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.

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1 The news of John Jiang and Aurora White’s engagement went viral, met with a chorus of blessings from the entire internet. Everyone expected me to have a public meltdown. After all, I’d spent the last ten years chasing John, a pathetic, devoted puppy at his heels. They all thought I was hopelessly in love with him. What no one knew was that I had been waiting for this day for a decade. I wanted them to get married more than anyone. The wedding was a spectacle, with hundreds of cameras and a live stream hosted by a major influencer. [I can’t be the only one crying rn. Finally seeing Mr. Jiang and Aurora get their happy ending. That other woman must be absolutely fuming, LOL.] [It wasn’t an easy road for them. So happy my girl Aurora is finally getting married!] [If it wasn’t for that toxic witch, Mr. Jiang would have married my goddess years ago. But I guess we have her to thank for making Aurora realize her true feelings.] [I’m so emotional! Mr. Jiang, you have to treat her like the queen she is!] [Really hope that crazy woman doesn’t try to ruin things today.] The comments flew by. After a few, I lost interest. It was all either fawning over the happy couple or trashing me. The old me would have fired back, but ten years of this had built up an immunity to the hate. I hid in a quiet corner, my eyes scanning the venue. Please, please let this wedding go off without a hitch. To minimize my presence, I’d chosen an outfit completely out of character for me—tasteful, elegant, understated. For today, I was playing the part of a lady. The venue was buzzing. I could see John’s parents up front, alongside Aurora’s, and my own father with his new wife. Familiar faces from our social circle dotted the crowd. A massive screen overhead cycled through John and Aurora’s engagement photos, filled with the kind of radiant smiles he’d never once given me, no matter how much I’d begged. Finally, the officiant took the stage. The ceremony was beginning. It’s no exaggeration to say I was more nervous than the bride and groom. My entire future hinged on this. I was so done with being the universally despised, obsessive stalker. Call me toxic, fine, I could live with that. But the obsessive stalker label? Unbearable. John, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, stood at the altar, his eyes fixed on his approaching bride with a look of profound adoration. “Look at the way he’s looking at her. He’s so in love.” “OMG, that look is killing me.” “The goddess is so beautiful.” Aurora White was a beloved, award-winning actress, the nation’s sweetheart. John, in a grand gesture, had given away 100 tickets to her fan club, allowing them to witness the wedding in person. The girls whispering beside me were probably some of them. “Look, they’re exchanging rings!” My attention snapped back to the stage. John had just slipped the wedding band onto Aurora’s finger. Now it was her turn. My breath caught in my throat as I watched her move in slow motion. But just as the ring was about to slide onto his finger, she stopped. Her eyes found mine across the crowded room. She’d spotted me. I never expected her to let me off the hook, not even on a day as important as this. Sure enough, she raised the microphone to her lips. 2 “Thank you all so much for coming to celebrate with me and John,” she began, her voice smooth as silk. “But there’s one person I especially want to thank. Someone you all know.” Every head in the room followed her gaze, turning towards my corner. For a moment, they didn’t recognize me. “As many of you are aware, the road for John and me has been a long and difficult one, filled with obstacles.” Yes, obstacles I had personally created. It was part of my mission, but there was a healthy dose of personal satisfaction in it, too. “Jasmine,” she said, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “I know this must be hard for you. But I want to say that true love doesn’t follow a timeline. You were by John’s side for a long time, but what he felt for you was sisterly affection, not romantic love. I truly hope you can find someone who will cherish you.” She turned back to John. “And thank you, my love, for always standing by me.” I could feel the hostile glares, the heat of their judgment. A few people even moved closer, surrounding me, their faces contorted with anger. This was exactly what Aurora wanted. To drag me into the spotlight and publicly shame me one last time. Finally satisfied, she picked up the ring again and, without another moment’s hesitation, slid it onto John’s finger. Seeing that, a weight I’d been carrying for ten years finally lifted from my shoulders. “They’re married now,” one of the fans next to me sneered. “If you try to cause any more trouble, Mr. Jiang won’t be so lenient.” I turned to her and nodded earnestly. “Don’t worry. I hope they’re locked together forever.” Ding— [Congratulations, Host! Aurora White and John Jiang are successfully married. Mission complete. Grand Finale achieved!] [Confetti! Party time!] [Host, your mission is over. It’s time for me to go.] [Where will you go now?] The voice, which only I could hear, belonged to the system that had appeared ten years ago. A system whose host was Aurora White. It was through this system that I learned my role in this story: the toxic female side character. I tried to change my fate, but it was useless. So, if I couldn’t beat them, I’d join them. I would play my part to perfection. All to reach this moment. All to see the system leave. [I’m off to a new world!] [Okay, 1807. Thank you… for giving me a new life.] [No problem, Host! Take care of yourself. I won’t be back.] [Okay!] The voice faded. 1807 was gone. And with it gone, I could finally become the truly toxic side character. As I turned to leave, my eyes met Aurora’s on the stage. I gave her a small, knowing smile. Your fairy tale is officially over. 3 The first thing I did when I got home was throw out everything from my past life. Then I called the movers. After that, I sent a single text to the contact pinned at the top of my chat list. By the time I was done, it was past midnight. For ten long years, I’d diligently played my part. If the main couple’s romance needed a little conflict to heat things up, I was their go-to tool. But now the story was over. The plot’s control over me was gone. Who knew what could happen after the final chapter? Everything I’d been forced to give away as a plot device, I was going to take back, piece by piece. Starting with John’s position at the company. Three days passed, and the buzz around the wedding of the century was still going strong. Aurora was already leveraging the publicity to break into international markets. Then came the day for the newlyweds’ traditional visit to the bride’s family. I went too. I could hear the laughter from outside. I didn’t need to go in to picture the happy family scene. But I was here to spoil the mood. Aurora was the first to see me. “Jasmine, you’re here! We were just talking about you. It’s been so long since we all had dinner together.” She smiled sweetly. “Come, join us.” “I’d love to,” I said, my own smile genuine. Seeing their forced happiness made me feel so much better, like the air itself was sweeter. “Now that you’re here,” my father, David Shen, said sternly, “try to get along with your sister. And don’t pull any of your usual stunts. They’re legally married now. If you interfere, you’ll be nothing but a homewrecker.” I looked at my biological father, truly looked at him, and found it hard to believe a parent could say such things to their child. But I’d heard worse from him. Now that I no longer cared, the words couldn’t hurt me. “Of course. I would never do something so degrading as to pursue a married man.” The color drained from my father’s face. Luckily, the housekeeper announced that dinner was ready, breaking the awkward tension. But as soon as I sat down, Aurora spoke up again. “Oh, that’s where Mom usually sits. If you like that spot, Jasmine, I’m sure she won’t mind moving.” I gave her a half-smile. She returned it with one of her signature gentle expressions, but I knew the ugliness that lay beneath. My stepmother, Clara, just waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. Let Jasmine have the seat if she wants it.” Even John chimed in, his voice laced with disapproval. “Jasmine, you’re still so stubborn.” 