, leaving just me and Cole in the van. No one else. No cameras. The headlights flickered, casting the interior in a dim glow. Though we were separated by a row of seats, his breathing sounded as close as if it were right next to my ear. I stared out the window at the blue glow of the convenience store not far away, where the assistant was lingering by a shelf. I remembered once, at a supermarket, seeing an ad for Vera. “She’s so beautiful,” I had said to Ashton at the time. His reaction was flat. “She’s okay.” I didn’t know that this “okay” would be the reason he stayed away from home, time and time again. Later, I heard from others that Vera was his first love. They had broken up when he was still struggling to make it big. He couldn’t forget her. But at that moment, in the supermarket, he had just deftly changed the subject, asking me, “Sweetheart, you never dated anyone before me?” “No,” I had said. At least, that’s what I told everyone, including him. In the van, someone was kicking my leg. A long leg extending from the back seat. Not accidentally. But deliberately, mischievously, childishly, kicking me in a soft rhythm. I moved my legs out of his reach. I didn’t say anything, didn’t turn around. I maintained my posture, as if nothing had happened. “Chloe Taylor,” he said, his voice husky from sleep, laced with a reckless, youthful charm. “Long time no see.” After all these years, why did he still like to say my name like that? Just like in that small, humid, hot rental apartment… Drowning again and again… In his gentle yet unrestrained, invasive touch. 5 After that day, Cole and I had no contact. Until the next weekend. The show’s live broadcast operated on a rotation system. This weekend, we were supposed to switch back to our original couples. “Director,” Vera said, her tone full of feigned consideration for the show. “Ashton and I are so popular right now. If you switch us back, the audience will be furious.” The director thought for a moment. “But—” “Ashton,” Vera turned to him. “What do you think?” In front of me, she asked Ashton, “Who are you choosing tonight?” She had been waiting for this moment. The more a thing has to be hidden, the more one craves for it to be chosen in public. Ashton understood her. He deliberately glanced at my face, then leaned back in his chair. “Is that even a question? The audience doesn’t want to see her.” Vera got the answer she wanted and turned to me. “Chloe, you don’t mind, do you? But you’ve been a housewife for so long, you probably don’t have much work experience. The audience’s approval is the most important thing. You should think about the big picture…” “Fine,” I said curtly. Ashton looked up at me. They all thought I was going to make a scene. That way, they could edit my reaction into a special segment to highlight Vera’s thoughtfulness. They didn’t expect me to be so agreeable. Vera, with a speech she had memorized, was left with nothing to say. She finally managed a dry, “Good. No take-backs.” “Let’s just keep it this way from now on,” I said. Her face stiffened for a second, then she smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Are you trying to make Ashton jealous?” she whispered. “Everyone knows you’re on this show to win him back. Too bad he’s not jealous at all, and you have to watch him walk into my room.” The director’s team called out. They decided to continue with last week’s setup. Before leaving, Ashton asked Vera, with a hint of amusement, “Aren’t you afraid of her being in a room with Cole?” At the mention of that name, Vera’s reaction was a bit over the top. She laughed as if she’d heard the world’s biggest joke. “I’ve never seen him like anyone. Her? He could be locked in a room with her for a year and still not be interested.” They exchanged a knowing look and a smile. Ashton, in front of me, deliberately took off his coat and put it on Vera. “Chloe, if you want to win me back, these tricks aren’t good enough.” He wanted to provoke me, to make me break down in public so he could play the victim. Ashton and Vera were taken to a luxury villa, a reward for being the couple with the highest heart rate last week. Vera posted a picture of their candlelit dinner on social media. The comments were all from ecstatic fans. I saw all this on my phone in the production team’s van. The van was heading towards the old part of the city. 【If their heart rate doesn’t go up today, they’re going to be eliminated, right?】 【They won’t eliminate Cole. His status is too high. They’ll probably just switch his partner.】 【This is boring. Why did Cole even agree to do this show?】 【The weirder it gets, the more I ship it. I have a feeling something is going to happen.】 【The person above is nuts!!! If anything actually happens, I’ll eat my own poop on a live stream!!!】 I put my phone away and asked the staff, “Where are Cole and I staying tonight?” “Your heart rate was the lowest, so you have to face a penalty. Tonight, you’ll be staying in…” The van stopped. He tilted his chin towards the old residential building in front of me. “There,” he said. “A rental apartment.” I got out of the van. Only one live camera, from inside the van, was filming me. It was far away, only capturing my back, and couldn’t pick up any sound. I stood at the door, my mind blank for a few seconds. I took out my phone and called my ex-boss, who was also my long-suffering best friend. “Cole said to me, ‘Long time no see.’” I desperately needed her to pour a bucket of cold water on me right now. “So? What else could he say?” she replied, just as I expected. “Let’s be real, who doesn’t have an ex? He has so many options. Why would he choose you, a divorcee? Because of those few months you relied on each other? Honestly, that was the lowest point of his life. Who would want to remember that?” She was right. I hung up and opened the door. Cole was on a stepladder, fixing the light on the ceiling. As he raised his arm, the muscles rippled smoothly. Just like before. Except back then, he had a bandage wrapped around his waist from a wire-work accident. The old-fashioned tungsten light in his hand flickered on and off. It was all too familiar. So familiar that I stood at the door, unable to step inside. “Dinner,” he said, seeing me. A simple word, no extra emotion. It made my own unease seem out of place. I was the one overthinking. For him, this show was probably just a safe way to publicize his divorce. Outside, it was snowing. He was tall, with strong features, leaning over the counter preparing a hot pot. He exuded a sense of domesticity. I took a picture of his back and posted it on social media, completing my task for the show. After we ate, he didn’t even let me do the dishes. He washed his hands efficiently and then, strangely, started making the bed for me. There was only one bed. He said he would sleep on the floor. “Your waist injury,” I asked, “do you need to change the bandage?” “I can do it myself,” he said. When I came out of the bathroom after my shower, a thin blanket was already spread out on the floor. He was rummaging through his suitcase for a long bandage. I instinctively looked away and took out my phone. Ashton sent me a voice message. My hands were wet, and I accidentally played it on speaker. He had seen my post. “You can handle hot pot? Last time at home, you said you wanted that cake from the bakery. I got it for you on my way.” I had said I wanted that cake on my birthday last year. He never bought it for me. After all this time, he was only buying it now to maintain his “devoted” persona for the show. I stared at my phone. The light above was blocked by Cole’s shadow. “Can you help me?” he asked, holding the roll of bandage. Didn’t he just say he could do it himself? Changing the dressing, wrapping the bandage. My arms weren’t long enough, so I had to loosely encircle him with both hands. This rental apartment in the north. The heating was inadequate. The snowy, rainy air seeped in through the cracks of the old building. It was so cold. Yet we maintained our distance. My fingertips could only touch the bandage. His face had to be turned away, looking elsewhere. Unlike that year, in the southern rental apartment. Muggy and sunless. It was so hot. Yet again and again, as if there were no tomorrow, we possessed each other with abandon. Click. The tungsten light flickered on. We were standing under it. In that year of poverty and hopelessness, we couldn’t even afford to replace a light bulb. We used it until it couldn’t be used anymore. That old tungsten light, repaired again and again, would always flicker in the middle of the night. Back then, an eighteen-year-old Cole had told me, “Every time it flickers, it means I’m thinking of you.” Tonight, in an age where we lacked for nothing, the tungsten light flickered countless times. I looked up at Cole. “You didn’t fix it properly?” He froze, then looked down into my eyes. “Yeah. I did it on purpose.” “Why?” I asked. “If I fixed it, you wouldn’t hear it flicker.” I was stunned. He took the bandage from my hand and deftly wrapped it around himself. “Chloe Taylor,” he said my name. “Hmm?” “Do you like hot pot, or do you like cake?” One must always be honest about food. “Hot pot.” 6 【Okay, I’ll eat my poop.】 【This awkward, deliberately avoidant vibe… something’s not right.】 【Oh, Cole turned off the light.】 【Is there anything my premium VIP membership doesn’t let me see???】 In reality, nothing happened. Cole, wrapped in a thin blanket, slept on the floor. His breathing was extremely shallow. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Because the bed was too squeaky. Every time I turned over, it would creak. I used to complain to him about it, too. But my complaints were always accompanied by a resigned sigh. “Cole, don’t be so… hold back a little.” We were young and reckless back then. Now, one turn. Creek. And I remembered. And I wasn’t the only one who remembered. Cole threw off the blanket, wearing only a thin gray t-shirt, and walked out the door, closing it behind him. Flick. In the deep, neon-lit night, a cigarette glowed in his hand. When I first knew him, he didn’t smoke. He was a good boy. He wasn’t smoking now either. Just lighting it. In the distance, headlights swept by. Cole and Ashton, who had just gotten out of a car, came face to face. “Delivering the cake,” Ashton explained, craning his neck to peer through the window. He saw the separate blankets on the bed and the floor. A knowing smile spread across his face. “What can I say,” Ashton said. “She’s just too clingy.” Though they barely knew each other and the other man wasn’t responding, Ashton felt an inexplicable need to assert his presence. “She’s been wanting this for a long time. She insisted I buy it. She won’t eat it if anyone else gets it for her. Tomorrow, when she wakes up and sees it, she’ll be moved to tears.” “Hey,” Ashton raised his eyes. “You don’t know, do you? I was her first love.” “Is that so?” the other man finally replied. “Why would I lie?” Ashton said. “She’s on this show to win me back.” The cake. I didn’t see it when I woke up the next day. The live stream ended. This time, for the post-interview special, all four of us were gathered together for the first time. I was late, the last to arrive. A staff member handed me an earpiece. My newly washed hair was too smooth, and I couldn’t get it to stay on. Across the room, Vera and Ashton were drawing question cards. I lowered my head. The earpiece was about to fall off. A hand from my left swiftly caught it. “Thanks,” I said, trying to take it from Cole. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he helped me put it on, adjusting it as he did. It wasn’t an overly intimate gesture. Just colleagues helping each other out. After all, the cameras were here, the crowd was here. “It’s caught,” he said. My hair and the earpiece. He had to lean in closer. From across the room, Ashton’s voice came, his peripheral vision catching me and Cole. It was a normal action. If not for the fact that Cole, on instinct, kissed my hair. The scent was too familiar. I rarely change the products I use; my shampoo has smelled the same for years. The scent of his own washed hair. The room suddenly fell silent. Ashton shot to his feet. Cole pulled his hand back and said to me, with extreme politeness and restraint, “Sorry, I accidentally brushed against it.” The producer, realizing what had happened, quickly saved the situation. “It happens. Let’s move on to the next question.” After all, it was just a fleeting moment, a touch and then a retreat. So fast that Ashton didn’t even get a clear look. It must have been an accident. He sat back down. The question game. When it was my turn to draw a card, I got the “First Love” card. The producer asked me, “Is your first love your greatest love?” Ashton, who had been lounging lazily, sat up and looked at me. The eyes of everyone in the room darted between me and Ashton. Everyone thought he was my first love. “Yes,” I said. Hearing my answer, Ashton sat up straighter, unable to resist a smug glance at Cole. But the other man was distracted. Cole was turned to the side, looking at the snow falling outside the window. The window reflected my face. “Same question,” the producer said. “For Cole to answer.” He was in my group. The card questions were the same. Vera was not his first love. No one knew who that person was. “She’s annoying. She’s really, really annoying.” Cole’s voice was extremely soft. So soft that the end of his words carried a hint of unprecedented grievance. Everyone in the room perked up, their ears open for gossip. “Such resentment,” the producer asked. “What did she do?” “For example,” he turned his head, drawing out his words, “marrying someone else, but saying that I was her greatest love.” It made no sense. No one in the room understood. But Ashton still frowned unconsciously. The producer flipped the last card. “Chloe, what do you want to say to your first love right now?” A hundred safe answers popped into my head. But what came out was, “I hope he doesn’t hate me too much.” It was a reasonable answer. Everyone in the room could understand it. They all thought I wanted to reconcile with Ashton. Ashton’s smugness returned. He raised an eyebrow, clearly intending to string me along, not giving me an easy way out. Until, to the same question, Cole answered, “I was lying just now. I don’t hate her.” That’s when Ashton started to realize that something was not quite right.

