1 I designed the digital wedding invitations for my best friend Sienna and built the platform myself. A week before the ceremony, I noticed one account had viewed her invitation page 298 times. It belonged to Chris, my boyfriend of seven years. When I asked him why, he snapped, “How do you even know that?” I blurted out, “Because I built the platform.” He went silent, then looked up, eyes bloodshot. “Because I can’t stand the thought of watching her marry another man.” That was how I learned they dated in college. I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm. “Piper, please. Don’t ruin her wedding.” The next morning, HR received an anonymous report accusing me of running an undeclared side business and using company property for private commercial projects. I was currently ranked number one for Regional Creative Director. Sienna was number two. The attached backend screenshots were accessible only to Chris. Last night’s confession wasn’t honesty. It was me handing him the ammunition to destroy my career. … Staring at the screenshots in the compliance file, my head throbbed so violently that the print began to blur into double vision. Those were the exact backend pages I had shown Chris on my laptop. The lead investigator from Compliance slid the folder across the desk toward me. “We received an anonymous tip alleging that you failed to disclose a related side business and leveraged corporate assets to take on private wedding contracts.” “There is also a record of a two-hundred-dollar Venmo transfer from Sienna.” I pulled out my phone and tapped open the transaction history. “That was a fee for licensing music rights for her ceremony. The memo line clearly states it.” The investigator glanced briefly at the screen. “The payment description can be verified, but the fact remains that you failed to declare the platform’s existence to HR.” “Pending the outcome of this investigation, your eligibility for tomorrow’s final review for Regional Creative Director is temporarily suspended.” Coldness seeped into my fingertips. The final review was scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. I had poured two years of my life into this promotion, pulling endless late nights and sacrificing my health to reach the top spot. “How long will the investigation take?” “Seven business days.” I opened my mouth, but my voice came out choked and thick with unshed tears. “But the final panel evaluation starts tomorrow.” The investigator avoided my gaze. “The promotional review will not be delayed for an individual inquiry.” The office door swung open abruptly. Sienna burst in, her eyes red and brimming with tears. She grabbed my hand tightly. “Piper, I swear I didn’t know it would turn into this!” “Someone came to me demanding an explanation for that two-hundred-dollar transfer. I was so terrified that I signed the statement they put in front of me.” My eyes locked onto the document clutched in her fingers. I previously commissioned Piper to design my wedding invitations for compensation. Black ink on white paper, bearing her signature at the bottom. She had rebranded a simple two-hundred-dollar music royalty fee into an illegal private design fee. I yanked my hand back, blinking rapidly to force back the tears stinging my eyes. I turned my face away from her. I didn’t want her to see me break, and I couldn’t bear to look at her performative sorrow for another second. “Who made you sign it?” Her lips trembled, but no sound came out. A second later, Chris rushed into the room. He held a warm oat milk latte from my favorite coffee shop, beads of sweat glistening at his temples. Yet his very first words weren’t aimed at comforting me. “Can Sienna still use her wedding invites normally?” The air in the room plummeted to freezing. Realizing how cold he sounded, he quickly added, “The wedding is only seven days away. The guest RSVPs and seating charts are all hosted on that link. Shutting it down right now will create total chaos.” Sienna looked at him, her eyes glistening with tears. “If Piper doesn’t want me to use it, I can find a replacement.” “Except there’s no time to swap everything out,” Chris blurted out. “Your dress fitting is tomorrow, and the final reminder blasts need to go out Friday.” I wiped a stray tear from the corner of my eye and let out a soft, bitter laugh. Some questions didn’t even need asking anymore. Sienna lowered her head, tears still clinging to her lashes. Chris stole a quick glance at her before forcing his gaze back to me. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me out into the hallway. “Don’t shut down the invitation link yet, and don’t reach out to her fiance,” he whispered urgently. “Once the wedding is over, I’ll help you resolve this mess with HR.” I stared into his eyes. “Was it you who reported me?” Chris hesitated for two agonizing seconds. “Does it really matter who submitted the report right now?” “HR will clear your name once they finish investigating.” “Sienna only gets one wedding in her life.” A wave of sour pain rushed up my throat. “Her wedding is once in a lifetime.” “So my promotion can just be sacrificed and restarted whenever it suits you?” He offered no answer. His silence cut deeper than any confession ever could. That evening, a company-wide email landed in my inbox. Due to an ongoing investigation regarding undeclared secondary business activities, Piper’s candidacy for the Regional Creative Director position has been suspended. Her place in the final review panel will be filled by the runner-up candidate, Sienna. I sat alone in the dark office, staring at the presentation deck I had perfected over the last two years. It seemed I wouldn’t be needing it anymore. A ping chimed from my laptop. The backend notification panel refreshed. User GH has accessed Sienna’s wedding invitation. Total views: 299. A moment later, a system update showed that Sienna had changed her ceremony’s background track. The new song was the exact indie ballad Chris had played on repeat for four straight years during college. I stared at the title on the screen as tears crashed onto my keyboard. The groom standing at the altar wouldn’t be him. Yet every hidden detail of her wedding was infused with his shadow. I didn’t sleep a single minute that night. I scrolled through years of Chris’s and Sienna’s social media posts, public comments, and old group chats. The more I read, the more I realized what a pathetic joke I had been. During a team dinner months ago, a platter of spicy blackened fish was placed right between Sienna and me. Chris had immediately reached across the table, swapping it with a plain steamed dish from the far end. I had frowned at the time. “You know I don’t like steamed fish.” He had smiled gently. “You’ve been breaking out lately, babe. Spicy food isn’t good for your skin.” I thought he was looking out for me. Only now did I realize he was simply catering to Sienna, who couldn’t handle spicy food. Another time, when Sienna was stuck working late during a violent rainstorm, Chris had driven halfway across the city to pick her up. When he returned home, he had grinned at me. “You’re always worrying about her staying out late alone, right? I went and picked her up for you.” Not only had I suspected nothing, but I had genuinely believed I was blessed to have a boyfriend who got along so well with my best friend. Whenever we went out for dinner, caught a movie, or booked a weekend getaway, I was always the one eagerly inviting Sienna along. Looking back now, I finally saw the truth. Every single move Chris made toward Sienna was executed under the guise of caring for me. And I had acted like a brainless fool, orchestrating their reunions over and over again. By dawn, a sharp, rhythmic throbbing hammered against my temples. The moment I pushed myself up from the couch, my vision flickered dark. The doorbell rang. Chris stood outside holding a bag of fresh crab dumplings, unsweetened soy milk, and my favorite brand of migraine medication. “I knew you wouldn’t sleep well last night,” he murmured softly. He pulled the curtains shut, coaxed me to lie down, and expertly began rubbing my temples. His pressure was identical to the way he had massaged my forehead over the last seven years. My body almost instinctively relaxed under his touch. Then the image of the HR complaint screenshot flashed across my mind. I violently slapped his hands away and forced myself upright. A wave of dizziness nearly knocked me off my feet, forcing me to grip the coffee table for support, but a scorching fire blazed inside my chest. “I have to go to work.” He reached out to steady me. “I already called in sick for you.” “Who gave you permission to call in sick for me?” Chris frowned, his tone exasperated. “Look at the state of you. How can you possibly work today?” “Besides, haven’t I always handled your sick leave before?” I braced myself against the sofa, my stomach churning violently. “Before was before.” “What gives you the right to make decisions for my life?” His expression hardened. “Piper, I am trying to help you.” I changed into my work clothes and headed for the door. As the elevator doors began to slide shut, he caught the frame, leaning in. “Going there won’t change anything.” “The internal audit takes seven days, and the final panel evaluation starts this afternoon.” I lifted my head, locking my eyes onto his. “How do you know it takes seven days?” Chris froze for a split second. “You mentioned it last night.” I hadn’t said a single word about the timeline last night. I barely remembered how I walked out of the building or how I made it to the office. All I felt was the searing ache behind my eyes and the blurred landscape passing by. By the time I reached the regional office, my face was terrifyingly pale. My supervisor sighed the moment he saw me. “Didn’t Chris call in sick for you? If you’re unwell, go home and rest.” Coworkers gathered around my desk. “He called early this morning saying your migraines flared up.” “Where do you even find a boyfriend that attentive?” Someone else chimed in with a laugh, “Piper, you really don’t have to worry about a thing. Chris plans everything out for you.” I stood in the center of the bustling office, my hands and feet icy cold, a loud ringing buzzing in my ears. I couldn’t process a single word they said after that. Everyone envied me. Nobody knew that the man who claimed to know me best had personally orchestrated my professional execution. I marched straight to the division head’s office, demanding to submit supplemental evidence. He simply closed the folder on his desk. “Sienna is already in the final review prep room. You cannot enter.” “Why?” “Chris came by this morning.” “He told us you discovered he dated Sienna in college and that your emotional state is severely unstable right now.” “He was concerned that your personal drama would disrupt today’s final evaluation process.” I gripped the edge of his desk, my knuckles turning bone-white. So he hadn’t brought breakfast to my apartment out of concern for my headache. He had come to personally ensure I would be incapacitated and unable to show up at work. My boss let out a long sigh. “Piper, Chris is trying so hard to protect you. Don’t make things difficult for him.” Applause erupted outside the glass office. Sienna stepped out of the presentation room wearing the sleek professional suit I had gifted her for her birthday. Clutched tightly against her chest was the printed binder containing the exact promotional strategy I had spent two years building. The moment the presentation room doors clicked shut, a system email popped up on everyone’s screens. Following panel review, Sienna has been appointed Regional Creative Director. The office went silent for a beat before bursting into enthusiastic applause. Sienna stood surrounded by the team, clutching my binder, her eyes brimming with modest tears. “Piper, maybe I should step down,” she whispered softly. Yet even as she spoke of stepping down, the brand-new Director ID badge was already clipped proudly to her lapel. A thick, metallic taste gathered in my throat. I pushed right past her, shoving her aside. She stumbled against the corner of a desk, prompting a chorus of gasps from the onlookers. I didn’t look back, heading straight into my manager’s office. “The audit isn’t even finished! On what grounds are you revoking my qualification?” My manager slid a client transfer sheet across the table. “Your three primary accounts are being reassigned to Sienna.” Those were accounts I had nurtured for six months. To secure the toughest client, I had attended four separate menu tastings and pulled all-nighters revising event flowcharts. I slammed my palm onto the paper, my fingernails digging into the printed margins. “I won those accounts!” “While under compliance review, you are barred from managing corporate accounts.” Hushed voices whispered outside the cracked door. “She ran a shady side hustle behind our backs and blames everyone else when caught.” “Talk about poor character. The moment she loses a promotion, she claims people are stealing her clients.” “She was always ranked number one. Now that Sienna beat her once, she completely lost her mind.” My chest heaved violently as I fought to draw air into my lungs. Those malicious whispers scraped against my eardrums, setting off a sharp, throbbing pain behind my temples and causing my fingers to tremble uncontrollably. The rage inside me boiled over. I whipped the door open. The gossip died instantly. Sienna walked toward me with tear-filled eyes. “Piper, I really had no idea it would come to this.” “That two hundred dollars, I didn’t even have to send it. I just wanted to support your little project.” I couldn’t hold it back any longer. My voice shattered the silence. “That was a music licensing fee, and you know it better than anyone!” Tears spilled down her cheeks in torrents. Chris immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her from my gaze. “Piper, that’s enough!” “You’re the one who hid an undeclared business, and now you’re pinning the blame on Sienna?” I stared at him, the buzzing in my ears deafening. “Get out!” I turned and bolted into my private workspace, slamming the heavy wooden door behind me with a crash that rattled the glass panels. Bracing my back against the door, my legs buckled. I slid slowly down to the floor, collapsing onto the cold carpet. When tears finally burst from my eyes, I didn’t even have the strength left to wipe them away. That afternoon, legal counsel and the product compliance team called me in for an emergency meeting. They demanded I hand over all backend administrative credentials, source code, and user data for the wedding invitation platform. “The platform leveraged corporate project templates and case studies. It qualifies as company intellectual property.” “Pending the audit, the company is taking full operational control.” I forced out a raspy, strained answer. “I developed that software entirely on my personal time, using my own money and private server infrastructure.” The corporate lawyer slid the surrender agreement closer. “Hand it over first. We can discuss ownership rights after the investigation wraps up.” I stared at the word Transfer printed on the form and let out a soft, bitter laugh. If I handed it over now, would I ever see it again? Before the workday ended, I exported every system log, backed up the entire codebase, and shut down the platform servers completely. Sienna’s digital wedding invitation link went dead instantly. An hour later, my college alumni chat group exploded. Wait, did Piper seriously just find out today that Chris and Sienna used to date? Literally our entire graduating class knew about them. She got caught doing shady side work, lost her promotion, and now she’s sabotaging her best friend’s wedding out of spite. That’s absurdly petty. Staring at the phrase entire graduating class knew, my shaking fingers could barely hold the phone. Everyone knew. I was the only idiot kept in the dark for seven full years. My phone chimed while I was still curled up on the floor behind my locked office door. Seeing the word Mom on the screen, I hurriedly wiped my face and swallowed a sob before answering. “Mom…” Before I could say another word, her furious voice screamed through the speaker. “Chris called me and explained everything!” “How can you be so petty and vindictive? Just because Sienna got promoted, you go and shut down her wedding invitations?” “This whole drama is spinning out of control! Relatives are calling me left and right asking what’s wrong with you! How am I supposed to show my face?” I pressed my hand tightly over my mouth, but tears still trickled through my fingers. Notifications flooded my screen in a relentless stream. Digital invitation app unexpectedly pulled offline. Rumors cite founder’s promotional failure and romantic rivalry for malicious service disruption. Platform taking user money then pulling the plug, serious breach of trust. I stared at the multiplying hate comments. I didn’t even register the exact moment HR walked in and unclipped my employee badge from my desk. My phone kept vibrating uncontrollably. A high-priority email from Legal flashed on screen. Failure to hand over administrative access and source code by 18:00 today will result in immediate legal action. Carrying a single cardboard box of personal belongings out of the office, every eye in the building locked onto me. Some held up their smartphones to snap photos, while others whispered behind their hands. “She acted so high and mighty, turns out she’s a sore loser.” The distinct click of a camera shutter sounded behind my back. I didn’t turn around. I simply gripped the cardboard box tighter against my chest. In less than ten minutes, a photo of me was uploaded online. In the picture, my face was ghostly pale, holding my box with swollen, bloodshot eyes. Overlaid across the image were four bold words: Sore Loser Meltdown. The comments snowballed instantly. Lost the promotion to her best friend, boyfriend still carries a torch for the friend, completely broke down. Can you imagine hiring a wedding planner like this? What if she snaps on your big day? My hands were so cold I could barely hold my phone. Sienna’s fiance called my cell directly. “Piper, I’ve known about Chris and Sienna’s past for a long time.” “Sienna was completely transparent with me, and Chris never crossed any lines.” “Sabotaging her wedding just because you failed to get a promotion is vile.” I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat tasted like copper and blood. They all knew. Every single one of them. Chris’s call came in right after. “Piper, bring the invitation server back online.” “If you keep acting like this, we are done.” A hysterical laugh bubbled up from my chest, tears cascading down my cheeks. “Fine.” “Let’s break up.” Silence hung on the line for a few seconds before his voice turned ice-cold. “Don’t regret this.” He hung up. I sank onto the curb outside the building, feeling as though my chest had been hollowed out. Seven years of love, ended with a cold snap of a phone call. Meanwhile, my platform’s support inbox was overwhelmed. Fraud allegations, refund demands, and formal complaints flooded the system. People accused me of running a scam, taking money then shutting down service, while others rallied users to file a class-action suit. You ruined my wedding timeline! Can you afford to pay us back? The link won’t open! Who is paying for my emergency reprint costs? We’re suing for emotional distress! The phone vibrated so violently my palm went numb. By late afternoon, two police officers arrived at my apartment door. Someone had filed a formal report alleging my app was an illegal operation engaging in financial fraud and data theft. I sat at the station for hours, patiently explaining that the server shutdown was necessary to preserve data logs and evidence. The officers requested my system logs, payment receipts, and user agreement terms. By the time I walked out of the precinct, the sky was completely dark. Over a dozen angry platform users were waiting outside my apartment complex, waving smartphones in my face and screaming for refunds. One woman shoved a printed refund claim right against my cheek. “You thought you were so clever? Pay us back now!” The sharp edge of the paper scraped across my eyelid, leaving a stinging, hot tear. I backed up against the brick wall, my knees trembling so violently I could barely stand. It wasn’t until building security intervened that I managed to break free from the mob. My phone vibrated endlessly through the night. Once inside, I immediately booted up my laptop, compiling server access records, financial transaction histories, and time-stamped chat logs into a secure file. If they wanted an investigation, I was going to give them an exhaustive one. At three in the morning, I dispatched the compressed data archive simultaneously to the police, corporate compliance, and the executive board at Corporate Headquarters. At dawn, an email chimed in my inbox from Corporate HR. Following an executive review, procedural irregularities were identified in the regional branch’s evaluation process. The selection for Regional Creative Director will be reset, and responsible administrators face disciplinary action. The position of Corporate Director of Digital Wedding Solutions is currently open. Miss Piper Wilde, would you be interested in joining Corporate Headquarters? Ten minutes after receiving the email, the Chief Human Resources Officer called my cell. “Piper, this offer isn’t a temporary consolation prize.” “Corporate HQ has spent six months prepping the new Digital Wedding Division. We’ve been searching for a leader who understands the wedding industry inside out and possesses the technical capability to build proprietary software.” “Your platform passed our corporate tech audit with flying colors.” “The role comes with double your previous salary. You will retain one hundred percent personal ownership of the platform, and the corporation will license it via an enterprise partnership model.” I gripped my phone, my fingers still trembling. The screams, the police sirens, and the paper scraping across my face from last night were still ringing in my ears. I could hardly believe that the very thing everyone labeled a career-ending stain had become my golden ticket to the top. This time, I didn’t hesitate for a single second. “I accept.”

