Rumor has it the Best Actress is a homewrecker, caught in a scandalous affair. At the awards ceremony, she set the record straight right on stage. “That’s not true. Susan has already agreed to be my girlfriend.” Down in the audience, I was completely floored. When did I agree to that? We were just trying things out for seven days! 1 The A-list actress Vivian Monroe was chasing me, and the whole of Hollywood knew it. It got so bad that even the stray dogs on the studio backlot would give me a look that said, So, Susan, have you said yes to Vivian yet? “No, no, NO!” I shrieked, finally snapping at one of them. “How many times do I have to say it? I did not say yes!” Just as I was losing my mind at a golden retriever, Vivian appeared. She held out a check. I instinctively recoiled, clutching my chest. “What do you think you’re doing? I didn’t come to Hollywood to sell my body.” “I came here to outlast everyone!” I declared. “I’ll watch the druggies, the gamblers, the liars, and the creeps burn out, and then it’ll be my turn to shine!” Vivian simply flipped her wrist, revealing the number written on the check. Pfft. A measly… My eyes widened as I counted the zeroes. One, ten, hundred, thousand… holy… mother… of God. “A billion dollars?” I looked up, my voice trembling slightly. “Are you trying to buy my soul?” A flicker of fear crossed my face. “A billion dollars,” Vivian said, her voice smooth as silk, “to be my girlfriend for seven days.” I stood there, blinking, my mind racing. In this world—the one I’d woken up in—I was an actress who’d shot to fame overnight thanks to a low-budget web series. The critics had called me a star born from the heavens. But the hype faded as quickly as it came, and soon I was a nobody again, completely off the Hollywood map. Well, not a complete nobody. I was still famous for one thing: Vivian Monroe, the titan of the film industry who had swept every major award, was in love with me. After my fifteen minutes of fame were up, my paychecks got smaller and smaller. I thought my first seven-figure deal was the beginning, but it turned out to be my peak. But if I dated Vivian for seven days, I could get a billion dollars. Suddenly, outlasting anyone seemed like a terrible plan. I gingerly took the check from her, then paused. “Is that pre-tax or post-tax?” Vivian’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t say anything about sleeping with you.” I gasped, mortified. “No, not that!” I scrambled to explain. “I mean T-A-X! The money that goes to the government!” She just looked more confused. “Which one?” Right. An A-lister like her probably didn’t spend her time on internet meme pages. 2 With a billion-dollar check in hand, the first thing I did was buy a sprawling villa right on the coast. The second was to drop ten grand into my small fan community’s server chat. Finally, remembering I had a job to do, I gave Vivian a call. “Hello, my generous benefactor. What’s on the agenda for today?” Even though she was only a year older than me, she was signing the checks, so a little respect was in order. “I have an awards ceremony tonight,” Vivian’s cool voice came through the phone. My heart soared. “Excellent! I’m sure you’re swamped, so I’ll let you get to it. Have a great time!” I was about to hang up, marveling at how easy this gig was, when her voice stopped me. “You’re coming with me.” Wait, what? I hadn’t had a project out in eight months. What was I going to do at an awards show? Besides, I didn’t even have an invitation. As if reading my mind, Vivian added, “The invitation and a car will be at your door in thirty minutes.” The benefactor had spoken. All I could do was offer my thanks. “Wow. Your efficiency is terrifying.” I had no idea that “terrifying” was just the beginning. Later that night, Vivian was on stage accepting her Golden Griffin award. The host asked for her acceptance speech. She stood at the podium, her gaze drifting over the audience until it landed squarely on me. “I’d like to take this moment to clarify something for all my fans,” she began, her voice ringing through the auditorium. “There is nothing going on between myself and the actor Louis. I have never interfered in his relationship with any other starlet.” She paused, a small smile playing on her lips. “The person I’m in love with is Susan Summers.” “So, no, I’m not some desperate homewrecker. That’s not true. Susan has already agreed to be my girlfriend.” The entire room erupted. Everyone was cheering, celebrating the queen of Hollywood finding her true love. Everyone except me. I was just staring, dumbfounded. When did I agree to that? We were just trying things out for seven days! On day one of our billion-dollar contract, I’d already been played. I knew this money wouldn’t be easy to earn. This was way, way worse than just sleeping with her. As Vivian finished her speech, the camera operator swung a lens right onto my face. I had to instantly plaster on a smile, a perfect eight-teeth-baring grin, while my mind was screaming. You magnificent bastard! You absolute, magnificent bastard! 3 As soon as she accepted her award, Vivian whisked me out of the ceremony. Inside the back of a stretch Rolls-Royce, I finally found my voice. “Why’d we leave so early?” “Any later,” Vivian said, her tone dry, “and we’d be getting invitations to be passed around directors’ hotel rooms like party favors.” “Really? That’s never happened to me.” I frowned, thinking back. “No one’s ever even hinted at anything like that.” Vivian glanced at me, a hint of a smirk in her voice. “Why do you think I made sure the entire industry knew I was pursuing you?” My lips parted. “To… to keep the creeps away from me?” Vivian chuckled softly. “Not as clueless as I thought.” A wave of warmth washed over me. Wow. Maybe I’d misjudged her. She was actually… kind of a good person. I gazed out the window at the glittering city lights, a genuine smile on my face. “So, where are we headed? Are you taking me somewhere fun?” “Mhm,” Vivian hummed, her voice flat. “We’re going to have some fun. In my apartment.” In an instant, the smile froze on my face. 4 PH-1314. I stared at the number on Vivian’s penthouse door. “Are you secretly a hopeless romantic or something?” I asked. Vivian’s mouth twitched, and she pulled me inside before I could say more. My jaw dropped as I took in her apartment. A fluffy pink couch. A pink coffee table. A pink dining set. Pink… everything. The only thing that wasn’t pink was the walls. I was stunned. The ice queen of Hollywood was secretly a Barbie girl. “You really like pink, huh?” I asked, bewildered. “I hate it,” she replied instantly. I blinked, processing this. “Well,” I said, a slow grin spreading across my face. “I know someone who does.” Vivian looked at me. “Who?” I met her gaze, my eyes filled with the conviction of someone about to swear a sacred vow. “Me. I love pink.” Before she could respond, I launched into a heartfelt speech. “Vivian, look, I know you like me, but you really didn’t have to redecorate your entire apartment for me. It’s a lot of pressure. And besides, this whole thing is over in seven days. I’m worried you’ll be surrounded by all this pink and have a complete breakdown when I’m gone.” I paused for dramatic effect, then patted her shoulder consolingly. “But hey, for a billion dollars, I’ll throw in some after-care service. If you start missing me, just give me a call, okay?” Vivian rubbed her temples, looking like she’d just been hit with a wave of secondhand embarrassment. She walked into her bedroom and returned two minutes later, thrusting a set of pajamas into my arms. “Go take a shower.” I looked down. She’d even provided a full set of undergarments. Wait a second. How did she know my size? Had she been researching me that intensely? Oh my god, this was so embarrassing! And she wanted me to shower the moment we got home! Which meant, after the shower… “What are you thinking about?” Vivian waved a hand in front of my face. I snapped back to reality, my cheeks burning. “Nothing. Just… wondering where I’ll be sleeping?” Vivian turned and pointed back toward the bedroom she’d just come from. “In there. With me.” I swallowed hard. “I don’t know if that’s… appropriate. You said I didn’t have to sleep with you.” Vivian paused. “Is just sharing a bed considered sleeping with someone now? Relax,” she promised. “I’m not going to do anything to you.” Why did that sound exactly like something a player would say? Seeing my hesitation, she added, “I just want you to read me a bedtime story.” I stared at her, completely baffled. Vivian Monroe was paying me a billion dollars… to read her a story? This was way weirder than any casting couch proposition. “Just a story? That’s it?” I had to confirm. “That’s it. Now go wash up. You first, then me.” 5 After my shower, I was sitting propped against the headboard while Vivian lay tucked under the covers. She reached over, opened her nightstand drawer, and pulled out a book, tossing it to me. I read the title aloud. “365 Bedtime Stories for Children.” Then I saw the fine print at the bottom. “Suitable for ages 3 to 9.” If I remembered correctly, Vivian Monroe was twenty-nine years old. Who the hell, at twenty-nine, pays a billion dollars to have someone read them children’s stories?! I didn’t buy it. She had to be up to something. For the sake of my virtue, I’d have to sleep with one eye open tonight. “Is there a problem? Why aren’t you reading?” Vivian’s voice cut through my thoughts. The benefactor had spoken. I quickly sat up straight, opened the book, and began reading in my most soothing, storyteller voice. … I don’t know how long I read. All I remember is being so exhausted that my yawns became more frequent than my words, my speech slurring into a drowsy mumble. In the hazy moments before sleep took me, I felt Vivian’s fingers intertwine with mine, and I thought I heard her ask me something. But I drifted off before I could make out the words. 6 I woke up in the middle of the night, jolted awake by a stomachache of epic proportions. I scrambled out of bed, muttering curses under my breath as I bolted for the bathroom. That’s what I get for gorging on all those fancy imported snacks in Vivian’s dressing room. As I stepped out of the bedroom, I heard a strange, choked sound. It sounded like someone was crying. I froze. “Vivian, you have to come with me…” I turned back to the bed, only to find it empty. My brow furrowed. Was that Vivian crying? I flicked on the hallway light and followed the sound. It was coming from the main bathroom. “Vivian? Is that you in there?” I knocked on the locked door. The crying stopped. A hoarse voice answered, “Who is it?” “Who else would it be?” I said with a sigh. “It’s me, Susan.” The door swung open with a bang, and a reeking-of-alcohol Vivian practically fell into my arms. “Susan, I love you so much,” she slurred. My body went rigid. My hands hovered in the air, unsure of where to land. Vivian pressed her face into the crook of my neck. “Susan, we’ve been together for nine years. How could you just… stop loving me?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Susan, why did you forget me? What did I do wrong? Tell me, and I’ll fix it. I’ll change.” Her words sent a shiver down my spine. I’d never been with Vivian. Where did nine years come from? Or falling out of love? Or forgetting? Wait a minute. Was she mistaking me for someone else? Did Vivian have some epic, tragic love affair before she met me? And was she dumped, left heartbroken, forced to find a replacement for her lost love? Which would make me… the substitute? Oh my god. Was the story I’d woken up in some kind of tropey substitute-lover romance? This was so damn cliché. Vivian pressed closer, her hot breath ghosting across my neck. “Susan, you used to read to me, but you’d never get more than three sentences out before you’d turn off the light, pull me into your arms, and we’d…” A fresh wave of goosebumps erupted on my skin. I cut her off before she could finish. “Vivian, I would love to hear all about your tragic backstory later, but right now, I really, really have to take a crap!” With that, I pushed her away, ducked into the bathroom, and locked the door behind me.