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“My childhood best friend, Leo, has depression. It’s the kind of depression that requires him to be coaxed into eating, held to fall asleep. The kind that made him slice at his own wrist with a penknife that one time he couldn’t get hard. It wasn’t until the arrival of the woman who was clearly meant to be his savior—the protagonist of his redemption story—that I realized I was just a supporting character. An insignificant extra. So, I quit. When Leo tried to cut his wrists, I sharpened the knife for him. When he threatened to jump from the balcony, I opened the window. And in the middle of hate-fueled sex, I called him a minute man. As I saw the heroine of his story nearing the completion of her quest, I took the initiative and asked for a divorce. That’s when Leo grabbed my waist, his voice a raw shout. “”How do you think my depression got better? Don’t you have any clue at all?”” 1 I knew Leo was different from the time I was still running around in diapers. While I was climbing trees like a little monkey, he’d be in his room, silently shedding tears. When I was slinging a tiny backpack for my first day of preschool, barely able to recognize the letters of the alphabet, he had already written one hundred and eighty suicide notes. The reasons for wanting to end it all were always different. From accidentally stepping on an ant, to losing a single strand of hair, even wetting the bed in the middle of the night—they were all justifications for why he couldn’t go on living. And at the end of every single note, he’d write the same line: 【Dear Mom and Dad, if I die, please leave everything I own to Clara.】 At seven, “”everything he owned”” was a small box of a thousand paper stars, painstakingly folded from candy wrappers. At ten, it was the Christmas money he’d saved up all year. At sixteen, it was a binder full of his perfect, straight-A report cards. That’s right. Even with his crippling depression, he was still a bona fide genius who aced every class. By the time we were twenty-two, his most precious asset had become me—his beautiful wife, Clara. That’s why every time I looked at the listless, half-dead version of Leo, who sometimes lacked even the energy to properly tie a noose, I would erupt in helpless fury. “”What right do you even have to be depressed?”” I’d demand. “”Your family’s company is practically a national chain, you’re so ridiculously good-looking that talent scouts have tried to recruit you, and you sailed through school without ever getting less than an A+. What the hell do you have to be depressed about?”” Hearing me say that, his innocent, deer-like eyes would mist over, the corners turning red. He was one bitten lip away from whimpering, “”I want to die.”” But instead, he’d say, “”You’re right. Besides being handsome, rich, brilliant, and married to a perfect wife, what else do I have going for me?”” He’d sigh dramatically. “”My life is such a failure.”” And then he’d reach for a penknife to drag across his thigh. It wasn’t because his arms were too sensitive; it was because I’d been away on a business trip, and his forearms were already a latticework of pale, scarred lines, with no clean space left. 2 I snatched the penknife out of his hand. “”Don’t die just yet,”” I said. Leo looked at me, surprised, his eyes wide with the expectation of some warm, comforting words. After all, since we were kids, I had practically been his designated therapist. In preschool, when he wouldn’t eat, I’d feed him spoonful by spoonful, cooing, “”Good boy, Leo. Just one more bite.”” In elementary school, my parents left for a research sabbatical in Antarctica, leaving me in the care of his family. From that point on, Leo’s dad became my legal guardian, and I, in turn, became Leo’s. That’s when I discovered he couldn’t sleep at night without being soothed and told a bedtime story. His parents never had the time, so they handed that monumental task to me. And so, I spent my nights whispering tales of Snow White while holding him in my arms. To put it bluntly, we went from sharing a crib in diapers to sharing a bed in a wedding dress and a tuxedo. Leo’s father knew his son was unreliable. At eighteen, Leo could barely string ten words together with anyone other than me, let alone be expected to inherit the family business. To ensure I could seamlessly take over the company, his parents pushed us to get married the moment Leo turned legal age. Before Leo could even process what I was doing, I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a brand-new chef’s knife from the block. I started sharpening it right in front of him, the steel gleaming under the lights. “”If you’re serious about this, use this one,”” I said, my voice flat. “”Stop trying to scare me with that little toy.”” Leo froze. His eyes were a mixture of hurt and utter shock. “”Clara, if I died, what would you do?”” I let out a dry laugh. “”Find someone new, I guess.”” Then I turned and walked into the bathroom to take a shower. 3 Inside the bathroom, the shelves were neatly lined with an array of… toys. Before my trip, they had been scattered about, but now Leo had cleaned them and organized them back into their box. My gaze, however, was drawn to a faded little pill bottle tucked away in a corner. I remembered when we were freshly eighteen, and I decided it was time to initiate him into the ways of the flesh. He was so nervous that, after several attempts, he still couldn’t get it up. His face was flushed, sweat tracing the sharp line of his jaw and dripping onto my collarbone. He had whispered to me in that sexy, raspy voice of his, “”Clara, I’ll try… I’ll try one more time.”” But after what felt like an eternity, all that teenage bravado wilted like a flower in the sun. It was over in less than three seconds. I tried to be encouraging. “”Don’t be nervous. Just think about what we were watching earlier.”” “”Or… you can just touch me, if that helps.”” But Leo couldn’t handle the failure. He rolled off me, pulled out the penknife he always carried, and said, “”Clara, I’m so useless.”” He was about to bring the blade to his arm. I can swear on my life that was the most terrified and helpless I had ever felt. Dear God, who could have imagined that trying to seduce an innocent boy would end with him threatening to die on the bed? “”Wait,”” I said, stopping him. I pulled out the little pill bottle I’d brought just in case. I had only intended to give him one or two, and was worried he’d be too proud to take them. I never expected him to snatch the bottle and down nearly half of it. Three days later, we limped out of that hotel, our legs aching and our bodies sore. It was like a switch had been flipped in him; he never needed that bottle again. When I tried to throw it in the trash, Leo fished it out, cradling it like a treasure. “”Let’s keep it,”” he’d said. “”As a souvenir.”” 4 A loud crash echoed from outside the bathroom. I was determined not to get involved with whatever Leo was doing. I took my time, lingering in the steam, but then another, louder bang followed. “”Leo, what are you doing?”” I called out as I emerged, only to find he’d knocked over and shattered a pair of antique vases. “”Honestly,”” I snapped. Leo was taken aback by my tone, clearly confused as to why one business trip had caused such a seismic shift in my attitude. He asked tentatively, “”Clara… are you cheating on me?”” I stared at the two large words floating above his head: MAIN CHARACTER. My heart ached with a strange mix of grief and resignation. I don’t know when it started, but one day I could suddenly see that label above him, a label no one else seemed to notice. I had thought it made me special, that I was destined to be his leading lady. But a few weeks ago, I had seen two different words floating over the head of Leo’s psychiatrist. FEMALE LEAD. I could even see another line of text materializing in the air around him. Leo’s Depression Level: 100% That’s when it all clicked. She was the heroine of the redemption story. And I was just the disposable side character. The starter wife. So, I quit. As for Leo, he could do whatever the hell he wanted.”