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The genius boy I secretly loved fell for a bad girl who smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. He skipped classes, picked fights, and rented cheap motel rooms with her. His legendary grades plunged into the abyss. Out of pity and misplaced affection, I stepped aside and gave him my guaranteed spot at MIT. Years later, he made a fortune, became a rising tycoon in the tech industry, and invested heavily in my project. One month later, he framed me and threw me behind bars. When he visited me in prison, a faint, mocking smile touched his handsome face. “You stole my love story,” he whispered. “So I erased your future. Fair trade, wouldn’t you say?” When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting back in my high school classroom. Outside the window, the genius boy and the bad girl were sprinting through the pouring rain, looking like the tragic leads of a teenage melodrama. This time, I chose to stand back and let their wild, destructive passion burn itself out! 1 I was the definition of a good girl. Straight-A student, hardworking, predictable, reliable. The kind of kid teachers and parents held up as an example. Karl Mercer, on the other hand, was the boy God had personally blessed. He was bright, charming, and possessed a mind for numbers that bordered on terrifying. Without even trying, he could coast to perfect scores in physics, calculus, and chemistry. We were total opposites. I lacked raw talent, relying entirely on relentless grit. He lacked discipline, relying entirely on genius. Hoping we would balance each other out, our homeroom teacher made us desk mates. Karl used to ruffle my hair, leaning in close with a soft chuckle. “How can a girl be so innocent, Freya? You’re going to get eaten alive out there.” Or he’d toss his dark jacket over my head when a sudden thunderstorm hit. “Take it. I’m bulletproof. Rain can’t touch me.” He used to smile and whisper, “Study hard, Freya. Let’s make it to MIT together. We can sit at the same desk for four more years. Hell, let’s sit together forever.” A young boy’s affection is a wild thing, humble yet arrogant, gentle yet fiercely proud. He never hid his concern for me. And he never rejected the silent adoration in my eyes. Until the transfer student, Roxie, strutted into his world. She wore low-cut camisoles, scandalously short denim shorts, and streaks of vivid neon dye in her high ponytail. Bright green eyeshadow, plump glossy lips, glittering silver earrings. In our suffocating, monotonous high school, she shone like a flickering flame in a dark room. She always had a lollipop tucked into the corner of her mouth. She carried a confident, razor-sharp smirk that said she owned the room. Her beauty was a slap in the face to the dull, soul-crushing atmosphere of senior year. Out of place, wild, and utterly magnetic. Karl fell for her the second his eyes landed on her. I saw the way Roxie blew thick, sweet smoke rings directly into Karl’s face, and the hypnotic, intoxicated daze that settled in his eyes. I saw the way Roxie took Karl’s hand and pressed it flat against her chest, and the electric shock of raw, teenage wonder that exploded in his gaze. “Feel that?” Roxie had purred, her voice dripping with lazy confidence. “My heart is beating for you. God, Karl, how can a guy be this pretty? Why am I chasing you? Because I want you, obviously.” Her love was a forest fire. Wild, scorching, impossible to tame. Karl’s fall from grace was fast, public, and brutal. He ditched class to run through torrential rain with her, screaming vows into the storm. He fought older thugs in dark alleys for her, coming back with split lips and bruised knuckles, wearing his scars like badges of honor. They kissed beneath stadium bleachers, wrapped themselves around each other, and checked into grimy, five-dollar-a-night motels. They used no protection, letting their reckless impulse carry them to the absolute edge. Even when she ended up in a back-alley clinic getting an abortion, they treated the blood and pain as a badge of grand, tragic romance. And I was tossed into the dark corner of his mind, completely forgotten. To everyone else, I became the pitiful girl who lost. “Hey, Freya, I heard Karl went back to that motel with Roxie again. Aren’t you dying of jealousy?” “Acting so cold and refined… no wonder Karl left you in the dust for Roxie.” “Honestly, I envy Roxie. She lives so dangerously, so passionately. That’s real romance.” When we were young, forbidden fruit always looked sweet. In my past life, I had been devastated. I wept, I spiraled, I grieved for the boy I lost. But through it all, I kept my head down and stayed focused. I even tried to pull Karl back from the brink, begging him to focus on his studies. I voluntarily surrendered my spot in the National STEM Modeling Olympiad, handing him the automatic ticket into MIT. And what did I get for it? He hated me. He believed I had ripped him away from the love of his life. For four years, he accepted that fast-track program, only to be recruited straight into a classified military tech initiative due to his brilliant mind. Roxie couldn’t handle four years of total radio silence in a long-distance relationship. She dumped him. Desperate for money and easy thrill, she fell into human trafficking schemes, was dragged across the border, and died a nameless death in an offshore ditch. When Karl returned and found out, he blamed me for everything. He framed me, ruined me, and watched me rot in a cage. His revenge made sense, didn’t it? After all, to a romantic fool, love is paramount. Youth must be lived without regret. And I had given his youth the ultimate regret. 2 “Youth is about pushing yourself to the absolute limit!” Our homeroom teacher slammed his fist onto the podium, his face red with frustration. He glared around the classroom, his gaze locking heavily on certain empty desks. “It means grinding through thousands of test papers, mastering every single mistake, and fighting for top rank in this state! It means forcing the world to acknowledge you!” He took a sharp breath, his voice laced with venom. “Some students think they’re special. They think raw talent means they don’t have to work hard. Open your eyes and look at the leaderboard! Your scores are in the gutter!” “And some of you aren’t just destroying your own future, you’re dragging other people down into the mud with you! How do you sleep at night?” “Living without regret means taking responsibility for who you’re going to be tomorrow! It means having a spine!” “Love is paramount? Can romance pay your bills? Can love put food on your table?” To me, love certainly couldn’t buy a meal. But to Karl and Roxie, love wasn’t just food. It was their religion, their oxygen, the supreme purpose of their existence. So, when Karl’s mother came to me, holding my hands with tears pouring down her face, begging me to yield my STEM competition slot to Karl, I didn’t hide it. I went straight to Karl and Roxie and laid it all out. Karl was shocked at first, then exploded in a volcanic fury. He stormed home and unleashed a terrifying tirade against the mother who worshipped the ground he walked on. “You’ve been doing this my entire life!” he screamed at her. “You never give a damn about what I actually feel!” “I don’t care about your stupid competition! I don’t care about MIT! Keep your damn spot!” “I love Roxie! Even if I end up working a dead-end job, I’m staying with her!” That night, Karl brought Roxie back to his house. He stood in the living room and explicitly refused to take part in the contest, severing his fast-track future in front of his father and mother. I happened to be walking past his house after finishing a grueling late-night practice test. Through the iron gates of their garden, I saw Karl kneeling in the dirt, his father’s leather belt coming down across his back again and again. Roxie knelt right beside him, tears streaming down her face, screaming at his parents to accept their pure, unsullied love. Karl’s mother was sobbing uncontrollably, clutching her chest. “I poured my heart and soul into raising you!” she wept, her voice breaking. “I don’t ask you to pay me back, Karl! I just ask you not to throw your life away!” “You talk about love now, but what about ten years from now? When you get married and have kids and the bills start piling up, how are you going to feed her? How are you going to keep a roof over your head?” “You used to be my biggest pride, Karl. Now you’re my biggest embarrassment!” And how did Karl respond? He wiped the blood from his lip, looked his mother dead in the eyes, and spat: “My life is my own!” “I love Roxie. Without her, I’d rather be dead! College is just a path for boring, ordinary sheep!” “I’m a genius! Even without a diploma, I can crush this world!” He sounded so passionate, so righteous, so heroic. His mother, unable to contain the agonizing pain in her heart, rushed forward and slapped him across the face, over and over again. She wanted to wake him up. She wanted her brilliant, golden boy back. Karl just laughed through the blows. “Roxie didn’t fail at life! She just failed some stupid standardized test! Grades don’t define a human being!” “So what if our names aren’t on some Ivy League roster? There are a million roads under our feet!” “We aren’t committing crimes, we aren’t sick, we aren’t a burden on society!” “We just want to love each other! You’re the greedy ones! You just wanted a trophy child so you could show off to your snobbish friends!” “Take your high expectations and shove them! You call yourselves parents, but you’re just selfish tyrants!” I stood in the dark outside the gate, listening quietly. Then I turned around. I walked back home, pulled out a fresh book of practice problems, and went back to work. 3 The next morning, Karl’s mother blocked my path near the school gates. Her eyes were swollen, raw red from crying all night. She glared at me with a mix of betrayal and accusation. “Why did you tell Karl about the competition spot, Freya? You never used to be like this.” I stared at her, my expression entirely blank. Her tone grew sharper, her fingers digging into my arm. “You and Karl used to be so close! How could you just stand by and watch him ruin his life? Freya, where did that sweet, kind girl go?” I bit my lip, refusing to waste a single second of my energy arguing. It was senior year. Every minute counted. When I tried to pull away, she gripped me tighter, her voice dropping into a desperate sob. “He’s going to ruin himself! Freya, please, help me. Help Karl!” “Take the competition for him! With your discipline, you can win that guaranteed spot, and then you can transfer it to him! Please, I’m begging you!” “When Karl makes it big in the future, he’ll be grateful to you! He’ll realize you’re the only girl who was ever worthy of him!” I took a deep, steady breath. The memory of my cold, dark prison cell flashed through my mind. In my past life, after Karl framed me, my frantic parents had begged his mother for mercy. And what did this woman do? She manipulated my parents, driving them to sell our house, take out illegal loans, and attempt to bribe a federal prosecutor. When the sting operation exposed them, my parents were ruined. The night before the authorities came to arrest them, they lit a charcoal grill in our sealed living room and ended their lives. Karl was an arrogant, vengeful sociopath. And his mother was no better. I looked straight into her eyes, my voice cold and calm. “There’s only one guaranteed spot, Mrs. Mercer. The principal clearly stated it belongs to whoever ranks first in the state.” “Karl’s grades have plunged so low he can barely pass basic algebra. Handing him my hard-earned work would ruin my future. You’re asking me to cheat for him. If we get caught, do you have any idea what happens to my record?” “Besides, whether Karl thrives or rots in a gutter has absolutely nothing to do with me.” “I admit I used to like him. But I liked the bright, hardworking boy who looked toward the future. Not a brain-dead romantic who throws his life away for a girl.” “I don’t know if I’m ‘worthy’ of your son, Mrs. Mercer. But I know for a fact that he isn’t worth my time.” I ripped my arm out of her grip. I turned and walked toward the school building, my footsteps steady and deliberate. Karl’s youth was about chasing a foolish, tragic romance. My youth was about building a life that no one could ever tear down.

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I picked up a tiny, injured black snake and took care of him for three whole months. Yet, I always felt like something was deeply off. Because whenever I opened my phone’s camera, no matter where he was in the apartment, he would accurately glide into the lens the exact split-second before I hit the shutter button. Just as I was puzzling over it, floating live comments suddenly flashed before my eyes: [LMAO, does this cubicle-slave bottom even know who he picked up?] [It’s only because the snake is still injured and hasn’t fully recovered that he can’t do that yet, otherwise cutie, you’d be devoured on the spot!] [This scheming snake is so terrified of losing his wifey that he’s pretending to be an innocent noodle. Who gets it?!] [I can’t! Look at how harmless this bottom looks. Hasn’t he ever heard ‘never pick up stray snakes on the roadside’?!] 1 Three months ago, I found a tiny, dying black snake curling beside a soggy drainage ditch. It was filthy, wet, and cold. Multiple wounds covered its dark body, leaving it so weak it didn’t even have the strength to slither away when I approached. It looked so helpless. I swallowed my fear, gathered my courage, and gently scooped it up into my hands. On the way to the exotic vet clinic, I drove with one hand while whispering words of comfort to calm it down, telling it I was going to help, not hurt it. I don’t know if it actually understood human speech, but it rested its small triangular head right between my thighs and rubbed against me obediently. To heal it, I spent half a month’s paycheck at the vet. I even gave up half of my gaming room, setting up a large, climate-controlled terrarium so I could monitor its recovery around the clock. 2 Lately, though, something bizarre kept happening. Something impossible to ignore. Whenever I pulled out my phone, the little snake would glide into the camera frame the exact split-second before I pressed the shutter. Every single time. Without exception. It didn’t matter if I was trying to snapshot a newly opened flower on my balcony or photograph a meal I spent hours cooking. I scrolled back through my photo album from the past three months. Out of seven hundred pictures, there wasn’t a single photo without his dark, shimmering scales somewhere in the corner! It was creeping me out. 3 I stared at the little snake resting peacefully inside the glass box. If it was a coincidence, how could he be in nearly a thousand photos? But if it was his own deliberate choice… wasn’t that completely unscientific? I let out a long sigh. Time for one final test. Just in case I was overthinking things. I grabbed my phone, crept out of the room, and stealthily opened the camera app in the living room. The next second, I heard a soft slithering sound on the floorboards. Before I could blink, a cool, dark weight glided up my shoulder. Click. I checked the new photo. Black scales dominated the center of the screen. I looked at the photo, then turned my head to look at him. My skin went numb. Before I could even process what was happening, the culprit slithered down to wrap around my wrist, gazing at me with wide, innocent eyes. His black tail wagged softly back and forth like a happy golden retriever. “Little noodle?” I gently poked his head. He flicked his dark, parted tongue, softly licking my fingertip before wrapping his tail tighter around my palm. I stroked his smooth head, intending to put him back in his box, but he clung to my arm and refused to let go. I never knew a snake could be this needy. During the first few days when I applied ointment to his wounds, I had worried he might bite me once he healed. Now, instead of fangs, I saw his soft tongue almost every hour of the day. 4 The next evening, I brought this up over drinks with my best friend, Cody. Cody listened with absolute skepticism. “Give it a break, Jonah,” Cody chuckled, taking a sip of beer. “It’s a reptile. How big is a snake’s brain anyway? Photobombing you? You’ve been working too many late shifts, man.” His dismissive tone made me defensive. “Why would I make this up? Come to my apartment and see for yourself if you don’t believe me!” Cody possessed a deep, visceral terror of cold-blooded creatures. He flinched instantly. “Hell no! Just imagining a snake living in your apartment gives me goosebumps!” He rubbed his arms, looking genuinely unsettled. The day I picked up the snake, I had texted him a picture. Cody almost threw his phone across the room and sent five sixty-second voice messages warning me never to send snake pictures again. “Look, I asked you out so you could help me figure out what to do,” I muttered. “What is there to figure out?” Cody shrugged. “Keep feeding him. So what if he likes the camera? Storage space is cheap.” “Doesn’t it strike you as unnatural?” “Every pet has weird quirks. Besides, you’re the one who picked him up. You’ve gotta take responsibility. Unless you release him into the wild so I can finally come over to play video games again.” I opened my mouth to argue, but my hand caught the edge of my beer glass, knocking it over. Liquor splashed across my hands, shirt, and the leather couch. I stood up hastily, calling the waiter over to clean up the mess. Cody slid over on the booth couch to make room for me, handing me a stack of napkins. “Relax, bro. I’m just joking. Don’t go dumping him because of me.” Cody paused, tapping his chin. “If it really creeps you out, put him up for adoption online. Plenty of reptile enthusiasts out there.” 5 When I got home, I showered, washed my ruined clothes, and prepared for an early night. My mind kept spinning with thoughts of what to do with the snake, keeping sleep at bay. In the dark room, I heard a faint rustling noise. I opened my eyes. The little black snake was resting right on my pillow, inches from my face. I startled, sitting up. His dark, vertical slit pupils stared back at me silently. “No way, buddy. Sleeping together is dangerous. Back to your tank.” He didn’t budge. I sighed, picking him up gently and placing him back inside his terrarium. After locking the glass latch, I pulled out my phone and drafted an adoption post on a pet forum. I uploaded several high-resolution photos showcasing his glossy scales from different angles. Hopefully, I could find him a dedicated owner. 6 The next morning, I woke up to find the snake curled up right beside my head again. How did he get out? I knew for a fact I had locked both his tank and my bedroom door! Seeing me awake, he slowly slithered onto my palm. Was he… nudging me? I rubbed my tired eyes, hesitating before extending my hand to stroke his smooth head. He pressed his head eagerly against my palm, begging for affection. “Alright, alright. Why are you so clingy today?” He maneuvered smoothly, gliding beneath the hem of my pajama shirt and coiling his cool body right over my collarbone. The cool sensation tickled terribly. I reached up to lift him out. Snap! A sharp pain bit into the skin between my thumb and index finger. I gasped, pulling my hand back. He had bitten me! He had never bitten me before, not even when I cleaned his open wounds! I rubbed the tiny puncture mark, disinfected it in the bathroom, and placed him firmly back in his enclosure. I had only meant to foster him until his injuries healed. Now that he was starting to bite, it was definitely time to rehome him. As I brushed my teeth, my phone buzzed on the counter. I hit speakerphone. “Hello?” A man’s voice answered quickly. “Hey man! Is that black king snake on your post still available? I want him.” “Oh, you want to adopt?” “Yeah! My girlfriend loves reptiles. I saw your local post and thought I’d check. He looks awesome in those pictures. Is there anything wrong with him?” Before I could answer, a familiar cool sensation wrapped around my ankle. I looked down. The little black snake was slithering up my leg with terrifying speed. Panicking, I reached down to grab him. In that exact split second, floating bright text flashed across my vision! [LOL, this office bottom has no idea who he picked up! The snake smelled another man’s beer on him last night and was already furious, and now he’s trying to give him away!] [Host is completely stunned! A glass tank can’t hold a shifter!] [Getting caught trying to rehome your shifter boyfriend is peak awkwardness.] My brain went completely numb as the snake coiled around my waist. What? Host? Bottom? Are they talking about me?! I’m completely straight! And there is no way I’m a bottom! While my mind spiraled in chaos, more glowing comments flooded my vision like a live stream chat: [Wait, he slithered up right as host tried to grab him… won’t he misinterpret that?] [Definitely! It’s a good thing his internal core hasn’t fully healed, otherwise host would be devoured right here on the bathroom floor!] [This snake is so manipulative, pretending to be an innocent noodle!] [Does host even know who this shifter is? Never pick up random snakes off the street!] [That’s main character luck for you. Normal people don’t drag wild vipers home!] I turned my head slightly. The small black snake extended his dark tongue, gently licking the side of my throat. The caller’s impatient voice came through the speaker. “Bro? You still there?” “He’s… he’s gone! Adopted already! Sorry!” I blurted out. “Are you kidding me? You said he was available a second ago! What a freak!” The caller began cursing, but the little snake flicked his tail tip, hitting the red disconnect button on my screen. If my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me, the snake actually rolled his eyes at the phone! The floating text exploded again: [Side note: When he finally speaks, will he call host ‘Master’ or ‘Husband’ first?] [Ahhh, I’m impatient! When is he shifting into human form?!] [Soon! Beast shifters heal ridiculously fast. Give him a couple more days!] [Wait, look at where he’s rubbing!] Rubbing? I stared at the floating comments, utterly lost, feeling his cool weight squirming against my hips. When realization hit me, I reached down nervously, trying to pry his tail away from a certain sensitive area. He dodged my hand with unbelievable agility, slithering out of my shirt, darting straight into the gaming room, and slamming the door shut. The lock clicked from the inside! [He coiled up in the corner like a dark little lump of anger!] [Can you blame him? Host almost gave him away!] I stood frozen in the hallway, completely speechless.

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At our high school graduation party, my so-called best friend tossed an old enamel lapel pin into my lap. She laughed, saying she had way too many guys chasing her, and since the poorest one bore her to death, she was letting me pick up her sloppy seconds. The moment my fingers closed around the cool metal of the pin, floating text suddenly illuminated in the air right before my eyes: [Don’t believe her! That pin belongs to the male lead. If he sees you with it, he’ll think you’re a thief!] [The male lead and female lead grew up together. They’re practically one confession away from dating. Using random trash to make him jealous is her favorite game.] [Tonight, the side character is going to get her bag searched in front of everyone and become the laughingstock of the academy!] [After this, the male lead gets her scholarship revoked just to avenge his girl. Her entire future gets trashed!] It turned out that every single scrap of kindness she had ever shown me was just a joke for her own amusement. But she didn’t know one crucial detail. I knew the line of text scratched onto the back of that lapel pin better than anyone alive. The VIP room door swung open. Reed walked in, his gaze immediately locking onto the badge in my hand. His eyes turned freezing cold. Before he could speak, I slapped the metal pin face-down onto the glass table. “Hey, Reed.” “Didn’t you say this was Taylor’s most treasured possession?” “Then why is my childhood name scratched into the back of it?” 01 The entire room fell dead silent for two seconds. Then, the leather sofas erupted into mocking laughter. “Ruby, are you out of your mind with jealousy?” “Taylor throws you a piece of trash to play with, and you actually start acting out a soap opera?” “Your childhood name? What’s next, are you going to tell us you and Reed were secretly married in preschool?” Taylor sat in the center of the sectional sofa. She was wearing a designer white dress, her curled hair cascading over her shoulders, the corners of her eyes flushed a delicate pink from the champagne. She looked at everyone like a victim on the verge of tears. Hearing my words, she paused for a second before letting out a soft, condescending giggle. “Ruby, stop it.” She reached out to grab the pin, her voice dripping with the sugary sweetness of an adult coaxing a toddler. “This is Reed’s old badge. It means a lot to him. Even if you’re obsessed with it, you can’t make up wild jokes like that.” I didn’t let go. Taylor’s hand hovered awkwardly in mid-air. Reed’s eyes shifted toward me. He stood by the entrance, the sleeves of his black button-down shirt rolled up to his forearms. On the pale skin of his wrist sat a faint, jagged scar. He got that scar when he was seven years old, falling into a drainage ditch back in the Westside slums. The floating comments surged across my vision: [Oh no, the side character is trying to steal his childhood trauma now!] [The back of the badge says ‘Misty’, right? That’s the female lead’s childhood nickname!] [He’s been searching for his first love for ten years. He hates liars more than anything.] [Get ready for the bag search! Here comes the karma!] [Wait, doesn’t Ruby’s middle name happen to be Misty too?] [Just a coincidence, stop defending the thief.] The crowd was already eager to see me humiliated. A girl jumped up from the sofa and aggressively snatched my worn canvas tote bag. She ripped the zipper open. AP Calculus workbooks, a dollar-store chapstick, and my grandmother’s medical bills spilled all over the sticky floor. She picked up the hospital notice and read it aloud with theatrical pity: “Kidney dialysis, three thousand dollars past due?” “Ruby, are you so desperate for cash that you’re actually trying to con Reed into paying your bills?” The roar of laughter hit me like a physical slap, ringing sharply in my ears. Taylor furrowed her brow with fake concern. “Don’t be mean, guys. Ruby has a lot of pride.” She always did this. She would hand the knife to someone else. Then she would gently remind them not to twist the blade too deep. I bent down and quietly gathered my grandmother’s medical bills, one by one. When my fingers brushed against the enamel pin, I flipped it over. On the tarnished gold back, someone had clumsily scratched two words with a pocketknife: For Misty. The letter ‘S’ in Misty was carved backward. The kid who scratched it was only seven years old, too young to even write his own letters correctly. Reed’s expression finally cracked. He took a sharp step forward, reaching out for the pin. Taylor’s eyes welled up with tears first. “Reed, don’t listen to her.” “She’s just depressed because the Ivy League scholarship nominations come out next week. She probably just wants to prove that somebody cares about her.” “I’m not mad at her, really.” Reed stood in absolute silence for a long time. Then, he extended his hand toward me. “Ruby, give me the pin.” His voice wasn’t loud. But the entire room instantly quieted down. They were waiting for me to break, waiting for me to cry, waiting for me to bow my head and apologize just like I used to. Instead, I gave a small smile and dropped the cool metal into his palm. As my fingers brushed against his skin, he flinched. I looked him dead in the eye and spoke softly. “Reed.” “That pin isn’t the only thing you managed to throw away.” 02 Before I turned seven, my name wasn’t Ruby Shaw. My name was Misty. My father died young, and my mother remarried, claiming I was bad luck before dumping me on my grandmother in the Westside slums. My grandmother raised me by collecting scrap metal and cardboard boxes. Everyone in the neighborhood called me Misty. Later on, my grandmother legally updated my birth certificate and registration. The name Misty was buried at the bottom of a municipal relocation file, never to be seen again. The year I met Reed, he had just escaped from kidnappers. He was hiding behind the condemned stage of an abandoned theater, burning with a violent fever, his jaws clamped tightly around a shard of broken porcelain. He looked like a feral, stray dog soaked in the rain, terrified and aggressive. I crouched down and offered him half of my sugar cookie. “What’s your name?” “Wilder,” he rasped through dry lips. “I’m Misty,” I said. “Sounds cool together, doesn’t it?” He was delirious from the fever, but he still sneered. “Misty is a stupid name. Fog just blows away the second the wind hits it.” I didn’t hold it against him. That night, I stole aspirin from my grandmother’s cabinet and hid him inside a wooden crate beneath the old stage. The next morning, the men hunting him tracked him down to our alley. Terrified they would find him, I grabbed a loose brick and smashed the leader right above the eyebrow. The man kicked me so hard I flew into a pile of shattered glass, leaving a gash between my thumb and forefinger that required seven stitches. Eventually, his wealthy family found him. A fleet of black luxury cars blocked the entire dirt road. Before the bodyguards lifted Wilder into the car, he grabbed my hand and refused to let go. His eyes were bloodshot, but he tried to put on a brave, tough face. “Misty, wait for me.” “When I grow up, I’ll buy you a real academy badge.” Back then, Westridge Prep was the most elite school in the city. He always bragged that he would get in someday. I nodded. Years later, the slums were demolished, and my grandmother moved us into a cramped public housing flat. I became Ruby Shaw. In the second semester of my freshman year, I earned a full academic scholarship to Westridge Prep. My uniform was washed until the fabric turned gray, my sneakers were glued together at the seams, and my bangs hung long enough to hide my eyes. Nobody in the classroom wanted to sit next to the charity case. Only Taylor voluntarily moved her desk next to mine, flashing a brilliant smile. “Ruby, I think you’re really special.” I actually believed her back then. When she said she hated the cafeteria breakfast, I woke up at five in the morning and walked twelve extra blocks to buy her favorite bakery croissants. When she said she didn’t understand AP Calculus, I broke down my competition notes into the simplest, step-by-step explanations and tutored her for hours. When she said her parents were too strict about boys, I screened her messages for her. I threw away the love letters she didn’t want. I blocked the guys she didn’t care to see. Now and then, she would throw me a tiny bone. A half-used designer lip gloss, a headband she didn’t like anymore, or a casual, “Ruby, you’re literally my best friend.” That lasted until the winter of my sophomore year. I walked to the dance studio to drop off her winter coat and overheard her chatting with the cheer squad. “Do you seriously treat Ruby like a real friend?” someone asked. Taylor let out a delicate, airy laugh. “Her? She’s just useful.” “Poor people have fragile egos. If you throw them a tiny bit of validation, they’ll act like your personal servant.” I stood outside the door, my knuckles turning white as I gripped her coat. Just as I turned to run, someone reached out and offered me a small pack of tissues. Reed leaned casually against the lockers, his expression entirely unreadable. “Don’t cry on her expensive coat.” It wasn’t a nice thing to say. But he wasn’t laughing at me. After that day, I started paying attention to Reed. He was the “Reed” Taylor always bragged about. Their families lived in the same gated estate, running in the same wealthy circles since birth. Everyone at academy said it was only a matter of time before they made it official. I thought so too. Until one afternoon, I went to the gym equipment room to drop off a inventory log. The door was slightly cracked. I heard Taylor whining inside. “Reed, why won’t you just ask me out already?” His voice was quiet and heavy. “Taylor, I’m looking for someone.” “You mean that girl Misty again?” My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it would crack my chest open. I wanted to push that door open. I wanted to tell him that I was Misty. But an instant later, Taylor opened the door from the inside. Seeing me standing there, her face didn’t register a single hint of surprise. “Ruby, you heard all of that?” She smiled, casually taking the clipboard out of my frozen hands. “Then you should know your place. In some stories, even if the poor girl tries to insert herself, she’ll never be the main character.” 03 The graduation party ended in total disaster. As I walked out of the VIP room, the whispers from my classmates still trailed down the hallway. “Is Ruby insane? Why would she fight Taylor over trash?” “She’s always been pathetic like that. Whatever Taylor has, she stares at like a hungry dog.” “I heard her scholarship nomination is in trouble. She probably just snapped.” I didn’t look back. Reed jogged out and caught up to me. “Ruby.” I stopped walking. He stood three steps away from me, his fingers clamped tightly around the old enamel badge. The dim hallway lights washed across his features, stripping away his usual cold arrogance and leaving behind raw panic. “What did you mean by what you said in there?” I looked back at him. “What do you want it to mean?” Reed stared intently at my face. “The old Westside slums. The abandoned theater. The sugar cookies.” “Do you know about those?” He had clearly investigated his past. He just hadn’t found the whole truth. The floating text surged again: [Wait, what is happening? Is the side character actually his first love?!] [No way! In the original plot, she just makes up lies to get attention, and the male lead chooses to believe the female lead anyway.] [Taylor, get out here and explain! Don’t let the liar steal your backstory!] [Why does the male lead look so desperate right now?] I looked at Reed. For a split second, I genuinely wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to tell him that when he was convulsing from a fever, I begged the clinic doctor to put the medicine on my tab. I wanted to tell him that when those men cornered him in the alley, I held a broken glass bottle in my bare hands to buy him time. But in the end, all I said was: “No idea.” The desperate light in his eyes instantly died out. His knuckles turned white around the badge. “Then how did you know about the engraving on the back?” Before I could answer, Taylor hurried out of the room. Her eyes were rimmed with red, playing the innocent victim to perfection. “Reed, stop questioning her.” “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have brought the pin out.” “Ruby is just jealous of my life. She didn’t mean any harm.” Her voice broke into delicate sobs. Reed’s jaw tightened. But for the first time ever, he didn’t immediately reach out to comfort her. Taylor froze in shock. I suddenly felt exhausted by the entire game. I turned around to leave. Taylor lunged forward and grabbed my wrist from behind. “Ruby, the final Ivy League recommendation list gets posted next week, right?” “You really wouldn’t want a nasty scandal ruining your chances at a time like this.” 04 Taylor’s retaliation arrived much faster than I expected. During first period the next morning, my guidance counselor called me into his office. A thick stack of printed chat logs sat on his desk. The printouts showed me offering competition answers in exchange for scholarship votes, along with fake bank transfers to faculty members. The screenshots were flawless. The profile picture, the handle, the timestamps, everything matched my account. The only problem was that I had never written a single word of it. The counselor looked disgusted. “Ruby, the administration is taking these allegations very seriously.” “Until the ethics board completes an investigation, your nomination for Valedictorian speaker is suspended.” I stared down at the printed papers. I didn’t cry, and I didn’t waste my breath defending myself. The floating comments were already spoiling the aftermath: [Here it comes! Her scholarship is officially gone!] [This is so satisfying. She never deserved to breathe the same air as the female lead.] [Taylor is just teaching her a little lesson. That’s what she gets for touching the male lead’s keepsake.] [Wait, did Ruby actually send those messages?] [Who cares? As long as everyone believes she did, that’s all that matters.] They were right. Did the truth even matter? Taylor’s greatest talent wasn’t creating a lie. It was making sure everyone around her was eager to believe it. By noon, an anonymous confession post popped up on the academy’s forum. [A certain scholarship student tried to steal her best friend’s crush, and now she’s caught cheating on her academics too.] It didn’t use my name. But the attached photo clearly showed my profile as I walked out of the guidance office with my head down. The comments broke three thousand in an hour. People called me a desperate gold-digger. People called me a fake intellectual. Someone even dug up my awful student ID photo from freshman year and captioned it: “Looking like a stray dog and she still thinks she can compete with Taylor? Delusional.” I sat on the concrete steps of the stairwell, scrolling through the comments one by one. A notification banner popped down from the top of my screen. Reed: [Where are you?] I ignored it. He sent another: [I know you didn’t do it.] My thumb hovered over the glass. A second later, an incoming call took over the screen. I answered, greeted instantly by his tense, frustrated voice. “Ruby, look up.” I raised my head. Reed stood at the top of the stairwell, holding a carton of milk and a pastry from the bakery. His eyes dropped to the bright red slap mark across my cheek, his pupils contracting sharply. “Who hit you?” I touched my face. Oh. One of Taylor’s cheerleaders had walked past me in the hall and decided to teach me a lesson. I didn’t fight back. Not because I couldn’t win. The hallway security camera was broken. If I fought back, they would just tell the principal I was the aggressor. Reed walked down the steps and crouched in front of me, his voice rough. “Why didn’t you dodge?” I offered a dry smile. “Hey, Reed. Aren’t you worried Taylor might cry if she sees you talking to the school pariah?” He didn’t answer. He unscrewed the cap of the milk bottle and held it out to me. “Eat something first.” I didn’t reach for it. He stayed silent for a moment, then grabbed my hand and forced the warm bottle into my palm. “Ruby, you don’t have to look at me like I’m your enemy.” I finally met his eyes. “Then how should I look at you?” “Do I need to squeeze out two pretty tears like Taylor before you believe I’m innocent?” Reed’s throat bobbed. “I don’t believe her.” “But you didn’t believe me either.” He stiffened. The moment the words left my mouth, I caught myself. It sounded too much like a complaint. A complaint that he hadn’t recognized me after all these years. A complaint that he had let Taylor wear my memory like a costume. A complaint that he had stood by and watched me get dragged into the dirt over and over again. I stood up and set the milk bottle down on the step. “I don’t need your charity, Reed.” “And stop searching for Misty.” “She stopped waiting for you a long time ago.” 05 That afternoon, the administration called an emergency senior assembly. The head of the scholarship committee stepped up to the podium and spoke into the microphone: “Due to recent controversies regarding academic integrity, Ruby Shaw’s nomination for the Ivy League endowment is officially suspended.” A wave of whispers rippled through the auditorium. Taylor sat in the front row, turning her head to look back at me. There wasn’t any obvious gloating in her eyes. Just a sickening, superior kind of pity. After the assembly dismissed, she cornered me in the restroom. “Ruby, it’s not too late to apologize,” she said, pulling a designer compact out of her purse to touch up her lipstick. “Give the lapel pin back to Reed, tell everyone you were making up stories last night, and I’ll personally talk to the dean for you.” I watched her reflection in the mirror. “Taylor, aren’t you exhausted?” Her smile faltered. “Stealing someone else’s childhood just so you can get babied for ten years. Doesn’t that get exhausting?” She raised her hand to slap me across the face. This time, I caught her wrist in mid-air. I squeezed hard. The blood drained from her face as she gasped in pain. I leaned in close to her ear and whispered: “Why do you think I haven’t released my statement yet?” Panic finally cracked her composed mask. That night, she sent a text demanding I meet her on the academy roof. By the time I pushed through the access door, the sky was pitch black. The wind was brutal, slamming the heavy iron door against its frame. She stood near the safety railing, her eyes puffy and wet. “Ruby, we were friends for three years.” “Do you really have to ruin everything over a stupid crush?” I gave a cold laugh. “A little late to play the best friend card, don’t you think?” She bit her lip. “Fine. I admit someone helped me edit those chat logs.” “But you aren’t innocent either!” “You knew Reed was obsessed with finding that little girl from the slums, and you deliberately used the badge to mess with his head.” I looked at her, truly amazed by her delusion. “Taylor, did your brain stop working? You literally threw that badge into my lap.” “So what?!” She finally dropped the act. Her pretty face twisted into something ugly in the darkness. “I can make you the most popular girl at Westridge Prep, or I can make you a pathetic joke before graduation! You belong to whatever category I put you in!” I tapped the screen of my phone, saving the voice memo. Her expression shattered as she lunged forward to grab my device. I stepped aside, letting her stumble. Suddenly, the heavy iron door burst open. Reed stood in the doorway. He was breathing heavily, clearly having sprinted up the stairs, his eyes fixated entirely on Taylor’s face. Taylor instantly burst into hysterical sobs. “Reed! It’s not what it sounded like!” “I was just terrified!” “I was scared she was going to take you away from me!” He walked out onto the roof, step by slow step. He didn’t even look at her. He walked straight toward me. “Did she hurt you?” Taylor’s sobs cut off instantly. The floating text exploded into chaos: [Wait, what is happening to the male lead?! Why is he checking on the side character?!] [This isn’t how the script goes!] [Taylor is crying her eyes out! Is he blind?!] I slid my phone safely into my blazer pocket, my voice flat. “No.” Reed let out a long, shaky breath. Taylor completely unraveled. “Reed!” “Did you forget who stayed by your side for the last ten years?!” “Does a decade of my life mean nothing compared to a few weeks in a slum?!” He finally turned his head to look at her. “Taylor, you know the only reason I ever let you stay around me was because your nickname was Misty too.” All the color drained from Taylor’s face in an instant. She opened her mouth, but her throat couldn’t produce a single sound. He looked away from her, his gaze dropping to my left hand, which I always kept tucked long inside my uniform cuff. His eyes turned red around the rims. “Ruby.” “Who are you, really?”

