1 Outside the glass walls of the office, Stella and Brooke were laughing, their faces lit up in bright, carefree smiles as they joked with the new intern. They were supposed to be at the hospital picking me up right now. When they finally looked up and saw me standing there, the warmth vanished from their faces. Their expressions instantly turned freezing cold. “It’s just a little cut. You really had to drag us all the way out there to pick you up?” I looked down at the gauze wrapped around my abdomen. Fresh blood was already seeping through the white fabric. A bitter smile touched my lips. Stella and Brooke were my childhood best friends. We grew up on the same street, went to the same college, and started our careers together. Two decades of history. Yet, all of that meant absolutely nothing compared to Toby, a guy they had known for barely two months. There was a time when they would panic if I got a paper cut. Now, they hovered around Toby, not even bothering to give me a second glance. Watching them laugh even harder at something Toby said, the last shred of hope in my chest finally died. I turned my back on them and walked away. Pulling out my phone, I dialed a number. “Harper,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I’m taking the offer. Once my resignation paperwork clears, I’ll be ready to move to the London office next month.” I ended the call. Through the office blinds, I could still see Stella and Brooke leaning against Toby’s desk, completely engrossed in whatever he was saying. I pressed a hand against my stomach. It had been less than three days since I was discharged from the hospital. The stab wound was far from healed, sending sharp, throbbing waves of pain through my body with every breath. Just yesterday, Stella and Brooke had insisted on booking a table at an upscale organic restaurant, promising to pick me up from the ward to celebrate my discharge. I had waited in my hospital room for three hours. The doorway remained empty. Their phones went straight to voicemail. Terrified that they might have gotten into an accident, I forced my battered body out of bed and rushed to the company. I never expected to walk in on this. Through the glass, I watched Toby step out of the breakroom carrying coffee and pastries. “Strawberry shortcake for Stella, and the mango tart for Brooke.” The girls took the plates, their smiles sickly sweet. “Toby, you’re an angel. You always remember our favorites.” Toby ducked his head, playing the shy card perfectly. “It’s no big deal. When you care about people, remembering the little things is easy.” A hollow laugh escaped my throat. I had bought those pastries from the cafe downstairs during my lunch break. Now, he was handing them out, playing the perfect gentleman. Since I was on the phone with a client earlier, I couldn’t step out to give them the food. So I was forced to watch my two oldest friends eat the cake I bought, leaning into Toby’s workspace, looking radiant and utterly captivated by him. Toby opened his desk drawer and pulled out three glossy tickets. “I managed to get passes for the Harbor Fireworks Festival tonight. Do you guys want to go?” Those tickets had been sold out for months. I had no idea how he got his hands on them. No one could resist a massive fireworks show by the water, and the girls immediately snatched them up. “These are impossible to find! How did you pull this off? Let us pay you back,” Brooke insisted. Toby shook his head, his eyes turning wide and innocent. “You guys should take Lucas. Honestly, I’ve never been to an event like this… I’d probably just embarrass you. There are three tickets, so it’s perfect for the three of you.” He let his shoulders slump, looking like a kicked puppy. Instantly, a wave of pity washed over Stella and Brooke. As if suddenly remembering, Toby added, “Oh, wait. Lucas is still recovering, right? You have to be super careful with him in that crowd. It would be terrible if someone bumped into his stitches.” Right on cue, Stella turned to Brooke. “He’s right. Lucas shouldn’t be in a crowded place like that. Let’s just tell him to stay home and rest. Sleep is the best thing for him right now anyway.” At that exact moment, the client on the other end of my phone line spoke up. “By the way, Lucas, did you get the Fedex package I sent? The three passes for the Harbor Fireworks?” I froze. “Three passes?” “Yeah,” the client chuckled. “I pulled some major strings to get them, but my wife and I have a family emergency and can’t make it. Figured you young people would love it, so I mailed them straight to your office.” I stared through the glass at the three tickets in Toby’s hand. My voice went dead flat. “Yeah. I got them. Thanks, Mr. Carter.” I hung up, pushed the glass door open, and stepped into the bullpen. “Toby. Those three tickets. Mr. Carter mailed them to me, didn’t he?” The air in the room evaporated. Toby’s face drained of color. He looked up at me, his eyes wide, terrified, and painfully pathetic. “I saw the package on the reception desk. Since I’m your assistant, I thought I should open it for you.” I took a step closer. “Then why didn’t you hand them to me? Those were a personal gift from a client. And since when do interns have the authority to tear open their boss’s private mail?” Toby looked down, nervously rubbing his hands together. “It was delivered to the office. I assumed it was business.” I scoffed, my voice dripping with disgust. “Even if it was business, do you get to hijack company property and distribute it however you please?” He couldn’t speak. Tears welled up in his eyes, making him look incredibly bullied. He let out a shaky little breath. “Lucas, I was just scared you’d force yourself to go into that huge crowd. What if someone pushed you and your wound tore open? I figured… I figured I would just play the bad guy. If I took the tickets, you wouldn’t be able to go. You’d have to go home and heal. I was only thinking about your health.” Stella immediately stepped in, placing a protective hand on his back. She shot me a furious glare. “Why are you jumping down his throat? He just graduated, he doesn’t know all the corporate rules yet. Making a mistake is completely normal. Why do you have to be so damn petty over some stupid tickets?” 2 Brooke quickly chimed in. “Exactly. He was worried about your stomach. He hid them because he knew you’d be stubborn and try to go. He’s so pure hearted, Lucas. Everything he does is for your own good. Why do you always have to be so aggressive?” Toby kept his head bowed. A single tear dropped onto the desk. “It’s fine. You guys go. These belong to Lucas. I shouldn’t have overstepped. I’ll just go home.” Stella grabbed his wrist, holding him in place. “You are not leaving. The three of us are going tonight. Lucas, you go home and sleep. You’re in no condition to go anywhere anyway.” Toby bit his lower lip, giving me a trembling look. “Lucas…” Checking her watch, Brooke grabbed her purse. “Let’s grab dinner first or we’re going to miss the opening show.” Just like that, they grabbed their things. The three of them walked out of the office together, laughing and chatting, leaving me completely alone in the dead quiet room. I pressed my hand against my ribs and forced myself to stand. The wound felt like it was on fire. A bitter, broken laugh spilled from my lips. Ever since Toby joined the firm, the dynamic of our lifelong trio had completely fractured. The center of their universe shifted from me to him. To them, he was this hard working, struggling kid from a poor background who was trying so hard to make it. Whenever something went wrong, whether at work or in life, they immediately stood by his side to point their fingers at me. The dinner they promised to celebrate my discharge from the hospital? Neither of them even remembered. Just like they seemed to have completely forgotten exactly how I got this stab wound in the first place. Stella, Brooke, and I went through middle school, high school, and college together. After graduation, we all got hired at this company. We worked in different departments, and we all thrived. We were completely inseparable. We even bought apartments in the exact same building, on the exact same floor, just so we could look out for each other. We commuted together, came home together, cooked dinner together. Since I was a bit rough around the edges, they took care of the details. They made me hangover cures after late business dinners and forced cold medicine down my throat when I got sick. Everyone in the office knew we were the golden trio. We had a bond that nothing in the world could break. Until that night outside the bar. Toby had tagged along. He pointed to a dark, unlit alleyway and whined about wanting to “explore” to take a shortcut. Stella and Brooke giggled and followed him. I saw how sketchy it looked and tried to stop them, but they wouldn’t listen, so I had no choice but to follow. Sure enough, halfway down the alley, a group of guys stepped out of the shadows. Knives caught the dim streetlight. They demanded our wallets. Then, noticing the girls, they started getting handsy. Toby, the guy they constantly defended, actually hid behind the two women, trembling like a leaf. “What do we do?” he whimpered. I knew things were going to turn bloody fast. “Toby and I will hold them off,” I whispered fiercely. “You girls run.” I shoved the girls backward. “Run!” I lunged forward to block the attackers. But Toby didn’t stay. He didn’t even hesitate. Leaving me to die, he turned and sprinted away right alongside the girls. By the time they finally flagged down the cops and came back, I was already bleeding out on the concrete, a switchblade buried deep in my gut. When I woke up in the hospital, Toby was sitting by my bed, putting on a masterful performance of self blame. “What do I do, Stella? I was just so terrified. My brain went blank and I just ran with you guys. The alley was so dark, I thought you two might get hurt in the chaos, so I just had to protect you…” “I’m so useless. This is all my fault Lucas got hurt.” Stella was rubbing his arm. “It’s okay. Being scared is a normal human reaction. Lucas is years older than you, it’s his job to protect us. You have nothing to feel guilty about.” Brooke sighed heavily. “Seriously. Lucas used to take self defense classes. How could he not even dodge a simple pocket knife?” “You must be starving,” Stella said to Toby. “Let’s go grab a bite. Don’t starve yourself over this. The doctor said he just needs rest, he’ll be fine.” I had been about to open my eyes, but hearing their voices, I kept them tightly shut. Apparently, taking a knife for them was my own fault. I listened to their footsteps fade out of the ward. I slowly opened my eyes, staring at the sterile white ceiling. Back in the day, if I caught a mild fever, Brooke would simmer chicken soup for hours, and Stella would sit by my bed to make sure I took my pills. Now, I had nearly died for them, and they didn’t even wait for me to wake up. They were too busy worrying about Toby’s appetite. I spent two agonizing weeks in that hospital bed before I was stable enough to leave. Standing in the empty office now, ignoring the sharp, tearing pain in my stomach, I started packing up my desk. I had made the right decision. It was time to disappear. When I finally made it back to my apartment, I looked around the place I had called home for years. It was time to start throwing things away. My phone buzzed. A notification popped up. Toby had updated his Instagram. The caption read: “Meeting the most amazing people in this beautiful city is the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.” The photo showed Toby, Stella, and Brooke. Their faces were pressed close together, beaming at the camera, with a massive, brilliantly colored firework exploding in the night sky behind them. I couldn’t even remember when the leading man in our trio’s photos had shifted from me to him. I genuinely couldn’t remember the last time I took a picture with them. I locked my screen, took a quick shower, and got ready for bed. Then came the knocking. It was the three of them. Stella was holding a greasy takeout bag. “Lucas, we brought you some food.” “Also,” she continued without missing a beat, “Toby lives way out in the suburbs, and it’s too late for him to commute. Let him crash at your place tonight.” I looked at her, deadpan. She knew perfectly well that I was a massive neat freak. I practically never let anyone sleep in my apartment. I glanced at the wall clock. “It’s not too late to catch an Uber.” Toby gave the girls his signature kicked puppy look. “Stella, Brooke, please don’t make things awkward for Lucas. If he hates me being here, I’ll just leave. I don’t mind paying for an expensive surge ride. Just watching the fireworks with you guys tonight was more than enough for me.” Brooke pushed past me, forcing her way through my front door. “You’re a grown man. What is the big deal about letting him crash for one night? He’s not sleeping in your bed, he’ll take the guest room. Get over it.” She reached back and pulled Toby inside. “Come on in. We said you can stay, so you’re staying.” They treated my home like their own. They walked right past me, dug through my closets for spare sheets, and set up the guest room for him. 3 Toby stood awkwardly in the hallway, wringing his hands as he looked between the girls. “Guys, if Lucas really hates it, I should just go.” I was so exhausted. My body ached, and my soul was tired. I didn’t have the energy to scream. “One night. Never again. Just leave it.” Stella and Brooke finally looked satisfied. “Eat your food before you sleep,” Stella ordered, dropping the bag on the counter. I opened the plastic containers. Inside was heavily spiced, oil soaked Sichuan food, completely coated in red chili peppers. They had forgotten. Anyone who just had abdominal surgery absolutely cannot eat spicy food. A hard lump formed in my throat. Years ago, they would meticulously check every ingredient if I had a mild stomach ache. Now, they didn’t even possess the basic awareness to realize this food could send me back to the ER. I snapped the lids back on. “I’m not eating.” Toby looked at me. “Lucas, are you mad that we didn’t take you with us tonight? I’m so sorry. Do you want me to Venmo you the money for the ticket?” He pulled out his phone, making a big show of opening the app. Stella slammed her hand on the counter. “Lucas, are you done throwing your little tantrum? We told you, you shouldn’t be in crowds with your stitches. We did this for your own good. Why are you acting like a spoiled child? Do you want me to apologize to you? Stop taking your anger out on Toby, his life is hard enough as it is.” “Who are you giving attitude to?” she continued, her voice rising. “We brought you food out of the kindness of our hearts, and you act like a jerk.” I calmly pushed the takeout bags away. “My stitches haven’t healed. The doctor explicitly forbade spicy food.” Stella froze. A flash of genuine embarrassment crossed her face. They had completely forgotten. She quickly grabbed the bags and threw them directly into the trash can. “I forgot. Just starve then.” It was getting late. They finally left to go to their own apartments down the hall. I pointed to the guest room. “The bathroom is attached. Disposable toothbrushes are in the cabinet. Goodnight.” After Toby showered, I was sitting on the couch, reviewing some highly confidential design blueprints on my laptop. He walked out, holding a glass of water. “Still awake, Lucas?” He leaned over my shoulder, trying to peek at my screen. “Are you working on the new designs?” I immediately closed the laptop and shifted away from him. “This is highly confidential client work. You know the corporate rules. Interns aren’t cleared for this.” He stood there, instantly looking like a victim. “Lucas, I would never steal from the company. Are you doing this because you hate me? Because I’m close to the girls?” “I’m supposed to be your intern. Isn’t it your job to teach me? Why are you guarding everything from me? Is it because Stella said my rough drafts were good, and you feel threatened?” “I never meant to steal their affection from you.” A vein throbbed in my temple. I stood up, grabbing my laptop. “You’re delusional.” As I turned to walk to my bedroom, he grabbed my arm. “Lucas, wait, don’t be mad.” His grip yanked me back. The sudden movement pulled violently on my fresh abdominal stitches. A blinding flash of pain shot through me. At the exact same moment, he threw his glass of water directly onto my stomach. I shoved him away by pure reflex. “What the hell are you doing?!” The glass shattered against the hardwood floor. He stumbled backward, then quickly grabbed a wad of paper towels. “Oh my god, Lucas, I’m so sorry, I tripped. Let me dry it off.” He lunged forward and pressed his hand forcefully directly onto my healing wound. He began scrubbing violently. Agony ripped through my body. Fresh, hot blood immediately soaked through the bandages. I grabbed his wrist, my vision spotting black from the pain. “What are you doing?! Can’t you see I’m bleeding?” A loud banging came from the front door. “Toby? What’s going on?” It was Stella and Brooke. They must have heard the glass shattering. They punched in my door code and rushed in. They walked in right as Toby was kneeling on the floor, holding the bloody paper towels, looking absolutely terrified. Stella rushed forward and yanked him to his feet. “Why are you on your knees?! Lucas, are you seriously physically abusing him now?!” Toby shook his head frantically. “No, it’s my fault. Lucas, don’t be mad, it was an accident.” Brooke, who had always had a fiery temper, marched up to me and shoved me hard in the chest. “What is wrong with you?! You’re a grown man, and you act like this? You let him stay one night and you decide to torture him? Are you even a man?” The shove sent me stumbling back. A horrific tearing sound echoed inside my own head. A rush of sickening heat poured down my stomach. I collapsed onto the couch, curling into a ball, clutching my gut. I couldn’t even draw enough breath to speak. Toby kept talking, his voice shaking. “I accidentally spilled water on him. He didn’t mean to shove me down. Please don’t yell at him. I tried to wipe the water off, and I think I bumped his stitches. That’s why he got angry.” Stella shielded Toby with her body, screaming at me. “He barely grazed your stomach and you threw him to the floor?! If I push you, are you gonna beat me up too?” She marched over and shoved me back down against the armrest of the couch. Blood was pooling through my shirt now, dripping onto the leather sofa. My hands were shaking uncontrollably, but I managed to pull my phone from my pocket and dial 911. “I need an ambulance,” I gasped, tasting copper in my mouth. “Oakwood Complex, Building 2, Apartment 21A. My surgical wound burst open. I can’t stop the bleeding… I’m getting dizzy.” Only then did they realize something was horribly wrong. Brooke’s face dropped. “Lucas, what’s happening?” I slapped their hands away as they tried to reach for me. I clutched my phone, practically crawling toward the front door to unlock it for the paramedics. Stella tried to grab my arm, her voice trembling now. “I… I didn’t mean to yell that loud. And I didn’t mean to push you that hard. It’s your fault for…” Sirens wailed in the distance. Knowing help was coming, the last shred of adrenaline holding me together completely evaporated. The world went violently dark, and I hit the floor.