4 SMACK! My palm hit the table, the sharp sound silencing the room. “This is my house. Since when do I need an outsider’s permission to sit at my own dinner table? If you want to eat, eat. If not, get out.” The sudden outburst stunned everyone. No one, least of all John, expected me to fight back. Everyone knew I was hopelessly in love with him. In the past, I was rebellious with everyone but him. He used to gloat about it, how the spoiled heiress would do anything he said. They all thought I was incapable of defiance. But they seemed to have forgotten the person I was before. I still had my edges; I’d just hidden them for ten years. Now that I was free, I was going to be comfortable, no matter what. “Jasmine, you’ve lost your mind!” My father slammed his own hand on the table, the sound even louder than mine, making my palm sting. “Do you want me to throw you out?” I discreetly rubbed my hand under the table. The dramatic gesture was satisfying, but painful. The old me, the one from the script, would have been terrified, her eyes welling with tears. The toxic side character’s primary motivation was a desperate need for her father’s love. He’d always used that against me. But the script was over. “Dad, you seem to be forgetting one small detail,” I said sweetly. “This villa is in my name. Jasmine Shen.” He looked like I’d struck him. Clara, sensing the shift, quickly interjected. “Jasmine, don’t joke like that. The deed is locked in the safe. Your father can’t handle these kinds of games.” My father seemed to recover, his hand tapping the table again. “You ungrateful brat!” Fine, if they didn’t believe me, I wouldn’t waste my breath. “Martha, serve the food!” “Right away, Miss Shen!” “Don’t call her Miss Shen, call her the second miss!” But Martha was already on her way to the kitchen. The food was, as always, delicious. Aurora’s face was pale. The title “Miss Shen” had clearly struck a nerve. “Are you planning to add Aurora to the family registry, Dad?” I asked conversationally. Aurora was my father and Clara’s daughter, born three months before me. “I should probably remind you that the ‘Shen’ in the Shen Corporation comes from Serena Shen, not David Shen.” Serena Shen. A gentle, brilliant woman who made the fatal mistake of falling for a man from a humble background who saw her as a stepping stone. Her story, of course, did not have a happy ending. 5 Since they didn’t believe the villa was mine, I decided to give them a little surprise. I called a realtor and had them evicted. Then I called a cleaning service to scrub the entire house from top to bottom. The meticulously manicured flower gardens were torn up and replaced with a vegetable patch. The old Jasmine Shen could never have been the owner. But Jasmine Shen, at eighteen, could be. While they were busy living their lavish lives, I was quietly biding my time, waiting for the right moment to strike. When my phone rang again, I simply turned it off. As much as I wanted to gloat, villains always die from monologuing. The priority now was to bring down the main characters. Aurora had just started filming a new movie. John was busy trying to establish his authority as the new CEO. I decided to give him a little push from behind. Let them tear each other apart for a while, and then I’d swoop in and pick up the pieces. My father and Clara eventually tracked me down. All those years as a CEO hadn’t been for nothing. He tried to slap me the moment he saw me, but I blocked his arm and redirected the blow to Clara’s face. I’d wanted to do that for a very long time. She was the one who broke my mother. She had shown up at our house while my mother was bedridden, Aurora in tow, and presented a paternity test, declaring herself the new mistress of the house. The shock had literally killed my mother. And then, Clara had the audacity to say, “I didn’t know she was that sick.” Three months after my mother’s death, Clara moved in. That was the first time I met Aurora, and the first time I heard the system’s voice. I refused to believe it. I leaked the story of my father’s affair to the press. It caused a scandal, but then Aurora went on a live stream, crying about her parents’ tragic love story. She painted them as childhood sweethearts torn apart by a wealthy heiress—my mother—who forced my father into a loveless marriage. She spun a tale that not only exonerated them but also turned my dead mother into a villain. That was when Aurora’s career took off, transforming her from the nation’s daughter to the nation’s goddess. And I, unknowingly, had helped her get there.

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1 In my past life, I ruined my family. My billionaire parents, bankrupt and broken, threw themselves from the roof of their skyscraper. My CEO brother was framed and jailed. My sister took her own life. Reborn, all they wanted was revenge. My brother’s eyes were dark with malice. “This time,” he vowed, “we’ll make her wish she were never born.” The next second, he heard my innermost thoughts. [My brother is so handsome, like a prince from a fairy tale! I have a fruit candy in my pocket. I want to give it to him. I wonder if he’d like it?] My brother froze. My sister offered a smile that was pure ice. “Little monsters are always good at pretending. Once we get her home, the truth will come out.” But I just gazed at my sister with pure adoration, clapping my tiny hands. [When sister dances, her skirt flies up like a fairy’s wings! I love it!] The family stared at my three-year-old self, a heavy silence falling over them. [Wait, was she really this cute as a child?] [How are we supposed to get revenge on… this?] … When the fabulously wealthy Vance family came to the orphanage, their eyes were all fixed on me, sharp and unyielding. I shrank back, my small hands twisting the hem of my worn-out dress. [Are these my long-lost family? They’re all so beautiful. I’m so happy!] [But… why do they look so angry? Is it because I don’t look like them?] My father gave me a single, cold glance. “Take her.” The orphanage director, Mama Ellen, beamed, her rough hand pulling me from the bench with a sense of urgency. “Nora, darling, quickly now! Go with your mommy and daddy! Your good life is just beginning!” I stumbled forward, dazed and confused. My mother flinched back half a step, as if I were carrying some deadly plague. My brother’s brow furrowed even deeper, the disgust in his eyes practically spilling over. Only my sister, Monica, extended a hand to me, her lips curved into a perfect, practiced smile. “Come now, little sister. Let’s go home.” Home? Hesitantly, I reached out with my own grimy little hand. [Am I finally going to have a home of my own? Sister’s hand is so white and clean. My hand is so dirty… will I get her dirty?] [But I’m so, so happy!] The very instant my fingertips were about to brush against hers… CRACK! The dim, yellow bulb overhead exploded without warning! A shower of fine glass rained down. “Ah!” my sister shrieked, snatching her hand back, her face draining of color. My father reacted instantly, pulling my mother and sister behind him as his sharp gaze locked onto me like a weapon. My brother, Liam, stepped forward, physically shielding them from me. “Hah! After all that nonsense you were just thinking, I almost believed you’d changed. But you’re the same as you were in our last life—a curse that exists only to harm us!” I stared at him, bewildered, my hands clutching my dress. “Brother,” I whispered, “I… I didn’t say anything.” All four of them looked at me, their faces a mask of stunned disbelief. “It’s my fault! That old light should have been replaced ages ago,” Mama Ellen explained frantically, pulling me close to check for injuries. “Nora, are you hurt?” A shard of glass had nicked my ankle. It stung. But I just stood there, frozen, staring at their guarded, hostile expressions. It felt like a piece of that glass had lodged itself in my chest, a dull, aching pain. [The light broke?] I thought, my mind a blank. [Was it because I reached for my sister?] [I’ve always been unlucky. Are they going to hate me because of this?] 2 A wave of overwhelming despair crashed over my tiny body. I thought, just like all the other times, my bad luck would get me abandoned again. But they still took me to the car. They still took me home. My brother, Liam, sat in the front passenger seat. He shot me a cold look through the rearview mirror. I flinched and immediately looked down, my fingers twisting the rough fabric of my dress. [Is brother looking at me?] [Does he think I’m dirty? Does he hate me?] “Yes, she is annoying,” Liam muttered under his breath. I looked up, confused, but he was already staring out the window, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. When we arrived at the house—no, the mansion—my eyes went wide, my mouth falling open slightly. [Wow.] [It’s just like the castle in a princess storybook!] The car glided to a stop under the grand portico of the main house. The driver quickly got out and opened the door. My father stepped out first, followed by my mother. Liam vaulted out gracefully, turning to help our