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I’m a relationship coach who streams online, the person women call in the dead of night to help them navigate the wreckage of their hearts. That night, a young woman called in. She claimed she’d been a billionaire’s mistress for seven years and now wanted out. She wanted to go back to her small town, get married, settle down. But he was threatening to kill himself if she left. I gave her my standard, professional advice. “You want to be free? Go to his wife. Tell her everything. Confess your mistake and return every single thing he ever gave you.” Three days later, a box arrived at my door. Inside was the deed to a house, keys to a dozen luxury cars, and what looked like a hundred designer handbags. At the same time, a notification lit up my phone: a wire transfer for $850,000. The attached note read: “Thank you for the advice. I’m returning everything to its rightful owner.” I stared at the name on the deed, my husband’s name, and that night, I started my livestream. “Tonight,” I said, my voice hollow, “I’m going to tell you all a joke. And the punchline is me.” 1 “Remember that girl from the other night? The one who’d been a billionaire’s mistress for seven years, asking me how to break free?” I was walking through the villa, the one from the deed, my phone still streaming live. I felt pathetic. Even now, in the moment I discovered my husband’s affair, my first instinct was to turn my own humiliation into content, into traffic. All to pay for my father’s astronomical medical bills. A lump formed in my throat. “Do you want to know what happened next?” I continued, my voice tight. “Well, it turns out… I’m the wife.” The comment section exploded. Digital gifts, animated supercars, a flood of notifications. But before I could say another word, the front door of the villa was thrown open. “Stop following me! I told you, we’re over!” It was a woman’s voice. The exact same voice from my livestream three nights ago. My heart seized in my chest. And then I saw him. Ethan. He followed her inside, his face a mask of desperation. She wrenched her arm from his grasp, and his expression darkened. “Mia, baby, don’t joke like that.” Her voice was muffled. “I’m not joking… My mom set me up with a really nice guy back home. I’m going back to marry him.” A switch flipped in Ethan. He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, pacing like a caged animal before finally kicking the glass coffee table, shattering it across the marble floor. “Who is he? What could he possibly give you that I can’t?” The crash made the girl—Mia—flinch, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “You’re an asshole, Ethan… you…” He closed the distance between them, his anger melting away as he tenderly kissed the tears from her eyes. “If you don’t want me to die right in front of you,” he whispered, his voice raw, “then don’t leave me. Please.” She pushed him away, her voice rising to a shout. “Then what am I supposed to do? You can’t give me a ring, but you won’t let me go!” She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs. In our seven years of marriage, Ethan had always been the epitome of cool control, a man of unshakable composure. I had never seen him like this—unhinged, frantic, utterly consumed by a love that wasn’t for me. My hand went slack, and the selfie stick clattered to the floor. The camera angle shifted wildly, sending the live chat into another frenzy. [Wait, did I just see the other woman’s face? Someone screenshot that!] [OMG this is the messiest, most incredible drama ever. Live front-row seats to the husband’s epic breakdown!] [That guy is hot, though. NGL.] [CHLOE! What’s happening? Pick up the camera!] The sound of the phone hitting the floor finally drew their attention. They both looked up and saw me standing on the landing of the staircase. Mia’s eyes lit up with a desperate hope, as if I were her savior. “You’re here! You actually came!” She rushed up the stairs and grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “The house, the cars, I don’t want any of it! Please, just talk to him. Tell him to let me go. You said… you said if I gave it all back, I could walk away. Right?” I stood there, frozen, the blood draining from my face. I couldn’t form a single word. But Ethan’s shock had already curdled into rage. He stormed up the stairs, grabbed me by the throat, and slammed me against the wall. His eyes were cold and dark. “When did you find out about Mia?” His gaze dropped to the deed in my hand, and his fingers tightened around my neck. “Did she make you give the house back? Huh?” I couldn’t breathe. It was Mia who pulled at his arm, her voice panicked. “No! I brought it to her myself! Stop it, you’re hurting her!” Ethan finally released me. He turned back to Mia, his hand instantly finding hers, his voice dropping to a soft, pleading whisper. “What if I said I could give you the title? Mrs. Blackwood. Anything you want, Mia. I’ll give it all to you.” I squeezed my eyes shut, a wave of bitter resignation washing over me. The title I had held for seven years, offered up like a party favor. In the ringing silence, Mia slowly let go of my arm. She looked down at the floor and whispered, “…Okay. I’ll give you three days. If you can’t do it in three days, you have to let me go.” 2 After Ethan left with Mia, I bent down and picked up my phone. I was stunned to see that over a hundred thousand people were watching the stream. The comments were all screaming the same thing: Read the diary! I looked over to where my phone had fallen. Next to a pile of Mia’s luggage, a small leather-bound journal lay open on the floor. My hands trembling, I did what my audience demanded. I opened the diary. With every page I turned, the world tilted further off its axis. March 18th, 2018 We’ve been together for three years, but today, he got married. He promised me she was just a business arrangement, a tool for an alliance. He said I was the only one he loved. We cried and made love all night, desperate and broken… My wedding night. The night Ethan told me he had an urgent business trip, leaving me to sleep alone in our cold, empty bed. April 4th, 2019 He swore he didn’t love her, but now she’s pregnant. He was furious, his eyes red. He promised me, he swore on his life, that she would never have his child before I did. I’d been pregnant six times in seven years. Every single time, I lost the baby to a freak “accident.” The first, a hit-and-run. The second, a mugging that went wrong. The third, a severe case of food poisoning. …I felt a cold dread creep up my spine. I didn’t dare think about the others. June 19th, 2021 The storm was terrible today. I was so scared of the thunder, I lost control of the car and hit something. I’m so glad he was here to hold me. That was the day my mother died. It was pouring rain. I had collapsed on the pavement, sobbing until I passed out, miscarrying our fourth child. He had told me he was stuck in a meeting, unreachable. He’d been with her. All night. May 14th, 2025 My family is pushing me to get married. I tried to break up with him for the first time. He gave me 10% of his company’s stock. He said it was my security, my power. Tucked into the page was a stock transfer agreement. I read the document, and the air left my lungs. My entire body went numb. This May, just a few months ago, my father’s tech company had faced a catastrophic cash flow crisis. It was on the verge of bankruptcy. I had begged Ethan, pleaded with him for a bridge loan, for any kind of help. He’d told me his assets were tied up, that his hands were tied. The assets that were “tied up” had been transferred, without a moment’s hesitation, to Mia. My father’s company went under. He had a massive stroke and ended up in the ICU. I couldn’t control it anymore. My hands shaking violently, I ended the livestream and finally, finally let myself break, my body wracked with silent, gut-wrenching sobs.

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It was our seventh time filing for divorce. An hour later, wedding photos of my husband and his young assistant appeared on my feed. Her hand was intertwined with his, showcasing his elegant fingers. The caption read: Legally, logically, lovingly yours. I clicked his profile—the first “like”—and instantly blocked him. His frantic call came moments later. I ignored it. He seemed to vanish. Days later, he called again: “Withdraw the divorce, Aurora. Come home.” His voice trembled. “Your daughter and I… we’ve missed you.” I laughed bitterly. Missed me? He’d flown his assistant to New Zealand for orcas, then to Norway for Northern Lights—all documented in a hundred boastful posts. I stayed silent, switched to speaker, and playfully pinched the bare chest of the man in front of me. He groaned sharply. The silence grew heavy. “Who was that?” My husband Karl’s voice turned tense, teeth gritted. “Where’s my wife?” 1 The man holding me chuckled softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear before ending the call and walking out the door. Half an hour later, my front door was kicked open. Karl stormed in, his eyes wild with panic. He grabbed my hands, pulling me up and spinning me around, his gaze frantically checking every inch of me. Only when he was satisfied that I was unharmed did he let out a shuddering breath and pull me into a bone-crushing hug. “Aurora, I missed you,” he whispered, his eyes red-rimmed as he nuzzled his chin against my shoulder. “Are you mad at me? I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again. Just… don’t use some other guy to make me jealous.” Listening to his heartfelt confession, I couldn’t help but smile. “He’s not a prop, Karl.” His own smile froze on his face. My voice was light, almost cheerful. “We’re divorced. I have no reason to make you jealous.” Karl let out a forced laugh, his posture immediately relaxing. “Oh, you’re still hung up on that? Don’t be mad, baby. She’s just a colleague. I didn’t do anything to betray you.” “Look,” he said, pulling a small box from his pocket. “To make up for this whole divorce mess, I’ll propose to you all over again. You know how we are—we fight, we make up. Just forgive me one more time.” The box opened to reveal a delicate DR necklace. “I got this for you on my business trip.” My gaze fell to his left ring finger. A faint, pale line circled the base—the unmistakable mark of a ring worn for a long time. We never exchanged wedding rings; he’d claimed it was unprofessional for the office. That, combined with this sudden, out-of-place necklace, made it painfully obvious who he’d been wearing a ring for. Just then, my daughter burst through the door and threw her arms around my waist. She opened her small hand to reveal a lifelike butterfly hairpin. “Don’t be mad anymore, okay? The little butterfly is saying sorry to you.” I took the hairpin and clipped it into my hair. The cold, sharp words I’d been about to say died on my lips. You can’t stay angry at your own child. BOOM! The sudden crack of fireworks made me jump. Karl grabbed my hand and led me outside. A swarm of 999 drones, arranged in the shape of a massive heart, was gliding toward our house. As they hovered over our lawn, they shifted formation, spelling out my name. AURORA, HAPPY 10TH ANNIVERSARY. My daughter looked up at me, her eyes shining with hope. Karl’s smile was as gentle and intoxicating as it was the night he’d laid out 999 candles and asked me to be his girl. It was cheesy. But it was dazzling. Passersby stopped to gasp and applaud. “Now that’s how you do it, kid! So romantic!” someone shouted. “Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!” a group chanted. I stared into Karl’s eyes, saying nothing. He bit his lower lip softly and leaned in, aiming for my cheek. At that exact moment, a pair of blinding headlights flooded my face, and the sound of a woman’s heartbroken sobs cut through the air. 2 Katie teetered toward us on impossibly high heels, her eyes brimming with tears as she stared at Karl. “We just took our wedding photos, and you’re already cheating on me, Karl? You said you would only love me for the rest of your life! You lied to me! I’m just going to go kill myself!” With a dramatic cry, she ran towards a tree on the curb, only to collapse theatrically into Karl’s waiting arms. She pounded weakly on his chest. “You’re a bastard, Karl! If you’re going to break my heart, just let me die!” My daughter ran over to her, gently wiping away her fake tears. “Don’t cry, Mommy,” she cooed. “Daddy and I only love you.” In an instant, the curious glances from the crowd turned into sharp, judgmental glares aimed directly at me. “So, she’s the other woman?” “Obviously. They have a child together. I can’t believe she has the nerve to seduce a married man.” I opened my mouth to explain, but Karl cut me off, his brow furrowed with annoyance. “You should go, Aurora. I can’t do this to Katie.” My daughter then reached up and yanked the hairpin from my head, tearing out a fistful of my hair with it. She snatched the necklace box from my hand. “Did you really think this was for you? Daddy and I got these presents for Mommy.” It had only been a month, and my daughter was already calling Katie ‘Mommy.’ Karl shot me a triumphant smirk before turning and dropping to one knee in front of Katie. “I kept feeling like I still owed you something. Perhaps… it was this ring.” He produced another box, this one containing a massive diamond ring. My daughter clipped the butterfly hairpin into Katie’s hair. “Mommy loves butterflies. I bought this especially for you.” Meanwhile, someone in the crowd was live-streaming. The hashtag #EpicLoveStory was trending. [He and their daughter love her so much! She’s the real winner here!] [OMG, is that a two-carat diamond? I think that’s the ‘Heart of the Ocean’ ring! It took the designer three years to make, it’s worth over a hundred million, and it’s the only one in the world!] Basking in the crowd’s adoration, Katie shot me a look of pure contempt and melted into Karl’s embrace. He scooped her up with one arm, took our daughter’s hand with the other, and walked away. I just stood there, silently taking screenshots of all of Katie’s Instagram posts before blocking and deleting them both. I had no time to be a player in their pathetic little soap opera. 3 A few minutes later, a video call came through from my new boyfriend, Julian. “Aurora, I’ve just wrapped things up at the office. I’m on my way back now. Want me to pick up some late-night snacks?” I thought for a moment. “No, that’s okay. I don’t have much of an appetite.” His expression immediately turned serious. “What’s wrong? Did that man from this afternoon bother you? He… he didn’t do anything to you, did he?” He tried to sound casual, turning his head away, but the way he bit his lip betrayed his concern. I shook my head, a small smile touching my lips. “Don’t be silly. It’s just the heat. And from now on, don’t answer calls from unknown numbers. It’s always spam.” When Julian got home, he found the living room empty and rushed into the bedroom, looking panicked. He visibly relaxed when he saw me packing a suitcase. “I thought we weren’t leaving for another month. Why are you packing already?” I smiled and gave him a quick hug before returning to my task. “I changed the flight. We leave in three days. We can get there early and do some sightseeing.” There was nothing left for me here. Just one last piece of business to take care of, and I could leave this all behind. The next morning, I arrived at the auction hall. My parents had gone missing during a round-the-world trip years ago. An island up for bid today held the only clue I’d managed to find about their disappearance. I hadn’t even reached my seat when a stiletto shot out, tripping me. I stumbled and fell to the floor. Katie let out a snort of laughter. “Seriously, Aurora? I know your daughter calls me ‘Mom’ now, but you don’t have to bow to me.” She tutted. “You’re so much older than me. I’m worried this will shorten my lifespan.” Despite her words, she didn’t walk away. Instead, she had one of her friends help me up. “You’re so good at playing the victim,” Katie cooed. “If I were a man, I’d probably fall for it. Too bad for you, Karl is completely devoted to me.” I brushed her friend’s hand away. “Does it feel good being a homewrecker? You must be enjoying it, judging by that smile.” Her smile vanished. “You’ve got a sharp tongue. Let’s see if you’re still smiling in a few minutes.” I assumed she was talking about Karl and shrugged it off. Why would I care about a man who had already cheated on me? But when the bidding for the island began, one of Karl’s employees took the stage and began presenting my proposal. My bid, my research, my entire plan—it had been stolen. I stared at Karl in disbelief. He flinched and looked away, unable to meet my eyes. I had poured my heart and soul into that proposal, working sleepless nights for a month, all for the chance to get access to that island and investigate my parents’ last known location. I never thought he would do this to me, not even for Katie. Katie tilted her head, pointing to the presentation on the screen. “Isn’t it a great presentation, Aurora? This island is mine.” To get the answers I needed, I had no choice. I clenched my jaw and signaled my assistant. “Add another ten percent to our budget. I don’t care what it takes. We are winning that island.” Karl’s mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, to explain, but Katie tugged on his arm. “Karl, you promised you would give this island to me. How can you let Aurora use your money to steal it?” A bitter laugh escaped me. So, after all the years we’d spent building our company from nothing, in everyone else’s eyes, I was just a freeloader living off his success. I was about to tell Karl that I would fight him to the end for this, but he suddenly stopped Katie. “Why are we fighting over a deserted island? I have a much better gift for you, my love.” 4 After my employee presented our revised, much higher bid, the auction organizers smiled with approval. Seeing her chances evaporate, Katie burst into tears and fled the room. Karl shot me a dark look before following her. I frowned, wondering what new drama they were cooking up. Their malicious bidding war had already forced me to sell off all my company shares to cover the cost. Just before the auction concluded, Katie returned, wrapped in Karl’s arms. She gave me a cryptic, triumphant smile. As I was leaving the venue, I noticed people pointing and whispering. Snippets of ugly rumors reached my ears, souring my victory. Just as I reached the exit, a woman stormed up to me and blocked my path. “Are you the one sending nude photos to my husband?” Before I could react, she slapped me across the face, sending me sprawling to the ground. “Can’t you go one day without a man, you slut? Sending him videos of you in lingerie, calling him ‘daddy’?” A crowd started to gather, including some of my own business partners. “Whoa, she sent them to me, too,” one of them snickered. “I had no idea Ms. Hayes was hiding all that under her business suits. Look at all those toys… she’s wild.” “Well, now we know how she kept Mr. Shaw wrapped around her finger for so long. She probably slept her way to the top. Can’t blame the guy, what man could resist that?” My head was spinning from the slap. I looked at the explicit images on the woman’s phone, and my blood ran cold. The woman in the video was wearing lingerie so sheer it was more provocative than being naked, drawing the eye to the most intimate parts of her body. I tried to explain, but someone threw a cup of coffee at me. The hot, sticky liquid streamed down my head, soaking my blouse. At the end of the video, my voice, breathy and seductive, echoed from the phone. The entire crowd fell silent, their eyes fixing on my coffee-stained lips.

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1 A week before our wedding, I was designing e-vites on Mike’s laptop. My hand slipped as I typed “For now and for all our years to come,” accidentally opening his browser. [What if you’re about to marry someone but having second thoughts?] My fingers froze. Mike was on the sofa, frowning at his game. The AI chatbot replied: [Is this anxiety, dissatisfaction, or…] Mike typed again: [It’s neither. What if I met someone new and can’t stop thinking about her?] The AI concluded: [A true connection is rare. Don’t let it go.] I looked at him and asked steadily, “Are we rushing this? Are you sure you’re ready?” He put his phone down, voice tender: “How could you think that, Kate? I’ve waited ten years for this. It was always you.” His eyes returned to the screen. I looked down—a new message popped up: “Ugh, she asked if I was ready. I lied. What now?” … I sat in the study, the water in my cup trembling, sending ripples across its surface. We met when we were eight. Sixteen years of a storybook childhood friendship, followed by a ten-year marathon of love. I never, ever thought Mike would be the one to waver. I closed the laptop and walked over to him, casually taking his phone from his hands to browse through it. From food delivery orders to travel apps, from his social media follows to his direct messages—there was nothing. My face was his chat wallpaper. My photo was his profile banner. There were no restricted posts, no hidden friend lists. It was too clean. So clean it felt sterile. “What’s this? Hunting for a cheater?” He laughed, wrapping his arm around my waist and resting his head on my shoulder. “Find anything? Or did you just find the same loyal dog who’s been stuck to your side all these years?” I stared at his bright, open expression, a smile that was all charm and innocence. I wanted to smile back, but my lips wouldn’t move. “What if you meet someone else someday? Someone who makes your heart race more than I do?” He flinched, and a shadow fell over his eyes. “I don’t like jokes like that, Kate.” His voice was low, serious. “From the day I understood what love was, I knew I would only ever love you. Even if I met someone who seemed perfect, I would never, ever allow myself to do anything to betray you.” Looking at his earnest face, I felt a flicker of doubt in my own suspicion. He was the one who had pulled me from the deepest, darkest abyss of my life. He was the one who stayed by my side through it all. He had seen me at my most broken, my most unlovable, and he had still chosen me. Maybe everyone feels a flash of panic before their wedding. Maybe I was being too hard on him. He stood up and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said, his smile returning, carefree. “You can keep searching. Let me know if you find anything.” He disappeared into the bathroom. I looked at the picture of us on his phone’s lock screen and felt my tense shoulders relax. I was about to put the phone down when a delayed payment notification popped up. It was a receipt for a returned portable charger, probably a glitch in the app sending it again. The charge was $12, for a rental period from 1 PM to 5 PM today. He was supposed to be in a company meeting at that time. The rental location was The Grandview Hotel. My breath caught in my throat. I dialed the hotel’s front desk. “Hello, I was a guest who checked in this afternoon around 1 PM. I seem to have misplaced a pair of diamond earrings. Could you please help me look for them?” I added, “I don’t remember the room number, but the guest name is Mike Archer. His ID number is…” After a moment of typing, the receptionist replied politely, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t see a guest by the name of Mike Archer who checked in at 1 PM today.” My heart, which had been hammering against my ribs, slowly began to settle. Maybe he was just passing by and needed to borrow a charger. He was always forgetting to charge his phone. But the receptionist’s next words made me freeze. “However, I do have a record of a Mr. Mike Archer with matching identification. He just didn’t check in this afternoon.” The frantic clatter of a keyboard echoed through the phone, and my own pulse raced to match it. Then, silence. “Here it is. He checked in six months ago. He booked a suite for an extended period. Room 328.” The phone slipped from my grasp and clattered onto the floor. The voice on the other end continued, tinny and distant. “Would you like me to have someone go up and check the room for you? Hello? Ma’am, are you still there?” I fumbled to pick up the phone, my