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My son is three years old, but he looks nothing like my husband. My father-in-law, suspicious from day one, secretly took my son for a DNA test. The results came back showing that the two of them shared no biological connection. Furious, he started screaming at me, threatening to strangle us both. My husband slapped me hard across the face. “You shameless bitch! You actually made me raise some other man’s bastard for three years!” Staring at their ugly, contorted faces, I threw down a different DNA report—one between my father-in-law and my husband. It stated they were not biologically related. They both froze, their jaws slack. I just smiled. “It looks like we’re not quite sure who the real bastard is in this family, are we?” 1 I was buried in work, drowning in overtime at the office, when my father-in-law’s call came through. His voice was a raw, guttural roar on the other end. “Elina, you shameless woman! You get your ass home right now! This instant! If you don’t, I swear I’ll tell everyone what you’ve done!” He hung up before I could say a word, leaving me stunned at my desk. I had just wrapped up my project anyway, so I grabbed my bag and rushed home. The moment I walked in, I saw him sitting stiffly on the sofa. Two pieces of paper lay on the coffee table in front of him, covered in dense text. I didn’t pay them much mind. I slipped off my shoes and looked at him. “Dad, what’s so urgent?” He let out a cold, bitter laugh, his eyes burning with contempt. “You don’t know what you’ve done? You really need me to spell it out for you?” My patience wore thin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you have something to say, just say it.” The next second, he snatched the papers from the table and slammed them against my face. “Here! See for yourself! The worst day of our lives was when we let a woman like you into this family!” I looked down at the paper that had fluttered to the floor. A single line was printed in bold: No biological relationship detected. And at the top of the report were the names: George, my father-in-law, and Aiden, my son. My head snapped up, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. He had actually taken Aiden for a paternity test behind my back. I was furious. “Dad,” I shot back, my voice trembling with anger, “ever since Aiden was born, you’ve been muttering about how he looks nothing like Mark. I always ignored it, I never made a big deal of it. Mark has never said a word, so how could you secretly take him for a test? He’s only three years old!” But he was beyond reason. “So what if I did?” he roared. “If I hadn’t, we’d still be in the dark about your dirty little secrets! Now tell me! Whose bastard is he? You made our family raise him for three years! What a disgrace! Mark is too trusting, but not me. If it weren’t for me, who knows how long you would have kept up this charade!” I struggled to keep my composure. “Dad, I am certain that Aiden is Mark’s son, which makes him your grandson. I have never done anything to betray Mark. There has to be a mistake with this report.” My denial only fueled his rage. He hurled his glass to the floor, where it shattered. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “Still lying! I took Aiden to the hospital myself! I watched them draw his blood! What, you think I own the damn hospital? You think they’d fake a report for me? If you don’t believe it, I’ll take him for another one right now!” I said nothing, my mind racing, trying to figure out where things had gone wrong. How could Aiden not be related to his own grandfather? Just then, my mother-in-law, Helen, walked in with a bag of groceries. Seeing the tense atmosphere, she hesitated. “What’s going on? I was only gone for a few minutes. Why does it feel like a war zone in here? What are you two fighting about?” George spat, “The perfect daughter-in-law you picked out has been playing us for fools! We’ve been raising someone else’s kid for three years! I don’t know where your head was at when you chose her.” 2 Helen froze, her eyes falling on the report scattered on the floor. I saw a flicker of sheer panic flash across her face. Before I could process it, her hand flew up and she slapped me hard. “Aiden isn’t our grandson? How could you do something like this? Mark has been nothing but good to you! How could you be so cruel?” George piled on. “Call your parents! I want to know how they raised a daughter like you! Aren’t you afraid of karma for pulling a stunt like this?” I held my ground, my voice tight with suppressed emotion. “I’ll say it one last time. Aiden is Mark’s son. If you don’t believe me, then wait for Mark to get home. He can do a paternity test with Aiden himself!” George just glared at me. Helen immediately jumped in, her voice shrill. “You’ve been caught in your lies and you’re still acting so self-righteous? Even when Mark gets back, he won’t forgive you! Another test? The truth is right here in black and white! If Aiden was Mark’s son, how could he not be related to his own grandfather? What, are you going to bribe someone at the hospital to keep lying to us?” I was about to argue when Aiden padded out of his room. “Grandpa, Grandma, Mommy, why are you yelling? Is dinner ready?” Seeing him, George seemed to lose what little control he had left. “Who’s your grandpa? Don’t you dare call me that! You’re just some bastard! Get out!” Aiden had never seen anything like this. He burst into tears and ran into my arms, completely bewildered as to why the grandparents who usually doted on him had turned into monsters. His crying only agitated George further. He yanked Aiden away from me and threw him onto the sofa, his hands closing around Aiden’s small throat. “You dare to cry? We’ve been too soft on you! Get out! Go find your real father! Get out of our house!” Helen just stood there, stunned, her face a blank mask. Aiden’s face was turning a terrifying shade of red. I lunged forward, prying George’s fingers from my son’s neck and pulling Aiden behind me. Tears streamed down my face. “Whatever this is, we can wait until Mark gets home! He can decide for himself whether Aiden is his son.” George finally backed off, shooting me one last venomous look before storming into his room. I carried Aiden back to our bedroom and, with trembling hands, texted my husband, telling him everything that had just happened. To my surprise, he didn’t ask any questions. His only reply was four cold words. On my way. Staring at that message, a knot of dread tightened in my stomach. It was nearly midnight when Mark finally walked through the door. Hearing the noise, I gently tucked Aiden in and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind me. The moment I saw him, all the fear and injustice of the day came pouring out. “Do you have any idea what your father did to Aiden today? Before we even know what’s going on, he nearly strangled him! He wants to throw us out! Aren’t you going to do something? If I hadn’t been there—” “Will you just shut up? I just walked in. Can you give me a second to breathe?” The cold indifference in his eyes made my heart freeze. The DNA report was still on the coffee table, but he didn’t even glance at it. It was as if he had already accepted the result as fact. His parents emerged from their room, drawn by our voices. “Mark, you’re finally home,” Helen began, her voice dripping with drama. “This family is falling apart! You need to ask her whose child she’s been hiding all this time!” George stood beside her, his face a thundercloud, his glare fixed on me. After a long, heavy silence, Mark finally spoke. “Where’s the child?” 3 He said “the child,” not “Aiden.” In that instant, I knew. Even he didn’t believe our son was his. I took a deep breath. “Mark, we’ve been married for four years. We’ve known each other for six. Don’t you know what kind of person I am? Even if you don’t trust me, how can you not trust your own son?” He paused. “Four years? What does that prove? Besides, everyone has said it since the day he was born—he looks nothing like me. What am I supposed to think?” I was speechless. There was no reasoning with these people. “Fine,” I said, my voice hardening. “Since none of you believe he’s your son, let’s go to the hospital and do another test. Right now. I’ll go wake Aiden.” I turned to go to the bedroom, but Mark grabbed my arm. He shoved me aside, his voice laced with fury. “Haven’t you had enough? You want to drag this out at the hospital? Isn’t this humiliating enough already? Do you want to announce to the whole world that I’ve been raising another man’s kid?” I laughed, a humorless sound. “What’s so humiliating? My conscience is clear! You’re the ones with doubts, so let’s get another test!” In the dead of night, my voice was sharp and unwavering. Just as Mark was about to respond, Helen cut in. “What’s the point of going to the hospital? The answer is right here! Are you saying your father is lying? Or have you already paid someone off at the hospital, just waiting for us to fall into your trap? Haven’t you deceived us for long enough?” Her words were so nonsensical, so completely illogical, I stared at her in disbelief. She was normally so gentle and reasonable. This wasn’t like her at all. What was going on? I clenched my fists. I knew that no matter what I said now, they wouldn’t believe me. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating. Finally, Mark picked up the report and gave it a cursory glance. He threw it at me. “It’s right here in black and white. Aiden and Dad have no biological connection. If he were my son, how could that be possible? What else do you have to say? Or do you think the hospital faked it?” I gritted my teeth. “I don’t know what’s going on with that report, but something is wrong. If you trust me, just do one more test with Aiden. The results will clear everything up.” Mark sneered. “You don’t really think I’d believe you over my own father, do you?” His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I knew he wouldn’t believe me, but hearing him say it out loud was a new level of cold. I was done arguing. “So what do you want to do now?” I asked flatly. “Kick us out?” At that, George shot to his feet, his face purple with rage. “So you finally admit it! The act is over, is it? I told Mark he never should have married you! Wasted three years raising another man’s child! How are you going to compensate us for that?” Helen chimed in, “That’s right! I worked my fingers to the bone for you two, treated you like my own flesh and blood, and this is how you repay us? Do you have a conscience?” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “When did I admit anything?” I yelled back. “Stop twisting my words! You’re just looking for an excuse to blame me! No matter what I say, you won’t believe it, will you?” Smack! A sharp sting exploded on my cheek. My husband’s hand was still in the air.