sister. And that’s when it happened. As my sister, Monica, was getting out, the delicate satin ribbon on her shoe somehow snagged on a small, barely visible hook under the door, a hook meant to secure the floor mat. “Oh!” she cried out as her balance gave way, and she pitched forward. “Monica!” my mother screamed, her voice thin with terror. Liam moved like lightning, lunging forward and grabbing her arm just before her face could smash against the hard marble steps. Even so, the shock of the fall left Monica pale and trembling. She collapsed against her brother, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “What happened?!” my father, Marcus Vance, demanded, his voice sharp. The driver, sweating profusely, knelt to inspect the car. “Sir! It’s this hook for the mat. It’s never exposed like this! I don’t know how…” Inevitably, everyone’s gaze fell on me as I was the last one to get out of the car. I stood frozen, my heart pounding with fear. [Why is sister crying? Seeing her cry makes me so sad. But why is everyone looking at me? Did I make her fall?] My father’s heavy gaze rested on me for a few seconds. “Forget it. Let’s go inside. Mr. Kingston, take her to her room.” The butler stepped forward. “This way, little miss.” I was given a room at the far end of the third-floor corridor. It was large and beautifully furnished, with a soft white rug, a corner piled high with stuffed animals, and a large bay window overlooking the garden. But it was too empty, too quiet, and too far away. A long, silent hallway separated me from my parents’ master suite, from my brother’s and sister’s rooms. Mr. Kingston’s voice was polite but distant. “Little miss, this will be your room. The washroom is over there. Someone will call you for meals. You are not to wander the house without permission, and you are especially not to disturb Mr. and Mrs. Vance, or the young master and miss.” He then exited, closing the door softly behind him. Click. The sound echoed in the silence. It felt like I was the only person left in the world. [Don’t wander… don’t disturb them…] [Is it because… if I get close to them, I’ll bring them bad luck?] Used to being bullied at the orphanage, I buried my face in the thick duvet and began to cry, muffling the sobs. I scrubbed at my eyes with the back of my hand, but the tears just kept coming. No! Stop crying! Crying doesn’t help. It only makes people hate you more. I sniffled, forcing the tears back. 3 My gaze fell on the small bag I’d brought from the orphanage. I went over and opened it. Inside, aside from a few old clothes, was a dented plastic water bottle with a little yellow duck printed on it. I picked it up and hugged it to my chest. It was a gift from a kind older girl at the orphanage—my only possession. [Mama Ellen said drinking warm water is good for you. Daddy was coughing the whole way here in the car…] There was still some warm water left in my bottle. This tiny, fledgling desire to do something, anything, for him temporarily overshadowed my fear and sorrow. Summoning every ounce of courage I had, I clutched my little yellow duck bottle and carefully turned the doorknob. The hallway was carpeted, and my footsteps made no sound. Holding my breath, I tiptoed towards what I hoped was the master bedroom. My heart pounded like a drum. Finally, I reached the door. It was slightly ajar, a warm light spilling out from within, along with the murmur of voices. “It’s too bizarre! I swear I heard her talking, but I watched her mouth, and it didn’t move. Are we… are we hearing her thoughts?” That was Liam’s voice, full of disbelief. Monica’s voice was calm. “And what if we are? You, of all people, should know what she’s really like.” My mother, Isabelle, agreed. “I’m telling you, she’s playing games. It’s just another one of her demonic little tricks!” [Who are they talking about? Is it some super-duper evil villain?] I raised a tiny, indignant fist. Then I heard my father cough again. Wiping my sweaty palms on my pants, I gently pushed the door open a little wider and peeked inside. The whole family was sitting there, a united front. Liam looked up and saw me, a smirk twisting his lips. “Well, speak of the devil.” I offered him a sweet smile. [My brother is so handsome, just like a prince in a fairy tale! I’m so lucky to have such a handsome brother. Everyone must be so jealous of me!] Liam, hearing my praise, looked flustered for a second. I turned my attention to my father. He was looking at a document, his expression grim, and he let out another small cough. My fear forgotten, I clutched my little bottle like a treasure and scurried towards him on my short legs. “Daddy! Water! It’s warm!” I shouted, trying my best to lift the bottle up to him. But in my haste, my foot caught on the edge of the plush rug. “Whoa!” I yelped as the little yellow duck bottle flew from my hands. CRASH! The water splashed directly onto the important-looking documents in front of my father. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, his eyes like chips of ice. “It’s warm water,” I whimpered, my voice trembling. “For Daddy to drink…” “For me to drink?” His gaze turned lethal. He shot up from his chair, snatching the bottle away from me with a look of utter disgust. “Who knows what kind of filth you put in this!” “Didn’t manage to poison us in the last life, so you’re trying a new method this time? Why? Why, after being given a second chance, are you still so wicked!” Tears streamed down my face, hot and unstoppable. [There’s no filth… it’s clean, warm water. Mama Ellen said warm water helps a cough. I don’t want Daddy to cough. My bottle is clean…] My father’s hand, which had been raised as if to strike me, froze in mid-air. He stared at my tear-streaked face, at eyes that held nothing but hurt and confusion, not a hint of malice or calculation. Finally, with a deep, frustrated sigh, he lowered his hand. He didn’t hit me. But somehow, I felt he was even angrier than before. 4 A few days later, the family had guests coming over. My mother had laid out a breathtakingly beautiful dress, covered in shimmering sequins. [Mommy would look like a fairy princess in that dress!] [Oh! One of the little stars is dusty! It’s not shiny anymore!] My sharp eyes spotted a single sequin near the hem that had a speck of dust on it. Mama Ellen had always said that beautiful things must be cherished; they weren’t beautiful anymore if they were dirty. I felt my pocket. Inside was my small handkerchief, washed so many times it was pale, but it was clean. I took a deep breath. The moment my mother left the room to choose her accessories, I scurried over, knelt down, and began to gently wipe the dusty sequin with my handkerchief. “What are you doing!” “My dress! What are you doing to my dress!” My mother’s voice was shrill with fury. “I knew it! Are you trying to ruin my dress on purpose?” The shock sent me tumbling backward onto the floor, the little handkerchief falling from my grasp. My mother was trembling with rage, about to scream for the staff to drag me away and lock me in my room. [No, I was just trying to wipe the sequin clean for Mommy. The handkerchief is clean, Mama Ellen washed it for me…] She stared down in disbelief at the tiny, terrified child cowering on the floor. Then she looked at the hem of her dress where I had wiped it. The dust was gone. And the little handkerchief, though old, was indeed spotless. A wave of profound absurdity washed over my mother. She opened her mouth to say something scathing, but in the end, all that came out was a frustrated sigh. “Just stay away from my things!” After the incidents in the study and the dressing room, the atmosphere in the house shifted. The four of them would sometimes gather in hushed tones, discussing things I didn’t understand, using words like “inner voice,” “coincidence,” and “her act is too convincing.” Eventually, they reached an unspoken agreement: as long as the little jinx stayed in her lane and didn’t cause trouble, they could coexist peacefully. The notice for my siblings’ school trip to the amusement park was stuck to the refrigerator. It was a colorful flyer with a huge Ferris wheel and a carousel. Every time I passed it, I would stop, my feet seemingly nailed to the floor, and stare at it with a secret, greedy longing. [An amusement park! So many colorful houses! And horses that go round and round! And big balloons that float in the sky!] [I wish I could go! Just once…] My mother, Isabelle, happened to catch my expression. The look in my eyes—a pure, timid yearning—pricked her like a tiny needle. “Ahem.” She cleared her throat. Her tone was still cold, but her words took an unexpected turn. “Well, since you’re living here now… Monica, Liam, take her with you tomorrow. It’ll keep her from causing trouble around the house.”