voice trembling. “No, that’s alright. I found them.” The sound of the shower stopped. Mike leaned against the doorframe, his hair still damp, steam swirling around him. In the hazy light, his smile was audacious, almost reckless. “So? Did you find the other woman?” I forced down the wave of nausea and managed a weak smile. “Nothing. You’re clean.” He took the phone from my hand, and for a split second, I saw a flicker of smug triumph in his eyes. I knew that look. It was the same expression he wore when a business rival tried and failed to catch him in a mistake. I didn’t sleep a wink, staring into the darkness until dawn broke. The next morning, after making breakfast, Mike left for work, whistling, a spring in his step. I opened an app on my phone I’d never used before and watched as a small red dot began to move away from our apartment. It was a GPS tracker for the cat’s collar, but our little rascal, Mittens, refused to wear it, so I’d tossed it in the trunk of his car months ago. He never knew. The car stopped. I stared at the name on the map, a chilling coldness seeping into my bones. The Grandview Hotel. On the wall, our engagement photo mocked me, his loving, adoring gaze now feeling like a dagger piercing my heart. After a long moment, I dialed the number of a private investigator. “Jack, I need you to tail someone for me, 24/7. I want to know his every move and every woman he sees.” I sent him the hotel address and all the information. Then, I just sat at the table, alone, for a very long time. Until Jack’s first message came through. I had run through countless possibilities in my head. But I never, ever expected it to be her. Tessa. Mike’s most hated intern, the one who was “parachuted in.” “I can’t stand girls like Tessa,” he had complained to me six months ago. “These little princesses who think they can just waltz in and coast by because their family has connections.” For the past six months, he had portrayed their relationship as pure animosity, a constant war of wills, made worse by the fact that she had been assigned to his team. He despised her. At least, that’s the show he put on for me. I grabbed my car keys and sped to the location Jack sent. “Tessa Thorne, 22, fresh out of college,” Jack briefed me over the phone, his voice grim. “Her dad’s a major shareholder in a partner company, mom’s a doctor. A classic rich girl. Bubbly personality, gets along with everyone. The people at your boyfriend’s company love her.” He paused, and I could hear the pity in his voice. “Including your boyfriend.” “He even pulled strings to get her the lead on a multi-million dollar project, stepping back to act as her support.” My hand, resting on the binoculars, tightened. I leaned forward, focusing the lens on the window of the hotel room across the street. Tessa was sitting by the window. Mike came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her, his eyes filled with a tenderness so profound it made my stomach churn. The next second, the wind lifted the sheer curtain. And Mike leaned down and kissed her. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was hungry, fierce, like a teenager’s first taste of passion. Despair washed over me, drowning my reason. My hand fumbled in my purse, searching for my pill bottle. I shook out a few tablets and swallowed them dry. I could hear my own voice, strained and shaking despite my best efforts. “The camera, Jack! Do you have the camera!?” “Get every single second of it!” They stayed in that room all day. I followed them when they left the hotel. I watched them shop at a luxury mall. I sat in the same restaurant as they shared a romantic dinner. Mike gave her everything—material gifts, emotional validation, a perfect day. They ended the night with a late-night movie. I sat in the row directly behind them, hidden under a hat and a mask, a voyeur lurking in the shadows. Tessa nibbled on his earlobe, her voice a playful whisper. “Spending the whole day with me… aren’t you afraid that psycho will find out and have another one of her episodes?” She giggled. “What if I took a picture of us like this and sent it to her? Do you think she’d lose her mind and try to kill us?” Mike turned and gave her a hard, silencing kiss, taking her phone. “Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t let her hurt you.” He softened his tone. “But she’s… unstable. When she snaps, she’s not herself. Just be good and don’t provoke her.” He kissed her again, his voice a husky murmur. “Let’s go to the car after this, okay? I can’t wait…” Tessa leaned into his shoulder with a soft laugh, then slowly slid down, resting her head between his thighs. A moment later, Mike’s body tensed. He gripped the armrest, a sharp hiss escaping his lips. The movie blared on, the sound of explosions and dialogue covering their sordid exchange, but it couldn’t drown out the sound of my heart shattering into a million pieces. It was so loud, so clear. Ten years ago, he was the boy who dug me out from under a pile of rubble with his bare hands, who held me tight and promised he would love and protect me for the rest of his life. Now, that same boy was getting a blowjob from another woman while calling me a psycho. He knew. He knew my deepest wound was betrayal. He had been there for the most shameful moments of my past, had seen the ugliest of my scars. And now, he was choosing to destroy me in the exact same way. After a few minutes, Tessa sat up, her face flushed and her eyes hazy with desire. Mike couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled her into his arms and practically dragged her out of the theater. I started to get up, but Jack grabbed my arm, his face etched with concern. “Kate, don’t go down the same road your mother did. Sometimes, knowing too much just gets you hurt. Why tear yourself to pieces over this?” he pleaded. “Let me handle the rest. You go home.” My father’s affair. My mother, accused of being the mistress, beaten in the street until she lost an eye and was left with a permanent limp. She had died holding onto that hatred, never understanding why. I pulled my arm free, my body trembling uncontrollably. “It’s okay, Jack. I’m not my mother.” My voice was cold, distant. “She couldn’t bear the betrayal because she loved him. For me… the betrayal is the reason I will choose not to love.” “The deeper the pain cuts now, the less mercy I’ll show later.” In the parking garage, Mike’s back rose and fell as he moved over Tessa in the backseat of his car. Through the foggy window, I saw her say something. Mike paused, fumbling for his phone with his right hand. A second later, my phone rang. I took a deep, shuddering breath and answered. “Hey, Kate. Are you asleep yet?” Across the lot, the shadows in the car began to move again. A faint, breathy moan reached me through the phone. “No. I’m looking at our e-vites. When are you coming home?” There was a beat of silence on his end, then he spoke quickly. “I have to work late tonight. I won’t be back.” His breathing was heavy, each gasp a knife twisting in my heart, the pain so sharp it made my limbs go numb. I fought back a sob. “Mike… you promised you’d help me with the wedding favors. The wedding is so soon.” My voice cracked. “And the seating chart, and the final meeting with the planners, and…” I clamped my hand over my mouth, turning away, refusing to let him hear me break. He didn’t answer for a long time, but the rhythm in the car never stopped. My eyes blurred as Tessa suddenly bit down on his shoulder. I heard his sharp intake of breath, a pained grunt. “Ngh… Behave, don’t do that,” he growled into the phone, clearly not talking to me. Then he quickly covered, “Sorry, that was the assistant’s puppy. It just bit me. You should get some sleep. And don’t forget to take your medication.” The line went dead. Across the way, after a final, violent surge, the movement stopped. I raised a hand to my face and felt the wet tracks of tears on my cheeks. I turned to Jack, my expression numb. “Did you get their faces on camera?” Jack held up his camera, his eyes filled with a complicated mix of pity and respect. I gave a weak, absentminded nod. “Good. As long as you got their faces. It is for a wedding, after all. You need to see the happy couple.”

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It was my first time picking up my daughter from preschool. I was beaming as I brought her home, my heart full. Then, nestled in my arms, she whispered, “Mommy, aren’t we living in the little house anymore?” I froze. A little house? We had never lived in a little house. Our eyes met, hers wide and innocent, mine widening in dawning horror. A shriek tore from my throat. I raced back to the preschool, and as I burst through the doors, I collided with a frantic woman who looked exactly like me. 01 I used to see stories on the news about parents accidentally taking the wrong child home from daycare, and I’d scoff. How could you not recognize your own kid? If you can’t even do that, you don’t deserve to be a parent. I never, ever imagined I would become the very person I despised. I fumbled with the car door, my arms tightening around the little girl. As I buckled her into the child seat, I couldn’t help but stare. “It’s just… incredible,” I murmured. “How can you look so much like my Rosie?” She was a bit thinner, which made her face seem smaller and her eyes larger, but otherwise, she was a perfect double. Especially in that little yellow dress, sitting so obediently in the booster seat… she was the spitting image of my daughter. If it hadn’t been for that one whispered question, I never would have known. The little girl, Lily, was shy. She peeked at me, her small body tense, but her voice was as soft as cotton when she spoke. “Aunty, you look a lot like my mommy, too.” She added, “But you’re prettier.” I brushed it off as a cute kid-compliment and gave her cheek a gentle squeeze. “You’re just the sweetest thing. I almost don’t want to give you back.” Her eyes shot open, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ of disbelief. She grabbed my hand in a panic. “No, Aunty, you can’t! Mommy can’t live without me!” She looked like she was about to burst into tears, which, I’m ashamed to admit, I found adorable. I quickly soothed her, promising over and over that I was taking her right back to her mother before she finally calmed down. As I pulled up to the preschool, my phone rang. It was Rosie’s teacher. I answered while unbuckling Lily. Just as I lifted her out of the car, I saw a woman standing across the parking lot. She was wearing worn, faded clothes and smelled faintly of grease and stale kitchens, her hair unkempt around her shoulders. Her eyes, wide with panic, scanned the area until they locked onto me. The moment she saw the child in my arms, a desperate cry escaped her lips and she sprinted towards us. In a flash, she had snatched Lily from my arms. The force of it sent me stumbling back against the car. My wrist, caught in her rough grasp, throbbed with a stinging pain, already showing angry red marks. “Hey! What was that for?” The pain shot up my arm, and my patience evaporated. “You hurt me!” My tone was sharp, angry. The woman ignored me, her attention entirely on Lily. She frantically checked her daughter from head to toe, her hands patting down her arms, her legs, her face. Only when she was certain Lily was unharmed did she pull the child into a crushing hug and break down into ragged sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby,” she choked out, her voice raspy and raw. “Mommy got held up at work, I almost lost you.” Her voice was so coarse it was like listening to grinding stones. I frowned, but my anger began to soften. She was just a terrified mother. A terrified mother whose child I had accidentally kidnapped. A wave of guilt washed over me. “Look, I am so, so sorry,” I said, stepping closer, intending to pat her shoulder in apology. “Your daughter and mine… they look so much alike, I just didn’t even realize…” My words died in my throat as she turned her face towards me. My breath hitched. My heart hammered against my ribs. It wasn’t just that she looked like me. She looked like an older, weathered, exhausted version of me. 02 After collecting my own Rosie, I convinced the