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My father, buried under a mountain of debt, drugged me and delivered me to a powerhouse’s hotel room. Just an hour ago, I was on my knees in front of that same man, begging him. Begging him to be merciful, to spare my father and me. The tycoon, his leather shoes gleaming, had chuckled down at me. “And what, exactly, do you have that I could possibly want?” Now, he was walking toward my bed. I was burning up, my consciousness fading, but I fought against him with what little strength I had left. He ignored it. And began to push a string of prayer beads inside me, one by one. “Baby,” he whispered, his voice a low caress, “you’re finally mine.” 1 Hot. So incredibly hot. My whole body was on fire… I didn’t know what was happening to me, only that a searing heat was spreading through my veins, a fever that wouldn’t break. Just an hour ago, I had been kneeling before Sebastian Croft. I was pleading with the city’s most formidable tycoon, begging him to extend the deadline on the thirty-million-dollar debt my father and I owed him. Sebastian was dressed in a sharp black suit, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes half-closed as he held a cigarette between his fingers, lost in thought. I’d never dealt with him before, had no idea how to read the depths of his mind, so I just kept my eyes lowered, playing the part of the obedient supplicant. If he would just show a sliver of mercy, this whole humiliating ordeal would be worth it… He crossed one long leg over the other, the polished leather of his shoe so close it nearly grazed my cheek. His strong, slender fingers hooked around my tie, yanking me forward until my trembling face was inches from his. He exhaled a perfect ring of smoke right at me. “And how, exactly, do you plan to beg me, hmm?” The smoke stung my eyes, bringing tears. I could only look at him, my vision blurring. “…Anything you want, Mr. Croft. I know you don’t need anything, but I can give you everything my family has left as collateral.” Sebastian raised an eyebrow. Through the hazy smoke, I thought I saw the ghost of a smile touch his lips. He seemed to be in a good mood. He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear, his tone light, as if sharing a joke. “And what, exactly, do you have that I could possibly want?” That one sentence sent me plummeting from hopeful anticipation straight into the depths of hell. The moment I was out of that private room, I turned and kicked the wall in a blind rage. “Croft, you son of a bitch! Fucking pretentious asshole! You promised you’d help if I came to you in person, you fucking liar! Fine! I hope you have a son born without an asshole and that your ancestors curse you from the grave!” The cursing didn’t help. The memory of what he’d done to me, the casual humiliation, made my blood boil. I spat on the ground, my teeth clenched. “That fucking old man. He’s probably got erectile dysfunction, that’s why he’s such a bitter bastard. Can’t even keep his hands off other men. Back in the day, they would’ve drowned pigs like him! The world is a sick, twisted place!” Around the corner, the hallway was deathly silent. Sebastian’s assistant didn’t dare look up, the temperature around him having dropped to freezing. Under the dim corridor lights, the man stood perfectly still, the line of his jaw sharp and unforgiving. His voice, when he spoke, was a low, magnetic rumble, several shades darker than before. “Did I just tell my team to grant him an extension on the debt?” The assistant nodded meekly. “Yes, sir.” Sebastian tapped the ash from his cigarette, his face a blank mask. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “Tell his father that if he wants that extension, he can deliver his precious son to my bed.” “I’m going to personally teach him the meaning of a sick, twisted world.” 2 It was too hot. I kicked off the blankets, desperate for relief, and tugged at the already disheveled remains of my shirt. A deep, feverish blush was creeping up my neck and across my cheeks. I fumbled with the buckle of my belt, trying to free the aching pressure building in my pants, but my fingers wouldn’t cooperate. What the hell… this can’t be happening… Shame burned through me, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. That glass of water my father gave me before he left… it had to be it. But it was too late now. The door to the room swung open. A tall, imposing figure walked slowly to my bedside, looking down at me with an air of absolute authority. The moment I saw Sebastian Croft, the last of my fight drained away. My eyes, wet with unshed tears, glared at him with pure fire. He leaned down, ignoring my feverish struggles, and his long, powerful fingers spread me open. “Such a good boy,” he purred. “Knowing to get rid of the obstacles yourself.” If looks could kill, this perverted old bastard would be in a thousand pieces. But under the drug’s influence, my broken sobs were swallowed by his invading tongue. My resistance melted into breathless moans. “What was that, my dear?” My lips trembled as I pressed them to his ear. “Sebastian, I’ll fucking kill you, you sick freak… ngh…” I fell silent. Because the string of prayer beads he always wore wrapped around his wrist was now entering my body, one by one. I was drenched in sweat, speechless. My mind screamed, Sick freak, filthy old lech… I cursed him until my nose was red and I couldn’t breathe, and then, suddenly, the fight went out of me. I grabbed his hand as he reached for a tissue to wipe me clean, and just stared at him with wide, pleading eyes. “You old bastard,” I whimpered, “don’t just watch. Help me catch my breath!” He may have misunderstood. He slowly leaned down and kissed my lips. “See? So much more obedient when you don’t have the energy to curse me.” His words nearly made me pass out from pure rage. I’m done! I can’t live like this! But I didn’t die. Afterwards, I huddled under the covers like a coward in its shell, refusing to come out no matter what Sebastian said. This was a matter of principle. A straight man’s principles. Just because Sebastian Croft was twisted didn’t mean I had to be! I muffled my voice with the blanket. “Sebastian, do you realize this is kidnapping? I could have you arrested for this!” He was unfazed. “Your father was the one who drugged you.” “Impossible…” I shot up in bed. It had to be this old bastard. He used his power to force my father! Sebastian fastened his cufflinks, his gaze cool. “Consider it a down payment.” “…” This is disgusting. What a vile, black-hearted scheme! Seeing the smug, satisfied look on his face only fueled my anger. But there was nothing I could do. What was done, was done. I couldn’t exactly return the favor—the size difference alone made that a losing proposition for me. “Fine,” I said, grabbing my pants from the floor. “Then our debt is settled. Wiped clean!” I hadn’t taken a single step before I heard his voice, cold and menacing, from behind me. “Who said anything about wiping it clean…?” “The deal I made with your father was one million per session.” 3 Don’t get angry. Don’t get angry. It’s not worth dying over. If that bastard Sebastian was still breathing, I couldn’t let myself die of a rage-induced aneurysm. He’d probably laugh at me in the afterlife. I slowly crawled back under the covers and tried to present myself. That didn’t feel right, so I shifted positions. A million a pop, huh? Forty-something more times and I’d be free. Just then, a cold draft hit me, and my ass cheeks clenched involuntarily. But Sebastian didn’t move. I let out a bitter laugh. “Croft, are you going to do this or not?” He had his eyes closed. What the hell? Now he was playing the gentleman? Then who was that sex-crazed demon from last night? I peeked out from under the blanket, my eyes drawn to the large, damp patch on his pajama pants. Just as I did, a large hand pushed my head back down and tucked the covers in around me. “Once every three days. Overexertion is bad for the body.” I almost coughed up blood. Did he think I was begging him to grace my humble abode? Was he a fucking monk all of a sudden? So many rules. At this rate, when would I ever pay off the debt? It’s not like you can force a horse to drink! Frustrated, I looked him up online. And what I found was that Sebastian Croft had, in fact, spent two years in seclusion at a monastery. Even after returning to secular life, he maintained a strict habit of drinking herbal medicine. No wonder the old house had caught fire. He was making up for lost time. I looked at his face—so deceptively serene, so holier-than-thou—and nodded to myself. Of course. Pretty monks are always… Mmph! My eyes shot open as his lips crashed down on mine. I heard him swallow, then his voice was a low whisper in my ear. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking. You’re not going anywhere until this debt is paid. You’re mine.” “My payment. My wife.” 4 Fine. Won’t let me leave, huh? I’ve got plenty of ways to make you. I turned Sebastian’s villa into my personal playground, banging on pots and pans, performing bizarre ritual dances, and generally causing as much chaos as humanly possible. I was hoping he’d get sick of me and kick me out. Unfortunately, the villa was miles from the city, and the rooms were soundproof. Sebastian was completely undisturbed. He even suggested I stop making a scene and use the time to get a Ph.D., offering to buy me all the research materials I needed. Getting a Ph.D. while getting screwed? Was he even human?! I’d already suffered through a bachelor’s and master’s in medicine; I wasn’t about to go back for more. So, when he had a guest over, I upped the ante. I threw myself on the floor and put on a one-man melodrama of a grieving widow, wailing and sobbing for all I was worth. The guest stared, his jaw on the floor. It took him a long moment to speak. “Your… wife is certainly multi-talented.” Beside him, Sebastian just smirked. “Isn’t he? I think so too.” “Next time, I’ll set up a stage for him,” I seethed. “You can invite all your friends over for the show. Wouldn’t want them to miss out on all this entertainment.” I was fuming. As soon as the guest left, I stormed into Sebastian’s room to confront him, only to find him drinking his herbal tonic. The bitter, pungent smell filled the room. It was clearly not your average herbal tea. I leaned in and sniffed. “How can you drink this stuff? It’s so bitter. Don’t you ever eat anything sweet?” He patted his lap, and I grudgingly sat down. Before I could react, he took a large gulp of the medicine. The next second, his hand was on the back of my head, and his warm, medicine-laced lips were on mine. “Mmph… Croft, you… glug…” I struggled. He pulled away, sighing contentedly. “It’s not bitter anymore.” I was furious. Of course it wasn’t! The medicine was in my stomach! What did he have to complain about? I spat a few times to get rid of the taste. How could he drink that stuff every single day without so much as a grimace? I had to give him credit. I gave him a thumbs-up. “Seriously, man, to be able to stomach that… you’re the real deal.” Sebastian looked down at my thumb. “It is bitter.” He smirked and gestured for me to lean closer. I did. His gaze darkened as he looked at my lips, and he gently wiped away a stray drop with his finger. “From now on, you can drink my medicine for me… You like it? I can have them bring you another bowl.” Another bowl? Was he insane? “Sebastian, I’ll kill your entire fucking family!” I roared. Sometimes, I swear he had selective hearing. I could be cursing his ancestors, and he’d act like he hadn’t heard a thing. He just raised a finger, his tone authoritative yet gentle. “The goji berries, angelica root, and red dates are all very nourishing. If you find it too bitter, I’ll have someone bring you some candied fruit.” Nourishing, huh? My eyes lit up with curiosity. Sebastian stroked my hair like I was a cat, then left to give some instructions. I sat in his chair as a servant brought in another bowl of the tonic and a plate of candied fruit. I took a small sip, then a piece of fruit. It wasn’t so bad. I just wondered what it was for. Was it good for the kidneys? Maybe it would make me strong enough to flip him over in a fight. “What’s this for?” I asked casually. The servant glanced at me. “It’s to… to treat one’s sexual orientation.” “Pfft!” I nearly sprayed a mouthful of tonic across the room. He was making me drink medicine for what? I wasn’t the one who was bent! The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I finished off the rest of the candied fruit in a huff. That bastard. I hoped he died childless and alone. 5 Sebastian had his routines. Every Friday, he went to the temple to make a donation. And he insisted on dragging me along. I was dead tired in the car. He’d kept me up all night again. “Why are we going to a temple?” “To pray.” He paused, his eyes drifting down to my crotch. A slow smile spread across his face. “To pray for an heir for the Croft family.” I choked on my tea. “Pfft—are you insane? Who’s going to give birth?” He gave me a look that said, It’s not going to be me. Me? I’m a guy. Do I even have the right equipment for that? What was wrong with him? Had all that meditating turned his brain to mush? I looked up and realized he was just messing with me, which only made me angrier. I’m not a kid. When we got to the temple, a novice monk handed me a string of prayer beads. “So, what kind of services do you offer here?” I asked. The monk bowed his head. “We hold ceremonies, chant scriptures…” I raised an eyebrow. “Do you do funeral rites?” The monk paused. “…My condolences, young patron. For whom shall we pray? When… when did they pass?” I looked up and saw Sebastian a hundred yards away, talking with a long-haired man, his expression cold and all-business. I grinned. “My husband. He’s not dead yet. Can I place a pre-order?” The young monk had probably never heard of pre-ordering a funeral. I pointed toward Sebastian. “See that man over there? You can get the deposit from him directly.” My voice wasn’t quiet. They heard me. The long-haired man chuckled. “Sebastian. It seems you’ve brought home a real handful.” Sebastian glanced in our direction, then quickly looked away. “You could say that.” His complete lack of reaction surprised the other man. “You can tolerate that? You’re a saint.” He turned to look at Sebastian, and then his eyes widened in shock. “Holy shit. He’s cursing you like that, and you can still get a reaction? You’re a total masochist!” Finally, the man’s lips twitched. “You know what? You two really are a match made in heaven.”

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My brother told me to play innocent, to be the good boy, and seduce his business rival into falling for me. I glanced at the photo of George Chase: fiery red hair, a slim waist, a killer ass, and a wild, rebellious smirk. He was the very picture of a rich playboy who treated life like a game—fickle, demanding, and utterly impossible. But more importantly… My face went pale. “Adrian,” I said, my voice dead, “I’m straight…” Later. George was lying back, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, glaring at me. His pale, perfect thighs were covered in swollen, red bite marks. He kicked a leg out, his breath catching. “So this is what you call being ‘straight’?” “The only thing straight about you is how you can’t look away from me.” 1 On my third night back in the country, my own brother asked me to seduce a man. Dim light spilled over the corner booth of the club, a hazy, intoxicating glow. Adrian’s words from that morning echoed in my mind. “Remember, George Chase likes them innocent.” “You just got back from studying abroad. You’re exactly his type.” I was speechless with rage. “Adrian, is this the brilliant business strategy you stayed up all night cooking up?” I didn’t even know what this George guy looked like, and just because my brother was desperate to win some project, I was being sent to honey-trap his rival? A male rival, at that. The color drained from my face as I tried to refuse. “But… I’m straight.” “You owe me, Ethan.” Adrian slid a photograph across the table. “If I hadn’t protected you from the rest of the family back then, you wouldn’t have survived.” “For a spoiled heir like George Chase, relationships are just a game.” “I need you to break his heart. Wreck him so completely he can’t recover.” I stared at the man in the photo. Slim waist, killer ass, a handsome face framed by a defiant shock of red hair. He was grinning at the camera, a look of pure, untamed arrogance in his eyes. A bad man. The kind that was nothing but trouble. “Can you do it?” Adrian asked. My lips pressed into a thin line. I said nothing. 2 The truth was, I didn’t think I could. I didn’t even have to dig for dirt on George Chase; a quick search was all it took. 【HEIR TO CHASE CORP. SEEN WITH NEW MALE COMPANION AT GALA】 【TEN-DAY FLING ENDS, GEORGE CHASE REPORTEDLY SINGLE AGAIN】 【A COMPREHENSIVE LIST OF GEORGE CHASE’S EXES AND THEIR COMMON TRAITS】 It was all just tabloid trash. George Chase, the sole heir to the immense Chase family fortune, couldn’t care less about the family business. He spent his days indulging in every whim, a trail of broken hearts in his wake. His partners came and went like seasons. The only real thing he’d ever done was open a high-end club, a place where he and his fellow trust-fund brats could drink their lives away. It was only recently that his father, fed up with his antics, had tossed him a minor project bid to manage. As I lost myself in thought, a flash of crimson appeared at the bar, right in the spotlight. He was perched lazily on a high stool, his long legs crossed casually, a tailored suit clinging to the sharp lines of his body. I swirled the ice in my glass and stood up. 3 “The usual. Negroni,” George said, his voice a low, lazy drawl as he leaned against the bar. I slipped past the tips of his fiery hair and took the seat next to him. “I’ll have the same,” I told the bartender. “First time here? Don’t think I’ve seen you around,” George said, turning to give me a once-over, one eyebrow arching in playful curiosity. His gaze was intense, but as our eyes met, a strange calm settled over me. Adrian was right. George was interested. “Yeah, I just got back to the city,” I said, pitching my voice a little lower, a little softer, trying to sound younger than I was. “A friend recommended this place. Said the vibe was great.” A knowing smirk touched George’s lips. “Exchange student?” “Architecture major,” I said. “Took a year off to come back and deal with some family stuff.” A half-truth is always the easiest lie to sell. If everyone in this world wore a mask, why couldn’t I? “I get it.” George suddenly held out a hand, his smile pure mischief. “George Chase. I own this joint, ‘Nyx.’ Heard of me?” I shook my head, my fingers lightly brushing his. “Ethan. Should I have?” “Heh… Don’t look me up just yet.” The heat from his palm lingered on my skin for a second before he pulled away. “Trust your gut. First impressions are more fun that way, don’t you think?” I nodded, my eyes on him, but my mind was already made up. My first impression was set in stone. A hopeless, decadent playboy. The bartender slid two glasses toward us. Clink. George tapped his glass against mine. “A good boy like you should stay out of clubs, you know. You’ll get eaten alive.” As he said it, he casually unbuttoned his perfectly tailored suit jacket. He wore no tie, revealing the sharp, clean lines of his collarbones. The corners of his eyes tilted up in a devil-may-care smile. I had to admit, he was even more captivating in person than in the photograph. I shook my head, my voice warm. “With Mr. Chase watching over things, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” George’s eyes narrowed. “Just George is fine.” I took a sip of my drink, my voice soft. “George.” His wrist twitched. I heard him mutter a quiet “Fuck” under his breath. When he looked up again, the tips of his ears were faintly pink, though his smile was as cocky as ever. “You just get back? Where are you staying?” “A condo on the waterfront for now,” I said. “It’s a little empty, though. Doesn’t feel much like a home.” He grinned. “What a coincidence. I have a place over there. If you ever get bored, you know who to call.” Before I could answer, he turned to the bartender. “Get this gentleman… an ‘First Encounter.’” He turned back to me. “My treat. It’s not too strong. A toast to our fateful meeting.” The scent of cedarwood from his cologne mingled with the rich aroma of alcohol, making my head spin. His face was a perfect, roguish masterpiece, his thin lips a deep red, and his eyes… they looked at everyone like they were the only person in the world. He waited patiently for my answer. “No, thank you, George.” I shook my head gently and stood up. “I’ve had enough for one night. I don’t want to get drunk.” George raised an eyebrow, his fingertips catching the sleeve of my coat. “Then at least give me your number.” I turned my back to him, gently pulling my sleeve free. “Let’s leave the first impression to tonight. And wait for the fate that brings us a ‘Reunion.’” Behind me, I heard him curse softly again, followed by the sound of him downing his drink. But I didn’t look back. 4 I saw George again a few days later. “The Spire restaurant. Window table, top-tier view of the fountain show.” The message from my brother glowed on my screen. I checked the time—7:57 PM. George should be here any minute. Adrian had told me someone had spotted George with a new boy toy, and they were supposed to be having dinner here tonight. He urged me to make my move before someone else beat me to it. It was as if he was foolishly betting everything on me. Just then, a languid, magnetic figure appeared at the entrance. George had his arm around a slender young man, guiding him toward the main dining area. He was wearing a black silk shirt, the top buttons undone, accentuating his long, lean frame. He looked like he’d walked straight out of a magazine. The boy with him had brown hair and was clinging to his arm possessively. He was the innocent, clean-cut type, but he paled in comparison to George. “I picked this spot specifically,” George was saying, his tone nonchalant. “From here, you can see—” His voice trailed off. The boy asked, “See what, Mr. Chase?” I pretended to look up, my gaze locking with the fiery, amused eyes of the man with the red hair. George dropped his arm from the boy’s shoulders and strode over to my table, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Well, well. Look who it is.” “Here by yourself?” he asked me. “I…” Before I could finish, the boy hurried over, interrupting me. His eyes raked over me with suspicion before he turned back to George, his voice a whiny coo. “George, darling, the fountain show is about to start. Shouldn’t we go…?” George’s gaze lingered on the boy’s face for a few seconds before he suddenly grabbed his wrist. “You can go home,” he said, his eyebrow arched. “But we just got here—” “Do I need to repeat myself?” George’s voice was still light, but an unmistakable chill ran through it as he let go. The boy’s face fell. He smoothed his sleeve and stalked off, fuming. Too eager, I thought. Too obvious. Did he really think George was just some rich idiot? “Mind if I join you?” Without waiting for an answer, George pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down. 5 “Not at all,” I said quietly, lowering my gaze. “What a coincidence, Mr. Chase.” He smirked. “So you found out.” “It’s only natural to be curious about the owner of Nyx,” I said. “I just didn’t expect you to be the Chase…” My voice trailed off as a waiter respectfully placed several dishes on our table. George raised an eyebrow, about to stand. “Oh? Looks like I’m interrupting.” “George, stay,” I said, my voice warm, stopping him. I gave him a small, wry smile. “My friend had to cancel last minute. I ordered for two… I can’t possibly finish all this.” “Heh.” George looked down at me, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he settled back into his seat. “You do that on purpose?” “An unfortunate coincidence,” I said peacefully. His wine glass tapped against mine. “To fortunate reunions born from coincidence.” Coincidence was a sly and gentle liar. George asked me nonchalantly, “So, now that you know who I really am, how’s that first impression holding up? Shattered to pieces yet, good boy?” The red tips of his hair seemed to dance in the light. He looked wild and untamed, utterly unconcerned with my answer. I pushed a plate and a sauce dish closer to him. “A little,” I answered honestly. George looked up, his eyes fixed on me. “But first impressions tend to stick,” I said, meeting his gaze directly. “The same goes for you, doesn’t it?” The primacy effect. The first image you form of a person dominates your mind, coloring all future judgments. “…Hah.” George was the first to break eye contact, a soft laugh escaping him. The rest of the meal was slow and surprisingly comfortable. George would occasionally ask about my time abroad, and in turn, told me about his own travels. Listening to him speak, he sounded less like a reckless playboy and more like a worldly, sophisticated gentleman. He elegantly cut a small piece of foie gras and held it to my lips. “Try this.” It was an intimate, slightly transgressive act. A test. I hesitated for a second before leaning forward, my lips closing around the tines of the fork. The rich flavor melted on my tongue. “Good?” George’s eyes darkened, his smile turning wicked. “You seem a little tense.” I nodded, my fingers brushing against the back of his hand. Swoosh. He grabbed my wrist, his skin searing hot against mine. He looked down at me, his gaze intense. “You know my preferences, right? And I’m single at the moment.” I met his eyes and offered a soft, gentle smile. My voice was calm and steady. “George. Let go.” He raised an eyebrow, the smirk on his face deepening. After a silent moment, he released my wrist. “Fuck… are you training me like a dog?” I rubbed my wrist, shaking my head. “Not at all. I just want us to be equals, George.” “So, Ethan…” he asked, his voice low, “do you want to… be my boyfriend?” His eyes, full of charm and mischief, were locked on me. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the fountain erupted in a brilliant display of light and water, a kaleidoscope of colors against the night sky. It was the perfect moment to accept a confession. It felt like if I just said yes, I could easily become the latest in George Chase’s long line of lovers. And then, in a month or two, he’d get bored and toss me aside. Adrian would get his project, and George would probably never hold it against me. But none of them had ever treated me like a person. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not into men.” For the first time, a flicker of something—surprise, confusion, a loss of control—crossed George’s face. His fingers tapped against the table before his shoulders started to shake with silent laughter. “Ethan, just give me a chance, okay?” “I’ll make you like me.” “…” He slid his phone across the table. “Give me your number. So we can at least keep in touch.” The night was dark by the time I left the restaurant. George offered to drive me home, but I politely declined. As I walked along the river, the cool night wind brushed against my face. My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: 【Thanks for dinner tonight. My treat tomorrow. You free?】 【You look good in a turtleneck, by the way. Don’t overthink it. It’s just a compliment.】 6 George was true to his word. He began to “pursue” me. Over the next few weeks, his efforts were relentless, almost overwhelming. It was clear he had never tried to court someone with patience before. He’d never encountered a problem that money couldn’t solve. Bouquets of flowers delivered to my door daily, designer shoes, luxury items that cost more than my living expenses for years—they all arrived as if being delivered wholesale. He often invited me back to The Spire, the restaurant where we’d had our second encounter. Even though I never gave him a clear answer, he didn’t give up. It seemed the notorious playboy, the subject of endless gossip columns, had genuinely changed his ways for me. Adrian was pleased. He was delighted to see George completely focused on me, paying no attention to the upcoming project bid. But what about me? …I didn’t know what I felt. I didn’t know if this connection with George was a product of my own deceit or if it was something we both genuinely needed. “What are you thinking about?” A familiar voice, laced with a faint smile, came from behind me. I was standing at the entrance to the art museum, ticket in hand. I turned. George was wearing a dark gray turtleneck under a long black trench coat. He looked tall and striking, like a model from a fashion magazine. Unlike his usual styled look, his reddish-blond hair was unkempt, falling softly around his face. It softened his sharp edges, giving him a gentler look. “Nothing,” I said as he approached. “Just wondering if you’d be late.” “To see you? I’d be an hour early,” George said with a wink. “Come on, it’s not too crowded today. We can take our time.” I took a couple of steps, then turned back when I realized he wasn’t following. He was holding out his pale, elegant hand, a roguish grin on his face. “Humor me, will you? Let me hold your hand. Please?” 7 The inside of the museum was spacious, autumn sunlight streaming through the glass dome of the ceiling, casting a golden glow on the paintings. George seemed to know the place well, leading me confidently through the various galleries, occasionally leaning in to whisper the history of a piece in my ear. “Do you come here often, George?” I asked. His thumb drew slow circles in my palm. “My mother used to bring me here when I was a kid. She was a painter. This was her favorite place.” He paused, and for a fleeting moment, I saw a shadow of sadness in his eyes. “After she passed away, this became the only place where I could still feel close to her. She never picked up a paintbrush again after I was born. I was the reason she gave up her art.” The sudden confession left me stunned. I knew this was the perfect opening, the perfect way to get closer to him, to touch his heart. But I couldn’t bring myself to be so shameless, to turn this moment of genuine pain into another move in my deceptive game. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. George just shook his head, pulling me forward. “Come on. I want to show you my favorite painting.” The heat from his hand was a constant presence. For all his wild, reckless energy, his hands were soft and delicate, like warm silk against mine. He led me across the gallery to a massive oil painting. The canvas was a sea of profound darkness, but in the very center, a single, faint beam of light pierced through the clouds, illuminating a small patch of a lake below. The entire piece was filled with a strange, haunting mix of loneliness and hope. “Forget what I think,” George said with a smile. “Do you like it?” “I do.” “I like this kind of darkness,” I said. “It’s dark enough to offer an escape, a place to be free. But that single ray of light shows you there’s still a path forward, a reason for hope.” It was what I had always been searching for myself. “That’s ironic,” George said, his shoulders shaking with a quiet laugh. “This is my favorite painting, but I hate the dark.” “Something happened when I was young,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Ever since then, the night has been nothing but darkness for me. No light at all.” “Let’s go, Ethan. There are better things to see up ahead.” 8 For the rest of the tour, George was clearly distracted. He no longer leaned in to whisper in my ear. He moved mechanically through the crowds, his responses to me brief and distant. In all the research Adrian had given me, in all my time with him, I had never seen this side of George. All the arrogance and confidence were gone, replaced by a raw, helpless vulnerability. Remember, he’s still a bad man, I told myself, repeating the words like a mantra. Outside, under the shade of an old oak tree, I helped him to a bench. “George, are you okay?” He looked up at me, forcing a cocky smile. “What, worried about me?” “Yes.” He was sitting, I was standing. For once, I was the one looking down. I could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, a stark vulnerability he couldn’t hide from this angle. “Heh.” He let out a dry laugh and looked away. “What a mess… I’m completely screwed when it comes to you, aren’t I?” “Ethan, sometimes I really envy you.” “Envy me for what?” “Your purity,” George said, his gaze returning to mine, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “There’s this… this clean, untouched quality about you I can’t describe.” “I live in a world where no one tells the truth. Everyone who gets close to me wants something, and I always know what it is. They’d never say no to me, they’d do anything to cling to me… but even when they were pressed right up against me, they could never hear what I was really thinking.” “But you’re different, Ethan. You’re like that beam of light in the painting.” George’s eyes roamed my face. The evening breeze rustled his hair, making him look younger, more fragile than usual. The corners of his upturned eyes were tinged with red. “…” Fuck. What was so pure about me? How was I any different? A wave of frustration washed over me. I turned away, needing to escape his gaze. Swoosh. He grabbed my sleeve again. He looked up at me, his reddish-gold hair clinging to his damp cheeks, his usually arrogant eyes now filled with a broken, watery plea. “Will you kiss me? Please.” … I grabbed the collar of his shirt, tangled my fingers in his hair, and bit down hard on his lip. 9 The kiss was nothing like I had imagined. It was fierce, almost violent. I was practically holding him by the collar, my teeth breaking the skin of his lip. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, silencing everything that needed to be said. “Ngh…” George let out a muffled groan, stunned by my aggression. But after a moment’s hesitation, he wrapped his arms around my neck, closing his eyes and deepening the kiss. His long, pale neck arched back as he pressed his body against mine. But a surge of anger made me dig my fingers into his lean waist, hard. “Mmph…!” He flinched, a shiver running through him. I didn’t know what I was so angry about. Was it his weakness, the way he used his vulnerability to corner me? Or was it my own disgusting hypocrisy, pretending this was real? His eyes, already glistening with tears, grew hazy. Just as he tried to pull me closer, I pulled away. “Haah…” George gasped for air, his chest heaving. He looked up at me, his eyes wide. “Be with me, Ethan.” “I know I’ve been a bastard in the past, but I’m serious this time.” “Say whatever you want to me, do whatever you want. I love you.” I stood over him, saying nothing. Sensing my hesitation, George looked down, lighting a cigarette and holding it between his fingers, forcing a casual tone. “If you don’t believe me, forget it. Just… go home.” “I…” I opened my mouth, but my throat was painfully dry. “We’ll see how you act,” I finally said. “If you go back to being a useless playboy, then it’s over.” That wasn’t what I had planned to say. I was supposed to agree. George stared at me for a second, then broke into a low laugh. It was a deep, rumbling sound from his chest, filled with surprised delight. “Ethan,” he said, stepping closer, his fingers brushing against my earlobe. “Then you just watch me.” The glowing tip of his cigarette hovered near my chest. George’s eyes darkened, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll make it impossible for you to say no.”

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In my last life, my husband forced me into a sham divorce to welcome his childhood sweetheart back into the country. He needed to maintain his single image for her. When I refused, he had me committed to a private sanatorium, claiming I was suffering from a deep depression. All because he had made a pact with her years ago: they would wait for each other until they were thirty. I was tortured to death in that corrupt hospital. The last thing I ever expected was for his childhood sweetheart to be the one to find my emaciated corpse, cradling my bones and sobbing apologies over and over again. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day my husband tried to have me committed. 1. “Wait! I’ll agree to the divorce!” The words burst out of me the moment the shock of rebirth subsided. My husband, Alan, was in a frantic rush to get me to the hospital. He didn’t say a word, his eyes fixed on the road as if he hadn’t heard me. A cold dread settled in my stomach. I raised my voice, the words catching in my throat. “Alan, the divorce. We can do it. Just… please, not the hospital.” Only then did he lower his gaze, deigning to give me a look. “Too late for that now.” His voice was as gentle as it had always been, but the words plunged me into an abyss colder than any I had known before. Colder than the beatings, the shock therapy, the slow, agonizing descent into madness in my past life. I froze, struggling to find my voice, my words turning into a desperate plea. “Alan, I swear I’ll never go near her. I won’t let your… your friend… know we were ever married.” His eyes flashed with anger. “Married? What marriage?” he spat, the words like venom. “Get this through your head. You were a housekeeper I employed for three years. Nothing more. Yesterday, you were fired for making a mistake and thrown out of the Thorne estate.” A housekeeper? A bitter laugh escaped my lips. What kind of housekeeper has her boss drive through a storm in the middle of the night just to buy her a cheap bowl of noodles from a street vendor? What kind of housekeeper does a man defy his entire family to marry? “Do you really think Mia Vance will believe that?” I refused to believe he could be so heartless as to watch me die again. But the memories of my previous life were burned into my soul. I could not, under any circumstances, let him take me back to that place. My question seemed to give him pause. He fell silent. I pressed my advantage. “I can help you.” That clearly wasn’t what he was expecting. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before it was replaced by a look of cynical understanding. “Don’t try to play games with me, Clara.” His tone was glacial, a world away from the warmth and affection he used to shower me with. I sniffled, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. My hands twisted the simple band on my finger. The ring. He’d bought it for me with the very first bonus he earned after starting his own company, after breaking away from his family’s fortune. He’d held me so tight that day, promising to make me the happiest woman in the world. Now, he was sending me to a living hell for another woman without a second thought. Love was a treacherous, incomprehensible thing. But if I didn’t understand love, I at least understood Alan Thorne. “Alan, Mia isn’t stupid. As long as we’re legally married, she’ll find out eventually, no matter where you hide me. The only real solution is a divorce. And after we divorce, I can stay in the house, pretend to be the housekeeper, and help you sell the lie. What do you say?” His head snapped up, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You’d really pretend to be a housekeeper?” I met his suspicious gaze and nodded firmly, twice. He didn’t believe me. The car continued on its grim path toward the sanatorium. Just as despair began to consume me, Alan, who had been silent with his eyes closed, spoke. “Turn around. Go to City Hall.” A wave of relief washed over me. I wiped the cold sweat from my brow and quickly pledged my loyalty. “Don’t worry. I’ll be the perfect housekeeper. I won’t let anything slip.” A faint smile touched his lips. He took my hand, his grip surprisingly gentle. “I’ll be taking this back for now,” he said, sliding the ring from my finger. “I’ll give it back to you after Mia leaves.” After three years, it was gone. A pale band of skin was all that remained. In that moment, I couldn’t remember why I had ever fought so hard to stay with this man, why I had been so unwilling to let him go. 2. As soon as the divorce papers were signed, he was in a hurry to get to the airport to pick up his precious Mia. He had the driver drop me on the side of the road. The post-holiday traffic was a nightmare. I couldn’t get a cab. It took me two hours to walk back to the villa, nestled high in the hills overlooking the city. I had barely sat down, my hand reaching for a glass of water, when Mrs. Gable, the cook, rushed over and snatched the glass away. “Good heavens, Clara, what are you doing lollygagging here?” she clucked, her face a mask of frantic energy. “Mr. Thorne gave explicit instructions. You’re to move all your things from the master bedroom to the storage room today. And Miss Vance’s luggage, which was just delivered, needs to be taken to the guest room with the best sunlight.” She then led me down three flights of stairs to a storage room in the sub-basement. In the three years I had lived in this magnificent villa, I never knew such a dark, cramped, and damp space existed within its walls. “Here. I packed up everything you left in the master bedroom.” Mrs. Gable stood in the doorway, blocking the only source of light, and tossed a heavy canvas bag at my feet. CRACK. The sound of something shattering echoed in the small room. A sickening premonition shot through me. Ignoring the sharp edges, I reached into the bag and carefully pulled out the fragmented remains of a small, porcelain figurine. It was the last thing my mother had left me. A strange numbness spread through me. My hand was bleeding freely from a deep cut, but I couldn’t feel a thing. Mrs. Gable saw the raw hatred in my eyes and took a step back, stammering, “It was Mr. Thorne. He told me to do it.” I forced myself to breathe, to calm the storm raging inside me. “Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “When you were caught skimming from the household accounts, I was the one who begged him not to fire you. When your grandson was sick and you needed money for his treatment, I was the one who gave it to you.” Her eyes darted away, unable to meet my gaze. When Alan came home that evening and heard what had happened, he flew into a rage. He fired Mrs. Gable on the spot. For a fleeting moment, my heart, which had turned to stone, felt a flicker of warmth. Maybe, I thought, despite everything, the bond we once shared wasn’t completely gone. In the next second, he shattered that naive fantasy. “Clara. Mia is coming over for dinner tomorrow.” “Remember your place. If you screw this up, you know what will happen.” I nodded numbly. He continued, his voice casual. “Oh, and by the way, Mia loves Sichuan food. Cook a couple of dishes tonight. I want to taste them, see if you can get the flavor right for her.” The chili paste stung the open wound on my hand, making it split open again. The water in the sink slowly turned pink. Alan saw it and frowned in annoyance. “Be careful. Don’t get blood on the food. I had those peppers flown in specially from Sichuan.” He had proposed to me in a kitchen just like this one. He’d sworn he would never let me cook, never let me lift a finger. He’d sworn he would protect me from any and all harm. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. A tear fell, then another, creating ripples in the soapy water. Alan closed his eyes and sighed. “Alright, that’s enough. Stop the waterworks. I don’t need Mia showing up tomorrow and thinking I’m some kind of monster for a boss.” I obediently dried my tears and, with hands now pale and puffy from the cold water, returned to my dungeon. Before I slept, I clutched the broken pieces of my mother’s figurine to my chest. “Mom, I can do this,” I whispered into the darkness. “Once Mia Vance leaves, I can finally escape this devil.” 3. The next morning, I was woken by a sharp slap across the face. “Clara, what have you done behind my back?” My head swam, the room spinning. I couldn’t even make out his words, just a dull roar in my ears. I mumbled a denial, not even knowing what I was denying. Alan took my confusion for defiance. His anger flared, and he struck me again. “Still playing dumb? If you didn’t say anything, then why is Mia asking people about you? Why is she asking about your marital status?” I wanted to argue, but I had nothing to say. How was I supposed to know what Mia Vance was thinking? She had been a mystery in my past life, too. Showing up at the sanatorium out of nowhere, apologizing to my corpse, and then spending a fortune to expose the hospital’s horrific practices. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t say anything,” I gasped, his hand now tight around my throat, cutting off my air. “You’ve had me locked in this villa since the day you heard she was coming back. You took my phone. How could I have done anything?” He seemed to consider this. The pressure on my throat slowly eased. I collapsed onto the bed, gulping in air like a drowning dog. “Then why is she asking about you?” Alan muttered, adjusting his glasses as he paced the room. “Unless… you’ve crossed her somewhere before.” “Impossible. I’ve never even met her. How could I have offended her?” I said quickly, my body still trembling, terrified of provoking him further. He let out a cold, humorless laugh. “To be safe, you’ll stay in here today.” Panic seized me. I scrambled off the bed, grabbing at his sleeve. “Alan, no! Please. I have claustrophobia. I… I’ll die if I’m locked in here all day.” He was unmoved, convinced I was faking. He yanked his arm free and locked the door from the outside. “You’re really getting addicted to playing the victim, aren’t you?” As his footsteps faded, I closed my eyes in despair. He was right. The old me, the me before my first death, didn’t have this sickness. It was a parting gift from the sanatorium. I curled into a corner of the room. My breathing grew ragged, my head light. “Let me out! Let me out!” I screamed until my lips were cracked and dry. My fingernails left long, bloody scratches on the heavy wooden door, but no one came. I couldn’t get out. But from upstairs, I could hear the faint clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter. I could hear Alan’s deep, booming laugh. I could hear Mia’s clear, bright voice joining his. No. I would not die like this again. Not quietly. Not in the dark. With a final, desperate resolve, I pulled out the lighter I had once given him as a gift, the one he had tossed back at me like trash. I lit the corner of the bedsheet. The fire caught quickly, greedily. Within minutes, thick, black smoke was pouring out from under the door. Just before I lost consciousness, I saw a delicate, fiery figure kick the door down.

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On Valentine’s Day, my husband—not one for sentiment—did his usual: ordered custom roses for every employee at his company. The Cole Group was trending again, praised as the city’s most romantic corporation. Then a post from Adrian’s young assistant appeared: a photo of her company bouquet with parted petals revealing a sapphire ring inside—the same unique piece I was outbid on at auction for $750k. Scrolling further, I found more posts: boba with a $5,200 transfer captioned “first boba of autumn,” ice cream with a “30-day tropical getaway” voucher. Comments gushed about how amazing the company was. I knew Adrian bought treats for the office—but since when did they include cash and vacations? Her latest photo showed a man across from her, cropped except for his dark blue tie—the same one I’d picked for Adrian that morning. I paused and called him: “Working late tonight?” 1. After he confirmed, I drove straight to the company building. I rarely checked up on Adrian. I hardly ever came to his office. We’d been married for seven years. I’d been with him since he started from nothing, building his empire until he became a titan of the business world. Everyone knew I was the center of his universe. But for the past six months, his behavior had mirrored every single red flag I’d seen on those cheesy online relationship blogs. It was enough to plant a seed of doubt. Pushing down a wave of anxiety, I unlocked the main office doors. The moment I flipped on the lights, I was greeted by the sight of Adrian on one knee, holding a bouquet, his eyes filled with a deep, adoring warmth. “My love, I’ve been waiting for you.” “How did you…” Before I could finish, he rose smoothly and pulled me into his arms, resting his chin affectionately on my shoulder. “If my wife checking up on me means I get a surprise visit, I’d wish you’d do it every night. Then I could see you every day.” He leaned in close. “I love you. Happy Valentine’s Day.” Looking into his earnest eyes, I felt my heart flutter. The suspicion that had been gnawing at me began to fade. He dropped his work for the night, and we drove home together. Later, after he’d tucked me into bed, Adrian took his laptop to the living room to finish up some work. I had just closed my eyes when my phone, which I’d left on his nightstand, began vibrating nonstop. I picked it up. A string of messages from an avatar of a cute cartoon animal. No name saved, but the chat was pinned to the top of his message list. 【Mr. Cole, leaving me all alone at the restaurant on Valentine’s Day? How ungentlemanly! As punishment, you have to have dinner with me every night for the next week!】 【Hmph. By the way, how did my little script for winning over your wife work out? You big blockhead. If only you had half my brains~】 It was Adrian’s phone. He never set a passcode. I recognized the avatar. It belonged to Chloe Su, an intern at his company. For a moment, my blood ran cold. The air left my lungs. It hit me then. Adrian was never the type to say such sweet, romantic things. They say a man who’s cheating suddenly becomes overly affectionate at home, trying to wash away the guilt with loving words. The thought surfaced in my mind, and I felt a wave of nausea as I scrolled up, my fingers trembling. 【Mr. Cole, was my boba the only one with brown sugar? Thank you, my cramps are all gone now~】 【OMG how did you know I love strawberry ice cream?! You stocked a whole fridge with it for me! You’re literally the ice cream fairy, I worship you!!】 I scrolled back six months. Every single day was filled with Chloe’s bubbly chatter, sharing her favorite songs, foods, and thoughts. And Adrian, though his replies were cool and brief, responded to every single one. The last chat I’d had with him was on our anniversary. His only message was to tell me he was working late. The chat log with her seemed endless. My heart felt like it was plummeting into a bottomless abyss. Suddenly, a new message popped up. It was a voice note from Chloe, her tone sweet and docile, with a slight, choked sob. “Mr. Cole… I didn’t want you to leave. If I were just a little more selfish, would you have stayed with me tonight?… Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death. Everyone else is so happy. Everyone but me.” This time, Adrian’s reply was almost instantaneous, synced from his laptop to the phone in my hand: 【Send me your location.】 At the same moment, I heard the sharp snap of a laptop closing in the living room. Adrian pushed the bedroom door open, his movements rushed. “Clara, something urgent came up at the office. I have to go. Oh, and I’ll be working late all next week, so don’t wait up for me for dinner.” He grabbed his phone and jacket, turning to leave. “Adrian,” I called out, my voice shaking slightly. “Can you… not go tonight?” He cut me off, his tone impatient. “Come on, don’t be childish. I’ll be back as soon as I’m done. Be good.” Throughout our marriage, Adrian had always put me first. He could always sense the slightest shift in my mood. If he had just looked, really looked, he would have seen the moonlight glinting off the tears welling in my eyes. But he never gave me a second glance. Outside, a storm began to brew, the rumble of thunder echoing in the distance. I sat in silence for a long time before opening a family group chat that had been dormant for years. I typed a single message: 【I want to come home.】 2. The message sent my relatives into a frenzy of concern. My aunt, always the sharpest, sensed something was wrong immediately. 【Clara, sweetie, is that bastard hurting you? Tell your aunt, and I’ll make him pay!】 I hesitated for a moment before typing back. 【Aunt Diana, I need you to run a background check on someone for me.】 The information came back quickly. “Her name is Chloe Winston. She was a scholarship student Adrian sponsored while she was at a university in Northwood. After graduating, she started as an intern at The Cole Group.” “The whole industry is buzzing about it. They say she’s Adrian’s little pet project. No one dares to push a drink on her at business dinners. Any company that gives her a hard time finds itself facing bankruptcy.” My aunt was seething on the other end of the line, but I remained silent. A year ago, Adrian had started taking monthly business trips to Northwood, regular as clockwork. Each time he returned, he’d bring me little trinkets, things a much younger woman would like. I thought my stoic husband was finally learning to be romantic. Now I see it differently. The signs of his affair were there all along. I was just too busy trusting him to see them. A dull ache throbbed in my chest. I needed to know what kind of person had captivated him so completely. When I arrived at the office, he was in a meeting. I pushed open the door to his private office and found a young woman sitting in his chair, humming to herself as she decorated his workspace. She was… ordinary. Hair pulled back in a high ponytail. If there was anything captivating about her, it was the vibrant, youthful energy she radiated. His expensive, minimalist leather chair and polished desk were covered in pink heart-shaped stickers. Fluffy plush toys were everywhere. Tucked among them was a handwritten card with playful lettering: 【No slacking off! I’m watching you~】 Adrian was a man of strict boundaries, almost obsessively so. I’d once seen him fire an employee on the spot for touching something on his desk without permission. Yet these stickers were already yellowing and peeling at the edges. They had clearly been there for a long time. My expression darkened. Chloe saw me and shot to her feet, a flash of panic in her eyes. “Everyone else out there is working,” I said, my voice cold and clear. “Who gave you permission to play office decorator on company time? Does this company pay you to do nothing?” By now, a small crowd of curious employees had gathered by the door. Chloe’s eyes immediately welled with tears. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Cole. I’ll fix it right away…” Her voice cracked. Just then, Adrian appeared, drawn by the commotion. He stepped between us, blocking my view of her. “She’s just a kid, Clara. She doesn’t know any better. It’s not worth getting upset over.” Then he turned to Chloe, his tone sharp. “What are you still standing here for? Can’t you see you’ve upset Mrs. Cole?” At his words, a tear finally broke free and streamed down Chloe’s cheek. She turned and ran from the room. Adrian’s expression didn’t change. He reached out to stroke my hair, his voice soft and placating. “Don’t worry about it, my love. She’s just a bit playful. I’ll have a word with her.” I stepped back, avoiding his touch. “Adrian,” I said, enunciating each word, deliberately challenging him. “Negligence of duty is grounds for termination, according to company policy.” His face stiffened, his eyes growing cold. “She’s just an intern, trying to make it on her own in this city. You want to fire her over something this trivial? That’s against policy.” “An intern who was promoted three times in three months to become the CEO’s executive assistant? Is that policy? What do you think our employees who have been here for five years think of that?” I retorted with a bitter laugh. “I am the General Manager of this company. I have the authority to fire any employee who breaks the rules.” “Clara Kinnear,” Adrian suddenly barked, his voice dangerously low. “Have you had enough!?” The force of it stunned me into silence. He rarely used my full name. In seven years of marriage, this was the first time. And he did it for another woman.

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A killer hid a body under my bed. I lay right beside it, watching his every move. What he didn’t know was that there was another body in the suitcase next to the closet. 1 My name is Cassie, and I’m just a regular office worker. Last weekend, my husband and I were getting intimate, and his underwear fell under the bed. When I got back from my business trip, I crawled under to get it. Just as I was about to climb out, I heard a familiar voice from the other side of the apartment door. “What if your wife comes back early?” “She’s out of town. It’s just us.” The sound of a key turning in the lock sent me scrambling back into the darkness. The door clicked shut, followed by the shuffle of two pairs of feet in the entryway. “Let me change my shoes.” The sharp click-clack of heels on the hardwood floor stopped. “Don’t bother. You can just step on me in a minute. Come on, let’s go to the bedroom. It’ll be more exciting.” I propped myself up on my hands, carefully inching my way to the left side of the bed frame. From there, I had a perfect, panoramic view of the entire room. I watched my husband, Liam, and our beautiful upstairs neighbor, Diana, tear at each other’s clothes, their bodies colliding from the entryway, to the sofa, and finally crashing onto our bed. The mattress dipped and sprang back. Not wanting to disturb them, I reflexively switched my phone to silent. Just as I was about to text my husband to give him the scare of his life, he let out a blood-curdling shriek. At first, I thought it was a cry of pleasure, until Diana kicked him off the bed. A knife was buried in his chest. He lay on the floor, his body twisted at an unnatural angle. His eyes, wide and unseeing, stared directly at me. In that instant, my hand instinctively clenched the pair of underwear I was holding. Because they weren’t his. They belonged to last weekend’s “temporary husband”—a college kid I was seeing named Ethan. 2 My first instinct was to call 911, but there was a complication: the body in the suitcase next to the closet. If I called the cops, both Diana and I would be finished. As I hesitated, my husband’s corpse suddenly moved. It was being dragged across the floor in a grotesque slide. I craned my neck. Diana had tied a bedsheet around his head and was hauling him toward the bathroom. At the same time, I heard her on the phone with someone. “He’s heavy as hell. Get down here and help me.” She had an accomplice? This was premeditated. My eyes were glued to the front door, but to my surprise, the footsteps came from the balcony. It sounded like someone was walking on the exterior wall. I looked over and saw a thick rope dangling in the darkness, swaying just outside our balcony. A moment later, a figure wearing a mask, gloves, and shoe covers descended the rope and landed silently on the railing. The man pulled off his mask. Diana gave him a confirming glance before sliding the glass door open to let him in. Diana’s body blocked my view, but I caught a glimpse of a button-down shirt and jeans—he looked like some kind of tech guy. The moment he turned, I recognized him. It was Mark, one of Diana’s persistent admirers. I’d often seen him waiting downstairs with a bouquet of roses. Diana had never seemed to push him away, and she now accepted the gloves and shoe covers he handed her without a word. As I frantically tried to remember if my husband had made any enemies in his recent business dealings, Mark spoke. “Are they both dead?” “Not yet. Just the one.” Their conversation sent a chill down my spine. Both? Just the one? Did they know I was here? My mind refused to go there. 3 Our apartment was well-stocked with tools: plastic tarps, kitchen knives, a handsaw, even bleach. They made quick work of dismembering my husband’s body. In that time, I had formed a plan. I was going to scare them away. I texted Ethan, telling him my husband had found the underwear he’d left under the bed last weekend. I said Liam was furious and had locked me in the bedroom. I needed him to create a diversion to draw him out. I repeatedly warned him not to call the police, or my career and his college life would be ruined. Ethan agreed immediately, even sending a sticker telling me not to be scared. I felt nothing. A man’s compassion for a woman is often the beginning of his own misfortune. Once they had cleaned the scene, I watched them search for something to hold the body parts. Of course, their eyes landed on the suitcase. My back was soaked with sweat. I prayed for Ethan to hurry. If they found the body inside that suitcase, I’d be trading my freedom for a pair of silver bracelets. Diana’s hand was the first to touch the suitcase, but it was locked. She started frantically trying combinations. Just then, the apartment plunged into darkness. A rapid, urgent knocking echoed from the front door. 4 “What do we do? Did his wife come home early?” In the pitch black, I could see Diana stomping her foot in panic. I let out a long, silent breath of relief. It was clear they had no idea I was hiding under the bed. “Quick! Hide the pieces in the suitcase!” Mark hissed. “I tried! It’s locked, I can’t get it open!” “Then hide them under the bed!” Before I could react, black plastic bags filled with my husband’s remains were being shoved into the space around me. A wave of nausea rose in my throat, and I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep from vomiting. “Calm down,” Mark whispered to Diana. “It’s probably not his wife. If it were, she’d just use her key.” The next second, the distinct sound of a key sliding into the lock cut through the silence. I froze. I had told Ethan to flip the breaker, knock, and then run! Why did he come back? And how the hell did he get a key to my apartment? Did he secretly make a copy? In the split second before the door swung open, I heard the soft click of a closet door shutting. 5 The front door opened and closed. Silence descended, broken only by the sound of someone taking off their shoes in the entryway. Cramped under the bed, I heard the faint scuff of feet on the floor. Peeking past the plastic bags, I saw a pair of large feet—a man’s feet. He moved quietly, and I watched as he disappeared into the bathroom. The minutes ticked by. As uncomfortable as I was, pressed against pieces of a corpse, I knew the two people in the closet were having a worse time. In the dark, a bright phone screen is a beacon. I glanced toward the closet and saw a faint glow seeping from the crack, a sign they were messaging each other, planning their next move. The only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. Suddenly, another sharp knock rattled the door. “Delivery for 802!” I was baffled. I was under the bed, my husband was dead beside me—who ordered takeout? Was it the wrong address? Just when I thought no one would dare answer, the toilet in the bathroom flushed. The door opened, and from my vantage point, I saw the man who had entered in the dark emerge. He walked calmly to the door and flipped the light switch, but the crystal chandelier overhead remained dark. He opened the door. The delivery guy’s apologetic voice drifted in. “Sorry, my bad. Customer just messaged me, said he put in the wrong address. This is for 1802.” I looked toward the closet. The faint light had vanished. 1802? That apartment has been vacant for months. Was this a deliberate ploy by the people in the closet? “Okay. No problem.” Hearing the man’s voice, my blood ran cold. Every hair on my body stood on end. The voice… it was identical to my dead husband’s. Did they kill the wrong person? 6 After the delivery guy left, the man followed him out, and the door clicked shut again. I heard movement from the closet as two figures emerged. Mark stood to the left of the door, holding a knife. Diana stood to the right, gripping a golf club. They were ready to ambush the man with my husband’s voice the second he returned. Suddenly, the lights flickered back on. After the initial blinding glare, all three of us blinked, adjusting to the brightness. With the lights on, I finally felt safe enough to check my phone. Several messages from Ethan were waiting. “Cassie, I just saw your husband take the elevator down to the lobby to flip the breaker.” My husband? My husband was lying in pieces next to me. And Ethan had never even met Liam. “Are you sure you saw him correctly?” I texted back. He sent a photo. “Cassie, your wedding photo is right by the bed. I stared at it for ages last weekend. There’s no way I’d get it wrong.” I opened the picture. My hand trembled so violently I could barely hold the phone. The photo was taken from the first-floor stairwell. The man waiting for the elevator… his build and his profile were a perfect match for my husband. 7 Utterly bewildered, I opened my chat with Liam and sent a message. “Where are you right now?” From the floor not far from the bed, a phone began to vibrate. For a dozen silent, agonizing seconds, the expressions on my face and on the faces of the pair by the door were frozen in shock. “His phone is ringing,” Diana whispered. “He’s not here yet. Go get it and silence it, quickly!” Diana snatched up the phone. The moment she lit up the screen, both of us saw the reply pop up. “I’m at home!” I felt a primal terror grip me. Diana was so frightened she dropped the phone. “He… he’s not dead!” Mark cursed. “What are you talking about? His body is in pieces under the bed!” Diana picked up the phone and handed it to Mark. He swiped through it. “Windows login notification. Someone’s messing with us, replying from his computer.” I took a deep breath and typed again. “Good, you’re home. Two of my male colleagues are coming over in a bit. Can you give them the suitcase next to the closet?” “Sure thing, honey! Okie dokie!” My heart sank. I knew, with absolute certainty, that the person on the other end was not my husband. Liam never used punctuation, let alone cutesy phrases like “Okie dokie.” A wild theory formed in my mind. Was this his assistant? It had happened before. When Liam was with another woman, he’d often let his assistant manage his messages. But even his assistant wouldn’t dare reply like this without permission. 8 Diana was visibly panicked. “What now? There are two guys coming, plus the one who just left. We can’t handle all of them.” Mark hesitated. “Let’s hide for now.” Diana ducked back into the closet. Mark had one foot inside when he stopped. “You hide here. The rope is still outside the balcony. I’ll go hide it and find another spot.” Just then, footsteps sounded in the hallway. In a flash, Mark darted to the balcony, vaulted over the railing, and grabbed the rope, planting his feet firmly on the air conditioning unit outside. Eight floors up. The thought alone was terrifying. I clenched my fists, holding my breath for him. The footsteps grew closer, accompanied by a soft humming. I recognized the song instantly: “Supposed to be a love song.” The last time he and I were together, he’d played it to cover the sound of my moans. How could there be so many coincidences? The questions in my mind deepened. I was about to see his face. I bit my lip, forcing myself to stay silent. My heart stopped. The man who walked through the door… was my husband. He was wearing the same suit he’d worn on his business trip last Friday, right down to the tie I had picked out for him. He walked in and went straight to the fridge for a glass of lemonade, just like he always did. It suddenly hit me what was wrong with the first man who’d come home. He was wearing a purple polo shirt, a color my husband absolutely despised. But… the two of them looked so uncannily alike. I stared at the plastic bags beside me and pinched my own cheek, hard. I felt the pain. Could it be that the man who just walked in was my real husband?

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Coming home from a business trip to find the water shut off was the first sign that something was wrong. After a call to building management, a maintenance guy showed up, but he just stared at me, confused. “The shutoff was announced in the residents’ chat group yesterday,” he said, scratching his head. “You even replied ‘Got it.’ Did you forget?” A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. My husband and I had never bothered to join the residents’ chat. Too much hassle. As soon as the maintenance guy left, I got myself added to the group and started scrolling through the chat history. My eyes landed on a user who called herself “Mrs. of 1206,” who had been quite active in the discussions. But I live in 1206. If she was the owner, then who was I? My hand trembled slightly as I called my husband, Julian. He answered without a moment’s hesitation. “She probably just typed it wrong, honey. There are so many buildings in the complex, it’s an easy mistake. I can message her and ask her to fix it if you want.” I forced a smile into my voice. “No, don’t bother. It’s not a big deal.” But the moment I hung up, I switched to a burner account and sent a friend request to the “Mrs. of 1206.” 1 It was only eight in the evening, and she accepted my request almost instantly. “Who is this? Do I know you?” she typed. My fingers flew across the screen. “Hey, I live in the apartment right below you. Is everything okay up there? I’ve been hearing strange noises for a while, sounds like someone might have broken in.” Her reply was swift. “I’ll go check right now.” I put my phone away, keyed in the security code to my own front door, and stepped inside. This apartment was a pied-à-terre, a place we kept near the airport for early flights or late arrivals when the drive back to our main penthouse downtown was too much. Julian was at the penthouse now, which meant this place was empty. It wasn’t long before I heard the sharp click-clack of high heels echoing down the hallway. Peeking through the peephole, I saw a young woman stop in front of my door. With a practiced ease that sent a chill down my spine, she entered the security code and pushed the door open. So, it wasn’t a typo. My worst fears were true. My phone buzzed with another message from her. “You must have heard wrong. The water is out today, so no one’s home. The noise definitely wasn’t coming from our place.” I tapped out a vague reply and then slipped out through the fire escape, circling back to re-enter my apartment through the front door she had left ajar. “Who are you?” I demanded, my voice sharp and cutting through the silence. “What are you doing in my home?” I decided to strike first, catching her completely off guard. Color flooded her face, turning it a blotchy red. Her lips trembled as she stammered, “You—you must be Julian’s wife. I’m Selina. We… we grew up in the same town.” She wrung her hands, avoiding my eyes. “He said this place was usually empty, and he was worried about burglars. Since I work nearby, he just asked me to check in once in a while… you know, tidy up a bit.” A blatant lie. I had a cleaning service that came twice a week like clockwork. This place was immaculate. There was no need for anyone to “tidy up.” But I didn’t call her out on it. Instead, I gave her a placid smile and patted her shoulder gently. “Well, that’s so thoughtful of you. But it’s getting late, and I’m ready to turn in. You should head home.” Selina nodded, practically tripping over herself as she scrambled out the door, fleeing as if she’d just seen a ghost. 2 Once she was gone, I collapsed onto the sofa and pulled up her social media feed. Three posts were pinned to the top. The first was a photo of her delicate wrist, adorned with a heavy, masculine watch. The caption read: “He let me play with it.” I recognized it instantly. It was the watch I had given Julian for our anniversary. I checked the date of the post. It was from the day I’d been organizing our walk-in closet and noticed it was missing. He’d told me he left it at the office. Instead, he’d been using my gift to charm his little plaything. I scrolled down. The second post was geotagged at a resort out of state. The caption: “The hotel walls are so thin. A girl can’t possibly sleep alone here.” The date. It was my birthday. Julian and I had been in the middle of a candlelit dinner when he’d suddenly stood up, telling me he was being sent on an urgent business trip, effective immediately. I’d been upset, asking if it couldn’t wait until morning. He’d frowned, his voice cold. “This is for my job, Eleanor. Don’t be irrational.” The third pinned post was a picture of a bouquet so massive she could disappear behind it, made entirely of crisp hundred-dollar bills. If my math was right, that floral arrangement was made of over fifty thousand dollars in cash. And I knew exactly where that money came from. It had been withdrawn from the supplementary credit card I gave him—a card linked directly to my account. He really spared no expense, did he? A fifty-thousand-dollar cash bouquet for his mistress, while I got a dozen roses from a Groupon deal. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. What a blind fool I’d been to fall for a man like Julian Pierce. And he had the audacity to let his lover stay in a property that was in my name, as if I’d never find out. He had seriously underestimated my intelligence. Without another thought, I called my best friend, Sarah. As one of the city’s top divorce attorneys, she lived for this kind of drama. “That leech Julian dares to cheat on you?” Sarah’s voice was pure venom. “He’s got a death wish.” “Don’t you worry, Eleanor,” she purred. “I’ll help you make sure he walks away with nothing but the clothes on his back.” I smiled. That was exactly what I wanted. I didn’t want a man who was tainted goods. But more than that, I wanted to make him pay. I had barely hung up with Sarah when my phone rang again. It was Julian. “Eleanor, honey, why didn’t you tell me you were back? I would have picked you up from the airport. I heard the water’s out over there, it can’t be comfortable for you to stay the night.” His voice was slick with false concern. “And you met Selina, right? She’s just a sweet kid from back home, her parents know mine. She’s all alone in this big city, so I promised her folks I’d look out for her.” He was trying to get ahead of the story, to smooth over my suspicions. Little did he know, his pathetic secrets were already blown wide open. “Yes, I met her,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Listen, I’m swamped. I have another flight to catch first thing in the morning, so I’ll just crash here for the night. You get some sleep.” As I spoke, the screen of my tablet showed a live feed from the security cameras in our downtown penthouse. Selina certainly had guts. Fresh from being caught by me, she had run straight to our main home to seek comfort from Julian. He sat on the sofa, pulling her into his lap, his fingers twirling a lock of her hair, the very picture of domestic bliss. Over the phone, Julian let out a visible sigh of relief. “Okay then. Rest up, darling. It’s late.” “Next time you come home, just tell me,” he added, his voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “I’ll drive out to get you, no matter how late it is. Nothing is more important than you.” If I were still the naive wife from yesterday, those words might have touched me. But watching him caress another woman on my tablet, they were nothing but a sick joke. 3 The moment he hung up, Selina planted a kiss on Julian’s cheek. “You scared me to death today, baby! I really thought she’d found us out.” Julian pinched her cheek playfully. “What’s there to be scared of? I’m here. And so what if she finds out? I’ll protect you.” He leaned in closer. “There’s a big auction in a couple of days. I’ll take you, clear your head. You can buy whatever you like.” Selina’s eyes lit up. “Oh, thank you, baby! You’re the best!” I immediately contacted my assistant and had her cancel Julian’s supplementary card. Let’s see how he planned to buy “whatever she liked” when he couldn’t charge a single cent. Sarah was brutally efficient. Before dawn, she sent me a complete timeline of the affair. Julian hadn’t been lying about one thing: Selina was indeed from his hometown. They were practically childhood sweethearts. The affair had started the moment she moved to the city a year ago. He had been spoiling her rotten, lavishing her with the finest clothes, jewelry, and accessories. The transaction history alone was a fifty-page PowerPoint presentation. I did a quick mental calculation; the total value ran into the tens of millions. I recognized many of the items. On our last wedding anniversary, Julian had given me a sapphire necklace, claiming he’d won it at a prestigious auction. It was too gaudy for my taste, so I’d kept it locked away. Now I knew why. The one he gave me was a cheap imitation. The real one was draped around Selina’s neck in half her social media posts. Page after page of his spending scrolled by, and I started to laugh, a hollow, angry sound. The memory of how touched I’d felt receiving those fake gifts now made my stomach churn. And Selina, the proud owner of all this stolen luxury, had built a career online as a “wealth-flexing” influencer. She’d amassed hundreds of thousands of followers by parading my jewelry, my clothes, and my bags. I clicked on her profile. Her latest video was a tour of my penthouse. Not only that, she had the gall to waltz into my walk-in closet, casually picking up my designer dresses. “I have way too many clothes, guys,” she chirped to the camera. “So, I’m going to pick a few lucky followers and send some of these out as gifts!” “Don’t worry,” she cooed, “I’ve never even worn most of these. Some still have the tags on! And for those who don’t win, don’t be sad. I’ll be doing giveaways like this all the time.” Her comments section was flooded with praise. “You’re so beautiful and generous!” someone wrote. Another asked how she could afford such a lavish lifestyle. Selina replied with a sickeningly sweet message: “It’s all my husband’s money. We grew up together, and he always gives me the very best of everything.” Then, she added the kicker: “He’s taking me to a major auction in a couple of days. I’ll do an unboxing video for you guys when I get back!” I switched to another burner account and commented: “Could you live-stream the auction tomorrow? I’m just a poor girl who’s never seen anything like it!” My comment quickly racked up likes, with dozens of her fans echoing the request. Selina’s reply came minutes later: “Okay, babes! Tomorrow, you’ll all get an immersive experience at a high-end auction with me!” Perfect. Julian wanted to use my money to let her buy whatever she wanted. It wouldn’t be right for the actual owner of that money not to be present, would it? 4 On the day of the auction, I arrived early and found an unobtrusive seat in a dimly lit corner. You wouldn’t even know I was there unless you were looking for me. Soon enough, Julian and Selina made their grand entrance, arm in arm. True to her promise, Selina was dressed to the nines for her live audience. She was carrying my Hermès Birkin in crocodile skin, wearing a haute couture gown, and was so laden with jewelry on her neck and wrists she looked less like a socialite and more like a disco ball. As frequent patrons, they were personally escorted by the staff to a private VIP suite overlooking the main floor. The auction began. The first few lots were minor pieces, the warm-up acts. Selina started her live stream, and within minutes, thousands of viewers had joined. I was one of them. To project an image of limitless wealth for her followers, Selina bid on nearly every item that came up. And Julian, blissfully unaware, let her, thinking my credit card was footing the bill. From my corner, I watched it all unfold, not with anger, but with a growing sense of excitement. Finally, the auctioneer’s tone shifted. It was time for the evening’s main event. “And now, for our pièce de résistance,” he announced. “A diamond tiara once owned by French nobility over a century ago. The genius of this piece lies in its versatility. Every component is detachable. It can be worn as a full tiara, a necklace, and the diamond florets can be used as hairpins or brooches…” The central diamond was a stunning ten-carat masterpiece. Under the auction house lights, its fire was so brilliant it threatened to blind the entire room. In the live stream, Selina let out a squeal. “Baby, I want that one! It would be perfect for our wedding photos!” Julian grunted in agreement. I let out a slow breath. This was it. She wanted it. And I was going to make sure she never got it. “We’ll start the bidding at five hundred and fifty thousand dollars…” The auctioneer had barely finished his sentence when paddles shot up across the room. The price quickly climbed to six hundred thirty thousand. I raised my paddle. The price jumped by another twenty thousand. Selina, in her suite, immediately countered. The moment her bid was registered, I raised mine again, adding another twenty thousand. We went back and forth, my relentless bidding clearly unnerving her. The supplementary card I gave Julian was generous, but a sudden charge of this magnitude would be impossible for him to explain away to me. Selina was getting frantic. “Baby, bid higher! Someone’s going to snatch it away!” The chat on her live stream exploded with comments questioning if she could actually afford it. Not wanting to lose face, Julian gritted his teeth and signaled another bid. But it didn’t matter how many times he bid. I matched him, and then I raised him. I would not be outbid. “Who the hell is that?” Selina hissed, her voice audible even from my corner. “Sitting in the general seats… Can she even afford that?” The price hit one million dollars. The small increments were getting tedious. This time, I raised my paddle and signaled an increase of one hundred thousand dollars. “That’s it,” Julian said, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “One point one million could get you a custom-made tiara. We don’t need this antique. One last bid, and if she takes it, let her have it.” “No, baby! I want this one!” It wasn’t her money, so she didn’t care. The thought of losing it made her furious. She tried to raise her paddle again, but Julian grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Sold! To the lady in the corner for one million, one hundred thousand dollars!” The auctioneer’s gavel cracked, sealing my victory. The room erupted in applause. The only sound from the VIP suite was Selina’s enraged shriek. “Who is that hick? How dare she steal my tiara! Can she even pay for it?”

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The ninety-ninth time Christian’s new assistant mistakenly booked a divorce filing instead of a marriage license appointment, I stormed into his office. “Christian, is this what a master’s degree from a top university gets you?” I snapped, shoving my phone in his face. “If she can’t do this one simple thing, then get rid of her!” Christian glanced up from a mountain of paperwork, his expression unbothered. “I told you, she’s too smart for this kind of administrative work,” he said flatly. “If you’d spent less time complaining to me and just did it yourself, you’d have been done by now.” He didn’t even look at me as he spoke. Without another word, I turned and walked out. I sent a single text. [Dad, I’m done with Christian.] Christian didn’t know that his position as the designated heir to the Pierce family fortune was contingent on our marriage. Once that was off the table, there were plenty of other Pierces ready and willing to take his place. 1 My father sighed on the other end of the line, just telling me to think it through before I made any final decisions. But I knew there was no going back for Christian and me this time. I scrolled through the ninety-nine notifications on my phone, each one a confirmation for a divorce filing. “It was just a mistake. I’ll tell her to be more careful next time.” “She’s got a lot on her plate. It’s normal for things to slip through the cracks.” “Don’t take it out on her. She’s just a kid. I’ve already spoken to her about it.” Every time, an excuse. Every time, a defense of her. Each message was a testament to Christian’s indulgence of his assistant, Valerie Shaw. My eyes burned, and my chest ached as if pierced by a hundred tiny needles. Just as I put my phone away, Christian burst out of his office. “Are you really going to drag our parents into this over something so small?” he demanded, his brow furrowed in disapproval. “Clara, when are you going to get over this spoiled princess act?” His first words were an accusation. I was about to retort when I felt a tug on my arm. I turned to see Valerie, her face a mask of contrition. “Clara, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to,” she whimpered. “The website is so confusing, it kept glitching. I swear I clicked on ‘marriage license’!” “I’ll book it again right now, for you and Mr. Pierce. I promise I won’t mess it up this time.” Her face was a picture of misery, her voice thick with unshed tears. She pulled out her phone and started tapping at the screen, letting out little sniffing sounds. The look of pity in Christian’s eyes was so intense it was almost tangible. Valerie held her phone out to me, the booking page displayed on the screen. “Don’t bother.” My voice was ice. I tried to push her hand away. Her hand trembled, and the phone slipped, the screen flickering to a different app. In that split second, I saw it: a selfie of her and Christian, their cheeks pressed together. I grabbed her wrist, and her grip loosened. The phone hit the floor with a sickening crack, the screen shattering. Everyone in the office turned to stare, but no one dared to speak. Valerie’s quiet sobs turned into loud, hysterical wails. “Mr. Pierce,” she cried, “my mom’s last voicemails were on there! It’s the only thing I have left of her… What am I going to do? It’s broken…” Christian’s expression softened into pure sympathy. He pulled her into his arms, murmuring comforting words into her hair. My fists clenched, the image of that intimate photo burning behind my eyes. Christian had a phobia of cameras. We didn’t have a single photo together. He had even refused to take wedding photos with me. And now, here he was, with a collection of them with another woman. I swallowed my rage and turned to leave. But Christian stopped me. “You break her phone, and you think you can just walk away?” “Didn’t you hear her? It had her dead mother’s last messages on it. Clara, can’t you at least pretend to be a decent human being and apologize?” The sympathy in his eyes was gone, replaced by a look of pure disgust. “Apologize?” I scoffed. “To her? Is she even worthy of an apology?” I met his gaze, my chin held high, even as my heart shattered into a million pieces. Christian’s face grew colder, his words like shards of ice. “If you don’t apologize today, then forget about the marriage license.” A collective gasp went through the office as heads popped up over cubicle walls to watch the drama unfold. He had said this before. Many times. Always in defense of Valerie. And every time, I had been the one to back down. Christian and I had been together for ten years. He was the one I had chosen, the one I had loved since we were children. Marrying him was the only thing I had ever dreamed of. But now the dream was over. It was time to wake up. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s not get married.” Christian’s hand dropped to his side, a flicker of surprise in his dark eyes. I didn’t wait for him to respond. I turned and walked away. “Mr. Pierce, you should go after her, calm her down. I’ll be fine…” “There’s nothing to calm down. She’ll come crawling back in three days, regretting this.” Christian’s dismissive voice followed me out. I took a deep breath, forcing the tears back. He didn’t know. This time, I wouldn’t be the one with regrets. I had already found a replacement groom. A wedding is a wedding, right? Who cares who the groom is? That night, Valerie’s Instagram blew up. Who gets this lucky with their first job out of grad school? The post included a photo of a five-star restaurant, a brand-new phone, and a screenshot of a bank transfer for a very specific amount: $131,452.00. I love you for life. The last photo was of Christian, cutting a piece of steak and placing it on Valerie’s plate. I stared at the three photos, a bitter laugh rising in my throat. Our ten years together felt like a joke. He had never once bought me a gift, let alone transferred me a single cent. “What’s mine is yours,” he’d always said. “Moving money around is pointless.” But for her, he’d drop over a hundred thousand dollars without a second thought. When we ate out, he always sat there like a king, waiting for me to serve him before he’d take a bite. Every time I tried to take a picture, he refused. But Valerie… Valerie got everything I had ever wanted. Effortlessly. My vision blurred. The tears finally came. The doorbell rang. It was a delivery man. “Delivery for Christian Pierce,” he said. “Wedding photos.” “I didn’t order any wedding photos.” “This is Christian Pierce’s residence, right?” I nodded. He insisted the address was correct and brought in several large boxes. After he left, I opened one, my hands trembling. The photos were of Christian and Valerie. A full eight-outfit, eight-location photoshoot. Christian, beaming in every single shot, his smile a blinding, painful light. Each photo was a needle, piercing my heart. I looked up, and there he was, standing in the doorway, supporting a drunken Valerie. “Give me a hand,” he said, his voice curt. It was a habit, ordering me around. He had probably already forgotten our fight at the office. I didn’t move. I just pointed to the pile of boxes. “You have five minutes to get this trash out of my house.” “Including her.” I gestured to Valerie, who was leaning against him, her face flushed, a pathetic, wounded look in her eyes. “You don’t have to be so cruel,” he said. “We took these for her mother. It was her dying wish to see her daughter get married. We were just trying to make an old woman happy. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” Valerie nodded, her eyes red. “I just wanted my mom to be happy before she passed.” “I gave them my address,” she sniffled. “I don’t know how they ended up here. Please don’t be mad at Mr. Pierce…” She was so good at playing the victim. She made me sound like a monster. “A top university graduate, and you can’t even get your own address right?” I snapped. “What’s in that head of yours, water?” “Fine. If you won’t get rid of this trash, I will.” I grabbed a pair of scissors and started shredding the posters and albums. I smashed the frames, then cut the photos into tiny, unrecognizable pieces. “No!” Valerie cried, lunging forward to stop me. “Clara, please, I can take them with me!” She tried to grab the scissors, and the blade sliced across her hand. Her sharp scream cut through the haze of Christian’s drunkenness. He shoved me, his face contorted with rage. I stumbled backward, landing on a pile of broken glass. Shards dug into my palm. “Clara, what is wrong with you?” he roared. “Always breaking things, hurting people! Can’t you act like a woman for once?” “Valerie’s mother just died. Your mother is dead too. You’d think you’d have a little compassion!” His words were a dagger to my heart. My mother’s death was my deepest regret. Christian and I had been studying abroad, and with travel restrictions, I couldn’t get back in time for the funeral. I said goodbye to her over a video call. To this day, I still woke up from nightmares, crying for her. Christian knew all of this. And he had just used it to wound me, all for Valerie. Without a backward glance, he scooped Valerie up in his arms and left. I stared at the blood welling in my palm, a bitter taste filling my mouth. “Mom,” I whispered to the empty room, “the man you chose for me is rotten.” “I don’t want him anymore.” The silence was my only reply. My mother had adored Christian. She and his mother were best friends, and they had arranged our marriage when we were still in diapers. Getting together was just… expected. It was why my father had risked our family’s entire fortune to help Christian win the succession battle at Pierce Corp. At twenty, Christian had stood on my family’s shoulders and secured a billion-dollar investment. When my mother died, Christian had knelt before the video screen and made a solemn vow. “Auntie, don’t you worry. I will give Clara the happiest marriage in the world.” After we returned from our studies, the wedding plans began. But then, at the beginning of this year, Valerie started as an intern at the company. And the story took a sharp, unexpected turn. As his assistant, Valerie would call and text Christian at all hours. Once, we were in the middle of… something… when his phone rang. He hadn’t even pulled his pants up before he answered it. I had my suspicions. I checked his phone. But it was clean. The first time I saw Valerie, she was in the passenger seat of Christian’s car. It was the day we were supposed to get our marriage license. Before we could even leave the house, a call from her sent him rushing out the door. I didn’t even have time to ask what was wrong. I waited at the courthouse until it closed. When he finally came back to get me, Valerie was with him. The moment she saw me, she had the good sense to move to the back seat. “If Mr. Pierce hadn’t helped me today, my mother wouldn’t have even gotten a hospital bed,” she’d said. “Clara, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was your day to get your license. I’ll make the next appointment for you!” I heard her story about caring for her sick mother and my empathy got the better of me. I let my suspicions go. But the repeated mistakes with the license applications forced me to re-evaluate. And Christian’s defense of her became more and more blatant, even to the point of publicly humiliating me. I finally realized that in his daily dose of pity for her, he had given her his love as well. After getting my hand stitched up at an urgent care clinic, I went home. The smell of cooking met me at the door.

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At dinner, my husband Julian suddenly spoke up. “Don’t you think,” he began, his fork hovering over his plate, “that our new housekeeper is in a rather tragic situation?” I looked up from my meal. “What do you mean?” He frowned slightly, a troubled look in his eyes. “You haven’t noticed? She’s a single mother with five sons. Her father’s a gambling addict, and her mother has cancer.” My eyes drifted to Phoebe, who was currently bent over, mopping the floor in a short maid’s uniform and black stockings. Before I could respond, Julian cleared his throat. “I was thinking of giving her a raise. Say, twenty thousand a month.” He continued, gaining momentum, “And a three-month bonus at the end of the year. A four-day work week, premium health and dental for her entire family, plus a 401(k).” He laid it all out in a single breath, then looked at me with grave importance. “That way, she can support her family and focus on her work here without any distractions.” I set down my fork and dabbed my lips with a napkin, my movements slow and deliberate. “Let’s just fire her,” I said coolly. “Anyone overhearing you might think you’re setting up a kept woman. Don’t you think?” 1 “I most certainly do not!” His composure finally snapped. “Eleanor, what is with the snide remarks?” “As a woman,” he pressed on, his voice rising, “can’t you find an ounce of empathy for what Phoebe is going through?” I looked at Julian, a genuine laugh almost escaping me. “You’re the Director of my brother’s hospital, managing a staff of thousands. What’s your monthly salary? Does it even compare to the package you just proposed for her?” He faltered, then tried to pivot. “I’m talking about basic human compassion, Eleanor. Do you have any at all?” I shook my head without hesitation. “I’m not a saint.” As the future head of the Vance family corporation, compassion was a luxury I couldn’t afford. “Either she goes, or we get a divorce. Your choice.” I had laid it on the line. He had to understand I was giving him a chance to clean up his own mess. If I had to step in, he would lose everything. But instead, he slammed his hand on the table. “You want a divorce just because I want to give our housekeeper a raise?” he roared. “Is it because you paid for my medical degree and got me the job at your brother’s hospital? Am I destined to be beneath you for the rest of my life? As your husband, don’t I even have the right to decide a housekeeper’s salary?” Julian was always the picture of calm. Even when a distraught patient held a scalpel to his back, he hadn’t lost his cool. I stared at him. “So you choose her. Is that it?” His lips tightened into a thin line as he glared at me. Just then, Phoebe scurried over, her head bowed. “Ma’am,” she whispered, “I think… I think you’ve misunderstood things between me and Julian.” She called my husband by his first name. “Julian.” “He’s so successful and handsome, like a movie star. Just being associated with him feels like I’m tainting his reputation. I’m a divorced mother of five. No man would ever want me. What could they possibly see in me?” Her low-cut uniform showcased her generous cleavage, and the black stockings hugged her long, slender legs. I thought of the out-of-place pillow in Julian’s study. The anime maid printed on it was a dead ringer for Phoebe. And his phone wallpaper, the one he’d had for years… it was an animated version of her, wasn’t it? A cold smile touched my lips. I looked at Julian. “Phoebe’s asking what you see in her,” I said. “Let me guess. Is it her great figure and pretty face? Or maybe this whole pathetic, damsel-in-distress act?” I paused, letting the silence hang in the air. “Or is it the five sons? You’ve always wanted a son, haven’t you? Can’t have one of your own, so you figured you’d try playing daddy without any of the hard work?” “Eleanor!” Julian shot a panicked glance at Phoebe before rushing over to cover my mouth, his fingers digging into my cheeks. “I have azoospermia,” he hissed. “Do you have to broadcast it to the entire world?” I shoved him away, my laugh sharp with irony. “What are you afraid of? That Phoebe will find out and be disgusted by you?” He averted his eyes. “It’s a private matter between a husband and wife. It’s not appropriate to discuss it.” “Besides,” he added quickly, “didn’t you arrange for that top specialist to fly in for me? I’m sure it can be fixed. We’ll have our own children. Why would I need someone else’s?” As if on cue, Phoebe spoke up, her voice a mask of innocence. “Well… all my friends say I’m just incredibly fertile. I don’t really know what they mean by it.” “But I have five sons—one set of twins and one set of triplets. Even I think it’s pretty amazing.” A faint blush colored her cheeks. “I always think that… with me… even if a husband had… issues… he could probably still have a baby.” A flash of something—hope? excitement?—lit up Julian’s eyes before he suppressed it. He stiffly put an arm around my waist, creating a deliberate distance between himself and Phoebe. “Phoebe, don’t say things like that again,” he said sternly. “Even without children, Eleanor is the only wife I will ever have.” The way he said it… it sounded like I was the one who was barren. As if with Phoebe, he would have no problem at all. A wave of nausea washed over me. Just two weeks ago, I had flown halfway across the world to consult with that specialist for him. And while I was gone, he had secretly moved Phoebe into our home. When I’d returned, she was serving burnt, inedible dishes for dinner. Julian, normally so picky about his food, had devoured three bowls of rice. The vintage sapphire earrings he’d won at auction—the ones I thought were for my birthday—were now dangling from Phoebe’s ears. And every night, he would wait until I was asleep before coming to bed, as if he couldn’t bear for me to touch him. I took a deep breath and pointed at Phoebe. “Julian, I’m asking you one last time. Are you sure you want to keep her here?” He pushed me away, his patience gone. “Are we still on this? I already told you my position! Why do you have to keep making baseless accusations and causing drama? Do you enjoy grinding my dignity into the dirt?” The push sent me stumbling back against the staircase railing. A sharp pain shot through my lower back, and I gasped, unable to straighten up. Julian rolled his eyes and came over to pull me up. “Oh, stop it. Don’t play the victim. The fragile damsel act doesn’t suit you. You didn’t earn your ‘tough girl’ reputation for nothing.” In college, he was walking me back to my dorm when a heavy ceramic planter fell from a window ledge above. Without thinking, I shoved him out of the way, taking the full impact on my head. I’d laughed and told him I was fine. I ended up with five stitches and a new nickname. Now, he used it as an insult. I flinched away from his hand. “Don’t touch me. You’re filthy.” His face hardened, his hands balling into fists. “You’re just determined to be impossible today, aren’t you?” “I’ve said what I needed to say. It’s her or me.” With that, I turned and walked upstairs. Julian started to follow, but Phoebe let out a small, choked sob. “I get it. No one’s ever liked me. Everyone says I’m slow and stupid. They all look down on me.” Her voice was a pathetic whimper. “That’s why my ex-husband left me to raise five boys all by myself. My dad hits me when he loses at poker, and my sick mom calls me worthless when she’s in a bad mood. Even my own children say I’m useless.” “And now… now even the ma’am hates me. You and her are fighting, getting a divorce, all because of me. Maybe I should just die.” She turned and made a show of running towards the wall. Julian lunged, grabbing her just in time. The pity in his eyes was so thick it was practically dripping. “Phoebe, don’t. I’ve never looked down on you.” “You’re not slow,” he soothed. “You’re… you’re adorable.” Phoebe’s tears magically vanished, replaced by a tentative smile. “Really?” Julian reached out and stroked her hair, raising his voice so I could hear him from the top of the stairs. “Of course. Not like some people, who walk around with a permanent scowl, all business and no warmth. There’s nothing feminine about them. Who could ever love someone like that?” Phoebe let out a little giggle and shot a glance in my direction. “Julian, that sounds a little bit like the ma’am.” “The first time I met her, she was in a pantsuit with her hair pulled back so tight… I almost called her ‘sir’.” Julian laughed along with her. “Here’s a little secret,” he whispered conspiratorially. “The staff at the hospital call her ‘The Warden’ behind her back.” My feet froze on the stairs. My heart hammered against my ribs, threatening to break free. I snatched a vase from a nearby table and hurled it down at them. “Julian, get your whore out of my house!” “Ah!” Phoebe shrieked. Julian instantly threw himself in front of her, shielding her with his body. The vase shattered against his back. His first instinct, however, was to steady Phoebe, making sure she didn’t fall. “Eleanor! Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with!” he spun around, his eyes red-rimmed and furious. “I have no family connections, no background, and I can’t even give you a child! So go ahead, hit me, scream at me, belittle me all you want! I don’t care! But leave innocent people out of it!” “Phoebe is the kindest, most genuine woman I have ever met! She’s only working as a housekeeper to support her family. She has a bachelor’s degree, for God’s sake! She could have a much better job!” He grew more agitated with every word, his voice turning to ice. “In my eyes, a useless, silver-spoon princess like you isn’t fit to touch the hem of her garment!” Every word was a knife, every sentence drew blood. He had no family, no background, and he was sterile. I had defied my parents, ignored all the warnings, and married him anyway. The price was that within two years, I had to double the family company’s profits. For those two years, I never had a full night’s sleep. I worked myself to the bone, living and breathing the business. I became the man he never was. And I did it. I succeeded. And now he was telling me I looked down on him. That I was useless. That I was a joke he and his mistress could laugh about together. Something inside me snapped. I stormed into his study and slashed the anime maid pillow to ribbons. I grabbed everything within reach—picture frames, potted plants, the desk lamp—and threw them at them. He shielded Phoebe, easily dodging the projectiles. “Eleanor, I am sick of living like a guest in the Vance family’s shadow! I am a capable man! I am the youngest hospital director in this country!” he yelled. “Did you really think I needed to grovel for a job at your brother’s hospital? Let me tell you, I’ve had offers from top institutions begging me to join them!” “If you keep acting like a lunatic, then fine! Let’s get a divorce! You’ll be the one who regrets it!” I gripped the railing, my knuckles white, steadying myself. “Fine by me!” Phoebe trembled in his arms. “Julian, couples fight. The ma’am has a difficult personality, but if you just put up with it, it will pass.” “Being a divorced woman is hard,” she whimpered. “People look down on you… like they do with me.” Julian scoffed, not even bothering to look at me. “I don’t care what happens to her. She brought this on herself. Not every woman deserves to be cherished.” A profound, soul-crushing exhaustion washed over me. I let go of the railing and silently continued up the stairs. Julian stared after me, as if he hadn’t expected me to just walk away. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face, and he opened his mouth to call out to me. But then Phoebe’s phone rang. “What? Noah has a fever?” “Okay, okay, I’m on my way to the hospital right now.” She hung up, her eyes wide with panic. “Julian, Noah has a 104-degree fever. What do I do?” The color drained from Julian’s face. “Noah? But he was fine at the amusement park yesterday.” “I’ll go with you,” he said without a second thought. I listened as the front door slammed shut behind them. My legs finally gave out, and I crumpled to the floor. His relationship with Phoebe had progressed to taking her children to amusement parks? Or was it possible… that one of those children was also his? The thought was a venomous bite. I dug my teeth into my lower lip until I tasted blood and dialed my brother’s number. “Marcus, I need you to run a background check. On Julian and a woman named Phoebe Lane.” “A check? What for? Is he cheating on you?” “I think he might have an illegitimate child.” My brother gasped. “Are you sure? I thought he couldn’t…” All the strength drained out of me, and my throat felt tight. “Phoebe says she’s… incredibly fertile.” Even as I said the words, they sounded ridiculous. A claim with no scientific basis, yet it settled in my stomach like a lead weight. “Marcus,” I continued, my voice flat, “the hospital director position is up for review every five years. It’s time for Julian to step down.” “The hospital has been losing money for years under his leadership. That performance clause in his contract… is the penalty high enough to bankrupt him?” There was a pause on the other end. “Ellie,” Marcus asked gently, “are you okay?” No. I was not okay. My heart felt like it was being slowly flayed. But I could not tolerate even a hint of impurity in my love. If I found it, I would grind it to dust. “Marcus, find me the best divorce lawyer you know. I want Julian to walk away with nothing. I know it’ll be difficult.” In our world, prenups were standard. But I hadn’t made Julian sign one. I had believed he wasn’t with me for the money. I had believed he would never betray me. How naive I’d been. After I’d made the calls, a message from Julian appeared on my phone. Eleanor, everything I said earlier… I was just angry. Please don’t take it to heart. Noah has pneumonia. I have to stay at the hospital with him tonight. I really want to come home, but he’s only four and he won’t let go of my hand. I just can’t bring myself to leave him. I typed back a swift reply. I don’t care. Pack your things tomorrow. I want you out of my house. A single, large question mark appeared in response. Eleanor, are you really going to push me to this? Are you trying to shove me into another woman’s arms? Fine. You win. I paused, then typed one last message. On our wedding day, I told you that if you ever betrayed me, you would lose everything. Do you remember? It was at our wedding. He had gently lifted my veil, his eyes shining like a whole galaxy of stars, and promised me, “There will be no betrayal. Not until the day I die.” And now? A cold, red exclamation point appeared on the screen. He had blocked me.

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At 10 PM, my fiancé Greg was still “working late.” Scrolling through TikTok, I found a viral trend: “A Toast to Myself.” A delicate-faced girl raised a glass of milk, her voice trembling: “First toast to me—for shamelessly getting his number after four days of pursuit.” A man in stripes appeared, head cropped out: “Second toast to me—for traveling through a blizzard just to see him for a moment.” “Third toast to him,” she whispered, tears welling. “The man forced to marry another… I wish him happiness.” My blood turned to ice. The striped shirt was the one I’d bought Greg. 1 The video was short, ending on a close-up of the girl’s tear-filled eyes. The comment section had exploded. 【OMG, my heart breaks for her. It’s so sad when soulmates can’t be together.】 【What are these ‘cruel realities’? Spill the tea, girl! We’ll help you figure it out!】 【Is she talking about Stonebridge? I remember that blizzard last Christmas. It was insane. All the trains and buses were shut down. The fact that she made it through that is a testament to true love.】 Most of the comments were celebrating their epic, tragic romance. But a few users pointed out the red flags. 【Idk, something feels off. She’s being super vague.】 【Why won’t the guy show his face? Is it because he doesn’t want to, or because he can’t?】 【^^^ Exactly what I was thinking. Hiding his face is shady AF.】 But those comments vanished as quickly as they appeared. Lying there in the dark, a deep, unsettling coldness seeped into my bones. The man in the video looked too much like Greg. He owned the exact same striped t-shirt. But that alone wasn’t proof. But what about the finger? The moment the man in the video raised his right hand, I saw it. The missing tip of his right index finger. Greg had the same scar. It happened during our second year of vet school, when we were interning together. A vicious dog lunged for me, and he threw himself in front of it to protect me. The dog had torn off a piece of his flesh. The incident left him with deep-seated trauma. After graduation, he switched careers entirely, leaving veterinary medicine behind to teach at a community college in Ashton. Then, last summer, he moved back to Stonebridge, where I lived, taking a job as a technical consultant at a biotech firm. We officially moved in together. A few weeks ago, he proposed. Everything… every single timeline… it all lined up with the video. And I remembered last Christmas all too well. The blizzard had paralyzed the city, shutting down everything. Yet, Greg had called to tell me he was stuck at the office, working overtime. I didn’t buy it—what kind of company would be so inhumane as to force employees to work in that weather? I went out to find him, but I slipped on the ice and fell hard. Blood bloomed against the stark white snow, a crimson stain spreading from between my legs. A stranger rushed me to the hospital. It was there I learned I’d been two months pregnant. Two months before, Greg and I, a little drunk and reckless, had been together without protection. I’d taken the morning-after pill, but it hadn’t worked. I never even knew our child existed before they were gone. And through it all, Greg’s phone was unreachable. Hours later, he finally dragged himself into the hospital room, his body heavy with exhaustion. He wrapped his arms around me, begging for my forgiveness. “Sophie,” he’d whispered, “I’m so sorry. I fell asleep at the office. We can have another baby, I promise. Just… just don’t leave me.” It was a pathetic excuse, but back then, I actually believed him. Now, snapping back to the present, I finished the video and immediately called him. It went straight to voicemail. I sent him a text. “Greg, if you don’t call me back right now, we’re done.” Two minutes later, my phone rang. His voice was thick with sleep. “Sophie? What’s up? I must have dozed off.” The same excuse. But this time, I wasn’t buying it. My voice was eerily calm. “You seem to fall asleep a lot during your overtime shifts. Doesn’t your boss mind?” Greg let out an awkward laugh. “It’s fine, he doesn’t care if I catch a quick nap now and then.” I hummed a noncommittal “uh-huh.” “Are you coming home tonight?” I asked. “Probably not,” he hesitated. “There’s still a ton of work to get through. You should get some sleep, Sophie. Be good.” I was about to say something else, but then I heard it—a soft, almost inaudible moan from his end of the line. The call ended abruptly. I felt like I’d been plunged into ice water. 2 As a grown woman, I knew exactly what that sound meant. Nausea churned in my stomach. I grabbed the matching smartwatches we wore. A Valentine’s Day gift from Greg a few months back. I never liked wearing anything on my wrists, so I’d only put it on for a few days to be nice. Greg, however, never took his off. And the watches had a live GPS tracking feature. I opened the app. His location popped up: an upscale apartment complex about three miles away. My heart hammered against my ribs as I threw on some clothes and rushed out the door. Security at the complex was tight; you couldn’t even get past the main gate without a key card. I found a spot to wait nearby and ordered takeout on my phone. I put in the correct address and Greg’s name, but a fake phone number. Thirty minutes later, the delivery guy showed up with the food. All deliveries had to be left at the security booth. “Hey,” he grumbled to the guard, “this number’s not working. Can you check if a guy with this name actually lives here?” The guard took the order slip, glanced at the resident directory, and accepted the package. He picked up the intercom phone, presumably to call Greg. A few minutes later, Greg appeared at the gate, dressed in casual loungewear. Even though I’d prepared myself, the sight of him sent a fresh wave of pain through my chest. He picked up the food, a confused look on his face. “This isn’t mine. I didn’t order anything.” The guard smiled politely. “The name and address are correct, sir. Maybe you should double-check.” Greg paused, then pulled out his phone to make a call. His back was to me, and his voice was too low for me to hear what he was saying. But he was tapping his foot lightly on the ground—a tell-tale sign he was in a good mood. A moment later, a girl came down to the gate. It was her. The girl from the video. She threw herself into Greg’s arms, her voice a playful pout. “I didn’t order anything, but I am hungry. Let’s go out and eat.” Greg smiled, running his fingers through her hair in a gesture of pure adoration. They left the takeout with the guard and walked out of the complex, tangled up in each other. As they passed the gate, Greg’s eyes suddenly flicked in my direction. Thankfully, I’d pulled my hat down and had a mask on. A cold dread settled over me. Greg was cheating. The man I had loved for eight years, the man I was supposed to marry in a month, was having an affair. And the worst part? This probably wasn’t the first time. The lies had likely started the moment he moved back to Stonebridge. 3 I followed them, keeping a safe distance, my phone recording everything. The girl rubbed her lower back, her voice a syrupy whine. “It’s all your fault, you know. You wore me out. My back is killing me.” Greg playfully tapped her nose. “My fault, my fault. It’s just… the thought of being away from you makes me crazy.” When was the last time he and I had been intimate? Three months ago? Six? After the miscarriage, I’d developed an aversion to sex. I couldn’t even stand to look at him some days. By the time I started feeling like myself again, he was the one pulling away, always using the excuse of being too tired from work. We had been together for eight years. Our passion had slowly faded into a comfortable, familial bond. Everyone told me this was normal, that the deepest love eventually settles into a quiet companionship. But I refused to accept that. I remembered the fire in his eyes when he loved me, and I couldn’t bear the placid indifference that had replaced it. One night, I’d decided to end it. I was ready to tell him we were over. But as if he’d read my mind, Greg suddenly dropped to one knee, pulling out a delicate ring box. He asked me to marry him. In that moment, all my resolve melted away. I followed them to a small noodle bar and lingered outside the window, watching. Greg meticulously wiped down their table and chairs with a sanitizer wipe. He snapped open a pair of disposable chopsticks, carefully sanding off any tiny splinters. When their food arrived, he seasoned her bowl with a dash of soy sauce and vinegar before handing it to her. Her noodles had no cilantro or green onions, and not a hint of chili. You see, he knew exactly how to be the perfect boyfriend. He just didn’t want to be that person for me anymore. She smiled sweetly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear with her left hand. And on her wrist, a smartwatch. The exact same model as mine. I stood there, frozen, for a long time. I took one last photo and turned away. Greg Hayes. I was done with him. But before I walked away for good, I was going to make him pay for every last lie. 4 The next day during my lunch break, I started digging through the girl’s Instagram profile. In the comments of yesterday’s video, someone had asked what “cruel realities” were keeping them apart. She’d replied with just four words: “A gap in our status.” What kind of status gap? Greg was just an ordinary guy. His master’s degree was his only real accomplishment, and even that was commonplace these days. Unless… was she referring to the status gap between a mistress and a soon-to-be-married man? That made a twisted kind of sense. It was something you couldn’t exactly talk about openly. Then another comment caught my eye. 【Girl, you are gorgeous. Why’d you have to chase a guy for four days to get his number? Is he that hot or something?】 Her reply: “It wasn’t just that. He’s also someone I deeply admire.” Admire. The pieces started clicking into place, and my head began to throb. The professions that inspire admiration are few and far between. And Greg had taught at a community college in Ashton for a short time after graduation. He was only there a year before he quit and came back. I’d assumed he was unhappy with the job and didn’t press him for details. With a growing sense of dread, I scrolled through her entire feed. She was an oversharer, with nearly a hundred posts documenting her life. Finally, in one of her earliest posts, I found a clue. It was a photo of a much younger-looking girl standing in front of a stone tower. The caption read: My favorite kind of cardio is hiking up to this view. I saved the image and ran a reverse image search. The results came back instantly. It was a landmark in Ashton. The post was dated April of last year. Who, I wondered, had taken that picture for her? A cold sweat broke out on my skin. I found the contact number for the community college where he used to work. I told the person on the other end that I was looking for a former instructor named Greg Hayes. The moment I said his name, the voice turned hostile. “We have no instructor by that name here.” “Please,” I begged, letting my voice crack. “He’s my fiancé. I haven’t been able to reach him for days, I’m so worried.” The woman on the phone, hearing the desperation in my voice, softened. “Honey,” she said gently, “you should stop looking for him. He was fired from the college last year.” The line went dead. I just stood there, stunned. Not resigned. Fired. A second later, a text message came through from an unknown number. Listen, you should probably divorce him. The reason your husband was fired? An inappropriate relationship with a student. The message hit me like a bolt of lightning, leaving me numb and shivering. There was no doubt in my mind. The girl in the video was his former student. I put my phone down, my movements stiff and robotic. I tried to stay calm, to breathe, but the violent trembling of my hands betrayed me. 5 “Dr. Reed, your next surgery is in ten minutes.” My assistant’s voice snapped me back to reality. I had almost forgotten about the major procedure scheduled for this afternoon. An animal’s life was waiting for me. I couldn’t afford to waste my energy on Greg. I pulled the engagement ring from my finger and placed it in my desk drawer. Four hours later, I walked out of the operating room, exhausted but satisfied. The dog’s owner thanked me profusely. After turning down his offer of a gift, I sat alone in my office, trying to unwind. My fingers unconsciously found their way to the ring in my drawer. It was from a special jeweler—the kind where a man can only ever custom-order one ring in his entire lifetime. I couldn’t fathom how Greg could be entangled with another woman while simultaneously ordering this symbol of eternal devotion for me, all without batting an eye. His capacity for deception was truly remarkable. I rubbed the cool metal between my fingers until it warmed to my touch. Suddenly, I noticed something. On the inner band, there was a tiny, almost invisible inscription. I squinted, holding it up to the light. It was a combination of letters and numbers. 【EH LUV LS 4EVER】 My hand flew open as if I’d been burned. The ring slipped from my numb fingers, clattering onto the floor with a sharp, mocking sound. How dare he? How could he propose to me with a ring he had custom-made for someone else? A tidal wave of rage and betrayal crashed over me. Tears I had been holding back for so long finally broke free, streaming down my face. I buried my head in my arms, trying to muffle the ragged sobs. I only stopped when my assistant knocked, asking if she could come in to clean. I hastily wiped my eyes. She entered cautiously, then bent down and picked up the ring. “Dr. Reed, you dropped this.” I took it from her, my fist closing tightly around it. After work, I didn’t go home. Instead, I drove to the only boutique for that particular jeweler in the city. I handed the ring to the clerk. “I’d like to inquire about the customization record for this piece,” I said calmly. “I’m not happy with this inscription.” The clerk looked up the order on her computer, a puzzled expression on her face. “Miss Shaw, our records show you requested this engraving yourself. You approved it in person. Is there a problem?” Lily Shaw. So that was her name. I forced a smile and shook my head. When I got home, Greg was already in the kitchen, prepping dinner. He heard the door open and called out cheerfully, “Sophie! I’m making your favorite, my signature shredded chicken!” I didn’t answer, just dropped my bag and sat down at the table, my face a cold mask. He brought the dishes out from the kitchen, one by one. To any outsider, he was the perfect fiancé: handsome, good-tempered, a great cook, with a respectable job. His performance was so flawless it had fooled my entire family, and it had almost fooled me. He placed the final dish, the shredded chicken, in the center of the table. I slammed my chopsticks down. “Why is there no cilantro? No green onions? And no chili?” Greg’s smile froze for a split second before returning. “Oh, look at me,” he chuckled, “my brain’s been so fried with work lately, I must have gotten it mixed up.” It couldn’t be easy, juggling a full-time job and two different women. “Oh?” I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “So who is it that doesn’t like cilantro, green onions, or chili?” He froze, his back to me as he reached for the spice rack. A clatter of glass jars shattered the silence as they fell to the floor. As Greg scrambled to clean up the mess, I got up to help. A shard of glass sliced my finger, and a bead of blood welled up. He immediately abandoned the mess and rushed to get the first-aid kit. As he was wrapping a bandage around my finger, he stopped, his eyes fixed on my hand. “Sophie… where’s your ring?” “The ring?” I said, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, I lost it.” His reaction was explosive. “You lost it? Sophie, that was a one-of-a-kind ring! I can never order another one!” I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “A man can only buy one ring, but that doesn’t mean he’ll only love one woman, does it?” Greg stared at me, a flicker of panic in his eyes. To quell his suspicion, I swallowed my disgust and wrapped my arms around him. “Greg, I’m sorry, it was my fault. Will you… will you buy me another ring?” He nodded, relief washing over his face.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394113”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel