The reality show went live, and my inner voice was accidentally broadcast to the entire world. [Holy crap, is it over yet? I want to die. How can they talk so much? I just want to eat!!] [There are so many hot guys here. Their bodies are top-tier.] [How do I ask one of them to grab dinner with me? I’m losing my mind here!!] The A-listers, the chart-toppers, and the heartthrobs—everyone on set turned their heads in unison to stare at me. [Did I commit a crime? Why is everyone looking at me?] The live stream chat exploded. Everyone had a look of pure amusement on their faces. Except for one man. His face was thunderous. 1 I was the “comparison bait” of this reality show. My job was to play the resident “Pick-me girl.” Everyone implicitly agreed: Riley Miller was a tool. Wherever the show needed a target for hate or a point of drama, they threw me in. Unlike other actresses who struggled with being “black-listed” or “the internet’s villain,” I accepted the role with open arms. The reason was simple: I didn’t care about being famous, and the production team paid me a ridiculous amount of money. When others carried heavy water jugs, I would act weak and pretend I couldn’t lift them. When others did manual labor, I’d put on a dainty voice and say I was a princess whose hands shouldn’t touch dirt. When others played volleyball, I said I was afraid of the ball hitting my face and leaving a scar—or worse, getting a tan. Just like that, I successfully gathered a massive army of haters! “Why did the producers hire her? Are they trying to kill the show? She makes my blood boil!” “Everyone else is working. Why is she special? Does she really think she’s royalty? Get her off the screen!” “Last time she ‘accidentally’ fell into Liam Harrison’s arms and said it was a total coincidence. Like, why his arms specifically? God, this fake act is disgusting.” The live comments were like a light tickle to me. They didn’t matter. The more they hated me, the better I was doing the job the producers gave me. The better I did, the bigger my paycheck. Thinking about the money, I started grinning like an idiot. Tiffany Vance, sitting next to me, nudged me with her elbow. “Riley, what are you smiling about? Everyone is having a serious discussion, and you haven’t said a word.” The feeling of being snapped out of a beautiful daydream was annoying. My mood flattened. I wanted to snap at her, but I remembered the cameras and held it in. Before I could start my performance, a strange sensation—like a mild electric current—pulsed through my body. Something felt different. But I didn’t care. I was too busy coming up with my next “Pick-me” script. Ah, I got it! 2 I furrowed my brows and looked at Tiffany. “I don’t really have anything to add. Everyone’s ideas are so progressive and profound. Unlike me, I’m not very smart. I probably shouldn’t have even joined this roundtable discussion…” My inner voice: [Damn it, it’s lunch time. Why is everyone yapping so much? And why cue me? So annoying.] [Hahaha, somebody just slap them all and let’s go!] While no one was looking, I even threw a quick, sharp roll of my eyes. Suddenly, everyone froze. They stared at me, their faces etched with shock. Jessica Sterling, sitting across from me, let out a dry laugh and addressed the group. “Well, let’s end with one last question, then we can go eat. The question is: What is your current dream?” “I’ll go first,” Jessica continued. “My dream is to land three lead roles in major films over the next two years, and at least one of them has to be an Oscar contender!” “By the way, Riley hasn’t participated much. Riley, why don’t you share yours?” Ugh, again? Can they just leave me alone? I rolled my eyes (internally, I thought) and cleared my throat. Then, I put on my highest, most artificial “baby voice.” “My dream is to become a philanthropist. I want to help so many people in need. Even though I’m far from that goal, I’m going to keep working hard for it!” The comments sections went ballistic again: “I’m done. She is so fake!” “Philanthropist? More like a hypocrite. Does she ever speak without a script?” “Kill her with kindness, boys! Let’s burn this girl down!” But the very next second, my inner voice projected: [My dream is to make bank, then eat. Eat the best food. Like, I should be eating right now, but instead, I have to listen to this group of people talk about ‘dreams.’ I am literally having a minor mental breakdown!] [I wonder if I can invite one of the hot guys here to dinner. Honestly, there are quite a few who are worthy of dining with me.] I rested my chin on my hand, staring at the table and daydreaming about where I could go out for a massive meal after filming ended for the night. When I looked up, I realized everyone was staring at me with the weirdest expressions. There was surprise, panic, confusion, amusement, mockery, and even fear! [Why is everyone looking at me like that? Did I say something wrong? Is it a capital crime now?] I reviewed my performance. I had followed my “Pick-me” script perfectly. I was a flawless villain. It had to be them. They were the ones being weird! Instead of doubting myself, I decided to judge them! The expressions on their faces shifted from complex to purely entertained. The live chat was losing its mind: “NO WAY. Why is she so different inside? She’s a legend!” “Did you guys see that? Why are her thoughts appearing above her head? There’s a literal chat bubble floating there!” “Her mental state is so relatable. She wants to destroy the world every second.” “Wait, can everyone on set see that bubble too?” At that moment, only Liam Harrison—the top-tier heartthrob—remained dark-faced, fiddling with a silver ring on his finger. The others were whispering amongst themselves. Liam, acting as our “Town Mayor” for the episode, spoke coldly. “Fine. It is time for lunch. Everyone is dismissed.” Hell yes! 3 The news of “food” was something I caught instantly. I practically bounced out of my seat, ready to bolt. I was so happy I started babbling. “Thank you, Mr. Mayor! You’re a saint! Love you!” People started filtering out of the hall, but I could still feel their eyes glued to my back. Just as I was about to charge out like a bull, Liam blocked my path with his arm. He stood right in front of me, staring into my eyes. “Feeling bold, are we? Already planning dinner with a ‘hot guy’? Hmm?” He was a head taller than me. His voice seemed to vibrate right above my scalp. I didn’t dare look up. I took a sharp breath. Liam was my complicated ex. We had broken up six months ago after a massive blow-up fight. Looking at his face up close, I could see his sharp, handsome features. He was… undeniably a “hot guy.” But he was definitely excluded from my dinner list. Because as the saying goes: A good horse doesn’t turn back to eat old grass! Despite the lingering feelings of the breakup—and the fact that I had cried through two or three boxes of tissues back then—once it’s over, a woman shouldn’t look back. Gearing up for a performance, I met his gaze and started acting. “Oh, no, no! I wouldn’t dare dream of eating with a handsome guy like you. I just want a simple meal here. Some eggs, corn, maybe a salad. I don’t want to waste the town’s limited resources, considering how little food we harvested…” That’s right. In this “Small Town Challenge,” we had to provide for ourselves. All our personal money was confiscated at the start. We had to earn our own way to buy groceries. We had spent all day in the sun harvesting corn, and we only made about eighty dollars for the whole group. Liam narrowed his eyes. “Oh? So you do know our resources are limited?” I nodded vigorously, biting my lip. “I’m very considerate. If I eat less, others can eat more. That’s a kind of happiness too.” Internal Riley: [Rolls eyes violently] [Since I joined this crappy show, I haven’t had a single bite of real meat. Now I’m being interrogated just because I’m hungry!] [Screw that. I hate salads. I want junk food. I want fried chicken, burgers, hot pot, steak, and a massive feast!] [It’s tragic. I’m not even asking for much. Just give me some fries. Living is basically just going to the pier to get some fries. I’d settle for my favorite French fries.] Liam seemed to stare at the top of my head for a long moment. Then, he spoke slowly. “Let’s go.” He pulled his hand back. His sudden change in attitude left me dazed. He turned and walked out, gesturing for me to follow. I hurried after him like a broken record. “Where? Where are we going? Where?” His eyes crinkled slightly, his tone laced with a hint of helplessness. “To get you some fries.” 4 One second: A good horse doesn’t eat old grass. The next second: Damn, this grass is delicious! Previously, everyone had paired up to cook and eat together, but I was always the odd one out. No one ever invited me. I knew why. My “Pick-me” persona was too annoying. I had offended everyone who could be offended. Honestly, they were being very polite. If I saw someone like me fluttering around every day, I’d want to slap her too. I had spent my days like a pathetic puppy, trying to scavenge food from the different groups. “Jessica, what is that? It looks so red and yummy!” “Tiffany, I haven’t eaten all day. Can I just have one bite? Just a tiny one!” “Austin, do you need help with anything? I can prep the veggies or wash the dishes. I just can’t cook… you know, last time I made something, even the stray dogs wouldn’t touch it. If you could just give me a taste…” “It’s dinner time again! Is there any kind soul who will give me a scrap of food? Hunger! Food! Now!” Seeing this, the internet trolls had written a poem for me: Riley Miller, the Queen of Fakes. A cockroach that hunger never breaks. Title: Just one bite, for God’s sake. So, when Liam said he’d make me fries, my internal excitement was beyond words! Liam went to a clean prep station, pulled out some fresh potatoes, and tied on an apron. I watched him pull a massive sack of potatoes from a lower cabinet. I was stunned. “So many?! Where did you get those?” Liam didn’t look at me. He began methodically taking the potatoes out. “These weren’t part of the communal stash. I helped the old man next door with some farm work after dark last night. He gave me these as payment. I thought you… I mean, you all liked them.” His eyes were downcast, his long lashes fluttering slightly. His movements were steady. I knew Liam could cook. He was top-tier in the kitchen. His kindness made me feel a little guilty. I walked over quietly, intending to help peel the potatoes. The “Pick-me” lines were on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t get them out. Just as I reached for a potato, he stopped me. “Just sit down. You’ll cut your hand, and it’ll hurt.” I froze. My heart skipped a beat. A cameraman was filming us, so I leaned into my script. “Well… yeah. Cutting my hand would be bad. My hands are meant for hand-modeling. I can’t risk a scar. You’re rugged and tough, you should definitely do the peeling!” 5 After saying that, I even put my hands on my hips for effect. Liam’s fans exploded like a landmine, trashing me in the chat: “What a spoiled brat! Liam is cooking for her, and she’s complaining? She can’t even peel a potato?” “Liam is ‘rugged’? LOL. He grew up in a wealthy family with a dozen maids. Since when does he do manual labor?” “Only one question: Why is Liam cooking for her? Usually, she’s the one begging for scraps. Is the sun rising from the west today?” “What is their deal? They aren’t even friends, right? Is something going on? Guards! Bring me my private investigators!” Tiffany Vance walked by and heard me. She couldn’t help but chime in. “…Liam, you really have a heart of gold.” I felt a little guilty after saying those words. But Liam didn’t seem surprised or angry. “She’s right. Riley has the most beautiful hands.” Tiffany: “?” Me: “?” My inner self was having a breakdown: [Liam is being so nice, making me fries, and I’m still being a total bitch. I am literally a villain. I am the worst.] [He actually accepted my fake attitude and agreed with me… I’m going to want to slap myself in the middle of the night for this.] [Liam, after this show is over, I promise I’ll be a better person! I’m tearing up!] My inner monologue was a non-stop drama, scolding myself from every angle. Liam glanced at me, the corner of his mouth curling upward. “Let’s hope so.” I was confused. Why was everyone looking at the top of my head today? Was there something wrong with my hair? I pulled a small mirror from my pocket and checked my reflection, specifically looking for anything weird on top. The cameraman wiped sweat from his brow and zoomed in on me. I let out a soft cry, ruffling my hair, and said with exaggerated vanity: “After careful inspection, I am indeed still stunningly beautiful!” But in reality, I had noticed something wrong with the top of my head. My hair… it was thinning a bit. [This is the first time I’ve seen my bald spot so clearly. It’s hideous. I have instant looks-anxiety. Someone help me! What if they notice? My hair has been falling out so much lately. I only have like five strands left.] [I need to wear a hat next time before anyone else discovers the secret of my thinning hair.] The live stream chat was dying: “I didn’t know about the bald spot, but now the whole internet knows! Hahaha!” “Why does she always say the opposite of what she thinks? She’s so insecure inside, but she acts so narcissistic.” “I’m crying. Does she really not know we can see her thoughts?” “Wait, I actually find her kind of cute now? Someone wake me up! I was her #1 hater yesterday!” “Stay strong, Hater Army! If she gets redeemed, who are we going to troll?” Tiffany leaned in and whispered, “Do you… really not know we can see your heart voice?” 6 I was completely confused. What did she mean, “see my heart voice”? Was this some new reality show gimmick? I activated my “improv” skills and replied naturally, “Of course I know! It’s the new theme of the show!” Whatever game the producers were playing, I was going to play along! Tiffany pursed her lips and walked away without another word. Liam’s fries were fresh out of the oil. The sizzling sound filled the kitchen, and the aroma reached every corner of the room. He didn’t just fry my favorite fries; he also made braised potatoes, spicy potatoes, garlic potatoes, and cheesy potatoes. It was a potato feast. I sat down immediately. Looking at the table full of food, I felt like this was the highlight of my entire miserable reality TV life! I wanted to grab my fork, but then I realized Liam hadn’t sat down yet. I put the fork back and sat up straight. “Mr. Harrison, don’t worry about the rest. Please, sit and eat. I’ll do the dishes later.” [It smells so good. I’m literally ascending. Sit down so we can eat! I’m starving! I love potatoes so much!] Liam took off his apron and sat down, gesturing for me to start. I took a bite of a fry. The crunch was so satisfying it felt like a direct hit to my soul! I looked up and caught Liam’s eye. His gaze was full of raw expectation. “Is it good?” I paused. In that moment, I forgot my “Pick-me” script and replied with a hint of feigned indifference, “It’s okay. Edible.” [It’s so good! It’s amazing! It tastes just like it used to. Liam makes the best fries—so crispy. The potatoes are so fresh. It would be perfect if there was some ketchup!] Liam suddenly got up, went to a cabinet, and placed a bottle of ketchup on the table. “Here, make do with this.” My eyes lit up. At this moment, Liam was basically a god in my eyes. The live chat was losing it: “‘Just like it used to’? Did Liam cook for her before? Something is fishy here. What did I miss?” “Liam, be careful. You’re showing too much love. Anyone can see how much he favors Riley.” “They are actually kind of cute together. If Riley acts normal, I can ship this.” “Hehe, two tsunderes. I am living for this!” The moment of bliss didn’t last long. Others followed the scent and naturally brought their own bowls over. Jessica joked, “I’ve never seen you cook before, Liam. Turns out your secret talent was only for her. Can I… have a taste too?” 7 Tiffany chimed in with a smirk, “Liam made this specifically for her. I saw them earlier. Well, technically, Liam did all the work while Riley just watched… but then again, Riley is the ‘princess’ of this show. She doesn’t have to lift a finger.” She giggled behind her hand. I put down my fork, my mouth twitching. “I was actually going to call everyone to eat, but you guys got here so fast! Join us!” Inner Riley: [Get lost. What do you mean I’m the ‘princess’? Last time we were harvesting corn, you all complained about being tired after ten minutes. I’m worried about your health. You have the bodies of 60-year-olds and the emotional maturity of toddlers.] [If I hadn’t worked on a farm as a kid, we wouldn’t even have this much corn. I worked my ass off while you all did nothing.] [God, I hate that face. I hate people who are passive-aggressive. If I ruled the world, I’d lock these people up and force-feed them their least favorite foods every day! Garbage people!] Just thinking about it made me feel a bit better. The air seemed to freeze for a few seconds. Tiffany’s face turned several shades of red and purple. Jessica couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “I never knew Riley was so… funny and cute?” Liam noticed Tiffany’s changing expression and added another blow. “You didn’t know? I did.” “Wait, what?” Why was their conversation so confusing? Tiffany’s breathing became ragged. She frowned and said, “Fine, I won’t talk. Can I at least have a fry?!” Before her fork could reach the plate, Liam pushed the entire dish of fries toward me. “You can eat anything else. The fries stay here. She likes them.” Tiffany was fuming. I could practically see the steam coming out of her ears. I said generously, “It’s okay, Tiffany. Do you want some? I can share. It’s a lot; I probably can’t finish them all anyway.” [Actually, I could finish them all. If you guys didn’t show up, they’d be gone by now! Acting with you is so exhausting. One more word and I’ll dump this plate on your face.] Tiffany turned on her heels and stormed off in her designer heels without another word. Jessica gave me a big thumbs-up, smiling broadly. The audience felt like their justice had been served: “Yes! Keep roasting her! I’ve hated Tiffany for so long. Riley is my spirit animal!” “Polite on the outside, insane on the inside. I think I love her. Her mental state is iconic!” “Can we disband the Hater Army? I can’t even troll her anymore. She’s the most honest person in Hollywood. I’m a fan now.” Liam was looking down, smiling. His tone was almost fond. “Little liar. Not a single honest word out of your mouth.” 8 After lunch, we had the most dreaded part of the day: the group challenge. We were split into teams to sell the corn on the street. Whatever money we made belonged to the team, and the team that sold the most would get an extra two hundred dollar bonus from the producers. When I saw the random teams, I nearly lost it. I was teamed with Austin Brooks and Tiffany Vance. The worst luck ever. Tiffany sat on a wooden bench outside, slowly touching up her makeup. The other teams had already left. We were the last ones. I nudged her. “We should go. Otherwise, we’re definitely going to sell the least, and we won’t have enough money for dinner.” Tiffany reluctantly followed me. There was one basket of corn that required two people to carry, which wasn’t an easy task given we had to walk over a mile to the town square. After carrying it with Austin for twenty minutes, Austin complained his hands were sore. Tiffany immediately took over. “I’ll help!” I looked around. Of course—the camera was directly on her. Under the blazing sun, everyone was sweating. Tiffany was wearing leather gloves, sun-sleeves, and holding a small portable fan. Less than five minutes later, Tiffany slammed the basket onto the ground. “It’s too heavy! I’m done!” I looked at Austin. He waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t want to carry it either. It’s too heavy. I need a break.” I stood there, alone in the wind. Are you serious? A wave of rage washed over me. I suddenly remembered all those group projects in college where teammates would just “go MIA” and leave me with all the work. They take the easiest tasks and do the least work. And because we were “colleagues,” I couldn’t just curse them out. I used to just vent on my private social media. But now, I was in the industry, on a reality show, and I had to deal with this again. Fine. The audience was confused. Why was I the only one willing to carry the basket? “This team is going to fail. They won’t even reach the square before dark.” “This is why teammates are important. If you have dead weight, you’re screwed.” “Why is Riley so calm? Is she giving up too? I thought she wanted to eat?” “I feel like she’s planning something big…” I took a deep breath, squeezed out a few fake tears, and started sobbing. “I just… I just want to make some money. I want to buy good food. Why is it so hard? I’m so pathetic. I don’t have enough money for a decent meal, I’m getting so skinny, and my blood sugar is low. I’m so dizzy…” I used my “Pick-me” skills to fight fire with fire. But my inner voice was screaming: [I’m actually dizzy from rage! I will destroy anything that stands between me and my dinner! If you two try to slack off one more time, watch me explode. I’ve held it in for too long. Do you think I’m a monk? I’m actually very strong. I could knock you both out with one punch!] Tiffany and Austin looked at each other, then at me. “Riley… fine. We’ll carry it. You just follow us and rest.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “417810”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The second the elevator doors closed, I received a text message: [Be careful. There is a murderer in the elevator.] I was staring at the other five people in the elevator, stunned. After a sudden, terrifying plunge. The elevator broke down. 01 The girl standing near the door lost her patience first. She smashed the emergency button a few times. When nothing happened, she started frantically pounding on the elevator doors. The little kid next to her was terrified by her actions and burst into tears, burying his face into the chest of his curly-haired grandmother. To my left was a man in a business suit. He originally wore black-rimmed glasses, but the violent jolt of the elevator’s sudden drop had sent them flying. In the chaos, someone had stepped on them, crushing them to pieces. To my right was a guy who looked like a college student. He wore a black canvas backpack and stood on the left side of the elevator, knees bent and back hunched, cowering in the corner without daring to move an inch. I slowly stood up from the floor. I remembered the digital display showing the 30th floor right before the lights flickered twice. And then we were in a freefall. It was faster than a drop-tower ride at a theme park. No one had time to react. The impact of the sudden stop threw us all to the floor. The main lights in the elevator were dead. Only a tiny emergency light in the back corner cast a pale, weak glow over us. 02 “Do any of you have cell service? Hurry up and call 911.” The college kid was the first to speak up as he gathered his bearings. The others quickly remembered to pull out their phones to call for help. But me? I was staring at the last text message on my phone. Lost in thought. [Be careful. There is a murderer in the elevator.] Just a few simple words, enough to make anyone’s blood run cold. The message came from an unknown number the exact second I stepped into the elevator. But right now, none of us had any signal. I couldn’t reply to ask what it meant. I quietly swiped the message away. I stood in the furthest corner. Silently observing everything. 