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My last life ended with my wife’s lie. She painted me as a serial killer, and no matter how I screamed my innocence, the world wouldn’t listen. The victims’ families took their revenge on my own, an eye for an eye, their methods brutal and absolute. Some were tortured, others vanished without a trace. And I was trapped behind bars, powerless to stop any of it. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back on the day my wife was supposed to walk into the police station and ruin my life. After calling in an anonymous tip to the police that someone would die today, I tried to investigate why my wife would frame me, only to find she had vanished into thin air. But on my way home, I saw it: a bank, surrounded, a robbery in progress. And a spark of an idea lit up my mind. “That’s right,” I said to the officer. “I’m volunteering. I’ll take the pregnant woman’s place as a hostage.” … The police negotiator stared at me for a few seconds, his mind catching up. “You know the guy in there has a makeshift gun, right? This is real. You could actually die!” There was a flicker of excitement in his eyes, but it was overshadowed by genuine concern. He was worried I didn’t grasp the stakes, that I’d back down once reality hit. I just shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. If I die, just give me a ‘Good Samaritan’ award or something.” I’d already died once, a humiliating, suffocating end. This time, I wasn’t asking for a blaze of glory. I just wanted a death—if it came to that—that wasn’t tied to the label of a monster. An end that wouldn’t drag my family down into hell with me. That was enough. “Alright. We’ll make the most of this opportunity. Please, try not to be nervous.” The negotiator spoke with grave intensity as he strapped a bulletproof vest onto me. It was my first time wearing one; the novelty of it was so strange I almost felt like I was at a cosplay convention. While the police team radioed the robber inside the bank, I waited in the wings. “No way! If it’s a woman, you send in another woman to swap!” the robber’s voice crackled through their speaker. “This guy’s obviously one of your undercover cops!” I had to roll my eyes. Seriously? With my slender build, you could hardly compare me to a trained officer. “Quit wasting time,” I yelled, stepping past the line of police and into the open space between them and the bank. “Watch closely!” Then, I started shedding clothes, one piece at a time. My jacket, the vest, my wool sweater, my pants, my socks, even my leather shoes hit the pavement until I was standing there in nothing but a pair of boxers. “Is this good enough for you, buddy?” I shouted, then turned to the nearest officer and presented my wrists. “Cuff me.” The move left everyone—robbers and cops alike—speechless. “That woman is about to give birth,” I projected my voice towards the bank. “Think about it. Why would she be at a bank instead of a hospital? Because she’s got no one to help her. Her life is already hard enough, and she’s been fighting for that baby. Are you really going to be the ones who let her die because you won’t make a simple trade?” I took two steps forward. The robber inside didn’t react. Dressed like this, who could possibly suspect me of being a threat? “I’m carrying nothing. The cuffs are real and they’re tight. And hey, if I were an undercover cop, you should be happy! That would mean you have a cop as a hostage. They’d have to be even more careful with you then, right?” I kept pushing, the tension in the air so thick you could taste it. Everyone was holding their breath. If this didn’t work, nothing would. Finally, after a few agonizing minutes, the robber’s voice came back. “Get in here. Hands up. No funny business!” A wave of relief washed over me so powerful I could have sprinted inside. In just a few more hours, the murder from my past life would be committed. And soon after, my dear wife, Eliza, would go to the police with her web of lies. They would find the supposed murder weapon in my home, covered in my DNA. They would find a witness who swore they saw me near the crime scene. They would even produce a seamless chain of security footage tracking my every move from my front door to the alley where the body was found. This time, I was going to forge an alibi so ironclad it would shatter every single one of those lies. As I entered the bank, they were letting the pregnant woman go. She was trembling, but she kept looking back at me, whispering her thanks. “You’re a good man. Thank you!” “If you really want to thank me,” I said, raising an eyebrow, “then help me out after this is all over.” She froze, confused. She had no idea what I was asking for. But I knew that soon enough, she would. “Get in here, you!” The robber was cautious, keeping to the blind spots where the snipers outside couldn’t get a clean shot. The moment I was dragged inside, something hard slammed against the back of my head. “You’re really not a cop?” I could feel the cold, dark barrel of the gun pressed against my spine. “Really. Check the cuffs yourself, see how real they are.” I struggled against the restraints, and the steel only bit deeper into my wrists. Satisfied, he moved around to face me. He didn’t look like a hardened killer, just a desperate man. He sized me up. “You’re not scared of dying, kid?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “What’s the point? I’d be scared of a meaningless death, but dying to save someone? That’s not meaningless at all.” I shrugged, looking him straight in the eye. He stared at me, dumbfounded. “You talk like you’ve died before,” he finally managed to say. “Let’s see how tough you are when you’re really about to bite it.” “You’re right about one thing,” I said with a long sigh. “I have died once before.” The memory of it, the searing injustice of being executed as the most monstrous serial killer of the century, sent a fresh wave of bitterness through me. “What are you, a lunatic?” he muttered, looking at me strangely. “Get over there and sit down.” I didn’t bother explaining. All I had to do was stay right here, in this bank, until morning. Then, it wouldn’t matter who died tonight. It wouldn’t have anything to do with me. This time, I’d have an army of witnesses. The hours crawled by. Outside, the sky bled from blue to orange to black. The negotiations grew more heated, the standoff stretching to its breaking point. “Cut the crap!” the robber screamed into his phone. “You give me what I want, or I’ll kill one of them right now just to show you I’m not playing!” His nerves were fraying. He was alone, but the other three hostages—all women—were bound together, completely helpless. “Hey, take it easy, man,” I said casually from my corner. “You don’t seem like a bad guy. No need to burn it all down, right?” His eyes snapped to me. He grabbed me by the arm, dragged me to the glass doors of the bank, and shoved me into view of the police