woman and her daughter to get in my car. The woman, whose name was Leah, sat stiffly in the back with Lily, radiating a nervous energy that filled the car. The tension broke when Rosie, her pigtails bouncing, climbed in and sat next to Lily. Two identical little girls, staring at each other, wide-eyed. Even Leah, who was wound tighter than a spring, couldn’t help but let a small, hesitant smile touch her lips. “See? I wasn’t kidding,” I said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “They’re practically twins. That’s why I made the mistake.” Leah mumbled a barely audible “yes.” The two girls, however, hit it off immediately. They poked each other’s cheeks, played with each other’s hair, and held hands, letting out little gasps of wonder. “You’re so pretty.” “No, you are.” “We’re both pretty, right?” “Definitely.” Their soft, sweet voices were filled with such genuine self-admiration it made my heart melt. I kept glancing at Leah in the mirror. She was looking at the two girls, her face softened by a look of pure, maternal love. A strange feeling stirred in my chest. My original plan had been to take her to a nice restaurant as an apology. But seeing her face, seeing my face in hers, I made a new plan. At the next intersection, I turned the car towards home. Bringing Leah and Lily home sent a shockwave through my family. That evening, even my grandparents, who lived out in the suburbs, drove into the city. The whole family gathered around Leah, who was so tense and overwhelmed she could barely speak. They walked around her, stared, and whispered. “It’s uncanny. Absolutely uncanny!” my grandmother said, leaning in so close her face was almost touching Leah’s. “It’s like they were cast from the same mold!” Leah tried to shrink back, but she was already pressed against the sofa cushions, with nowhere to go. My mother took her hand, turning it over and over, her lips pressed into a thin line as she examined the rough calluses and worn skin. Leah’s face was pale with panic. She tried to pull her hand away, but my mother’s grip was firm. “Um, we really shouldn’t impose,” she stammered. “Lily and I… we should be getting back.” “Nonsense!” my grandfather’s voice boomed from the armchair where he sat, the undisputed head of the family. The sound made Leah jump. “This is not a coincidence. We are going to get to the bottom of this, step by step. You and your daughter will stay here tonight.” Leah was too stunned to argue. She simply nodded, all power of refusal stripped from her. That night, my father pulled some strings. A doctor came to the house and drew Leah’s blood. The next morning, we had the results of the DNA test. Leah was one of us. To put it simply: she was my sister. My twin sister. 03 Years ago, my mother gave birth to twins in a small, rural clinic. The first baby, they told her, was stillborn. They took her away. I was the second. Medical care wasn’t what it is today, and my mother was weak. We were two months premature. The doctors had warned my parents that the chances of survival were slim. So when the first baby was declared dead, no one questioned it. They were just grateful that one of us, that I, had made it. They never knew that the other baby had survived, too. She had been passed from hand to hand before being sold to a family deep in the countryside. In that remote, isolated place, she grew up like a weed, tough and resilient. She had little education, was married off to her adoptive parents’ son, and had a daughter of her own. Her so-called husband was a lazy good-for-nothing who gambled away any money he made. Leah had no choice but to work herself to the bone in menial jobs to support her daughter. If Rosie hadn’t been on the waiting list for a prestigious private preschool, if we hadn’t enrolled her in a regular public one near our house as a temporary measure, if I hadn’t made that mistake… Leah and I might never have met. The story left me breathless. My heart ached for her, and I pulled her into a hug. She went rigid in my arms, too unaccustomed to affection to even move. “Sister,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “Move in with us. You can have the third floor, I’ll move up to the fourth. It’s all furnished—closets, a study, a room for Lily. Everything. Please, don’t argue.” Leah’s face flushed. She shook her head frantically. “No, I can’t! You live on the third floor. I can’t just come in and displace you.” Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t like the stories I’d read. The long-lost heiress, returning at thirty years old, was a flower that had bloomed in the mud. And despite all the hardship she had endured, her very first instinct upon returning home was to worry about my comfort. How could she be so good? So good it made me want to weep. I was about to insist when the shrill ring of her cheap phone cut me off. She gave me an apologetic look and answered. A split second later, a man’s sharp, grating voice erupted from the speaker. “You goddamn whore, who’d you run off with last night?” “Was some other bastard’s bed so good you couldn’t drag yourself out of it?” “You get your ass back here right now! If I don’t see you by lunchtime, I swear to God I’ll kill you and that little brat!” He spewed a torrent of curses and then hung up without waiting for a reply. I stared at Leah’s face. It was a deathly, chalk-white mask. “I have to go!” she gasped, scrambling to her feet. She moved so quickly she nearly tripped over her own feet. I caught her arm. Her lips were bloodless, her eyes unfocused as she muttered, “I have to get back. Right now.” A cold dread washed over me. A thousand thoughts raced through my mind. I tightened my grip on her rough, calloused hand. “I’ll go with you,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. The words seemed to snap her out of her trance. Her eyes focused on me, filled with sheer panic. “No! Absolutely not!” she cried. “You can’t come!” 04 Leah was adamant. No matter what I said, she refused to let me come with her. I tried to compromise. “I’ll drive you. I’ll wait in the car, I won’t come up.” She still shook her head, her refusal absolute. Finally, I gave in. “Alright. I won’t go. Just… be safe. Come back soon.” A visible wave of relief washed over her. “Okay,” she nodded, and then she was gone. I watched her until she disappeared from view. Half an hour later, I picked up my phone. “Hello, is this the preschool?” I asked calmly. “I feel terrible about the mix-up with Ms. Leah’s daughter the other day. I’d like to go to her home to apologize in person. Do you happen to have her address?” Three minutes later, I had it. Before I started the car, I thought about the man’s voice on the phone. The sheer, unhinged violence in it. On a hunch, I made another call and asked for a few of my family’s bodyguards to meet me there. It was a smart move. The moment my car pulled up to her rundown apartment building, I heard it: a cacophony of crashing and banging from an upper floor. A man’s furious, high-pitched screaming was interspersed with the sound of furniture being thrown against walls. I didn’t hear a woman scream, but my heart started pounding anyway. I sent up a silent prayer as I ran up the stairs. Please don’t be her. Please don’t be Leah. But when I reached the fourth floor, my heart sank. The door to apartment 402 was wide open. The entryway was a sea of shattered beer bottles and splintered wood. I stepped over the debris and saw it. Leah was on the floor, her head bleeding, while her husband—a man I now knew as Marco—stood over her, raising a wooden chair to bring it down on her again. “You bitch! You dare cheat on me? Stay out all night and then try to lie about it?” he roared. “Some long-lost rich family? You think anyone would want a piece of trash like you that was thrown away at birth?!” “I’ll beat the truth out of you! I’ll kill you, you lying whore!” He brought the chair down hard. Leah curled into a ball, too weak to fight back. She covered her head with her arms, her body shaking, trapped between his rage and the wall behind her. Tears and blood streamed down her face. Seeing her like that, a hot, sharp pain lanced through my chest. My eyes burned. I didn’t think. I just ran. I threw my entire body at Marco, knocking him off balance. “Don’t you touch her!” I screamed. He clearly hadn’t expected anyone to intervene. The fire in his eyes, which had started to dim, flared back to life. “Who the hell are you? This is none of your goddamn business!” he snarled. “You want some too? I’ll beat you both!” He steadied himself, his face purple with rage, and raised the chair again, this time aiming for me. I stood my ground, shielding Leah with my body. For a split second, as he looked at my face, he froze. 05 Marco’s brain might have stalled, but his body was still in motion. The chair was already swinging down. But just before it could connect, my bodyguards, who had been waiting for my signal, burst into the room. One of them didn’t hesitate, delivering a brutal kick straight to Marco’s stomach. The force was dozens of times stronger than my shove; Marco went flying backwards, landing in a heap on the floor. He curled up, gasping and whimpering in agony. A second bodyguard followed up with a sharp punch to his face. As Marco opened his mouth to scream, the third yanked off one of his filthy socks and stuffed it into his mouth, then twisted his arms behind his back, pinning him to the floor. With him subdued, I scrambled to Leah’s side. “Leah? Are you okay?” My voice trembled as I looked at the gash on her head. I tried to press a tissue to the wound, but my hands were shaking so badly I accidentally poked her in the eye. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I whispered. She didn’t respond. She was still in that defensive crouch, her eyes vacant, staring at nothing. Blood trickled into her eye, and she didn’t even blink. She just kept repeating the same phrase over and over, so quietly I had to lean in to hear. “Don’t hit me… I’m sorry… please don’t hit me…” A lump formed in my throat. I squeezed her hand, tears spilling down my cheeks. That reflexive, conditioned begging… I couldn’t imagine how many beatings it had taken to carve that response into her soul. A fresh wave of fury washed over me. I stood up, walked over to where Marco was pinned, and slapped him hard across the face, twice. His eyes burned with hatred. He struggled against the bodyguard’s grip, earning another kick for his efforts. Just looking at his bloated, pig-like face made my teeth ache with rage. “Tie him up,” I ordered, my voice cold. “Break one of his legs and call the police. My lawyers will handle the rest.” I didn’t care what the charge was. I was going to make sure this monster rotted in a cell. “If you don’t get at least ten years for this, my name isn’t Grace Vance,” I spat, leaning down to spit on his face. Just as I straightened up, I felt a desperate tug on my ankle. I looked down to see Leah, her eyes pleading. “No!” she whispered, tears streaming down her bruised face. “Sister… I’m begging you… don’t call the police!” I froze, sure I had misheard. I knelt beside her, trying to help her sit up. “It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you ever again.” What kind of man was this? A coward in public, but a raging tyrant at home, getting his sense of power from beating his wife. He wasn’t a man; he was an animal. “A piece of filth like him deserves to be put down,” I seethed. But my words only made Leah more agitated. She pushed my hands away, her voice rising with hysteria. “Don’t call the police!” she cried, her eyes wild. “He’s… he’s good to me, most of the time. When he’s not angry.” “He’s not a bad person, he was just… he was just having a bad day today.” The words tumbled out of her, frantic and nonsensical. “And he’s Lily’s father! I can’t… I can’t let him go to prison!” “Please, sister, I’m begging you! I’ll get on my knees!” And she did. She struggled onto her knees on the filthy floor, ignoring the broken glass, and bowed her head to me, ready to kowtow. Looking at her, my heart didn’t just break. It sank like a stone. A profound, soul-crushing wave of helplessness washed over me. The one thing I had feared the most, the one thing I couldn’t stand, was happening.

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I was on a scenic sky-tram with my in-laws when the mountain below erupted into a million-dollar firework display. Against the twilight sky, it spelled out: STELLA, MY HEART IS YOURS FOREVER. I knew instantly. This was for my husband’s childhood flame—a grand gesture to win her back. The blast shook our cable car violently. The support cable groaned, ready to snap. Gripping my phone, I screamed: “Ross, you’re insane! Stop! Your parents are in here with me!” A cold chuckle came through, layered with Stella’s coaxing voice. “Why stop? Three years ago, Stella’s parents died under your care—a surgeon who ‘never’ failed. Today, Peyton, you’ll taste that same pain.” I heard a security guard in the background before Ross commanded sharply: “Fire three hundred more rounds. Aim for the cable car. Obliterate it.” Stella giggled sweetly, “Make those old fools disappear.” The car plunged. My in-laws cried out, pale with terror. Seeing red, I roared into the phone: “Ross, these are your own parents!” 1 “Peyton, do you even hear yourself? How pathetic.” Ross’s voice was a sliver of ice. In the background, Stella tittered. “Oh, Ross, don’t you see what she’s doing? She’s trying to use your parents to control you,” she cooed. “Just like she did to force you into marriage.” That was the trigger. I heard Ross’s breath catch, his anger flaring. He barked an order, and a new volley of fireworks, fifty shells this time, screamed toward us. “You have ten minutes,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Agree to a divorce, sign away everything you have, and tell my parents it was your choice. Do that, and maybe I’ll let you live.” He paused, letting the unspoken threat hang in the air. “Otherwise…” The car’s glass door, already fractured, swung wildly on its hinges, shrieking with the tortured sound of metal. Before I could respond, my father-in-law, his face a mask of fury, snatched the phone from my hand. “You little bastard! Is this how you treat Peyton when we’re not around?” His voice, usually so steady, was sharp with fear and altitude sickness. There was a stunned silence from Ross’s end, followed by an explosion of rage. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?” “I’m your father!” “I never acknowledged that marriage. You think you can claim a connection to me? You must have a death wish.” The barrage intensified. A shell hit the car directly, and the remaining glass shattered. I was thrown halfway out the window, my hands desperately clinging to the frame. Shards of glass dug into my palm, a hot, searing pain that made me break out in a cold sweat. My mother-in-law screamed, her eyes wide with horror. “Peyton, your hand!” For a surgeon, your hands are everything. I managed a grim smile. “I’m fine.” She fumbled for her own phone. “I’m calling Mr. Cole. He’ll get us out of this.” But when she dialed, the call was rerouted. It was Ross who answered. My mother-in-law was hysterical. “You monster! You’re trying to kill us! Stop this right now!” Ross just clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Mom, has Peyton been feeding you stories again? Don’t listen to her nonsense. We’re perfectly fine.” He hung up. A second later, my phone rang. It was him, bellowing with rage. “You bitch! You really think you can use my parents as a shield?” he snarled. “Let me spell it out for you. I fired Cole this morning. No one is coming to save you. It’s divorce, or it’s death. Choose.” My mother-in-law gasped, a strangled sound, and collapsed, clutching her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart. It was a heart attack. I frantically dug through my bag, my fingers finally closing around her pill bottle. Just as I was about to give her one, a helicopter thundered into view, hovering a hundred yards away. Ross stood in the open doorway, Stella wrapped around him. In his hands, he held a hunting rifle. He calmly loaded a round. Bang. The bullet whizzed past my cheek and struck the pill bottle, shattering it into dust. The impact sent a numbing shock up my arm. There was another metallic click. He was aiming at me. “Ten minutes are up, Peyton. Are you signing, or not?” 2 My mother-in-law gripped my hand, her eyes pleading as she weakly shook her head. My father-in-law, his face ashen, tried to lean out to reason with his son. A warning shot from Ross tore through his shoulder. “I’m counting down from ten!” Ross yelled. “Ten… nine…” I looked at the two elderly people, both on the verge of death because of me. My voice was cold as stone. “I’ll sign. On one condition.” “You will send up a new bottle of heart medication immediately, and you will get my father-in-law to a hospital. This is between us. Leave them out of it.” “Deal.” A slow, cruel smile spread across Ross’s face. He snapped his fingers. A drone buzzed toward the cable car, the divorce papers clipped to its landing gear. I signed my name without a moment’s hesitation. As I reached for the bottle of pills attached to the drone, another shot rang out. The bullet tore straight through the center of my palm. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. It was Stella. She was holding a pistol, her eyes glinting with venom. “Ross, baby, her incompetence killed my parents. Why should hers get to live? I don’t think so.” She pouted, turning her face away. Ross kissed her cheek, his laughter loud and unrestrained. “Patience, my love. Did you really think I’d let her off that easy? That bottle is filled with rat poison.” My head snapped up. I stared at him, my mind reeling in disbelief. If Stella hadn’t shot my hand, I would have given that poison to his mother. Not even a miracle could have saved her. Seeing the look on my face, Ross’s smile widened. “I never planned on letting any of you live. What difference does it make if you die now or later?” He raised his rifle again, this time aiming at the hook connecting our car to the cable. Bang. The car lurched violently, now hanging by a single, fraying steel wire. The jolt sent my father-in-law flying out the broken window. His hand shot out, his fingers closing around the cable, but he was losing his grip. Dangling from his neck was a jade pendant, a family crest carved into its surface. Ross’s assistant saw it and gasped. “Sir, that pendant… isn’t that the Master’s?” he stammered. “The one he had made for the two of you from that emerald he found? Sir… is that really him?” For a second, Ross’s face tightened with uncertainty. But Stella was right there, whispering poison in his ear. “These people are all thieves, aren’t they? Peyton stole my place as your wife, and her father stole your father’s necklace. They’re a family of criminals!” she hissed. “Ross, you just called your parents last night. They’re in the Maldives. How could they possibly be here?” Her words were all it took. The flicker of doubt in his eyes vanished. I was desperately holding onto my father-in-law’s arm with one hand, my feet braced against the doorframe. A profound, crushing sense of powerlessness washed over me. It was true, they had been in the Maldives. But they had flown back overnight, a surprise trip to help me fix my marriage with Ross. They had made me promise not to tell him. We were all supposed to ride this sky-tram together. We had waited and waited, but instead of Ross, we got his million-dollar declaration of war. My father-in-law had lost consciousness. He was a dead weight, slipping from my grasp. My arm was dislocated, the pain so intense I could hardly breathe. But I couldn’t let him go. I couldn’t let him fall hundreds of feet to his death. I squeezed my eyes shut, my voice raw with desperation. “Ross, please, save your father! If you don’t, you will regret this for the rest of your life!” I never imagined he could be so monstrous. He raised the rifle one last time, aimed it at my wrist, and pulled the trigger. “Don’t you dare call that man my father,” he said, his voice flat and empty. “My father is in the Maldives. And I told you, Peyton. Today, you learn what it feels like to lose someone you love.” The impact of the bullet shattered my wrist. My hand went numb, my fingers releasing their hold. My father-in-law fell, a straight, silent line into the abyss. A primal, heart-shattering scream was torn from my throat. “DAD!” 3 The cable car was moments from breaking completely. My mother-in-law was hovering between life and death. I was losing so much blood that my vision was starting to blur. From the helicopter, Ross watched us, sipping from a wine glass, utterly at ease. Stella snuggled against him. “Ross, baby,” she purred, “let’s play a game.” He adored her. He would do anything she asked. He tweaked her nose. “Anything for you, my love.” A wicked smile spread across her face. She clapped her hands, and a guard appeared, holding a massive, buzzing hornet’s nest in a net. She admired her freshly painted nails, then casually gestured toward our car. “Toss it in.” The nest sailed through the air and landed with a thud inside the car. A living, buzzing cloud of fury erupted, swarming toward me and my unconscious mother-in-law. I couldn’t move fast enough. A hornet stung my arm, and the spot instantly swelled into an angry, painful lump. “I heard a rumor that hornet venom is a folk remedy for heart problems,” Stella called out, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “I’m just trying to help your mother-in-law, Peyton. You should be more grateful.” She was enjoying this. She gave a signal, and a bucket of honey was splashed into the car. The cloying sweetness filled the air, driving the hornets into a frenzy. Gritting my teeth, I pulled a jacket from my bag and threw it over both of us, a pathetic shield against the onslaught. Ross and Stella’s shrill laughter echoed through the valley. We were their entertainment. The movement made the car swing wildly again. We were thrown against the bent metal frame. And then I saw it—a single, overlooked pill lying in a corner of the car. Ignoring the stinging insects, I lunged for it, my movements fast and desperate. I forced it into my mother-in-law’s mouth. Then, with a surge of adrenaline, I kicked the hornet’s nest out of the car. It plummeted into the canyon below, its furious inhabitants following it down. I collapsed, every muscle in my body screaming. My mother-in-law began to stir, her breathing still shallow. When her eyes focused and she saw that we were alone, she grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Where’s your father?” My eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t speak. I just turned my head away. She understood instantly. From the helicopter, Ross’s taunts continued. “Looks like the old hag is still breathing. Need some help finishing the job?” Another shot. This one hit the last remaining cable. My mother-in-law’s nails dug into my skin. Her face was a mask of pure hatred. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a small, metal object. A flare gun. “Peyton,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. “Signal the Thunder Team. Tell them to come for us.” Her body was failing. The effort of speaking was too much, and she slumped back into unconsciousness. I didn’t waste a second. I aimed the gun at the sky and fired. A brilliant crimson flare shot into the clouds, exploding in a dazzling burst of light high above the mountain—far brighter and more meaningful than the million-dollar fireworks Ross had set off for Stella. The sight of it made Ross jump to his feet. “She gave you that?” he roared. A flare from the head of the family was a summons of the highest urgency. It meant the matriarch was in mortal danger. As a Sterling, he knew exactly what it meant. Once the Thunder Team—the family’s elite private army—arrived, there would be no hiding what he had done. “No,” he muttered to himself, his eyes wild with a new, murderous intent. “I can’t let my parents find out about this.” He reloaded his rifle and aimed it squarely at my head. Stella’s eyes gleamed. “That’s right, Ross! Kill her!” she urged. “Once she’s dead, all your problems will be gone.” Her words mirrored his own desperate thoughts. He didn’t hesitate. He squeezed the trigger. Bang. 4 The bullet sped toward me. But another bullet, fired from the southwest, was faster. The two rounds collided in mid-air, exploding in a shower of sparks. A squadron of black helicopters, the insignia of the Sterling family’s security detail emblazoned on their sides, descended from the clouds, surrounding Ross’s chopper. The powerful downdraft nearly blew him off his feet. A man rappelled down from the lead helicopter. It was Ross’s uncle, Marcus. “Ross,” he boomed, his voice radiating authority, “what in God’s name have you done?” Ross’s face was a thunderous scowl. “Uncle Marcus, you’ve been tricked by this lying bitch! She stole the flare gun! My mother isn’t here!” Marcus ignored his protests. He landed on the helicopter’s skid, reached across, and slapped Ross hard across the face. “Insolence!” he roared. “Have you forgotten all the rules you were taught? How dare you speak back to me!” His voice was like a whip crack. Ross, though seething, could only bow his head. “I understand.” The Thunder Team moved with practiced efficiency, quickly airlifting me and my mother-in-law from the dangling wreck. As I was carried past him, Ross glared at me, his voice a low, venomous hiss. “You’d better keep your mouth shut, Peyton. If you breathe a word of this to my parents, I will hunt you down and kill you.” Before he could finish, his own assistant interrupted, his face chalk-white. He was pointing at the hand of the unconscious woman being carried onto the rescue helicopter. “Sir,” he whispered, his voice trembling, “the scar on her hand… it’s identical to Mrs. Sterling’s.”

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It was the night of the annual company gala, and it all started because the new intern, Alex, accidentally ate a peanut and broke out in a single hive. For that, my fiancée, Sarah, decided the appropriate response was to shove me—a man with a life-threatening pollen allergy—into a ten-thousand-acre sea of wildflowers. The moment the pollen hit my face, my lungs seized. The air turned to fire. I grabbed Sarah’s arm, my fingers digging into her skin as I forced the words through my clenched teeth. “Sarah, you know I’m severely allergic. How could you do this?!” She just sneered, prying my fingers off one by one. “And you knew Alex was allergic to peanuts, so why did you let him eat them? Hurts when it’s your own skin, doesn’t it? A little late for that. Tonight, I’m going to teach you a lesson on behalf of Alex, you power-tripping bastard.” Just before she pushed me from the helicopter, she looked down at me with eyes as cold as ice. “You told Alex he just needed to be more careful, right?” she said. “Let’s see how careful you can be trying to walk out of this.” 1 I hit the ground hard, tumbling uncontrollably down a steep, flower-covered slope. Sharp rocks tore at my skin, ripping open bloody gashes with every rotation. I don’t know how long I fell, but I finally slammed to a stop against a large boulder, my body screaming in protest. It felt like I’d been torn apart. A sharp, drilling pain shot up from my right ankle. Worse, the thick, cloying scent of pollen was everywhere. I took two ragged breaths and immediately exploded into a fit of violent sneezes, tears streaming from my eyes. From above, Sarah’s voice echoed, cold and distant. “Have you learned your lesson yet? If you have, then crawl through this field, find Alex, and beg for his forgiveness. Then I’ll let you go.” I clutched my nose and throat, shaking my head frantically. A second later, a walkie-talkie thudded onto the ground beside me. The helicopter turned and flew away without a backward glance. Alex’s voice crackled through the speaker, dripping with fake concern. “Sarah, maybe we should stop? He looks like he’s really suffering. I can totally empathize with how awful allergies are.” Sarah’s reply was soft and tender, but not for me. “You’re too kind, Alex. That’s why he thinks he can walk all over you. He’s hurt you so much. Today, he gets what he deserves.” Her voice hardened as she addressed me. “Stop the act, Leo. Come over here and apologize to Alex, and our wedding next month can still happen.” A sharp pain, entirely separate from the physical agony, pierced my chest. She really expected me to crawl to him. But the burning in my sinuses was unbearable, forcing me to swallow my pride. “Sarah,” I rasped, my voice already thick and nasal. “You said you’d love me forever… You can’t do this to me… please.” The only response was the sound of Alex’s soft, deliberate breathing on the other end. Hearing it, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I dropped to my knees and retched, vomiting until my stomach was empty, my eyes swimming in tears. When there was nothing left to throw up, I just doubled over in a fit of violent, body-wracking coughs. The last time my allergies were this bad was in college. My ex-girlfriend at the time had gone into a full-blown panic, mobilizing the city’s top specialists in the middle of the night to treat me. The memory was a bitter joke now, a cruel echo in this nightmare. “How long are you going to keep up this charade?” Sarah’s voice crackled again. “It seems you won’t back down without a little extra persuasion!” I gasped for air, tilting my head back to look at the sky, tears tracing paths through the grime on my face. “I… did nothing wrong!” I cried out. “Sarah, please, just let me come up. Don’t you remember? You promised you would never, ever break my heart.” I could feel the silence on the other end of the walkie-talkie, a sudden, tense freeze. But after three seconds, Sarah gave her order. “Do it. Make sure the drop is precise.” Her words had barely faded when a black swarm of drones appeared in the sky. They hovered directly over me, and then the hatches on their undersides opened, releasing a suffocating, kaleidoscopic cloud of fine powder. I threw my arms up to shield my face, but it was useless. The powder was too fine, too pervasive. It wormed its way under my collar and cuffs, coating every inch of my exposed skin. Waves of intense itching began to crawl over my body. I scratched frantically, my nails leaving raw tracks on my skin. A furious red rash bloomed, the hives so dense they merged into a single, horrifying mass. “Sarah…” I choked out, my throat closing up. “I’m so sick… I can’t… I can’t breathe.” I instinctively reached a hand out, a ghost of a memory surfacing—a time when she would have appeared at my side in an instant if I was in any distress. I once coughed while walking past a flower shop, and she bought the entire shop the next day and had it converted into a Lego store, just for me. But the woman who once cherished me, who held me in the palm of her hand, wasn’t coming. My heart turned to ice. Dragging my shattered leg, I grabbed the walkie-talkie and forced myself to my feet, trying to limp my way out of the floral prison. A long time passed before her voice returned. “Finally ready to give in?” she asked. “Apologize to Alex over the radio right now, and I’ll send someone to pick you up.” “Never!” I hissed, but the wind tore the word from my lips, scattering it into nothing. She seemed surprised by my defiance. A long pause, then a single word squeezed through her teeth. “Fine. You want to blow this out of proportion? So be it.” The drones immediately descended again, and the rain of pollen became a relentless downpour. I pulled my shirt over my nose, but my lungs were already screaming in rebellion. Pollen got into my eyes, and my eyelids swelled shut, the pain blinding. Suddenly, I started to laugh—a broken, desolate sound. “Sarah,” I gasped between laughs and coughs. “He got a single hive, and for that, you’re torturing me like this. And you’re telling me I’m the one blowing things out of proportion?” 2 For a fleeting moment, a flicker of guilt crossed Sarah’s face. She quickly suppressed it, her tone hardening into pure scorn. “I’m teaching you how to be a decent human being, a better boss! You’ve become a stranger to me, Leo. Don’t think that just because you’re at the top now, you can forget where you came from. Have you forgotten what it was like to be the one fetching coffee and making copies?” Her voice trembled with righteous anger. “When you used to cry about the pressure, I was the one who held you, who comforted you. I never thought you’d become the very thing you used to hate.” Forget where I came from? Impossible. Her words were like a blade, tearing open old wounds. Right out of college, I started at a tiny firm. I spent my days chasing clients under a scorching sun and my nights rewriting proposals until my hair fell out in clumps. Sarah was my colleague back then. She saw my struggle and would often help with small tasks. Later, when we started our own company, I landed our first major client by letting them pour so much liquor down my throat I ended up in the hospital with a bleeding stomach. When we were on the verge of bankruptcy, I secretly used the dowry money my parents had saved for me to keep the company afloat, telling Sarah it was an early payment from a client so she wouldn’t feel the pressure. The only reason I was so demanding now was because I knew, better than anyone, that we couldn’t afford to fail. And her? She reaped the benefits of my hard work, while my dedication, my sacrifice, was twisted into something ugly she called “authoritarian.” So this was the love I had earned with my blood, sweat, and youth. Fine. Let my heart die completely. Then it can’t hurt anymore. “Leo! Do you have to push people to their breaking point to be satisfied?” she screamed, her voice shaking. “Why do you always have to fixate on one tiny mistake? Why do you always have to make a mountain out of a molehill? Alex is young! It’s normal for him to mess up! Did you have to hold a grudge and secretly retaliate against him?!” I looked from Alex’s smug, triumphant smirk to Sarah’s furious face. Seeing my silence, she mistook it for surrender. Her voice softened slightly. “Leo, we still love each other. I just want you to apologize to Alex. It’s that simple. Your allergic reaction is getting serious. You need a hospital. Please, just be good and listen to me.” I stared up at her and spit on the ground. “In your dreams,” I snarled. Her expression hardened instantly. “It seems the punishment wasn’t severe enough.” She barked an order at one of the security guards with her. “Bring me the package. I’ll teach him a lesson myself.” A cold dread washed over me. This wasn’t over. My eyes fell on the bracelet on my wrist, on the small charm attached to it. An idea sparked. But my fingers hovered over it, hesitating. It’s been so many years. She’s probably forgotten all about me. After I broke things off so decisively, how could I have the nerve to ask her to save me now? For all I know, she hates me. She might even wish I was dead. While I hesitated, the guard returned, carrying a bucket of red powder. I instinctively tried to scramble away. “Scared now?” Sarah mocked, a cruel satisfaction dancing in her eyes. “Weren’t you so defiant just a minute ago? So sure you’d done nothing wrong?” She nodded to the guard. “Pry his mouth open. Let’s see how he likes the taste of chili.” Goosebumps erupted on my skin. Spicy food was my kryptonite. “Let go of me! Sarah, are you insane?!” 3 I thrashed wildly, but the severe allergic reaction had drained all my strength. “You’re going to regret this!” I choked out. “The only one with regrets here will be you, Leo. I swear I will make you break today!” Pure terror seized me. Like a drowning man grabbing for a lifeline, I slammed my thumb down on the button hidden in the charm. The next second, my jaw was forced open, and a torrent of bright red chili powder was poured into my mouth. A strangled gasp was all I could manage. The spice was an explosion of agony. Combined with the allergic reaction, I couldn’t breathe at all. My tongue, my gums, my throat—all on fire. Tears streamed from my eyes. Seeing my torment, Sarah’s brow furrowed. “Are you going to apologize or not?” I was on my knees, coughing so hard it felt like I was trying to turn myself inside out. But I refused to say a word. Her eyes flashed with fury, and she grabbed another handful of the powder. Alex quickly intervened, placing a hand on her arm in a show of gentle restraint. “Sarah, I don’t think he can handle spice. Maybe we should stop.” He paused, then added, “Why don’t we just rub it on his cuts instead? Just a small punishment.” Sarah looked at him, her expression softening into adoration. “You’re too gentle, Alex. You never hold a grudge.” She turned back to me, her face a mask of impatience. “Since Alex is pleading for you, we’ll do it his way!” With that, she viciously smeared the chili powder into the deepest gash on my leg. “Aaaargh!” A scream of pure, unadulterated agony ripped from my throat, echoing across the vast, silent field of flowers. She didn’t stop there. She ground the powder into every single cut, every abrasion on my body. The combination of stinging and burning was like being flayed alive with a blade dipped in acid. My body convulsed, and the world began to fade to black. “Sarah… I think I’m dying…” I finally begged, the words tearing through my raw throat. “Please… let me go.” It was then that Alex tugged on Sarah’s sleeve again. “Sarah, I have some allergy pills here. Maybe if we give them to him, he’ll feel better.” Sarah’s eyes flickered toward my barely conscious form. She snorted. “See how good Alex is to you? Unbelievable. Fine. Give him the pills. I’m not done with him yet.” A guard roughly grabbed my chin and forced a pill into my mouth. A few minutes later, the suffocating tightness in my chest eased slightly. Seeing that I was conscious again, Sarah’s expression grew even colder. “Drag him over here. Make him kneel and apologize to Alex.” The guards hauled me by my arms and dropped me in front of Alex. A heavy hand pushed down on my shoulders while a knee slammed into the back of my legs, trying to force them to buckle. Looking at Alex’s triumphant face, I found a new surge of strength. “Alex! Sarah! I will make you pay for this!” Alex tilted my chin up with his fingers. “Just apologize, Leo. I really hate seeing you like this.” His smile was dazzling, but his fingers were digging into my jaw, the pain sharp and tearing. Just as my vision was blacking out, the roar of engines suddenly split the air. A convoy of black SUVs was speeding toward us, screeching to a halt just a few feet away. The moment I saw the lead license plate, the last thread of tension in my body snapped. She really came. Sarah’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “What the hell is this?”

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