03 There were six people in the elevator. The trendy, fashionable girl was named Ashley. She was a live-streamer. The little boy was Toby, about four years old. The woman with him was his grandmother, Martha. The guy in the suit lived on the 32nd floor. He was a mid-level manager at a corporate firm, and everyone called him Rick. The guy next to me was a college freshman. He lived on the same floor as Rick. His name was Kevin. And me? I just moved into this apartment building. I lived on the top floor. I had seen them around before. But we weren’t close. Right now. I stared at them, my mind wandering. Is there really a killer in here? But I didn’t have time to dwell on that. We needed to get out first. “I don’t have any service. What about you guys?” The others silently looked at their screens, their expressions unreadable. But I knew. They had received that text message, too. 04 “What the hell is this? A murderer?” Ashley said impatiently, “Is this some kind of hidden-camera prank show? This is so lame.” She started pacing around the small space, looking high and low. “Let me find the hidden cameras.” Rick’s glasses were broken, so he had to hold his phone inches from his face. His squinting eyes suddenly focused. A flash of pure terror crossed his face: “Are one of you a murderer???” The older woman sitting on the floor rolled her eyes at him. “I slaughtered a fish this morning to make stew. I’m a fish murderer, not a people murderer.” The others had similar reactions. They assumed it was a sick prank. No one took it seriously. “Do you guys have a signal?” Kevin asked, turning his phone on and off repeatedly. “I don’t.” “Me neither.” “The emergency button isn’t working either. What the hell is going on?” “I don’t know. The HOA sent an alert in the building app this morning saying the security camera wiring burned out. They said they were fixing the cameras, not the elevators.” “So… the cameras in here are dead too.” Ashley looked up at the camera dome in the ceiling. “Could there really be a killer?” … Everyone started talking over each other, the small space echoing with noise. Kevin, growing impatient, walked over to the elevator doors, trying to pry them open with his bare hands. Just as he managed to pry a tiny crack open, I quickly stopped him. “Stop! Do you know what floor we’re on? You can’t just force the doors open!” “What if we’re between the 9th and 10th floors? You pry that open and you’ll fall straight down the shaft.” Hearing me, he stopped what he was doing. I was right. During the freefall, the digital display flickered and died. We had no idea what floor we were actually stuck on. This apartment building had 35 residential floors above ground and 3 levels of underground parking. Regardless of where we were, forcing the doors open was a death wish. “The safest thing to do right now is stay put,” Rick said, understanding my point. “Let’s just wait. When other residents realize the elevator is broken, they’ll call 911.” Ashley shifted over to the elevator doors. She took off one of her high heels and started banging the pointed heel against the metal door, over and over. The sound of metal clashing travels far. I pressed my ear against the door and listened for a long time. “The speed of sound is 340 meters per second. Listen to the echo—it sounds hollow.” “We’re at least seven or eight floors above the ground.” Kevin clearly didn’t believe me, his face screaming: Are you for real? I ignored him. “Don’t believe me? Try opening the doors and stepping out, then.” He pressed his lips together and went quiet. By this time, the little boy had stopped crying. The elevator had dropped so fast that his lollipop had flown out of his hand and landed on the floor. He wiped his runny nose. He crouched down to pick up the lollipop. But suddenly, he pointed at a dark puddle behind Kevin and giggled. “Hehehe, Grandma, look! Ice cream. The ice cream melted into water.” 05 Everyone followed his finger. Kevin was leaning against the elevator wall. The black backpack on his shoulders… Drop by drop, a dark red liquid was seeping out of it. The dark red liquid slid down the elevator wall and pooled into a red puddle on the floor. At the same time. A metallic, metallic stench silently crept through the enclosed space. The smell mixed with Ashley’s heavy perfume. It made my stomach churn. The atmosphere turned incredibly eerie. Ashley gasped. Everyone stared at the dark red puddle, a collective, terrifying silence falling over us. In that moment, the text message flashed in my mind again: [There is a murderer in the elevator.] Martha quickly pulled Toby close to her. I silently took a step back. Rick held his briefcase up like a shield. “Holy shit, what’s in your bag? Why is there so much blood?” 06 The elevator was dead silent. Everyone was waiting for Kevin’s answer. The red liquid pouring from his bag, combined with the heavy stench of blood… It was hard not to let our imaginations run wild. Kevin frantically waved his hands. “No, no, no! You misunderstand! I bought steak, it’s in my bag. I got trapped in here before I could put it in the fridge. It’s been too long, it thawed, so the blood water leaked out.” Ashley lowered her high heel. “Really?” But Rick was still on high alert. “I don’t believe you. Open it and show us.” Ashley scoffed. “You’re so paranoid. Who hides a body in a backpack? Besides, what could fit in there? A severed head?” As soon as she said it. She seemed to realize how horrifying her own words were. The more she thought about it, the more terrified she became. Her voice trailed off completely. She shrank back, standing closer to Rick. “Y-Yeah… I think Rick is right. Open it… let’s see.” “It… it wouldn’t actually be a head, right…?” She took a sharp breath after her last sentence. 07 “Why should I show you?” To our surprise, Kevin flatly refused. “I have personal items in my bag. You’re invading my privacy.” His refusal caught everyone off guard. If it really was just thawed steak. Why wouldn’t he show us? He stood in the corner, hiding the backpack behind him. “I’m not a murderer anyway. This is ridiculous. Do you guys actually believe that text message? It’s obviously a scam. Didn’t you see the web link at the end of it? Phishing texts always do that. You click the link, and they drain your bank account.” Kevin wasn’t wrong. At the end of that short, ten-word message, there was indeed a string of characters that looked like a URL. But no one could click the link right now. Because there was absolutely zero signal in the elevator. Hearing Kevin’s explanation, the group relaxed their guard just a fraction. But my eyes never left his black backpack. I was too curious about what was inside. 08 The elevator had been broken for over two hours. There was zero movement from the outside. It felt like no one had even noticed we were trapped in here. Even though Kevin’s explanation sounded plausible, everyone was still wary of him. Because he stubbornly refused to let us see what was in his bag. Martha squeezed closer to me with Toby in her arms. The burly, broad-shouldered Rick felt like the safest person to be near. Rick swallowed hard, clutching his black briefcase against his chest. I quietly pulled the keys out of my purse. It was the only thing I had to defend myself. The elevator was dead silent. Only the sound of the little kid sucking on his lollipop could be heard. Right then, the emergency light flickered twice. After the third flicker. Pop. The light died completely. The elevator, suspended in mid-air. Plunged into pitch-black, suffocating darkness. 09 In the dark, fear multiplies. An adrenaline spike sent my heart racing, and my body began to tremble slightly. The warning text and the puddle of blood. It pushed everyone’s emotions to the absolute limit. Even the slightest rustle would make us scream. When the only light in the elevator died. Ashley instinctively lunged toward Rick for safety. The sudden darkness made everyone forget they had flashlights on their phones. 10 I don’t know how much time passed until someone finally remembered their phone’s flashlight. A blinding beam cut through the dark. Ashley turned on her light. Rick stood up, following the beam of light. “Damn property management. They collect so much money every year, and the elevator’s been broken for two hours without anyone coming to fix it.” He got on his tiptoes and smacked the emergency light a few times. After a few good thwacks, the light miraculously flickered back to life. “This light probably won’t last long. We need to get out of here fast.” Once my eyes readjusted to the light, I rubbed them. That was when I felt a heavy weight pressing against my leg. I turned my head and saw Toby’s grandmother leaning against me. She was slumped against my leg, sitting on the floor, perfectly still. Toby was in her arms, happily chewing on his lollipop. I shifted my leg slightly, and she collapsed flat onto the floor. Looking closer. There was a massive pool of blood spreading from beneath her. 11 Toby’s grandmother was dead. Right here in the elevator. Her carotid artery had been cleanly sliced open. She died right next to me. It was unimaginable. Just a few minutes ago, she was talking to me. And now, she was dead. She died without making a sound. Her features were twisted, her eyes unfocused, staring wide open in dull, lifeless terror. But she was right next to me the whole time. How could she not have fought back at all? I was paralyzed with shock, my mind going completely blank. Toby clearly didn’t understand what was happening. Once I snapped out of it, I quickly pulled him into my arms. Ashley had collapsed onto the floor in sheer terror. Rick, keeping his cool, took off his jacket and draped it over Martha’s body. Kevin stood frozen in place, trembling violently. When the emergency light had gone out. He was the closest to Toby’s grandmother. He was shaking from head to toe, beads of cold sweat rolling down his forehead. “It… it… it wasn’t me.” “It… it was her own fault. She tried to grab my bag.” “It wasn’t me, I didn’t mean to. I just pushed her away. It wasn’t me.” He frantically waved his hands, desperately denying it. 12 “You did it on purpose! You killed her! You were right next to her!” Rick roared at him. His eyes were bloodshot, like a rabid beast. “I said it wasn’t me! Don’t you fucking frame me!” Rick, fueled by adrenaline and rage, punched Kevin in the head. Kevin’s lip instantly swelled up. “You’re a fucking psychopath! I saw you arguing with her down in the courtyard this morning. I never thought you’d actually use this chaos to murder her!” “Grab his bag! Quick! The murder weapon is definitely in his bag. We’ll be heroes when we get out of here! We caught a murderer barehanded in an elevator!” Ashley snapped out of her daze and quickly assisted. While Kevin was dazed from the punch, she snatched his black backpack. The scrawny Kevin was no match for the burly Rick. He was quickly pinned to the ground. “Search his bag. The weapon is in there.” “I… I’m too scared to open it.” Ashley kicked the backpack over to me. “You… you open it.” I looked at the blood-soaked backpack. Fighting back my nausea. I slowly unzipped the peeling zipper. The moment it opened, a putrid stench hit my face. Disgusted, I grabbed the bottom of the bag and dumped everything out onto the floor. But when it all spilled out. Everyone froze. The dark, mangled mass wasn’t a steak, and it wasn’t a knife. It was a black cat that had been gutted and mutilated. The dismembered cat had originally been stuffed into a plastic bag. But the turbulence of the falling elevator had caused it to tumble out. The bloody water from the bag had soaked through the entire backpack. This was what Kevin was hiding from us. He had a sick fetish for torturing and killing animals. And he didn’t want anyone to find out.

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My mother is a sociopath disguised as a brilliant scientist. She devoted her life to proving a twisted hypothesis: that those born into poverty are inherently incapable of possessing true virtue. To prove this, she turned me into an experimental control subject, separating me from my glamorous twin sister right after birth and sending me to live in an impoverished, secluded area in the Appalachian mountains. I worked myself to the bone, even selling plasma illegally just to scrape together a thousand dollars for tuition and a bus ticket out of that hellhole. On my way, I ran into a disabled woman who claimed she had lost her money. It was a setup arranged by my mother. I ruthlessly refused to help her. Meanwhile, back in the city, my sister—raised in luxury, the golden child—didn’t hesitate for a second to give the woman all her allowance. My mother decided I was cruel and cold-blooded. She cut off the meager monthly stipend she paid to my adoptive parents in the mountains. Left with nothing, during my senior year, they quickly married me off to the town drunk—a widower rumored to have beaten his first wife to death. Later, after the experiment was declared a resounding success, my mother wept tears of joy as she embraced my sister on national television. She didn’t even remember she had another daughter, beaten to death just days before. When I open my eyes again, I am back to the moment I met that disabled woman asking for a bus ticket. And the hidden camera on her button is broadcasting my choice to an audience of millions worldwide. 1 “Excuse me, dear, I’m lost… could you spare some money for a bus ticket home?” The woman standing before me had a dark complexion from working in the sun, and she walked with a heavy limp, leaning on a cane. She held up a disability certification card. Before I could even process the phantom pain of my brutal death, lines of scrolling text suddenly appeared in front of my eyes. [LiveChat] [Is this the older sister? The control subject? She looks so miserable compared to the sister. I wonder if she’ll help.] [Look at her clothes. They look like handouts from twenty years ago. She’s obviously poor as dirt; there’s no way she’s got a good heart.] [That disabled woman looks so pitiable. Why is the older girl just staring? Her sister in the other stream is already in tears.] I blinked. Looking down, I could only see my own hands—rough, calloused, and covered in dirt from farm work. The LiveChat was real. I wasn’t dreaming. In my past life, I had run away from my adoptive parents, who kept me under lock and key, just to scrounge up enough money for college. I had spent days on the road, hitching rides on tractors, covered in dust, finally making it to the county seat. Luckily, in that small, desperate place, the illegal plasma banks didn’t check IDs. I managed to sell enough plasma to get a thousand dollars. Who knew that on my way home, I would encounter this so-called disabled woman. She claimed she lost her travel money and wanted to go home. Sobbing, she begged me to buy her a ticket. I didn’t agree. Aside from the fact that she immediately asked for nine hundred dollars when the cheapest bus ticket was barefly three hundred, I saw something. The gold bracelet on her wrist. It was worth at least five thousand. The woman flashed her disability card like it was a royal decree, practically shoving it in my face. She was clearly hoping I wouldn’t notice it lacked the mandatory government seal. In my previous life, I was severely anemic after selling blood. My natural resting-bitch-face, combined with a face white as a sheet, actually intimidated her. My cold stare forced her back a few steps. She cursed at me and stomped away. Later, I found out it was all a setup by my so-called mother, a woman obsessed with her manicured “scientific research.” She wanted to prove that poor people are inherently immoral. To do that, she made me the control subject against my sister’s pampered life. As soon as I was born, I was banished to an isolated, poverty-stricken rural town. Here, surviving was a struggle, and college was an impossible dream. But I refused to give up my only chance to change my destiny. Even though my adoptive parents forced me to work in the fields every single day, whether it was freezing or burning hot. Even when they tried to make me drop out to farm the overgrown, desolate half of their property. I studied like my life depended on it. That thousand dollars meant everything to me. But my sister was different. She had been pampered since infancy, enrolled in elite ballet, piano, and singing lessons. Wearing a custom-made princess dress, she took the stage under dazzling spotlights and confidently won the title of the youngest champion in a national piano competition. And I? I could only stand in the dusty town square on market day, staring at the television through the window of a wealthier family’s home, eyes full of envy. 2 [LiveChat] [Why is the older sister just standing there like a statue? She obviously doesn’t want to give up the money.] [Ugh, boring. I’m switching to the other sister’s stream.] The chat stream scrolled by, and someone posted a video link. Curiosity got the best of me, and I clicked it. It was my sister’s stream. The same setup. A disabled person who had lost their travel money. But the scene was entirely different. My sister was wearing a tailored private school uniform, her face beaming with health. With a tearful, sympathetic look, she gently helped up a woman with a fake limp. Without hesitation, she handed over her bulging wallet. I caught a glimpse inside—it was packed with hundred-dollar bills. At least two or three thousand dollars. The audience, seeing my sister’s glistening eyes, absolutely lost their minds. [LiveChat] [She’s an angel. Truly beautiful inside and out. I heard she’s also top of her class at that elite Academy. The older sister doesn’t even look like a student; she’s probably failing.] The chat stream was flooded with praises for my sister. I noticed my sister subtly moving, adjusting her angle so her face was perfectly in frame, away from a direct view of her backpack. But a tiny, faint, specific cold light—the blue light unique to an iPhone screen—was reflecting out from a corner of her open bag. As soon as she sensed the chat was completely on her side, the corners of her mouth twitched. Her eyes curved into triumphant crescents. Of course. This experiment was rigged from the start. Knowing she was being watched, my sister would obviously make the perfect choice for the camera. Only I was kept in the dark. I had been living a lie, thinking I could escape these mountains and fly toward my own sky. I never imagined my life was just a massive production of The Truman Show. Seeing the LiveChat grow impatient again. [Older sister is a total dud. No virtue, just like the hypothesis says. Discard.] The disabled woman seemed to get her cue. She started rolling on the ground, wailing, trying to emotionally blackmail me. “Young people have no heart! Won’t even help an old woman get home. I can’t get back to my three-year-old son! He’s probably crying for his mommy right now!” Her wailing attracted a crowd. Passersby who didn’t know the full story started pointing fingers at me. They accused me of being cold-hearted, disrupting public order by causing a scene in the street. I didn’t care. In front of everyone, I walked over to the public payphone booth and dialed 911. Fortunately, in this country, a 911 call is always free. “Yes, I need to report a scam. There’s a woman outside the bus station committing fraud.” [LiveChat] […] The woman pretending to be disabled froze, the LiveChat came to a grinding halt. A split second later, the chat exploded. [LiveChat] [Are you kidding me? Who calls the cops for this?! Bitch!] [Wait, fraud? Did she actually notice something? I’m dying to know how.] When the police arrived, the disabled woman finally snapped out of it and tried to run. She was no longer acting weak and helpless; her “limp” miraculously cured. “Look, kid, just let me go. I was just trying to make a buck. Why did you have to involve the cops?” The woman was practically begging now. As the silver cuffs were clicked onto her wrists, her legs suddenly became perfectly fine. The officer looked at me, curious. “How did you catch on?” I was polite. “She claimed to be local, but her accent was completely wrong. It sounded like she was faking it.” “A disabled person with a severe limp wouldn’t leave home without a crutch or cane. It would make walking too difficult.” “And because the weight distribution on her feet would be unequal, the soles of her shoes would be worn down unevenly.” I managed to crack a smile, though it probably looked forced on my anxious face. “Most importantly, a legitimate disability ID card must have the proper government seal.” The officer looked impressed, praising my sharp eye. The previously silent LiveChat finally reacted. [LiveChat] [Holy… that logic was solid. The sister is actually smart!] [Her face isn’t bad when she smiles. If her skin was better, she’d be identical to her sister.] [But wait, comparing them… is it just me, or is the younger sister actually kind of stupid? Who hands their entire wallet to a random stranger? That’s not kindness, that’s just dumb.] The chat stream was suddenly swinging completely in my favor. I let out a breath, thinking I had escaped the agonizing fate of my previous life. But then, my sister’s fanatical followers woke up. They unleashed unadulterated malice online. [LiveChat] [LMAO, she thinks she won. Rumor has it the Director is pissed that this choice didn’t prove the control subject hypothesis. There’s going to be a ‘bonus’ test.] [The older sister won’t pass this next one.] 3 Seeing the text, my breath hitched. I didn’t understand why, despite being my biological mother, she treated us so differently. In my past life, based on this rigged experiment, she had casually labeled me as inherently evil with no possibility of redemption. She stopped the monthly thousand-dollar check to my adoptive parents. And in the middle of my critical senior year… They put a sack over my head, tied me up with thick rope, and delivered me to the widowed town drunk who had already beaten his first wife to death. I still remembered that day was my birthday. The town’s public loudspeaker was broadcasting my mother’s birthday wishes for my sister. To celebrate her golden child’s eighteenth birthday. She had purchased airtime on every radio channel globally to broadcast a “Happy Birthday” song in over a dozen languages. And while that happened, I was being forced onto a filthy, cold grass mat, heavy fists smashing into my body, one after another. Until I could no longer hear the words: “Happy Birthday, Penelope. Mommy loves you so much, baby…” My chest felt tight with a bitter, old ache. For a split second, I wanted to run to the city and scream in that cold-blooded woman’s face. But a second later, I noticed a surge in the crowd around the station. Strangers with the “Vance Labs” patch on their sleeves were closing in on me from all sides. They were blocking every entrance and exit, sealing off any chance of escape. [LiveChat] [Is she thinking of running? She was looking at the tickets for a long time.] [Nah, where would she run? Vance Labs security will grab her and throw her back in.] I lowered my eyes and walked back onto the path toward “home” with a blank face. I couldn’t run. Not like this. Not totally unprepared and defeated. One day, I would claim my freedom out in the open. 4 Because I got home so late, I got a vicious beating. A switch was used on my already scarred back. After the foster father beat me until he was out of breath, he looked at me with an unusual expression. “Neighboring Graves family is bringing a new bride tomorrow. You help out over there.” The LiveChat, which had been mostly people commenting “too brutal to watch,” immediately perked up. [LiveChat] [The test is here. Rumor has it this one is impossible. Good luck to the bitch.] I touched my collar. Something hard was hidden in the fabric. A lab technician must have attached it without me noticing. I didn’t rip it off. I let them watch. The next day, a luxury black Mercedes pulled into the dusty village. It seemed absurdly out of place. A young girl in a white dress jumped out of the car. Her expensive shoes hit the mud, sending splatters onto the leather. Her face immediately twisted in disgust. A second later, she put on a beaming smile, transforming back into a perfect, innocent girl next door. [LiveChat] [Penelope is here?!] [Live chat is lit! Her fan base is exploding.] [Don’t get it wrong, guys. Mom lied to Penelope, told her she was filming a reality TV show about rural life. She definitely doesn’t know about the experiment!] [I heard Penelope is playing the role of a kidnapped college student. So excited to see how the sister handles this.] Penelope smiled into the camera, looking radiant. Then her gaze flickered toward me. My foster father stood next to me, shrinking back self-consciously. He laughed awkwardly and scurried over to Penelope to suck up to her. My foster mother shoved me hard. “Go serve her.” Inside the cool, dark mud-brick house, I handed Penelope a cup of water. She casually took it, her fine, pale hands showing they were accustomed to piano keys and expensive lotions, not labor. She took a sip before speaking slowly. “Can you help me?” [LiveChat] [The test is beginning!] She said, looking embarrassed, “Actually, I’m a college student who was kidnapped. They’re saying they want to marry me off to one of the town bachelors.” A flash of malice darted through my sister’s eyes. “You look around the same age as me. Could you marry him instead of me?” The “bachelor” she was talking about was the widower who would kill me in my past life. His family was dirt poor and drowning in gambling debt. He didn’t have the money to buy a bride, nor could he afford a Mercedes. The only way he could get a bride was if someone else paid for her. Or, perhaps, if he was part of an elaborate setup. I looked at the perfectly manicured, perfectly innocent-looking girl, and then at the chat where people were cheering. “Sure.” I didn’t even look up. “If you are actually being kidnapped.” Regardless of the reasons, kidnapping is a serious, horrifying crime. It shouldn’t be entertainment. It shouldn’t be reduced to a “reality TV” choice in a sick mother’s game. “I’ll take you to see a woman who actually was kidnapped.” 5 “Let go of me! You are insane! Where are you taking me?” Penelope’s expensive shoes were struggling through the thick, muddy paths of the village. In the most neglected corner of the village. Inside a place that was essentially a pigpen. Lived a woman whose mind had broken long ago. The putrid stench of waste hit us. Penelope instinctively covered her mouth and nose, dry-heaving. [LiveChat] [Why did the experiment stop?! The control subject is being so aggressive. Where is she taking poor Penelope? Someone stop her!] [Is she trying to mug Penelope? She probably wants her expensive accessories.] The chat only went silent when the woman in the pigpen suddenly stood up and the camera got a direct shot of her. Yellow and red stains covered her filthy body, and pieces of it fell onto Penelope’s dress as she stumbled. Penelope shrieked and ripped off her expensive private school blazer. She hissed, “You filthy bitch! Do you know how much this jacket cost?” The woman kept acting out, grabbing at things. But I calmly reached out, holding the woman still and using my own old jacket to wrap her exposed, filthy skin. “Auntie Evelyn, your chance to escape is here.” Evelyn’s chaotic, unfocused gaze suddenly cleared. She looked at me in disbelief. “Really?” I nodded. When I was three years old, a beautiful woman arrived in the village. Rumor was she was a college student. She was a rarity in this backward place. Back then, I was treated like a wild dog by my foster parents, chained to a wooden stake, sleeping in a crate. They used to mutter inside their house. “She says they just need enough to live. We can barely afford to feed her, and she wants to live in a real house? We barely have enough space for ourselves.” I used to think I was a wild dog, grateful for any scraps I got. Until Evelyn Reed reached her tolerance limit. She broke her own confinement one night, broke into my crate, and held me tight. She told me. “You are a little girl. You have a long, beautiful life ahead of you. You are not meant to be caged in this horrible little village.” Auntie Evelyn taught me to read, taught me morality and philosophy. She begged me to study hard, to use education to claw my way out of this hell and fly to a bigger, broader world. She had been a teacher and gathered a few of the village kids together, starting the very first rudimentary “school.” But on the day I “graduated” the eighth grade, Evelyn ran. She hid in the truck of a pig farmer heading to town, buried under filthy animal waste. When the villagers caught her, they beat her until she only had one breath left. Her hair was torn out; she looked insane. Her “husband” had pointed righteously at their few-months-old son. “You heartless bitch, how could you run? The baby is so small! I’m going to beat the run right out of you!” I was forced outside, but I could hear Auntie Evelyn screaming. She sobbed, her voice raw. “I have years of education from a top university! I wanted to be a federal judge, to be near my parents, not trapped in this hell, reduced to a breeding cow…” After that, Auntie Evelyn went insane. She volunteered to live in the pigpen. She preferred living among waste than ever going back to that man’s house. But I knew she wasn’t insane. She secretly continued my education, preparing me for high school in the town. Auntie Evelyn gave me her secretly hidden gold bracelet, telling me to sell it for tuition. Later, the money ran out. I had to illegally sell plasma to pay for my senior year. I had been right on the edge of the Dawn, ready to take the entrance exam for that same university she went to… and then I died just before I could take the first step. 6 In this mountainous, secluded village, trying to escape by foot was a death sentence. I wanted to use the live stream. I wanted to force Penelope’s Vance Labs production crew to take Auntie Evelyn with them. They had security people everywhere. Buying her freedom would be effortless. [LiveChat] [Oh my god… Evelyn is so pitiable. Penelope is so kind, she’ll definitely save her.] [She was a top university graduate! This is horrifying.] Chat comments started urging Penelope to help. Penelope couldn’t see the chat. She bit her lip. “But… this isn’t right.” “Doesn’t Auntie Evelyn have a child? That poor little boy won’t have a mother. So sad.” “She’s a mother! Women are weak, but mothers are strong. For her child, she can just endure it, right?” My rage, which I had been suppressing, finally exploded. I knew Penelope was just afraid of the hassle. She didn’t want a filthy, crazy-acting woman as baggage. But a child is not an excuse for a mother to endure torture. It is the chain that binds her freedom. “It was not a voluntary child, so it is not a reason to endure! It is the shackle that imprisons her!” I reached out and grabbed her shoulder, finding the hidden camera lens. I got right in her face. “If you don’t take her with you, I will announce right now, to that camera, that you know your mother is conducting this entire experiment.” “Your LiveChat followers are all saying you’re an innocent angel, right?” “If they find out you were just acting, will they abandon you? And then, you will be the one mother discards as the ‘failed’ experiment.” Penelope stared at me, her eyes wide with shock. She couldn’t understand how I knew everything. “You crazy bitch! You are insane! No wonder Mom threw you away and left you here for ten years!” Penelope stomped her foot. Utterly powerless rage. 7 The day Penelope left, Auntie Evelyn was in the luxury Mercedes with her. I wanted to see her off, but I was blocked by her son. A fifteen-year-old punk, already taller than me. He glared at me, muttering slurs, saying I let his mother escape. “Then why didn’t you go see her? Who lets their own mother live in a pigpen?” His expression didn’t change. He said logically, “It’s her own fault for running. My dad said if she ran again, he’d break her legs!” He was already rotten to the core. I picked up half a brick from the corner and got into a fight with him. Dust flew. I heard Auntie Evelyn shout from the car. She said she would find a way to come back for me. She told me to never give up. I pinned her son to the ground and hammered him with my fists. Auntie Evelyn, I hope your future path is smooth. Be free. When we meet again, we will both be the people we were meant to be. 8 [LiveChat] [I mean, older sister passed the test, right? She really is a good person. Was Catherine Vance’s experiment a complete failure?] [Is this experiment even ethical? The older sister deserves a better life.] Chat streams supporting me appeared. They started attacking the scientist mother. They questioned her morality and scientific ethics. And it was also the first time I saw my biological mother’s face in my new life. A link to a Vance Labs press conference appeared in the chat. I clicked it. I saw a woman with elegant features, wearing a tailored business suit, speaking at a podium. “I am Dr. Catherine Vance, director of this study, and the biological mother of both subjects.” “Everyone, please calm down. I have seen the online opinions. However, human nature changes based on its environment. This is undeniable.” “My biological daughter’s cruel nature was already evident back in middle school.” My chest felt tight. Before I could even feel wronged, a massive screen behind her lit up. The scene was a principal’s office. A skinny, dark-skinned girl who looked malnourished was hugging her chest, glaring aggressively at the teachers. Next to her, a perfect, doll-like girl was sobbing, hiding in her mother’s embrace. “Teacher, Chloe Vance isn’t paying attention in class and keeps pulling my hair.” “Mommy, she even threw the new backpack you bought me into the school septic tank. She said I was a spoiled brat who didn’t deserve a mother!” The principal frowned. “Chloe Vance, how many times is this? I’ve already received complaints about you cheating on exams. That’s the only way you got top of the class, right?” [LiveChat] [Holy shit… Older sister isn’t a good person after all. Cheating? Bullying? She’s pure evil!] [Everyone supporting her was totally fooled!] Catherine Vance saw the noise she created and smoothly switched the video. The scene was a bright, clean classroom. Penelope was standing in front of a bullied girl, bravely facing down an aggressive male student. She looked fragile and sweet, her eyes moist. “Please don’t bully our classmate, okay?” The male student looked instantly smitten. He waved his hand, impatiently sending his friends away. He pulled out his phone. “Hey, what’s your number? Let’s connect.” Penelope looked completely taken aback, her face blushing bright red. She softly recited her phone number. The atmosphere was so sweet it looked like an idol drama. [LiveChat] [Aww, Penelope is so cute! Get away from her, you punk!] [That blush! I can’t handle it!] [School bad boy vs. innocent girl? I’m totally shipping it!] I was carefully analyzing the video, looking for the bullied girl. But there was no one. The scene focused only on Penelope. The girl who had been doused with trash and left shivering was discarded by the camera in a corner. Forgotten by everyone. The terrifying act of bullying was suddenly transformed into a romantic plot. It made me sick. My mother stopped the video there. She stated that while I had passed two of the “reality TV” tests, my inherent nature was unchangeable. She announced that I would be subjected to stricter tests. [LiveChat] [Isn’t this going too far? Sister hasn’t even finished high school yet. Let her take her entrance exams.] That one sensible comment was instantly swallowed by Penelope’s fanatical base chanting “Support the Experiment.” [LiveChat] [Don’t even try. Bullying is bullying. She was this evil in middle school, she’ll be worse in society.] The LiveChat was swinging back to Penelope. Then, a user with an icon of a hydrangea flower dropped a link. [LiveChat] [You are all being manipulated by Catherine Vance. The older sister didn’t bully anyone. The girl she supposedly bullied in high school was actually expelled for being the bully!] The user’s video was grainy, like it was a security camera footage, not professionally filmed. But it was clear. In the blurred video, I was holding my own red, swollen face in the principal’s office. I was speaking calmly. “Teacher, Sarah Jenkins threw my textbook into the boys’ bathroom urinal.” “She told me to bark like a dog. She slapped me when I refused.” The principal was looking at test papers, never even lifting his head. He just waved his hand, dismissing me. Back then, I had truly believed he would handle the situation. I didn’t know the principal was a teacher from a school near our village who had worked hard to get a job at the elite private school. He had always resented me because I was beating his own daughter, whom he spent a lot of money tutoring, as the top student in the class. When I was being severely bullied, I went to his office. He said dismissal. “Why is it always you being bullied, and not others? Every fight has two sides. Learn to self-reflect.” I realized I was completely alone. So, when Sarah Jenkins tried to stab my palm with a mechanical pencil again during class, I grabbed her by her ponytail and slammed her to the floor. After class, she threw my textbooks into the septic tank. So I grabbed the expensive custom designer backpack her mom bought her from New York and threw it into the open, filthy sewer main in front of her face. [LiveChat] [OMG. Honestly, that was amazing! Older sister is a badass!] [Principal is a POS. “Every fight has two sides”? I’ll slap him on one side and see if that fight has two sides!] Public opinion flipped again. Mother, on the screen, looked visibly panicked. I just wanted to sneer. It turns out she knew all along about the abuse I endured. She knew the suffering of those ten years. She was willing to pay people to film my suffering, but she wasn’t willing to save her own biological daughter from that hell. The very last sliver of hope I had for a mother was gone. I touched my wet eyes and looked away. I noticed in the LiveChat, more and more users with the hydrangea icon were appearing. They were screaming: [ live stream is rigged! Older sister needs to be removed from the mountains. Give her the same education as her sister!] I suddenly remembered. Auntie Evelyn loved hydrangeas. In our culture, the flower symbolizes hope and light. She had actually come back for me.

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I was reborn, brought back to the exact minute before I was supposed to choose my fiancé. Our family had an old pact to marry off the daughters, and now it was time to make the choice. My socialite sister’s eyes were filled with a mix of shock and absolute ecstasy. The moment our elders finished speaking, she let out a sharp, triumphant laugh: “Dad, Mom, I choose the Harrington heir! I want to marry into the Harrington family!” I instantly realized she had been reborn, too. She wanted to steal my life. In our past life, she chose the cold, untouchable “Saint” of Manhattan high society, only to discover his terrifyingly obsessive and ascetic nature. Unable to endure his monastic lifestyle, she cheated on him. As punishment, he imprisoned her for the rest of her life until she died of severe depression. Meanwhile, I married the playboy prince of Wall Street. Despite his flaws, I attended high-end galas and lived a life of absolute luxury, envied by everyone. Looking at her crazed, triumphant smile, I let out a breath of relief. Compared to a cheating, scum-of-the-earth playboy who would literally sell his wife for business, a possessive but deeply loyal ascetic was exactly what I wanted! 01 “Dad, Mom, I choose the Harrington heir! I want to marry into the Harrington family!” My parents frowned. “Clara, think this through. The Harringtons are facing several massive lawsuits right now; they aren’t as powerful as they used to be. Didn’t you always prefer the Sterling family’s heir?” My sister practically beamed. “Liam Harrington has the power to fix everything. You don’t need to worry about me.” Her words confirmed my suspicions. The reason Clara was practically begging to marry Liam was that she was terrified of repeating her miserable past life. In our previous life, she struck first, choosing the cold, noble “Saint” of Manhattan—Arthur Sterling. She got her wish and became Mrs. Sterling. But before she could even enjoy her endless wealth, she was shipped off to a secluded, heavily guarded mountain estate to “cleanse her soul.” The rules were incredibly strict, the diet completely vegan, and the estate was devoid of any entertainment, filled only with the sound of silence and ringing chapel bells. Not to mention, the wild, passionate fantasies she had about seducing the “untouchable saint” were crushed. Arthur never even touched her. Clara, who was used to a glamorous, vibrant nightlife, couldn’t stand such a dull, suffocating existence. One day, she made a phone call and sneaked two of her ex-boyfriends into the estate. While the three of them were in the middle of a wild session, the estate’s staff heard the noise and caught them red-handed. Rumor had it Arthur was so disgusted he took a vow of silence for a month. On his orders, Clara was locked inside a villa at the foot of the mountain for the rest of her life, strictly forbidden from leaving. She eventually died of severe depression. Arthur never physically abused her; he simply banned her from going to clubs to find young men. But Clara watched me accompany the Harrington heir to elite parties and ultimately developed a fatal heart condition out of pure jealousy. No wonder the moment she was reborn, she chose the Harrington family she had previously looked down upon. Clara felt my gaze. She shot me a provocative glare, then dragged me into the bedroom. “Don’t even think about fighting me for the Harrington heir, or I’ll kill you myself!” I feigned concern. “But the Harrington family is facing a huge crisis right now. Are you really going to sacrifice yourself, sister?” Clara raised her chin, her expression full of contempt. “You don’t need to worry about me. The Harrington family is going straight to the top!” She shoved me hard. “You’d better worry about yourself. I hope you enjoy living like a nun in a cloistered convent for the rest of your miserable life.” Watching her strut away, a genuine smile spread across my face. Did she really think the Harrington family’s resurgence was due to Liam, a man whose only talents were drinking, gambling, and sleeping around? Liam Harrington was the kind of man who would personally deliver his own wife into another man’s bed just to secure a contract! I’ll gladly take the obsessive, devoted “Saint” over that piece of trash! 02 Though slightly reluctant, my parents agreed to Clara’s choice. Then, they turned their eyes to me: “Eleanor, since your sister wants the Harringtons, you will marry into the Sterling family.” They didn’t give me a chance to object, casually sealing my fate. Clara gloated. While applying heavy, club-ready makeup, she mocked me: “Eleanor, just accept your fate. Careful not to spend your whole life chained to a prayer mat!” I leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Sister, I hope you don’t end up chained to a bed, constantly servicing different men!” She thought trading marriages meant trading destinies. She had no idea that a person’s destiny is determined by their own choices, not by which man they marry. Clara froze, then raised her hand to slap me. I dodged backward with a smile, replacing it with a perfectly polite expression. “Mom, it’s getting late. Didn’t you say you called Arthur? He should be here to pick me up soon. I’m going to change.” After finalizing the engagements, my parents notified the Sterlings and the Harringtons, subtly suggesting we spend some time together to cultivate feelings. The Sterling estate was only a thirty-minute drive away. Arthur had agreed to take me out. As for Liam, he was probably blackout drunk in some VIP club right now. He didn’t even answer the phone. Clara’s face changed slightly. She glared at me so hard she practically burned a hole through my skull. When I came out in a fresh dress, Arthur had arrived. He sat next to my parents, discussing the details of the engagement ceremony with an entirely expressionless face. He had a sharp jawline and striking features, better looking than most Hollywood actors, and an aura as deep and calm as a still lake. No wonder Clara fell in love with him at first sight in our previous life. The moment Clara saw Arthur, she was completely captivated. Her eyes practically glued themselves to his body: “Arthur…” Arthur seamlessly shifted to a seat further away from her, avoiding her as if she were something filthy. The bright crystal chandelier illuminated his face but failed to light up those pitch-black, fathomless eyes. Clara shuddered. Just as she tried to salvage the situation, I interrupted: “Sister, what are you trying to say to my fiancé?” Hearing the word “fiancé,” both Clara and Arthur looked up at me. Clara’s expression was murderous; she looked ready to swallow me alive. But Arthur just watched me quietly, a flicker of an unreadable emotion crossing his dark eyes. I walked forward and naturally hooked my arm through his. “Mr. Sterling, I’m ready. Let’s go.” Arthur’s gaze drifted down to where my hand rested on his arm. He gave a faint, soft “Mm.” 03 I didn’t let go of his arm until we reached his car. I looked at him sincerely. “Mr. Sterling, thank you.” My parents only saw me as a corporate asset to be sold off. I had had enough of this suffocating household a long time ago. If Arthur hadn’t come to pick me up, I never would have escaped their grip today. “Why thank me? Aren’t we engaged to be married?” Arthur watched me quietly. His gaze made me a little flustered, but it also made my heart skip a beat. “…Right.” “What’s mine is yours. There’s no need to be polite. You haven’t had dinner yet, have you? Let me take you to a restaurant.” I patted my slightly empty stomach and nodded. I originally thought Arthur would take me to some strict vegan or ascetic retreat, but to my surprise, he drove me to a high-end Italian restaurant. It happened to be my absolute favorite place. “Mr. Sterling, are you sure we’re in the right place?” I couldn’t help but press my palms together apologetically. Wasn’t bringing him here a violation of his ascetic lifestyle? Arthur shook his head. “It’s fine. My faith requires me to discipline myself, not others. I have already eaten at home. Order whatever you’d like.” I didn’t hold back. Once seated, I ordered a salad and a massive plate of Bolognese pasta. Arthur asked, “Is that all you’re eating?” I nodded. “This is plenty.” I wasn’t a picky eater. In truth, after enduring the days in my past life where Liam tied me up like a dog, just having a warm meal was a blessing. Arthur held my gaze, lost in thought. Only when I was full and put down my fork did he speak calmly: “After we are married, I expect absolute loyalty in our marriage. If you fulfill your obligations as a wife, I will give you everything you could ever want.” “…Obligations?” My brain short-circuited. Without thinking, I blurted out, “Wait, aren’t you celibate? Like a monk?” Arthur corrected me: “I am a devout ascetic, not a monk.” I muttered to myself, “Then why does everyone call you the ‘Untouchable Saint’? I thought…” I don’t know if it was an illusion, but I saw him smile slightly. My heart suddenly started pounding wildly. Without knowing what came over me, I reached out and touched his brow. The moment my fingers brushed his warm skin, I realized what I had done and hastily pulled my hand back. But I was a step too late. Arthur froze, instinctively grabbing my hand. He held it tightly, refusing to let go. 04 “Ah, I’m so sorry!” I was mortified, wishing I could slap myself. Eleanor, Eleanor, how could you be seduced by a handsome face and do something so inappropriate? Fortunately, Arthur didn’t seem to mind my forwardness. His lips moved slightly. “It’s nothing.” When he dropped me off at home, we both silently agreed to pretend the hand-holding never happened. Before stepping out of the car, I joked, “Mr. Sterling, I hear your faith believes heavily in ‘destiny.’ In your eyes, are we destined for each other?” I didn’t expect him to answer. To my surprise, he nodded and said candidly, “Yes. Since a past life.” It was my turn to fall silent. How could I have had any connection to him in a past life? My miserable previous life was still vivid in my mind. A person can never forget what truly matters, just as they can never forget true hatred. I didn’t take his words seriously and didn’t argue. I just smiled faintly. “Then I’ll be sure to cherish this destiny.” I turned and walked toward the front door. When I casually glanced back, the headlights were still casting a pale glow into the night. Arthur hadn’t left yet. My heart fluttered. Just as I was about to turn back to him, Clara blocked me at the doorway. Clara’s face was twisted in rage, her lips smeared with a garish, blood-red lipstick. “Eleanor, you shameless bitch!” She lunged, trying to grab my hair. “Trying to seduce Arthur? I’ll kill you!” Seeing her act like a maniac, I almost died laughing. I sidestepped her sneak attack, letting her crash face-first onto the hardwood floor. I covered my mouth, stepping back a few paces: “Sister, it’s not even Thanksgiving, why are you bowing so low to me? The Sterling family might be powerful, but you don’t need to try that hard to suck up to me, do you?” Every word pierced her right in the ego. The reason Clara chose the Harrington family was that she was blinded by their superficial wealth. Deep down, she still viewed Arthur as her property, dreaming of having her cake and eating it too. Even if I were a complete stranger instead of Arthur’s fiancée in this life, I would never stand by and watch a toxic parasite like Clara ruin a good man. I laughed enough and added: “Are you feeling lonely waiting at home? You should check out the clubs and bars downtown. I bet the precious ‘prince’ you’re so obsessed with is partying in a VIP booth right now.” Clara didn’t know Liam’s true nature. She thought I was just trying to insult her fiancé. Her face filled with hatred: “Shut up! You’re not even worthy to be mentioned in the same breath as me! I hope you can still smile when you’re locked in a monastery eating plain oatmeal! By the time I’m the glamorous Mrs. Harrington draped in diamonds, even if you kneel on the ground and beg me, I won’t show you any mercy!” She angrily picked herself up from the floor, turned, and stomped back to her bedroom. I leaned lazily against the staircase, opening my phone to check the evening financial news. Tsk, tsk, tsk. The Harrington Group’s stock had dropped another ten percent. I hope they can hold out until the day Clara marries into the family. 05 The next day, when Liam sobered up and finally learned who his fiancée was, he rushed over to our house to apologize. He spewed absolute nonsense with a straight face: “Mr. and Mrs. Vance, I had a business dinner last night and accidentally drank too much. But don’t worry, our family’s business is getting back on track. Once Clara marries me, our current crisis will definitely be resolved.” I silently rolled my eyes. Of course the debt crisis would be resolved. Besides using her ten-million-dollar dowry to put out the immediate fires, Liam would force his future wife to sleep with clients to satisfy the twisted desires of the upper crust. For the monsters in high society, finding beautiful young girls to torment wasn’t hard. What was hard was finding playthings from prestigious, wealthy families. Perhaps only then could they experience the true thrill of conquest. In our past life, Liam seized every opportunity, treating me as a bargaining chip and subjecting me to horrific abuse, ultimately securing the investments he needed to flip his company’s fortune. The high-end galas Clara had envied so much were nothing but the gateways that repeatedly pushed me into hell. Clara was completely oblivious to the tragic fate awaiting her. She was incredibly smug, biting my ear to whisper: “Eleanor, just you wait! You’re destined to live like a widow anyway. Once you’re discarded, I’ll absolutely find a few men to play with you until you’re broken. Let’s see if Arthur still wants you when you’re a ruined mess!” I curled my lips into a mocking smile and raised my arm. Slap! The sharp sound cut off Clara’s endless cursing, as well as the conversation between Liam and my parents in the living room. The slap completely stunned Clara. She burst into tears: “Dad, Mom, and Liam! Look at her! Eleanor is bullying me!” My dad comforted Clara, then yelled at me: “Eleanor, what are you doing?! Apologize to your sister right now!” My parents had always heavily favored Clara. In my past life, when they saw I was driven to a dead end, not only did they refuse to bring me home, they even mocked me: “A married daughter is spilled water! You have to do whatever Liam tells you to do! If you want to stay clean, then go die! Wouldn’t death clean you up perfectly?” Yet, when Clara was caught cheating, my parents frantically ran to the Sterling family to beg for mercy. Although it didn’t work, the glaring contrast in their treatment was chilling. Living this second life, I saw many things clearly. For example, right now—the ones who deserved to die weren’t me, but these heartless, hypocritical parasites. I squeezed out a few tears: “Dad, do you know what sister just said to me? She actually told me she was going to have men sleep with me… Listen to her, is that something a human being says?!” Simultaneously, I watched Liam’s expression carefully. Sure enough, a dark cloud settled over Liam’s brow, and the look he shot Clara was far from friendly. He never expected his flawless, secret plan to be exposed so easily. Clara vehemently denied it, doing everything she could to throw dirty water back on me: “She’s lying! I never said that!” I anticipated her denial. I opened the voice recorder app on my phone and hit play. Just as the recording played the line “find a few men to play with you until you’re broken,” the butler rushed into the room in a panic: “Sir! Madam! It’s terrible! Mr. Sterling suddenly arrived, and I couldn’t stop him. He’s already forced his way in!” 06 Arthur’s figure was bathed in the morning light, as if enveloped in a sacred, inviolable halo. But his eyes were utterly freezing. Especially after hearing the final sentence of the recording, his cold gaze sliced through everyone in the room. My parents, sweating profusely, hurried forward to greet him. “Arthur! You should have let us know you were coming so we could have Eleanor wait for you outside.” Arthur sidestepped their overly eager touches and cut straight to the chase: “Skip the pleasantries. All I want to know is what Clara just said. Have her repeat it.” If Liam was embarrassed and angry a moment ago, he was now caught in a mix of terror and panic. He put on a harmless facade and said awkwardly: “Mr. Sterling, this is all a misunderstanding. We can talk this out…” Arthur’s response was a single, merciless word: “Scram.” The room instantly fell silent. Everyone knew Arthur was stoic, devoid of worldly desires, and calm as still water. No one had ever heard him tell someone to “scram.” But his power was absolute. He wasn’t someone you could afford to cross, let alone hide from. Except for me, every single face in the room was pale. Truth be told, I hadn’t fully grasped the situation either. I had only met Arthur twice. How did things escalate to him becoming violently furious for my sake? Before I could think further, Arthur walked right up to me and pulled me into his arms. “Eleanor, don’t be afraid. It’s okay now.” The faint, elegant scent of his incense filled my nose, pulling my thoughts back to a time long, long ago. An image flashed in my mind, then vanished like flowing water. I tried to break free from his embrace, but Arthur unexpectedly pressed me back down. I had no choice but to speak, muffled against his chest: “I’m fine. I’m really fine.” No matter what Liam or Clara said or did, I would never be easily manipulated by them again. How could someone who crawled back from hell be shaken by the words of scum? I smiled at Clara: “Sister, I pulled out the evidence. Don’t you think you owe me an apology?” Clara refused to lower her arrogant head, blindly hiding behind Liam. My dad, having lost face, didn’t want to scold his precious eldest daughter, nor did he dare offend his two wealthy sons-in-law. So, he took all his anger out on me: “Eleanor, is this over or not?! Stop causing a scene and go upstairs to your room right now!” See? Same as always. I had given up hope on him long ago. I just found it amusing. I replied calmly: “It’s not over, but I’m not playing with you anymore either. Don’t you all love Clara? Go ahead and put on your little show of a loving family.” Ignoring my parents’ shocked shouts, I took large strides out of the mansion. 07 Except for Arthur, who chased after me, no one else came out. I bet Clara was absolutely thrilled right now. No one would fight her for Liam, and she believed the billions of dollars of Vance family assets would be entirely hers. On the surface, a perfect, happy life seemed to be waving at her. But I knew the Vance family was far from the glamorous facade it presented. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been in such a rush to marry off their daughters for business alliances. Before long, the Vance family would declare bankruptcy due to insurmountable debt. In my previous life, my parents ruthlessly dumped the debt on me, taking the assets they had already secretly transferred overseas to live the high life. Clara didn’t know the truth about the bankruptcy. She thought I inherited the family business and resented me for it. Since she envied it so much, I’d gladly give her a push and hand the rotting mess of the Vance family over to her. Arthur followed me at a leisurely pace, as if worried I might do something drastic. I simply sat on a bench by the road and smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m perfectly fine.” Arthur sat next to me, turning his head to look at me. He didn’t say a word, but just sitting there quietly was more than enough. I closed my eyes, memories of my past life flashing through my mind. Even if I did nothing, Clara would end up with a tragically miserable fate. But my enemies weren’t just her. Whether it was Liam or my parents, they were all executioners who pushed me into the abyss. Blood must be paid with blood. I proposed a deal: “Mr. Sterling, could you do me a favor? Once it’s done, the Sterling family’s assets will increase by at least two hundred million.” Surprisingly, Arthur didn’t agree immediately. Instead, he asked about my living arrangements. “What about you?” I pointed to myself. “Me? I have nowhere to go. Could you take me in for a while?” It was just a joke, but he seemed to take it seriously. His knuckles tightened as he gripped my hand. His voice was hoarse: “Alright. But you can never leave me.” Me: “?” 08 Fortunately, despite Arthur’s intimidating words, he didn’t do anything inappropriate. While living at the Sterling estate, I gathered plenty of evidence of the Vance family embezzling corporate funds and lining their own pockets. These would become critical links on my path to revenge. Three months later, on October 2nd, Liam and Clara held a lavish wedding. Clara wore a pristine white wedding gown, a massive diamond ring on her ring finger, and an utterly triumphant smile as she soaked up the guests’ flattery and congratulations. “Thank you for the blessing, Miss Lee. My Liam just loves spoiling me. I told him not to buy such an extravagant ring, but he actually had someone bring back a pink diamond from South Africa just for me. I heard it’s worth two hundred million.” “Mrs. Zhao, you’re here too? You noticed? Yes, I am pregnant. Thank you for your kind words—it’s definitely the eldest grandson and heir to the Harrington family.” “Oh, don’t worry, there will be plenty of opportunities. After all, I’m my parents’ and Liam’s only precious treasure now.” Clara smiled brilliantly. Until she saw me attend. Her smile froze instantly: “Eleanor, why are you here? Who let you in?” She waved her hand, planning to have security throw me out. The corners of my lips curled up slightly: “Clara, I’m not attending today as your sister, but as Mrs. Sterling. If you kick me out, are you turning down the Sterling family’s investment?” Even at its peak, the Harrington family was no match for the Sterlings, let alone in their current declining state. I smiled sweetly: “Sister, I hear you’re pregnant. You shouldn’t wear that artificially dyed pink diamond. Chemical dyes are harmful to your health. Be careful not to cause a miscarriage.” “Eleanor! Do you think I’d believe your nonsense?! Let me tell you, you will never enjoy wealth and glory like I do in this lifetime!” Clara stomped her foot in pure hatred and turned to greet other guests. I raised an eyebrow. She broke that easily. I hope she doesn’t die of anger later. An hour later, the ceremony officially began. My parents acted like loving, benevolent figures, as if they were genuinely comforted to see their daughter find her ultimate happiness. After the bride and groom exchanged rings, my parents announced they were gifting all their shares in the Vance family to Clara. The agreement was signed on the spot, effective immediately. The guests applauded my parents’ generosity, and Liam looked absolutely ecstatic. Clara shot me a triumphant glare and said in a sickly sweet voice: “Daddy, Mommy, you spoil me too much! There’s still my sis… Oh, I forgot. My sister was kicked out of the family for being unfilial. How pitiful.” Whispers broke out among the audience. The news of me cutting ties with the Vance family wasn’t a secret in our circle, but it hadn’t been confirmed. Many assumed there was still room for reconciliation. No one expected Clara to state it so blatantly at her wedding. For a moment, many looks directed at me were filled with pity or mockery.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “417807”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In the elite circles of Manhattan, Silas Sterling was a king, and he had two “princesses” by his side. One was a spoiled brat who pouted and called him “Uncle Silas.” The other was a siren who drove him to madness in the sheets. I was the latter. The former was Tiffany Moore, a girl who hated me to the bone. She was reckless, cruel, and pampered beyond reason. The day she pushed me into the freezing Atlantic from a luxury yacht, she laughed so hard she could barely stand. “You’re just a cheap little bird, Sera,” she sneered. “Did you really think you could compete with me? Now, go feed the sharks.” Let her throw me in. I was already carrying Silas’s child, and I was just looking for the perfect way to turn his protective streak into a weapon of mass destruction. 1 Silas Sterling ruled both the boardroom and the back alleys of New York. The tabloids called him ruthless, a man with ice in his veins who had no room for women. Two years ago, I appeared by his side, sporting the face of an innocent “English Rose”—pure, soft, and fragile. Only after getting close did I realize that this “ascetic” mogul was anything but. On countless blurry nights, Silas would strip away his mask of cold indifference. He would tear off my silk slips and drag us both into a feverish abyss. The high-thread-count sheets would be soaked in sweat, smelling of his heavy, masculine cologne. It was Friday the 13th, a night of bad omens. Silas returned to the penthouse reeking of expensive bourbon. The city lights flickered like dying embers outside. He shed his bespoke suit jacket and gestured for me. I walked over obediently and sat on his powerful, muscular lap. In the dim light, Silas’s emotions were thick and suffocating. I cupped his sharp jawline, raining kisses on his eyes, his nose, and finally, his sensitive throat. He let out a low, tired chuckle. “Only with you, Sera… do I find a moment of peace.” I knew that. Silas had climbed to the top over the bodies of his own rivals. Family betrayals, boardroom coups—he had seen it all. He was pathologically paranoid. Every woman who approached him, whether an A-list actress or a billionaire heiress, was viewed as a pawn with an agenda. Except for me. Well, and one other girl: Tiffany Moore. Silas had doted on her for far longer. At 3:00 AM, she was the only one who dared to call his private line. He put it on speaker. A muffled sobbing came through: “Uncle Silas… it’s the anniversary of my dad’s death. I had that nightmare again.” “Can you come over? I’m so scared.” 2 I leaned against Silas like I had no bones, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “It’s a bad night to be out so late,” I whispered. “Can’t you wait until morning?” Silas looked at me with a gaze that was cold and unreadable. I sighed and obediently slid off him. My face was a mask of disappointment and worry. Seeing me turn away, he brushed the hair from my neck and kissed my earlobe firmly. “Tiffany is just a kid, Sera. Don’t be petty.” Right. In the eyes of men like him, the girls they hold in their palms are always “kids.” Even if she was a year older than me. I kicked him playfully under the covers. “If she’s a kid, what does that make me?” Silas pulled me back into his arms, kissing my lips until I was breathless. “You’re a little succubus. You’re the one I can’t stay away from.” I blushed, burying my face in the pillows, my voice muffled and longing: “Tell Arthur to drive you. If you get a DUI, the papers will have a field day.” “Mhm.” As he closed the door, his gaze held a softness he didn’t even realize was there. 3 This wasn’t the first time Tiffany had snatched him away. She was “drunk.” She had “fought with friends.” She was “being harassed at a club.” She always had an excuse to bring Silas running. The paparazzi, used to the scandals of the wealthy, were stunned by how much he indulged her. Once, on a flight to Aspen, Tiffany complained of a stomach ache. Silas ordered the private jet to turn around immediately. He lost a nine-figure deal that day, but he didn’t care. He stayed by her side. Rumors flew that Silas was simply waiting for her to grow up. But years passed, and they never became “official.” Meanwhile, every woman who tried to get close to Silas was either blacklisted, disappeared, or had her reputation ruined in the most public way. Tiffany proved, time and again, that her position was untouchable. She was the one in his heart. Until I showed up. Silas protected me fiercely, keeping me out of the spotlight. We met at NYU. I was a finance major—beautiful, sharp, but seemingly untouched by the world. I was a hard worker, a girl from a rough background who had clawed her way into an Ivy League circle. He had me investigated. He found a father with a history of violence and a mother who died young. My background was as clean as white paper. I was the perfect project: innocent and aspirational. I’ll never forget the day Tiffany found out about me. She trashed my apartment and slapped me across the face until I bled. Silas screamed at her for the first time, shielding me behind his back. Tiffany wailed, “Uncle Silas, don’t you love me anymore?” His heart softened instantly, and he let her sob into his chest. “You’ll always be my first priority,” he promised. But men have weaknesses. Lust is a powerful thing. To take the top spot in Silas’s heart, I didn’t just work on being his “muse.” I spent my nights studying how to be his greatest addiction. Hard work pays off. When he left me now, he was no longer so decisive. 4 It was a high-society charity gala hosted by the Hunt family. Tiffany, as usual, arrived draped in Cartier and haute couture. When she saw me, her smile vanished. “Seraphina Vance. How did a stray like you get an invite?” Tiffany looked down on me. To her, I was just Silas’s high-end “kept woman.” I had been with him for two years, and not even my college roommates knew. I was his secret, a ghost in his life. I didn’t belong at a party like this. But Silas wasn’t hiding me because he was ashamed; he was hiding me because I was his Achilles’ heel. Normally, I met him at his private penthouses, driven by his personal security. But after a stalker nearly broke into my place, he moved me into his most secure estate. Facing Tiffany’s sneer, I remained poised. “I graduated top of my class, Tiffany. I have friends in high places. It shouldn’t be a surprise to see me here.” Tiffany eyed my floor-length, form-fitting gown. Her eyes turned venomous. “You’re nothing. One phone call last night and Silas came to me. He gave me a pink diamond necklace from the Sotheby’s auction. It’s worth six million.” “What did he give you? That dress looks like a rental.” She was right. Silas never took me shopping. I didn’t ask for luxury gifts. But I didn’t need to. In the quiet of the night, he taught me the secrets of the market, hand-holding me through investment strategies. Isn’t that more interesting than a piece of jewelry? When she saw no jealousy in my eyes, she hissed: “Bitch. He’ll get bored of you soon. When he’s done, you won’t be able to find a job in this city.” I touched my neck, smiling. “Last night… he was so obsessed he wouldn’t let me leave the room until dawn. I don’t think he’s getting bored quite yet.” I leaned in closer. “It’s pathetic, Tiffany. You love him, but you’re too afraid to even try to get into his bed.” 5 Tiffany lost it. She smashed her wine glass against the floor near my feet. A shard of glass sliced into my calf. Blood began to seep out. Grayson Hunt noticed the commotion and rushed over. “Miss Moore, I’m hosting this event. Why are you attacking my guest?” In New York, Tiffany was used to being Silas’s untouchable ward. “The bitch started it,” she snapped. Grayson was about to argue, but I grabbed his arm. “It’s fine. I must have been a poor host. She’s the guest here; I should apologize.” Tiffany looked triumphant. “Kneel down and wipe that wine off my shoes.” Grayson was about to protest when a familiar, deep voice came from behind. “Tiffany. That’s enough.” “Uncle Silas! She was bullying me!” Tiffany flew into Silas’s arms like a wounded bird. I took a step back, feigning a stumble. My heel caught, and my silhouette was perfectly framed in the light. Grayson caught me by the waist to steady me. “Did you twist your ankle?” Silas’s eyes went cold, his gaze fixed on Grayson’s hand on my waist. I tried to push Grayson away, but he held me firm. “You injured your foot playing tennis last week, Sera. Don’t make it worse.” I looked back at Silas. The rage in his eyes was like a physical heat. 6 I was dozing off in my apartment when Silas arrived, unannounced. I limped to the door. He pinned me against the sofa, biting my lip hard. “Seraphina… how dare you let another man touch you?” His kiss was a punishment, meant to consume me. Eventually, I went soft in his arms, whispering: “Grayson doesn’t even like women, Silas. He’s like a brother to me.” The words acted like a sedative. Silas paused. “I don’t care! No one touches what’s mine.” He was so possessive. I bit my lip. “If he didn’t help me, was I supposed to kneel and lick the floor? I’m not a dog.” “Of course you aren’t. Tiffany was out of line. I’ve dealt with her.” He added, “She’s just a girl. She’s immature. Just stay away from her for a while.” Tiffany really was his weakness. I toyed with his tie, my fingers tracing the silk. “I know. I’m not trying to take anything from her.” “It’s her birthday on Saturday. I’ll go and apologize to her.” Silas looked satisfied. “I bought her a yacht for her birthday. If you like, I’ll buy you one too.” I didn’t want what everyone else had. I wanted something better. Looking into Silas’s dark, wanting eyes, I kissed him sweetly. “That’s so expensive. I should bring her a very special gift, shouldn’t I?” A gift she would never see coming. 7 Tiffany really was number one. Silas was a man whose schedule was booked months in advance, but he cleared an entire day for her birthday yacht party. The party was wild. Tiffany was surrounded by her “mean girl” squad and a group of male models they had hired for the day. When she saw me, her face fell. Who wants their enemy at their birthday party? I stayed quiet, handing her a beautifully wrapped gift with a smile. Tiffany scoffed. “Cheap.” Silas rubbed her head. “The jewelry and the Ferrari weren’t enough? Be nice to Sera.” Tiffany grew even more irritated. She went over to her friends, whispering about how I was just a “gold-digger.” Silas was busy on a conference call. Tiffany took off her million-dollar watch and threw it into the ocean. “Whoever dives in and finds it gets to keep it!” The male models scrambled into the water. Tiffany didn’t care about the watch; she only wanted to make Silas jealous. I sighed, leaning in close to her so only she could hear. “Don’t be mad at Silas. He’s always busy. He only really has time for me at night.” I knew exactly what would push her over the edge. She glared at me, her face contorted. “You’re just a whore who’s good in bed.” I smiled gently, my hand resting on my stomach. “Careful, Tiffany. One day, my child might have to call you ‘sister’.” She looked at me in disbelief, screaming: “You bitch! Silas would never have a kid with you!” “Why not? I’m smart, I’m educated, and he’s obsessed with me.” “You aren’t old money. He’d never marry you.” “You don’t know Silas very well. He never goes on the dates his family sets up.” I lowered my voice. “Or are you just waiting for him to marry you? But he only sees you as a niece. You feel it too, don’t you?” That was the breaking point. Tiffany lost her mind and shoved me into the ocean. “No one save her!” she screamed. “Let’s see how long she lasts!” The water was freezing. I had told Silas a lie once—that my father had tried to drown me when I was a kid and that I was terrified of deep water. I had to make my struggle look desperate. How else would I erase Tiffany from his heart? 8 I woke up in a hospital bed. My face was pale, my body aching. Silas was there, his expression heavy. “You’re pregnant? Why didn’t you tell me?” I forced a smile that looked more like a sob. “Mr. Sterling… I knew you wouldn’t want it. I was going to find a time to end it. I didn’t expect…” Losing the baby didn’t seem to make Silas sad. He was an illegitimate son himself. He had a traumatic childhood. He had always sworn he wouldn’t have children before marriage. But his protection of the “murderer” was far too obvious. “Tiffany said… you tripped and fell.” My eyes burned with tears. “Is that what she said?” “I want to hear your version.” I didn’t need to say anything. To keep Tiffany safe, Silas had installed hidden cameras all over the yacht. He hadn’t told her because she hated being watched. I had chosen the perfect spot to provoke her. I leaned back against the pillows, my eyes red. “It was my fault. I slipped. It’s a miracle I was saved.” Silas leaned over, his eyes searching mine. He wanted to see through me. But in an instant, my tears fell uncontrollably. “I’m sorry. I lost control.” Silas wasn’t a patient man. He hated crying women. Except for Tiffany. But this time, he pulled me into his arms. “It’s okay. You’re young. We can have children later.” I sniffled. “I wasn’t ready to be a mother anyway. You know my family was terrible. I didn’t want to bring a baby into this world to suffer.” 9 Silas froze. He would never marry me. The “father” of my future children would have to be someone else. He gripped my chin roughly. “Seraphina… are you planning on having kids with someone else?” I didn’t fight him. I took his hand and looked at him sincerely. “Silas, I’m not a canary looking for a gilded cage. Without your help, the aunt who raised me would have died. I owe you my life.” “I won’t leave you. Unless…” He cut me off with a harsh, punishing kiss. He wiped the tears from my eyes, his voice a warning: “You aren’t leaving without my permission.” I suppressed my grief and hugged him back. I’m sorry, baby, I thought. This world was too dirty for you anyway. 10 As compensation, Silas gave me a job at his firm. In the venture capital department—his favorite division. Silas had a legendary eye for investments. It was how he had ousted his half-brothers and taken control of the family empire. Tiffany was there too. She got paid, but she did no work. Silas just wanted to give her a title. Just like he had donated a building to her college to get her a degree she didn’t earn. In the office, Tiffany tried to make my life hell. Silas kept his personal and professional lives separate. He wasn’t going to stand up for a “mistress” in front of his staff. I didn’t care. I used my own money to buy coffee and snacks for the team, making friends with everyone. When the “mean girl” tried to make me her personal assistant, my colleagues stood up for me. I played my own game. I used my “recovery” as an excuse to stop going to Silas’s estate. He mocked me: “The little bird’s wings are getting strong.” I laughed it off and went back to work, pulling all-nighters to create brilliant investment proposals using the knowledge he had taught me. Months later, the head of the department praised me in front of Silas. “Seraphina is brilliant. She has a rare gift for this.” The boardroom erupted in applause. Silas had a faint smile on his lips. He looked at me through his gold-rimmed glasses—the look of a man who was no longer just attracted to a body, but to a mind. 11 When I finally returned to his estate, Silas taught me more about the dark side of business. I sat on his lap, rewarding him with kisses. He was in a great mood, his hands wandering over my waist. I stopped him, looking pained. “Promise me… we’ll be careful. I can’t have another baby.” “You really don’t want my child?” “No. I told you… my father killed my mother. I barely survived.” “I don’t want my history to repeat.” Silas had done a background check, but he only knew the basics. He didn’t know that in my remote, impoverished hometown, domestic violence wasn’t a crime—it was a way of life. My mother was kind, but she couldn’t give my father the son he wanted. Every time he was frustrated, he beat her. The winter my uncle had a son, my father came home fuming. He attacked my mother without warning. I tried to protect her, but he threw me aside by my hair. He kicked her until she was vomiting blood. I tried to take her to a doctor in the next town, but my father found us. He hit me with a shovel, shattering my leg. “You aren’t taking her anywhere,” he hissed. My mother died of internal bleeding. My leg was broken. My father refused to pay for treatment. He wanted me to drop out of school to serve him. A volunteer teacher in the village paid for my surgery. She wasn’t much older than me, but she told me: “The world is big. If you work hard, you can fly away.” From that day on, I studied like a demon. I never missed a chance to escape. Silas stared into my eyes. “What happened to your father?” “After I left, he kept hounding me for money. He threatened my aunt. I had to give in.” “And then?” “He became an alcoholic. He spent all the money on booze and froze to death one winter.” I looked sad, as if I were grieving. “I handled the funeral. He was still my father.” Silas kissed my forehead. “You’re a good person, Sera. That’s why you’re so patient with Tiffany.” I almost laughed. Good? I was the one who made sure he had an endless supply of cheap, high-proof alcohol. He killed my mother and got away with it. I just let the universe handle the rest.

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Jude Sterling and I were both heralded as genius painters. From the time we were toddlers, we were rivals, constantly fighting for the top spot in every gallery and competition. That was until I walked in on a girl defacing his submission for a prestigious national contest. Instead of being angry, he laughed, kissed her, and called it a “naughty little penalty.” He had fallen for a “broken” girl from the wrong side of the tracks—Chloe Miller. For her, he skipped classes, dropped out, ran away from home, and eventually prepared to give up painting altogether. Behind his back, that girl blackmailed me. She told me she’d dump him if I paid her off. I didn’t want to see him rot. I paid. But Jude spent the rest of his life hating me for it. He crushed my hands—the hands that held my future—ensuring I could never paint again. He drove my parents to their graves and left me in the gutters while he climbed to the top of the art world on the back of my silence. I opened my eyes and found myself back at the peak of their toxic, whirlwind romance. This time, I won’t stop him. This time, he can have his “true love” and his ruin. I’m picking up my brush to take back my throne. 01 Two people. One studio. I stopped just outside the door. I knew exactly who was in there: Jude Sterling and Chloe Miller. In my past life, this was the day I accidentally stumbled upon their secret. Jude and I were childhood friends. We lived next door to each other, both cursed—or blessed—with extreme talent. We grew up in the same studios, went to the same exhibits, and eventually got into the same elite Art Institute on full-ride scholarships. But we were also enemies. We never conceded to one another. We fought for every blue ribbon, every “Best in Show.” We were the rivals that defined each other. Everyone assumed we’d end up together. Our parents joked about a wedding being a “merger of empires.” Jude never denied it; he even told his friends he was going to ask me out formally after graduation. But he broke that promise. I walked in to find him pinned against a drafting table, kissing a complete stranger. This was our private studio. Jude’s mother had built it specifically for the two of us. No one else was allowed inside. Yet there she was, Chloe, laughing as she knocked over jars of expensive pigment, turning the pristine space into a chaotic mess. Jude, usually a clinical perfectionist, didn’t care. If I so much as moved a charcoal sketch an inch out of place, Jude would fly into a rage. He didn’t let anyone touch his drafts. He didn’t allow food in the studio. He was a man of a thousand rules and “don’ts.” I used to think that was just his temperament. Now I realized he only enforced those rules on me. Even as Chloe took a brush and started doodling graffiti over his canvas—a piece he had spent months preparing for the National Youth Exhibit—Jude only feigned annoyance. He gripped her waist, kissed her hard, and whispered that it was a “penalty.” That was his masterpiece. The one he’d labored over through dozens of drafts. The deadline was the next day. He had no time to start over. This was the competition of a decade. Missing it was professional suicide. We had both been so confident. We had even made plans to use the prize money to travel to Maine and paint the autumn leaves together. In my past life, I was furious. I stormed in, snatched the draft from Chloe’s hands, and screamed at her for being reckless. And Jude? His face went cold. He shoved me back and shielded her. “What’s it to you, Phoebe?” he spat. “Mind your own business.” 02 That was the first time in twenty years Jude had ever used that tone with me. We ended in a bitter standoff. That day, Chloe didn’t just ruin his canvas. She took my finished painting, folded it into a paper airplane, and tossed it into the industrial sink, letting the water wash the oils away. Their “paper airplane” was a romantic gesture of rebellion. My life’s work was a soggy mess. I stayed up all night trying to salvage it, but the version I submitted was rushed and amateur. I was rejected. The competition I had prepared for my entire life ended in a pathetic whimper. Both Jude and I were cut in the first round. My work was sloppy; his was covered in Chloe’s doodles. Our professors and peers were in shock. They couldn’t believe the two “prodigies” had failed so spectacularly. They demanded answers. I said I just had a bad day. Jude told them I had ruined his painting. He didn’t want Chloe to face the faculty’s wrath, so he made me the scapegoat. The rumor mill at the Institute went wild. They said I was jealous because Jude was the favorite to win, so I sabotaged him. No matter how much I explained, no one believed me. Jude’s word was law. While I was drowning in rumors and the shame of “letting down the school,” Jude took Chloe on a road trip to see the maples in the North. He posted a photo of their hands intertwined against a backdrop of red leaves with the caption: Youth is meant for romance, not just rules. 03 The biggest mistake I made in my last life was trying to pull Jude out of the mud as he slowly sank. So, standing before the studio door again, I didn’t hesitate. I pushed it open, walked straight to my corner, and began packing my supplies. I ignored them completely, treating them like shadows. I am not saving him this time. Jude saw me and instinctively tried to hide Chloe behind him. When he realized I wasn’t even looking at them, a flash of confusion crossed his eyes. Chloe peeked from behind him, tugging at his shirt. “Jude? Is that your childhood friend?” She lowered her head, acting small and intimidated. “She’s so pretty. Why… why are you with me instead of her?” Jude snapped out of his daze, squeezed her hand, and glared at me. “Babe, don’t say that. You’re ruining the mood.” Looking at them—one a liar who broke a twenty-year promise, the other a girl who knew exactly what she was doing—made me want to gag. I walked toward them. Jude braced himself. “Phoebe, what are you doing?” He expected me to be jealous. He expected a scene. He expected me to try and tear them apart. I pulled the spare key to the Sterling estate out of my pocket and slammed it onto his table. “Here’s your key. I won’t be coming here to practice with you anymore. Also, I hope you two are very happy together.” I turned and walked out. Jude stood there, stunned by my indifference. This time, I sent my carefully prepared draft to the exhibit early. It was a masterpiece. It won the Grand Prize. With the grant money in my pocket, I invited my real friends to go see the autumn foliage. The mountains were a sea of fire under the sunset. Meanwhile, Jude was cut in the first round. It was the scandal of the year. People noticed the graffiti on his canvas and suspected foul play. Just like before, Jude tried to pin it on me to protect Chloe. But this time, I waited until the accusations were at their peak. I returned to the Institute and played a recording on the big screen in the lounge. It showed Chloe playfully stamping paint-covered handprints on Jude’s easel while Jude laughed and called her “cute,” letting her smear his work into oblivion. Silence followed the video. Then, the uproar began. 04 Jude was exposed as a liar. The faculty was livid. The master painter the Sterling family had hired to mentor him resigned on the spot. Jude’s parents were furious. They found out about his secret relationship and looked into Chloe’s background—a dropout from a community college with a reputation for being a “black widow” who used guys for their money. They demanded he break up with her. But now that the secret was out, Jude leaned into the drama. He became the “tortured artist” fighting for love. The more his parents pushed, the more he rebelled. He started skipping classes to be with her. In my past life, I did his homework. I took notes for him. I recorded lectures. I did his group projects just so he wouldn’t fail out. He never thanked me. I once saw him throw my painstakingly written notes into a trash can without reading a single page. He used to drag me along on his dates with Chloe just to use me as a cover for his parents. I was the one who got yelled at by our families and teachers for “distracting” him. There was a massive apprenticeship exam coming up. The winner would become the personal protégé of a world-renowned master—an opportunity that could define a career. Everyone was grinding. Every second was worth gold. I stopped caring about his whereabouts. I kept to my schedule: studio, library, cafeteria, bed. I lived a “boring” life while they lived their “romance.” Jude, meanwhile, spent his parents’ money taking Chloe on cruises and buying her designer bags and watches. Without me to fix his messes, his grades tanked. He was put on academic probation. Everyone who once admired him was now disappointed. But Jude didn’t care. He had his “precious love.” Chloe eventually cried to him: “Your parents think I’m not good enough for you.” Jude went home, had a screaming match with his father, and threatened to run away and give up painting if they didn’t accept her. The exam was days away. Jude announced he was quitting art to “live for love.” 05 Jude’s parents were at their wit’s end. They came to me, begging me to talk sense into him. “Phoebe, you grew up with him. You have a bond. He won’t listen to us, but maybe he’ll listen to you.” Mrs. Sterling, once the picture of elegance, now had grey hairs peeking through. Her makeup couldn’t hide her exhaustion. She looked exactly like my mother did in my past life—aged twenty years in a few months. In the previous timeline, I had gone to Jude. I had begged him to be rational. He had pulled Chloe close, kissed her in front of me, and looked at me with disgust. “Phoebe, you’re pathetic,” he had said. He didn’t know that Chloe had already come to me. She had demanded a “settlement” of fifty thousand dollars to leave him. And I, desperate to save Jude’s career, had paid it. I did it because I respected him as a rival. I didn’t want to see a genius rot. I wanted to beat him fairly on the canvas. Chloe took the money and dumped him that very night. Jude, who had never touched a drop of alcohol, got blackout drunk and trashed his apartment. We all thought the nightmare was over. But right before Chloe boarded her flight, she called Jude. She sobbed into the phone: “Phoebe gave me money to leave you. She forced me out.” She didn’t mention the money his parents gave her. She didn’t mention it was a shakedown. She told a half-truth that made me the villain. Jude chose to believe her sob story over the recording I tried to show him. Then, her plane crashed. She died at the height of their “tragic romance.” Jude spent the rest of his life mourning her and hating me. 06 The day the news of the crash hit, Jude broke into my house. His eyes were venomous. “Are you happy now, Phoebe? Is this what you wanted?” I tried to calm him down, but he shoved me. Our house had a beautiful, decorative spiral staircase. The railing was low. I went over the side. I broke an arm and both legs. Jude’s parents apologized. They paid for my bills. They visited every day. But Jude never showed up once. The apprenticeship exam came. I wasn’t healed. My mother begged me to let it go. “Your arm hasn’t set yet, Phoebe.” But I couldn’t. I had worked so hard. I ripped out my IV, put on a coat, and snuck out of the hospital. I made it to the exam hall late, disheveled and pale. The Master was watching. He looked at my messy hair and my lateness with a frown. In his world, discipline was respect. I had already failed the first impression. I sat down, picked up the brush, and realized my right hand was shaking uncontrollably. I painted through the blinding pain. There was no miracle. My work was a mess. The Master’s critique was brutal: “Shaky technique. No foundation.” I tried to explain my injury, and the Master almost relented, seeing my passion. But then, a voice from the corner of the room sneered: “How can we trust her? She’s the one who defaced her rival’s work to win the last contest.” My reputation was already ruined. The crowd agreed. I was kicked out. Jude won the top spot. He became the Master’s protégé. The Sterling family threw a gala that was the talk of the town. When I was discharged from the hospital, no one was there. My parents were away on business; my “friends” were all at Jude’s party. I walked home alone in the winter cold, looking at the white lines on the road. Our lives had been parallel for twenty years. Now, they were diverging. He was going up; I was going down. He was the sun; I was the abyss. 07 Jude became a global star. He studied in Paris and Florence. His solo shows sold out in minutes. He was the golden boy of the new generation. I didn’t even graduate. I was framed for a series of plagiarism scandals. The evidence was “ironclad.” I was expelled. It was Jude. He used his new influence to bury me, a slow-burn revenge for Chloe. His parents moved to Europe, leaving Jude in control of the family’s domestic business. He used that power to crush my parents’ startup. We weren’t old money. My parents were self-made. They couldn’t survive a targeted attack by a conglomerate. The company went under. My father was left with millions in debt. We sold the house. We moved into a cramped apartment in the outskirts of the city. I had to give up painting to work three jobs just to keep us fed. In the dead of night, I would sneak into the kitchen to look at my old drafts. Sometimes, I would hide in the bathroom and sketch with a cheap pencil on napkins. It was my only solace in a life of misery. 08 Then, my father died. He had been hiding a heart condition to save money on meds. One day, he just didn’t wake up. My mother fell into a deep depression, which triggered a latent cancer. As I was struggling to pay for her chemo, Jude appeared. I hadn’t seen him in years. He was wearing a Patek Philippe watch and a bespoke suit. He looked like a king from another world. I was holding a bag of discounted frozen bread. I had never felt more humiliated. He was wearing an old, frayed hair tie on his wrist—Chloe’s. Even amidst all his luxury, he kept that piece of trash as a memorial. He mocked my “decrepit” furniture. Then he made an offer. “I’ll give you a million dollars. On one condition.” A million. It was enough to save my mother. I agreed. 09 His condition was demonic. He wanted me to personally, by my own hand, destroy my right hand. He wanted to ensure the “genius” could never paint again. He wanted to kill my soul. I stared at him. He was more vicious than I ever imagined. “Well?” he asked coldly. “Do you want the money or not?” I thought of my mother’s hospital bills. I nodded. But as I hesitated to pick up the hammer, Jude lost his patience. He smashed a glass jar and drove the jagged edge deep into the back of my hand. He looked at me with pure hatred. “If it weren’t for you, Chloe would be alive. “We would have been happy. “You say she only wanted money. Look at you now. Selling your soul for a check. “You were always jealous of her. You’re a monster, Phoebe.” My hand was a bloody mess. I didn’t make a sound. “Remember,” Jude said, “you earned this.” He walked out. He never sent the money. My mother tried to go to his office to demand it, but the security guards threw her out. The stress killed her within a week. 10 My hand never recovered. It remained weak, scarred, and useless. I sold my childhood trophies to pay for my mother’s funeral. She died on a day she had spent her last strength buying groceries to make me a “celebratory” dinner. I came home to find her cold, with a table full of food she’d never eat. I eventually died in a fire on the anniversary of Chloe’s death. I suspect Jude had something to do with it. In my final moments, I regretted everything. I regretted saving him from himself. I regretted letting him steal my glory.

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The highway drug interdiction point was a gauntlet of flashing blue and red lights against the obsidian sky. A state trooper, hand resting on his holster while his K-9 strained at the leash, tapped rhythmically on my driver’s side window. “Pop the trunk, please.” My hand was already reaching for the release lever when Blake, sitting in the passenger seat, suddenly lunged forward. He grabbed the trooper’s arm with a desperate, white-knuckled grip. “Officer… please… there’s a body in the back! A girl… she’s been butchered!” The dog exploded into a frenzy of barking. Within a heartbeat, a dozen tactical rifles were leveled at my head, the red dots of laser sights dancing across my forehead like blood-spotted flies. Cold sweat drenched my spine instantly. I threw my hands up, palms flat against the roof of the car. “I’m a lead SFX artist for a film crew!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “Those are silicone props for a horror shoot tomorrow! I have the permit paperwork in the glove box!” “Out of the vehicle! Hands behind your head! Now!” the trooper roared. He didn’t wait for my explanation. He wrenched the trunk open. Inside, scattered across a black heavy-duty tarp, were limbs—pale, blood-streaked, and sickeningly realistic. Before I could breathe, Blake collapsed against the side of the car, burying his face in his hands and sobbing hysterically. “Jade… why? That college intern… what did he ever do to you? How could you put his head inside a mold like that?” My scalp went numb. A primal chill crawled up my throat. I looked toward the glove box—the permit and the production logs I’d placed there personally were gone. And the silicone props that should have been light and scentless? They were suddenly heavy, emitting the thick, sweet, unmistakable stench of rotting meat. … “On your knees! Hands behind your head!” My knees slammed into the asphalt, the impact jarring my teeth. Two officers tackled me, pinning my face into the grit of the road. The lead investigator, a man with a face like carved granite, shone a high-intensity flashlight into the trunk. He ripped open one of the bags. The smell hit me then—a metallic, organic rot that made my stomach flip. “It’s a mistake! It’s all a mistake!” I shrieked into the pavement. “I’m Jade Miller! I’m the head of prosthetics for The Crimson Trace! Those are molds! Pigment, silicone, and theatrical stench-agents! They aren’t human!” The investigator didn’t even look at me. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and used a tactical knife to slit the heavy plastic bag further. He froze. He turned slowly, his eyes boring into mine with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. “Cuff her. Tight. Get her to the interrogation room. Call the coroner and the homicide unit. Now!” The steel ratcheted shut around my wrists, biting into the bone. I was hauled up, my legs feeling like overcooked noodles. Nearby, Blake was being draped in a shock blanket by a female officer. He was a mess of snot and tears, shaking like a leaf. I stared at him. I had packed those props two hours ago. I’d seen the permits. Blake had only been away from the car for ten minutes at the rest stop while I grabbed coffee. Aside from that, the car had been locked. “Blake! What did you do?!” I screamed, my vision blurring with red rage. “Where are my props? What is in that bag?!” Blake let out a strangled cry and recoiled behind the officer. “Jade… stop it… you’re doing it again. That look you had when you killed him… I saw it. I saw you through the workshop door!” “You’re a liar!” I thrashed against the officers holding me. “Officer, he’s lying! Check my phone! I made the delivery calls!” The lead investigator grabbed me by the collar, forcing me to look at him. “Shut it. Not another word.” He turned to Blake, his voice softening. “You’re safe now, sir. Did you actually witness the murder?” Blake nodded, clutching the officer’s sleeve. “The intern… Casper. Jade has been obsessed with him. Yesterday, after we wrapped, she lured him into the prop storage. I went back to grab my keys and saw her through the gap in the door…” He doubled over, dry-heaving. “She had the saw. There was blood everywhere. Casper’s eyes… they were still open. She was stuffing pieces of him into the molds, saying it was the only way to get the ‘texture’ right for the close-ups.” “I didn’t!” I screamed, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. “That was red wax! Casper went back to the city—check the group chat! My phone is in the car, just look at the logs!” The investigator let out a dry, mirthless laugh. “We’ll check everything. But here’s the thing, lady—no matter how good your ‘silicone’ is, the coroner knows a real human head when he sees one.” A real human head. The words echoed in my skull, hollow and terrifying. There was a body in my car. A real one. In that moment, Blake lowered his head, peeking at me from behind the officer’s shoulder. Just for a flicker of a second, his face transformed. The terror vanished, replaced by a sharp, jagged smirk of pure triumph. The temporary interrogation room at the checkpoint was a concrete box that smelled of stale cigarettes and damp earth. I was bolted into a metal chair, the cuffs already rubbing my wrists raw, blood beginning to seep onto the floor. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the ice flooding my veins. The door creaked open. Detective Burke, a heavy-set man with eyes that had seen too much, walked in. In his hand was my old, cracked smartphone. “Jade Miller,” Burke said, sitting down heavily. “The medical examiner gave us a preliminary. Male, early twenties. Time of death within the last twenty-four hours. Cause of death was a severed carotid. The entry wound is jagged—consistent with a power saw or a serrated blade.” He slammed a crime scene report onto the table. “We didn’t find any permits. But we did find a miniature power saw coated in blood hidden in the spare tire well of your SUV. That’s part of your ‘kit,’ isn’t it?” Sweat soaked through my shirt. “Detective, it was planted! I swear to God, it was planted!” I rattled the cuffs until the chair shook. “That saw has been in the repair bin at the studio for three days! It wasn’t in my car!” “And Casper? You think he’s just missing? Blake is a wreck. He told us everything. We’re checking the rest stop footage now.” Burke lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around his head like a halo. “Actually, don’t bother. The rest stop had a localized power surge last night. The cameras were down. Your husband was never out of sight of the witnesses at the diner. As for Casper, we contacted the production. The AD confirmed Casper ‘took a leave of absence.’” Burke leaned in, his face inches from mine. “The reason he left? He filed a formal complaint. He said you were sexually harassing him, Jade.” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. “That… that’s impossible…” my voice was a ghost of itself. “I barely spoke to the boy. Everyone on set knows I’m a workaholic. I barely have time for my own husband, let alone an intern!” The door opened again. Blake walked in, flanked by a deputy. He looked devastated, tears streaming down his face. “Jade,” he whispered, standing over me. “Just confess. Maybe they’ll give you life instead of the needle. Please, just tell them the truth.” He reached into his pocket and handed a device to Burke. “Detective, this is our home tablet. It’s synced to her cloud. Look at what she’s been sending him.” Burke took the tablet and turned it toward me. It was a thread on a messaging app. My profile picture. My handle. Jade: Casper, come to the workshop tonight. I need your face for a life-cast. No one else will be there. Casper: It’s late, Ms. Miller. The director said we were wrapped. I’m tired. Jade: Don’t be a brat. You want that recommendation for the studio in LA? Then get your ass down here. If you don’t… you know I can make sure you never work in this industry again. Casper: Please don’t do this… I’m not coming. Jade: You little bitch. You think you can run? If I don’t see you in ten minutes, I’ll hunt you down myself. The timestamp was 9:00 PM last night. The exact time Blake claimed I killed him. I stared at the screen, my blood turning to slush. It looked exactly like my account. But I hadn’t sent those. I hadn’t even thought them. “This is a setup! Detective! This is spoofed! Someone hacked me!” I roared, lunging across the table. “Blake is the only one who knows my passwords! He’s the one! He did this!” Blake stumbled back, sobbing into his hands. “Jade! How can you say that? Your phone was in your pocket all night! Why did you insist I come on this trip today? You wanted to get me out into the mountains to kill me too, didn’t you?” I gritted my teeth, staring at the man I had slept beside for five years. “Let me make a call!” I demanded, my eyes bloodshot. “Call the producer, Sarah Jenkins! She knows about the props! And check my IP logs! You’ll see the messages didn’t come from my device!” Burke let out a cold snort. “Sarah Jenkins? We called her. The studio is sending a representative to identify the remains. Jade, this is a slam dunk. Once the DNA confirms it’s Casper, we don’t even need your confession. You’re going to the Row.” The four hours I spent waiting for the DNA results were the longest of my life. The door opened again. Burke’s face was grimmer than before. Behind him were Blake and a woman in a designer blazer. I recognized her instantly. Taryn Vane, the assistant director. Taryn didn’t wait. She pointed a finger at me, her voice trembling with manufactured rage. “You monster! Casper was a good kid! How could you?” She turned to Burke, handing him a folder. “Detective, this is an official statement from the studio. We fired Jade yesterday. This murder was a personal vendetta. The studio has no record of any ‘silicone prop’ order for today.” I laughed, a sharp, hysterical sound. “Taryn! You liar! You told me yourself yesterday that the investors were coming to the set and I needed to make the ‘victim’ look as real as possible!” Taryn spat on the floor. “Bullshit! We’re a low-budget indie, Jade. We don’t have fifty grand for high-end silicone body doubles. You used the movie as a cover for your sick fantasies!” I froze. No record? The invoices, the purchase orders, the emails—everything I’d spent weeks on. All gone with one sentence from Taryn. Blake stepped up next to Taryn, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Detective, I’m so sorry. Jade… she’s been in a dark place. Gambling debts. Off-shore accounts. I told her to see a shrink, but she wouldn’t listen…” Gambling? Mental illness? The pieces finally clicked. Taryn had been at our house constantly the last month, “discussing the script.” Every time I came home late from the lab, Blake said they were just working. “You two…” I hissed, my voice trembling. “You killed him. You killed Casper and you’re pinning it on me.” Taryn’s face contorted. She lunged at me, hand raised. “You bitch! I’ll kill you myself!” Burke caught her arm. “Easy! This is a police station!” He turned to me and dropped the final report on the table. “Save it, Jade. The DNA is back. It’s Casper Whitlock. And we found your skin cells under his fingernails. Your fingerprints are all over the handle of that saw.” Skin under his nails? My prints on the saw? My head spun. I had never even touched Casper. Blake looked at me, his eyes gleaming with a sickening light. He pretended to pull Taryn into a comforting hug, but over her shoulder, he flashed me the middle finger. His lips moved silently: Rot in hell. Just as Burke reached for the arrest warrant, a commotion erupted in the hallway. The door burst open, and a young officer, pale as a ghost and drenched in sweat, ran in. “Chief! We have a problem! A massive, national-level problem!” Burke roared, “I’m in the middle of an interrogation! Get out!” The officer didn’t move. He leaned in and whispered into Burke’s ear. I watched Burke’s face turn from flush-red to a sickly, ashen gray. He looked at the report, then at me, then at the door. Taryn rolled her eyes. “Detective, just have her sign the papers so we can put this trash away.” “Shut up!” Burke barked, spittle hitting Taryn’s face. She flinched. Blake went still. Burke grabbed his radio, his hands shaking so violently he almost dropped it. “All units! Lockdown! Live ammo! Seal the building! No one leaves this perimeter, do you hear me? No one!” He turned to the room, his voice barely a whisper. “We just verified Casper Whitlock’s real identity.”

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I was the charity case the Montgomery family took in. At twenty-two, I married Calvin Montgomery because I was pregnant with his child. Calvin was a notorious germaphobe. He demanded separate serving utensils at dinner. He refused to kiss me on the lips. He wouldn’t even touch a water glass I had used, treating my very existence as something inherently contaminated. But at a dinner party last week, I watched him intercept a cocktail meant for his first love—the woman who had always haunted our marriage. To spare her from drinking too much, he pressed his lips to the exact spot on the rim where her lipstick had left a perfect, rosy smudge, and swallowed it down. That was the exact moment I knew our marriage was over. 01 I was the one who had to physically support Calvin’s weight as we walked through the front door. He had taken so many drinks for Brianna that his usually sharp, calculating eyes were hazy and unfocused. Right before we left the venue, Brianna had looked at me, her face a perfect portrait of manufactured guilt. “I am so sorry, Hermosa. It’s entirely my fault Calvin drank so much.” She reached out, her manicured fingers smoothing the lapel of Calvin’s jacket, her palm lingering on his chest. “I had a little too much at a gala once and almost kissed the wrong man. Ever since then, Calvin just absolutely refuses to let me get tipsy.” She offered a saccharine smile, instructing me to make sure I brewed him some warm honey water before bed. I think, if I were any other woman, I would have slapped her right across her flawlessly contoured face. But I didn’t. I just quietly took Calvin’s arm, shifted his weight onto my shoulders, and said absolutely nothing. It wasn’t that I possessed an endless well of patience; it was simply that I knew my place. I had no right to be angry. When we finally got to the kitchen, I poured Calvin a glass of plain, lukewarm water. Even through the heavy fog of the alcohol, his eyes narrowed as I handed it to him. “Whose glass is this?” he slurred, his fingers hesitating. “Yours,” I said. My voice was entirely flat. Only then did his shoulders drop. He brought the glass to his lips and drank. Calvin’s obsessive need for sterility was something I had known from the very beginning. Early in our marriage, he had been struck by a sudden, agonizing bout of stomach cramps. In my panic to get him his medication, I had filled my own water glass and handed it to him. When Calvin realized it was mine, he threw it. The glass shattered against the hardwood floor. “Didn’t I tell you I don’t use other people’s things?” he had snapped. It was the first time I had ever seen him truly furious. I had stood there, frozen against the kitchen island, too terrified to breathe. Seeing me shrink away, his tone had softened, just a fraction. “It’s not you. I just have an aversion to sharing things. Just be careful next time.” But tonight, in that velvet-lined VIP booth, sharing Brianna’s glass had been the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t have an aversion to sharing things. He just only wanted to share them with Brianna. The realization hit me like a physical blow to the chest. My throat tightened, a sharp burning sensation settling behind my eyes. It wasn’t that I didn’t know about Brianna. I did. But she had been living in London for years. Calvin never brought her up, and he treated everyone with the same polite, icy detachment he gave me. For a long time, I convinced myself that this was enough. That we could build a life in that cold, quiet space. But tonight, I saw what Calvin looked like when he actually loved someone. All the tiny indignities, the quiet rejections I had forced myself to swallow over the years, suddenly rushed back in. A tidal wave of grief threatening to pull me under. I suddenly felt deeply, overwhelmingly exhausted. Maybe I didn’t have to carry this anymore. Maybe walking away was the only way either of us would ever survive. 02 After maneuvering Calvin into his bedroom, I retreated to my own to wash the evening off my skin. We slept in separate rooms. It was an unspoken rule. Calvin only came to my bed every other Friday. He called it “fulfilling our marital obligations,” treating my body like a recurring meeting on his calendar. But whenever he drank, the rigid, untouchable Calvin melted away. He would become inexplicably clingy, sneaking into my room, wrapping his large frame around me, and refusing to let go until morning. Just like tonight. I had just slipped beneath the duvet when the door clicked open. Before I could process the shadow moving across the rug, heavy arms banded around my waist. He pulled my back flush against his chest, burying his face in my neck. He let out a long, satisfied exhale, and within seconds, his breathing leveled out. He was asleep. In the past, even if the sharp scent of scotch turned my stomach, I would have talked myself into staying. Just go to sleep, I’d tell myself. The Montgomerys gave you a life. You owe them this much. But tonight, the debt felt paid. I didn’t want to endure it anymore. I wrestled myself out of his iron grip. If he wanted this bed so badly, he could have it. The Montgomery estate had no shortage of guest rooms. The moment I stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, I stopped. Hudson was standing by my door, his small brow furrowed in concern as he peered past me into the room, looking for his father. I forced a soft smile, kneeling down to be at eye level with my son. I reached out to smooth his messy hair. “Hudson, why are you still awake, sweetie? You have school tomorrow. You need to get to bed.” Hudson swatted my hand away. He glared at me with a pair of icy blue eyes that were a terrifying replica of Calvin’s. “Hermosa, you don’t get to tell me what to do.” Hermosa. Not Mom. Ever since the kids at his elite prep school had cruelly pointed out that his parents didn’t love each other, and he realized my pregnancy was the only reason I was allowed into the Montgomery family, Hudson had blamed me. He conveniently forgot the countless nights I had sat awake with him when he had the flu. He forgot how he used to curl into my lap, burying his face in my chest, whispering that I was his favorite person in the whole world. Now, his greatest wish was that someone, anyone else, was his mother. Watching his small silhouette retreat down the grand hallway, I let out a shaky breath, stood up, and walked into the guest room across the hall. I locked the door, sat on the edge of the mattress, and dialed the number of my former boss, Camille. “Camille,” I said, my voice finally steady. “I’ve made up my mind. I’ll go with you to Paris.” 03 There was a brief pause on the line before Camille let out a shriek of genuine delight. “Are you serious? Hermosa, that’s incredible! Okay, get your visa paperwork expedited this week. Once I wrap up the transition here, we are on a plane.” I had majored in fashion design and worked as an assistant designer at Camille’s label before I got pregnant. After marrying Calvin, I had stepped back, doing occasional freelance sketches for her just to keep my sanity. Camille was currently orchestrating a massive career move, taking her core team to helm a major luxury house in Paris. She had been begging me to come with her for months. I had hesitated. Growing up in the foster system, the concept of a “family” was something I revered. It was a holy grail. I couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning my son. But looking at it now, Hudson didn’t want me. And I was finally starting to understand that a home isn’t defined by the people who happen to live in it. Sometimes, you have to become your own home. After hanging up, I opened my laptop. I scrolled deep into my hidden files, finally locating a PDF. It was the divorce agreement Calvin’s mother had drafted for me four years ago. 04 The next morning, I walked out of the guest room just as Calvin emerged from mine. He looked tired, running a hand through his hair, his eyes silently demanding to know why he had woken up alone in my bed. I didn’t miss a beat. “You stumbled in last night and wouldn’t let go. I didn’t have the energy to fight a drunk man, so I let you have the room.” A rare flash of embarrassment crossed Calvin’s face. He cleared his throat, looking away. “My apologies. It won’t happen again.” I simply nodded, already walking past him. I headed downstairs to help the chef with breakfast. Behind me, Calvin froze. In the past, when I brought up his drunken affection, I’d look away, my cheeks flushed with a quiet, hopeful warmth. Today, my face was entirely blank. I just looked bored. That shift kept Calvin rooted to the top of the stairs, staring at my back for a long time. At the breakfast table, I announced that I had errands to run. I wouldn’t be driving Hudson to school, and I wouldn’t be dropping off Calvin’s lunch at the corporate office. They were on their own. “Where are you going?” They asked it in perfect unison. Father and son, both staring at me as if I had just announced I was moving to Mars. I blinked, genuinely surprised they even cared to ask. “I’m going to the main estate,” I said. “I haven’t seen Evelyn in a while.” The tension in Calvin’s jaw visibly relaxed. The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Wait until I get off work. I’ll go with you.” I shook my head, taking a sip of my coffee. “No need. I can drive myself.” Calvin’s eyes narrowed into slits. He studied my face for a long, silent moment before standing up. He didn’t push it. But right before he walked out the door, he paused. “I trust I won’t be hearing any unpleasant rumors coming from my mother after your visit.” I stared at him for a second, and then I couldn’t help it—I laughed. A short, dry sound. He wanted to come with me to make sure I didn’t tattle on him. He really thought too highly of himself. The tabloids were already having a field day with him and Brianna; Evelyn didn’t need me to tell her anything. Hudson lingered by the staircase for a long time, watching me. Maybe it was just my imagination, but beneath the resentment in his eyes, there was a flicker of hurt. A quiet betrayal. Eventually, he let out a dramatic huff and followed the driver out the door. I shook my head, clearing the thought. I was projecting. Hudson couldn’t stand me. Why would he care if I wasn’t the one driving him to school? An hour later, I was sitting in the sunroom of the main estate. Evelyn walked in, elegantly dressed as always. I looked at her and said the words out loud for the first time. “I want a divorce.” 05 Evelyn Montgomery was the one who had pulled me out of the group home. Years ago, Calvin’s father had died in a horrific accident. The family was drowning in grief, and Evelyn, desperate and grasping at anything that felt like hope, had sponsored my education. She gave me an allowance, paid my college tuition, and treated me with a distant but genuine kindness. I worshipped the ground she walked on. Then came that awful charity gala. Calvin’s drink had been spiked by an overly ambitious social climber. I had simply been in the wrong hallway at the wrong time. He was delirious, burning up, and the next morning, my life was over. Everyone in their circle assumed I was the one who drugged him. They called me a parasite. A gold-digger who bit the hand that fed her. Calvin knew the truth. He knew it wasn’t me. But he never said a single word in my defense. When I found out I was pregnant, Evelyn came to my tiny apartment. She sat on my thrifted sofa and begged me to keep the baby. Calvin and Brianna had gone through a brutal breakup a year prior, and Calvin was spiraling. He refused to marry. He refused to move on. Evelyn saw the child as an anchor for a drowning man. She promised me that if I just had the baby, I could divorce him whenever I wanted. Looking at the woman who had saved me from poverty, watching the tears spill down her cheeks, I said yes. When Hudson was born, I fell in love with him. I couldn’t leave. I rationalized it, telling myself that a loveless marriage in a mansion was better than the freezing nights I had spent in the foster system. I had vastly overestimated my ability to survive without love. Sitting in the sunroom now, Evelyn didn’t yell. She didn’t shame me or beg me to stay. She simply picked up her phone, called the family lawyers, and had them bring out the paperwork. She sat beside me, explaining every clause, ensuring I was protected. She acted more like a mother than a mother-in-law. I hadn’t realized that signing those papers would make me an extraordinarily wealthy woman. When I finally stood up to leave, Evelyn reached out and gently squeezed my hand. “Hermosa,” she said softly. “Thank you.” My throat locked up. Tears threatened to spill. Evelyn had always been good to me. She had kept her distance when we married, giving us space, never interfering. She was a better woman than Calvin deserved. 06 I was barely through my front door when my phone rang. It was Calvin’s executive assistant. He sounded stressed, explaining that because I hadn’t brought lunch, Calvin was refusing to eat. He was terrified Calvin’s ulcer would flare up before his afternoon meetings, and begged me to make something quick and bring it down. My immediate instinct was to say no. But then I thought of Evelyn, and the grace she had just shown me. I sighed. “Fine. I’ll be there in an hour.” When I reached the executive floor, the corridor was quiet. As I approached Calvin’s office, the door was slightly ajar. I could hear him talking to his oldest friend, a guy who ran a tech firm downtown. “So, the rumors are true? You and Brianna are playing house again?” his friend asked, a smirk audible in his voice. I heard the scratch of a fountain pen stop. “Don’t believe everything you read. And if you keep talking out of line, I’ll have your father drag you out of my office.” His friend laughed. “Come on, man. It’s me. If it was fake, your PR team would have killed the story by now. Look, if you’re still hung up on Brianna, just divorce Hermosa. Marry the girl you actually want. Put everybody out of their misery.” “No.” Calvin’s rejection was instantaneous and sharp. There was a long stretch of silence before Calvin continued, his voice lowering. “Brianna has ambitions. She has a career she loves. I can’t tie her down to this life. It would ruin her.” “And Hermosa?” “Hermosa…” Calvin hesitated. “She keeps the house running. She takes good care of me and Hudson.” His friend snorted. “So you’re keeping her around as a highly paid nanny?” Calvin didn’t answer. Standing in the hallway, the polished wooden box containing his carefully prepared lunch suddenly felt incredibly heavy. So that was it. He wouldn’t divorce me because I was convenient. I folded his laundry, managed his diet, and raised his son. Meanwhile, Brianna was a goddess meant for a pedestal. He loved her too much to burden her with the reality of being his wife. And me? What the hell was I to him? I realized then that if you spend your life settling for scraps, people will eventually assume that scraps are all you deserve. I didn’t walk into the office. I turned around, took the elevator down to the lobby, and handed the expensive lunch box to the stunned janitor cleaning the glass doors. That night, Calvin and I barely spoke. But when I went to close my bedroom door, he was standing in the frame, blocking my way. “What is it?” I asked, exhaustion seeping into my bones. Calvin’s jaw ticked. “It’s Friday.” 07 I had completely forgotten. It was our scheduled night. Calvin cultivated an image of a cold, ascetic businessman, but behind closed doors, he was entirely different. He was demanding, possessive, and unrelenting. He claimed he wouldn’t kiss me, but in the dark, when the control slipped, he would fist his hands in my hair, drag my mouth to his, and swallow my breath. He would demand I say his name, over and over, until my voice gave out. But I was leaving him. The thought of letting him touch me made my skin crawl. “Not tonight. I have my period.” I tried to shut the door, but his hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist like a vice. “Your cycle doesn’t start for another week,” he said, his eyes dark and calculating. I hadn’t expected him to keep track. I yanked my arm, trying to break his grip, my temper finally flaring. “It’s early. Is that a crime?” I didn’t care if he believed me or not. I ripped my hand free, stepped inside, and slammed the door in his face, locking it with a sharp click. I heard him stand in the hallway for a long, heavy minute before his footsteps finally retreated. Sometime in the middle of the night, the mattress dipped. Before I could fully wake up, large, burning-hot hands pulled me backward. He buried his face in my hair, his voice a low, stubborn murmur against my ear. “Just because you have your period doesn’t mean we can’t share a bed.” I pushed at his arms, trying to wedge some space between us, but it was like fighting a statue. Eventually, the sheer exhaustion of the day pulled me under, and I let him hold me. When I woke up, the bed was empty. Arthur had already taken Hudson to school. I grabbed my purse and headed downtown to finalize my French visa. On the drive back, a pang of guilt hit me. Should I sit Calvin and Hudson down? Tell them about the divorce properly? They were my family, no matter how broken we were. But the moment I walked through the front door, that guilt evaporated. Calvin, Brianna, and Hudson were sitting in the living room. It was a picture-perfect domestic scene. The moment Hudson saw me, he scrambled off the sofa and threw his arms around Brianna’s neck. “Dad and Brianna came to pick me up from school today! It was the best day ever,” Hudson announced loudly, his eyes darting toward me to ensure I caught every word. “I wish Brianna could pick me up every single day.” 08 Brianna let out a musical laugh, stroking Hudson’s hair with practiced affection. “If you want, sweetie, I can try to make time to come get you.” Calvin remained seated. He met my gaze, offering only a brief, dismissive explanation. “Brianna said she missed Hudson. I brought her over.” I felt remarkably hollow. I didn’t even look at my son. I walked straight up to Calvin. “Do you have a minute? I need to speak with you privately.” Calvin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if I were a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Hermosa, really? Are we doing this now?” “Doing what?” “I know you’re threatened by Brianna, but she is a guest in our home, and I expect you to treat her with respect. Whatever you’re upset about, we can discuss it tonight. Brianna mentioned she was craving those sweet and sour ribs you make. Go tell the chef, or better yet, make them yourself.” Brianna immediately pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes wide with mock horror. “Calvin, don’t be awful! Hermosa isn’t the help. We can’t ask her to cook for me. I wouldn’t even know how to turn on an oven.” “It’s fine,” Calvin waved her off dismissively. “She’s not like you. She’s used to doing this kind of stuff.” “Oh. Well, if you don’t mind, Hermosa, that would be wonderful,” Brianna smiled at me. The look in her eyes was a lethal mix of triumph and pity. I took a slow, deep breath. He had given my meticulously prepared lunch to Brianna. Of course he had. Suddenly, I had absolutely nothing left to say to this man. It was embarrassing how long I had tried to make him see me. “I have a headache. If you’re hungry, figure it out yourselves.” I turned and headed for the stairs. Just then, the doorbell rang. It was Calvin’s assistant, looking pale and deeply uncomfortable. He carried a sleek leather folder. He walked into the living room, glancing nervously at me, then at Brianna, before finally handing the folder to Calvin. “Sir, there’s… another document that needs your signature.” “What is it?” Calvin asked, annoyed by the interruption. “It’s… well. It was couriered over by your mother’s office this afternoon. It’s a divorce settlement.” The room went dead silent. Calvin and Hudson both snapped their heads toward me. Even Brianna looked genuinely shocked, her perfectly glossed lips parting in surprise. Calvin flipped open the folder. As his eyes scanned the thick, legal paragraphs, the expensive pen in his hand snapped. Ink bled over his knuckles. He looked up, his voice dangerously quiet, vibrating with barely contained rage. “You want a divorce?”

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At the gala meant to welcome the “real” heiress back into society, Cassidy Montgomery did the unthinkable. In front of every old-money titan and gossip-hungry socialite in Manhattan, she dropped to her knees, sobbing and begging our parents to save her deadbeat boyfriend. “Jax owes the underground bookies five million,” she wailed, her voice cracking through the silence of the ballroom. “If he doesn’t pay by midnight, they’re going to break his legs. They’ll kill him!” She looked up at our parents, her mascara running in ugly black tracks down her face. “The Montgomerys have more money than God. Why can’t you just pay it? Why won’t you help him?” The air in the room turned brittle. My parents stood frozen, their faces turning a ghastly shade of grey. This was supposed to be their triumph—the return of their biological daughter after twenty years of separation. Instead, she was dragging our name through the gutter before the first course was even served. I stepped forward, trying to salvage the wreckage. “Cassidy, get up. This is a family matter. We’ll discuss it in private.” She didn’t just refuse; she lunged. She shoved me so hard I stumbled back against a champagne tower, the glass rattling ominously. “Why do you get to use their money, Jessica? You’re the fraud! You’re the one who lived my life while I was rotting in the sticks. If you won’t give me the five million to save Jax, I’m not moving. I’ll stay right here until I die.” I looked down at her—at the sheer, agonizing stupidity of a woman blinded by a toxic “love” that was clearly eating her alive. I reached into my clutch, pulled out a pre-prepared severance agreement, and dropped it at her feet. “Sign this. Relinquish your claim to the Montgomery estate and cut ties with this family forever. Do that, and I’ll wire the five million to your boyfriend’s bookie right now.” … Cassidy picked up the document, her hands shaking like a leaf in a storm. Then, she snarled. She threw the papers directly at my face, her eyes bloodshot and filled with a primal, jagged hatred. “Jessica Montgomery, you’re the one who should’ve been kicked to the curb the moment I walked through that door,” she spat. “My parents haven’t said a word. What right do you—the replacement—have to tell me to leave?” The room went cold. I could hear the whispers starting like a hissing radiator. People knew. They knew that in this city, I was the one who held the leash. I reached out, my fingers clenching her chin with just enough pressure to make her wince. I looked down at her from a height she would never truly reach. “What right? Today, I’m going to show you exactly what right I have.” I glanced toward the back of the room. “Arthur, clear the floor.” With a single nod to our head of security, the doors were thrown open. Within minutes, every guest—including the city’s most powerful power-players—filed out through the back exits in a stunned, disciplined silence. No one dared to laugh. No one dared to linger. Cassidy had no idea. She didn’t know that for the last five years, I was the one who had bled for this family. I was the one who navigated the shark-infested waters of the shipping industry to save our company from bankruptcy while our father’s heart was failing. I was the one who took the hits, intercepted the lawsuits, and maintained the “Montgomery dignity” while she was playing house with a gambler. Without the “fake” daughter, the Montgomerys would have been a cautionary tale years ago. She didn’t have the luxury of judging me. “I’m asking you one last time,” I said, my voice flat. “Sign it, or don’t.” She looked at our parents, her eyes pleading for a miracle. My father looked away, and my mother fixed her gaze on the floor. Their silence was my mandate. Cassidy broke. She collapsed into a fit of hysterical sobbing. “Dad, Mom… the people who raised me were monsters. Jax was the only one who ever looked at me like I mattered. Without him, I’m nothing. I can’t lose him.” She crawled toward my father, clutching at his tuxedo trousers. “Dad, please. Just this once. Just help him this one time!” Then, in a blur of desperate motion, she scrambled toward the buffet table and grabbed a steak knife, pressing the serrated edge against her own throat. “If you don’t help him, I’ll end it right here!” I didn’t flinch. I walked straight up to her, grabbed her wrist, and turned the point of the blade into her skin just enough to draw a pinprick of red. “You want to die? Let me help you.” I applied a fraction more pressure. She gasped, the bravado evaporating as the reality of cold steel hit her. “Ah… stop!” She slumped to the floor, the knife clattering away. I knelt beside her, whispering so only she could hear. “Listen to me, little sister. You play by my rules, and you stay a Montgomery. You get the trust fund, the connections, the life you were born for. But there is a price: you dump the gambler. You marry the youngest Moretti son. That is your job. That is what a real Montgomery does.” After a long, agonizing silence, she nodded weakly. “Fine.” For a few days after the gala, Cassidy went quiet. she retreated into her wing of the estate, refusing to speak, eating her meals in solitary confinement. “Keep an eye on her,” I told the housekeeper. “Every move she makes, I want a report.” I was in the middle of a high-stakes negotiation with a West Coast logistics firm when my phone buzzed. It was the head of security. “Miss Montgomery, Cassidy just left the house.” “Follow her. Tell me where she goes.” Ten minutes later, the update came in. “She’s at a high-end pawn shop in the Diamond District. She brought your vintage Birkin and the sapphire necklace.” The idiot. She was hockng my heritage to fund her loser’s addiction. “Let her go for now,” I said, my jaw tightening. A few days later, I pulled Cassidy out of her room. “Get in the car. I’m taking you somewhere.” We drove to an illegal gambling den tucked behind a dry cleaner in Queens. Inside, the “love of her life” was draped over a blackjack table, a cocktail in one hand and a scantily clad dealer on his lap, laughing as he blew through thousands. “See that?” I pointed. “That’s the jewelry you stole. He’s literally throwing your ‘sacrifice’ into the trash.” Cassidy’s eyes turned a violent shade of red. “You brought me here just to mock me, didn’t you? I love him, Jessica. I don’t care what he does. At least he’s human. You’re just a cold-blooded killer. You don’t even know what love is. You’re pathetic.” I actually laughed. It was a sharp, bitter sound. “Maybe I don’t know love, but I know the penal code. That jewelry was worth ten million. The bags? Five. That’s grand larceny, Cassidy. I could have you in a jumpsuit by dinner.” She crumpled into a heap on the sidewalk. For the sake of our parents’ reputations, I didn’t call the police. I just gave the order: “Cut off her accounts. Move her into the smallest guest room. She stays there until she learns how to be a daughter.” I thought that would be enough. I thought the shock would clear the fog. I was wrong. A week later, security caught her sneaking out to meet him again. I dropped everything and drove to the fleabag motel where they were hiding. I kicked the door in. They were in bed, a mess of tangled sheets and cheap booze. But that wasn’t what made my blood boil. Cassidy’s face was a map of bruises—yellow and purple welts across her cheek and brow. I didn’t even think. I grabbed her by her hair, pulled her off the bed, and slapped her hard enough to make her head ring. “You stupid, God-awful brat!” I screamed. “You’re engaged to a Moretti! If the press gets a whiff of this—if the Morettis find out you’re slumming it with this parasite—they’ll pull out of the shipping merger. The overseas routes we’ve spent a decade building will evaporate in a day.” The Morettis controlled the three major Atlantic shipping lanes. They were the key to our survival. Ten years, countless millions, and more than a few ‘disappeared’ rivals had paved the way for this alliance. Three years ago, I had saved the Moretti matriarch’s grandson from a kidnapping attempt. That was the only reason they even considered us. If they knew Cassidy was cheating on their son with a street-level gambler, they wouldn’t just cancel the deal. They’d bury us. But Cassidy just looked at me with a swollen eye and a defiant smirk. “So what? Your business is a drop in the bucket compared to my heart. I said I’d marry the guy, isn’t that enough?” “He beat you, Cassidy!” I pointed at her face. “That’s how he loves you? With his fists? Next time, he won’t just bruise you. He’ll break you into pieces.” I turned to the man on the bed—Jax—who hadn’t said a word the entire time. He was a coward, through and through. I looked at my security team. “Take him to the pier. Let him see if he can swim with the fishes.” “No!” Cassidy shrieked. “Jessica, you can’t! That’s murder! I’ll go to the cops!” “The cops?” I leaned in close. “I played poker with the Police Commissioner last night and ‘lost’ half a million to his favorite charity. Go ahead. Tell them whatever you want. The door is right there.” She collapsed, the fight leaving her. “Fine… just let him go. I won’t see him again. I promise.” When we got back, she didn’t say a word to our parents. But at dinner, she made a sudden announcement. “Dad, Mom… I want to start interning at the firm. I want to be like Jessica. I want to help the family.” My parents looked at me, waiting for my approval. “Fine,” I said. “Start tomorrow. You’re my junior assistant.” She started to protest, but a sharp look from my father silenced her. At the office, I threw a mountain of files on her desk. “Learn them. Ask if you’re confused.” Later that afternoon, during a senior management meeting, the door swung open. Cassidy walked in, looking more polished than I’d ever seen her. “Hope I’m not late, sister. I thought I should start learning how the big decisions are made.” Technically, she didn’t have the clearance. But for the sake of peace at home, I let her stay. She was suddenly attentive, asking questions, hovering. I answered everything, thinking maybe—just maybe—she was finally growing up. The day we were set to sign the final contract with the Morettis, she insisted on coming along. “I want to see my fiancé. And I want to be there for our big win.” We were in the Moretti boardroom. Victor Moretti, the CEO, had the pen poised over the signature line when his phone rang. He listened for ten seconds, and his face turned the color of a thunderstorm. He hung up and stood, pulling a sleek black pistol from his desk drawer and leveling it at my forehead. “Jessica. Are you here to spit in my face?” I didn’t move. I raised my hands slowly. “Victor, we’ve worked together for years. If there’s a problem, tell me.” “A problem?” He threw his phone onto the table. “You sign a merger with me, while your people are currently hijacking my shipments at the Jersey docks. Look for yourself.” The video was clear. Men in Montgomery uniforms were raiding a Moretti vessel. “Victor, this is a mistake. Let me make a call.” I dialed my logistics manager. “What the hell is going on at Dock 3?” “Boss? You gave the order! You said to seize the Moretti cargo so we wouldn’t have to pay the transit fees!” “I never—” I turned. Cassidy was standing by the window, a smug, dark smile playing on her lips. “And then there’s the matter of my son’s honor,” Victor growled. He threw a stack of photos onto the table. They were high-resolution shots of Cassidy and Jax in the motel room. Graphic. Humiliating. Click. Victor cocked the hammer. “My gun hasn’t tasted blood in a long time. Today, one of you stays here permanently.” I closed my eyes for a heartbeat. Then I looked at Victor. “I’ll stay. Let her go.” Cassidy’s smile faltered. She looked at me, stunned. “You’re… letting me go?” “Get out!” I barked. She didn’t wait. She scrambled out of the room, her heels clicking frantically down the hall. A minute later, a shot echoed through the penthouse. I walked into the Montgomery estate hours later, my white silk blouse stained with red. Cassidy was already tucked into bed, probably dreaming of her “victory.” I didn’t knock. I burst into her room, grabbed her by her hair, and slammed her head against the mahogany headboard. “You stole my corporate seal,” I hissed. “You sent those men to the docks to sabotage the Moretti deal, didn’t you?” “Get off me! You’re crazy!” she screamed. “Tell me the truth, or you won’t live to see the sunrise.” I slammed her again. Her nose started to bleed, the red dripping onto her silk pillowcase. “Yes! It was me!” she shrieked. “So what? You lost a business deal. Big deal! I lost my life! I lost Jax!” She laughed, a jagged, broken sound. “I wanted to destroy you. I wanted to burn the Montgomery name to the ground. Your status, your precious company—it’s all a lie anyway. I sent the photos to Victor myself. How does it feel, Jessica? To lose everything?” “Housekeeper!” I yelled. “Lock her in the basement guest room. No phones, no visitors, no exits.” I didn’t tell my parents the truth. I told them I’d been in a minor car accident. But while I was in the hospital getting my shoulder stitched up, they came rushing into my room, frantic. “Jessica, it’s Cassidy! She’s gone!” “I told the staff to keep her locked down,” I gritted out, the pain in my shoulder searing. “Idiots.” My father’s phone chimed. It was a video. Cassidy was tied to a chair, her face battered, her clothes torn. “Dad, Mom… please! They kidnapped me! They want fifty million or they’ll kill me! Please, just pay them!” My mother collapsed into a chair, sobbing. “Jessica, you have to save her. I know she’s been difficult, but she’s our blood. Please.” My father looked like he was about to drop to his knees. I caught him before he could. “Dad, stop. I’ll get her back.” I called the CFO and authorized the fifty-million-dollar wire. Then, I put a call out to every contact I had in the city’s underworld. Find her. Ten million for the location of the kidnappers. Three days later, I got a hit. An abandoned construction site in the industrial outskirts of the city. When I arrived, the only sound was the wind whistling through empty steel beams. Then, a gunshot cracked near my ear. “You really aren’t as smart as you think you are, Jessica.” Cassidy was standing on a catwalk, looking perfectly fine. Beside her stood Jax, holding a rifle. “I knew they’d send you to ‘save’ me,” she mocked. “So I set a trap. You’ve been the queen of this family long enough. Today, the fraud dies.” Before I could move, a dozen armed men in black tactical gear emerged from the shadows, surrounding me. “You stupid, treacherous girl,” I said, staring at her. “You’re tearing your own family apart for a man who would sell your organs for a winning parlay.” Jax walked up to me and kicked me square in the ribs, sending me to the dirt. He climbed on top of me, raining blows down on my face until I tasted copper. “Shut up, bitch! You ruined my life. Today, I take what’s mine.” I spat a mouthful of blood into his face and grinned. “You? You’re a one-handed gambler who can’t even pay his own rent. You think you’re a king?” He roared and kicked me again. My ribs groaned under the impact. “What’s the matter, Jax?” I wheezed. “Swing harder. You hit like a debutante.” He grabbed a pistol from one of the mercenaries and pressed it to my temple. “I’ll kill you right now!” I looked him dead in the eye. “Do it. Pull the trigger. And tomorrow, my people will find your mother in her little rent-controlled apartment and make sure she never wakes up. Go on. Shoot.” His hand began to shake. “He might not have the guts, but I do.” I looked up. Tristan Blackwood, the CEO of Blackwood Holdings—our primary rival—stepped out of the shadows. “Jessica. Long time no see.” “So, you’re the puppet master,” I muttered. “You used this idiot to steal my seal, sabotage the Morettis, and lure me here.” Tristan chuckled. “You were always the smart one, Jessica. Too bad the ‘real’ daughter is such a convenient tool. But let’s be honest—you aren’t even a Montgomery. Why die for them?” He dropped a stack of papers in front of me. “Transfer the Montgomery shipping assets to Blackwood, and I’ll let you walk.” “Is that so? Well, we’ll see who’s walking out of here today.” I looked at Cassidy. “You see him, Cassidy? You’re dancing with a wolf. You want my life, but he wants your legacy. You’re just a pawn he’s going to discard the second I’m dead.” “Shut up!” Cassidy shrieked, snatching the gun from Jax and aiming it at my head. “I’d rather the company go to a stranger than stay with a liar like you!” “Don’t hesitate, babe,” Jax urged. “Kill her and we’re rich!” Cassidy pulled the trigger. But before her bullet could find me, a sniper round whistled through the air, shattering the gun in her hand. Suddenly, the perimeter exploded. Hundreds of my men, backed by heavy tactical vehicles, stormed the site.

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I found out my husband had been sleeping around. The real kicker? My own sister was the one who played matchmaker. When I confronted her, the air in her luxury apartment thick with the scent of expensive sandalwood, she didn’t even flinch. Instead, she swirled her champagne and turned the blame entirely on me. “What is the big deal, Jo?” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “A successful man is going to have options. If you couldn’t keep his attention in the bedroom, that’s on you.” “Are you insane?” I stared at her, my blood running cold. “A woman should be unconditionally accommodating,” she lectured, inspecting her perfectly manicured nails. “Having a girl on the side is nothing. You’re just too narrow-minded. You suffocated him.” A bitter, incredulous laugh clawed its way out of my throat. “You are so desperately thirsty for male validation, Brittany. No wonder you’re perfectly content bowing and scraping, living as some rich man’s dirty little secret.” That struck a nerve. Her face flushed a violent red, and she immediately launched into a tirade, bragging about her “benefactor”—how insanely wealthy he was, how handsome, how he bought her the very penthouse we were standing in. And as the argument escalated, the ugly truth finally spilled out. For two entire years, she had been covering for my husband’s affair. Providing alibis. Helping him hide the credit card statements. Fine. If she was willing to destroy her own flesh and blood just to uphold her twisted worship of men, then the gloves were off. Three days later, I tracked down her billionaire at an exclusive members-only lounge downtown. And I deliberately, effortlessly, climbed into his bed. … That night, I left absolutely nothing on the table. I poured every ounce of my grief, rage, and strategy into pleasing Pierce Kensington—wait, no, let’s call him Pierce Sterling. No, let’s go with Pierce Vance. Wait, I’ll just use Pierce. Pierce Davenport. Yes. I gave Pierce Davenport an unforgettable night. When morning broke, the light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, he looked at me with a heavy, satiated kind of hunger. “I still don’t know your name,” his voice was rough with sleep. “What do you want? Anything. Name it.” I didn’t even give him the dignity of a glance as I slipped my dress over my shoulders. “You performed adequately last night. If I have free time, I might call you.” I had done my homework. A man like Pierce Davenport, surrounded by women desperate for his money and approval, was intoxicatingly drawn to exactly this: a woman who was a beautiful, impenetrable iceberg. He practically forced his private number into my phone, his dark eyes tracking my every movement until the elevator doors slid shut. Well, Brittany, I thought, stepping out into the crisp morning air. Your billionaire wasn’t that hard to catch after all. After a long, scalding shower to scrub away the scent of expensive cologne and exertion, I returned to my house, my muscles aching. The moment I unlocked the front door, chaos greeted me. My soon-to-be ex-husband, Mark, was tearing through my living room, ripping drawers from their tracks. “That cold bitch thinks she can leave me with nothing in the divorce?” he was snarling. “I’m getting what’s mine.” And there was my sister, Brittany, practically glowing with excitement as she helped him. “Jocelyn hid some of her grandmother’s jewelry in this cabinet,” Brittany chirped, handing him a screwdriver. “Here, pry the hinge off. Oh, and grab those vintage wine bottles in the back. That painting in the hall, too—it’s worth at least ten grand.” Mark stuffed a velvet box into his duffel bag, looking at my sister with pathetic devotion. “You are a lifesaver, Brit. Seriously, you’re the most reasonable, beautiful woman I know.” Brittany thrived on this. She practically vibrated whenever a man tossed her a scrap of praise. She feigned a modest blush. “Jocelyn just never knew how to appreciate a real man. No matter how much you take today, Mark, it won’t make up for the emotional damage she’s caused you!” The sheer, staggering weight of her internalized misogyny shattered whatever restraint I had left. A blinding, white-hot rage enveloped me. “Are you two out of your goddamn minds?” I stepped into the foyer, my voice trembling with fury. “This is breaking and entering! It’s felony robbery!” I yanked my phone out of my purse to dial 911. Brittany lunged forward, roughly batting my hand down. “Stop being so hysterical! He’s just taking the compensation he deserves!” She turned to Mark, flashing him a sickeningly sweet smile. “Don’t worry about her. Keep packing. Even if you strip this place to the studs, I’ve got your back.” Mark had briefly frozen like a deer in headlights when I walked in, but seeing Brittany championing his cause emboldened him. He went right back to ransacking my dining room. A suffocating lump formed in my throat. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold my phone. “Brittany,” I choked out, “first you help him cheat on me, and now you’re helping him rob me? Do you even remember that I am your sister?” She planted her hands on her hips, utterly self-righteous. “I didn’t do anything wrong! You’re the one in the wrong! Do you have any idea how hard it is to be a man in today’s world?” She actually sounded like she believed it. “I felt sorry for Mark, having to come home to a miserable, nagging housewife every day. So I introduced him to someone young and fun to take the edge off. You should be taking notes from me, Jo.” Mark eagerly chimed in, “If you had even half of your sister’s warmth, Jocelyn, I wouldn’t have needed to look elsewhere. You’re just a cold fish. You should really learn from Brittany.” Brittany practically preened under the compliment. The two of them stood side-by-side, forming a physical wall to block me from my own living room, daring me to call the police. I ground my teeth together, the metallic taste of adrenaline in my mouth. “You have so much empathy for my cheating husband, Brittany? Maybe you should save some of that energy for yourself. Before you know it, your rich benefactor is going to toss you out with the trash, and you won’t even see it coming.” As if the universe itself was waiting for its cue, my phone vibrated in my palm. A new text. Pierce: It’s Pierce Davenport. Are you free tonight? I froze for a split second, a dark thrill shooting through my veins. I didn’t expect him to crack this fast. It was a stroke of absolute luck that Pierce never cared enough to ask about Brittany’s personal life; he had no idea she even had a sister. I wasn’t about to lose momentum. I typed back rapidly: Jocelyn: I told you, I despise men who try too hard. Don’t text me unless it’s important. Pierce was a young king of the real estate world. He had everything handed to him. Naturally, he was addicted to a challenge. My icy dismissal was the polar opposite of the desperate, cloying women he usually dealt with. It ignited a primal urge to conquer. My screen lit up with three consecutive typing bubbles. Meanwhile, Brittany was still running her mouth, utterly oblivious. “You’re just jealous because I have a man who actually provides for me! At least I’m a kept woman for a gorgeous billionaire. That’s a million times better than being a discarded, used-up ex-wife! Instead of being a bitch, you should be on your knees begging Mark not to finalize the divorce. No one else is ever going to want you.” Drunk on her own cruelty, she turned to Mark. “Call a moving truck. Take the solid wood furniture, too. That way, you won’t have to furnish your new apartment.” Mark, wearing a smug, punchable smirk, sneered at me. “Get on your knees and apologize to me right now, Jocelyn, and maybe I’ll leave you the sofa.” I didn’t even bother looking at him. I was too busy playing a high-stakes game of chess with Pierce Davenport. I hit the emergency button on my phone and silently connected to the police dispatcher, letting the phone hang by my side. Then, I looked at my sister, my eyes dead and calm. “Brittany, a shiny little pet like you—bought and paid for—is the easiest thing in the world to replace. Don’t be surprised when your billionaire swaps you out for a newer model.” That struck the exact, terrifying core of her insecurities. Despite her constant bragging, Brittany lived in perpetual terror of losing her arrangement with Pierce. She lunged at me, raising her hand to slap me, practically screeching. “Shut your mouth! Pierce has incredibly high standards! I have a perfect body, and I look exactly like the girl who got away—the one he’s always been in love with! My place is completely secure!” Ah. She looked like the ghost of his first love. But I looked more like her than she did. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to drag a man like Pierce into bed with just a few aloof words and a sultry look. My phone buzzed again. Pierce had sent an address for a luxury hotel and a suite number. I looked up from the screen to see Brittany adjusting her designer cardigan, looking incredibly smug. “I’ve survived by his side for two years. That proves he’s serious about me. He’s not going to just throw me away! Honestly, he’ll probably propose soon.” A slow, dangerous smile curled the corners of my lips. I stepped back. There was no point in arguing with her anymore. Words were cheap. Ripping the one man she worshipped away from her—that would be the only poetry she understood. The more confident she was right now, the sweeter the fall would be. I couldn’t wait to see her face when I finally took her place. When the police arrived with lights flashing, Mark’s bravado evaporated. I handed the officers the security footage and left them to process the scene, already dialing my divorce attorney to file additional criminal charges. Brittany, refusing to lose face, trailed right behind me to the precinct. “Oh, you have a lawyer? Please. Anyone can hire some cheap hack. I’ll have Pierce call his elite legal team for Mark right now.” She pulled out her phone, desperate to flex her connections. But Pierce was currently busy sending me dangerously filthy text messages. Brittany dialed him. Once. Twice. Three times. Every single call went straight to voicemail. I let out a soft, genuine laugh. “Wow. Seems like your billionaire doesn’t really want to talk to you, Brit.” She raised her hand to strike me again, but a stern look from the arresting officer made her shrink back. She gritted her teeth. “Don’t get cocky, Jocelyn. The pocket change Pierce gives me for a shopping spree is more than enough to afford Mark a top-tier defense attorney.” Even the desk sergeant couldn’t help but mutter, “What is wrong with you, lady? Why are you funding your cheating brother-in-law over your own sister?” I offered the cop a tired, resigned smile. I was used to it. Brittany had always been wired this way—a deeply ingrained, pathological need to side with men. When the boy next door bullied me when we were kids, she didn’t defend me. She blamed me. “Boys will be boys, Jo. It’s your fault for acting so aggressive. No man likes a difficult girl.” When our father was caught with a 22-year-old secretary, she didn’t comfort our devastated mother. She defended our father. “Mom let herself go. She’s old and frumpy. Obviously, a man is going to have physical needs. It’s totally natural.” My mother, broken and disgusted, took me and left. She let our father keep Brittany. We lived entirely separate lives after that. But when I got married, Brittany showed up uninvited, dropping a five-thousand-dollar check into the gift box just to show off. “This is just the loose change my benefactor gave me this week,” she whispered to me in her designer gown. “See? I’ve always known how to cater to a man’s ego, and now I’m treated like a queen. I get whatever I want.” Because being a sugar baby wasn’t exactly something you could brag about at the country club, she started orbiting my life again just to have an audience for her vanity. Over the last two years, she had talked so incessantly about Pierce Davenport that I inadvertently memorized all his habits, his preferences, his trigger points. Which was exactly why seducing him at the lounge, and maintaining this cat-and-mouse game, had been so effortlessly easy. My manufactured persona—the cold, mysterious, untouchable woman—demanded every ounce of his attention. For the next two weeks, Pierce didn’t text Brittany once. Instead, he spent every evening pulling me into his dark, intoxicating world of excess. Brittany was visibly unraveling. Once, in the dead of night while I was lying in Pierce’s sheets, she called his private line. He glanced at the caller ID, an expression of profound irritation crossing his face, and sent it straight to voicemail without missing a beat. With nothing else to do, Brittany poured all her frantic energy into helping my ex-husband fight me in court. Meanwhile, I was quietly, methodically, moving the chess pieces into place. After a particularly intense, breathless afternoon in his penthouse, Pierce reached into his jacket and tossed a heavy, black titanium credit card onto the marble nightstand. “If you’re open to it, I want an exclusive arrangement,” he said, his voice low and serious. “Whatever you want, whatever you need, I can provide it.” Pierce operated under the assumption that every woman had a price tag. I was going to be the anomaly that haunted him. I picked up the black card, walked over to the corner of the room, and dropped it casually into the trash can. “I just finalized a messy divorce,” I lied smoothly, securing my bra. “I needed a distraction. A physical outlet. Sleeping with you was just a convenient way to burn off some adrenaline.” I grabbed my coat. “Don’t flatter yourself, Pierce. I told you, I hate men who crowd me.” I turned for the door, fully intending to walk out. He moved faster than I expected, catching my wrist. His grip was firm, his eyes dark and searching. “I still don’t even know your last name. You are the most infuriating, fascinating woman I’ve ever met. What do you actually want?” Every other woman he knew wanted his bank account or a diamond ring. He could read their motives from a mile away, which made them painfully boring to him. But I wasn’t there for his money. I was there to destroy Brittany. My utter lack of interest in his wealth translated into a terrifying kind of power. I looked completely, genuinely unbothered by his status. “I told you. I wanted an outlet.” I pulled my wrist out of his grasp, giving him a slow, mocking once-over. “You look like the kind of guy who keeps a whole stable of shiny little pets. If I ever settle down again, it’s going to be strictly one-on-one. A man like you isn’t even on my radar for anything long-term.” A slow, wicked smile spread across Pierce’s face. “A kept woman isn’t a wife. I can clear the board whenever I want.” He stepped closer, invading my space. “If you’re interested, I’d clear the entire deck just for you.” God, I wished Brittany could have been a fly on the wall in that exact moment. But I wasn’t done yet. The timing wasn’t perfect. I swallowed the spike of triumphant adrenaline and gave him a bored, noncommittal shrug. “I’ll think about it.” I didn’t even stay the night. I walked out of the penthouse, leaving him staring after me, wanting me more than he had ever wanted anyone. But the universe has a funny way of complicating things. The second I walked out of the opulent hotel lobby, a hand violently grabbed my shoulder. “I knew it!” Brittany hissed, her eyes wild as she yanked me around. “You’re whoring around in expensive hotels! You’ve probably been sleeping around this whole time!” She raised her voice, practically screaming on the sidewalk. “Jocelyn, you’re a dirty, cheating hypocrite! How dare you try to leave Mark with nothing when you’re acting like trash yourself?” Pedestrians began to slow down, staring at the spectacle. Heat rushed to my cheeks. The sheer embarrassment was suffocating. In a moment of desperation, I snapped. “Brittany, did your billionaire finally dump you? Is that why you have so much free time to stalk me?” The words hit her like a physical blow. She flinched, her face contorting. “You’re just projecting because you couldn’t keep a man to save your life!” she spat, her voice shrill. “You think I’m a failure like you?” “Really?” I tilted my head, my voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “Because the last time I checked, he was sending your calls straight to voicemail. And since you’ve been playing lawyer with my ex-husband every single day, I’m guessing Pierce hasn’t asked to see you at all.” “He is a CEO of a massive conglomerate! He’s busy!” she shrieked. “You think he’s some unemployed loser like the guys you pick up?” I laughed on the inside. Oh, he’s busy alright. Busy obsessing over me. To cover her spiraling panic, Brittany pointed a shaking finger an inch from my face. “He hasn’t stopped seeing me! I’m with him every night! The lawyer Mark is using? Pierce secured him for me!” She was panting now, desperate to convince herself. “Even if you died tomorrow, Pierce would never leave me! I’m the only woman he sees!” I just stood there, letting the cool breeze wash over me, watching her self-destruct. The higher she built this house of cards, the more devastating the collapse would be. Before storming off, she delivered her final threat. “I took pictures of you walking out of this hotel. Just wait, Jocelyn. I’m going to ruin you.” That very night, she weaponized those photos. She sent them to every aunt, uncle, and family friend in our hometown group chats, spinning a vicious narrative. “Jocelyn caught a horrible STD from sleeping around, and that’s why Mark had to leave her,” the texts read. “Now she’s trying to steal his house, and when he went to get his clothes, she had him arrested! She’s an absolute monster.” The gossip spread like wildfire. Distant relatives began calling my mother, berating her, shaming her for raising such a “disgusting” daughter. The stress of the vicious rumors finally cracked my mother’s heart. She collapsed in her kitchen. If I hadn’t gone over to drop off groceries, she would have died. I sat by her bed in the ICU, listening to the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor. She looked so small, her skin grey against the hospital sheets. She gripped my hand, tears leaking from her eyes. “If I had known she would turn out like this…” my mother whispered, her voice breaking. “I should never have let her father take her.” I squeezed her hand, lowering my gaze to hide the absolute, chilling darkness that had settled in my eyes. Enjoy your last few days of delusion, Brittany. For the next four days, I stayed in the hospital. I completely ghosted Pierce Davenport. Every text he sent went unanswered. And true to form, the more I ignored him, the more frantic his need to conquer me became. The day my mother was discharged coincided with my scheduled mediation meeting with Mark and his lawyers. Brittany sent me a gloating text at 7:00 AM: I’m bringing the elite legal team Pierce paid for. Get ready to be humiliated. Oh, I was more than ready. An hour before the meeting, standing outside the sleek glass doors of the law firm, I finally sent Pierce a text. Jocelyn: I need a favor. He replied in less than ten seconds. Pierce: The sun must be rising in the west. You actually texted me. Jocelyn: My ex-husband is harassing me. I’m in a bad situation. Can you come help me? This sudden, shocking display of vulnerability was exactly the kind of bait a man like Pierce couldn’t resist. He didn’t ask questions. He just asked for the address. I stood on the curb, waiting. Less than twenty minutes later, a midnight-black Rolls-Royce glided to a stop in front of me. The moment Pierce stepped out of the car, looking sharp in a tailored suit, I dropped the ice-queen act. I rushed forward, letting out a soft, trembling breath, and practically collapsed into his chest. “Thank you so much for coming,” I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. “If you weren’t here, I don’t know what I would do…” The whiplash of this contrast—the untouchable woman suddenly soft and seeking his protection—hit him like a drug. His protective instincts flared instantly. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him, lowering his head to murmur something in my ear. Suddenly, a piercing, hysterical screech shattered the moment. “Jocelyn! What the hell are you doing?!”

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