and the news cameras. “Listen up!” he bellowed. “I want an armored SUV! You’ve got five minutes to decide. For every minute you’re late, I’m taking one of his legs!” The scene was already being broadcast live by a dozen livestreamers and news crews. The story had gone viral; there was no containing it now. “Wait a second… isn’t that guy in his underwear Leo Shaw? The chairman of Shaw Corp’s son?” “Holy crap, I think it is! I interviewed him once for a business channel!” Hearing the murmurs ripple through the crowd, I finally allowed myself a small smile. That’s right, I thought. Come on, get a good shot of me. Make sure you get my good side. The news spread like wildfire across the internet. The kidnapper, overhearing the commotion, pieced it together. His eyes went wide with a mixture of shock and terror. “You… you’re the son of that billionaire?” He was excited, but also afraid. This could mean a much bigger payday, but it also meant bringing down a whole new level of hell upon himself. I shrugged, feigning indifference. “My name doesn’t change a thing.” Meanwhile, my father had gotten the news. He arrived in a screech of tires, leaping from his car before it had even fully stopped and charging the police cordon. Officers rushed to intercept him. “Sir, you can’t go in there! It’s too dangerous!” a few of them shouted, physically restraining him. “My company pays millions in taxes! We’ve built half this city!” my father roared, his voice raw with panic. “And you let my son walk in there to die? What the hell kind of police work is this?” The officers, understanding his anguish, patiently tried to explain. “Mr. Shaw, your son went in voluntarily. He said he wanted to help. We are doing everything we can to ensure his safety.” My father froze. He knew me, my personality. He couldn’t fathom why I would ever do something like this. Shaking his head, he grabbed a megaphone from a nearby officer and raised it to his lips. “You in the bank, listen to me! Whatever you want, however much money, I’ll give it to you!” he boomed. “Just don’t hurt my son! In fact, let me take his place! I’ll trade myself for him!” A warmth pricked my eyes. In my last life, he was always the first one there, my shield against every storm. This time, I wouldn’t let him suffer for me. Not again. I turned to the robber. “Don’t listen to him!” I said sharply. “Think about it. A father will always save his son. But what son saves his father? You let me out, and I’ll let you do whatever you want with the old man. Then all that inheritance is mine, right?” The robbers exchanged confused glances, stunned by my cold-blooded logic. But the more they thought about it, the more it seemed to make a twisted kind of sense. They refused my father’s offer. Their curiosity got the better of them. Why would a rich kid, who could have anything he wanted, throw himself into a situation like this? It didn’t make sense from any angle. “Are you actually crazy?” one of them finally asked. I couldn’t help but laugh at their expressions. “Not crazy. Just wanted to experience a different kind of life. Look, you’re not here to kill anyone, you just want money. I get it. I’ll cooperate. I’ll even help you get paid.” They looked at each other, still unable to grasp my motives, but they dropped the subject. By now, dozens of online influencers had set up their gear, broadcasting the standoff to hundreds of thousands of viewers. The internet was buzzing with speculation. Why would the heir to the Shaw fortune volunteer as a hostage? Some thought it was a publicity stunt, others a sign of some hidden agenda. But most people saw a hero, someone willing to sacrifice himself for a stranger. Then my mother arrived. When she understood what was happening, she collapsed into tears, her pleas echoing from beyond the police tape. “Please, don’t hurt my boy! We’ll give you anything you want, I’m begging you!” Hearing her voice sent a pang of grief through me. I remembered her horrific death in my past life, a direct result of my conviction, and my resolve hardened. I had to protect her. The police presence outside had swelled, sealing off the entire block. The robber, seeing the growing army of uniforms, started to panic. He made his demand: five million dollars in cash, within the hour, or he’d start shooting. An hour? That wasn’t nearly enough time. I needed to stay here all night. “No!” I shouted. “Don’t give it to them!” The robbers, enraged, moved towards me, ready to strike. “Wait, calm down,” I said quickly. “I’m on your side. Trust me.” They paused, watching me with suspicion as I explained. “You can’t ask for that much cash in an hour. The only way they can get it that fast is with brand new, consecutively numbered bills from the vault. The second you try to spend that money, you’ll be caught. It’s a waste of time.” The robbers looked at each other. He had a point. “Damn, the rich kid is smart,” one of them muttered. “We didn’t think of that. So what do we do?” I pretended to think for a moment. “You need old, used bills. Untraceable. But that takes time to gather. Give them more time. Tell them you want used cash, and you’re willing to wait.” It made perfect sense to them. The leader turned and yelled his new demand to the police outside. “You have three hours! And I want used bills only! If the money’s not here by then, we’re done talking!” I let out a silent breath of relief. Three hours. That should be enough to get me past the critical time frame. Outside, my father comforted my mother. “I’ve already got people getting the cash ready. Don’t worry.” He pulled the lead officer aside. “Do you have a plan?” The officer nodded grimly. “We have an asset on the inside, Mr. Shaw. We can resolve this. And even if that fails, we have contingencies. They aren’t getting away. Our primary job is to ensure the safety of the hostages.” My father’s shoulders sagged with relief. Inside, my cooperation had earned me some trust. The robbers left me untied, telling me to just sit in a corner and stay out of the way. That’s when one of the other hostages, a young woman, crept closer to me. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “I’m going to help you.” I was startled, wondering who she was. But then I saw her hand tense, ready to make a move. “Don’t do it!” I hissed, my voice sharp. My sudden warning made her flinch and pull back, missing her chance to take down the robber nearest to her. When he had moved away, she turned to me, her eyes flashing with anger. “What was that?” For her, it had been a perfect opening. “Just wait for the ransom,” I said, putting on a thoughtful expression. “If you make a move in here, the other hostages could get hurt, right?” My calm reasoning threw her off. She hesitated, unsure. Reluctantly, she settled back to wait. The three hours passed in agonizing slowness. Finally, my father appeared, carrying two large suitcases, escorted by police. The robbers’ eyes lit up, their greed overriding their caution.