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After graduating from a high society etiquette school, my younger sister swore she was going to marry into a billionaire family. To orchestrate a “chance encounter,” she drove my brand new car, intending to intentionally rear end the vehicle of Liam Thorne, the notoriously elusive heir of the southern business district. I slammed on the brakes just in time. I told her the Thorne family were not idiots, and that even if we sold everything we owned, we couldn’t afford to pay for the damage to that car. Later, Liam hosted a lavish wedding that made national headlines. My sister went completely insane with jealousy. She screamed that if I hadn’t stopped her that day, she would have been the bride. Consumed by resentment, she ran me over with a car and killed me. When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting in the passenger seat. My sister, Chloe, curled her lips into a confident smirk, her eyes locked onto the supercar driving just ahead of us. “As soon as he sees me, Liam is going to fall head over heels.” “Once that happens, I’ll never have to drive a piece of trash car like this again.” This time, I didn’t stop her. She slammed her foot on the gas. Our car violently crashed into the back of the fifty million dollar hypercar. 1. Under the massive impact, the hypercar skidded forward quite a distance before finally grinding to a halt. The deafening crash drew a crowd of pedestrians who stopped to watch the spectacle. The hypercar was severely damaged. The rear wing had snapped off completely, and the carbon fiber body was deeply caved in. Chloe didn’t care about any of that. She recovered from the shock of the impact instantly and immediately flipped down the sun visor to adjust her makeup in the mirror. She deliberately messed up her bangs, rubbed her eyes until they watered, and made sure her lipstick looked perfectly smudged. If I hadn’t watched the whole thing happen, I would have thought she was just a terrified, innocent little bunny. Pulling her gaze away from the mirror, Chloe shot a glance at me. Seeing me sitting perfectly still, completely unfazed, a flash of genuine surprise crossed her face. She had purposefully stuffed two thick throw pillows between her chest and the steering wheel to cushion her impact. Then, she had accelerated suddenly, hoping to catch me off guard. If I hadn’t been prepared and gripped the grab handle tightly, my face would have smashed right into the dashboard, leaving me with a bloody nose and a swollen face. She had been exactly like this since we were kids—constantly setting traps to make me look awkward and ugly, just to highlight her own delicate beauty. “Liam rarely makes public appearances. Just follow my lead and don’t ruin this for me.” Chloe dabbed some heavy concealer on her finger and forcefully smeared it over my lips without asking. “Once I become Mrs. Thorne, I’ll hire you as a maid at the estate. The pay will be way better than whatever you’re making now.” With that, Chloe pulled down the neckline of her tight knit top and pushed the car door open. In our past life, Chloe was convinced that I had derailed her path to the elite. She blamed me for the miserable, pathetic life she ended up living. In this life, I wanted to see if her little tricks could actually change her destiny. Chloe’s exit from the car immediately caused a stir. Several guys on the sidewalk pulled out their phones to take pictures of her. She had always been incredibly proud of her figure, and the skin tight pencil skirt she wore naturally drew a lot of stares. Liam didn’t step out. Instead, a driver in a sharp, tailored suit got out and walked a full circle around the damaged hypercar. He walked up to the tinted rear window, bent down, and spoke to Liam. Chloe completely ignored the driver who was trying to talk to her and walked straight up to the rear passenger window, tapping on the glass. She wiped tears from her eyes as she spoke. The wind blew her long black hair around her face, making her look incredibly fragile and broken. A moment later, Liam pushed the car door open. He briefly glanced toward our wrecked car. Then, his gaze landed entirely on Chloe. The legendary heir was notoriously secretive and low profile. Dozens of A list actresses had tried to throw themselves at him, but none could even find an opportunity. Chloe lowered her head, nervously twisting her perfectly manicured hands together. Then, acting as if she had just made a massive, agonizing decision, she pulled out her phone to call the traffic police. I saw Liam wave his hand, gesturing for her to put the phone away. He stepped out and walked toward my car. Chloe had smeared dead white concealer all over my lips. Combined with the fact that I had been working overtime for a straight week, I must have looked completely drained of blood, like a walking corpse. Through the windshield, I got my first close up look at Liam. It was August, yet he was wearing a silk scarf tightly wrapped around his neck. A jagged, angry scar snaked up from beneath the scarf, trailing all the way up to his left cheekbone. Despite obvious, expensive reconstructive surgery, the skin was still uneven and deeply pitted, showing just how horrific the original wound must have been. Chloe hurried over, her voice dripping with frantic worry. “My sister suddenly got terrible stomach cramps! I was rushing to get her to the ER, and I accidentally mixed up the gas and the brake, so…” “But no matter what, this is completely my fault. I promise I will compensate you for all the damage.” This performance seemed to actually affect Liam. The freezing cold expression on his face softened slightly, and he told her calmly that there was no need to panic. “Take your sister to the hospital first.” “My driver, Arthur, will handle the insurance and the paperwork later.” Just as Liam turned to leave, Chloe anxiously stepped in front of him, offering him a sleek business card. “This is my contact info. I won’t run away from my responsibility.” Liam looked down at the white card in her hand. It listed Chloe as a “Partner at a Luxury Pet Hospital” and a “Guest Lecturer at the South River Tourism Academy.” He looked Chloe up and down, a slow, intense gaze, before finally pulling out his own phone. “Let’s not make it complicated. Just add my number.” 2 Liam left in a Maybach that arrived to pick him up, while a tow truck hauled away the ruined hypercar. The hood of my car was completely crushed, and one of the headlights was shattered. “I literally just bought this car yesterday. What are you going to do about this?” I asked. Chloe ignored me the entire ride home. The second we walked through the door, she hooked her arm through our dad’s, whining that I was bullying her. Our dad, Richard, patted Chloe’s hand affectionately, then turned to me and told me to deal with it myself. “You’re making a huge deal out of nothing with your sister. You don’t act like an older sister at all.” This morning, Chloe had insisted on driving. She didn’t even have a driver’s license. She had failed her road test five times. Richard was so worried about her safety that he forced me to ride shotgun. My stepmother, Brenda, walked out of the kitchen carrying a fruit platter. There were only three forks on it. The three of them sat around eating mangoes and watermelon, laughing together as if I didn’t even exist in the room. “Liam stared right at me. He didn’t even blink. I thought this untouchable billionaire heir was going to be so hard to handle, but it turns out he’s just like every other man.” Chloe pulled out her phone, proudly showing off Liam’s contact info. “Once Chloe marries Liam, we’ll officially be family with the billionaires.” Brenda clapped her hands in excitement, and Richard immediately joined in on the delusional daydream. Then, Chloe suddenly changed her tone. She picked up a piece of fruit on a fork and fed it to Richard. “Dad… I still owe thirty grand for my etiquette classes.” Richard’s brow furrowed. He didn’t agree immediately. Our entire family survived off the income from a few small storefronts on the old side of town. But in recent years, city developers had bypassed the old district, and business had been terrible. That ridiculous “high society etiquette school” charged fifty grand a person, promising to teach women how to cross social classes and marry the ultra rich. Chloe had graduated from a community college three years ago. Since then, she had spent all her time getting cosmetic procedures, traveling to take fake lifestyle photos to build her “socialite” persona, and had never worked a single day. The initial twenty grand deposit had already completely drained Richard’s savings. “Richard, Chloe took those classes so that you can live a life of luxury in your old age!” Brenda pushed a gaudy gold bracelet up her wrist and spoke without a shred of shame. “If you can’t even front this little bit of money, don’t expect to ride her coattails when she makes it big.” “Besides, someone else in this house has a job. Family is supposed to help each other out.” She was glaring right at me, demanding I pay the bill. In my past life, fueling Chloe’s billionaire dreams had buried the family in massive debt. Debt collectors had shown up at my office, screaming and causing a scene, which eventually got me fired. On top of that, they clearly had absolutely no idea what kind of car Liam was driving. They were utterly convinced he was just going to let Chloe off the hook because she was pretty. I was not going to follow them down the drain, pinning my survival on a delusional gold digging fantasy. So, before they could even ask, I announced I was moving out. “I’ve already found an apartment. I’ll be transferring my legal residency out of this house too.” Brenda clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes. She sneered, saying I was just jealous that Chloe was going to be a billionaire’s wife. “The most important thing for a woman is a beautiful face so she can marry a rich man.” “It doesn’t matter how jealous you are, Maya. You’ll never be her.” “With your pathetic little salary, you think you can afford to move out? That is hilarious.” My phone buzzed. A coworker texted me about an emergency meeting. I went to my room, packed up some documents, and got ready to head back to the office. Chloe didn’t hold back, laughing loudly. She said I was worrying over nothing, that I only made three grand a month, and that I could work myself to death and still not be worth one of her manicured fingers. Richard looked at me with absolute condescension. “Maya, you need to start sucking up to your sister right now.” “If Chloe is in a good mood, she might just buy you a condo, and you won’t have to go rent some dump.” Chloe put on a magnanimous, fake smile, waiting for me to bow down and beg. I tightened my grip on my files, my eyes sweeping over the three of them. “Liam’s money is not Chloe’s money. But the money I earn will always be mine.” “Being beautiful is definitely an advantage. But if you have absolutely nothing else in your brain except beauty, it’s a disaster waiting to happen.” “You guys really might want to look up exactly what kind of car Liam was driving today.” 3 The emergency meeting at my firm was regarding the “Clear Creek Resort Town,” a massive joint venture project. Liam’s family company was handling the development and construction, while my agency, Apex Media, was handling the marketing and public relations. I had been recruited by Apex straight out of college five years ago. As one of the top global advertising agencies, the workload at Apex was brutal, but the pay was top tier. However, I had told my family that I was just a bottom tier assistant making three grand a month. Brenda and Chloe naturally looked down on me, so they believed it without a second thought. After reviewing the current timeline, our creative director spoke very seriously. “The client side project lead has been switched to Liam. This is the first major project he’s taking full control over as the official heir.” He then explained that Liam was highly dissatisfied with our current marketing proposals. We had to draft two brand new backup campaigns and present them to Liam directly in two weeks. “The heir is incredibly detail oriented and strict. He also slashed the marketing budget considerably. Everyone needs to step up and bring their A game.” After the meeting, some coworkers gathered in the breakroom, gossiping about the billionaire family. “I heard Liam was severely disfigured when he was a kid, which is why he hates public appearances.” “Disfigured? Who would dare do that to him?” “No idea. My mom used to be a journalist, and she caught a photo of him being rushed to the hospital years ago. Her editor forced her to delete everything.” “Those ultra rich families are brutal. There’s so much dark stuff. His older sister’s death was super sketchy too. What kind of little girl wanders down to the ocean in the middle of the night by herself?” “The old man had three wives and four sons. Liam is the youngest, yet he managed to crush his brothers and secure the heir position. The guy is absolutely ruthless.” “We just need to do our jobs perfectly. You heard the director—he’s impossible to please.” I drank my coffee, recalling the face I had seen through the car window today. Despite the heavy scarring, he still had striking, sharp features. But the aura around him was suffocatingly dark and deep, like a whirlpool that pulled you in and crushed you. He was absolutely not the kind of shallow, brainless man Chloe thought she could easily manipulate with a pretty face. Out of habit, I opened Instagram and saw that Chloe had just posted a new carousel of photos. She was wearing a full Chanel tweed suit, sipping red wine on the balcony of a luxury hotel, surrounded by massive bouquets of imported flowers. In the background of the shot, there were two foreign men dressed like European aristocrats. The caption read: “The Italian vineyard sent over another case of the ’82 vintage. The aroma hits the palate perfectly, filling the senses with pure romance. Girls, you really need to stock up on high end investments like this.” What the photo didn’t show was the ten other girls, completely covered in full glam makeup, standing just out of frame, waiting for their turn to take the exact same picture. The etiquette school provided communal props for their students—rented supercars, designer bags, fake jewelry, and hourly rentals of oceanfront penthouses. The entire goal was to fabricate an image of a girl from an old money family with refined, impeccable taste. Rich men who didn’t know any better were easily lured in by the aesthetic. Furthermore, to avoid looking like total gold diggers, the school taught them to fake having successful careers. Chloe’s titles of “Hospital Partner” and “Guest Lecturer” were completely fabricated by the agency. My real estate broker sent me two new apartment listings to look at. My savings over the last five years were more than enough for me to buy a nice two bedroom condo near the office in cash. I needed to sever all ties with my family immediately before their mess dragged me down. Three days later, the dashcam footage of Chloe crashing into the hypercar went viral on TikTok. The comments were calling her a “once in a lifetime natural beauty.” People were comparing her to current A list celebrities, saying that if she entered Hollywood, half the actresses in the industry would be out of a job. Right on cue, “leaked” screenshots of her Instagram photos started circulating, with comments hyping up her insane “old money wealth” and perfect taste. With all this noise, it would be impossible for Liam not to notice her. Plus, going viral as a wealthy socialite was the perfect stepping stone to marrying into the elite. I had to admit, the etiquette school really knew how to run a PR campaign. After signing the closing papers for my new condo, I went back to the house to pack the rest of my things. Brenda opened the door, gave me a look of pure disgust, and asked which slum I managed to rent a room in. Richard didn’t even look at me. He was frantically hovering around Chloe, acting like he had just won a billion dollar lottery. “It’s Liam! Liam texted her first!” “Miss Kitty said that as long as you make the man reach out first, you’ve basically won!” Chloe closed her eyes, holding the phone to her chest, waiting a full ten seconds to play hard to get before finally opening the message. The three of them stared at the screen. Nobody spoke for a long time. I dropped my boxes, walked over, and glanced at her screen. Liam’s message read: The vehicle must be shipped back to the headquarters in Sweden for repairs. Total cost: 8.57 million. Below the text was a highly detailed, itemized repair invoice entirely in English. 4 “How is that even possible? How can fixing a car cost that much money?!” Chloe zoomed in on the invoice, frantically counting the zeroes on the screen. Brenda couldn’t believe it either. She actually started wondering if the guy texting Chloe wasn’t Liam at all, but some scammer trying to extort them. Liam’s hypercar was a Koenigsegg, imported from Sweden. The carbon fiber body was entirely hand built, and it was the only one of its kind in the entire country. Because it was so rare, normal people didn’t even recognize the logo. Apex Media had done a brand partnership with Koenigsegg a few years ago, so I knew exactly what the sticker price was: fifty million. For a hypercar of that caliber, an eight million dollar repair bill was completely standard. Plus, airfreighting it back to Sweden wasn’t cheap either. While they were still screaming about whether the bill was fake, Liam sent another message. Payment is expected immediately. That completely killed any chance of negotiation. Panic finally set in. All the color drained from Chloe’s face. “He… he was supposed to ask me out to dinner. Why is he demanding repair money?” “Where am I supposed to find eight million dollars?!” She looked at Richard, her eyes wide with terror. Richard finally remembered I was in the room. He quickly tried to calm her down, saying my car had insurance and the company would cover the damages. “Standard liability insurance only covers up to three million in property damage. That’s not even close to enough,” I said, grabbing the handle of my suitcase and rolling it toward my bedroom. “But I haven’t even had time to buy comprehensive commercial insurance yet. The car only has the legal minimum coverage. That maxes out at two hundred thousand.” I took two steps, then tapped my forehead like I had just remembered something. “Oh, right. Chloe doesn’t have a driver’s license. If you’re driving without a license, the insurance company will void the claim entirely. They won’t pay a single cent.” My bedroom was tiny. Aside from some handmade dolls my late mother had sewn for me, there was nothing worth taking. As I tried to walk out the door, Brenda slammed her hand against the doorframe, blocking my path, glaring at me with venomous hatred. “You’re not going anywhere. That is your car. Even if he calls the cops, you’re the one who has to pay the bill.” I knew she was going to say that. I unzipped my purse and pulled out the vehicle registration title. Printed crystal clear in black ink was Chloe’s name. I actually had Richard to thank for this. The day I went to the DMV to register the car, he shockingly offered to come with me. When I went to the restroom, he swapped my ID paperwork with Chloe’s, registering the car I bought with my own money entirely under her name. Growing up, whenever something new came into the house, Chloe had to be the first one to use it. Richard simply couldn’t stand the idea of me owning a brand new car while his precious Chloe didn’t have one. Brenda completely lost her mind. She turned around and started punching and kicking Richard hysterically. “You useless piece of trash! You ruined her! You ruined Chloe’s life!” “He’s the heir to the biggest empire in the city! We can’t run from this! He’ll destroy us!” Richard curled into a ball, not daring to fight back, stammering that he didn’t know this would happen. Chloe grabbed her hair and screamed, “Shut up!” “I need to call Miss Kitty. She’ll know what to do.” Miss Kitty was the headmistress of the etiquette school. I had seen her once, leading a flock of different looking girls into a hyper exclusive private club. Rumor had it Miss Kitty was heavily connected. Through her “guidance,” several of her students had successfully married famous actors or old wealthy businessmen. Chloe held the phone to her ear like it was her last lifeline, desperately waiting for an answer. After a long pause, a sharp, aggressive woman’s voice came through the speaker. “Chloe, honey, it’s not that I don’t want to help you, but you still haven’t paid your tuition balance.” “You wire me that thirty grand right now, and I will tell you exactly how to play this. I guarantee I can have the billionaire eating out of the palm of your hand.” Chloe frantically agreed, nodding at the wall. While she was holding the phone, treating Miss Kitty like a god, I shoved past Brenda and walked out the front door without looking back. They were beyond saving. Two weeks later, I saw Liam again in the VIP conference room at my agency. Under the bright, calculated boardroom lighting, his facial scars were barely noticeable. What I absolutely did not expect was for Chloe to walk in right behind him. She was wearing a tailored tweed blazer and nude stilettos, perfectly dressed in the “elegant corporate professional” aesthetic. This must have been Miss Kitty’s master plan. I just wondered how Chloe managed to scrape together the thirty grand to pay for it.

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1 The evening sun was dipping below the skyline as I walked into the kitchen to start on dinner. When I opened the trash can under the sink, a thick, cloyingly sweet scent hit my face. It was the heavy smell of overripe fruit. There, buried under a pile of vegetable scraps and eggshells, was a fresh mango pit. The flesh had been gnawed completely clean. My hands froze. Oliver was allergic to mangoes. Deathly allergic. If even a drop of the juice touched his skin, within ten minutes the area would swell, turn angrily red, and break out in a dense cluster of hives. For the five years we had been married, this was an ironclad rule in our house. Mangoes simply did not cross the threshold. Even mango-flavored candies were strictly banned. There was absolutely no way he ate this. Who did? Who had been in my kitchen while I was at work, casually eating a mango like they owned the place? I stared at the gnawed pit. That sickeningly sweet smell hanging in the air suddenly felt suffocating. The sound of a key turning in the front door broke the silence. It was Oliver. “Honey, I’m home.” His voice carried a hint of exhaustion. I heard him kick off his loafers and step into the living room. I arranged my features into a neutral expression and turned around, watching him drop his briefcase on the console table and shrug off his suit jacket. “You’re home early,” I said. “Yeah, finally wrapped up the quarterly presentation. I can actually breathe for a second.” He loosened his silk tie, his eyes scanning the kitchen. “Smells interesting. What are you making?” “I haven’t decided yet.” I kept my eyes locked on him. My voice was deadpan. “By the way, did we have company today?” His hands stopped moving on his tie. Just for a fraction of a second. He looked up, a perfectly crafted mask of confusion on his face. “Huh? No. Why do you ask?” “Nothing really.” I let my gaze slowly travel over his face. “There’s a fresh mango pit in the trash. I just thought it was weird.” Oliver swallowed hard. I watched his Adam’s apple bob before he forced a tired, dismissive chuckle. “Oh, right! That. Jesus, I completely forgot. The building management sent a maintenance guy up this afternoon to check the smoke detectors in the hallway.” He waved his hand dismissively. “The poor guy was sweating bullets. We still had that fruit basket the HOA sent over, and since there was a mango in it and I obviously can’t eat it, I just tossed it to him.” He rattled off the explanation incredibly fast, even throwing in a little theatrical annoyance at the messy blue-collar worker tossing garbage in our bin. “Is that so?” I nodded slowly. “Makes sense.” I turned back to the kitchen counter. The ghostly scent of mango still clung to the inside of my nose. The HOA did send a fruit basket, true. But that was last week. There had been exactly one mango in it. I remembered it perfectly, because the second I unpacked it, I walked right across the hall and gave it to the neighbor’s kid. There was no second mango. Later that night, while I was taking Oliver’s suit jacket to the dry-cleaning pile, I fished a crumpled receipt out of the inner pocket. I smoothed out the wrinkled paper. The ink was faded, but the details were crystal clear. The name on the order was Molly. The items were an iced Americano and a mango crepe cake. Oliver practically lived on Americanos. So that meant the mango crepe… A cold, razor-sharp realization settled in my chest. My husband was screwing around. And he was doing it with a girl who had a sweet tooth for mangoes. 2 First thing the next morning, as soon as Oliver left for the corporate office, I drove straight to the address printed on the receipt. It happened to be a subsidiary branch of our own parent corporation. The receptionist at the front desk looked up, flashing a glossy, rehearsed smile. “Good morning. Who are you here to see?” “Molly,” I said smoothly. “We have a private matter to discuss.” It didn’t take long before a girl came hurrying out to the lobby. She had soft, bouncy curls and flawless, dewy makeup. The moment she spotted me, her face lit up with an overly eager, brilliant smile. “Hi there! I’m Molly. Were you looking for me?” She was young. Vibrant. Cloaked in an aura of bubbly sweetness. But beneath that sugar-coated exterior was a sharp, territorial edge that only another woman could instantly detect. “Hello, Molly.” I gave her a curt nod. “I have a few questions I was hoping to ask you privately.” We sat down in the corner of the lobby. Molly looked across the table at me, her big eyes swimming with a perfectly calibrated mix of innocence and confusion. “It’s about the fire safety inspections,” I started, keeping my tone entirely conversational. “I heard you’re handling the property management side for our residential complex?” Molly blinked. For a split second, her mask slipped, but she quickly plastered the smile back on. “Oh? Fire safety? I think you might have the wrong person. I work in corporate operations. I don’t know the first thing about building maintenance.” Her voice was light, airy, and dripping with bewildered innocence. “Really?” I nodded slowly. “My mistake then.” “It’s just that yesterday afternoon, a maintenance guy came into my kitchen to check the alarms. He ate a mango and left the pit right in my trash can…” Molly’s fingers tightened around her paper coffee cup. Her eyes darted away from mine. “Oh wow… you know how it is with independent contractors these days, so unprofessional…” “But…” She let out a breathy little laugh. “What does any of that have to do with me?” Before she even finished the sentence, my eyes had already dropped to the table next to her hand. Sitting right there was a small paper bag embossed with the gold foil logo of Sugar & Lace. It was the exact same bakery from the crumpled receipt in Oliver’s pocket. “Are you a fan of Sugar & Lace too?” I dragged my eyes back up to her face, letting a mocking chill bleed into my voice. “I hear their mango crepe cake is to die for.” Every ounce of color instantly drained from Molly’s face. Her hand jerked violently. Scalding hot coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup, burning her fingers. She slammed the cup down in a panicked frenzy, frantically grabbing napkins to wipe up the mess, looking utterly pathetic and cornered. In that single, fractured moment, all the missing puzzle pieces snapped violently into place. I stood up and walked away without giving her a second glance. I don’t even remember the drive home. When I unlocked the front door, the apartment was pitch black. Oliver wasn’t back yet. I closed the door and just stood in the dark entryway for a long time. Divorce. The word echoed in my skull, growing louder and more solid by the second. There was nothing left to salvage. My personal laptop had been in the shop for days, so if I wanted to draft a separation agreement tonight, I had to use Oliver’s home office desktop. I pressed the power button. The screen glowed to life, asking for a password. I tried his birthday. Incorrect. I tried our wedding anniversary. Incorrect. Finally, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, I typed out the letters of Molly’s name. The desktop unlocked. It was almost too poetic to be real. Right there on the center of the desktop was a newly created folder. It was simply titled: Notice. Some dark, twisting intuition at the bottom of my stomach told me to click it. Inside was a single PDF file. The header made my blood run cold. Notice of Immediate Termination Regarding Regional Operations Director Victoria. The corporate jargon was brutally formal. It accused me of gross negligence, claiming I had leaked highly classified financial data to a rival firm during the Apex Corporation merger, causing massive financial damages. Based on company bylaws, I was to be fired immediately and stripped of all stock options. The signature at the bottom belonged to the Head of Corporate HR. My husband. Oliver. A toxic cocktail of absolute terror and blinding rage flooded my veins, turning my hands to ice. The most disturbing part? The date on the termination notice was set for next week. I was the lead director on the Apex project. Just last week, Oliver had specifically pushed me to take full control of the final data models. He had kissed my forehead and told me how crucial this account was for my year-end promotion to Vice President. I gripped the edge of the desk, forcing air into my burning lungs. I needed to think. This wasn’t just a dirty little affair. Oliver had dug a grave for me, and he was standing at the edge waiting for me to jump in. Next week was the final wrap-up meeting with the clients. The second that meeting ended, the trap would snap shut. My mind flashed back to the lobby this morning. To Molly. Printed right beneath her smiling face on her company badge were the words: Operations Department. It all made perfect, sickening sense now. I reached out and slowly closed the document window. If they had already dug the grave, it would be rude of me not to play along. I guess we were about to find out who was going in the dirt first. Me, or my husband and his little mango-loving sidepiece. 3 Five days later, the Apex project wrap-up meeting commenced exactly as planned. I stood at the head of the massive mahogany conference table, delivering the final financial breakdown. The executives from Apex Corporation were nodding along, looking incredibly pleased. “Victoria, this report is absolutely stellar. The data is bulletproof, and your market analysis is sharper than anything we’ve seen in Q3,” said Mr. Davis, the CEO of Apex. “If this is the caliber of leadership we can expect, we are very much looking forward to the next phase of the merger.” A murmur of agreement rippled through the executives. Everyone in the room knew about my marriage to Oliver. A few of the board members chuckled good-naturedly. “Director Oliver, your wife is an absolute powerhouse. You two are quite the corporate power couple.” Oliver was sitting directly across from me. He wore a perfectly tailored suit and a humble, affectionate smile. He didn’t say a word, just raised his coffee mug to me in a silent toast. As I stepped down from the projector, I swept my eyes across the room. There, sitting quietly in the very back row taking notes, was Molly. I had no idea how she managed to sneak into an executive-level meeting, but she was keeping her head down. The meeting was wrapping up. The atmosphere was light and celebratory. My direct superior, Vice President Harrison, was just leaning into his microphone to adjourn the session. Suddenly, Molly raised her hand. “VP Harrison, Mr. Davis, I am so sorry to interrupt,” she said. Her voice was clear, ringing with polite hesitation. “But regarding the core pricing strategy data that Director Victoria just presented… I have a major concern.” The entire boardroom fell dead silent. “What kind of concern?” VP Harrison asked, his brow furrowing. Molly turned her big, Bambi eyes toward me. But this time, there was a vicious glint in them. “Those specific data sets… I’ve seen them before. They look incredibly familiar.” The bottom fell out of my stomach. “Seen them?” Mr. Davis of Apex stood up, his face hardening. “Young lady, are you absolutely certain? That is highly classified, proprietary data shared only between our two firms. Only three people in this entire building have the security clearance to even view it.” “I am absolutely certain.” Molly’s voice grew stronger, carrying a note of self-righteousness. “I’ve definitely seen it. But it wasn’t on our secure servers. I just… I can’t quite remember where.” Every single pair of eyes in the room snapped toward me. The air in the room turned to lead. VP Harrison’s face flushed an ugly shade of red. He slammed his hand on the table and glared at me, his voice vibrating with suppressed fury. “Victoria! What the hell is the meaning of this? Explain yourself!” Oliver slowly lowered his coffee mug. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His eyes locked onto mine, completely devoid of emotion. The silence was deafening. They were all waiting for the guillotine to drop on my neck. I looked at Molly’s fake, distressed face. Then I looked at Oliver’s dead, shark-like eyes. A slow, genuine smile spread across my face. “VP Harrison, Mr. Davis,” I said, my voice projecting loud and steady across the room. “Molly is actually telling the truth. It is entirely possible she has seen this data elsewhere.” Chaos erupted. “Victoria! Are you confessing to this?! Do you have any idea the magnitude of what you’ve done?!” VP Harrison was practically spitting, slamming his fist on the mahogany wood. “This is corporate espionage! It’s a federal crime!” Mr. Davis shoved his chair back violently. “We demand a full audit immediately! Call the authorities!” “Unbelievable!” The waves of outrage crashed over me. Oliver leaned back in his leather chair, his eyes dropping to the table, looking like a man tragically betrayed by his wife. Molly quickly lowered her head, her shoulders dropping as she relaxed into her victory. Just as the screaming reached a fever pitch, I casually raised the presentation clicker and pressed the button. The projector screen behind me flashed. The financial graphs vanished, replaced by a brand new slide. I let out a soft, icy laugh. “I said it was possible Molly had seen the data. I never said I was the one who leaked it.”

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1 Martha offered me the steaming bowl of collagen elixir, claiming she was too old for it. Her eager eyes filled me with dread. In my previous life, that broth had drained me, mysteriously transferring all my skincare benefits to her. I refused and made her drink it instead. After, I tested a theory: applying my serum caused an age spot to bloom exactly where Martha had a blemish. My blood ran cold—the nightmare was repeating. I remembered aging decades in weeks before. Panicked, I swept all my expensive skincare into the trash. Martha walked in, feigned heartbreak, and begged to salvage the bottles. She fished the jars out of the trash, cradling them against her chest like newborn babies. Watching her, a twisted idea sparked in my mind. I immediately grabbed a bottle of rich night cream and smeared a generous layer directly onto her cheek, desperate to see if my newly formed age spot would vanish. It didn’t. In fact, my blemish only grew darker. Martha, completely oblivious to my horror, happily patted her cheeks. She bragged about how luxury products really did work miracles, claiming her skin felt tighter and brighter already. But through the reflection in the mirror, I caught a fleeting, venomous glint in her eyes. The bathroom door clicked open. My husband, David, stepped out with a towel slung low on his waist. He shot Martha a frigid glare before turning his annoyance entirely on me. “What exactly are you doing? I thought I told you to keep the help out of our bedroom when I’m around.” Staring at his irritated scowl, the memory of how she got here hit me hard. David was the one who brought Martha into our home in my previous life. He claimed she was an elite estate manager who had served the Montgomery family for years. Supposedly, the Montgomerys were relocating to Europe, so they highly recommended her to him. At first, I had been thrilled. Martha was efficient, her cooking was phenomenal, and she ran the massive estate like a well oiled machine. But three days in, the bizarre horror began. Every time I did my skincare routine, my face broke out in unexplained dark patches. Fine lines webbed out from the corners of my eyes. Meanwhile, Martha’s sun damaged, leathery skin grew increasingly flawless. Her deep set wrinkles literally ironed themselves out. I was an avid runner. Yet a week into her employment, my body turned sluggish and bloated. Thick rolls of fat stubbornly clung to my waistline. Martha, on the other hand, shed weight like a snake shedding skin. She walked around the house radiating youthful energy, her figure growing slim and tight. I had been so terrified I rushed to an exclusive med spa for laser treatments. When the esthetician pulled the protective goggles off my face, she actually screamed. Huge, ugly patches of pigmentation had erupted across my cheeks, and my skin was sagging off my bone structure. I tried getting body sculpting massages, only to wake up with deep stretch marks and a jagged scar on my lower stomach that looked exactly like a C-section mark. Meanwhile, Martha was parading around the kitchen with a flawless complexion and the faint, sexy outline of abs showing through her shirt. That night, David took one look at my ruined body and literally kicked me out of our bed. When I hysterically tried to explain how weird Martha’s transformation was, he just sneered at me. “Everyone knows women hit a wall and age overnight,” he had scoffed. “So you’re aging like milk before you even hit thirty. And you’re blaming the damn housekeeper for it?” Yet the very next morning, his eyes were glued to Martha’s newly snatched waist, tracking her every move. In a fit of rage, I fired her. That was the nail in my coffin. My periods stopped instantly. The doctors diagnosed me with early onset menopause, severe diabetes, and hypertension. David didn’t just mock my repulsive appearance, he started bringing random women back to our house. The stress and betrayal triggered a massive stroke. I collapsed on the floor, begging him to call an ambulance. He didn’t even look down. He just wrapped his arm around his latest fling and stepped over my paralyzed body to go into our bedroom. I died in the ambulance the next morning. It was too late. But now I was back. And this time, I was going to unearth whatever sick witchcraft she was using and burn it to the ground. 2 I slipped away from David and locked myself in my private study. I pulled up a popular social media app, and just as I suspected, Martha was live streaming. In my past life, she had built an audience by vlogging her “humble” life working for a billionaire family. Her hook was a “Thirty Day Reverse Aging Challenge.” She claimed she was going to copy her wealthy boss’s routine to transform from forty back to twenty. The comment section had been a bloodbath of mockery. [Lady, you need a whole new genetic code, not a skincare routine.] [If you can look twenty in a month, I can go back to kindergarten.] When I first saw the stream in my past life, I brushed it off. I figured she was just trying to hustle for some extra ad revenue. But then her face actually started morphing. She shed decades in real time. Her follower count exploded into the hundreds of thousands. People were obsessed, begging for her secret. Internet sleuths eventually figured out she worked for me and David. By that point, I looked like a rotting corpse. But I was the CEO of Woods Cosmetics. I had pre scheduled corporate galas and shareholder meetings I couldn’t abandon. The internet put my red carpet photos side by side with Martha’s livestreams. [Holy hell. Is she copying the billionaire’s routine, or is she literally sucking the youth out of her?] [Wait, the Woods heiress used to be gorgeous. Her face single handedly pumped their stock prices. What the hell happened to her?] Since my family’s empire was built on beauty and wellness, seeing the CEO look like a swamp witch caused our stock to plummet overnight. Right now, sitting in my study, I watched her hold up the expensive creams she had just fished out of my trash. She bragged to the camera that her generous boss had gifted them to her. Then she officially launched her thirty day challenge. A chilling realization locked the breath in my throat. From the day she moved in to the day I died in my past life, it had been exactly thirty days. I created a burner account and typed into the chaotic chat. [Thirty days is impossible. Do you have some kind of dark magic going on? Tell me your secret. Name your price.] On screen, Martha offered a coy, sinister little smile as she patted the stolen lotion into her cheeks. “No dark magic here, honey. I just copy exactly what my boss does. Sincerity brings miracles.” In that exact second, my cheeks began to itch. I pulled out my compact mirror. More age spots. The delicate, carefully maintained skin around my eyes suddenly felt dry and crinkled. I whipped my head back to the screen. Martha’s skin was practically glowing with renewed hydration. [Am I tripping, or did her skin just clear up?] [Bro, her dark spots are fading. The crow’s feet are literally gone.] [It’s definitely a beauty filter.] Martha aggressively leaned her face right into the camera lens. “No filters here, sweeties. Bare faced and proud.” Staring at her, a profound wave of nausea washed over me. It was an exchange. A literal transaction of flesh and time. She was swapping her decay for my youth. Then a wild, desperate thought struck me. What if I stopped taking care of myself? What if I actively destroyed my own body? Could she steal from an empty vault? For the next few days, I scrubbed my face with harsh, chemical heavy acids until my skin was raw and inflamed. I completely abandoned my treadmill and gorged on deep fried junk food and heavy sugar. My waistline expanded aggressively. I watched Martha like a hawk. But to my absolute despair, the results were identical to my past life. She kept getting hotter. Younger. My ruined skin and rapidly accumulating fat didn’t transfer to her at all. The curse only took the good and left me with the bad. David returned from a business trip and physically recoiled when I greeted him in the hallway. His face contorted in pure disgust. “Victoria, what the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped. “The Pierce Holdings anniversary gala is in a few days. If you look like this, don’t even bother showing up. I won’t have you embarrassing my family.” Martha hovered in the background, the corners of her lips twitching upward before she slapped on a mask of fake concern. “Ma’am, maybe you should book a dermatologist appointment?” “And all that junk food you’ve been eating is making Mr. Pierce so upset,” she added in a sickly sweet tone. “If a woman loses her face and her figure, how is she supposed to keep her man happy?” I let out a low, humorless chuckle. I turned on my heel, walked back into my study, and dialed my executive assistant. “Cancel all my public appearances for the month. And I need you to run a deep background check on someone.” 3 I ghosted the entire corporate world. I locked myself inside the mansion and did absolutely nothing. But avoiding skincare didn’t stop the curse. The dark pigmentation stained my cheeks permanently. My hair started falling out in clumps. Deep, jagged wrinkles carved into my forehead. The worst part was the physical toll. My muscles felt like lead, and my vision grew so blurry I had to be rushed to a private clinic. The specialist looked at my blood work in absolute shock. He diagnosed me with accelerated premature aging, early stage diabetes, and severe presbyopia. “Ms. Woods, your condition is medically unprecedented. We need to admit you for a full panel of invasive tests.” I declined. I knew no amount of medical science could cure a supernatural parasite. My sudden disappearance from high society triggered wild rumors. Whispers circulated that the Woods heiress had contracted a flesh eating disease. Meanwhile, Martha was thriving. Her daily visible de aging had pushed her follower count past the hundred thousand mark. I watched her latest stream. She was wearing a tight yoga set, her bare face flawless and radiant. Her body was a perfectly sculpted hourglass. She looked like a twenty five year old fitness influencer. [This is genuinely terrifying. Martha, what kind of deal did you make with the devil?] [At this rate, she’s going to look like a teenager before the month is over.] [We can’t call her Auntie Martha anymore. This is a whole college girl.] Martha giggled, twisting her waist to show off her curves, eating up the validation. At the exact same moment, I looked down in horror as thick, angry purple stretch marks ripped across my stomach and thighs, crawling over my skin like earthworms. Another fistful of dry, brittle hair cascaded onto my shoulders. On the screen, virtual gifts rained down on Martha’s stream. “Thank you, guys! So sweet of you.” “How did I do it?” She feigned innocence. “Maybe living in a billionaire’s mansion just fixed my aura. Good feng shui, you know?” Looking at the dead hair clumped in my trembling hands, something inside me finally snapped. I lost my mind. I sprinted out of my room, kicked Martha’s door open, and lunged at her, digging my nails into her arm as I screamed. “Tell me! What kind of sick voodoo are you using to dump your rotting carcass onto me!” Martha shrieked at the top of her lungs, a sound perfectly calculated to bring David running. He burst into the room, took one look at my deranged, balding appearance, and violently shoved me away from her. “Are you psycho? Look at yourself in the mirror, you look like a goddamn monster!” “David, look at me and then look at her!” I shrieked from the floor. “She’s been here less than two weeks. Do you seriously not see anything wrong with this?” David’s eyes swept over Martha. She was trembling gracefully, her flawless skin glowing under the lights. Her sports bra exposed a tight, toned stomach, and the yoga pants clung perfectly to her long, straight legs. I didn’t miss the flash of raw, hungry lust that sparked in his eyes. A cold laugh bubbled up in my chest. A dog really couldn’t stop eating trash. Martha dramatically dropped to her knees, sobbing beautifully. “Sir, I do the chores, I buy the groceries, I cook the meals. I haven’t done a single thing wrong. I have no idea why the Mrs. looks like that.” “It’s not my fault she let herself go!” She looked at me with big, tear filled eyes. “Ma’am, I know you’re under a lot of stress, but you can’t just project your insecurities onto me.” “It’s fine, though. People like me are just punching bags for the rich anyway.” David glared down at me with pure revulsion. “You are acting lower than the dirt on a servant’s shoe. You don’t deserve to be the lady of the Pierce family.” The blood drained from my face. David and I were a corporate arranged marriage, but we had grown up in the same circles. We were childhood friends. On our wedding day, he had stood in front of hundreds of people and sworn an oath. He promised that no matter what happened, he would always be my shield. Staring up at the exact same look of disgust he had given me in my past life, my voice dropped to an icy whisper. “David. Think very carefully about your next move. Are you really going to burn our alliance to the ground for a maid?” That made him hesitate. Our families had billions tied up in joint ventures. He knew the financial suicide of crossing me. Sensing the shift, Martha suddenly stood up. “If the lady of the house hates me this much, I’ll quit. I’ll pack my bags right now and you’ll never see me again. Will that make you happy?” She ran out of the room crying. But instead of relief, a sudden, blinding panic seized my chest.

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The sudden, sharp knock of the police on my apartment door jolted me from my trance. I was staring at a gold bar, its weight heavy in my palm. Just hours earlier, I had been laid off. Then, my doctor called with the results of my scan: gallstones, requiring immediate surgery. The five-thousand-dollar price tag was a death sentence for my already decimated savings. This hundred-gram gold bar, purchased ten years ago with my very first paycheck and my mother’s contribution, was now my lifeline. When I’d called my mom, her voice had been thick with guilt. She kept sighing, blaming herself. She was convinced my recent hospital visits to care for her were the reason I’d been fired. “Just sell your share of the gold, honey. It’s the only way I can help now,” she’d choked out, her voice breaking. I was planning to visit a jeweler first thing in the morning. I never expected this kind of late-night visit. “We’ve received a report that you’ve stolen a gold bar. Please cooperate with our investigation.” The officer’s words were like shards of ice piercing my heart. 1 When I opened the door, the officer stood there, his face grim, his eyes sizing me up with a mixture of suspicion and contempt. I was in my pajamas, my makeup-free face sallow and drawn from the constant pain. The loose-fitting sleep shirt, which had been snug on me just three years ago, now hung off my frame like a sheet. A minute ago, I had been doubled over from a searing gallstone attack, so intense I couldn’t move. I lay curled in a fetal position, my back soaked in a cold sweat, wondering if this was how I was going to die. Now, because of a false accusation, I was forcing my ravaged body to stand, to somehow find the breath to speak to a cop. I clutched my stomach with one hand, bracing myself against the doorframe with the other. My fingers were so thin they were practically skeletal, like the brittle, dead branches of a winter tree. It felt like they could snap with the slightest pressure. The officer’s eyes raked over me, his voice dripping with disdain. “What is your relationship to a Ms. Susan Carter?” I fought through a wave of agony, my voice weak. “She’s my mother.” He let out a short, sharp huff. “She’s reporting that you stole a one-hundred-gram gold bar from her. Hand over the stolen property and come with us to the station. Cooperate, and maybe you’ll get a lighter sentence.” The commotion had drawn my neighbors out of their apartments. They poked their heads out, hungry for gossip. One of them, Mr. Henderson from 9A, immediately started typing, his phone’s screen glowing in the dim hallway. The notification from the building’s group chat buzzed in my pocket. Henderson (9A): BREAKING NEWS, EVERYONE. The girl in 9C just got busted for stealing from her own mom. Cops are at her door RIGHT NOW. Henderson (9A): I always knew there was something off about her. Always coming and going by herself with that sour look on her face, like the whole world owed her something. Harris (8C): I live right below her. I hear these weird thuds late at night all the time. No wonder she’s got no class, she’s a damn thief. Jenna (6A): lol busted. A thief in our building. And she ripped off her own mother? What a degenerate. Should’ve gotten a dog instead. Building Mgmt: Please check your apartments and report any missing items immediately. Let’s handle this all at once. I glanced down at my phone, the screen alive with accusations. My mind was a chaotic storm, but I calmly retrieved the gold bar and handed it to the officer. “There must be some misunderstanding,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “My mom and I bought this together years ago. I’m sick, I need the money for surgery. We talked about it, and she agreed I could sell it.” Mr. Henderson, still loitering in his doorway, laughed out loud. “Playing the victim, are we? You looked perfectly fine coming and going the other day. Be careful what you wish for, faking an illness like that. You’ll end up six feet under for real, you pathetic little ghost.” His venom, on top of days of unrelenting pain, finally made me snap. I was gasping for air, my face flushed with a furious heat. “You have no proof,” I shot back, my voice trembling with rage. “You smear my name in the group chat, and now you’re insulting me to my face? Did your parents not teach you a single shred of decency?” Seeing the fury in my eyes, the officer tensed, stepping between us as if I were about to lunge at the man. Henderson saw his chance and doubled down, his smirk widening. “Oh, did I touch a nerve, ghost girl? If you didn’t steal it, the cops wouldn’t be here. Instead of wasting your breath yelling at me, you should be picking out a coffin. You’ll probably drop dead in the street one of these days anyway.” I’d always been polite in the building, friendly to my neighbors. Henderson’s own daughter used to come to my apartment to watch cartoons and eat the fruit I’d buy for her. I couldn’t fathom where this deep-seated hatred came from. My blood was boiling. I took a shaky step forward, intending only to confront him, to demand an explanation. But the officer misinterpreted my movement. In one swift, brutal motion, he grabbed my arm, twisted it behind my back, and slammed me to the floor. I was pinned, helpless, like an animal. The explosion of pain from the impact and my inflamed gallbladder made me cry out. During the struggle, my pajama top rode up, exposing the jaundiced, yellow skin of my torso. My ribs were starkly visible beneath the thin layer of flesh. The onlooking neighbors gasped. “Oh, god,” one of them whispered. “Maybe she really is sick.” The second officer, who had been standing back, flinched for a second before quickly snapping handcuffs onto my raw wrists. Henderson’s face lit up with manic excitement. He raised his phone, capturing my complete and utter humiliation. “Look, everyone! They’re cuffing the bitch! Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?” 2 I was shoved into the back of the squad car, and another gallstone attack ripped through me. I curled into a tight ball, sucking in desperate, ragged breaths, trying to find a rhythm that would override the pain. The officer sitting next to me hesitated, then asked, his voice laced with suspicion, “Are you on something? Is that why you needed the money, for your next fix?” “Your symptoms… they look a lot like withdrawal.” I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. “No,” I managed to get out between gasps. “I’m sick… gallbladder… need the money to… live.” The older officer driving the car let out a cynical laugh. “Heard that one a million times. If you needed it to live, you think your own mother would call the cops on you? A real mother would be scraping together every last penny to save her kid.” The pain was making my vision swim. “Yeah,” I murmured, more to myself than to them. “A real mother… should be just like that.” The older cop seemed puzzled by my detached response, but he quickly dismissed it as drug-induced rambling. “We see your type all the time,” he sneered. “So selfish you’d even steal your parents’ retirement savings. You talk about being sick? I saw your mother. She had a fresh bandage from an IV on her hand. Now that’s what being sick looks like.” The agony in my abdomen was so intense I couldn’t speak. The world began to blur. Just before I passed out, it felt like my soul briefly detached from my body, pulling me back through time. I was back in my final year of college. My roommates and I had stumbled upon a psychic’s livestream. We chipped in to get our birth charts read. The other girls all had promising futures: natural wealth, good karma, blessings from ancestors. But when he got to my chart, the psychic’s brow furrowed. He said I was destined for shallow relationships, a short life of poverty and hardship, and that I would bring misfortune to my family. Then he paused, peering closer at the screen. His expression softened. “Wait,” he said, “this is a Phoenix Chart. Your true destiny is locked. It can only be forged in the fire of familial betrayal. Your fate will not reverse unless you are pushed to the absolute brink of despair.” My roommates, trying to spare my feelings, immediately declared the guy a fraud. I didn’t care about being poor or having bad luck. My life already felt worthless. But his words about “shallow relationships” felt like a hot coal pressed against my heart. All I had ever wanted was my parents’ love. I craved the affection they poured so effortlessly onto my younger brother, Kevin. The warm encouragement, the proud glances—they were never for me. I was a ghost in my own home, hiding in the shadows, stealing snippets of their praise for him and pretending it was for me. For twenty years, I had the same recurring dream. In it, my parents were mine alone. I wore my brother’s face like a mask, greedily soaking up a love that was never meant for me. “That which you can’t have,” the psychic’s voice echoed in my memory, “will become the cage that imprisons you for life.” 3 To get my parents’ attention, I first tried faking illnesses. But they were indifferent. The more I complained of pain, the more they saw me as a fragile, useless burden. A money pit. So I switched tactics. I became an overachiever. I got straight A’s, won academic awards, became class president. This earned me a few fleeting glances, but they still believed Kevin was the truly brilliant one. “Boys are late bloomers,” my father would say. “He doesn’t even have to try. He’s naturally smarter. You’ll see.” Eventually, I learned to grovel. I became the perfect, helpful daughter. I did all the housework, served them tea, even washed my brother’s underwear. Finally, they started to praise me. “Alice is so thoughtful now, a real comfort to us. She knows how to sacrifice for the family. Such a good girl, especially for helping her brother out. A wonderful big sister.” “This is great. We didn’t raise you for nothing. If you could just tidy up Kevin’s room, you’d be perfect.” Their words were like a drug. I became a willing slave, an expert people-pleaser, not just for my parents, but for my brother, too. After I started working, I spent my first paycheck on a bracelet for my mom and my first bonus on new shoes for my dad. I used my commission to buy Kevin a new gaming laptop. For myself, I spent five dollars on a bowl of beef noodle soup from a little shop I’d always dreamed of trying as a kid. Kevin saw me eating it and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

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As a private investigator, I recently took a case to investigate a man named Brian Wright for infidelity. To my horror, the woman I caught him with was my own wife, Sarah Kinsey. In that moment, my heart shattered. An overseas mercenary organization had contacted me before, inviting me to join their reconnaissance camp. Now, I decided to accept their offer. For the past seven years, I had anonymously donated blood to Sarah, like her personal blood bank. But from this moment on, I would never do it again. 1 I arrived at the address the client provided in Willow Creek Estates. Brian Wright was locked in a passionate embrace with a woman. I pulled out my phone and started recording. Their emotions were raw, intense. The woman sat up halfway, and it was my wife, Sarah Kinsey. My legs gave out. I stumbled backward, barely catching myself. My colleague, Mike, saw her too. He hesitated. “Boss, maybe you should hand this case off. Let someone else take it.” I shook my head, fighting back a surge of pain. Client satisfaction was the standard in this business. Brian was aggressively taking his pleasure from Sarah, his voice a low growl. “How does he compare to your husband?” Sarah’s voice trembled with pleasure. “He can’t even touch you.” “Brian, Brian, you’re the best.” It felt like forever before they finally quieted. Brian toyed with her hand, his eyes on her wedding ring. “That ring makes my skin crawl,” he said. Sarah giggled, pulling off the ring and tossing it into a nearby wastebasket. I expected them to part ways after that, but they immediately moved on to a second round. Sarah fumbled with a box, but it was empty. No condoms. Brian asked anxiously, “What do we do?” Sarah shrugged, nonchalant. “Just go for it. I’ll take the morning-after pill.” My heart felt like it was being hammered by a sledgehammer. The pain was excruciating. I had loved her more than life itself. I would have suffocated myself before ever risking her safety. Yet, she gave herself so completely, so carelessly, to another man. She suffered from a serious blood disorder, and her periods were incredibly heavy. A miscarriage or childbirth could easily kill her. That’s why I had always been so careful, so meticulous, about birth control. I’d rather endure any discomfort myself than put her at risk. She needed two blood transfusions every month, and her rare Rh-negative blood type made it incredibly difficult to find a match. I happened to share her blood type. Every month, I went to donate twice, 400ml each time, specifically for her. To ease her conscience, I always remained anonymous. The woman I cherished above all else was allowing another man to degrade her this way. Lost in my memories, my phone buzzed. A text message. “Darling, my friend needs a morning-after pill. Could you pick up a box of Plan B and drop it off at Willow Creek Estates?” The pain spread through my entire body. My hands clenched involuntarily. Sweat beaded on my forehead and across my skin. “Sarah,” Brian murmured, “what if your husband finds out?” He looked at her, his eyes shining with anticipation for her answer. “Heh,” she scoffed, “even if I cheated with ten different guys, he’d still never leave me.” Yes, I had once told her, “Sarah, let’s never part. I can’t live without you.” But back then, Sarah had loved me just as fiercely. She was a ruthless CEO in public, but at home, she cooked for me, made my bed. One time, when I had a fever, she stayed awake for three days and nights, nursing me back to health. But that was then. This was now. When I delivered the Plan B to the villa, Brian opened the door. His eyes held a playful glint. “The woman inside is quite the wildcat.” His cologne, thick and cloying, assaulted my nostrils. I lowered my head, hiding my clenched fists, and hurried away. Sarah had promised to love me forever, to never betray me. I had planned to be her blood bank for life. Her betrayal meant my plans had to change. I opened my email. To the mercenary organization’s invitation, I clicked “Accept.” They needed excellent reconnaissance operatives; I needed to leave this heartache behind. Departure in five days. 2 Back home, I drank alone. Seven years of love, three years of marriage, a lifetime of plans—all reduced to this. Sarah came home just as I was about to pass out. Seeing me drink, she asked anxiously, “David, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” As she leaned in, the cloying scent of Brian’s cologne still clung to her. A wave of nausea washed over me. I pushed her away and stumbled to the bathroom. Her eyes flickered with a fleeting panic. I vomited violently into the toilet. She followed close behind, gently patting my back. “Don’t drink so much, it’s bad for your stomach. You’ll break my heart if you keep doing this.” How could she switch from one man to another so effortlessly? “I’ll go make you some hangover soup.” By the time I emerged, the soup was ready. She stirred it impatiently, trying to cool it down. Sitting on the sofa, she spoon-fed me. I stared at her fingers. She was wearing a ring strikingly similar to her wedding band. But when she extended her hand, I saw a small “Brian” engraved on the inside of the palm-side of the band. She’d tossed her wedding ring for another man’s. Good. The pain of love was like being flayed alive. The more thoroughly I peeled off these layers now, the less it would hurt later. Noticing the detached look in my eyes, she asked, concerned, “Have I not been spending enough time with you? Work’s been so busy lately, I’ve neglected you. Tomorrow, I’ll go with you to pick out a suit. Our third anniversary is coming up soon. We’ll celebrate properly.” She picked up a warm towel and wiped my face. As she bent down, her loose neckline revealed a constellation of marks on her chest. I grabbed her, trying to tear open her clothes. She quickly covered herself with her hands. “David, you’ve had too much to drink. It’s not good for you. You need to rest, okay? Be a good boy.” Her initial panic quickly melted into a soft, affectionate tone. She thought I was trying to initiate sex, but I only wanted to expose the bite marks on her skin. Normally, her words would have touched me, making me feel cherished. But today, I knew she was just trying to hide the evidence of her betrayal. While she was in the bathroom, her phone buzzed on the table. A text message. “You little wildcat. You drained me dry today.” I didn’t move. I just stared blankly until the screen went dark again. After cleaning the bathroom, she helped me into bed, gently changed me into my pajamas, and tucked me in. She even took my soiled clothes to wash. Beside me, she continued to play the role of the devoted wife. If there were an Oscar for Best Actress, she would win it hands down. The next day, at the tailor’s, as I was getting measured for my new suit, her phone rang. It was Brian. “Wildcat, I’m craving you. Come find me.” She glanced at me furtively, thinking I couldn’t hear. But I was once an elite reconnaissance operative; my hearing was exceptional. My hands clenched instinctively, my body tensing. She approached me, feigning nonchalance. But the flush on her cheeks betrayed her eagerness. “David, something urgent came up at the office. I have to go. Once you’re done with your fitting, meet me at the top floor of Riverbend Tower. I’ve booked us a table for lunch.” I grabbed her hand. “Can’t you skip it? You promised to spend the day with me.” Even though I had decided to leave, watching her abandon me for another man still twisted my gut. She gently peeled my fingers off hers. “Company matters are critical. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Wait for me.” With that, she hugged my waist and hurried away. I waited in the restaurant from sundown to dusk, through the flickering of city lights, until the entire city plunged into darkness. She never came. I called her five times. Each time, it went straight to voicemail. 3 She came home at one in the morning. Thinking I was asleep, she didn’t call out to me, going straight to the guest room. I lay awake, replaying seven years of memories, sleep refusing to come. She talked on the phone for a long time in the guest room, her voice a soft, seductive murmur. It was Brian, no doubt. When I woke up, breakfast was already on the table. My favorite soft-boiled eggs. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice full of regret. “I was so busy at work yesterday, I didn’t even make it to the restaurant. You’re not mad at me, are you?” She leaned in to kiss my forehead. I reached for an egg, deftly avoiding her kiss. She froze for a moment. A flicker of disappointment in her eyes. The thought of those lips, that had just been on another man, made me sick. My mission for the day was still to follow her. She went to the hospital for her transfusion. The man with his arm around her waist was Brian. “I heard the same person has been donating blood for you all these years? Eight hundred milliliters a month? Who could that be?” Brian mused. “Some idiot, I guess,” Sarah scoffed. “Who else would give that much blood every month?” If I hadn’t loved her to the bone, I wouldn’t have. My doctors had repeatedly warned me about the dangers of donating so frequently. But if I didn’t donate, she wouldn’t have any. There were only two people in the entire city with her blood type. The other person had serious health issues and couldn’t donate. Brian pinched her side, under her shirt. “You should be grateful. What if he stops? What would you do?” Sarah pinched Brian’s butt in return. “Don’t jinx it.” A while later, they emerged from the transfusion room. Sarah’s face was grim, her confusion evident. “Why didn’t he donate?” she asked, almost to herself. “He’s never missed a single month in seven years. Once, during a massive blizzard, he still managed to get here. Something must be wrong this time.” She was theorizing. I should have donated yesterday. I had originally planned to get my suit fitted, then donate one last time. A final, symbolic gesture. But she had abandoned me for another man, so I canceled the appointment. The blood center had called yesterday. I hadn’t answered. Sarah made a few calls. I heard her asking for the donor’s name and number. Whatever they told her on the other end, her face remained worried and disappointed. Brian playfully flicked her nose. “Don’t worry, honey. There’s always a solution.” They walked, embraced, towards their car. They both got into the back seat. Through the tinted window, I saw Sarah pull Brian into her arms. Soon, the car began to shake violently. After a long time, or perhaps a short one, they got out. Sarah’s hair was disheveled, her clothes wrinkled—clear signs of their recent lovemaking. I couldn’t bear to watch. Their affection was a dagger in my heart. I looked down at my hand. I stroked the wedding ring she had placed on my finger. The vows we had exchanged, once so moving, now filled me with disgust. I pulled off the ring and tossed it into a trash can. When I looked up, they were gone.

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The divorce papers were barely signed before Rowan rushed off, desperate to return to the one woman he could never quite let go of. Sometime later, from the dimly lit stage of a downtown lounge where I was singing, I caught a glimpse of him. His arms were wrapped around a beautiful stranger. By then, I had already found my own rhythm again. But Rowan? He seemed forever lost in the chase for the next thrill, wandering so far off the path that there was no going back. 1 The county clerk’s office was packed the day Rowan and I finalized our divorce. The couple at the next counter were screaming at each other, ultimately leaving without signing a thing. Rowan and I just sat there in absolute silence. We signed our names without a second thought. Walking out the double doors side by side, papers in hand, he tossed me a set of keys. “Keep the car.” The Astor family was swimming in generational wealth. A luxury car was pocket change to them. Besides, he had already transferred the deed of our marital estate into my name. We had arrived in the same car. I highly doubted the young heir of the Astor empire was going to lower himself to calling a cab. “Should I drop you…” I started politely. A sharp honk cut me off. The tinted window of a cherry-red Porsche rolled down, revealing a stunning, glamorous face. Even the way the wind caught her hair looked perfectly calculated. “Rowan. Get in.” Serena. Rowan’s childhood sweetheart, freshly returned from abroad. Everyone in their elite circle knew Serena was his ultimate obsession. The elusive white moonlight he could never quite catch. Seeing the unspoken chemistry between them, everything clicked into place. No wonder Rowan had been so incredibly generous with the divorce settlement. He just wanted me out of the picture as fast as humanly possible. I pasted on a flawless smile. “Looks like your ride is here. I’ll get going.” Rowan stood there, hands buried in his pockets, his dark eyes resting on me for a long, quiet moment. “Drive safe,” he finally murmured. I nodded, meaning it from the bottom of my heart. “Be well, Rowan.” 2 I didn’t see him again until two months later. By then, I had sold the massive mansion he left me and downsized to a sleek, two-bedroom apartment in a prime neighborhood. It was much smaller, but it didn’t feel hollow when I was alone. The best part was the terrace. The natural light was phenomenal, and I spent countless afternoons out there just painting. When the sun went down, I picked up my old gig. I sang at a local speakeasy, watching the night unfold, gathering inspiration for my canvas. I was just covering a shift for a friend tonight. I never expected to see Rowan. I sat on the stage. He sat in a velvet booth. When our eyes met, his gaze was utterly deadpan. Only, the gorgeous woman draped over his shoulder wasn’t Serena. Did his dream girl already lose her shine? That was fast, even for him. After two more songs, I stepped off the stage to use the restroom. I found Rowan leaning against the hallway wall, smoking. Two months of dead silence between us. I couldn’t even formulate a casual greeting that didn’t sound terribly awkward. He looked at me through a haze of gray smoke. His voice was a little rough. “How have you been?” “I’ve been good.” He took a drag. “Running out of money?” I knew exactly what he was implying. He was asking why I was hustling at a bar when he had left me a house, a car, and an alimony check thick enough to let a normal person retire in luxury. I didn’t give him a straight answer. “Can you ever really have too much money?” Rowan stubbed out his cigarette. A cold, cynical smirk touched his lips. “Right. I almost forgot. You always did love the cash.” 3 He wasn’t entirely wrong. I married Rowan Astor for the money. A year ago, he had a massive falling out with his family. Desperate to derail an arranged corporate marriage, Rowan walked up to me on the very first night we met and asked me to marry him. It was a night just like this. Same bar. Same stage. He looked at me and said, “You’ve got a decent voice, and you’re easy on the eyes. Want to marry me and get my family off my back?” In exchange, he offered a staggering payout. I was drowning in bills and desperate for cash. Plus, he was painfully gorgeous. I said yes without skipping a beat. I still remember the way he froze, clearly not expecting me to agree. Then, a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. “You’ve got guts.” I smiled back. “I’m not the one losing out.” I only realized later that the money was hard-earned. I never fit into his world. Those trust-fund brats looked at my working-class background like dirt on their shoes. At one of his private parties, Rowan stepped out to take a call. One of his frat brothers, heavily buzzed, leaned over and sneered at me. He told me that if Serena hadn’t moved to Paris, a nobody like me wouldn’t even be allowed to breathe the same air as Rowan, let alone hold the title of Mrs. Astor. Back then, I was reckless and practically fearless. I raised my champagne glass right at him. “A psychic once told me I was destined for filthy wealth. Hearing you say that makes me think the guy was spot on.” The guy choked on his drink. But after that night, I stopped going to Rowan’s parties. His friends hated me, and the Astor family treated me like a ghost. Rumor had it his mother had handpicked a world-class cellist with a sterling pedigree for him, not some trashy, starving artist who sang in dive bars. The night we left the Astor family estate for the first time, Rowan reached out and laced his fingers through mine. He tilted his head, giving me that trademark lazy grin. “Don’t let my mom get to you.” I glanced down at our intertwined hands and teased him. “Did you forget to mention to them that I’m technically a musician, too?” His eyes crinkled with genuine amusement. He nodded solemnly. “My mistake. Next time I introduce my wife, I’ll be sure to include your prestigious titles. Let’s skip telling my mom, though. Her heart is fragile. She might actually pass out.” Looking back, the marriage had its fair share of humiliations, but it was never unbearable. Rowan always made it worth my while. We were just two people using each other to get exactly what we wanted. 4 Over the next few weeks, I spotted Rowan at the lounge a few more times. Always the same routine. Me under the spotlight, him in the shadows. His VIP booth was always packed with loud, obnoxious socialites, but my eyes always found him. He looked so incredibly detached from the noise around him. He didn’t play their drinking games. He’d just sit there, nursing a bourbon, flashing an occasional crooked smile. And every single night, there was a different girl clinging to his arm. None of them held a candle to Serena. None of them had her radiant, commanding presence. What about Serena? Wasn’t he afraid word would get back to her? I was so lost in thought that I messed up a lyric. The guitarist shot me a look. We seamlessly transitioned into the chorus to cover it up. When I glanced back at the VIP booth, I locked onto a pair of pitch-black eyes. Rowan lowered his gaze, downed the rest of his amber liquid, wrapped an arm around the pretty brunette next to him, and walked out. I pulled my eyes away and leaned into the mic, pouring everything into the heartbreak anthem. “We are two dots moving in opposite directions, drawing a straight line with no end. Oh, this love is a deep, dark water, turning my days into endless nights.” 5 Maybe I was just too used to the soft life of a billionaire’s wife. Going from luxury back to the grind took a heavy toll. After a few months, my body started breaking down. I picked up a prescription at the city hospital’s outpatient clinic. The moment I turned around, I bumped right into a familiar face. One of Rowan’s childhood friends. Only now, he was wearing a white lab coat. Cole raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile on his lips. “Don’t tell me you’ve known me this long and never realized I was a doctor?” He spoke to me like we were old pals. In reality, I only remembered his name because he had the kind of face that belonged on a billboard. I gave him a polite nod and tried to walk past him. He stepped into my path. “Sick?” “Just a cold.” Cole glanced at the bold letters of the Gastroenterology Department right behind me. He didn’t say another word, just offered a small, knowing smile. When I got home, there was a familiar pair of men’s loafers by the door. I could hear the clatter of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. My dad pushed the kitchen door open, wearing an apron. His eyes darted to the pharmacy bag in my hand, lingering for a split second before he turned to yank the fridge open. He didn’t miss a beat with his usual sarcastic tone. “Look at that. The wealthy really do keep their fridges looking like a barren wasteland.” I leaned against the hallway wall, playing along. “Rich people only eat fresh produce, Dad. They don’t do leftovers.” “I should thank God you’re even eating scraps.” He had always hated my absurd marriage to Rowan. Since the day I tied the knot, he hadn’t spoken a single sentence to me without a heavy dose of sarcasm. He was a man of strict principles. He taught me to work hard and stay grounded, and it broke his heart to think he had raised a gold digger. He was furious that I treated marriage like a business transaction. He was furious that I sold my soul for a check. And he was furious that I endured the elite’s mockery without an ounce of shame. But ever since the divorce, he would take a grueling hour-long bus ride just to cook for me, packing my freezer full of homemade casseroles and stews. Watching his shoulders, which seemed a little less broad these days, I forced back the sting of tears. “Give it a rest, Dad. I’m already getting my karma, aren’t I?” I saw his finger twitch. He was winding up to lecture me again. Instead, the stubborn old man took a deep breath and barked, “Go wash your hands. Dinner is ready.” “Got it, Dad.” 6 My body couldn’t handle the late nights anymore, so I quit the bar gig. Thankfully, my art was finally gaining traction. The money was rolling in. Peter, an older guy from my art academy who acted as my dealer, called me up. “Your piece, The Reset, just sold.” I stared at the blank canvas sitting on my easel. “Mr. Solstice again?” “Yep. The guy is obsessed with your work.” Lately, an anonymous buyer going by the name Mr. Solstice had been purchasing everything I painted. He didn’t seem to care about the style or the subject. He paid instantly, offered exorbitant amounts, and bought every single piece I produced. “Understood. Thanks for handling it, Peter.” Peter hesitated on the line. “Julianne. Do you know this guy?” I blinked, a soft smile touching my lips. “No. Not a clue.”

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That Midsummer’s Eve, I lost my sister forever. She was savagely stabbed eighteen times by a brutal assailant. When she collapsed in a pool of her own blood, her hand still clutched the emergency call that had never gone through. Meanwhile, her police officer husband, who should have been on duty at the precinct, was instead featured in a social media post by the new female intern. The photo showed him in a ‘manly’ pose, holding the intern with one arm while pinching a cockroach with the other. The caption read, “Mom no longer has to worry about scary little critters at home.” Below, a chorus of colleagues cheered and praised the post. I trembled with fury and immediately sent a screenshot to his captain. Half an hour later, his call came through, his voice thick with anger and accusation. “Just because I didn’t spend Midsummer’s Eve with you, you went running to the captain to complain, saying I was derelict in my duty?” “You jealous shrew! You’re utterly unreasonable! Even with my sister backing you up, this time, I’m divorcing you for good!” He yelled and hung up, not giving me a chance to explain. He would never know that the sister he believed would always have my back had, because of his negligence, already left this world forever. 1 Listening to the dial tone, my knuckles turned white as I clutched my phone. Just then, a doctor approached with some papers. “Ms. Caldwell, this is the deceased’s death certificate. It requires a family member’s signature to be released. Has the deceased’s brother arrived?” My gaze swept past the doctor to the body on the hospital bed, meticulously covered by a white sheet. I shook my head faintly. “Can I sign for it?” The doctor looked a little troubled. “Legally, you have no relation to the deceased. Or, you could provide us with the deceased’s brother’s household register.” No sooner had the doctor left than my phone began buzzing incessantly. This time, it was from Jason’s group chat for his colleagues. Cici Evans had specifically tagged me. [Ma’am, my social media post was just meant to show I’d like a police officer boyfriend too. I’m so sorry if I caused any misunderstanding!] Immediately, Jason’s team members all jumped in to defend her. [Hey there, ma’am, look what you’ve done to the poor girl.] [Seriously, ma’am, we’re all colleagues. Why make such a big deal out of it?] [Captain Thorne is just looking out for his trainee; it’s part of his duty. We know you get jealous, ma’am, but you can’t be so unreasonable!] These were all Jason’s officers, some of whom I had helped out more than once. They used to call me ‘Ms. Caldwell’ with respect. But ever since Cici arrived, they’d slowly become like Jason, blindly adoring her without any principles. Just like now, knowing Jason’s dereliction of duty was a fact, they still tacitly sided with Cici, accusing me of being petty. I was about to reply when the bottom of the chat displayed that I had been removed by the administrator. Undoubtedly, that administrator was Jason. I scoffed, a bitter coldness settling in my heart. Just as I was about to head home to retrieve the household register, my phone rang again. This time, it was Officer Daniels, one of the rookies who had been on duty with Jason and Cici last night. “Ma’am, last night, there was a violent assault in our jurisdiction, and a female victim died. But last night, the person responsible for answering the emergency line was Cici. She… she…” Officer Daniels stammered. I grew a little impatient. “Spit it out, or I’m hanging up.” “Cici left her post for an hour due to personal reasons, which led to her missing the victim’s emergency call. Now, the higher-ups are looking to discipline someone, and Captain Thorne’s idea is for you to take the blame for Cici.” I almost laughed. To openly spend Midsummer’s Eve with Cici, Jason had deliberately arranged for them to be on the night shift together. Now that a life-and-death situation had occurred, he wanted to push me, his wife, out to take the fall. He was willing to abandon his integrity as a police officer. And, he hadn’t even bothered to ask who the victim was last night! Thinking this, I scoffed. “If Jason can’t bear for Cici to be held accountable, then he can take the blame himself!” “Asking his wife to cover for his mistress—what kind of man is that?!” With that, I hung up. Less than ten minutes later, Jason called me himself. The moment I answered, his roar nearly shattered the eardrum. “Karly Caldwell! Cici and I are completely innocent. Stop with your filthy mind and assumptions!” “I’m the backbone of this family; I can’t lose my career. You, a woman, would be perfectly fine as a stay-at-home wife without a job!” I shot back immediately. “Isn’t Cici a woman? Or is she a transgender person! Jason, I never knew you had such unique tastes!” “What nonsense are you talking about! How old is Cici? She has a bright future ahead of her.” “Are you going to ruin Cici’s life because of your jealousy? You’re truly malicious!” 2 Malicious? If I hadn’t given Jason all the credit for dismantling a notorious crime syndicate, how could he have been promoted to squad captain within just two years? I had given him almost everything I could, only to be called ‘malicious’ in the end. Jason, seeing my silence, realized he’d gone too far and softened his tone. “Karly, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, Cici is my first female trainee, so I naturally look out for her more.” “She just graduated from the academy. If she gets a disciplinary mark now, her career will be over.” “Please, just this once, if you agree to help her, I can transfer her to another squad.” No sooner had he finished speaking than Cici’s tearful voice chimed in. “Captain Thorne, but I don’t want to leave you.” I couldn’t help but sneer. “Captain Thorne, did you hear that? Your precious trainee says she doesn’t want to leave you!” “Then you and your officers will turn around and accuse me of being petty, forcing your innocent little trainee away.” “I think it’s best if I make room for you both sooner rather than later.” Catching the sarcasm in my voice, Jason immediately flew into a rage. “You’re utterly unreasonable!” “I’m dedicated to serving the public, yet you falsely accuse me. No wonder my team privately calls you a shrew!” He had barely finished yelling when Cici’s aggrieved voice immediately came through. “Captain Thorne, did I say something wrong again to upset Ms. Caldwell? Maybe I should just resign…” Jason immediately comforted her gently. “Don’t talk nonsense! Don’t worry, as long as I’m here, no one can bully you.” However, when he spoke to me again, all tenderness vanished. “Karly, you tell the captain immediately that you needed Cici’s help with something, which is why Cici had to leave her post.” “If you don’t help with this, I’m divorcing you, plain and simple!” With that, only the monotonous dial tone remained in the receiver. At that moment, my heart completely died. But Jason seemed to have forgotten that we had never officially registered our marriage, so there was no ‘divorce’ to speak of. After handling Sarah’s funeral, Jason and I would have no further connection. After several trips between home and the hospital, I finally managed to obtain Sarah’s death certificate. When I returned to my cold, empty home, I was utterly exhausted. My phone screen kept lighting up. Messages from Jason’s team members flooded in: [Ma’am, Cici worked hard to get into the academy. Please help her out; consider it a good deed.] [Captain Thorne said you were planning to step back anyway. This is a good chance to rest for a while. Why not?] [As husband and wife, a day’s kindness is a hundred days’ worth. Ma’am, by helping Cici this time, you’re also helping Captain Thorne!] I immediately blocked and deleted these ungrateful ingrates. I was done with Jason; their words meant nothing to me now. I numbly packed my belongings. When I saw the photo of Sarah and me on the nightstand, I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer. Like the Thorne siblings, I had lost my parents at a very young age. Sarah was the closest person I had in this world. Every time Jason and I had an argument, Sarah would side with me, criticizing her brother. Knowing I was uneasy about Cici’s presence, she had more than once gone to the precinct to assert my claim. But how could such a wonderful girl end up like this? If I hadn’t been so caught up in my anger with Jason last night, and had gone to pick Sarah up from work, would none of this have happened? I couldn’t help but blame myself, and I couldn’t help but resent Jason. Neither Jason nor I deserved happiness. 3 The next day, as soon as I arrived at the precinct, everyone turned to look at me in unison. Cici walked straight up to me and feigned concern, saying, “Ma’am, the precinct has decided to dismiss you. Don’t be sad. After a while, Captain Thorne will definitely find a way to get you back!” I scoffed. “You’ve got it wrong, haven’t you? I’m not the one who was derelict in duty.” At my words, Cici’s eyes immediately reddened. “Ma’am, you can’t twist the facts just to avoid responsibility!” “The duty roster clearly states in black and white that you were the one responsible for answering the emergency line last night.” I paused, then understood everything. It seemed they were determined to pin the blame on me, even going so far as to secretly alter the duty roster. As I took a step closer to Cici, she suddenly stumbled backward, falling heavily to the ground. “Ma’am, even if you have a problem with me, you shouldn’t intentionally push me!” Jason’s officers immediately swarmed around. They helped Cici up, then shielded her behind them, glaring at me with wary expressions. Jason, who arrived last, didn’t even bother to ask what happened before slapping me across the face. “Karly Caldwell! Take your anger out on me! What kind of person picks on a young woman?!” “Apologize to Cici right now!” Everyone was stunned. I stood there, hand covering my cheek, equally shocked. The stinging pain on my face reminded me of Jason’s ‘domestic violence.’ Yet he seemed completely oblivious to it, his attention solely on Cici. “Karly, when you make a mistake, you should take responsibility. You were on the duty roster; don’t even think about dragging Cici into this.” I looked at the man I had poured my heart and soul into for five years, and felt a bone-chilling coldness. “Captain Thorne, you’re absolutely right. When you make a mistake, you should take responsibility. So, do you dare to swear on the badge above your head that you, Jason Thorne, have spoken not a single lie, or else you meet a terrible end?” “You…” Jason glared at me fiercely, but the oath wouldn’t come out.

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For five years, my husband and I never had any intimate contact, all because he suffered from severe mysophobia. Outsiders mocked me for failing to provide an heir, and my mother constantly forced bitter herbal concoctions down my throat. I always understood his unique condition and silently endured everything. Until that day, I went to his company to deliver soup, only to walk in on him passionately kissing a twenty-year-old intern, even engaging in more explicit acts. In that moment, various past scenes flooded my mind: once, when I fainted from low blood sugar and accidentally touched him, he frantically scrubbed the spot I had touched until his skin turned red. It turned out his mysophobia was only directed at me. … “Sweetheart, you’re so incredibly sweet.” The sounds of fervent kissing intertwined with Patrice Thorne’s sweet nothings, a sickly-sweet combination that made me want to vomit. Katy Wilmore, the intern, cooed coyly. “Am I sweeter, or is your wife sweeter?” “Didn’t she say she was bringing you sweet soup? It’s hard work for an old woman to maintain her marriage.” “What?” Patrice froze. “When did she say that? I’ll make a call.” My phone rang, and I numbly answered. “Baby, I’m going on a business trip to Seahaven today. I forgot to tell you not to bring the soup.” “When I get back, it’ll be your birthday. I’ll definitely give you a big surprise, baby.” Surprise? I gave a bitter laugh. Probably only a shock, no joy. Suppressing the tightness in my chest, I replied. “Okay.” He didn’t notice anything amiss in my voice, let out a long breath, and hung up. The office door opened, and I quickly ducked into a blind spot in the hallway. The girl wore a school uniform, her fair legs rubbing against Patrice’s tailored trousers. “You’re telling your wife you’re on a business trip, so you’d better treat me well.” Patrice’s voice was thick with barely suppressed desire. “I’ll definitely satisfy you, you little minx.” My stomach churned, and I leaned against the wall, dry-heaving, tears streaming down my face. Patrice and I had been in love for ten years, married for five, and it had all been a joke. My phone suddenly displayed a booking confirmation for a boutique hotel. He was so eager he’d forgotten his membership was linked to my card. After a long moment of daze, I opened the app that had been dormant for five years. When we were first married, Patrice had smiled as he installed the app on my phone, saying with it, I’d always know where he was and what he was doing. All these years, I had trusted him completely and never opened it. But today… “Stop it, don’t kiss me there.” “What are you scared of? Is there any part of you I haven’t kissed?” Patrice and Katy’s intimate sounds filled the air, and I couldn’t help but let out a self-deprecating laugh. His severe mysophobia felt like a loud slap across my face. The pain radiated from my face, all the way to my heart. I sat there numbly for half the night until everything settled into a quiet hum. Katy’s voice was seductive. “Darling, didn’t you say you never loved her? Why do we have to hide our relationship?” Patrice’s voice was hoarse. “She owns half the company shares. Dividing things in a divorce would be too complicated.” “But I’ve never even touched her. You’re the only one in my heart, you little minx.” Katy let out a discontented whine. “I don’t care. Figure something out.” Patrice sighed indulgently. “Alright, for you, Katy, I’ll make sure she leaves with nothing as soon as possible.” All the blood in my veins turned to ice. Years ago, when the Thorne family’s finances were in trouble, I invested all the assets my late father left me, bringing Patrice’s company back from the brink. At that time, he not only gave me half the shares but also promised with tear-filled eyes. “Eleanor, I will always be good to you. I will never let you down.” But now, he was not only entangled with a young intern but also wanted to take everything from me. I closed my eyes, trembling as I dialed my lawyer’s number. “Please contact the person who bought the shares last time. I want to sell.” The lawyer sounded a little surprised. “Ms. Caldwell, didn’t you say you were drafting a gift agreement for your husband?” I gave a bitter laugh. “I’ve changed my mind.” “Also, please send me the divorce papers you have on file.” Those were the papers Patrice had signed when we were newly married. He said that if one day he did something I couldn’t forgive, I could leave without hesitation. Neither of us expected that one day, his words would become a bitter prophecy. Stumbling back home, I collapsed onto the bed. Looking at the photos on the wall opposite, I felt only sorrow. The shyness of our student days, the smiles of our passionate romance, the tranquility of our married life, to the recent… blankness. I realized we hadn’t taken a photo together in a long time. Even the herbal pillow he had specially prepared for my insomnia years ago had lost its medicinal scent, leaving only bitterness. Three days later, Patrice returned, bringing a bouquet of lychee roses. “Baby, I’ve missed you so much. Look at the flowers I specially brought back for you. Do you like them?” I glanced at them; they were my least favorite pink. He didn’t care about my response; he hurried into the bathroom. I used to tolerate his mysophobia; now, it just felt like hypocritical disgust. I picked up the flowers. Their petals were a bit dehydrated, and a card tucked among them read, “To my dearest Katy.” I gave a self-deprecating smile. No wonder. Patrice walked out, drying his hair. “What’s so funny, baby? You look so happy.” I crumpled the card into a ball and gently shook my head. “Nothing.” He approached me but still maintained a distance. “By the way, your birthday is in three days. We should celebrate it properly. Let me know if there’s anything you want.” Looking at that distance, I felt only sorrow. All these years, he and I had always maintained this distance. Outsiders said he was promising and doted on me, and I had convinced myself of that too. But now, with Katy, I understood that the distance between us was like a galaxy, impossible to cross. Suppressing the bitterness in my heart, I forced a smile and asked him. “Alright, but what if you can’t afford it?” He smiled gently. “Eleanor, anything I have, I can give to you.” “If it’s still not enough, then next life, the life after that.” His sweet words pierced my heart like a knife, tearing me to shreds. I knew there was no future for us. Tears fell uncontrollably, and he quickly pulled out a tissue to wipe them. His hand happened to bump into mine as I tried to wipe my tears. His face involuntarily twisted, and he muttered, “I’m sorry,” before rushing into the bathroom. The rushing sound of water and the squirt of disinfectant were incredibly grating. The tissue fell to the floor, not having wiped away a single tear. The doorbell suddenly rang. Katy stood at the door, her eyes somewhat hostile. “Ms. Caldwell, I’m here to pick up Captain Thorne for a meeting.” Patrice hurried out, a flicker in his eyes. “Didn’t I tell you to wait downstairs?” Katy pouted. “It’s too cold outside; it’s snowing heavily.” Patrice’s face showed an uncontrollable ache of tenderness, and he quickly grabbed his coat from the hanger, draping it over Katy. Seeing me staring, he let out a feigned sigh. “She’s young, I’m worried she’ll catch a cold and it’ll affect her work.” Listening to his words, I vaguely remembered a similar snowy day when my mother punished me by making me stand outside. Patrice’s nose was bright red from the cold, yet he firmly placed his coat over me. “It’s cold outside. If you get sick, it’ll affect your studies.” Even though my knees still ached in the snow, even though that coat later ended up in the trash. Yet, it was still the only warmth I had known since my father passed away. A last flicker of hope ignited in my heart, and I spoke, trembling. “My leg hurts so much. Can you stay and keep me company?” “Before, on snowy days, you always gave me moxibustion.” Patrice’s body stiffened, and a hint of displeasure flashed in his eyes. “Eleanor, if you don’t feel well, go see a doctor. Don’t be as willful as a child.” I stared blankly as the door slammed shut, my heart slowly sinking. Five minutes later, the doorbell rang again. I thought it was Patrice and rushed to open the door, but it was Katy. She looked at me with triumph. “Eleanor Caldwell, stop with your games. He doesn’t love you at all.” “Want to bet? Even on your birthday, he’ll be with me.” “After all, you’ve been married for five years and you’re still a virgin, while he and I have slept together countless times.” I expected to be hysterical, but I wasn’t. I was surprisingly calm. Returning to my room, I took out the divorce papers and signed my name. In the evening, Patrice finally returned. He wore the coat he had lent Katy, his face still showing a hint of satiation. Seeing me sitting blankly on the sofa, he rubbed his temples apologetically. “Eleanor, this meeting was really important, I…” “I understand, I know.” I calmly interrupted him, not saying another word. He knelt down, his expression helpless. “Don’t be upset. After we land this big project, how about I take you to an auction?” “I told you I’d give you the best birthday gift.” I gave a self-deprecating smile. A gift, or a guilt-ridden compensation? The snowflakes outside pelted my face, cold and painful. Katy, in the passenger seat, blinked. “Ms. Caldwell, hello.” Patrice’s eyes darted away as he opened the back car door for me. “Katy gets carsick, Eleanor, please bear with us.” If it were before, I would have made a scene, but now I merely nodded faintly and calmly got into the car. Patrice seemed momentarily disoriented, then hesitantly closed the car door. Katy laughed and chattered all the way, and Patrice laughed with her again and again, oblivious to the change in me. I closed my eyes to rest, but couldn’t stop the nausea. Yes, I also get carsick, and he had even promised the passenger seat was exclusively mine. But now, he had forgotten all of it. After getting out of the car, I threw up until I was dizzy. Katy pretended to offer me water out of concern, but her tone was light and venomous. “Such an old woman playing frail, it’s truly disgusting.” I lifted my head, my face pale, and indeed saw Patrice’s slightly furrowed brow. Yes, he had severe mysophobia towards me. At the auction. Item after item flashed by, but I didn’t raise my paddle once. Patrice, however, bid on a pink diamond and a ten-thousand-acre lychee rose estate. He even added, in a veiled attempt to explain. “My partner’s young daughter is only nine and loves pink. It’s a gift for her.” I couldn’t help but smile sarcastically. Katy’s face was practically overflowing with joy, yet he was still telling this obviously flawed lie. “The final item, the ‘Eternal Heart’ necklace. Legend has it that giving this to your beloved will bring eternal happiness.” The auctioneer’s words made countless women’s eyes light up. Katy was no exception. Patrice glanced at her and immediately raised his paddle. “All-in.” The scene erupted in a clamor. “True to form, Captain Thorne, loving his wife for over a decade. So enviable.” “This is real love. Mrs. Thorne must have done so many good deeds in her past life.” My eyes held a hint of sorrow. What true love? This necklace wasn’t even for me. Patrice looked at me, his eyes full of tenderness and affection. “Eleanor, happy birthday. Do you like your gift?” Behind him, Katy’s eyes were filled with venom. My expression was calm. “It’s very beautiful.” But it was just a gem. “I also prepared a grand gift for your birthday. I hope you like it too.” The auction house took the necklace, saying they would engrave my name on it. Two hours later, I brought the necklace home. Katy suddenly sent me a photo: the “Eternal Heart” on her neck sparkled brightly. But she quickly retracted it. “Ms. Caldwell, I sent that by mistake. You don’t mind, do you?” I replied faintly. “No, I don’t mind. After all, I don’t like dirty things.” “I have mysophobia too.” Dropping my phone, Patrice walked in. He handed me a gift box. “Your birthday dress, Eleanor. See if you like it?” I calmly opened it. A very beautiful dress, unfortunately pink, and my least favorite mermaid style. I looked up at him. “What does this mean?” He instinctively raised his hand, clearing his throat to cover his discomfort. “I thought you could try a different style.” I glanced at the dress, which was clearly not my size, and gave a sarcastic smile, but didn’t argue further. “Never mind then. I have other dresses.” He quickly put it away. “Hmm… alright. Next time, I’ll definitely get you something you like.” At the birthday banquet. Patrice had specially booked a cruise ship to celebrate my birthday. The guests had all arrived, but Patrice was conspicuously absent. Whispers had already begun to ripple through the crowd. “I heard rumors of a split between the Thornes before, but I didn’t believe it.” “For people of our standing, five years with no children… Captain Thorne has been patient enough.” My mother pinched me hard. “You useless thing, you can’t even hold onto your own husband. What good are you to me?” I shifted, avoiding her, and gave a sarcastic smile. “He’s the one who’s late. What does that have to do with me?” Over the years, she’d gotten a lot of money from Patrice, treating him better than her own son. When my belly remained flat, she’d bring me endless concoctions of tonics. At first, I thought she cared, until she said, “Are you a barren hen? What about your brother’s startup then?” My heart sank completely, and I gave up the last shred of hope for any familial affection. She glared at me. “If you weren’t so useless, unable to bear a child, would your brother still be unemployed?” “I warn you, you better die in the Thorne family, hear me?” Almost an hour later, Patrice finally rushed in, with Katy trailing behind him, wearing that pink mermaid gown, hickeys clearly visible on her neck. My mother greeted him with a smile. “Good son-in-law, too busy with work, I suppose. It’s fine for this little wench, Eleanor, to wait.” “About your brother-in-law’s startup…” Patrice frowned. “Mom, it’s Eleanor’s birthday today. We can discuss business privately.” Patrice walked towards me, his tone slightly subdued. “I’m sorry, Eleanor, something came up.” I smiled faintly, my voice calm and clear. “It’s fine. After all, I really admire you, couldn’t even resist having a quickie with your little intern at your wife’s birthday party.” “Though, you seem a bit late. This might be her second round.” The large screen split into two. One showed Patrice and Katy intertwined, while the other displayed the faces of countless other men. Amid Patrice’s stunned gaze, I slowly walked onto the stage. “Everyone, I have three announcements to make.” “First, Patrice and I are divorced.” “Second, I have sold all 50% of my shares in Thorne Industries. From now on, Thorne Industries has nothing to do with me.” “Third, congratulations to Mr. Patrice Thorne, a man with severe mysophobia, for overcoming his male sexual dysfunction and finding his true love, a woman available to all. I wish them many children!”

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