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1 Rachel insisted on keeping our marriage hidden from the world. She made me delete our wedding photo captioned “To the rest of our lives,” calling it childish. On our third anniversary, I stood in a freezing parking garage for three hours with her favorite flowers after she walked away from her office entrance, texting that I’d humiliate her in front of employees. I convinced myself she was just shy and reserved, that I should be more understanding. Then last week, her old phone lit up. A notification read “1,500 days together” with a photo of her and Dylan, the underprivileged student she’d sponsored through college, cheek to cheek at Disneyland. I had used my own connections to get Dylan a corporate job. At his welcome dinner, he’d raised a glass and called me “big bro.” Scrolling through her secret account, I found four years of daily posts about him. Their first hot pot, first snowfall, first ferris wheel. Every caption dripped with a giddy sweetness she had never once shown me. Blood rushed from my head. I powered off the phone and placed it back in the drawer. If she didn’t want the world to see me, then I no longer wanted her to see me either. … That night, I sat on the floor of the study until dawn, scrolling through her alt account over and over again. On Valentine’s Day this year, I had booked a table at a Michelin-starred restaurant six months in advance. But at the last minute, Rachel texted me saying she had an urgent emergency at work and told me not to wait up. I ended up giving the reservation to another couple, sitting in my cold kitchen eating instant noodles while texting her: “Don’t push yourself too hard at work, babe. If it ever gets too exhausting, I can support us both.” She never replied. Yet on her secret account posted that exact same night, she was leaning head on Dylan’s arm. Her caption read: [Our fourth Valentine’s Day together. Thank you for making me believe in love.] Below it, Dylan had commented: [You don’t just believe in love. You are my love.] The next morning, Rachel walked out of the master bedroom in her silk robe. Seeing me sitting on the couch with dark circles under my eyes, her brow furrowed immediately. Her first words were not of concern. “Why are you still sitting there? Is breakfast ready?” I nodded silently, pointing toward the dining table. She hummed a response, sitting down to eat while staring intently at her phone. Her fingers flew across the screen, and the corners of her mouth curved into a soft, tender arc. I knew that smile all too well. Whenever she was texting on her phone, that gentle expression would invariably appear. In the past, I would have asked her what good news had put her in such a wonderful mood. And she would inevitably brush me off with a cold, “It’s nothing.” This time, I finally knew who she was talking to. And I no longer cared to ask. At ten in the morning, a priority notification chimed on my phone. Rachel had made a public post on her main account: [Grateful for the company’s trust. Today, I am officially promoted to General Manager of Marketing at Apex Group!] The comment section was flooded with congratulations from her professional circle. I typed two simple words in the comments: [Congratulations!] Three minutes later, my phone rang. The second I picked up, Rachel’s sharp voice blasted through the speaker. “Did you comment on my post again?” “How many times have I told you not to mix our personal relationship with my career? My executives and clients can see that!” I went quiet for three seconds before speaking in a flat tone. “I already deleted it.” Noticing the unusual coldness in my voice, her tone softened just a fraction. “Don’t do it again. I just got promoted, and I need to maintain my professional image. Can’t you just be reasonable for once?” After hanging up, I scrolled through an official press release published by Apex Group. [Apex Group Lands Multi-Million Dollar Contract with Ellington Enterprises; Marketing GM Rachel Plays Key Role] The cover photo featured her standing at the signing ceremony, sharp, gorgeous, and glowing with confidence. The article lavished five thousand words of praise on her brilliance and tactical leadership, even extending thanks to the company’s internal logistics team. There was not a single word mentioning me. Yet the only reason that contract was signed was because of me. Three months ago, Mr. Ellington had slammed the initial proposal back onto the table, declaring that Apex Group’s work was complete garbage. Rachel had been so frantic with stress that cold sores broke out around her mouth. It was me who mobilized six years of hard-won industry connections, calling in every favor I was owed. Mr. Ellington didn’t care about proposals; he cared about drinking. I accompanied him to high-end lounges three nights in a row, drinking until the early hours of the morning. On the third night, I suffered acute stomach bleeding and was rushed to the emergency room by my colleagues. I spent two days alone in the hospital hooked up to an IV drip. Rachel came to visit me once for forty minutes. During that visit, she took eight business calls. As she left, she merely said, “I won’t be home for dinner tonight.” I stared at that press release for a long time. Then, I dialed the personal number of my company’s Vice President, Vernon. “Vernon, about that long-term transfer to the London branch… I’ll take it.” Vernon gasped over the line, completely stunned. “Are you serious? A few years ago during your peak, the board asked for you three times, and you refused every single time because you said you couldn’t bear to leave your wife.” I let out a soft laugh. “Yeah. I’ve thought it through now.” That afternoon, an invitation arrived in my inbox from Apex Group. [Dear Family Member of Rachel: You are cordially invited to attend Apex Group’s Annual Celebration Gala tonight!] A faint glimmer of hope flickered in my heart. Maybe Rachel did care after all. I was her lawful husband, and for a major corporate event like this, it made sense that she wanted me by her side. I took half a day off work, put on the tailored navy suit Rachel had bought me years ago, and adjusted my tie in the mirror before heading out. By the time I arrived, the grand ballroom was already packed with guests. I flipped through the guest directory at the VIP sign-in desk, but my name was nowhere to be found. I asked the receptionist. She scanned her computer screen, then looked up at me with a polite, confused smile. “Ms. Rachel only registered one family member under her name, a Mr. Dylan. May I ask who you are?” Before I could answer, a few female voices chuckled behind me. “Oh, look who it is!” It was a few women from Rachel’s marketing department whom I had seen from a distance before. “I’m Rachel’s husband,” I said calmly. The women exchanged amused glances, one of them covering her mouth to hide a smirk. “Oh, right! Rachel mentions you all the time, saying you make fantastic home-cooked meals.” Another woman chimed in, her voice pitched just loud enough for the surrounding crowd to hear. “Honestly, I thought Rachel was single. I’ve never seen her bring her husband to anything. She always brings young Dylan to every event, so I thought those two were…” Before she could finish her sentence, her friends nudged her, and they walked off giggling. I stood at the entrance, leaving the sign-in sheet blank. Beside the label reading Family of Rachel, Dylan’s signature was already neatly written. I walked into the dimly lit ballroom and found an empty chair in the very back row. The stage lights brightened. Rachel stepped up to the podium wearing a stunning black evening gown, looking sleek and commanding. Thunderous applause erupted throughout the room. She began her speech. “I want to thank my incredible team, especially Dylan. From his days as an intern to now, he has been my most trusted partner. Without him, today’s achievement would not have been possible.” A spotlight swept across the audience, settling on Dylan. Dressed in a sharp suit, he stood up and bowed gracefully toward the stage. The look in Rachel’s eyes as she gazed down at him was one I knew intimately. It was filled with pride, affection, and that subtle upward curve of her lips, the exact same expression she had while typing into her old phone. Another round of applause filled the room. Sitting in the darkest corner of the back row, my mind drifted back to three months ago, lying in the ER, holding up my own IV bottle with one hand while sending her a text: Ellington agreed to the deal. Don’t worry anymore. Her reply back then had been a single word: K. Halfway through the dinner, I stepped out to use the restroom. Passing by the secluded hallway near the balcony, I heard Rachel’s voice. She was talking to her close friend, Samantha. Samantha asked her, “Did your husband come tonight? Why didn’t you bring him to an event like this?” Rachel paused briefly. “Why would he come? He doesn’t fit into occasions like this anyway. If he came, he’d just sit in a corner awkwardly.” Samantha countered, “He’s your husband after all. He helped you secure that massive contract. What’s wrong with introducing him around?” Rachel lowered her voice, a slight edge of disdain creeping into her tone. “Sam, you know as well as I do that he isn’t someone I can show off. The major clients and corporate partners are all here tonight. If I introduce him and they ask what he does, what am I supposed to say? That tiny little firm of his isn’t even worth mentioning!” Samantha let out a light laugh. “It’s not that bad, is it? He seems to be doing decent for himself.” “Doing decent and being presentable are two completely different things,” Rachel replied casually, as if talking about an irrelevant piece of furniture. “Do you have any idea how presentable Dylan is? Not only is he handsome, but he’s also sharp and charming. He’s entirely different from my man.” I leaned back against the cold wall, feeling an overwhelming tightness in my chest. It wasn’t sharp pain, but a suffocating weight. You break your back trying to give someone dignity, only for them to feel embarrassed by your very existence in front of the world. When we got married, I was indeed broke. The wedding and expenses totaled nearly three hundred thousand dollars. I maxed out three credit cards and borrowed from every friend I knew to pull it off. Back then, she had held my hand and said, “I’m marrying you for who you are, not your money.” I believed her for four years. After marriage, I worked myself to the bone. By the second year, I had cleared every single debt. Aside from taking full responsibility for our mortgage and car loans, I transferred two thousand dollars to her parents every single month without fail. I genuinely thought she didn’t care about material status. In the end, she still looked down on me for being poor. Not because of where I stood today, but because in her heart, I would forever remain that broke kid who couldn’t even afford a proper wedding. I didn’t return to the gala. Instead, I walked down to the parking garage, got into my car, and sat silently in the dark. My phone vibrated with a new notification. It was an email from my company containing my flight details. My flight to London was scheduled for next Monday. Six days from now. I didn’t know what time Rachel came home that night, but she stayed in the study for a long time before coming to bed. Early the next morning, Rachel shook me awake. “Derek, hurry up and pack your things.” Every Sunday, going back to my in-laws’ house for lunch was an unwritten rule of our four-year marriage. This Sunday was no exception. I carried armfuls of expensive gift boxes through their front door and greeted them respectfully. “Dad, Mom, we’re back.” My father-in-law sat on the couch reading the morning paper, not even bothering to lift his eyelids. “Mm.” My mother-in-law poked her head out of the kitchen. “Derek, come in here and wash the vegetables.” “Sure.” I immediately walked into the kitchen. My mother-in-law dumped a basket of greens into the sink and wiped her hands against her apron. “Derek, how many employees do you have at that company of yours now?” I washed the leaves under running water and replied, “About twenty-five. Our revenue doubled this year.” “Mm,” my mother-in-law replied indifferently. “Small-time operations, as long as you can feed yourself. Rachel is climbing higher and higher in her corporate career, so you need to step up your game too. Don’t be the dead weight dragging her down from behind.” I kept my head down and didn’t respond. “Alright, get to chopping. There are eight dishes today. Make sure to add extra vinegar to the sweet and sour pork, Rachel likes it tangy.” She turned and left the kitchen. I stayed in the kitchen alone, washing, chopping, prepping, and cooking. From ten in the morning until nearly one in the afternoon, not a single person stepped inside to check on me. When I finally carried the last dish out to the dining room, I froze in my tracks. An extra person had arrived in the living room. “Hey, bro!” Dylan was sitting comfortably on the couch, laughing brightly as he helped my father-in-law set up a brand-new tablet. I didn’t reply. Seeing me stand frozen with the dish in my hands, my mother-in-law smiled warmly. “Oh right, Dylan dropped by for lunch today. I forgot to mention it to you.” She then turned to Dylan with a beaming smile. “Dylan, try this sweet and sour pork. Derek made it, his cooking is actually quite good.” Dylan picked up a piece with his chopsticks, his eyes lighting up. “Delicious! Bro, your cooking is incredible.” He flashed a boyish grin at me. “Rachel always tells me how amazing your food is.” Rachel gave him a light glare from the side. “Who are you calling Rachel? Stop pretending to be so formal!” Dylan stuck his tongue out playfully. “Well, bro is right here…” My father-in-law laid down his newspaper and chimed in, “Dylan, Rachel told me about your stellar performance at work recently. Keep up the good work!” He then shifted his gaze toward me, his tone dropping into a starkly different, stern register. “Is your little company still operating out of that run-down office space?” I nodded slightly. My father-in-law let out a heavy sigh. “You’re not getting any younger. Stop wasting your time on those dead-end ventures.” My mother-in-law quickly added, “Exactly. Look at Dylan here, such a wonderful boy. He knows how to be grateful and comes to visit us every week.” She cast a dismissive glance in my direction. “Unlike some people, who run around pretending to be busy all day without anything to show for it.” A heavy silence fell over the dining table for a couple of seconds before my father-in-law spoke up again. “Derek, don’t blame us for being brutally honest.” “When Rachel insisted on marrying you back then, we knew it wasn’t a good match.” “It’s not that we look down on you, but the gap between you two is simply too wide.” He glanced at Dylan, then back at me. “Look at Dylan. Even though he came from a poor background, he has ambition, real drive, and talent. In the future, he’ll definitely be worthy of…” He cut himself off mid-sentence. But everyone at the table knew exactly what he was about to say. Rachel let out two artificial coughs to break the tension. “Let’s just eat.” For the rest of the meal, I didn’t say another word, nor could I find a way into their conversation. Once lunch was finished, Rachel looked up and said to me coolly, “You go home first. Dylan and I are staying to watch a movie with my parents.” I nodded silently, put on my jacket, and walked out the door. The moment I stepped out of the apartment building, I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my lawyer: [Draft a divorce agreement for me. As fast as humanly possible.] By Thursday evening, I returned home early to gather the final confirmation documents for the London project. As I unlocked the front door, I caught the sound of Rachel’s voice coming from the master bedroom. She was on the phone, her voice hushed to a whisper. “Mom, I know… I’m going to the clinic tomorrow to confirm it.” “Don’t tell anyone yet. I haven’t figured out how to break it to him… This baby came out of nowhere, I’m completely overwhelmed myself.” I stood in the entryway, my hand frozen on the doorknob. My heart slammed against my ribs. A baby. We were going to have a child. I was going to be a father. In that split second, a barrage of thoughts flooded my mind. Maybe everything could go back to the way it used to be. Maybe a child would soften her heart and change her. We could go to prenatal checkups together and design the nursery side by side. Maybe I could even reconsider the London transfer… The very next sentence out of her mouth plunged me straight into a pit of ice. “Dylan doesn’t know I’m carrying his baby yet.” “I know. I’ll handle Derek on my end. Don’t worry, Mom, I know what I’m doing.” I stood rooted to the spot, entirely motionless. It felt as though someone had drained every drop of warm blood from my body and replaced it with freezing slush. The baby belonged to Dylan. A few seconds after hanging up with her mother, I heard Rachel dial another number. This time, her voice transformed completely. It was filled with a soft, coquettish sweetness that I had never once heard in our four years together. “Dylan, I have incredible news for you.” “I’m pregnant. It’s yours.” The person on the other end said something, making her giggle softly. “I’m going to file for divorce with Derek, don’t worry.” “Once the paperwork goes through, we can finally be together in the open.” However, no matching joy came from the speaker. Dylan remained silent for a painfully long moment. “You’re… pregnant?” Rachel’s tone shifted instantly, laced with anxiety. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy?” Dylan finally spoke, his voice sounding entirely detached. “I’m only twenty-six. I’m still young, Rachel. I don’t want to be trapped by a child and a marriage right now.” Rachel’s voice turned instantly cold. “What do you mean by that? Are you saying you won’t take responsibility?” Dylan launched into a long explanation. Separated by the heavy bedroom door, I couldn’t hear every detail, but I could hear Rachel’s breathing grow heavier and heavier, eventually turning into suppressed sobs. Then, I heard Dylan’s final proposal. His idea was simple: let Derek raise the child for now, and when the timing was right in the future, he would step in and take over. The bedroom fell into a suffocating silence for so long that I thought she had hung up the phone. Finally, Rachel spoke, her voice raspy and broken. “…Fine. That’s the only way.” At that exact moment, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Rachel. [Babe, come home early tonight. I have something really important to tell you.] [I have a big surprise for you!] She had even attached a red heart emoji at the end of the message. Standing in the entryway, a wave of dark absurdity washed over me. My wife was pregnant with another man’s child. That man rejected her. So she turned right back around to force me to take the fall. And she called that a surprise. I stared at that little red heart emoji for a long time. In four years of marriage, this was the very first time she had ever sent me a heart emoji. Only because another man didn’t want her anymore. I typed out a single line in response: [Great. I’ve prepared a surprise for you, too.] After pressing send, I messaged my executive assistant, instructing him to rebook my Monday flight to London to the earliest available flight today. Then, I grabbed my pre-packed suitcase, walked out, and pulled the door shut behind me. At seven in the evening, Rachel walked through the front door carrying bags of groceries, calling out with a forced smile. “Babe! I’m back! I have something to tell you!” “I’m preg…” Her voice sliced off instantly. The apartment was deathly quiet and completely empty. On the dining table sat a single set of keys and a copy of the divorce agreement.

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I wrapped up my Paris acquisition early and flew back home without telling a soul. My plan was to go straight to my daughter’s engagement banquet and give her a surprise. Instead, standing right outside the grand ballroom, I stared at the bride’s name on the gilded welcome sign: Jane Prescott. Behind me, guests from the groom’s side were chuckling among themselves. “Now that is a real heiress of the Prescott family.” “Unlike that girl Elinor. She’s just an orphan living off the Prescott family’s charity, yet she had the nerve to crash the event and claim the family wanted to call off the engagement. What a complete joke!” “Jane has such a gentle heart. Anyone else would have kicked Elinor out on the street days ago.” Elinor was my daughter. Jane was merely the orphan my family foundation sponsored. Yet somehow, the entire groom’s side believed Jane was the true Prescott heiress, while my actual daughter was treated like a shameless gold-digger trying to climb the social ladder. I pulled out my phone and dialed my board secretary’s private number. “Run a check for me immediately,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I want to know who stole my daughter’s identity and her engagement while I was in Paris.” 1 The entire penthouse ballroom at The Grand Carlton had been booked out by the Mercer family. Champagne towers, archways of fresh orchids, a dedicated press gallery, and reserved tables for major corporate partners, no expense had been spared. The backdrop behind the main stage displayed four glaring words: The Mercer-Prescott Union. Word on the street in Linton was that the Mercer Group’s cash flow had been dangerously tight lately. Tonight wasn’t just a simple engagement party for them; it was their lifeline. I stood in the side hallway, observing from the shadows. A few women in cocktail dresses were sipping champagne nearby. “Isn’t Victoria Prescott still in Paris?” one asked. “That’s why the Mercers are so smart,” another replied with a smirk. “Announce the engagement publicly first. By the time Victoria gets back, the kid will already be on the way. How could she possibly refuse to acknowledge her own son-in-law then?” “Jane’s pregnancy came at the perfect time. The Mercer Group is completely safe now.” A third woman let out a contemptuous laugh. “What about Elinor then? I saw security stopping her at the side entrance just a moment ago.” “What can she do? A charity case who got too comfortable, actually convincing herself she’s a real Prescott.” The temperature in my blood dropped to near zero. At that moment, the doors to the bridal suite opened. Jane stepped out. She wore a pearl-white evening gown, one hand resting softly over her belly. Her makeup was delicate, her eyes artificially reddened to look soft and fragile. A crowd immediately swarmed around her. “Miss Prescott, congratulations!” “Zachary is so devoted to you. This setup is absolutely breathtaking.” “A girl raised by the Prescott family really is built different. No wonder the Mercer family treasures you so much.” Jane lowered her gaze, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Please don’t call me that. If Elinor hears it, it’ll make her uncomfortable.” Someone immediately jumped to her defense. “Why should she feel uncomfortable? Your family raised her for years, and now she wants to steal your fiance? People receiving charity should know their place. Jane, you’re just too kind for your own good.” Jane didn’t add another word. She simply offered a delicate, tearful smile. I reached out and stopped a young businessman walking past me. “Excuse me. Is tonight’s bride the daughter of Victoria Prescott?” He looked me up and down. “Of course. Jane Prescott.” “Are you certain?” He laughed. “What’s there to doubt? She carries the Prescott name, rides in the family’s private cars, and her social media is packed with photos inside the Prescott estate, private jets, and board galas. Zachary himself confirmed she’s the sole heir to Prescott Enterprise.” He leaned in closer, dropping his voice. “She keeps a low profile, though. Whenever people call her Miss Prescott, she tells them not to make a fuss.” “What about Elinor?” I asked. The man’s expression twisted into disgust. “Oh, her? Word is she’s just an orphan funded by the Prescott Foundation. Guess she lived in their mansion for too long and started pretending she owned the place. She even tried to crash the party tonight to cause a scene.” I didn’t bother asking anything else. Over by the side entrance, Elinor was standing near the security checkpoint. She wore a simple black dress, holding her ID card and an invitation, blocked by two burly security guards. “Apologies, ma’am,” the guard said coldly. “Our guest list specifically notes that you are barred from entering the main hall.” Elinor’s voice was soft, but steady. “The invitation specifies family members of the Prescott house. My last name is Prescott.” The guard remained impassive. “Mrs. Mercer specifically instructed us that you are a high-risk disturbance.” The second guard sneered impatiently. “Miss Jane is pregnant. Don’t stress her out. If you want to wait, go sit in the holding room down the hall. Don’t block the camera crew.” Elinor’s face went completely pale. She didn’t scream or make a scene. She simply clutched her ID card tightly in her palm. My daughter, standing outside an engagement party meant for her, was labeled as a trashy intruder while a fraud stole her life. I almost rushed over to hold her. But I forced myself to stop. Holding her right now would only bring her tears. I needed every single person inside that hall to see who the real joke was. I looked back at Jane, who was surrounded by applause, softly rubbing her belly while accepting blessings. Then I looked at Elinor, standing alone outside the doors of her own home’s legacy. A cold laughter boiled in my chest. The Mercer family thought they could corner me into backing their loans tonight. They had no idea that I detest being cornered. And I especially detest parasites using my daughter’s dignity as a stepping stone. 2 I pulled out my phone and sent a rapid series of texts to my chief of staff, Simon. [Freeze all security footage from the hotel.] [Retrieve the event itinerary, security rosters, press releases, and Mercer Group’s latest financing pitch decks.] [Have legal prepare all evidence for screen projection.] [Ensure no key guests at tonight’s head tables leave early.] Simon replied almost instantly: [Understood, Ms. Prescott.] With three hours left before the official ceremony, I checked into a private suite on the twenty-sixth floor. When Simon and my head of legal, Dominic, arrived, they didn’t even have time to take off their coats. Simon placed an iPad in front of me. “Ms. Prescott, Jane didn’t come up with this overnight.” The first slide showed a social media post from Jane three years ago. The photo was taken inside the glass botanical greenhouse on the north side of the Prescott estate. Caption: Mom pushed me to come home for dinner again. In the original photo, Elinor and I were standing right next to the floral racks. When Jane posted it, she cropped us out completely, leaving only the iconic greenhouse that everyone in high society recognized. The second slide showed her posing inside a luxury vehicle. Caption: My driver says traffic is terrible today. The license plate belonged to Elinor’s private security detail. The third slide featured a dusty-blue haute couture gown. It was a one-of-a-kind piece I had personally bought for Elinor’s twentieth birthday at an auction in Geneva. Jane’s caption read: My closet is overflowing. Mom is forcing me to clear out some space again. She never outright stated, “I am Victoria Prescott’s daughter.” She just casually mentioned “Mom.” She never outright said, “This is my car.” She just referred to the “driver.” She never blatantly declared herself the heiress. She simply let people see her using the Prescott name, riding in Prescott cars, and standing inside the Prescott mansion. And she let society fill in the blanks for her. Dominic opened a secondary file. “Jane’s original name was Jane Jiang. She legally changed her surname to Prescott at age nineteen.” Her official application reason was smoothly written: Deeply grateful for the Prescott Foundation’s support, wishing to honor the name. Yet buried deep in the original charity agreement, printed in stark black and white, were three explicit terms: Does not constitute legal adoption. Does not establish familial status. Grants no rights to Prescott Group equity, family trusts, or inheritance. I stared at those terms, letting out a sharp laugh. She hid the three most critical legal clauses, while dangling the name “Prescott” in front of the world. “What about the Mercer family?” I asked. Simon’s expression darkened further. “In the pitch deck the Mercer Group sent to several commercial banks, they attached tonight’s itinerary. The header explicitly declares a ‘Mercer-Prescott Union,’ complete with a forged summary of an intent-to-partner agreement with Prescott Enterprise.” Dominic added, “The corporate seal on that summary was digitally spliced from old documents. It is entirely fraudulent.” In short, the Mercers weren’t just using this party to generate clout. They were using a fake endorsement to trick major banks into releasing credit lines. I scrolled down. In an email chain between the Mercers and their PR firm, one sentence stood out like a thorn: Victoria Prescott is still tied up in Paris and cannot deny it in person. Announce the union first, secure the signatures later. Leak the news of Jane’s pregnancy simultaneously. To protect their corporate reputation, the Prescotts will most likely accept it quietly. I slammed the tablet onto the glass table. “Ambitious little bastards, aren’t they?” Dominic handed over a security roster. Elinor’s name was highlighted in bold red text. Note column: Funded orphan. Suspected stalker obsessed with Zachary. Emotionally unstable. Forcefully detain and remove if she approaches the stage. Authorized signature: Vivian Mercer, Zachary’s mother. Attached was a voice note transcript she sent to the security chief: If she throws a tantrum, let the media film it. The messier, the better. It’ll prove to the public that she’s mentally unhinged. I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, every trace of warmth in my chest had turned to ice. Half an hour later, I met Elinor in the service hallway on the lower level. The moment she saw me, she froze in her tracks. “Mom?” Her eyes turned red instantly. But a second later, panic flashed across her face as she instinctively looked behind me. “Why are you back early? Do the Mercers know? Did the press catch you?” A sharp pain pierced my heart. I pulled her into a tight embrace. “Elinor, look at me. What are you actually afraid of?” She remained rigid for a long time before whispering, “I’m not afraid.” I stepped back, looking straight into her eyes. “Then tell me.” “Why did the bride become Jane?” “Why were you stopped at the door?” “And why is everyone claiming that you are the charity case?” Elinor’s face drained of all color. Her lips trembled as tears finally spilled over her cheeks. “I told them the truth,” she choked out. “I really did… But they all said I was just jealous of her.” 3 Elinor’s story came out in quiet, broken sentences. The Mercer and Prescott families did have an old, informal understanding. Years ago, during a casual dinner between elders, someone had joked that if the children grew up and took a liking to each other, a union would be lovely. I had never taken that joke seriously, and neither had Elinor. After her very first meeting with Zachary Mercer, she came home and told me one thing: “Mom, he doesn’t look at me like a person. He looks at me like a piece of high-value collateral.” I was in the middle of closing the Paris acquisition at the time, so I told her to handle it according to her own wishes. She promptly and explicitly rejected his advances. Yet the Mercer family refused to take no for an answer. Dinner invitations, charity galas, horse races, art exhibitions, the invitations arrived in relentless waves. Elinor grew exasperated, but didn’t want to bother me while I was negotiating overseas. That was when Jane stepped up. Jane had said: “Elinor, if you don’t want to see him, I can go return his gifts for you. I’ll make it crystal clear to them so they stop harassing you.” Elinor believed her. Jane had taken the Prescott name and visited our estate frequently over the years, learning countless intimate details about our household. Elinor assumed she was simply acting as a polite buffer. Instead, the first time Jane met the Mercer family, Vivian Mercer had asked her: “Are you the Prescott girl?” Jane hadn’t denied it. She simply offered a shy, modest smile. “My family prefers me to keep a low profile. You can just call me Jane.” The second time, she rode in Elinor’s driver-driven car. The third time, she wore a designer dress borrowed from Elinor’s closet. By the fourth time, she accepted a diamond bracelet from Zachary, posting a photo online with the caption: Some arrangements simply cannot be avoided. When Elinor finally realized something was wrong and confronted her, Jane broke down in tears right in front of Zachary. “Elinor, are you angry that I met Zachary on your behalf? I was only trying to keep them from bothering you!” Zachary had frowned on the spot, scolding Elinor: “She’s been speaking up for you this whole time. Don’t be so venomous.” When Elinor told them that Jane was not the Prescott heiress, Vivian Mercer let out a cold sneer. “You’re just a parasite raised by the Prescotts. How dare you speak on behalf of their family?” From that day on, in the eyes of the Mercers, Elinor became an ungrateful, jealous orphan. Every time Elinor tried to clear her name, Jane would cry, softly whispering that “Elinor is just a bit sensitive.” Every explanation Elinor offered was twisted into proof of her bitter jealousy. To make matters worse, after Jane got pregnant, she sent a copy of her ultrasound directly to Elinor’s phone. Elinor, a child needs a father. You already have a mother, Prescott Enterprise, and a legacy. I have nothing except this baby. You never liked Zachary anyway. Can’t you just let me have this engagement? Elinor had texted back: An engagement isn’t a commodity. It can’t be handed off. Jane immediately cropped out her own message and forwarded Elinor’s response directly to Vivian Mercer. And so, rumor spread among high society that Elinor was so consumed by jealousy over Jane’s pregnancy that she was trying to force a miscarriage. Listening to her, my fingers clenched tightly into my palms. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Elinor lowered her head. “You were in Paris.” “The Mercers were watching our corporate movements, waiting for any sign of instability in your acquisition deal.” “Jane told me that if I made a public scene, your board would think you couldn’t even manage your own household, which would tank the negotiations.” She looked up at me, her eyes brimming with heartache. “Mom, I didn’t want to be a burden to you.” A lump formed in my throat. I had raised her to be thoughtful and considerate, so considerate that when she suffered severe injustice, her first instinct was not to ask for help, but to calculate my business risks. “Was I stupid?” Elinor asked softly. I wiped the tears from her face. “No.” “It’s my fault for keeping you out of the public eye to protect your privacy, without teaching you that even a quiet life requires fierce boundaries.” By early evening, Simon sent another file. Jane had used Elinor’s secondary security pass to enter the Prescott estate’s walk-in closet nine separate times. She had taken four haute couture gowns, two sets of high jewelry, and digital copies of over thirty family album photos. She had also attended two private Mercer family dinners under the explicit title of “Prescott Heiress.” Her identity on the sign-in sheet: Miss Prescott. Nobody had bothered to verify it. Because her surname was Prescott, and because the Mercer family desperately wanted to believe the lie. At six in the evening, Jane posted a new update: If even carrying the family name cannot prove my devotion, what else do I have left to give? The comment section was flooded with sympathy. Jane, don’t cry. You are a real Prescott! Elinor is utterly vile. Receiving charity from the Prescotts and still abusing a pregnant woman! You’re carrying his child now. No one can tear you and Zachary apart. Zachary commented below: I’m right here with you. Staring at those five words, a cold smile touched my lips. Oh, he would be right there, alright. Between the recorded audio, security logs, legal injunctions, and police reports, he wouldn’t miss a single second of what was coming. 4 At six-fifteen, I called Richard Mercer, Zachary’s father. He answered on the second ring, his tone unable to mask his rising excitement. “Ms. Prescott! You’re back in the country?” “Yes,” I replied calmly. “I’ll be taking the stage tonight to say a few words.” Richard let out an immediate, relieved laugh. “That’s wonderful news! With you making a personal appearance, any silly rumors circulating outside will be crushed.” I asked, “Who authorized your team to market tonight as the Mercer-Prescott Union?” He paused for a fraction of a second before chuckling smoothly. “Well, the young couple’s feelings have reached this stage, and with a baby on the way, we elders certainly shouldn’t stand in the way of love, should we?” “Besides, the child Miss Prescott is carrying shares Mercer blood.” He deliberately emphasized the title “Miss Prescott.” I didn’t bother arguing with him. “Proceed as scheduled. I’ll be on stage at seven.” After hanging up, I instructed Simon, “Take full control of the main projection screen.” “Keep the press gallery locked down.” “Seat the commercial bank executives in the front row.” “Have the police squad wait outside the hotel for my signal.” Dominic asked, “Should we shut down the event now?” I cast a cold glance toward the grand ballroom. “No.” “They wanted the entire city as their witness.” “So let the entire city watch the show.” At six-twenty-five, I walked into the bridal suite. Jane was sitting before the vanity mirror touching up her makeup. The gown she wore was the exact one Elinor had worn to her birthday celebration last year. Later, Jane had begged to borrow it, claiming she loved the design. Seeing me enter through the mirror, the powder puff slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the marble desk. “Aunt Victoria…” I sat down on the leather sofa. “Don’t call me that.” Her eyes rimmed with red instantly. “Did Elinor say something to you? I swear I never tried to steal anything from her!” “Who told the Mercers to put your name on the welcome sign tonight?” She bit her lip tightly. “My legal name is Jane Prescott now.” “The name is yours,” I said flatly. “The title of Prescott heiress is not.” Tears spilled over her cheeks. “I changed my name out of pure gratitude toward your family! I never once explicitly told people I was your daughter. They just misunderstood!” “And when Elinor was branded a parasite and a stalker, did you ever bother to set them straight?” She went silent for two seconds. When she looked up again, the fragile, timid act had vanished from her eyes. “Aunt Victoria, Elinor never loved Zachary in the first place.” “She didn’t want this union. Is it really so wrong for me to step in and take what she rejected?” I looked at her cold-bloodedly. “Step in and take it? Or manipulate your way into stealing it?” Jane rested her hand over her lower belly, her tone hardening. “I am pregnant with Zachary’s child.” “The Mercer family only recognizes me now.” “Tonight, the media, the banking executives, and all your business partners are out in that hall. If you expose me publicly, you won’t just ruin me. You’ll destroy Mercer’s financing, and you’ll sabotage Prescott Enterprise’s fresh European acquisition!” She stepped forward, a sharp, bitter laugh escaping her lips. “The public will say the ruthless Prescott CEO drove a pregnant young girl to the brink of death.” “They’ll say you raised me for over a decade, only to crush me into the dirt the moment your biological daughter threw a jealous tantrum.” “Aunt Victoria, you care so much about your corporate reputation. You wouldn’t want your massive Paris deal tarnished by a ugly public scandal, would you?” She had finally dropped the fragile act. First tears, then threats. When soft manipulation failed, she reached for emotional blackmail, weaponizing her pregnancy, public opinion, and my business interests. She truly believed she held the winning hand. I offered no response. I simply turned and walked out of the room. At six-forty-five, Simon sent me a fresh screenshot. Jane had just posted another update: I only wanted to reach for a tiny piece of happiness that felt like my own. Zachary had replied: Whatever belongs to you, no one can ever take away. I forwarded the image directly to Dominic. “Add it to the slide deck.” “Copy that,” Dominic replied. At seven o’clock sharp, the lights inside the grand ballroom dimmed. The master of ceremonies stepped into the center spotlight, his voice booming through the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests! Tonight, we gather to witness a historic union between the Mercer Group’s very own Zachary Mercer and the beloved Prescott heiress, Jane Prescott!” Thunderous applause echoed through the hall. Jane emerged through the orchid archway, her hand gently resting on Zachary’s arm. She looked delicate, tearful, and radiant, like a white lily blooming through adversity. Zachary leaned down lovingly to adjust the train of her gown. Cameras flashed wildly. Soft murmurs filled the guest tables. “Zachary is so devoted to her.” “The Prescott heiress looks stunning even while pregnant.” “Once this merger locks in, Mercer Group’s financial troubles are officially over.” The host’s voice rose again. “And now, please join me in welcoming the representative of the bride’s family…” Before he could finish his sentence, the heavy side doors swung wide open. I stepped into the grand hall, flanked by Simon, Dominic, and Prescott Enterprise’s full executive legal team. The entire ballroom fell dead silent. Richard Mercer was the first to spring up from his seat, a massive, eager smile plastered across his face. “Ms. Prescott! You made it!” I didn’t give him a single glance. I walked straight onto the main stage, reached out, and took the microphone directly from the host’s hand. “Good evening, everyone. I am Victoria Prescott.” A blinding sea of camera flashes illuminated the stage. I paused, letting my gaze sweep slowly over the crowd. “I have just returned from Paris.” “I originally assumed tonight was merely a modest family dinner hosted by the Mercer family to honor an old acquaintance.” “To my surprise, upon arriving at the entrance, I saw a profoundly absurd title displayed on the banner.” I turned my head, fixing my eyes directly on Jane. Her face had already begun to turn deathly pale. I delivered every single word with icy precision: “Prescott Enterprise has never had a daughter named Jane.”

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The guy I had a secret crush on just went official with my roommate. He had mistaken Laura, who volunteered to deliver my love letter, for the actual sender, falling for her at first sight. Later, even when the truth finally came out… Neither of them chose to break it off. With tears brimming in her eyes, Laura looked up at him and asked, “If it weren’t for that love letter, would you still love me?” He leaned down, pressing a lazy kiss to the corner of her lips, a soft laugh escaping his throat. “Of course, baby.” “I like you for who you are. I don’t give a damn about who actually wrote that letter.” And just like that, I quietly laid my dead-end crush to rest, convinced that Charles and I would never cross paths again for the rest of our lives. Until that afternoon. He showed up as a wingman to help his best friend pursue the girl he was falling for. The moment his eyes landed on me, he froze. His gaze lingered on my face in a subtle, unreadable way. And then, I heard him utter a soft, teasing chuckle: “Not bad, bro. You’re about to land a girl who looks almost identical to my old ideal type.” 01 I pushed open the dorm door. Empty. I was just letting out a sigh of relief when a bashful whisper drifted down from the top bunk. “Babe, do you really think I look good in this color?” Since she thought no one was around, she had her call on speaker. The guy’s low, chuckling voice vibrated clearly through the air. “Yeah. Wear it for me next time we meet, okay?” “Then remember to book…” I dragged my suitcase inside, intentionally heavy-footed. The loud metallic scrape of the wheels cut her off mid-sentence. An abrupt silence fell over the room. Laura poked her head out from behind her bed curtain, asking softly, “Monique, you’re back from the competition?” My steps hitched for a second. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the framed photo sitting on her desk. She was leaning sweetly against a guy’s shoulder, smiling like a girl in love. The guy was looking down at her, the corners of his lips curved upward, his usual reckless demeanor melted into a pool of effortless tenderness. They actually looked quite good together. I dropped my gaze, looking away. When I didn’t answer for a long moment, Laura bit her lower lip awkwardly. “Monique, I texted you so many times while you were away and you never replied. Are you still mad at me?” I ignored her, unpacking my things at my own desk. I hadn’t been back in two months. I pulled out a bottle of disinfectant spray, spritzing it over the wooden surface and wiping it down thoroughly. I tried my best to pretend she didn’t exist. Yet her voice drifted down again, heavy with emotional guilt. “We used to be so close. Why do we have to let something like this ruin our friendship?” Her tone gradually turned soft and aggrieved. “You used to say that no matter what happened, we’d always be best friends, didn’t you?” My hands froze mid-wipe. Right. In our dorm, she and I used to be the closest. She was quiet and timid, so I always stood up for her. I was impulsive, and she would patiently advise me to think twice. Because our personalities complemented each other, we became inseparable. Her family background made her insecure and sensitive. Whatever she did, I made excuses to accommodate her, which was why I had once made that promise: No matter what, we’ll always be best friends. I said it because I was willing to invest in a real friendship. I thought she was my friend. But what about her? She knew better than anyone how much I liked Charles. 02 Charles was the undisputed golden boy at the neighboring university. Tall, wealthy, devastatingly handsome, and an absolute star on the basketball court. During the inter-collegiate tournament, his performance pulled screams from every girl in the stands. That was the first time my heart had ever skipped a beat for a guy. I asked around, only to find out that countless girls tried to get his number, but he was notoriously cold in private and never handed out his contact info. So, I decided to write him a love letter. I hunched over my desk for an entire week, obsessing over every word, terrified of sounding cheesy or desperate. Unluckily, my dance troupe’s competition schedule was moved up at the last minute. Intensive training started immediately, and we had to leave campus the very next day for weeks. In my panic, Laura stepped up and offered to deliver the letter for me. At the time, I was moved to tears by her kindness. I happily promised to buy her a massive dinner the moment I got back. Until that afternoon. I was sitting on the team bus, nauseous from the stench of leather and stale exhaust. Battling a violent wave of motion sickness, my phone buzzed with a screenshot from a classmate: [Did your roommate just get a boyfriend?] It was a screenshot of Laura and Charles’s official relationship announcement post on social media. I stared at the screen for a long time, an overwhelming sense of absurdity washing over me. I opened Laura’s profile and refreshed it again and again. Nothing. She had blocked me from seeing that post. Still, I refused to believe it. With trembling fingers, I texted her to ask if she was really with Charles. The typing indicator flickered at the top of the screen for five straight minutes. Finally, she sent a crying emoji. Then came her text: [Yeah…] My hand squeezed the plastic motion-sickness bag so hard my knuckles turned white. I doubled over and threw up until my stomach was completely empty. 03 [Monique, you know I’m terrible at saying no to people. He asked if we could try dating, and I just… yielded and said yes.] [I’m so sorry.] Laura told me that Charles had fallen for her at first sight, which was why he didn’t take my love letter. She claimed she tried forcing it into his hands, but he tossed it straight into the trash. Was that really what happened? I endured a blistering lecture from my dance instructor just to get a half-day pass back to campus. I went to the coffee shop where they first met and persuaded the manager to let me check the security footage from that day. The scene opened like something straight out of a romance drama. Laura clumsily tripped and fell right into Charles’s chest. He caught her by the waist, holding her there for a beat, his gaze casually sweeping over her. When he spotted the envelope in her hand, his eyebrows arched with interest. “For me?” Laura stared at him, stunned. Before she could react, he took the letter, scanning it rapidly. The curve of his lips deepened into a charming smirk. “Nicely written, and you’re pretty cute too. Let’s see, your name is…” At the bottom of the letter were my personal details and contact number. Just as he was about to read it, Laura snatched the paper back with a flustered expression. She whispered something to him, her voice timid. “That draft isn’t good enough. I’ll write you a better one later.” “I’m from the university next door. My name is Laura.” I had to face the brutal truth: she had lied to my face. Exposed, Laura admitted her deceit in tears. I had no intention of keeping her secret to save her pride, and soon our close mutual friends knew what she had done. Under the overwhelming social pressure, she was forced to set up a meeting with Charles to clarify things. Laura looked up at him with tear-brimmed eyes. “If it wasn’t for that letter… would you still have liked me?” Charles listened to her confession, his expression darkening slightly. But the moment he saw her bloodshot eyes, his irritation melted into helpless tenderness. He bent down to press a soft kiss to the corner of her lips, letting out a lazy chuckle. “Of course, baby.” “I like you. I don’t give a damn about who actually wrote the letter.” Standing a short distance away, I watched the entire exchange. The step I was about to take forward froze in mid-air. I pulled my foot back. The misunderstanding was resolved. What else was there left for me to understand? He wasn’t going to break up with the girl he fell for at first sight for a stranger he’d never met. If they could be together like that, how could there be no real feelings between them? 04 “We used to be so good together. Do we really have to throw away our friendship over this?” Seeing that I hadn’t spoken for a long time, Laura asked again, her voice thick with suppressed sobs. Snapping back to reality, I answered in an even tone. “That was all in the past.” “Is there really any point in us being friends anymore?” Her phone call hadn’t been disconnected. In the quiet room, a faint, scoffing laugh suddenly sounded over her speaker, full of disdain and petty mockery. “What an arrogant act.” I curled my fingers inward slightly. I pretended I hadn’t heard a thing. 05 That evening, our other two roommates returned one after the other. Seeing me, their eyes lit up instantly. “Monique! I saw your dance troupe’s competition video online! You were amazing, the comment section is full of people praising you guys!” “Right? Absolutely stunning! You brought so much glory to our school!” I happened to be reviewing my performance footage on my tablet, so I turned around and offered them a warm smile. “Thanks guys.” Laura’s voice chimed in at an awkward moment, dripping with gentle sweetness. “Hey guys, my boyfriend just ordered boba for our dorm. Who wants to come downstairs with me to pick it up?” Their attention shifted immediately, and they eagerly volunteered to walk down with her. When they carried the drinks back upstairs, however, an uncomfortable tension filled the air. Four girls in the dorm. Only three cups of boba. Laura offered a sheepish smile. “Monique, you can have mine.” “I’m so sorry, you just got back, and my boyfriend is so used to ordering three cups that he probably forgot to change the order.” I glanced at the mango sago drink she held out. “I’m allergic to mangoes.” Feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion, I turned my head back to my desk. “And you know that.” “Laura, do I need to spell it out for you? We cut ties. We are nothing to each other now. I have zero interest in Charles anymore. Who you date is your business, but there’s no need to pull these petty little mind games.” She went completely rigid, looking entirely helpless. “I really forgot…” As she spoke, massive tears began spilling over her lashes. “I’m so sorry, Monique, I didn’t mean it.” “You used to never speak to me in such a harsh tone… If my presence bothers you that much, I can just pack up and move out.” A bitter laugh almost escaped my throat. Look at that, I was the villain again. First, I was the bitter loser ruining her fairytale romance. Now, I was the bully forcing her out of her own room. “Do whatever you want.” I closed my laptop, climbed up to my bunk, and pulled my bed curtain shut, blocking out her pitiful gaze. Our roommates stood nearby, awkward and silent. They had witnessed our fallout from start to finish, so they knew the truth behind the drama. But because Charles was generous and frequently bought them expensive treats, they couldn’t take a moral high ground either. Hating to offend either side, they chose to play blind and deaf. 06 My childhood best friend, Sienna, sent me a text. [Babe, you’re back? I heard you made Charles’s girlfriend cry.] Sienna and Charles both attended the finance department at the neighboring university. Back then, she was the one who swore up and down that Charles’s ideal type was a tall girl with long black hair, fair skin, and great style, insisting I fit the bill perfectly. That was what gave me the courage to write my very first love letter. Who knew the guy would fall for Laura at first sight instead? Afterward, Sienna felt terribly guilty. [I’m so sorry, babe! How was I supposed to know he had so many ‘ideal types’? Ugh, ideal type my foot! He just falls for whoever looks pretty in the moment!] Staring at her text, I parted my bed curtain slightly. Through the gap, I saw Laura sitting at her desk wiping away tears, her fingers flying across her phone screen. Sienna sent another message right after: [Charles is furious. He said he’s taking his girlfriend to live off-campus.] I slowly sat back up. [Oh.] Sienna was a bit airheaded, but realizing my dull response, she quickly changed the subject. [By the way, your competition video blew up on our campus forum! It’s hilarious, you’ve gained a whole army of fanboys.] [You’re incredible, babe! Whenever I tell people you’re my friend, I feel so proud.] I touched my cheek, letting out a small, embarrassed smile. [Thanks.] Then I added: [Credit really goes to the photographer.] That was the truth. The video that went viral was shot from a stage-front angle by a student photographer. He had captured every movement and expression with breathtaking precision. After the show, he had even approached me to ask for my contact info. A black baseball cap had been pulled low over his messy hair, revealing a pale lower face and tightly pressed lips. He had held out his phone’s QR code toward me. My knee-jerk instinct was to politely decline. Yet, looking past his calm demeanor, I noticed his ears were burning bright red, and his long lashes were trembling with quiet nervousness. On a weird whim, I had agreed. He sent a brief message shortly after: [Gavin.] 07 Laura started packing her suitcases. I assumed she was moving out. For some reason, after stepping out later that evening, she abandoned the idea. Down by the entrance of our dorm building, she was arguing with Charles. She was sobbing uncontrollably while yelling at him, and Charles was pulling her forcefully into his arms, murmuring low words of comfort. Students passed by, many turning their heads to stare at his striking appearance. He suddenly looked up. I pulled my gaze back instantly. Acting as if it had nothing to do with me, I headed back upstairs to do a face mask. When Laura came back, her eyes were swollen and red. “Monique.” She called out to me, hesitating. “You said you don’t like Charles anymore, right?” “Can you promise me that you won’t ever try to step between us again?” I glanced at her reflection in the mirror, thoroughly speechless. “I’m not insane.” “He isn’t the last man on earth. Am I forbidden from liking anyone else?” She pressed further, “Then do you have someone you like right now?” I didn’t answer. I pulled a tissue to wipe away the excess serum from my neck. The exact moment she asked that question… Gavin’s face had popped into my mind. 08 When my emotional breakdown hit its rock bottom weeks ago, I had spent a late night crouching on the campus amphitheater stairs, crying my eyes out. At the time, everything felt unbearable. More than losing a secret crush, I couldn’t get over the sting of betrayal from someone I thought was a true friend. I had been so slow that I hadn’t even noticed during the basketball tournament that Laura, sitting right next to me, was looking at Charles with the exact same burning, desperate admiration that I had. Why didn’t she just tell me she liked him too? Why hide it? Why lie to me? We were supposed to be friends… As my thoughts spiraled, tears leaked through my fingers. Someone had sat down beside me, handing me a paper cup of warm water. I wiped my eyes and instinctively tried to stand up, forgetting I was on the edge of a step, and lost my balance. By the time I realized what was happening, I was sprawled across a pair of broad shoulders. A faint scent of summer breeze and fresh body wash drifted from his clothes. My ankle hurt, and my heart hurt even more. I ended up sobbing right into his back. Gavin had a wonderful voice. Though his words were straightforward to a fault. “I’m really bad at comforting people. But if it’s okay with you… could you maybe stop crying?” I froze. I clutched his neck tighter, far too embarrassed to shed another tear. 09 Gavin had shown me photos of his alpine mountain climbs. The raw vitality in those shots almost burst through the screen. He was the textbook definition of an adventurous college guy. Except when he was around me, he was quiet. Most of the time, I did all the talking while he listened silently. He would sit motionless, his eyelids lowered, looking as if he were meticulously counting my eyelashes. After the inter-collegiate showcase ended and we returned to our respective campuses, he became noticeably warmer. He handled conversation topics effortlessly. He would also order small cakes and snacks to be delivered to my dorm. Yet for some reason, the brands he picked always managed to match the ones Laura received from Charles. It led Laura to observe me constantly, her eyes filled with deep suspicion. Fearing she would accuse me of copying her, I turned down quite a few of Gavin’s gestures. Our chat log went quiet for a while. Until today, when he texted asking if I wanted to go on an outdoor photoshoot with him. I happened to be free, so I agreed without thinking twice. I spent the afternoon picking an outfit and doing my makeup in the dorm. My roommate leaned over curiously. “Monique, are you heading out?” “Yeah.” Her eyes caught the silver bracelet on my wrist. Excitement flushed her face. “Wait, that looks like a men’s design! Monique, are you seeing someone?” I paused, touching the metal self-consciously. Gavin had given it to me. He said he crafted it by hand. Our other roommate perked up instantly. “What? Who’s the lucky guy who managed to capture our dance goddess’s heart?” “Can I take a look at that?” Laura’s voice cut in suddenly. I turned to look at her. She was staring intensely at my wrist, looking as if a deadly threat had appeared. “Monique… where did you get that bracelet? Charles has the exact same one. I’m positive, it has his club’s custom logo on it.” She looked up at me, acting like the victim of a betrayal. Gavin attended the same university as Charles. Being in the same student club was hardly an impossibility, it was a simple coincidence. “A guy from the university next door gave it to me,” I said. “Are you sure it wasn’t Charles?” “…No.” “How can you prove it?” I met her eyes, the corners of my lips lifting into a faint smile. “Because I’m not you. I don’t steal things from other people.” “I have zero desire to covet anyone else’s boyfriend.” Laura went rigid, biting her lip hard. Holding back her tears, she spat out a bitter warning: “You better mean what you say. Don’t let me catch you lying.” 10 I was under no obligation to manage her insecurities. Once I finished dressing, I left the building. I walked to the designated coffee shop as agreed. Through the glass windows, I caught sight of an unexpected figure: Charles. He was leaning against the service counter, frowning down at his phone. Standing right beside him was Gavin. Charles let out an impatient scoff, his lips moving rapidly. It was obvious he was talking trash about someone. Given that Laura had likely complained to him earlier, he was undoubtedly calling me malicious, jealous, and vengeful. The disgust on his face was unreserved. Finally, he chuckled coldly, wrapping up his rant: “Honestly, being liked by a girl like that is seriously disgusting.” Gavin didn’t seem to be paying attention. He sat with his head down, fingers tightly laced together, visibly tense. Charles noticed it too. He clapped a hand onto Gavin’s shoulder. “Don’t be nervous, bro. I’ll be your wingman today.” “I’d bet money that girl likes you back. You’ve got this in the bag. Once you two start dating, make sure your girl helps out mine a bit so she stops getting bullied by that roommate.” “At the end of the day, it’s drama between girls, so it’s awkward for me to step in.” So they were friends. Just as I hesitated over whether I should walk inside, someone pushed open the door beside me, setting off a clear wind chime. Both guys looked toward the entrance simultaneously. A gentle breeze drifted past, sunlight spilling across the flowing hem of my dress. Gavin stood up straight in an instant. “Monique.” Charles’s casual glance swept over me. His eyes hitched slightly, a brief pause of surprise flashing through his expression before vanishing just as fast. Then, I heard his amused, teasing voice: “Not bad, bro. You’re about to land a girl who looks almost identical to my old ideal type.” Gavin glanced sideways at him, his voice low. “Watch it.” Strictly speaking, this was the very first time Charles had ever seen my face in person. Yet I had seen him more times than I could count. Which explained why he failed to recognize that I was the very roommate he had just labeled as evil incarnate. Suppressing the bizarre tightness in my chest, I looked at Gavin. “Hey.” 11 The three of us sat down at a booth. They sat on one side, and I sat across from them. Gavin stood up to head to the counter to place our order. Charles rested his chin on his hand, observing me with undeniable curiosity. “So, what’s your impression of Gavin? Mind sharing?” “If you two end up together, he’s a pretty lucky guy.” “By the way, are you a dancer? I saw your university performance video online, you’re pretty famous now.” Before I could form an answer, an angry voice shattered the quiet atmosphere. “What are you two doing?!” Laura was standing a short distance away. Her eyes were wide with disbelief, her rims red, radiating the furious energy of a wife catching her husband red-handed. She turned her glare onto me, wiping her tears away with a vicious swipe of her sleeve. She let out a harsh, cold laugh. “Monique! Didn’t you say you had zero interest in Charles?!” “You were the one who said you dropped the whole love letter thing and moved on!” “So what is this now? Trying to seduce my boyfriend?!” “You’re doing this just to get revenge on me, aren’t you?! Pretending to be so detached and unbothered, you make me sick!” The casual smile slid off Charles’s face. Capturing the key piece of information, he turned his head slowly to look at me, his throat working. “The person who sent me that love letter… was you?”

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My best friend suddenly transferred one hundred million dollars into my bank account! Right after the transfer went through, she sent me a video. In the clip, she was lounging on a tropical beach in a string bikini, laughing directly at the camera. “Did you get the cash I sent?” she asked. “Quit that garbage job, stop taking their crap, and go travel the world!” She looked incredibly happy. With a hundred million dollars sitting in my account, I should have been ecstatic too. But there was one massive, glaring problem. My best friend was a low-level clerk at our local county courthouse making barely three grand a month. Even if she worked every single day until retirement, she would max out at maybe a million dollars in her entire lifetime. Where the hell did she get this kind of money?! 1 I flipped on the bedside lamp, shoved my glasses onto my face, and stared at my banking app, carefully counting the digits on the glowing screen. Ones, tens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands… a solid one followed by eight zeros. One hundred million dollars. This was not Monopoly money. It was not a glitch, and it certainly was not a photoshopped prank. One hundred million dollars had actually been wired into my checking account! My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone, but I managed to call the bank’s 24-hour customer service line to verify it. “My account just received a massive deposit of one hundred million dollars,” I told the representative. “It says it’s from a Ms. Sarah Davis. Is this real?” The bank employee replied with a perfectly calm, professional tone. “Yes, Miss Riley. Five minutes ago, at exactly 12:05 AM, a Ms. Davis authorized a wire transfer of one hundred million dollars into your account.” “The transaction is fully confirmed and cleared.” I hung up the phone and sank back into my chair, my mind spinning out of control. This made absolutely no sense. Sarah was a low-ranking civil servant in our rusty little Midwestern town. Her monthly salary was three thousand dollars. Where on earth did she get this fortune? I tapped the screen and opened the video she had sent me again. Yes, right after the money hit my account, this video popped up. It was short, barely thirty seconds long. She was wearing a bikini, half-reclined on a beach chair, speaking brightly to the lens. “Riley, did you get the cash I sent?” “Quit that garbage job, stop taking their crap, and go travel the world!” Those two sentences were it. The video abruptly cut to black. I dragged the progress bar back to the very beginning and watched it again, analyzing every single frame. Sarah was wearing a bright yellow, tiny string bikini. Her posture was relaxed, showing off her figure in a way she never normally would. In the background, I noticed a random guy walking past, staring at her with obvious, lingering hunger. She wasn’t wearing an ounce of makeup, presumably because she was about to go swimming. She flashed a radiant, confident smile at the camera and delivered those two lines. “Riley, did you get the cash I sent?” “Quit that garbage job, stop taking their crap, and go travel the world!” Wrong. Every single thing about this video was completely, terrifyingly wrong! 2 First of all, Sarah was the most modest, risk-averse person I knew. If she wasn’t, she would never have moved back to our boring hometown after college to take a secure, mundane government job. Someone that conservative would never, ever wear a revealing string bikini to a public beach. We had grown up together and went swimming all the time. Whenever she got in the water, she wore a high-necked, one-piece swimsuit. I had never seen her wear anything remotely this daring! Secondly, Sarah struggled with intense insecurities. Even though she was naturally pretty, she had crippling appearance anxiety. Whenever she left the house to see people, she either put on a full face of carefully blended makeup or hid behind a surgical mask. She would never let herself be seen bare-faced. Yet in this video, not only was she completely makeup-free in public, but she was smiling with a level of radiant confidence I had never seen from her before. It was impossible! But the final, most crucial red flag was the color. I had known Sarah practically my whole life, and if there was one thing I knew for an absolute fact, it was that she despised the color yellow. When we were in middle school, her beloved grandmother passed away. On the day her grandmother died, she was wearing a yellow dress. Ever since that traumatic day, the mere sight of the color yellow triggered a panic attack for Sarah. It reminded her of the worst loss of her life. All of her friends knew to actively avoid wearing yellow around her. She would absolutely never buy or wear a bright yellow bikini! This video was a massive, screaming distress signal. The moment the realization hit me, I frantically typed a message back to her. “Holy crap, look at you, rich girl! Are you messing with me? A hundred million?!” “Did you rob a bank or something?” Silence. Ten agonizing minutes ticked by. Still no reply. I hit the audio call button on our chat app. Nobody answered. I called her three more times in a row, the ringing echoing in my quiet bedroom, but the calls just timed out. A cold, heavy dread began to pool in my chest. I opened my contacts and dialed her actual cell phone number. Instead of a ringing tone, a robotic female voice immediately filled my ear. “We are sorry, the number you have reached is turned off or disconnected…” Sarah was missing. 3 The next morning, I called out of work and drove straight to Sarah’s parents’ house. Since Sarah and I were childhood best friends, her parents practically treated me like a second daughter. It was right around lunchtime. When I walked in, they smiled warmly and asked if I wanted to stay for food. How could anyone eat at a time like this?! “Where is Sarah?” I asked, my voice tight with panic. Seeing my frantic state, the smiles instantly vanished from their faces. “Sarah went to sleep over at a coworker’s house yesterday,” her mom replied, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “She hasn’t come back yet. What’s wrong?” “Did something happen to my baby?” “A coworker’s house?!” I echoed, completely stunned. “Which coworker? Did she give you a name?” Her mother shook her head, looking utterly lost. “No, she just said it was a good friend from the office.” Another massive red flag! Sarah had complained to me countless times about how utterly alienated she felt in that office. She was a quiet, traditional girl, but she wasn’t archaic. Meanwhile, the older generation she worked with were incredibly toxic. They constantly judged her for being single, gossiped maliciously, and made her work life a living hell. She vented to me all the time about how she could barely tolerate being in the same room as them, forcing herself to maintain a polite facade just to survive the workday. Under what possible circumstance would she voluntarily sleep over at one of their houses? “Mrs. Davis,” I asked, grabbing her hands. “When exactly did she go to this coworker’s house?” “Right after she clocked out yesterday,” her mom answered. “Did she come home first to pack a bag, or did she go straight there?” “She just texted us right after work and said she was heading over.” I needed to be absolutely sure. “So the last time you physically saw her was yesterday morning?” Mrs. Davis nodded vigorously. “Yes!” Her eyes darted around in rising panic. “Riley, what is going on? Please don’t scare me!” I hesitated for a split second, wondering if I should tell them the truth. 4 If I told them, I was terrified they would have a heart attack. But if I didn’t, I would be keeping her disappearance from the people who loved her most. They had a right to know. I took a deep breath and made my choice. “Mrs. Davis… I can’t reach Sarah anywhere. She’s completely off the grid.” The color drained from both their faces. They simultaneously yanked out their phones to call her. Mrs. Davis slapped her husband’s hand away in a frenzy. “Stop it! Let me call! If we both call at the exact same time, whose call is she going to get?!” With trembling fingers, she dialed Sarah’s number and put it on speaker. The cold robotic voice filled the kitchen again. “We are sorry, the number you have reached is turned off…” Mrs. Davis stumbled backward. Mr. Davis had to grab her arm to keep her from hitting the floor. “Why is her phone off? She was perfectly fine yesterday! Why would she just vanish?!” Mr. Davis was a retired veteran police detective. Years of grueling investigative work kicked in, making him significantly calmer than his wife. “Breathe, honey. Sarah sent a message in the family group chat just this morning, remember?” “It’s only been a few hours. We live in a quiet town. A missing phone doesn’t automatically mean a tragedy.” “Don’t let your imagination run wild. Her battery probably just died.” If I had not received that astronomical wire transfer, I probably would have agreed with his logic. But that money, paired with that horrifying distress signal of a video, made it impossible to stay calm. Just as I opened my mouth to tell them about the hundred million dollars, a sharp knock echoed against the front door. Mrs. Davis hurried over and pulled it open. Two uniformed police officers were standing on the porch. They flashed their badges. “Are you the parents of Sarah Davis? Your daughter is a prime suspect in a massive money laundering operation. We need you to come with us for questioning.” That completely shattered whatever composure the older couple had left. Even Mr. Davis, the hardened veteran detective, swayed on his feet. Mrs. Davis couldn’t take the shock. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she collapsed in a dead faint. 5 The officers rushed in to catch her. I grabbed her shoulders, helping them lower her safely to the sofa. Right as I looked up, one of the officers locked eyes with me. He looked me up and down, checking a photo on his phone before staring intently at my face. “Are you Riley Smith?” I nodded slowly. The officer’s expression hardened into stone. “We tracked a massive sum of illicit funds that Sarah Davis wired directly into your account. You need to come with us too.” Half an hour later, I was sitting in a sterile interrogation room alongside Sarah’s bewildered parents. In my head, I cursed Sarah a thousand times over. What the hell was she playing at? What kind of criminal underworld had she stumbled into? I was a girl who didn’t even dare to jaywalk on an empty street, and now, thanks to my best friend, I was sitting in a police precinct being treated like a cartel boss! The detectives hammered me with questions about Sarah. How long had it been since I last saw her? Did I know what she was doing outside of work? Besides this wire transfer, had she ever handed me large amounts of physical cash? I answered every single question truthfully. No. It was the honest truth. The last time I saw Sarah in person was over a month ago. We texted all the time, but it was just normal best-friend banter. Complaining about life, sharing memes, talking about food. The only bizarre thing she had ever done was this insane wire transfer last night. After answering their questions, I pulled up the video Sarah had sent me and pushed my phone across the metal table. I had no idea what kind of mess Sarah was in, but she was missing. Her life could be in imminent danger, and finding her was the only thing that mattered. The detectives watched the video closely and made a copy for their evidence files. Once they finally verified my story and confirmed I was a clueless bystander, they let me go. By the time I walked out of the precinct doors, it was already past ten at night. The moment the cool night air hit my face, I saw my parents waiting anxiously by the entrance. They rushed over to me, their faces tight with stress. I opened my mouth, ready to explain the terrifying ordeal I had just survived, but my mother grabbed my arm and cut me off. “Riley! I heard your friend transferred a hundred million dollars to you! Is that true?!” My dad’s eyes were practically glowing with greed. “Yeah! Where is the money?!” Something felt deeply, horrifyingly wrong. 6 My parents were simple, honest, hardworking people. Sure, everyone loved money, but in a crisis like this, any normal parent would ask if their child was okay first. They wouldn’t immediately interrogate me about the cash. What the hell was going on today? They didn’t even ask if the police had mistreated me. They just wanted to know about the bank account. My stomach churned with disgust, but these were my parents. I forced down my anger and answered them patiently. “The money Sarah sent me is classified as illicit funds. The authorities have completely frozen the account.” Hearing that, my dad slapped his thigh in sheer, agonizing regret. “Dammit! How did it get frozen?!” My mother clutched her chest, looking like she was about to pass out from heartbreak. “All that money! How could they freeze it?! This is your fault! Why did you involve the cops?!” I was absolutely stunned. First of all, I wasn’t the one who called the police. But even if I had, what was wrong with doing the right thing?! I stared at her in disbelief. “Mom, if I hadn’t cooperated with the police, what exactly did you expect me to do with a hundred million dollars of dirty money?” Without missing a beat, my mother blurted out, “You transfer it to us, obviously!” Give it to them?!

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A thread was trending on a popular forum: “Why do some people stay friends after a breakup?” One girl replied with unmistakable smugness: “To put it simply, they’re still in love, but both are too proud to make the first move.” “Honestly, I quite enjoy his devotion, his special treatment, his love.” “If we hadn’t ruined things so badly during our long-distance phase, his current girlfriend wouldn’t even stand a chance.” My chest tightened. I clicked on her profile. It was Jenny, David’s ex. I had been with David for three years, and for those three years, Jenny had played the role of his “best bro.” She used that title to slowly worm her way into our lives, eventually moving into the apartment right below ours and even securing a job at David’s company. The two of them behaved more like a couple than he and I did. I screenshotted the post and sent it to David. He replied casually: “Just ignore her, she loves talking nonsense.” I let out a bitter laugh and left a comment on the thread. “Because both of them know exactly what they’re doing, but they’re just playing dumb.” 1 I walked to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. David was in the study. I couldn’t even remember when we had started texting each other despite being in the same house. Whenever I tried to talk to him about it, he’d defend it, calling it a way to keep things “steady and long-lasting.” But his idea of steady was simply refusing to engage. As I set my glass down, I noticed a ticket stub slipping out of David’s briefcase. The exhibition was titled “Nowhere to Belong.” It was a project he and Jenny had spent nearly every waking hour planning together. Clutching the stub, I pushed open the study door. “She usually insists on dragging me to these events just to make me feel small, so why didn’t she invite me to the grand opening this time?” David’s fingers slammed against his keyboard, the sound sharp and irritable. “Jenny only invited you in the past because she was worried you’d be bored at home,” he said, his voice laced with annoyance. “Why do you have to be so sarcastic? Mind your own business and stop assuming the worst of people.” Two months ago, at their college reunion, Jenny had insisted I tag along. I sat there all evening while everyone huddled around them, dissecting their legendary campus romance in agonizing detail. Nobody noticed my chronic chest pain flaring up. Last month, on her birthday, she demanded David bring me along. At midnight, she was draped over him, acting completely wasted. Since I was the only one who hadn’t touched alcohol, I had to play the silent chauffeur, driving them both home. When we got back, David and I had a massive fight. I was on the verge of tears. “You two are exes. Is it really that hard to have some boundaries?” “What do you want me to do, pretend she doesn’t exist?” He looked at me, wearing that familiar mask of guilt. “We were broke back then, and she went through a lot of hardships with me. Now that I’m doing well, I just want to help her out when I can. It’s not easy for a single woman to make it in the city alone. You don’t understand that struggle. Besides, she’s like family to me now.” I wanted to laugh. Family? Since when did people date their family? David’s phone buzzed. He answered, gave a couple of brief replies, and glanced at me. “Jenny’s exhibition opens tomorrow, and she’s feeling anxious. I’m going downstairs to talk her through it. Want to come?” I walked right past him, slamming the bedroom door behind me. Ever since she moved downstairs, these calls had been constant. Sometimes, when she couldn’t reach him, she would march up and knock on our door, dragging him out of his study without a hint of shame. “You still haven’t fixed your habit of ignoring texts. I was worried sick! I’m so glad we broke up, otherwise being your girlfriend would have driven me insane.” I used to think there was some emergency. It turned out she just had too many packages and wanted David to carry them. David was usually a sharp, no-nonsense man, but he became a completely different person around her. No matter what she demanded, he listened meekly, almost desperately trying to please her. She was always his exception. Even introducing him to my parents had to take a backseat for her. The first time he planned to visit my family, Jenny sprained her ankle the day before. Without hesitation, he carried her to the hospital on his back and spent the next two months taking care of her. The second time we set a date, she called him crying, claiming her workload was too overwhelming. He spent three days and nights at her place, helping her finish her project. My parents were already deeply displeased, and I had to swallow my pride to make up excuses for him time and time again. A few days ago, he mentioned planning another visit to my family next week. But this time, I didn’t want to bring him home. 2 The next morning, David left early. Lately, he had been pouring every spare second into helping Jenny set up her exhibition. I took a cab there alone, needing to see for myself what this show was actually about. The space was styled beautifully, filled with old relics: matching couple sweaters, rings, watches, handwritten love letters, and travel tickets. It felt exactly like a Museum of Broken Relationships. My eyes stung. They had certainly gone to great lengths to publicly mourn their past. The final wall was covered in their old photos and videos, accompanied by dense, handwritten annotations. Around me, visitors were wiping away tears, while some wrote “I loved you” on a memory board. My chest tightened as a cold shiver ran down my spine. Last month, I had found an old, frayed scarf in our closet. I suggested throwing it away and buying a new one. David’s face had paled instantly as he snatched it out of my hands. The rough wool caught on my acrylic nails, pulling painfully. Only today did I realize that scarf was part of a matching set he shared with Jenny. I let out a hollow laugh and walked toward the corner of the gallery. David and Jenny were surrounded by reporters. My eyes instantly fell on the Chanel bag on Jenny’s shoulder. David had practically dragged me to the store to help pick it out, claiming it was to make up for the hardships she had suffered in the past. Standing in that boutique, I had felt incredibly out of place. Watching him meticulously compare the leather, color, and style, I felt a wave of envy and deep disappointment. He told me she had never owned one. Neither had I. Jenny stood slightly angled toward him, tilting her head and smiling up at David as she spoke. “This exhibition wouldn’t have happened without him. He was there for every little detail. Even though we tease each other constantly, he always shows up when it matters.” A reporter smiled, looking between the two of them. “You look quite similar. Are you siblings?” Jenny laughed, naturally slipping her hand around his arm. “Haha, maybe we have that married couple look. We used to date, but we realized we make much better friends.” The reporter steered the conversation toward the inspiration behind the exhibition. They bounced off each other, sharing stories of their past. Jenny looked deeply into David’s eyes. “Don’t let his calm exterior fool you. He’s incredibly soft-hearted. Right after we broke up, on my birthday, he took a two-hour train ride after work just to drop off a gift.” She kept her tone light and teasing. “He looked completely stoic when I opened the door, but later, he was sobbing his eyes out in the lobby downstairs.” David laughed sheepishly. “At that moment, I realized something. When it comes to marriage, you need to find someone suitable. We were meant to be friends.” Suitable. I let out a silent, bitter laugh, but it couldn’t numb the sharp ache in my chest. When I had once asked him why he pursued me, he had wrapped his arms around me. “You make me feel safe. You’re the kind of woman who is suitable for marriage.” I hadn’t thought much of it then. Now, the realization hit me. I had painted our relationship with a beautiful filter. The love I thought we shared meant nothing to him. I was just suitable. I stood there for a long time, staring blankly until the crowd dispersed and my vision finally cleared. David walked briskly toward me. “What are you doing here?” I forced a casual smile. “If I didn’t come, how would I know how unforgettable your love story was?” “Didn’t you two break up because of the long-distance? Well, you live in the same building now. If you can’t let each other go, why not just get back together?” His brows furrowed, suppressing his irritation. “If I really couldn’t let her go, you wouldn’t be the one standing next to me right now.” Before I could reply, a young woman peeked her head over. “How do you two know each other?” she asked, pointing between David and me. David gave me a subtle shake of his head. He was terrified I would say something to embarrass Jenny. “I’m his girlfriend,” I said clearly. The girl walked away, and her hushed gossip with her friend immediately drifted back to us. “Told you so! It’s a total love triangle, haha.” David glared at me, his voice a harsh whisper. “Today is about Jenny’s exhibition. Stop drawing unnecessary attention to our private lives. Do you have to make everything about yourself?” So that was how he saw me. Simply stating the truth was a crime. “Go cool off,” he said, walking away with Jenny. I slipped my promise ring off my finger and tossed it into a nearby trash can. When David first slid it onto my finger, he had joked, “Now that you’re caught, you can’t run away.” It was just a casual remark to him. How had I been foolish enough to believe it? 3 Before I even made it out of the exhibition hall, my phone buzzed. My boss sounded thrilled. “Have you heard about the ‘Nowhere to Belong’ show? Apparently, she curated it with her ex-boyfriend, like a Museum of Broken Relationships. This topic is guaranteed to go viral. Go check it out and write up a feature.” I gripped my phone case, biting my lip. “Sure.” As I hung up, a sharp pain shot through my chest. I leaned against a nearby pillar, struggling to breathe. I needed to go to the hospital again. That afternoon, as I stepped out of the examination room, I spotted David on the first floor. He was kneeling, gently holding Jenny’s calf with one hand while pressing her knee with the other. “Does it hurt here, or here?” Jenny looked up, her eyes locking onto mine. She immediately shifted into a protective stance. “He just happened to have free time to accompany me for a checkup. Don’t go misinterpreting things and starting another fight with him.” David stood up, offering a hurried explanation. “Jenny’s meniscus is acting up again. It started hurting during lunch.” He paused. “It’s an old injury from years ago when she worked extra shifts to help me pay off loans. Standing all day ruined her joints.” He was always like this. Once he started talking about Jenny, he couldn’t stop. Noticing my silence, he finally changed the subject. “What are you doing at the hospital anyway?” “My chest has been hurting.” Jenny cast a dismissive glance at my chest. “Just watch your sleep and diet. The more you stress over minor things, the worse you make it for yourself.” David nodded in agreement. “She’s just too delicate. Going to bed early is better than any medicine.” I had told him about my congenital heart condition before, but he didn’t remember. In the past, I would have picked a fight over this. Now, I just felt numb. I turned and walked away without a word. When I got home, I immediately began packing my suitcase. If I didn’t clear out of the apartment, I’d just be overstaying my welcome. My phone chimed. It was my boss, pressing for the article. “It’ll be best if you include their past history and their current relationship status.” Their current status was that Jenny would always be David’s top priority. He used to reassure me: “Once Jenny gets a boyfriend, I’ll step back.” But when she finally did date someone, the guy ended up taking advantage of her. The usually rational, level-headed David had stormed over, beaten the guy up, and landed himself in the police station. I was the one who had to go bail him out. The first thing he asked when he stepped out of the cell was, “Is Jenny okay?” Worrying that her old neighborhood wasn’t safe, he went ahead and leased the apartment directly below ours for her. The sound of the electronic lock broke the silence. David walked in, kicking off his shoes as he asked about my hospital visit. I stood up. “Let’s break up.” His expression shifted. “What are you on about now?” I ignored him, zipping my suitcase and dragging it into the living room. He threw his hands over the bag, pinning it down. “Is this about Jenny again? Are you mad because I helped with her show, or because I went to the hospital with her? I’ve told you a thousand times, we—” “You two are completely innocent,” I interrupted. “I just don’t want to be with you anymore. Is that clear enough?” He let out a weary sigh, throwing his hands up in frustration. “You always target her. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re the problem here?” I froze. He had never spoken to me like this before. He used to tell me how lucky he was to have found me. Suddenly, his ringtone shattered the silence. Jenny’s voice came through the speaker. “The bathroom light won’t turn on. Can you come take a look?” “I’ll be right down,” David replied. He looked at me. “Wait here. We’ll talk when I get back.” I watched the door click shut, wanting to laugh. Even when we were breaking up, he could be pulled away by her minor inconvenience. I had waited for three years. I wasn’t going to wait any longer. As the elevator descended, my heart sank with it. My pulse slowed, as if trying to make up for all the extra beats it had wasted on him. I checked into a hotel, intending to resign as soon as I turned in the article. For two days, David made no effort to contact me. Jenny, however, was highly active on social media. She posted a photo of the two of them laughing on an amusement park pirate ship. She was holding David’s hand tightly, and the promise ring on his finger was gone. David had once told me he was terrified of heights and would never ride a pirate ship in his life. Men certainly loved using the phrase “in my life.” And they were incredibly good at forgetting. Jenny’s caption was particularly striking: “How to recall an ex in three easy steps.” I left a comment: “What kind of prize is worth recalling anyway?” 4 After turning in my resignation letter, I booked an evening flight. I was walking through the hotel lobby to buy a bottle of water when I saw David marching toward me. I realized I had forgotten to turn off our location-sharing app. He looked incredibly tense, as if the world was ending. The moment he stopped in front of me, his first words were: “You need to record a clarification video right now.” “Tell everyone you and Jenny are close friends, and that she never came between us.” I stared at him, momentarily stunned. “What?” He shoved his phone in front of my face. The comments section of a viral gossip page was tearing Jenny apart. “Are we rebranding home-wrecking as high art now?” “Hilarious. In that interview, she looked like she wanted to crawl into his skin.” “Her social media got leaked. She actually shared a post on ‘how to recall an ex.’ What a joke.” David was practically hyperventilating. “That girl from the exhibition wrote about us online, calling it a love triangle, and it went viral! It’s all fabricated lies. You need to record a video and clear her name.” I looked at him for a long, quiet moment. “No.” His eyes darkened instantly. “What did you say?” I took a step back. “This has nothing to do with me. Besides, isn’t Jenny the exact reason we’re over? If you care about her so much, go post your own clarification.” His anger flared, nearly boiling over. “If a statement from me worked, do you think I’d be begging you? Jenny has been crying since this morning. How is she supposed to handle this kind of abuse? If you hadn’t blurted out that you were my girlfriend, none of this would have happened!” I didn’t want to argue anymore, so I kept quiet. “Audrey.” He rarely used my full name. “This is serious. If you don’t record this video, we are truly finished.” I let out a tired laugh. How could he threaten me with something I had already walked away from? “We were finished two days ago.” I walked past him and headed into the convenience store. When I reached for a bottle of water, my hands were shaking. I thought I was emotionally prepared for this, but the coldness of his betrayal still stung. Before heading to the airport, I realized my passport was still at David’s apartment. I had the driver make a quick detour. When the apartment door opened, Jenny was standing there. She was wearing an oversized button-down shirt that belonged to David, her damp hair draped over her shoulders. I had bought that shirt for David last year. I could hear the shower running in the bathroom. Jenny blocked the doorway, looking down at me. “You still have the nerve to show up here?” I pushed past her without looking at her. “Just grabbing my things.” As I retrieved my passport and walked out, I noticed Jenny’s luggage sitting in the hallway. They really couldn’t wait. Jenny leaned against the doorframe, tilting her head with a smug smile. “After looking around, I still think David is the best.” She chuckled. “He hasn’t lost his touch in bed, either.” My fingers clenched around my passport. “You’re blocking the door,” I said, keeping my voice entirely flat. On the surface, I was calm, but my throat felt as if a fishbone were lodged in it, making it difficult to swallow. Sitting in the back of the cab, I stared blankly at the passing streets. For the first time, I realized how incredibly foolish I had been to love him. My hand brushed against a small, hard object in my bag. It was a transparent pill organizer. Each compartment held different tablets, labeled in neat, handwritten script: allergy meds, cold medicine, motion sickness pills, and my heart arrhythmia medication. David had put it together for me three years ago before my first business trip. I had forgotten it was even in my bag. Three years. The medicine inside was probably long expired. The car moved smoothly through the intersection, heading in the opposite direction of everything we had built. I unlocked my phone, deleted David’s contact info, and blocked his number. It was finally over.

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By the third month of keeping Rowan locked in the estate, he had barely spoken a word to me. The heavy blackout curtains were drawn shut. His phone was locked away in my safe. The passcode to the bedroom door was changed every twenty-four hours. When I walked in carrying a tray of warm oatmeal, he was sitting on the edge of the mattress, staring blankly down at the ring of fading bruises around his wrists. I softened my voice, trying to coax him. “Rowan, after you eat, how about I take you for a walk in the gardens?” He didn’t look up. His voice was terrifyingly hollow. “Silas, when are you finally going to let me go?” I reached out to touch his shoulder, but suddenly, a line of glowing text flickered into existence, hovering right in front of my eyes. [Stop touching him. He’s literally at his breaking point.] [Give it two weeks, and he starts hoarding pills.] [Silas crying over his cold dead body later won’t change a damn thing. He pushed him to this.] My hand froze in midair. Rowan flinched away from me on instinct, his shoulders trembling beneath his thin shirt. I looked at his eyes—so empty, stripped of all the brilliant, fierce light they used to hold. Something inside me snapped. I turned on my heel, walked over to the dresser, and pulled out everything I had confiscated: his phone, his ID, his credit cards, and the keys to his Porsche. I dropped them onto the bed. “You can go,” I said. Rowan froze. I grabbed a pen, scribbled today’s door passcode on a piece of paper, and slid it across the nightstand toward him. “I won’t come after you anymore.” Maybe it was just a trick of the dim lighting, but for a split second, the corners of his eyes looked stained with red. 1 Rowan didn’t reach for the paper. He just sat there on the edge of the bed, his wrists half-hidden inside his long sleeves. The bruises were from last night. When I had caught him trying to slip out the door, I’d pinned his wrists and dragged him back to the bed. He had struggled once, briefly, before giving up. After that, he turned his back to me and hadn’t said a single word all night. I thought he was just giving me the silent treatment. I thought he was using his silence as a weapon to force my hand, to make me yield. After all, Rowan Hayes had always been a master at that. He was ice-cold in the boardroom, and he was ice-cold at home. So cold that every time I saw that indifferent, one-foot-out-the-door look on his face, all I wanted to do was deadbolt the locks, draw the curtains, and drag him back into my arms until he remembered he was mine. But now, those glowing words were still suspended in my vision. Line after line, like a live feed of a phantom audience screaming at me. [Silas, stop being a psycho and look at his face.] [Where are all the toxic romance apologists now? Come get your boy.] [I can’t even reread this part, it’s too dark.] [God, he’s already hiding the pills right now. Somebody save him.] My eyes locked onto that last line. Hiding pills. I had personally swept every inch of this room. The medical kit was locked downstairs. The kitchen knives were secured in a biometric drawer. I had even replaced the razors in his master bath with electric trimmers. What the hell could he possibly hide? I turned slowly and walked toward the nightstand. Rowan finally lifted his head. Panic flashed across his pale face. “What are you doing?” I didn’t answer. I gripped the heavy mahogany nightstand and dragged it away from the wall. The wood screeched violently against the hardwood floor. All the color completely drained from Rowan’s face. In that fraction of a second, my heart dropped into my stomach. I pried off the false backing of the drawer. A small, unlabeled white plastic bottle rolled out from the hollow space. It hit the plush rug with a soft, barely audible thud. But the silence in the room suddenly felt like a graveyard. I bent down, picked up the bottle, and popped the childproof cap. Inside, it was half-full of heavy white sedatives. I looked at Rowan. “What is this?” He pressed his lips into a thin, bloodless line. He didn’t speak. I took a step closer. “Who gave these to you?” His eyelashes fluttered against his pale skin. When he spoke, his voice was raw, scraped hollow. “Do you really have to tear everything apart, Silas?” The phantom text exploded across my vision. [Oh my god, this is it! He actually found the bottle!] [Reading this chapter for the first time literally made my blood run cold.] [Stop interrogating him. He can’t sleep. He’s been awake for weeks.] [He was already mapping out his way out of this world.] [If Silas had found this even a day later, it would have been over.] My fingers tightened around the plastic bottle until the edges dug painfully into my palm. “How many have you taken?” I demanded. Rowan let out a sudden, breathy laugh. It was a sound as fragile as shattering ice. “Do you even care?” My throat closed up. Of course I care. I wanted to cross the room and grab him. I wanted to pry his mouth open and force him to tell me where every single missing pill had gone. I wanted to kiss him, to shake him, to tell him that I loved him so deeply it felt like a sickness. But the moment I shifted my weight, Rowan’s shoulders violently flinched. He was terrified I was going to touch him. For the first time, the reality of it cut through my obsession with absolute clarity. Rowan was afraid of me. What I had interpreted as his stubbornness, his rebellion, his calculated silent treatment designed to torture me… it had mutated into genuine terror. The text kept scrolling. [Look at the state of him. And Silas still wants to hug him?] [Wake the hell up, Silas.] I stood glued to the floor, completely paralyzed. I couldn’t take a single step toward him. After what felt like an eternity, I tossed the pill bottle into the trash can. Rowan stared at me, stunned. I turned my back to him, opened the top drawer of the dresser, and pulled out the rest of his belongings. His bank cards, his watch. I piled them onto the mattress. I walked over to the writing desk. I grabbed a pen and aggressively wrote down the estate’s master gate code, the garage pin, and the combination to his personal safe. I pressed down so hard on the last digit that the pen tore straight through the heavy cardstock. I slid the paper across the desk. “Go.” Rowan looked up at me. I forced my voice to remain completely steady. “The security detail is pulling out tonight. My driver is waiting downstairs. You can go wherever you want.” He looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. It took him a long time to finally whisper, “Are you done playing your games, Silas?” I glanced at the trash can where the pills lay. “Yeah.” The edges of his eyes slowly turned red. I didn’t dare look at him any longer. “I’m not coming after you anymore.” 2 Rowan didn’t leave that night. I sat in the dark living room until the sun came up. Upstairs, the house was so quiet it felt entirely vacant. Every ten minutes, a visceral urge seized me to go upstairs and check on him. I would walk to the base of the grand staircase, grip the banister, and force myself to stop. The floating text flickered in the gloom. [Don’t go up there.] [If you show your face right now, you’re only going to terrify him more.] [Give him room to breathe, Silas. For the love of god, act like a human being.] I stood at the bottom of the stairs, my palm slick with cold sweat against the mahogany railing. When morning finally broke, I called my private physician, Dr. Aris. While the doctor examined Rowan, I stood out in the hallway. The door was cracked open. I could see him sitting on the edge of the velvet sofa, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He looked ghostly pale, but his expression had returned to its usual detached neutrality. Dr. Aris clicked his pen. “How has your sleep been lately, Mr. Hayes?” “Fine,” Rowan replied. “And that bottle of sedatives?” Dr. Aris pressed. “Did you take any?” Rowan paused. Standing by the door frame, my fingers dug into the drywall. He lowered his eyes, his voice barely a murmur. “No.” Dr. Aris frowned. “The bottle Silas showed me was half-empty.” Rowan meticulously buttoned his cuffs. After a long beat, he said, “I flushed them.” The doctor blinked, taken aback. “Why would you do that?” Rowan didn’t answer. I lowered my gaze to the floorboards. Maybe none of those pills had actually made it into his stomach. But he had still hidden them inside the false back of the nightstand. He had still sat alone in the dead of night, unscrewed the cap, and poured those heavy white tablets into his palm, staring at them. Thinking about how easily they could dissolve into his bloodstream and shut his body down for good. I was almost too late. After Dr. Aris left, Rowan walked out into the hallway and stopped in front of me. He was still pale, and there was no light left in his eyes. “You heard?” he asked. I looked at him. “Why did you flush them?” He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Take a guess.” The air in my lungs felt like it was going to combust. If this were a month ago, I would have grabbed him by the jaw and forced him to finish that sentence. Instead, I took a step back. Rowan’s smile slowly faded. “Silas—” “The driver is waiting outside,” I cut in. He stared at me. “You’re really letting me leave?” My throat felt like it had been scrubbed with sandpaper. “Yes.” Rowan turned and picked up his car keys from the console table. When he reached the grand front double doors, he paused. The morning light poured in from outside, blindingly bright. He stood silhouetted in the glare, his frame looking so terribly thin, as if a strong gust of wind would shatter him. “Silas.” I looked up. He didn’t turn around. “You’re really not going to come looking for me?” I clenched my fists inside my pockets, my nails digging half-moons into my palms. “No.” The sound of the heavy door clicking shut was incredibly soft. When the rumble of his engine faded down the driveway, I remained standing in the foyer, entirely paralyzed. The floating text went dead silent for a long time. Finally, a single line drifted across my vision. [He finally made it out.] [God, I hope he survives this time.] I brought my hand up and covered my eyes. My palm was damp and freezing. It felt like my boiling blood had instantly turned to ice. It’s so cold, Rowan. Why couldn’t you just love me back? 3 Rowan moved back into his downtown penthouse. On the first day, he didn’t leave the apartment. On the second day, he returned to the Hayes Corporation headquarters. By the third day, he was chairing their executive board meeting. I was sitting at the head of the conference table at Montgomery Holdings, my phone resting face-up next to my legal pad. Halfway through my VP’s quarterly report, my screen lit up. It was a photo sent from a mutual contact. In the picture, Rowan was wearing a sharp, charcoal-grey Tom Ford suit, sitting at the head of his own boardroom table. He still looked pale, but the icy, commanding authority had returned to his eyes. His cuffs were perfectly tailored, hiding any fading bruises on his wrists. He looked infinitely better than he had locked inside my estate. The text drifted by. [See? He thrives the second he’s away from you.] [This is where he belongs. Not chained inside some dark bedroom.] I flipped my phone face-down against the mahogany table. “Keep going,” I told my VP. My executive assistant, Bennett, glanced at my expression and noticeably lowered the volume of his voice. After the meeting wrapped, I sat alone in my corner office until the city skyline outside turned pitch black. Rowan hadn’t contacted me. And I hadn’t contacted him. But I still had my security detail tailing him from a distance. Just to make sure he was alive. That was the lie I kept telling myself. A line of text mocked me in the dark: [So this is what Silas Montgomery calls ‘giving him space’? Yikes.] I stared at the words. Right. Rowan wouldn’t like this. I pulled myself together and texted the head of the detail: [Pull back. Stand down.] The reply came almost instantly: [Sir?] I typed it again: [Stand down. Now.] I tossed the phone onto my desk, but the suffocating weight in my chest didn’t lighten in the slightest. At 10:00 PM, Rowan called me for the first time. I stared at his name glowing on the screen. My finger hovered over the ‘Accept’ button, trembling, unable to press down. The ringing stopped. A second call immediately came through. The phantom comments started arguing. [Just answer it! What if it’s an emergency?] [I can’t handle these two. Picking up a phone call shouldn’t feel like diffusing a bomb.] When the third call came in, I answered it. The line was dead quiet. I could only hear the faint, shallow rhythm of Rowan’s breathing. I spoke first. “Do you need something?” It took him a moment. “The door lock is broken.” I immediately sat up straight in my leather chair. “Where are you?” “The penthouse.” “Alright. I’ll have maintenance head over right now.” There was a few seconds of silence on the other end. “You’re not coming?” I gripped the phone, my knuckles turning white. “No. I don’t want to crowd you.” Rowan let out a soft, breathy laugh. “You’re being so considerate these days, Silas.” The words felt like a surgical needle slipping directly into my eardrum. He hung up. I dispatched my best security tech to his building. Half an hour later, the tech texted me. The smart lock wasn’t broken. Someone had manually popped the battery pack out from the inside. I stared at that text message for a long, long time. I didn’t call him back. The comments scrolled by slowly. [His behavior is so off.] [It’s a trauma response. He’s testing the waters to see if Silas will actually show up.] [Don’t romanticize this, oh my god.] I put the phone down. Outside, the Manhattan lights glittered endlessly. But all I could see was that suffocating, curtain-drawn bedroom back at the estate. 4 Rowan went to a club. He almost never stepped foot in places like that. The photo came from a wealthy acquaintance of ours who ran in the same circles. He had no idea we had severed ties, so his text was entirely teasing: [Hey Silas, who’s the pretty boy hanging off your guy? You gonna let that slide?] I opened the image. Rowan was sitting at a high-end mahogany bar. A young man in a black silk button-down was leaning in way too close, whispering something into Rowan’s ear. Rowan wasn’t pulling away. I stared at the screen, a vicious, ugly fire igniting in my chest and burning straight up my throat. If this were before, I would have already been in the car. I would have stormed into that club, yanked Rowan off that barstool, wrapped my trench coat around his shoulders, locked the car doors, and driven him straight back to the estate. But now, I didn’t even have the right to yell at him. The phantom text was having a field day. [Lmao, that guy is literally his cousin.] [We know that, but Silas doesn’t. This is about to be a disaster.] [Stop laughing, I’m genuinely terrified Silas is going to relapse and kidnap him again.] [Releasing a man and then immediately dragging him out of a club? Straight to jail.] I grabbed my car keys. I made it to the elevator banks before I forced my feet to stop. Eventually, I turned around and walked back into my office. Thirty minutes later, my phone rang. It was Rowan. I answered. The heavy bass of club music thumped in the background, but his voice cut through the noise, sharp and clear. “Silas.” “What is it?” “Did you get the picture?” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Rowan, stop playing games with your own safety just to spite me.” He laughed. “I thought you didn’t care anymore.” I didn’t reply. The background noise muffled slightly. It sounded like he had stepped out onto a balcony or an alley. The chill of the night wind hissed through the receiver. He asked, “Are you jealous?” My fingernails dug into the edge of my mahogany desk. “No.” “Then why are you angry?” I kept my voice dead level. “I’m not angry.” Rowan fell silent. After a long, agonizing pause, he murmured, “You wouldn’t have acted like this before.” My throat felt tight. “Before was toxic. I was hurting you.” “Whether you were hurting me or not,” he said softly, “was always up to you to decide, wasn’t it?” The words landed lightly, but they crushed my chest like an anvil. “It’s too late for this,” I said. “Go home.” “To which one?” I couldn’t answer that. He couldn’t go back to the estate, and my penthouse wasn’t an option. He had already claimed the lock to his own apartment was broken. My heart spasmed, but I couldn’t force a single word out. Rowan let out a bitter little chuckle. “Forget it,” he said. “You’re a coward now, Silas. You don’t even have the guts to order me around anymore.” The line went dead. That night, he checked into a luxury hotel a few blocks away. I drove there. But when I parked across the street, I didn’t go inside. I sat in the driver’s seat of the Aston Martin, watching the entrance from the dead of night until the dawn broke. Early the next morning, Rowan walked out of the lobby. He was alone, still wearing the suit from the night before. He stopped on the curb and, quite suddenly, looked directly across the street at my car. Through the heavy tint of the windows, there was no way he could see me. But his gaze felt like it was burning a hole straight through my skull. I didn’t move a muscle. Rowan stood there for a few seconds, then turned, got into his waiting town car, and drove away. The text drifted past. [He totally knows.] [Yeah, he definitely feels Silas watching him.] I leaned forward, resting my forehead against the cold leather of the steering wheel. I didn’t lift my head for a long time. 5 Rowan moved back into the estate. When Carson, the estate manager, texted me, I was in the middle of signing a multi-million-dollar acquisition contract. [Mr. Hayes has returned.] [He went into the master bedroom and drew all the curtains.] My Montblanc pen stalled on the heavy paper. The black ink bled out, forming an ugly, dark stain. I stared at those two lines of text, completely paralyzed. The floating comments were just as shocked. [Why the hell did he go back?!] [No, no, no. I’m actually terrified right now.] [He needs to stay as far away from that house as possible.] I didn’t go back. At 9:00 PM, Carson texted to say Rowan had refused dinner. At 10:00 PM, Carson texted to say Rowan had shattered the bedside lamp. At 10:30 PM, my phone buzzed with an image sent directly from Rowan. It was a picture of the hardwood floor covered in broken glass. And a shallow, bleeding cut across the back of his pale hand. The caption read: [You used to get so angry when I did this, Silas.] I stared at that thin line of blood, my fingers trembling slightly. I texted back: [Dr. Aris is on his way to you.] His reply was instantaneous. [You’re not coming?] I typed. Erased it. Typed again. Finally, I hit send on: [You need medical attention.] A long time passed before he sent back a single letter. [Oh.] Dr. Aris went to the estate. Carson reported back that it was just a superficial scratch, and they had bandaged it. I sat in my corporate office until two in the morning. Suddenly, my screen lit up again. This time, it was a photo of the white plastic pill bottle. The cap was off. The heavy white sedatives were scattered all across the nightstand. No caption. A high-pitched ringing exploded in my ears. I snatched my car keys and practically sprinted for the private elevator. The text was flying frantically across my vision. [Jesus, slow down! You’re going to crash!] [Call an ambulance first!] [Silas, don’t lose your damn mind, but also PLEASE GET THERE NOW!] I dialed Rowan’s number as the engine roared to life. Once. Twice. Three times. No answer. Thirty minutes later, I slammed the front doors of the estate open and took the stairs two at a time. The door to the master bedroom was wide open. Rowan was sitting on the edge of the bed. The white pills were scattered all around him like snow. He looked up at me. The corners of his eyes were rimmed in angry red. “You’re here.” I crossed the room in three strides, grabbed his jaw, and forced his face up. “How many did you swallow?” He looked at me, his voice lighter than a ghost. “Take a guess.” My blood ran ice cold. I grabbed the water glass on the nightstand, sniffed it, then roughly pried his hands open to check for residue. Nothing. No smell of medication. Every single pill was accounted for. When I finished counting, my hands were violently shaking. Rowan just sat there, watching me. “Silas.” I ignored him, spinning around to grab the medical kit Dr. Aris had left behind. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed the cuff of my shirt. His grip was weak. “This is the part where you usually scream at me,” he whispered. I froze. His voice dropped even lower. “This is the part where you pin me down on the mattress, and tell me that if I ever try to scare you like that again, you’ll lock me in a room without a single window.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “That was sick, Rowan. That was wrong.” His fingers slowly let go of my sleeve. I looked back at him. That red flush was still lingering at the edges of his eyes, but his terrifying stillness sent a shockwave of panic through my chest. “So now you’re just going to do nothing?” My throat was parched. “I can’t be the monster that terrifies you anymore.” “What if I want to terrify you?” I stared at him. He stared back. In that split second, I felt like I was standing dead-center in an invisible spiderweb. Rowan was sitting at the nucleus—pale, broken, looking like he was about to shatter into a million pieces. Yet he was the one holding all the threads. But I was too terrified to take a step forward. I was terrified of making the wrong move, of slipping back into the toxic abyss where neither of us would survive. I swept the pills into a biohazard bag to hand off to Dr. Aris for testing. Then I ordered Carson to strip the bedroom of all medications, sharp objects, and glass. Throughout the entire process, I didn’t lay a single finger on him. Rowan sat perfectly still on the edge of the bed, watching me sterilize the room. When I was finally done, he asked in a barely-there whisper, “Silas… do you even want me anymore?” My fingers locked up. The text flooded my vision. [Holy shit…] [Holy shit.] [HOLY SHIT!] I turned around, agonizingly slow. “Rowan. We need to stop.” The last bit of color drained from his face. “Once you’re stable,” I forced myself to say, “we can talk.” He let out a broken laugh. “Talk about what?” “You’re going through withdrawal right now,” I said, my voice cracking. “We are toxic for each other. We need to detox.” When those words fell from my mouth, the final spark of light in his eyes completely extinguished. 6 Before I left the estate, I made Carson remove every single sharp object from the entire second floor. Rowan sat on the edge of the mattress, his head bowed. He hadn’t said a word. He looked dreadfully pale, a pristine white bandage stark against his bruised hand, the sleeve of his shirt hanging loose over his cold, delicate wrist bone. Just as my hand touched the door handle, he finally spoke. “Silas.” I stopped. His voice was thick, almost as if he were choking back a sob. “Where are you going?” My grip on the brass handle tightened. “Back to the office.” “And then what?” I didn’t turn around. I forced my mouth into a painful imitation of a smile. “I’m going to see a doctor, too.” He let out a soft, mocking laugh. “You’re certainly playing the good boy these days.” The comment sent a spike of irritation and agony straight down my spine. I wanted to turn around. I wanted to ask him what the hell he actually wanted from me. I wanted to ask if he wouldn’t be satisfied until he watched me completely lose my mind. The primal, obsessive urge boiling in my marrow was threatening to swallow me alive. I wanted to drag him against me, to kiss the breath out of him, to scream that I loved him. I wanted to shake him and demand to know why he couldn’t just love me the way I loved him—with a terrifying, all-consuming devotion. But before I stepped through the door, my voice came out hard and clinical. “I won’t touch you again.” The room behind me fell dead silent. It was silent for so long I assumed he was done speaking. But right in the exact second the heavy door clicked shut, I heard Rowan whisper. “You’re a liar, Silas.” My hand froze on the knob. But the latch had already caught. I stood in the dark hallway for a long time, unable to move. The text began to slowly drift in. [Something feels off about that line.] [Wait, is it just me, or was Rowan not just running away out of fear back then?] [Does anyone remember earlier in the book? Every time he ‘escaped,’ he only ever made it as far as the garden.] [Shut up, both of their brains are completely deep-fried at this point.] I lowered my eyes. Yeah. My brain is deep-fried. From the second I saw that pill bottle hidden in the nightstand, I hadn’t had a single rational thought. The best thing I could do right now was stay as far away from Rowan Hayes as physically possible. My therapist had diagnosed me with severe coercive control tendencies. I was a psychopath who had driven the man I loved to the brink of suicide. I knew what I was. So when I got into my car, I dialed my assistant, Bennett. “Set something up for me… a date. A blind date.” Anything. Anything to break the cycle. Dead silence stretched over the line for five full seconds. “Mr. Montgomery?” I stared up at the second-story window of the estate. The blackout curtains were drawn tight. “Or a charity gala, a dinner party. Just find someone.” Bennett’s voice dropped. “Are you absolutely sure, sir?” “I’m sure.” The moment I hung up, the text went absolutely nuclear. [???] [Oh my god, these two psychopaths are about to level up.] [Rowan is going to absolutely lose his mind when he finds out.] I threw my phone onto the passenger seat. I didn’t start the ignition right away. I looked up at the house. The curtain in the master bedroom twitched. Just a fraction of an inch. Like someone was standing in the pitch black, watching me through a sliver of fabric. I stared intently at the window. The curtain immediately fell perfectly still. Half an hour later, I drove away. But the image of that shifting fabric haunted the back of my eyelids all night.

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