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1 I was about to leave the restaurant my brother owned when the manager stopped me, her smile tight and professional. “Excuse me, miss. You haven’t paid your bill.” I didn’t recognize her; she must have been new. I offered a polite smile in return. “It’s fine, just put it on the owner’s tab. He’ll know.” Her eyes raked over me, a flicker of contempt in her gaze. “Miss, this is a three-Michelin-star establishment. We don’t do ‘tabs’.” She slid a printed receipt onto the table in front of me. I glanced down. The total was fifty thousand dollars. Luminous Cutlery Maintenance Fee: $3,000. Exclusive Air Purification Fee: $5,000. VIP Emotional Soothing Service: $10,000. And a dozen other ludicrous charges. I had no idea my brother was running such a scam. A laugh, sharp with anger, escaped my lips. “I am Mr. Thorne’s sister. If there’s an issue, have him take it up with me at home.” But she wouldn’t let it go, her voice dripping with scorn. “Can’t afford it, don’t pretend you can. Now you’re trying to claim you’re related to Mr. Thorne?” I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to my assistant: Tell my brother: either she’s fired, or I pull my funding. 2 “Miss, let’s not waste everyone’s time. Please pay,” the manager said, her tone sharp and certain. She’d already pegged me as some vain gold digger trying to dine and dash. A few heads had turned in our direction, sensing drama. I frowned, having no patience for this foolishness, and dialed my brother’s number directly. A cold, automated busy signal. I tried again. Same result. What is that idiot doing on a workday? I put my phone down and looked the woman square in the eye, enunciating each word with deliberate calm. “I will say this one more time. My name is Isabelle Thorne. I am the sister of your boss, Todd Thorne.” “His phone is busy right now, but you can check his personal account. My photo and information are linked to it for verification.” I thought that would be the end of it. Instead, upon hearing my name, the manager, Tiffany, burst into a shriek of laughter. It was a high, grating sound that drew even more attention. She leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper only I could hear. “Still keeping up the act? I’ve seen your face before. It was all over my Todd’s social media.” Her eyes narrowed into slits. “You shameless bitch, seducing my man behind my back.” “And now you have the nerve to waltz into his restaurant and try to charge a meal to his account? Is your skin made of concrete?” For a moment, I was stunned speechless. I glanced at her name tag—Tiffany Reed. This was her. The girlfriend Todd had been hiding, the one he’d never even shown me a picture of. How could his taste be this appallingly bad? It hit me then. The fifty-thousand-dollar bill wasn’t a mistake. It was a calculated, premeditated humiliation. Before I could speak, her patience snapped. “Since this lady wants a free meal, we’ll have to restrain her until the police arrive!” She gestured behind her. Two hulking security guards who had been standing by stepped forward. One clamped a hand over my mouth, stifling my protest, while the other twisted my arms behind my back with brutal efficiency. I struggled, but the disparity in strength was immense. My resistance was useless. Ignoring my furious glare and the shocked gasps of other patrons, they dragged me toward the back of the house. I was thrown into a supply closet that reeked of bleach and stale mop water. The door slammed shut, plunging me into darkness. 3 In the pitch black, Tiffany didn’t say a word. She simply lifted her stiletto-heeled foot and drove it into my stomach. The pain was explosive, coiling through me, and I crumpled to the floor, my stomach churning. “That’s for spending my man’s money!” she screeched, her voice distorted by rage. “That’s for trying to steal him!” She loomed over me, a dark silhouette. “Get her!” she ordered the guards. “And don’t hold back.” Her two lapdogs didn’t hesitate. A relentless storm of fists and feet rained down on me. I bit my lip, swallowing the groans of pain. It felt like my bones were being shattered, inch by inch, my organs knocked out of place. Her shrieking continued. “Who the hell do you think you are? Just another piece of trash throwing yourself at him!” “I told you, I’m his sister!” I gasped out. “If you don’t believe me, call Todd right now! I’ll talk to him!” She ignored me. The beating continued until my vision started to swim. Only then did she raise a hand to stop them. She pressed the point of her heel into my shoulder, her voice a triumphant purr. “You should have just paid the bill. And now, you’re going to pay another fifty thousand.” “This is what you get for seducing my man and trying to live off his money.” Her tone was smug. “Don’t worry, I’m not afraid of killing you. Todd will clean up any mess I make.” Curled on the floor, I forced the words out. “It’s my own money… I told you… ask him…” Her face darkened. She kicked me again, and the guards resumed their assault. I knew then that nothing I said would matter. If this continued, I might actually die in this filthy closet. After I coughed up a mouthful of blood, I used the last of my strength to fumble for my phone. “Stop… I’ll… I’ll pay.” Pleased with my surrender, she signaled for the guards to stop. She crouched down, patting my swollen cheek. “See? Was that so hard? You just had to learn the hard way.” “One hundred thousand dollars. Not a penny less.” I lay on the cold floor, gasping for air, my lungs on fire. I ignored her and dialed my best friend, Maya. She answered immediately. “Maya, I need you to bring two hundred thousand in cash to Todd’s restaurant.” My voice was a ragged whisper. “Right now.” Maya paused on the other end, her voice sharp with concern. “Isabelle? What’s wrong? You sound…” “Don’t ask. Just hurry.” I cut her off and ended the call. At the mention of “two hundred thousand,” Tiffany’s eyes lit up with a flash of pure greed. She probably thought I was so terrified that I was doubling the payment to beg for mercy. The smirk on her face was sickening. “Smart girl.” 4 Maya was impossibly fast. Minutes later, the closet door was thrown open. She strode in, flanked by two of her own bodyguards. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw me—the blood on my lips, my torn clothes, my pathetic state on the floor. She rushed forward to help me up. I shook my head, silently telling her not to speak. I took the bank card and password she held out and tossed it to Tiffany. With the card in hand, Tiffany didn’t press her luck. She waved a dismissive hand. “If this is a fake, I have ways of finding you. Now get out.” Ignoring the searing pain that shot through my body with every movement, I let Maya help me limp out of that disgusting place. At the entrance, I turned to her. “Thank you, Maya. I’ll pay you back as soon as I sort this out.” “Forget the money,” she said, her eyes filled with worry. “Isabelle, what the hell happened to you?” A bitter laugh escaped me. “My little brother found himself a real keeper. It’s time I had a little chat with him.” I took out my phone and dialed the restaurant’s Vice President. He was the one who actually ran the place, a man I had personally headhunted. He was loyal to me, and me alone. He answered on the first ring. I didn’t waste time with pleasantries, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. “You have ten minutes to fire a manager named Tiffany Reed. Otherwise, the Thorne family withdraws all investment. Not a single cent will remain.” The VP sounded like he was about to have a heart attack. He must have heard the weakness and the steel in my voice. He agreed immediately, too terrified to even ask why. I hung up and, without a moment’s hesitation, hailed a cab to the nearest police station. With cold, clear logic, I recounted the events of the last hour to the attending officer. After giving a detailed statement, I went to the hospital for an official injury report. Holding that thin piece of paper, the quiet fury of betrayal inside me roared into an inferno. I needed an explanation. And I needed it from Todd himself. My assistant tracked him down to his villa—the villa I had bought for him. My own driver and bodyguards had arrived, and we drove there directly. But as we pulled up, the sound of deafening music and raucous laughter spilled out from the house. He was throwing a party. That’s why he hadn’t answered his phone. The front door was ajar. On a strange impulse, I paused before going in. Soon, I heard a familiar female voice, choked with tears. It was Tiffany. She was playing the victim for a crowd, painting herself as the poor, innocent girlfriend bullied by a vicious homewrecker. “…I just asked her to pay the bill, and she threw a hundred thousand dollars in my face and then had me fired…” “Todd, she’s horrible! She has no respect for you at all!” “She just wanted to humiliate me! She wants us to break up!” Inside, Todd’s sycophantic friends chimed in with righteous indignation. I heard my brother’s voice, loud and soothing, dripping with affection as he comforted her. “Don’t worry, Tiffany. I will never let you suffer like this!” Then, as if to prove his devotion, he made a grand promise to the room. “When I find that woman, I’ll make her kneel and apologize to you!” The crowd of rich idiots roared their approval, boasting about how they’d make me pay. “Just say the word, Todd! We’ll go drag her out here right now!” “Yeah! Teach her a lesson about who’s boss!” I had heard enough. I raised my hand, and my bodyguard kicked the door clean off its hinges. The music screeched to a halt. The laughter died. Dozens of stunned eyes snapped to the doorway. “No need to drag me out,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence. “I’m right here. Who was it that wanted to teach me a lesson?” 5 The air was frozen. The only sound was the sharp click of my heels on the marble floor as I walked, step by step, toward the couple entwined on the sofa in the center of the room. The expression on Todd’s face was a masterpiece of conflicting emotions. Shock, followed by a wave of pure, unadulterated fear. The color drained from his face. He instinctively started to let go of Tiffany, to stand up, but his gaze fell on her tear-streaked face, and he hesitated. In the end, a pathetic, blustering bravado replaced the fear. He remained seated, staring at me, as if a hard glare could mask the panic in his eyes. Tiffany, on the other hand, recognized me instantly. Her pupils contracted, but she quickly remembered where she was—this was Todd’s turf, surrounded by his friends. She burrowed deeper into his embrace, her sobs growing louder. “Todd, that’s her… She’s the one who bullied me…” she wailed, all while shooting me a look of venomous triumph. See? her eyes said. He’ll always protect me. I ignored her. My focus was solely on my dear brother. “Todd. I’m talking to you. Weren’t you just saying you were going to make me kneel and apologize to your girlfriend?” His throat worked, but no words came out. He was afraid of me. He always had been. He knew who really held the power in this family. His friends exchanged confused glances. One of them, a bleach-blonde idiot trying to impress Tiffany, stood up. “Who the hell are you? You can’t talk to Todd like that!” “You’d better apologize to Tiffany, or else—” He never finished his sentence. One of my bodyguards took a silent step forward, placing himself between me and the loudmouth. The sheer intimidating presence was enough to shut him up. I walked right up to Todd and looked down at him. “So, you’re not going to give me an explanation.” He finally found his courage, or a cheap imitation of it. He stood up, pulling me aside. “Sis, what are you doing?” he hissed, his voice a mixture of pleading and annoyance. “Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my friends? Tiffany didn’t mean it, she just has a temper. Can’t you just let it go?” I looked at him, and a wave of disbelief washed over me. Let it go? After she had me beaten and extorted me for a hundred thousand dollars, he wanted me to just let it go? “Todd Thorne,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Are you joking with me?” “I…” He faltered, his eyes darting away. Just then, the sound of sirens cut through the night, growing louder and louder, shattering the party’s phony atmosphere. Everyone froze. A moment later, several uniformed police officers walked grimly into the villa. The lead officer scanned the room, his gaze landing on me. “Are you Ms. Isabelle Thorne?” I nodded. “I am.” He produced a warrant and turned to the trembling woman behind my brother. “Tiffany Reed, you are under arrest for assault and extortion. Please come with us.”

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The baby I gave birth to was wrong. My husband, Adams, held the swaddled bundle up to me, his face glowing with a fervent joy. “Look, Clara. She’s perfect. Our daughter is just perfect.” But I took one glance and shoved her away. Her eyes were brown. “Let’s get a divorce,” I said, my voice as cold as the sterile room. “I don’t want a child with brown eyes.” … Both Adams and I have blue eyes. Our daughter’s were a flat, muddy brown. I couldn’t stand it. “I want a divorce,” I repeated. “I’m not raising this child. If you want her, you can raise her yourself.” Adams stared at me, his smile collapsing into disbelief. “Clara, what are you talking about? This is our daughter! The baby you carried for nine months!” I slapped his hand away, my gaze fixed on the clock ticking on the wall. “Her eyes are brown. I hate brown eyes.” His face froze. The other new mothers in the ward, drawn by the commotion, stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. “Honey, you can’t be serious, can you?” one of them said gently. “I heard the nurses talking. Your labor was brutal. They all thought you’d need a C-section, but you gritted your teeth and pushed her out yourself.” “How can you just throw away a child you fought so hard for?” Another woman chimed in, her voice coaxing. “That’s right, Clara. We all saw you, every day, playing classical music for your belly, talking to her. What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” But no matter what they said, I just shook my head, my expression a mask of indifference. Seeing their words had no effect, they turned on Adams. “Mr. Miller, could this be postpartum depression? How have you been taking care of your wife?” “You need to pay attention to her! You’re so wrapped up in the baby, you’ve forgotten the real hero here!” The words hit Adams like a physical blow. He slapped his own forehead. “Clara, honey, I’m so sorry. I’ve been neglecting you.” “Do you want something to eat… Oh, God, what an idiot I am, you can’t eat yet. I’ll get you some broth from the nurses! Honey, can you hold the baby for a second? I’ll be right back…” “Get that thing away from me.” My voice was flat, but the disgust in my eyes was unmistakable. Adams froze mid-motion. “Clara, what is wrong with you? Please, you’re scaring me.” His voice trembled. “Are you just exhausted from the birth? Maybe… maybe I should get a psychiatrist to talk to you? We can figure this out, okay?” He knelt by my bedside, his eyes wide with panic. The other women in the room murmured among themselves about what a good, caring husband I had. “Clara’s so lucky.” “I know, right? He’s barely left her side since she was admitted.” “That baby was born into a good home.” My brow furrowed. “I’m not depressed. Get this child out of my sight. I don’t like brown eyes. You’re ruining my mood.” The room fell silent. “Waaah!” As if sensing the suffocating tension, the baby began to wail. Adams immediately started bouncing her, a clumsy, frantic dance. “Clara, what’s wrong with her? What do I do?” The woman in the next bed, a second-time mom, offered some advice. “She’s hungry. She needs to nurse. Let her mother feed her!” Adams looked at me, his face a mask of desperation. “Clara, whatever you’re upset about, can we please talk about it later? Our daughter needs to eat. She’s crying from hunger.” The other mothers couldn’t bear it. “Honey, the baby is innocent. Whatever’s wrong, you can’t let the baby starve.” “Just feed her first. You can sort everything else out later, okay?” But I just kept staring at the clock, my heart pounding. *No. The time isn’t right.* In a sudden movement, I snatched the baby from his arms. “Clara, you’re finally willing to…” Before he could finish, I bolted from the bed and ran to the window. “Divorce me right now, or I’ll throw her out!” The baby in my arms, as if sensing the danger, began to scream. The color drained from Adams’s face. “Clara, don’t! Calm down, please, put the baby down…” “Call your parents. Tell them to bring our marriage certificate and birth certificates. And a divorce agreement. If you haven’t signed it in half an hour, I’m dropping her.” My voice was unnervingly calm. “Clara! Okay! I’ll do anything you want, just put the baby down!” Adams cried, his hands outstretched but his feet rooted to the spot, terrified to move closer. The ward erupted into chaos. “Ma’am, please, calm down! It’s normal to have mood swings after giving birth. We can help you!” a nurse said, inching toward me. “Is she insane?! Call security! Call the police!” “Clara, don’t do it! We can talk this through! The baby can’t take this!” I watched the nurse’s slow approach, my eyes narrowing. I shifted the baby further out the open window. “Stop!” Adams screamed. “Clara, I promise! I’ll do it! I’m calling my parents right now!” He fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking violently as he dialed. Not only did his parents come, but mine did as well. The moment my mother-in-law saw the baby dangling halfway out the window, her legs gave out and she collapsed. “Clara, what are you doing? That’s your own daughter!” My own mother was sobbing. “Sweetheart, all the fertility treatments you went through, all the pain… you finally have her. Why are you doing this?” My father’s face was beet red. “Honey, don’t do something you’ll regret. You want a divorce, you want anything, Dad supports you! But don’t be rash! Even if you don’t want the child, think about yourself! If that baby dies, your life is over!” I saw the documents in my in-laws’ hands and pulled the baby back an inch. But then my gaze hardened, and I pushed her out again. “Sign it. Or I drop her.” “But why?” my mother-in-law wailed, clutching her chest. “We were all so happy! Why do you suddenly want a divorce?” My father-in-law helped her up, then shot Adams a venomous glare. “Clara, you tell me. Did Adams do something to wrong you? I’ll teach him a lesson right now!” I just shook my head, repeating the same line like a broken record. “Her eyes are brown. I don’t like them. I don’t want to raise her. You can have her. I want a divorce.” Seeing me like this, my mother broke down completely. Just then, doctors and more nurses burst into the room. They looked at me with alarm, then turned to Adams. “From the looks of it, your wife is suffering from severe postpartum psychosis. Has anything happened recently that might have triggered this? We need to know so we can calm her down.” Adams stomped his foot in frustration. “Clara and I have been so happy, I can’t think of anything… wait. Could it be…?” He looked at the baby, then back at me, his expression pleading. “Honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said I was hoping for a boy. Is that it? Please, put the baby down. We’ll only have this one daughter, I swear. No more kids, ever!” My mother latched onto this. “Clara, is it that you don’t want to raise a baby? I’ll do it! I’ll raise her for you, I’ll put it in writing right now!” My dad added, his face flushed, “I was wrong to pressure you to settle down! I’ll never mention it again!” My mother-in-law was practically hysterical. “Clara, it’s my fault! I shouldn’t have argued with you about breastfeeding versus formula! It’s just a few cans of formula, we can afford it!” Everyone stared at me, their faces a mixture of fear and pity. “Young lady, look at how much your family loves you,” a doctor said softly. “For your own sake, please, just put the baby down.” “That’s right, you won’t even have to raise her. You can just be a mom without any of the work. It’ll be so easy.” I glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. “You still don’t get it. It has nothing to do with any of that. I just hate brown eyes. I told you, sign the divorce papers, and I’ll give you the baby.” I took another step toward the window. The air in the room seemed to vanish. “Okay! I’ll sign! I’ll sign!” Adams shouted, snatching the papers. He scribbled his name and held the agreement up for me to see. I looked at the black ink on the white paper, my expression flickering for a moment. The nurses took another cautious step toward me. “Read the terms out loud!” I snapped, clutching the baby defensively. They froze. Adams, his voice cracking, began to read. The agreement was fair. All assets were to be divided equally. When he finished, he stared at me, his eyes begging. “Honey, I’m an idiot. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I’ve signed the papers. I did what you wanted. Can you please put the baby down now? She’s innocent!” Everyone was moved by the raw desperation in his voice. But I was still watching the clock. *Not enough. It’s still not enough.* “This is just a piece of paper! You could still back out on the day!” I shouted. “Get someone from the courthouse here. I want the divorce finalized on the spot. Or you can forget about ever seeing this baby again!” Adams’s face fell. Now everyone was certain. I was completely insane. “Ma’am, please calm down!” The door was thrown open and several police officers rushed in. “You called the police?” My voice turned to ice. The lead officer held up his hands placatingly. “Ma’am, stay calm! You said you wanted someone from the courthouse, right? We’re contacting them for you right now!” I stared at them, my grip on the baby unwavering. “Hurry up. Or I’m jumping down with her.” The officer nodded quickly, pulling out his phone. He showed me the number he was dialing and put the call on speaker so I could hear. My attention was completely fixed on him, terrified he would rush me and grab the baby. Then, I saw him make a subtle hand gesture behind his back. *A hand gesture?* I knew something was wrong. I whirled around, but it was too late. I was tackled from behind. The lead officer lunged forward and snatched the baby— They had officers waiting on the scaffolding outside the building. He was just a distraction. “Let me go! Let me go!” I thrashed with all my might, but it was useless. The baby was safe. A collective sigh of relief swept through the room. My eyes were locked on the clock. With a surge of adrenaline, I broke free from the officer holding me down and lunged for the one holding the baby. “Give her back to me!” My mother-in-law shrieked and grabbed a handful of my hair. “What else are you trying to do to my granddaughter—” “Adams, hold her down! Don’t let her go crazy again!” While his mother pulled my hair, my father-in-law pinned my arms, and Adams threw his weight on top of me, forcing me to the floor. “You tried to kill my granddaughter! You monster!” my mother-in-law screamed, yanking my hair and slapping me, tears of relief streaming down her face. My own parents rushed to stop her, but in the end, they held my legs down. “Honey, why are you doing this to yourself?” But I wasn’t looking at them. I was looking at the clock. What time was it? 2:59 PM. *Almost there. It’s almost time.* Five… four… three… two… one… *“Bing-bong. The time is now three P.M.”* The hospital’s automated announcement echoed through the halls. My body went completely limp. *Thank God. It’s time.*

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394108”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel