The day my tycoon father, Richard Sterling, finally acknowledged me, he tossed a black card at my feet. It came with one rule: “Spend whatever you want, but only Lily gets to call me Dad.” I clutched that limitless card, my hand trembling, and cautiously bought myself a simple dollar soft-serve cone. I was savoring the sweet, cold bliss on my tongue when Lily, the girl who had stolen my life, dropped to her knees before me. “Sister,” she wailed, tears streaming down her face, “are you mocking me? Showing me that soon, I won’t even be able to afford something this cheap?” In a flash, my brother, Caleb, slapped me. Twice. The sting was sharp, but his words cut deeper. “You may have his money, Anna, but you’ll never have his love. Lily is my only sister.” Then my father sealed my fate, snatching a cup of tea from a nearby table and splashing the scalding liquid across my face. “Someone so common,” he sneered, “has no place in the Sterling family.” As punishment, they exiled me, shipping me off to a forgotten, war-torn desert outpost to fend for myself. Ten years later… I burst into the grand ballroom, clutching a fresh ice cream cone, and collided with Caleb. He was immaculate in a bespoke suit, the very picture of wealth and power. “Still haven’t learned a shred of class after all these years, have you?” he muttered, his lip curling in disgust. I had no time for his games. “Let go of me. My father’s waiting, and this ice cream is going to melt.” He looked down his nose at me, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “Father? Who gave you permission to use that word? The only Sterling heiress is Lily. No one will ever take her place!” I rolled my eyes. As if I was talking about his father. I was talking about my adoptive father, the Sheikh who had saved me, a man with a legendary sweet tooth. I couldn’t wait for him to try this flavor. I craned my neck, frantically searching the crowd for a familiar face. This was supposed to be my brother’s engagement party. The butler had given me this address. Caleb’s grip on my arm tightened. “This hall is filled with the elite of Ashmore. Someone like you will only bring shame to the Sterling name.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “I’m not a Sterling. How could I possibly embarrass you?” He winced as if I’d struck him, but his pride wouldn’t let him back down. “Spoken like a true country hick. All you have are sharp words and a chip on your shoulder.” I wrenched my arm free and tried to step past him. A security guard blocked my path, his eyes raking over me with undisguised contempt. “This isn’t a soup kitchen for every stray cat and dog.” He turned to his colleague, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Look at this beggar, trying to crash the party for a free meal. Doesn’t she know her place?” I glanced down at myself. In my rush, my custom-made pink dress had become smudged and dirty. Caleb’s voice dripped with disappointment. “So, just because the family won’t accept you, you throw your life away and become a beggar? Have you no shame?” “Get lost!” the guard barked. I frowned, my patience wearing thin. “I’m here for my family’s engagement party.” My brother—my real brother—was expanding his business back in the States and had found a suitable match for a strategic union here. My father and I had flown in directly from our mountain retreat to celebrate with him and my future sister-in-law. A strange, knowing smile touched Caleb’s lips. “Family? You claim you have no designs on the Sterlings, yet you dare call yourself one of us?” A flicker of confusion crossed my mind. Was someone from the Sterling family also getting engaged today? “Ten years abroad and you still haven’t learned your lesson,” he continued, his tone turning righteous. “I was actually going to be merciful, convince Dad to let you back into the family. But now I see you’re completely unrepentant!” I scoffed inwardly. So, he remembered I’d been gone for a decade. When I first arrived in that desolate corner of the Middle East at twelve, I was utterly alone. I cried myself to sleep every night, the sounds of distant gunfire and roaring jets a constant, terrifying lullaby. I lived under the shadow of death. Then, by a stroke of luck, I found a man left for dead after an ambush. I nursed him back to health, fighting for scraps of food in the refugee camp and always giving him half. When he was finally strong enough to stand, he took me “home”—to a gleaming, eighty-story skyscraper that pierced the clouds. I was speechless. I learned then that the “war” was a turf dispute between powerful tycoons. The man I had saved, my adoptive father, had been left for dead by his rivals. My saving him gave him the chance to rise again, to crush his enemies and absorb their empires. After that, the fighting in our region stopped. I was seen as a lucky charm, a bringer of peace. I became known to all as the Sheikh’s daughter, the Oil Princess. If the Sterlings had shown even a flicker of concern for me in those ten years, a single phone call, they would have known. They would have known I’d been adopted by one of the most powerful men in the world. Just as I was about to speak, a bright voice cut through the tension. “Big brother, it’s my special day! No fighting, okay?” A girl in a frilly pink dress emerged from the ballroom, glowing like the morning sun. But when I saw her face, a violent tremor shot through my body. She looked just like Martha, the woman who had kept me captive in a landfill. For eight years, my world was nothing but mountains of refuse. I ate sour, rotting scraps to survive and slept on a pillow of garbage. My eyes opened each day to an endless horizon of trash. I was finally rescued when social workers tracked me down and returned me to the Sterlings. That’s when I learned the truth: I was the real Sterling heiress, swapped at birth by that monstrous woman. The first time I saw Lily, dressed in silks and lace, I had burst into tears, begging Richard not to send her away. I knew the horrors of the life she was meant to have, and I couldn’t bear for anyone else to suffer it. The moment Lily’s eyes met mine now, the hatred and jealousy in them were raw and unfiltered. She deliberately stumbled, crashing into me. My ice cream cone splattered onto the marble floor. “Oh, goodness! I’m so sorry, Anna,” she simpered, her voice sickly sweet. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” I stared down at the milky puddle. In the landfill, you could find almost any kind of trash, but never ice cream. I used to dream about what it tasted like. That’s why, when I got that black card, the very first thing I bought for myself was a cheap, one-dollar cone. And I remembered the hell that followed. Seeing me stare at the mess, Lily’s eyes danced with triumph. “I was just so excited to see you! I was telling Daddy just the other day how we should bring you back for my engagement party.” She flashed her hand, showing off a diamond the size of a pigeon’s egg. My heart stopped. I had personally chosen that ring. It was a gift for my future sister-in-law. Don’t tell me… my brother’s fiancée is Lily? Caleb wrapped a protective arm around her, stroking her hair. “How did this beggar even sneak back into the country? It must be because our Lily is just too kind-hearted!” He shot me a venomous glare. “Aren’t you going to thank her? You have no manners at all!” he spat. I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “Manners? How could I, when I had a father who wouldn’t raise me and a brother who disowned me? All for the sake of a fake.” The guests who had gathered at the entrance began to whisper among themselves. “I heard the Sterlings had a long-lost daughter. Could that be her?” “What a tragedy. Her whole life stolen by an imposter. If not for that, she’d be the one marrying the Oil Prince today.” “You—!” Caleb raised his hand to strike me again. But as his eyes met mine, he hesitated, his hand falling to his side. His voice softened slightly. “Fine. How much can an ice cream cone cost? I’ll pay you back ten times over.” “Don’t bother,” I said, my voice flat. “I don’t need your money.” No amount of money could buy back the love I had lost. He clenched his fists. “If you didn’t have Mom’s eyes, do you think I’d give you a second glance after all your pathetic stunts? You can kneel and beg all you want today, but I will never acknowledge you as my sister!” He angrily pulled out his phone to transfer me the money, then froze. The screen showed an error message: This bank card has been frozen. “How is this possible?” he stammered. “You haven’t been using the money the family sent you?” His gaze shifted, a flicker of something—surprise? Pity?—in his eyes. The card had been useless since the day I arrived in the desert. Did he really think I had been living off the Sterlings’ charity all these years? Seeing his expression, Lily’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “Sister, ten years ago, you were so desperate to get rid of me that you let a vagrant into my room…” I felt the world tilt. That was her lie. Her vicious, unforgivable lie. “I’ve finally managed to forget that trauma and find my happiness,” she sobbed. “Why won’t you let me go? I never meant to steal your life!” A chilling smile spread across my face. “You should thank your lucky stars you did. That house was so small, I could barely breathe.” Ten years ago, I had screamed myself hoarse trying to explain, to make them believe me. All I got for my trouble was a slap from the people I thought were my family. Laughter rippled through the crowd. “Is this girl insane? The Sterling mansion is one of the grandest estates in Ashmore. She could barely breathe?” “No wonder they disowned her. A social climber like that would only tarnish their name.” “I bet she only crawled back because she heard the Sterlings were making an alliance with the Al-Hamad family.” “You can’t blame her. That’s real royalty. Ten Sterling families combined wouldn’t equal a fraction of the Sheikh’s wealth.” Caleb shielded Lily protectively, his eyes filled with disgust for me. “How long are you going to keep up this act? Even if we share the same blood, I won’t let you hurt her!” “Today is Lily’s engagement. Get out!” Her special day? What a joke. My brother chose this date because it was the one day I had off. He never even wanted a big engagement party. “It’s just a business arrangement,” he’d said. “Purely transactional.” I was the one who insisted he make it public, to give my sister-in-law the respect she deserved. I stood my ground. “Are you sure you want me to leave? Because if I go, this engagement party is over.” Lily’s face twisted in fury. “Who the hell do you think you are!” Realizing she’d dropped her mask, she quickly composed herself. “Sister, you must have heard of my fiancé during your time in the desert. After all, he is the famous Oil Prince.” “Of course, I’ve heard of him,” I replied coolly. At my admission, a smug, arrogant look spread across her face. “Heard of him?” I continued, my voice level. “We see each other every day. We grew up together.” A wave of shocked murmurs swept through the room. Lily’s eyes darted to the necklace I was wearing, and her pupils constricted. “Where did you get that necklace?!” she shrieked, lunging forward and ripping it from my neck. The chain scraped my skin, and I cried out in pain. “Give that back!” I shouted, a surge of panic rising in my chest. Lily held the necklace up, comparing it to her diamond ring. It was a perfect match. The necklace and ring were a set, my adoptive mother’s favorite jewelry before she passed away. I remember the day the Sheikh brought me home. I was so timid, hiding behind him, peering out at the vast, opulent villa. His wife had knelt down and gently wiped the grime from my face with a warm towel. It was the first kindness I had known since birth. I had thrown myself into her arms, greedily soaking in a mother’s love. Lily’s eyes were now blazing with fire. “You filthy slut! You dare to seduce my fiancé?” “What are you talking about? Give me back my necklace!” I reached for it, desperate to retrieve the last thing I had of my mother. Her face was a mask of pure malice. “The money he spent on you should have been mine!” Caleb looked from her to the necklace, confused. “Lily, it’s just a piece of plastic, isn’t it?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and pleading. “Caleb, I’ve seen this necklace on Liam before! And now she has it! She’s doing this on purpose, trying to steal him from me!” “So she’s a mistress!” someone sneered from the crowd. “I knew she looked like a cheap tramp.” “And she’s a Sterling? I guess their family isn’t as prestigious as they claim.” Caleb stared at me, his face a storm of disappointment. He slapped me, hard. “I was going to ask Dad to let you work here as a maid!” he raged. “But you’re out here doing this… this filth! Just because Lily took your place, you have to ruin her life’s happiness?” My cheek burned. “Do you have any idea what my eight years in that landfill were like?” I shot back, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. “That was supposed to be her life!” My eyes stung with unshed tears. I pulled out my phone to call my brother and tell him to call this whole sham off. Before I could dial, Lily snatched the phone from my hand. “Look, Caleb! Her phone wallpaper is a photo of her and Liam! And she still denies being his mistress!” she screamed. “No wonder a beggar like her is so arrogant!” I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “So this is the ‘class’ of a Sterling heiress? Spreading rumors and accusing people of sordid affairs?” Caleb’s eyes widened in disbelief. Lily paled. “That’s impossible…” I snatched my phone back and quickly dialed my brother’s number. “Hey, Anna, where are you?” Liam’s warm voice came through the speaker. “Brother, I’m at—” Before I could finish, Lily grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked. I screamed in pain, and the phone clattered to the floor, shattering into pieces. She wrapped her hands around my throat, squeezing. “You slept with him, didn’t you!” she shrieked, her face contorted with hate. “Calling him ‘brother’… how disgustingly intimate.” My vision started to blur. I clawed at her hands, desperate for air, my eyes pleading with the silent onlookers. “I’m not a mistress,” I gasped, my voice a hoarse whisper. “Liam is my brother. I am the Sheikh’s daughter!” The entire room erupted in laughter. “The Sheikh’s daughter? Buying a dollar ice cream cone?” “That’s the best joke I’ve heard all year! Why not just say you’re the President’s daughter while you’re at it?” Lily stomped her foot. “Caleb, look at her! She’s turning our family into a laughingstock!” Caleb’s face flushed with shame at the jeers. He kicked me hard in the stomach. “You shameless piece of trash!” I flew back several feet, landing hard on the marble. I coughed, a spray of blood speckling the white floor. No one would help me. No one here would save me. I clenched my fists, praying, begging for my father and brother to appear. “You’ve disgraced the Sterling name! Today, I’m going to clean house!” Caleb roared. A group of security guards closed in around me. My heart seized in my chest. I squeezed my hands tight, my prayer growing more desperate. Please, please hurry. “Insolence! What do you think you’re doing?” a deep voice boomed. Suddenly, the crowd parted. A fleet of luxury sedans had pulled up silently behind me. The guards scrambled, fawning as they rushed to open the car doors. An old man, radiating an aura of immense power, stepped out of the lead car. I looked up, my heart soaring with a desperate, fragile hope. And in that instant, my hope shattered and plunged into a bottomless abyss. It wasn’t my adoptive father. It was my biological one. Richard Sterling. For a split second, as his eyes met mine, I saw a flicker of paternal love. Then, just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by his usual cold authority. Lily ran to him, clinging to his arm. “Daddy, my sister is bullying me!” Without a word, without a single question, Richard strode forward and struck me across the face. Twice. The slaps were loud and sharp in the stunned silence.

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From the fragmented memoirs of Alistair, Scribe of the Forgotten Histories, circa 872 A.E. (Aethelgard Era): …and among the scrolls recovered from the Sunstone Citadel’s ruin, one codex stands apart. Bound not in leather but in some strange, vellum-like material, it tells a story of cyclical tragedy. It speaks of a knight, a curse, and a world undone. The script is maddening, shifting between high verse and what appear to be cold, analytical notations. I have transcribed what I can decipher, though I fear the full truth of it is lost to the ages. It begins with an execution… 1. The day they bound me to the Divine Execution Array, I was reborn as the fallen paladin of a forgotten age. Behind them, Lian, the Order’s cherished prodigy, watched me with a triumphant smirk. My mentor, High Mentor Lyra, swung her blade, severing the tendons in my wrists and ankles. “Traitor,” she hissed, her voice colder than the steel of her sword. “For your arrogance, for your cruelty to a brother-in-arms, for casting young Lian into the Abyssal Maw—do you confess your sins?” Sins? I, who had shattered my own Spiritual Roots¹ to defend this very Order from a demonic horde—was that a sin? A voice, not my own, screamed in the hollows of my soul. You are the 108th Soul. If you fail, this pact is void, and I shall be unmade! Play the part! Remind them of their love for you, you fool! A slow smile touched my lips. In the next instant, I reversed the flow of my inner light, channeling it all toward my Golden Core. “I confess,” I whispered, my voice carrying across the silent plaza. “Every dark deed was mine. Kill me. Let it be done.” Who says death isn’t its own form of victory? The chains sizzled against my skin, etched with runes meant to purify by fire. A buzzing filled my head, but it wasn’t fear. It was the damned whispering of the Pact I was bound to. 【Trial Integrity Critical. Subject’s Trust Metrics at Nadir. Initiate Protocol Omega. Choose Thy Path:】 【A. Prostrate Thyself. Beg for Absolution. Pity is a Weapon.】 【B. Argue Thy Case. Seek the Truth, Though It May Slay Thee.】 【C. Maintain Thy Silence. Let Their Doubt Be Thy Shield.】 I couldn’t even be bothered to open my eyes. As the 108th soul to walk this path, I had witnessed the echoes of the 107 who came before me. Their failures were my scripture. Beg, and they would call it the confession of a guilty soul. Argue, and they would name it the sophistry of a cornered liar. Silence, and they would see it as the stubborn pride of a fallen man. Every path led to the same abyss. Beyond the shimmering heat of the Array stood the three women who had once defined my world. My mentor, the High Mentor of the Order of the Empyrean Sun, Lyra. Her beauty was legendary, like a sculpture carved from starlight, but now her eyes were filled with disgust, as if gazing upon a masterpiece defiled by filth. “Traitor. Have you any final words to stain the air with?” My sister-in-arms, Seraphina. Once the closest person to me in the world, she now stood with her jaw clenched, her gaze fixed on the ground at my feet. “Silas… just confess. Please. If you show remorse, the High Mentor and I will plead for mercy on your behalf.” And my betrothed, Princess Isolde of the Silver Throne. Draped in the silks and jewels of her station, her voice was a cascade of icy contempt. “Silas Vallen, you are a profound disappointment. To be so consumed by envy… you possess none of the honor required of a future Prince Consort.” Behind them, nestled in the protective embrace of the other knights, was Lian. His shoulders shook with feigned sobs, but when his eyes met mine, they gleamed with undisguised victory. 【WARNING! THE PACT DEMANDS A CHOICE! FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL TERMINATE THE TRIAL!】 Terminate? Finally. The words I’d been waiting for. I slowly lifted my head, my gaze passing over each of them, calm and clear. They were braced for my denials, perhaps even for a final, desperate curse. I was done playing their game. “I have nothing to say.” My voice was raw, my connection to the Light sealed, but the words were sharp. Lyra’s face hardened. “Still you defy us.” I laughed, a dry, rattling sound. I looked at them, and for the first time, I didn’t see people. I saw lines of code. Puppets of Fate. “Mentor, you taught me the art of the blade, how to purge the unholy, but you never taught me that the hearts of men are more treacherous than any demon.” “Seraphina, do you remember? Who pulled you from the jaws of the great wyrm? Who took the blow that would have ended you? Your life is a debt owed to me.” “Your Highness,” I said, my eyes finally settling on Isolde. “Our betrothal was always a contract. You desired my celestial bloodline to secure your throne’s divine right. I sought your kingdom’s blessing to protect this Order. Do not pretend it was ever a matter of the heart.” They stared, stunned into silence. This was not in their script. The Voice in my head shrieked. 【WARNING! SUBJECT DEVIATING FROM FATED PATH! CATASTROPHIC FAILURE IMMINENT!】 Catastrophe? Wonderful. I closed my eyes, shutting out their shocked faces. I began to draw upon the last embers of my power, forcing them inward, backward, toward the nexus of my soul. Better to erase myself from the board than to be their pawn. “Silas! You would not dare!” Lyra was the first to realize. A crushing pressure, the weight of her authority, slammed down on me, trying to pin my spirit in place. But it was too late. The light reversed, converging on the alchemical magnum opus within me. The Golden Core, the culmination of a century of Soul Forging, began to glow like a dying star. To shatter one’s own Core was the most violent and final act a knight could perform. It offered no rebirth, no passage into the Light. Only oblivion. The color drained from Seraphina’s face. “No!” she screamed. For the first time, a flicker of panic crossed Princess Isolde’s regal features. Nothing they had anticipated was happening. I wasn’t begging. I wasn’t bargaining. I was choosing the one path they hadn’t accounted for. I was choosing to prove my innocence with my own annihilation. As a bitter smile stretched my lips, the first crack appeared in my Golden Core. 2. But I did not die. My body felt like it had been ground to dust and hastily glued back together. The forge of my soul, where my Core once burned, was a cold, empty void. I forced my eyes open. Through a halo of hazy light, I saw three familiar faces. Their expressions were a chaotic masterpiece of shock, confusion, and a subtle, rising anger at being deceived. “You’re awake,” Lyra said. Her voice was brittle, stripped of its usual authority. The look in her eyes was one I had never seen before: doubt. “Why would you do such a thing? Attempt to shatter your own soul simply to prove a point?” I looked at her, wanting to laugh, but I lacked the strength to even smile. There she is, I thought. My mentor. Even now, she clings to her judgment, twisting my final act of defiance into a motive she can comprehend: pride. “High Mentor,” Lian sobbed, leaning weakly against Seraphina. “It’s all my fault. If not for me, Brother Silas would never have…” Seraphina’s body went rigid. She started to comfort him, but her hand froze in mid-air. Her gaze snapped to me, her brow furrowed in a tormented knot. “But… Silas, you shattered your own ancestral blade to save me from that archdemon. You told me the bonds of the Order were worth more than life itself. How could that man… how could you possibly try to harm a novice out of simple jealousy?” Before anyone could answer, Princess Isolde stepped forward, her shadow falling over me. She sneered. “Bonds of the Order? Seraphina, your naivete is astounding.” Her eyes, sharp as obsidian shards, bored into me. “You hate me that much, don’t you, Silas? You hated that I showed Lian my favor. You would rather destroy your power, our betrothal, everything—just to spite me with this grand, tragic gesture. To make me regret it for all my days. Is that it?” I listened to their theories, and a sense of profound, weary absurdity washed over me. Proving a point? A crime of passion? Each of them had taken my incomprehensible action and molded it into a story that fit their narrative, a story that preserved their own innocence. The truth was irrelevant. All that mattered was what they chose to believe. My silence became my confession. The three of them fell quiet, the air thick with suffocating tension. Even Lian’s sobs subsided as he sensed the situation spiraling beyond his control. Finally, Lyra broke the silence. She waved a tired hand, her voice heavy with judgment. “Enough. There may be more to this than it seems. But your extremism is a fact.” She turned her back to me, her voice turning to ice. “Take him… to the Glacial Keep. Shatter what remains of his Core and let him contemplate his sins in the cold.” Shatter my Core. The Glacial Keep. I closed my eyes. The tiny spark of life they had forcibly rekindled within me seemed to freeze at those words. Fine. If I couldn’t die, I would simply wait in a different kind of darkness. 3. They threw me onto the floor of the keep. My bones cracked against the Millennial Ice with a dull thud. The pain was immense, but it was nothing compared to the agony of my Core tearing itself apart. My vision blurred. The faces of those who had condemned me swam in my mind: Lyra’s cold mask of righteousness, Seraphina’s disappointed sorrow, Isolde’s venomous accusations. And Lian’s face, a perfect portrait of innocence concealing a rot that ran soul-deep. After an eternity, the great iron door of the keep ground open. It was not just Seraphina this time. High Mentor Lyra, Princess Isolde, and several of the Order’s Elders entered. Lian followed in Lyra’s wake, casting a timid glance at me, a flicker of cruel satisfaction in his eyes. I was leaning against the ice wall, too weak to stand. An Elder stepped forward, holding a crystal vial. His voice was devoid of emotion. “Silas Vallen, to prove Lian’s innocence and to grant you a final chance to prove your own, you will drink this Draught of Truth.” I looked at the vial and let out a low, ragged laugh. Just what I needed. My laughter echoed strangely in the silent dungeon. Isolde frowned. “What is so amusing? Do you feel no remorse, even at death’s door?” I ignored her, raising my gaze to Lyra. “Mentor, if this proves my innocence, what then?” Lyra’s expression was unmoved, as if she were addressing a stubborn rock. “If you are innocent, the Order will grant you justice.” Grant me justice. How generous. Without hesitation, I took the vial and, to their visible surprise, drank it in one motion. As the elixir took hold, my tongue felt like a foreign object in my mouth. Lian stepped forward, his confidence absolute. He asked in his soft, gentle voice, “Brother Silas, why did you push me into the Serpent’s Pit? What did I ever do to offend you?” It was a masterfully crafted question, framing the verdict as a forgone conclusion. All I had to do was explain my motive. Every eye was on me, awaiting the expected answer. I lifted my heavy eyelids and looked at his pitiable face. The magic of the draught worked through me, and I heard my own voice, calm and detached, speak the truth. “I did not push you.” 4. Lian’s expression froze. An Elder immediately interjected, his voice sharp. “Lies! Then why did you repeatedly sabotage him, steal his opportunities, and destroy his alchemical reagents?” My gaze drifted slowly across the room, from Lyra to Seraphina, to Isolde. In my eyes, their faces began to dissolve, resolving into meaningless strings of data. “I never harmed him,” my voice was hollow, honest, and filled with a weariness they could never comprehend. “I was only trying to complete the trial, so I could go home.” “Go home?” Seraphina took a step closer, a tremor in her voice she couldn’t hide. “Silas, you’re speaking nonsense. The Order is your home.” “No.” I shook my head. The elixir made lying impossible. “This is not my home. And you… you are all just puppets of Fate in my trial.” “Puppets?” The word detonated in the silent keep. They stared at each other, their faces blank with confusion. “What is this heresy you speak of?” Isolde demanded. Lian’s triumphant smile was now a rigid mask of shock. He had prepared for denials, for pleas, for anything but this incomprehensible madness. But Lyra’s face turned ashen. Her eyes locked on mine, and a terrifying, murderous intent blazed within them. “The whispers of the Void…” she breathed, each word a shard of ice. “So, you were not merely tempted. Your soul was taken. A soul-snatcher from the Outer Dark wears your face. No wonder you became this… monstrosity.” I looked at her and felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to laugh. Behold their logic. What they cannot understand, they label demonic. She had found her answer. And in doing so, she had sealed my fate. Lyra slowly raised her sword—Whispering Gale—the same blade she had once used to teach me my first stance. Its tip glowed with holy light, aimed directly at my forehead. “Abomination,” her voice echoed through the keep, cold as the abyss. “Today, I shall personally purify your stolen soul and end this corruption!” I closed my eyes and let a faint smile touch my lips. Good. Finally.

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I was the princess of Manhattan’s elite. Less than a year after marrying the city’s brilliant up-and-comer, his empire crumbled. After the divorce, I saw the ending to my story—and went running back to him, begging to remarry. He just frowned, his lips a thin, cold line. “I’m sorry, Ms. Sterling.” “The Penn name is in the gutter. We’re not fit for a Sterling anymore.” Standing beside him was his childhood friend, her smile a blinding glare. I cradled my stomach and forced a weak smile. “Fine. Then I guess I’ll just find a new dad for the baby?” His eyes widened, a storm crashing through their depths. “What. Did. You. Say?” 1. They had me on the operating table. The icy chill of the steel seeped through the thin gown, electrifying every nerve. Suddenly— Flashes of a life I’d never lived seared through my mind. In those visions, I followed my parents’ plan and remarried, taking a husband they’d hand-picked. Less than six months later, my parents died in a freak car accident, and my new husband shipped me off to a foreign country and left me there. Penniless and alone, I wandered the streets, so hungry I was forced to scavenge through trash cans for scraps. The stench of rot and sour decay, the slimy, grimy feel of filth—it was a world of suffocation and absolute despair. In the end, a homeless man snatched the spoiled food from my hands and shoved me to the ground. Snow fell from a grey sky, blanketing my gaunt, motionless body until I was completely buried. The image froze, burned into my memory. Just then, the surgical light above me flared to life. “Hello there. Just relax your legs for me,” a nurse’s voice said, sounding distant and warped. I shot upright with a gasp, a sob caught in my throat. “Wait—I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” When I stumbled out of the room, my mother rushed to my side. “Aurora? Is it over already?” “No…” I shook my head, my body still trembling from the vision. Tears streamed down my face. “Mom, I can’t go through with this.” If I lost this baby, I would die a horrible death. I had to find Jason Penn. I had to get him back. 2. I raced to the rundown walk-up he had moved into. The rust-eaten door of the building reflected my frantic, pale face. For a terrifying moment, it morphed into the same face from my vision—shriveled and purple from the cold. I shuddered, a wave of pure dread washing over me. Just then, I heard the sound of laughter from down the street. I quickly ducked into the shadows beneath the stairwell, peering out just in time to see Jason walking up with another woman. He was carrying a bag of groceries, his attention fixed on her as she spoke. “I’ll keep an eye on the project for you. Don’t think you’re getting away with just buying me dinner.” “How are your parents adjusting to the new place?” “If you need anything, I can always come over. I picked up some serious cooking skills abroad these last few years. You’ll have to let me show them off.” … The woman’s voice was bright and cheerful, her words easy and confident. And Jason—the same Jason who was always so cool and distant—was actually responding to her. I bit my lip, a hot knot of anger tightening in my chest. The ink on our divorce papers was barely dry, and he’d already moved on. But if I didn’t remarry him… I would lose everything. I would die on the streets. The horrific images flashed again, like pop-up ads from hell. A line of rainbow text wiggled across my vision like a caterpillar: ~Ooooh, this is what happens when you get divorced~ My whole body trembled. Fear was a giant black shroud, smothering me, stealing the air from my lungs. Oh God, this is terrifying! The instinct for survival overrode everything else. Gritting my teeth, I lunged out from my hiding place, about to call his name. “Jul—” Click. The door slammed shut. I stared at it, deflated. Then, suddenly, it opened again. A pair of long, powerful legs stepped out. I froze, stunned. 3. Jason stood in the dim hallway, his cool gaze landing on me, tinged with the annoyance of being interrupted. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice ice. He’d always been reserved, keeping a certain distance from the world. But in the year we were married, whenever we were alone, he had been gentle with me. This cutting, cold tone was a first. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. “I… I came to see you,” I stammered. “I want… to get… back…” “What? I can’t hear you.” “I said I want to remarry you! I want us to get back together!” I squeezed my eyes shut and yelled, the words tumbling out in a single, desperate rush. In the faint light of the hallway, a flicker of shock crossed his face, so fast I might have imagined it. He didn’t speak. The air grew thick and heavy, the only sounds the stifling silence of the stairwell and the frantic drumming of my own heart. He glanced at the apartment door, which was still slightly ajar, and reached back to pull it fully closed. Then he started down the stairs, one step at a time. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, yet they carried a crushing weight, like the low pressure before a violent storm. I held my breath, my nails digging into my palms. The horrifying visions of my death still pulsed at the edge of my mind. He stopped an arm’s length away from me. His eyes locked onto mine, their depths as cold and dark as a frozen lake. “I’m sorry, Ms. Sterling,” he said, his tone flat, each word precise. He paused, his voice devoid of all emotion, a simple, brutal statement of fact. “The Penn name is in the gutter. We’re not fit for a Sterling anymore.” 4. Not fit… Those words were like shards of ice, piercing straight through my heart. A wave of shame washed over me, and my face burned with heat. After his company had filed for bankruptcy, right when he needed me the most, I had listened to my parents and asked for a divorce. And now, not even a week after it was finalized, here I was, shamelessly begging him to take me back. It was absurd. It was offensive. It probably looked like I was toying with him. But… “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I’m here because…” I tried to explain, my thoughts a jumbled mess. The words died on my lips. What could I possibly say? That I’d seen the future? That if I left him, I would die a miserable death? If he didn’t already think I was playing games with him, he’d surely think I was insane. Tears welled in my eyes, and with a single blink, they spilled over, tracking hot paths down my cheeks. “Why are you crying?” He frowned, a flicker of impatience in his voice. “Isn’t a divorce exactly what you wanted?” His Adam’s apple bobbed, as if he wanted to say more, but he just pressed his lips into a tight line. “We’re over, Aurora.” “Go home. The great princess of Manhattan doesn’t belong in a place like this.” He gave a slight, dismissive nod, a clear gesture of farewell. The moment he turned to leave, I lunged forward, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Don’t go!” I cried, my voice trembling. “I—I really need you!” “Ever since we signed the papers, I haven’t stopped thinking about you, about us. I… I realized I can’t live without you. Can we please get back together? I can’t do this without you!” Through the thin fabric of his shirt, I felt his muscles tense, coiled with a powerful, restrained energy. He looked down, his gaze falling on my hands clasped around him. His eyes were searching, probing, a dangerous current swirling beneath the icy surface. After a moment, he raised his hands and slowly, deliberately, began to pry my fingers away. My heart leaped into my throat. He turned his head, his dark eyes bottomless. “And why should I?” he asked, his lips barely moving. His voice was like a blade forged in ice, striking the deepest part of my soul. He paused, each word a clear, cold-blooded question. “What is marriage to you, Aurora?” “A tool you can pick up and discard whenever you please?” His words were slow, sharp as daggers. “Or do you think that just because Jason Penn has lost everything, he’s now a pawn for the great Aurora Sterling to play with as she sees fit?” “…” The world went silent. I opened my mouth several times, but no sound came out. He was right… Why should he? Jason watched my speechless form, and the last flicker of emotion in his eyes died out, replaced by a deep, hollow stillness and… weariness. “Can’t answer that?” A mocking smile touched his lips. “In that case, getting back together—” “Is. Not. Happening.” The three words were an execution, leaving no room for appeal. 5. The air was frozen solid. The weariness in his eyes had shattered any words I might have had. Just then, a faint noise came from upstairs. The closed apartment door creaked open a few inches. The voices from inside were muffled by the distance, but they still carried clearly to my ears. “…You’re cooking tonight. What on earth is that boy doing out in the hallway? I’ll go get him.” “It’s okay, Mrs. Penn. I’ll go.” A woman’s clear, warm voice drew nearer. I stiffened. The blood seemed to drain from my body, leaving my fingertips icy cold. For some reason, my heart began to ache with a sharp, insistent rhythm. My eyes were glued to the sliver of light spilling from the doorway. In my peripheral vision, Jason hadn’t moved. He was still turned slightly towards me, his gaze cold and probing, pinning me in place. It felt like he was trying to see through me, to uncover some hidden truth. But what was he looking for? To see how pathetic I was after being rejected? Or… something else? I nervously wet my dry lips, my gaze drifting uncontrollably back to the door upstairs. It opened a little wider. A slender, pale hand rested on the frame. The woman’s voice came again, laced with a familiar intimacy. “Jason? Are you out there?” Jason finally broke his stare. He turned to face the stairs, his jaw tight, his tone final. “Go home, Aurora. And don’t come back.” Without another word, he started up the stairs. He’d just reached the first step when I couldn’t stop a small, pathetic sniffle from escaping. His stride faltered. His tall frame went rigid for a second before he turned back, his expression a mixture of resignation and annoyance. I looked up at him, my eyes wide and pleading. “I… I don’t know how to get home,” I whispered. His brow furrowed. “Where’s your driver?” I shook my head, my voice shrinking. “I took the bus…” Jason turned completely around. He stared at me, his Adam’s apple moving slightly. “…Why?” he asked. His voice was raw, still holding its usual chill, but there seemed to be something else layered beneath it. I looked down, wringing my hands, feeling a strange pang of guilt, as if I’d been caught doing something wrong. “I wanted to try,” I answered meekly. “Try what?” “To see… if I could handle it. A life without drivers and town cars, just buses and subways. After we… get back together.” I confessed, glancing up at him shyly. “You know… to practice!” The air was still for a moment. Jason just stared at me, his eyes as deep and unreadable as a well. Something flickered across their surface, like a stone dropped into dark water, sending out the faintest of ripples before the ice closed over it again. I couldn’t decipher his expression. I only knew that his jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like a drawn bowstring. Tight, but still so handsome. The thought surprised even me. Upstairs, the light from the doorway shifted. The woman’s voice called out again, a note of confusion in it. “Jason? Is everything okay?” Her voice was like a switch. The unreadable emotion in Jason’s eyes froze over, leaving only a chilling coldness. He pulled his lips into a smirk, the curve laced with an indescribable mockery. “You probably can’t even read a bus map, Aurora. What are you talking about, ‘practicing’?” “Stop being naive. You and I don’t walk the same path anymore.” “Go home. Live the life you’re supposed to live.” With that, he refused to look at me again. He turned and strode up the stairs, his back rigid and resolute, never once looking back. 6. I stood frozen in place. The door upstairs was now closed. The walls of the old walk-up were thin. I could faintly hear the murmur of conversation from inside. It was July. The air should have been hot and heavy. So why did I feel so cold? My chest felt tight, my nose stung. He seemed… angrier than before. But I was just telling the truth… As the suffocating feeling closed in, the pop-up visions flashed through my mind again. But this time, things were different. I hadn’t remarried. Instead, I was heavily pregnant, and the man who was supposed to be my second husband shoved me down a flight of stairs. A pool of crimson spread beneath me as my eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. I saw my parents running towards me, their faces contorted in horror… That vision was even more terrifying than freezing to death on the street. I instinctively clutched my stomach. Go back to the life I’m supposed to live? No, no, no! What life was that? Without Jason, there was no life for me, just a variety of gruesome deaths. He wouldn’t remarry me because he didn’t think I was sincere. I had to prove it to him. If he rejected me once, I’d come back twice. If he rejected me twice, I’d come back four times! I would wear him down. 7. And so, I went back. Again and again. Soon, everyone—upstairs, downstairs, and half the neighborhood—knew that Jason Penn’s ex-wife was begging him to take her back. But every time Jason saw me, his face was a cold mask of rejection. Only occasionally, when I was clumsily trying to help, his gaze would linger on me for a moment, his brow deeply furrowed. He looked at me with a complex, searching expression, as if I were the one who had ruined his family, not the business partner who was now on the run. His parents were as kind as ever, but even they tried to dissuade me. “Aurora, you’ve lived in luxury your whole life. Your parents couldn’t bear to see you suffer, and neither can we.” “Look at your hands. Just from peeling garlic, you’ve broken a nail.” “Please, listen to us. Don’t come back tomorrow.” I just smiled, shaking my head. “But I don’t feel like I’m suffering at all! Everyone has to have a first time for things, right?” “I’ll get better, I promise!” I said that, but the truth was, the person who was actually a natural in the kitchen was Molly. All I could do was stand outside and watch. I couldn’t help it; lately, the slightest smell made my stomach churn. Watching Mrs. Penn and Molly interact like mother and daughter filled me with a thick, nameless envy and a sour ache in my heart. When no one was looking, I slipped out of the apartment. As I closed the door behind me, I looked up and saw Jason coming home. His eyes were cold, and his voice was even colder. “What’s wrong?” I shook my head, feeling utterly defeated. I couldn’t possibly tell him I felt like a complete failure, could I? He took the last two steps, stopping just inches from me. “If you can’t handle it, just go home,” he said, his deep voice tinged with what sounded like a sigh. I stared at him, stunned. I lifted my chin, defiant. “I can handle it! This isn’t suffering! I just…” “I just feel… useless. Like I can’t help with anything…” My voice trailed off, laced with a frustration I couldn’t hide. I hated that, compared to Molly, I was so completely incompetent. Molly’s family and the Penns used to be neighbors. She and Jason had known each other since they were kids. Her family moved overseas after high school, so she must have come back as soon as she heard about his company failing. That kind of loyalty, showing up when things were at their worst, made me—the ex-wife who filed for divorce the second he went bankrupt—look so much worse. “Anyway!” I paused, my voice firm. “I’m not leaving! Not until you agree to remarry me!” I quickly turned my head away. Tears pricked my eyes, but I bit my lip, refusing to let them fall. His gaze swept over my face, and he remained silent. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “I know.” Know? What did he know? The reason I couldn’t go into the kitchen had nothing to do with my abilities. It was because I was carrying a tiny life inside me! He didn’t know anything at all! 8. My morning sickness was getting worse. My mother couldn’t stand to watch it anymore and suggested I just use the pregnancy to force Jason into remarrying me. I refused. What if he was cruel enough to reject the baby too? I couldn’t risk it.

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In the third year of our marriage, Scott Crosby still despised me. He made it his mission to oppose me in everything. He snatched a necklace I adored, only to put it on the puppy his little canary was raising. He bulldozed my house to build a private amusement park for her. He set my paintings ablaze, all to coax a smile from her. I endured it all, piece by piece, injustice by injustice. Until the day his canary framed me for pushing her into the water. To avenge her, Scott had his men throw me into the ocean. In the moment I was about to drown, I suddenly realized I didn’t want to love him anymore. 1 Scott had once again taken a piece of jewelry I loved. That same evening, the necklace appeared on the collar of Isla’s little dog. Isla’s social media post was pointed: “Some women would kill for a life this good. Too bad they’re not even on a dog’s level.” It was a clear jab at me. Furious, I commented back: “Who can compete with you? At least I don’t spend my life just clucking for attention.” Less than two minutes later, my phone rang. It was Scott. His voice was like ice. “Maggie, apologize to Isla.” A firestorm of anger brewed inside me. “No,” I refused. On the other end of the line, I heard Isla’s pathetic, whimpering sobs. “I just thought Beans looked so cute with the necklace on, so I posted a picture to remember it. I don’t know how I upset Maggie again… Scott, it’s okay if she doesn’t want to apologize. Please don’t be mad at her. It’s not the first time she’s been mean to me. I’m used to it. I’ll get over it.” His precious darling was in tears, and Scott’s heart was breaking for her. His voice turned sharp, delivering his final ultimatum to me: “If you don’t apologize to Isla today, you’ll face the consequences.” He was always like this. Even when Isla was the one who provoked me, he would side with her without a moment’s hesitation. A bitter taste filled my mouth, but I refused to show any weakness. “I won’t apologize,” I said, my voice stubborn. “She deserved it.” Before Scott could retaliate, I hung up the phone. But the suffocating feeling in my chest wouldn’t go away. 2 The “consequences” Scott threatened came swiftly. The next day, he sent a bulldozer to flatten my 3,000-square-foot cottage in the countryside. Then, he set fire to all the paintings I had stored there. By the time I rushed to the scene, the flames had just been extinguished. Three hundred canvases were reduced to ash. Staring at the wreckage, I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. I turned to Scott, my eyes wide with disbelief. “What gives you the right to do this?” I had been working on those paintings since high school. Eight years of my soul, my passion, gone up in smoke because of him. A cold smirk played on Scott’s lips. His words cut deeper than any knife. “If I’m not mistaken, all of those paintings were of me. It’s sick, Maggie. Not only do you stalk me, you secretly paint me. I didn’t want to see that disgusting trash anymore, so I burned it. Is there a problem?” He hated me so much that he couldn’t even stand the thought of me painting him in secret. A dull ache throbbed in my heart. I fought back tears, clenching my jaw as I demanded, “Fine. Burn the paintings if you want. But on what grounds did you destroy the house my grandmother left me?” This cottage had been my grandmother’s home. My parents were always busy with their business when I was a child, so I grew up with her. After she passed away, whenever I missed her, I would come here to stay for a few days. Scott knew all of this. Yet now, he had so casually destroyed the only tangible memory I had of her, without a shred of remorse. He stood there, one hand in his pocket, a picture of nonchalant cruelty. His tone was breezy. “I’m planning on building a small theme park for Isla to enjoy. This spot, nestled in the hills by the water, is just perfect.” He paused, a derisive laugh in his voice. “You made Isla cry first. I just had to find a way to cheer her up. So, really, you brought this on yourself.” He was even throwing the insult I’d flung at Isla right back in my face. I trembled with rage, grabbing my purse and swinging it at him. “Scott, you bastard!” In a flash, Isla darted out from the side, positioning herself in front of him. “Don’t you dare hit Scott!” The metal charm on my purse scraped against her left cheek. Isla let out a sharp cry, then burst into tears. “Scott, my face hurts so much! Am I going to be scarred forever?” Seeing the blood on her cheek, a flicker of panic went through me. Scott’s face changed instantly. He shoved me aside, his voice laced with worry as he examined Isla’s cut. The push was so forceful that I stumbled and fell, my arm scraping against the sharp gravel, sending a jolt of pain through me. Scott didn’t even notice. He swept Isla into his arms and rushed away. After a few steps, he didn’t forget to turn back and throw a warning over his shoulder: “If anything happens to Isla’s face, you’ll answer to me!” 3 My arm hurt. My heart hurt more. I went to the clinic alone to get my cuts bandaged and pick up some antiseptic. On my way out, I passed a private room and happened to see Isla sitting on the bed, her eyes red-rimmed. Scott was gently wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, his voice soft and comforting. “Don’t cry. The doctor said a scratch like this won’t leave a scar. I promise I’ll teach Maggie a lesson for this. I’ll make it up to you.” I stood frozen outside the door, watching the tenderness he showed her. Suddenly, I remembered being sixteen. A group of thugs had cornered me, and Scott had been there. He had wiped away my tears just like that, whispering gently, “Don’t cry. I’ll take care of them.” Then he beat them until they were on their knees, begging for mercy. Now, all he had for me was contempt. Isla sniffled, then asked tentatively, “But Maggie is your wife, the one you married in front of everyone. Are you really willing to be that harsh with her?” A sardonic laugh escaped Scott’s lips. His tone was dripping with disdain. “That marriage? She schemed her way into it. I never wanted to marry her. I don’t love her. So what is there to lose?” Isla’s tears turned to a triumphant smile. She hugged him, cooing, “I knew you were the best to me.” Her eyes met mine through the crack in the door. She raised an eyebrow in victory and mouthed the words silently: You lose again. Normally, I would have thrown the door open and slapped her. But in that moment, I felt every ounce of fight drain out of me. She was right. Scott didn’t love me. What was the point of fighting with Isla? Even if I won the argument, won the fight, I had still lost the war. I lowered my gaze and dragged my heavy legs away. 4 It wasn’t always like this. Scott and I used to be close. I started following him around in middle school like a lost puppy. When I finally confessed my feelings, he turned me down, but he didn’t push me away. He’d told me, “Maggie, you’ll always be my little sister. I’ll always protect you.” That all changed when I was twenty-one. We were at a bar, we were both drugged, and we ended up in bed together. At the time, Scott had just broken up with his ex-girlfriend three days prior. The tabloids had a field day, spinning a story that I was the other woman, that I had broken them up. I was branded a homewrecker. The scandal was huge. Every time I left the house, people would point and whisper. I ended up hiding at home, burying my head in the sand. I had no idea that my parents had gone behind my back to the Crosby family, accusing Scott of ruining my reputation and demanding he take responsibility. I only found out after our families had already arranged the marriage. I knew Scott didn’t love me, and I didn’t want to force him. I told him, “You don’t have to listen to my parents. What happened that night was an accident. It wasn’t your fault. I know you don’t want to marry me. Once this all blows over, I’ll convince my parents to call it off.” But his response shocked me. “I was with you. Of course, I have to take responsibility. I’m marrying you because I want to. Nobody is forcing me, so you don’t need to feel guilty.” I was so overjoyed I could have jumped for joy. But that happiness was short-lived. On our wedding night, Scott’s demeanor flipped. He looked at me with pure disgust. “Maggie, there is nothing I hate more in this world than being lied to. To marry me, you drugged me, you called the paparazzi, and after the story blew up, you had your parents come and make a scene, forcing my hand. You are truly disgusting. I will never touch you. You can spend the rest of your life as Mrs. Crosby in name only.” I stood there, stunned, completely baffled as to how I had become the villain in this story. I tried to explain, over and over again, that I wasn’t the one who drugged him, but he never believed me. I tried to be good to him, to mend our broken relationship, but he never gave me a chance. The meals I cooked, he threw in the trash. The scarf I knitted, he used as a cleaning rag. The messages I sent, he never answered. And then, Isla appeared. Slowly, I began to accept reality. I stopped dreaming of a future with him. I stopped being a doormat. If Isla came after me, I fought back. If Scott wouldn’t let me be happy, then nobody was going to be happy. And so we fought, day after day, until today. And today, I was suddenly so tired. Too tired to keep fighting with him anymore. 5 About two weeks passed. My mother called me in a panic, telling me my father was in the hospital. The reason? Scott had gone on a rampage, poaching several major contracts from my family’s company. The stress had caused my father to collapse. My mother’s voice was pleading. “Maggie, did you make Scott angry again? How many times have I told you? Don’t antagonize him. You need to be sweeter to him. Why don’t you ever listen? Our family’s business hasn’t been doing well, we rely on the Crosbys. Your father’s blood pressure is dangerously high. If you don’t want to be the death of him, you need to go and apologize to Scott right now and beg him to back off!” I never imagined that Scott would go this far just to appease Isla. He must truly be madly in love with her. A tightness gripped my chest, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to give in, but seeing the image of my father, pale and unconscious in a hospital bed, I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. I had no choice but to compromise. Scott hadn’t been home in weeks, and he wasn’t answering my calls. I found out he was hosting a party for Isla on a yacht and drove down to the marina. The yacht was buzzing with activity, filled mostly with Isla’s friends. I managed to get out an apology, but they weren’t satisfied. “An apology is just words. If you really mean it, you should at least get on your knees and bow to Isla.” Saying “sorry” was already tearing me apart. Kneeling? In their dreams. My patience was wearing thin. I shot them a cold glare. They immediately seized the opportunity. “Mr. Crosby, you see? Her apology isn’t sincere at all! If you don’t put her in her place today, what’s to stop her from bullying Isla again?” A cruel, amused smile played on Scott’s lips. “Kneeling won’t be necessary. Just finish these three bottles of wine, and we’ll call it even.” This punishment was no easier than kneeling. I couldn’t drink. A single glass was enough to make me violently ill. Scott knew this, and he was forcing me anyway. Perhaps seeing me end up in the hospital was the only thing that would satisfy him. I pressed my lips together, forcing back the tears. My voice trembled as I asked, “If I drink this, you’ll stop targeting my family’s company, right?” He raised an eyebrow. “Of course.” “Fine.” With the resolve of a condemned woman, I grabbed a bottle, closed my eyes, and started chugging. One bottle down, and my stomach was already churning violently. I felt so sick I almost threw up on the spot. As I gagged, Isla wrinkled her nose and said with feigned concern, “Scott, maybe we should just let it go. Seeing Maggie like this… it breaks my heart.” Scott stroked her hair dotingly. “You’re just too kind. That’s why people always take advantage of you.” He turned to me, his expression once again glacial. “Since Isla is willing to forgive you, we’ll let it go.” My stomach was in agony. I didn’t have the energy to say another word. I put the bottle down and turned to leave. “Stop,” Scott called out. “You haven’t thanked Isla yet.” I was the one who was hurt, the one whose dignity was trampled, and I was expected to thank her. It was laughable. Forcing down the pain churning in my chest, I said through gritted teeth, “Thank you, Miss Isla, for your generosity.” Isla was beaming. “You’re welcome. As long as you don’t bully me anymore.” 6 In the restroom, I heaved until there was nothing left but bitter bile. I wiped the tears from my cheeks with a paper towel and waited for the world to stop spinning before I stumbled out of the cabin. On the deck, Isla blocked my path again. It seemed she wasn’t done with me yet. But I had no strength left to fight. “What do you want now?” I asked, my voice weary. “I’m already this miserable. Aren’t you satisfied?” Her face was alight with smug victory. “Of course, I want you two to get a divorce. The more you hurt me, the more Scott despises you. I have no intention of being the other woman forever. So, Maggie, why don’t you just do me a favor and set him free?” As she finished speaking, she grabbed my hand, yanking it forward to create the illusion that I was pushing her. At the same time, she threw her entire body backward. “Scott, help me!” With a loud splash, she plunged into the dark water, her screams echoing across the deck. “Help! Help me!” We were in a blind spot. There were no witnesses. Without a doubt, I had been framed again. Moments later, Scott came running from the other end of the yacht, drawn by the commotion. By the time he pulled Isla from the sea, she was unconscious. Or, more likely, pretending to be. But Scott believed her. The look he gave me was murderous, as if he wanted to burn holes through me with his eyes. He lunged at me, his hand closing around my throat. “How could you be so venomous? I could kill you right now!” Of course, in a civilized society, he wouldn’t actually kill me. But when he finally let go, he threw me away with all his strength. I stumbled backward, my ankle twisted, and I crashed to the deck. I knew it was pointless to argue, but I couldn’t let myself be framed for this. I looked up at him, my voice shaking. “I didn’t do it. Isla threw herself into the water to frame me.” Scott loomed over me, his face a mask of fury. “Isla can’t swim! Why would she risk her own life just to play a prank?” he snarled. “Maggie, you do these terrible things and then you don’t even have the guts to admit it. You’re a coward.” See? Nothing I said mattered. A sharp pain lanced through my heart. A broken, bitter laugh escaped my lips as tears streamed down my face. Through my blurred vision, I watched him carry Isla away. I sat there on the deck, a pathetic, helpless mess. After a long while, I pushed myself up and limped toward the gangway. Just as I was about to step off the yacht, a force slammed into my back. The next thing I knew, I was plunging into the cold, dark sea. From the deck above, I could hear Isla’s friends laughing. “Scott told us before he left with Isla! Whatever you did to her, we were to do to you!” Unfortunately, I couldn’t swim either. I didn’t want to die. I thrashed wildly, but my body kept sinking. In the moment before I blacked out from lack of oxygen, a memory flashed through my mind. I was eighteen, and I had accidentally fallen into a swimming pool. Scott had dove in without a second thought, pulling me to safety. He had held me, scolding me between ragged breaths, “If I hadn’t been here, you could have died! Stay away from the water from now on!” The person who had once saved my life now wanted me dead. How ironic life was. Suddenly, I was filled with regret. Regret for ever loving Scott Crosby. I wished I had never met him.

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A secondary explosion tore through the chemical plant. While others fled, I charged back into the inferno for evidence—and never emerged. Afterward, my own captain, Cole Sullivan, claimed I’d abandoned my team to die a coward. My name was stripped from the honor wall; my family shamed. My fiancée Maya called me a coward, then married Cole with my death benefits. They didn’t know Cole had watched me run back—then deliberately misreported my location. I was buried alive under molten wreckage, my body lost. Five years later, excavators found a skeleton in my turnout gear, frozen mid-charge. In its hand: a fireproof evidence box. Cole. Maya. Hell is empty. I have returned. 1 At the ruins of the chemical plant, the iron claw of the excavator slowly lifted, revealing a human skeleton to the assembled crew. Five years. I had been trapped here for five long years. “Look at that posture…” a young firefighter named Leo stared, wide-eyed. “He was still charging forward when he died.” “Charging toward what?” Lieutenant Miller, a grizzled veteran, sneered. “Just some deserter who abandoned his team to save his own skin. If he hadn’t run, our losses wouldn’t have been so devastating that day.” My soul trembled in the air. A deserter? Me? I ran back into the core of that explosion to get the evidence proving the plant was illegally dumping toxic waste. A familiar figure in the crowd caught my eye. Maya. She was the battalion chief now, her posture as proud and straight as ever, but her eyes held a new, chilling coldness. The man standing beside her was Cole Sullivan. My brother-in-arms. Her husband. Cole gently draped his coat over Maya’s shoulders, his eyes soft with affection. “Don’t catch a chill.” Maya nodded, her gaze falling on my skeleton, her expression unreadable. After a moment, her face hardened. “Treat it as an unidentified body. Have it cremated as soon as possible.” “Yes, Chief,” Leo answered, though he couldn’t help but glance at my remains again. “Chief, what’s that thing clutched in its hand?” Maya’s pupils contracted slightly. But it was Cole who spoke first. “Just some junk from the rubble. Get rid of it with the rest.” He walked toward my skeleton, intending to pry my fingers open. But my bones had fused with the box in the intense heat; they wouldn’t budge. “Forget it,” Cole said, stepping back, feigning indifference. “Chief, where should we transport the remains?” Again, Cole answered for her. “Take them to the unmarked cemetery on the outskirts of town. Cremation is tomorrow. And keep this quiet.” “Understood.” Maya gave a slight nod. I watched them turn and walk away, a storm of hatred churning within me. My soul followed them, drawn back to a place that was once supposed to be mine. The moment they walked through the door, my spirit recoiled. On the wall hung a wedding portrait of Maya and Cole, their smiles radiating pure joy. This was the home Maya and I had chosen together. This was where we had planned our future. She’d said she wanted our wedding photo to hang on this very wall. Now, someone else’s picture filled that space. Cole poured two glasses of red wine with practiced ease, handing one to Maya. “Don’t dwell on it. He’s a dead coward, Maya. Not worth another thought.” Coward? I stared at him, wanting to rip the word from his throat. Maya took the glass and walked to the window. “I just never thought… after five years… that he’d be dug up.” Her voice was quiet, devoid of emotion. Cole came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “You know, if it wasn’t for Ethan’s death benefits, we wouldn’t have been able to afford this place so quickly. In a way, we should be thanking him.” My death benefits? The money I had paid for with my life had become the seed money for their new beginning. I saw her body go rigid for a second, but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t even push him off. “Cole, don’t say that.” “What? Still feel sorry for him?” Cole’s voice held a note of annoyance. “Maya, he’s been dead for five years. And besides, after what he did…” Maya turned in his arms and hugged him. “It’s all in the past. I’m so glad I have you, Cole.” 2 As I watched them embrace, the hatred inside me swelled anew. Maya was the one to speak first. “Cole, let’s go to the city records office tomorrow.” “The records office?” he asked, puzzled. “To take Ethan’s name off the deed and add yours. So this can truly be our home.” Cole froze for a moment, then pulled her into a tight hug. “Maya, are you sure?” “I’m sure,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “The dead are gone. We have to look forward. This house belongs to the living. It belongs to our future.” “Then we’ll go first thing tomorrow,” Cole murmured, kissing her forehead. “From now on, this will be our real home.” Hearing those words, my soul shuddered violently. I had bought this house with my life savings and every penny my parents had scraped together over a lifetime. Now, she was going to erase the last trace of my existence from it with her own hands. It was spring, eight years ago. I was on one knee, holding a diamond ring. “Maya Reed, will you marry me?” She nodded through her tears. “Ethan Ryder, yes.” We held each other in this very house, and she told me she wanted our wedding photo to hang on that wall. I told her it would be the most beautiful picture ever taken. My gaze shifted to Cole. My brother-in-arms. There was a high-rise fire. A slab of precast concrete was falling from the sky. Without a second thought, I shoved him out of the way. The concrete shattered across my back, a mess of blood and pulverized flesh. “Ethan!” Cole cradled me, his tears splashing onto my face. “Why did you do that? Why did you take that for me?” “Because you’re my brother,” I had coughed, blood staining my smile. The incident left a hideous, sprawling scar on my back. Every time Maya saw it in the shower, she would trace its edges with a feather-light touch. “Does it hurt?” “Not anymore. It was worth it for my brother.” Back then, Cole had been overwhelmed with gratitude. We drank straight from the bottle. “Ethan, you saved my life. I’m your brother for life!” “Don’t say that. We’d take a bullet for each other.” Drunk and emotional, we’d ended up weeping in each other’s arms. He said he would die for me. I said I would die for him. After that, he started showing up more and more. “Maya, I got you this new skin cream. I heard it’s really good.” “Maya, you work so hard. I made you some soup.” “Maya, I washed your car for you. Don’t wear yourself out.” More than once, Maya had complained to me. “Ethan, do you think Cole has feelings for me?” “He’s always buying me things. It feels inappropriate.” “Can you please talk to him? Ask him to stop?” And every time, I made excuses for him. “Maya, he’s just grateful I saved his life. He’s transferring that gratitude to you.” “He doesn’t mean any harm. He’s just not good at expressing himself.” “We’re brothers. He would never do anything to hurt me.” Maya would frown. “But I just feel…” “Don’t overthink it,” I’d interrupt. “I know Cole. He would never betray me.” Thinking back on it now, I was a goddamn fool. All of his “concern” was just laying the groundwork for this hostile takeover. Every thoughtful word, every gift, every gentle look was a subtle chisel, chipping away at Maya’s defenses. And I, the idiot, was his biggest advocate. The man I trusted most stabbed me in the back. Well played, Cole. Well played. 3 My mind was pulled back to the inferno of five years ago. Three hours before the second explosion, a crowd of anxious family members had gathered outside the plant. “Please, you have to investigate! My husband was injured because of their safety violations!” A middle-aged woman clutched my sleeve, her eyes filled with tears. “The plant knew the equipment was faulty, but they made the workers use it anyway! Now my husband is in the hospital, and they’re blaming it on operator error!” I glanced over at the plant manager, who was in a quiet conversation with several men in suits. Noticing my stare, he sauntered over. “Captain, these people are emotional. Don’t take them too seriously. Our safety measures are all up to code. There are no violations.” His tone was breezy, as if the injured workers were nothing more than a statistic. “Is that so?” I looked at him coldly. “Then why did my team find so many safety hazards during our last inspection?” The manager’s expression faltered for a second before he recovered. “Those were minor issues, nothing that would affect operational safety. Besides, anything that was a problem has been taken care of.” I knew he was lying. Looking at the desperate faces of the families, I made a silent vow. If I got the chance, I would get justice for these innocent people. Three hours later, the alarms shrieked. A secondary explosion was imminent. I gave the order for a full retreat. “All units, evacuate immediately!” My team pulled back, their faces illuminated by the roaring flames. As we fell back, I caught sight of the safe in the plant manager’s office. The evidence of his criminal negligence was likely inside—the only thing that could bring justice for the men who had been sacrificed for profit. I stopped. If that evidence burned, those workers would have died for nothing. Their families would never see a dime of compensation, would never see justice done. I activated the recorder on my helmet, speaking directly to the lens. “Maya, if I don’t make it back, live for me. And please… forget me. I love you.” With that, I turned and ran back into the sea of fire. In my peripheral vision, I saw Cole standing at the edge of the safe zone. He saw me. Our eyes met. He was my brother. I thought he would understand my choice. The flames were devouring everything. I smashed the safe open and pulled out the fireproof evidence box. Just then, Cole’s voice came through my radio, sharp and clear. “Command, I have a visual on Ryder! He’s in the southeast warehouse sector!” I froze. The southeast sector? That was in the opposite direction of my position. It was the area that was about to be completely obliterated by the next blast. Why would he report the wrong location? “Copy that. Rescue teams, proceed to the southeast sector immediately!” Command’s response chilled me to the bone. Cole was lying. He was deliberately sending the rescue team the wrong way. BOOM! The world collapsed around me. Steel and concrete rained down. In the final moment before I was buried, I finally understood. This wasn’t an accident. It was murder. 4 My skeleton was supposed to go straight to the crematorium, to be turned into a pile of anonymous ash. But Leo didn’t follow Maya’s orders. The quiet young firefighter took my remains and filed a report that went above his chief’s head. His reasoning was simple: a firefighter, even a disgraced one, didn’t deserve to be disposed of like trash. I watched Leo write every word of that report, a strange mix of emotions stirring within my soul. After five years, someone was finally speaking up for me. My skeleton was sent to a specialized forensic institute. Technicians in white gloves carefully cleaned my bones. When they got to my hand, they all stopped. My fingers were locked in a death grip around the warped black box. Not even death had made me let go. “What is this thing?” a young examiner asked. Chief Davis, a veteran from the city’s main fire investigation unit, arrived on the scene. When he saw the special insignia on the box, his face changed instantly. It was the mark of a specially-made, fire-rated evidence container. He’d been in the service for over twenty years and had seen them before. They were designed to protect crucial evidence, capable of withstanding thousands of degrees of heat. “Would a deserter die protecting an evidence box?” Davis’s question hung in the silent room. It took the forensic team a great deal of effort to finally free the box from my rigid finger bones. When they opened it, everyone was stunned. The documents inside were perfectly preserved. Proof of the factory’s safety violations, the true records of worker casualties, and audio recordings of the plant manager. The evidence that should have come to light five years ago, I had protected with my life. Chief Davis’s hands were shaking. He finally understood. I wasn’t a deserter. I was a hero. “Keep cleaning!” he ordered. As a technician worked on my crushed helmet, he suddenly shouted, “Chief! The recorder’s memory card is still intact!” Though the helmet camera was smashed to pieces, the military-grade memory card had survived. It was the only hope of uncovering the full truth. Davis immediately ordered a media blackout and classified the memory card as top secret. He personally escorted it to the tech department, demanding a full data recovery. “I don’t care what it costs or how long it takes. I want every frame of data from that card.” I watched as that tiny chip was carried away with the utmost care. For the first time in five years, my silenced soul felt a glimmer of light. The truth was finally coming out.

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1 The year my hatred for Lucian Blackwood was at its purest was the year he destroyed everything I loved. To please his little secretary, he butchered the dog I’d raised for ten years. For my revenge, I put a knife in his little secretary five times, admiring her crazed screams as if they were a work of art. Everyone thought Lucian would kill me for it. Instead, he just threw a set of divorce papers at me, his voice like ice. “You were always just a stray my family took in. If you’re going to be a rabid bitch, then get out.” I vanished that night. Five years passed. Then, I saw her again. I was attending a gala on behalf of my father when I ran into Lucian’s secretary, Evelyn. She deliberately sloshed a glass of red wine down the front of my gown. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. If it isn’t the stray the Blackwoods threw out.” Without a word, I snatched a champagne bottle from a passing tray and brought it down on her head. “Five years, and you still haven’t learned how to act human. I guess it’s up to me to teach you.” 2 Evelyn’s shriek ripped through the air. Her little clique of sycophants immediately swarmed forward, forming a wall in front of her. “Who the hell do you think you are?” “Do you have any idea who you just hit?” “Listen here,” the loudest one snarled, pointing a finger in my face. “She’s the fiancée of Lucian Blackwood, heir to the Blackwood Holdings! You’ve just signed your own death warrant! Mr. Blackwood will destroy you!” Another one stepped forward to block my path, a cruel smirk on his face. “I have to see this. Some nobody with a death wish, daring to touch Mr. Blackwood’s precious darling. Everyone in high society knows how he dotes on her. He’d burn down half the city if she so much as broke a nail, and you just broke her head open!” Evelyn clutched her bleeding forehead, her eyes burning with hatred. “I’m telling you, Scarlett, five years ago I was merciful and let you go. Don’t think for a second I’m still afraid of you! You were nothing but a pet Lucian kept at home! I ruined you once, and now that you’ve dared to show your face again, I’ll ruin you for good!” I took in the new Evelyn. I had to admit, Lucian had polished her well. The woman who once timidly called me “Mrs. Blackwood” was now threatening to have me destroyed in public. Too bad for her, I was never one to back down. Not five years ago. Certainly not now. Surrounded, I glanced at the shattered glass on the floor. I bent down, and under the shocked stares of everyone present, I picked up a jagged shard. A slow smile spread across my face. “Evelyn.” I advanced on her, step by step. “Five years ago,” I said, holding up the blood-stained piece of glass, “I was far too generous with you.” “What.” My eyes dropped to her stomach, and I traced an invisible line from her face downwards with the tip of the shard. “It seems that carving up your insides didn’t teach you a lesson.” “In that case…” My smile turned venomous. Before anyone could react, I raised the shard and lunged, aiming straight for her abdomen. But I never reached her. A hand shot out, clamping around my wrist like a vice. A scream tore through the air, followed by Evelyn’s tearful, trembling voice. “Lucian.” “I’m scared.” It was the same look of terrified fragility she’d worn five years ago as I held her down, plunging the knife in again and again. “Lucian, I’m scared.” The years collapsed. A familiar voice, one I hadn’t heard in half a decade, spoke from right behind me, low and menacing. “Scarlett. It’s been five years.” “And you still,” Lucian’s voice dripped with chilling anger, “haven’t learned your place?” He wrenched my arm back. A sharp pain made me wince, but there was none of the old surrender, none of the defeat I’d felt back then. Instead, it ignited the dormant violence in my blood. I tightened my grip on the shard, feeling its edge bite into my own palm, and just as Lucian was about to rip it from my hand, I whipped my head around and gave him a brilliant smile. “Long time no see.” “Lucian.” I twisted, driving the shard deep into his arm. Blood sprayed, blurring my vision. 3 The scene devolved into chaos. Screams echoed around me, people were yelling for security, and whispers cut through the noise. “Who is that woman? Is she insane? She just stabbed Lucian Blackwood!” “I heard Miss Hale mention five years ago… Wasn’t there some orphan girl the Blackwoods took in? His wife in name only! My God, could that be her?” “It can’t be. They said that girl had no one. Her only friend was a dog, and after she offended Miss Hale, they tortured it to death for a whole night! The video went viral in our circles. They skinned it alive!” “Look! Mr. Blackwood… he’s smiling!” Blood was pouring from Lucian’s arm. “Lucian!” Evelyn screamed. Ignoring her own wound, she threw herself in front of him, shielding him with her body as she shrieked at me. “Scarlett! How dare you hurt him?” “The Blackwood family raised you for twenty years, and this is how you repay them? You ungrateful viper! Apologize to Lucian right now!” The sight of Evelyn playing the part of the grand lady of the Blackwood family was laughable. I met Lucian’s gaze over her shoulder. “You’ve trained her well,” I said coolly. “A loyal little dog to defend you. You must be so proud.” Evelyn’s face went white. Just like he did five years ago, Lucian pushed her behind him. “Scarlett, whatever was between us ended five years ago,” he said, his voice cold and flat. “I’ve told you before, my heart belongs to Evelyn. I will never love you. I could never even like you.” He stared at me with contempt. “I don’t care what you’ve been doing for the last five years, or how you managed to scam an invitation to this gala.” “But I will not allow you to come back to the Blackwood estate. I will not let you harm Evelyn again.” He looked down his nose at me. “Normally, I would have just ignored your presence here tonight. But you hurt Evelyn, and for that, there’s a price,” he said, then clapped his hands. A group of security guards closed in. “You can do this yourself, or I can do it for you.” One of the guards offered him a knife. Lucian took it, waiting for my answer. I just laughed. “Lucian, do you really think the world revolves around you?” I gestured to the knife in his hand. “If you have the guts, you’d better finish me today,” I said, taking a step closer. “Because when it’s my turn to finish you…” I leaned in, my voice a whisper. “Don’t you dare get on your knees and beg.” “Hahaha.” My laughter echoed through the silent ballroom. Lucian’s face was a thundercloud. Seeing him tremble with rage reminded me of that day, five years ago. He had used my dog, Goldie, to force me to my knees. He’d locked Goldie in a steel cage, his muzzle bound shut. For every second I refused to beg, a knife would slice into his body. My pride was shattered. Watching Goldie’s agony, I collapsed, begging. “Lucian!” I had cried, sobbing. “Please, don’t hurt him. I’ll admit I was wrong!” I slammed my forehead against the floor. “I was wrong! I know I was wrong!” Goldie was all I had. My only dream was to take him and leave the Blackwood house forever. “Let him go,” I pleaded, “please, just let him go!” I will never forget the look of pain in Goldie’s eyes. And I will never forget the bone-deep hatred that look carved into my soul. Looking at Lucian now, all that was left was the smoldering embers of that hate. “Lucian, you’re nothing but a puppet on Evelyn’s strings,” I said, enunciating every word. “If the old Patriarch knew you were running his legacy into the ground, he’d claw his way out of his coffin to throttle you himself.” “After all, Blackwood Holdings is finished.” 4 His hand clamped around my throat. My breath was stolen. As the oxygen faded, I met Lucian’s bloodshot eyes and heard his voice, crazed and vicious. “Scarlett, don’t think for a second I won’t kill you!” “You’re just a dog of this family,” he snarled, slamming me to the ground. Shards of champagne glass embedded themselves in my skin, a thousand tiny cuts that made me flinch. He grabbed my hair. “When I tell you to kneel, you kneel!” “When I tell you to die, you die!” A cruel smile twisted his lips. “But today, I don’t think I want you to die.” He patted my cheek. “After all, such an amusing plaything shouldn’t be broken so easily. Don’t you agree?” I stared at his face, inches from mine. I remembered that day, when Evelyn sent me the video, her voice dripping with triumph. “I just told Lucian that your dog scared me. And look! He skinned him alive for me.” “I wonder… if I tell him that you scare me too, do you think he’ll skin you next?” “It’s so funny, isn’t it? You’re Mrs. Blackwood in name, but you’re worth less than the servants.” Now, looking at him, a metallic taste filled my mouth. As his hand came up to pat my cheek again, I spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm right in his face. I watched the shock morph into disgust, and I smiled. “You’re right, Lucian,” I purred, mimicking his tone. “How could you die so quickly? A game this fun has to be played to the very end.” If I was back, I had no intention of letting the Blackwood family off the hook. Every person responsible for Goldie’s death would pay. His end was brutal; their end would be worse. Seeing my defiance, Lucian’s grip on my hair loosened. He wiped the blood from his face. “Yes,” he whispered. “Some things are best savored slowly.” “Since you’re back,” he looked at me, a dangerous glint in his eyes, “let’s play.” He turned away from me and gave an order to the guards. “Watch her. Don’t let her escape.” Then, his entire demeanor shifted. He turned to Evelyn, his voice gentle and concerned. “Does it hurt?” He softly wiped away her tears. “I’ll take you to a private room.” She collapsed into his arms. “With you here, it doesn’t hurt.” “With you here,” she sobbed, “I’m not afraid of anything.” I watched as Lucian swept her into his arms and carried her away. I sat on the floor, the cuts on my body stinging with every small movement. The sycophants who had surrounded me before now found their voices again. “Some piece of trash comes out of nowhere and dares to hurt Mr. Blackwood. The fact that he didn’t kill you on the spot is a blessing. Get lost.” “Exactly! I heard the stories. You’re just an orphan the old Patriarch picked up off the street. He took you in, and you repaid his kindness by attacking Miss Hale. You deserved to be thrown out.” “Speaking of which,” one of them laughed, pulling out his phone. “I still have the video of that dog.” He opened his gallery and found the file. The others crowded around. “Let me see.” “I want to see it too.”

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1 My father is Viktor “The Tsar” Volkov, head of the most powerful syndicate on the continent, and I am his chosen heir. But my nine older brothers? They worship the ground my body double walks on, letting her parade around as if she were me. The day I was to be officially named successor, Angelica snatched the moment, striding onto the dais and shooting me a look of pure provocation. “If my brothers weren’t so worried about my safety, do you really think a worthless stand-in like you would ever be allowed at a meeting this important?” In my previous life, I lived in Angelica’s shadow, bullied into submission by those same nine brothers. I took eighteen bullets meant for her and died for it. But now, I’ve been reborn. Seeing Angelica’s smug, arrogant face, I moved without thinking. The crack of my palm against her cheek echoed through the hall. “A piece of trash not even fit to shine my shoes dares to act high and mighty in front of me? You must have a death wish.” My audacious move sent a collective gasp through the assembled guests. Tears instantly welled in Angelica’s eyes. My eldest brother, Dmitri, rushed to her side, pulling her into a protective embrace. My second brother, Ivan, glared at me with pure hatred. “Scarlett! Have you lost your mind? How dare you lay a hand on my sister!” My eyes swept over the nine men—my own flesh and blood—who now surrounded Angelica, their faces contorted with rage. I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Lost my mind? Am I the one who’s insane, or is it all of you?” I sneered. “I am the sole heir to the Volkov family. She’s just a stand-in. Even if I killed her right here, today, what could any of you possibly do about it?” Before the words had fully left my mouth, my third brother, Mikhail, lunged forward and slapped me. Hard. “Scarlett, have you played the part for so long you’ve forgotten who you are?” he snarled. “If Angelica hadn’t been kind enough to drag you out of the slums, you would have starved to death long ago! You have some nerve!” The heavy blow landed unexpectedly, a searing pain that quickly faded into a dull numbness. My ears rang, a roaring wave of disbelief washing over me. Whispers erupted around me. “All nine sons are on Miss Angelica’s side. It’s obvious she’s their real sister!” “That Scarlett girl is playing with fire, banking on a slight resemblance to cause a scene like this…” I watched Mikhail, his face a mask of self-righteousness, and a bitter, self-mocking smile touched my lips. Even though we didn’t share a mother, I had spent my last life trying desperately to win their affection. And for my efforts, they had used me as a human shield for Angelica, letting me die in a hail of gunfire. At that thought, I shifted my weight, my hand closing around the neck of a whiskey bottle on a nearby table. In one fluid motion, I brought it crashing down on Mikhail’s head. I watched, detached, as crimson blood mixed with the amber liquid, trickling down his face. “Who the hell do you think you are?” I spat, my voice dripping with venom. “A bastard son dares to strike me? Even your mother has to bow her head when she sees me.” That struck a nerve. The color drained from all nine of my brothers’ faces. My fourth brother, Alex, ground his teeth and barked at a nearby bodyguard. “Kane! What are you standing there for? Get her out of my sight!” Angelica, still sobbing, managed to pull herself together. “It’s all my fault,” she whimpered. “I couldn’t control my own staff. I’m so sorry to have made a scene.” My gaze sharpened as Kane approached me. “Kane! You’ve been by my side since we were children. We grew up together. Can you really not tell which one of us is my father’s true daughter?” Kane hesitated, his face a canvas of conflict. “I… I…” Dmitri’s expression darkened. “Kane!” he threatened. “My father is still lying in an ICU bed! If he gets out and finds out Scarlett bullied his precious little girl, he’ll have your head. And I won’t be there to save you!” Kane gritted his teeth, his eyes filled with a pained apology. “Miss Scarlett, I am grateful for everything you’ve done for me over the years. But things are different now. You need to accept the situation.” A chilling cold flooded my veins. I never imagined Kane, who had fought alongside me for years, would turn against me. “Miss Scarlett… my apologies.” With that, he moved like a phantom. But I wasn’t flustered. I stood my ground, closed my eyes, and simply listened. Amidst the chaos of the crowd, I heard it—the distinct, sharp whistle of a whip slicing through the air. My eyes snapped open. In a flash, my hand shot out and caught the leather cord just inches from my face. I smirked at Kane’s shocked expression. “Don’t you forget, Kane,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “I’m the one who taught you how to use that whip.” Taking advantage of his momentary stupor, I yanked hard, using his momentum to sweep his legs out from under him. He crashed to the floor, and I ripped the whip from his grasp. CRACK! The whip’s tail sang through the air, changing direction in a brutal arc. It connected with Angelica’s face, and in an instant, the leather tip split her cheek open in a spray of blood. She stood stunned for a second before a horrific, piercing scream tore from her throat. “Scarlett! You dare to hurt me! Brothers, kill her! Kill her for me!” I held the whip ready, my gaze fixed on my nine brothers. “Not only am I my father’s only legitimate daughter,” I said with a contemptuous laugh, “I am the next head of the Volkov Syndicate. You bastards want to touch me? Go on. Try it.” 2 My declaration was met with a wave of derisive laughter from the crowd. “Is she crazy? First, she impersonates the Tsar’s daughter, and now she’s claiming to be the next head of the Syndicate? Is she dreaming?” “Even if she were his real daughter, she’s just a girl. Besides, Viktor Volkov has nine sons! Even if they’re illegitimate, there’s no way he’d hand power over to her!” Listening to the murmurs, I let a sly smile play on my lips as I looked at my brothers, one by one. “Well, my dear brothers? Why don’t you tell them? Am I fit to lead, or not?” Dmitri avoided my gaze, his expression unreadable. The others just stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. Of course, I knew why they couldn’t answer. They were all bastards, the result of my father’s affairs. My mother was his lawfully wedded wife, and I was his only true child. If it hadn’t been for my mother’s soft heart, her refusal to let Volkov blood be abandoned, they would have all perished in the continent’s brutal, unforgiving streets long ago. Before my father even brought them into the family, he made them sign an agreement: under no circumstances would any of the nine of them ever be eligible to lead the Syndicate. Their silence began to sow seeds of doubt among the guests. Just then, a figure burst into the hall like a storm. It was Damien Thorne, my father’s hand-picked choice for my fiancé, the eldest son of one of the continent’s most reclusive and powerful families. When my father first arranged for us to meet, my brothers had sent me away on a fool’s errand and had Angelica go in my place. With their careful maneuvering, Damien was led to believe that Angelica was the Volkov heiress, his betrothed. The moment Angelica saw him, all her feigned vulnerability returned in a flood. Damien’s eyes landed on me, and he froze for a second before a vein pulsed in his forehead. “Scarlett! You’re just a body double. How dare you act so arrogantly in front of the real thing!” he roared. “Today, I’ll teach you the price for angering your master!” His arrival was the final nail in my coffin, confirming for everyone that I was the impostor. The whispers of doubt died down, replaced by glares of disgust and scorn. Angelica hid in Damien’s arms, her eyes glinting with triumph and malice. Seeing my nine brothers and my own fiancé standing united against me, a sharp, familiar pain lanced through my heart. Thanks to my brothers’ scheming, I’d been kept in the dark. It wasn’t until my wedding day, when Angelica showed up in a gown identical to mine and stepped into my bridal car, that I learned the truth from her own lips. Damien had known all along that she was my double. He chose to swap the brides, marrying Angelica while arranging for his own family’s enemies to ambush my car. He personally sent me to my death, a sacrifice to shield the woman he truly wanted. My gaze turned to ice. “Damien! If you think you have what it takes, then come and get me.” He scoffed. “Pathetic.” He moved in a blur, so fast I barely had time to register it. I tried to sidestep, but I was a fraction of a second too late. His boot connected sharply with the back of my knee. CRACK. I collapsed, both knees slamming into the hard marble floor. The pain was excruciating, shooting straight to the bone. Damien looked down on me with contempt. “You’ve been a stand-in for so long, did you really think Angelica’s skills would magically transfer to you?” Head bowed, I suddenly began to laugh, a wild, unhinged sound. In a single, fluid motion, I drew the pistol concealed at my waist. I looked up, my eyes as red as blood. “Damien, your family has been on this continent for generations,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you know that the Volkovs are famous for one thing above all else? Our aim.” A gunshot ripped through the silence. The bullet struck Damien at an impossible angle, and a flower of blood blossomed on his chest as a strangled scream escaped his lips. He clutched his chest, his face pale with shock. “You… you… The Thornes will never let you get away with this.” I let out a soft, chilling chuckle. “You should be thanking me. If my aim had been off by a single millimeter, you’d be a dead man.” My sheer audacity left everyone speechless. “Could she… could she really be the Tsar’s daughter? That presence, that aura… it’s not something a normal person has…” I loomed over them, casually twirling the pistol in my hand. “Now, tell everyone. Who am I?” My brothers stared at me, their faces ashen. “Scarlett! You’re nothing but a stand-in!” Dmitri yelled, their voices merging into one defiant shout. “Even if you shoot us all, that will always be the answer!” Their unified defiance extinguished the last flicker of pity in my heart. Just as my finger tightened on the trigger, a stooped, elderly figure slowly entered the room. It was the family’s matriarch. My grandmother. “What is all this noise?” she snapped, her voice raspy. “Do you think this is a fish market?” 3 Her eyes immediately found the injured Angelica. She rushed to her side, her tone softening to a gentle coo. “My sweet treasure, who hurt you? Tell Grandma. Grandma will make them pay!” Nine fingers pointed directly at me. “The stand-in Father found for Angelica has gotten completely out of control! Not only is she trying to steal Angelica’s identity, she struck her with a whip!” Grandmother’s face clouded over instantly. She marched towards me, her cane thumping against the floor, completely unafraid of the gun I had pointed at her. She knew I wouldn’t dare shoot. In my moment of hesitation, a searing pain shot up my arm. Her cane came crashing down on my wrist, and the pistol clattered to the floor. She kicked it away and glared down at me, her face a mask of fury. “Scarlett, you wretched girl, how dare you? Get on your knees and apologize to Angelica right now!” Looking at the woman who, in both lifetimes, had always sided with Angelica, my heart ached with a bitter sorrow. In my past life, I never understood her blatant favoritism. It wasn’t until I was dying that I learned the truth: Angelica was her real granddaughter. My father had no blood relation to her. He was the son of her husband’s first wife. When he took over the Syndicate, he had her own son—his rival—eliminated. It was only because of my grandfather’s dying wish that my father spared her life. But she had never forgiven him. His recent illness wasn’t an accident; it was her doing. Tears of bitter laughter streamed from my eyes. “Why should I apologize to her?” “I’ll say it again. I am the sole heir of the Volkov family and the future head of the Syndicate. What gives her the right to demand an apology from me?!” Seeing the color drain from Angelica’s face, Grandmother swung her cane again, this time cracking it against my already injured knee. “Angelica is my granddaughter! She is the rightful head of the Syndicate!” A wave of agony pulsed from my knee, and a cold sweat drenched my clothes, clinging to my skin. A furious inferno blazed in my eyes. “What right do you have to say that?” I screamed. “The Volkov family has nothing to do with an outsider like you!” She shot me a venomous look and ordered my brothers, “What are you waiting for? Cripple her and throw her out!” Staring at the undisguised disgust on her face, a wave of nausea washed over me. Years ago, she had begged my mother to bring these nine brothers home, swearing she would love and protect me for the rest of her life. My mother could never have imagined that her one act of compassion would lead to my brutal death in one life and leave me beaten and cornered in another. The irony was almost too much to bear. My gaze turned cold, as if I were looking at a stranger. “All of you outsiders, get out of my house. My father isn’t here, which means as the sole heir, my word is law!” My words finally pushed them over the edge. My nine brothers swarmed me, their fists and feet raining down blows. “A stand-in has no authority! Say another word and I’ll rip your tongue out!” Grandmother pressed her cane onto the back of my hand, grinding it into the floor. “Authority? Even your father has to listen to me! Who the hell do you think you are?” Tears streamed down my face, hot and furious. “This is my father’s house! I am his daughter, the only heir to the Syndicate! You aren’t even my real grandmother!” My head was slammed against the marble, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. Grandmother banged her cane on the floor for emphasis. “Did you all hear that? Angelica is my true granddaughter! With my son gravely ill, Angelica will be the next head of the Syndicate! As for Scarlett, she’s just some piece of trash we picked up from the slums!” Before her words could fully settle, a voice boomed from the doorway, radiating pure, unadulterated power. “Calling my daughter a piece of trash?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394101”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I recently discovered my computer had been hacked. The intruder’s goal? To read the spicy stories I write in secret. Determined to catch the culprit, I spent four months crash-coursing computer science. Armed with my newfound knowledge, I traced their IP address and hacked into their webcam. Heavy, ragged breaths filled my speakers, sending a shiver down my spine. After a long moment, a face I recognized from the university’s honor roll page appeared on screen. Caught in a… compromising position, he stammered, his face bright red, “You… you found me.” My computer had been hacked. Lately, writing has felt like a paranormal activity. Typos in my latest steamy scene would magically correct themselves. My messy formatting would be neatly reorganized. A document I’d frantically saved to the wrong folder would reappear in the correct one. Just as I was starting to wonder if writing smut had finally driven me insane, my roommate, Kathleen, joked, “Are you sure your computer hasn’t been hacked?” She didn’t mean it, but the words hit me like a lightning bolt. My laptop didn’t hold any state secrets, and my bank account barely scraped four figures, but! It did contain hundreds of chapters of my… creative writing. Several of which starred my campus crush, Liam Jensen. If that got out, I’d have to transfer universities. Immediately. I had to catch this criminal. After consulting a computer science prodigy (Kathleen’s boyfriend), I dove headfirst into the world of coding. Finally, on a dark and stormy night, I managed to hack into the perpetrator’s webcam. The room was dim, but I could still make out the familiar wooden frame of a university dorm bed. A thrill shot through me. Gotcha! As long as they were on campus, they couldn’t hide. I stared intently at the screen, searching for more clues. Suddenly, a low, strained gasp came through the speakers. “Oh, baby… mmm…” I froze. As a connoisseur of literature of all kinds, I knew exactly what was happening. Even with my extensive theoretical knowledge, this was… a lot. What kind of person hacks into someone’s computer just to read their fanfiction and… polish the scepter? So creepy. Okay, yes, I wrote the fanfiction. But that’s not the point! The peeping tom was the one with no honor! Although… He did sound kind of hot. My face flushed, my throat went dry, and the sound of my own heartbeat thundered in my ears. The guy on the other end picked up the pace, his moans growing louder, less restrained. I felt a wave of heat wash over me. Finally, with a long, satisfied sigh, he finished. I heard the sound of tissues being pulled from a box and snapped back to attention. A moment later, a strong arm appeared in the frame, followed by a solid shoulder, a sharp collarbone, and a chest so well-defined it looked sculpted… And finally, a handsome face, still flushed from his activities. I forgot how to breathe. I knew that face all too well. Wait. What? Liam Jensen. The god of the computer science department. My crush. The hero of dozens of my stories. So, he was reading stories that were literally about him, and getting off to them? My brain short-circuited. I had no idea what to do. On the other side of the screen, Liam seemed to notice something was wrong. His eyes widened in panic. With a few frantic keystrokes, he seized control of my computer. And just like that, we were face to face in a bizarre, voyeuristic video call. After four or five seconds of stunned silence, Liam slammed his laptop shut. Just before the screen went black, I heard him curse under his breath, “Fuck…” My desktop wallpaper reappeared, but I was still frozen in shock. After a long while, the panic finally set in. Oh my god. Did he read everything? All of it? The really, really descriptive parts? I buried my burning face in my blankets, wishing I could suffocate myself. It was over. What if he told someone? After half an hour of internal screaming, I collapsed onto my bed in defeat. Whatever. If I was going to die of humiliation, at least my last memory would be of Liam Jensen’s chest. It was a fair trade. After that incident, I didn’t write a single word for two weeks. Instead, I started seeing Liam everywhere. The lecture halls, the cafeteria, the campus store, the athletic fields… I developed a new superpower: a sixth sense for his presence. A sudden chill would run down my spine, and I’d be able to spot him in a crowd instantly. I don’t know if he ever saw me, because the second I saw him, I ran. What if he confronted me? What if he called me a pervert? Even though he was one too… When my roommate, Maya, invited me to go watch the basketball game and “check out the talent,” I made an excuse. “Lily, I heard Liam Jensen is playing today. Are you sure you don’t want to go?” Normally, I’d be there in a heartbeat, armed with a mountain of snacks. But now? The awkwardness would be unbearable. “I can’t. The literary society has a lot going on this week.” Maya knew what I was really “busy” with and pouted. My other roommate, Erin, chimed in, “The Lit Society’s event is in a few days. She’s probably swamped.” Maya sighed dramatically. “Alright, well, we’re going. But I’ll be sure to get some high-def pics for your… private collection.” I turned my back to them, mumbling a noncommittal “Mmmhmm.” Private collection. I didn’t dare look at him now. Every time I thought of his name, I pictured him standing over me, pointing an accusatory finger. “You little freak. You look so innocent, but you have such a dirty mind! And you’ve been lusting after my body!” I rushed to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, trying to snap out of it. To force myself to calm down, I buried myself in work for the literary society. I was still at my desk when my roommates came back. “It’s such a shame. Liam was wearing a new jersey today, but he only played the first half.” “I know! He looked incredible. Did you see those girls from the dorm next door? Their eyes were practically glued to him!” I stopped what I was doing, my ears perked. A new jersey? What color? He has pale skin, blue would look amazing on him… As I was lost in thought, Maya and the others crowded around my desk. “Lily, you have to see this. He looked so good in his new jersey!” Maya shoved her phone in my face. Holy shit. It was blue. Liam looked as handsome as ever. His fair skin seemed to glow under the stadium lights. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, perfectly defined arms… The blue jersey clung to his chest, outlining every muscle. He had the perfect build—athletic and healthy, without being over-the-top. It was why he’d become my ultimate crush the first time I saw him. As I stared at the photo, the image from that night—Liam, shirtless and flushed—flashed in my mind. My face went red again. My reaction did not go unnoticed. “Ooh, look at Lily blushing!” “You’re definitely going to be dreaming about him tonight!” They started teasing me mercilessly. The reason Erin mentioned my dreams was because, even though I’d never told anyone, my crush on Liam wasn’t a complete secret. One night, Erin had gotten up to use the bathroom and heard me sleep-talking. I’d said his name. They’d all been good about it, never spreading it around, just giving me little nudges whenever he was nearby. I grabbed my laptop, covered my face, and scrambled into my bed. Their teasing only got louder. I felt like my life was a cringe compilation. Ding. A message from Sam, the president of the literary society. Sam: Lily, the freshmen sent over their event proposals. Can you take a look? Me: Sure. Work. Only work could distract me from the all-consuming thought of Liam. I downloaded the file and opened my laptop. Just as I was about to log in to my messaging app, the screen flickered. A new window popped up. The familiar wooden bed, the deep blue sheets… It was Liam’s dorm room. How did his webcam just turn on? I didn’t do anything. Before I could react, Liam walked into the frame. He looked like he’d just gotten out of the shower. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just a pair of light blue—and very form-fitting—basketball shorts. A towel was slung over his shoulders, and his short hair was still damp, dripping water droplets that traced paths down his toned chest before disappearing into the dark blue fabric. It was like a scene from a romance novel. My brain instantly overheated. Who could possibly handle this? Liam looked at his screen and our eyes met. I was gaping at him in shock. His expression shifted from surprise to a nervous purse of his lips. A faint blush crept up his cheeks. He clutched the towel to his chest, looking at me shyly. “You… why are you… spying on me again?” Me: ? What did he just say? Spying? Again? You’ve got to be kidding me. I was just sitting here, minding my own business, and now I’m being framed? I glanced at my bed curtain. My roommates were still chatting, completely oblivious. “What do you mean, spying on you? I just opened my laptop! You’re the one who hacked me in the first place!” Liam clutched the towel even tighter, his voice a bashful mumble. “I don’t know about that. A nice girl like you shouldn’t be doing things like this.” Excuse me?! This was unbelievable. Before I could respond, he crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture that only made his pecs look even more defined. “It’s a good thing I was wearing pants. You might have seen everything.” I almost leaped out of my bed, pointing at the screen, ready to unleash a torrent of rage. Snap! The screen went black. A second later, it was back to my fluffy sheep wallpaper. He just hung up? He didn’t even give me a chance to defend myself! Now I was officially a pervert. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced he did it on purpose. There was no way I was letting this go. What if he told someone about my stories? I had to talk to him. Fueled by indignation, I grabbed my phone and activated my campus network, getting a copy of Liam’s class schedule. The next morning, I was waiting outside his classroom. I’d done a few recon laps while the class was in session and had pinpointed his seat. Liam saw me. He kept glancing over, his cheeks tinted pink. Hmph. Still pretending. The bell rang, and students flooded out of the classroom like a zombie horde. I pressed myself against the wall to avoid being trampled. Liam was still inside, slowly packing his bag. Good. He knows what’s coming. Once the hallway was clear, I marched into the room and stood in front of him. He clutched his laptop to his chest, his face red, and spoke before I could. “You… you followed me here. You know, you can’t force love. I’ll never give in to you.” He looked like a helpless damsel in a cheesy historical drama. I was so angry I snatched the laptop out of his hands. “Stop acting! You were the one who hacked me, and now you’re making me out to be the creep!” Liam’s damsel-in-distress act vanished. He pushed his glasses up his nose and smirked. “Am I wrong? Who writes… stories about other people? And so… detailed, too.” I slapped a hand over his mouth. “Shut up!” “Lots of people write them! It’s not just me! Besides, I never showed them to anyone.” It’s not like my life is a constant thrill ride. A girl needs an outlet… Liam’s smirk turned into a full-blown grin. “Oh? So you like me. You think about me every day. 187 chapters. And you write every week. Do your friends in the literary society know their sweet, innocent vice president has a secret life?” “I…” Before I could argue, other students started trickling back into the classroom. They saw Liam and started whispering. Liam was a campus celebrity. Any girl who got too close to him was immediately put under a microscope. I’d been so angry I hadn’t thought this through. I started to panic. I didn’t want to become the subject of campus gossip. Suddenly, a baseball cap was placed on my head, shielding my face. Liam leaned in close, his voice a low whisper in my ear. “Come have lunch with me. You wouldn’t want people finding out about your… hobby, would you, Lily?” It clicked. This bastard had planned this. He was trying to provoke me into coming to him. I shot him a death glare and stormed out of the room. Liam was such an ass. I stomped ahead, and he followed two steps behind me, humming happily. I stopped abruptly. His solid chest collided with the back of my head, sending me stumbling forward. If he hadn’t caught my shoulders, I would have face-planted. Once I was steady, I spun around and punched him in the chest. “What’s the point of having those things if you’re just going to run into people with them!” He clutched his chest dramatically. “Hey, it’s not my fault my pecs are well-developed! Besides, you seem to like them. Chapter one, wasn’t it?” He had the most infuriatingly smug grin on his face. I couldn’t believe this guy. Back in the dorm, everyone was always talking about how Liam was so aloof, a true ice prince. I was the one who argued, “Guys like that are always secretly the freakiest.” Turns out, I was right. Liam wasn’t just a freak. He was a smug, calculating ass. Once we were off campus, Liam gently guided me into a small restaurant. He’d read my mind. This was exactly where I wanted to go. They had private booths. If I decided to kill him, there wouldn’t be any witnesses. I walked into our usual booth, satisfied. Liam followed me in and immediately started… taking off his jacket. “What are you doing?!” “It’s hot. Aren’t you hot?” He tossed his jacket onto the sofa and sat across from me. I now saw that he was wearing a gray t-shirt. Gray really… emphasized things. It made the lines of his chest even more perfect. It was hard not to stare. Liam scanned the QR code with his phone, tapped a few times, and then handed it to me. He’d already ordered all my favorite dishes. I gave him a look. Okay, you have good taste. I’ll give you that. My anger subsided a little. I got straight to the point. “So, why did you hack my computer?” He shrugged, looking at me over the rim of his glass. “Why did you write smut about me? Because you like me?” So blunt. He had a death wish. Of course, I wasn’t going to admit it. “It’s because you’re popular. I was writing for your fans.” He just said, “Oh,” and took a sip of his juice, clearly not believing a word. “It’s true! It’s not like I’m the only one…” Liam’s face broke into a radiant smile, his eyes crinkling into little crescent moons. He looked even more handsome. I was mesmerized. Did he have any idea how devastating that smile was? He nodded. “Okay, I believe you. But I haven’t seen anyone else’s work yet.” The word “seen” triggered a memory. The first time I saw him. What he was doing… I took a tiny sip of my juice, trying to hide my embarrassment. Liam noticed my discomfort, and his own face turned a deep shade of red. So when the waiter came in, he found two people, red as tomatoes, staring at their juice glasses and refusing to look at each other. The waiter’s presence broke the tension. We both busied ourselves with arranging the dishes on the table. The flush in my cheeks started to fade. But as the waiter was leaving, he looked back at us and said, with the gravity of a wise old sage, “Kids, I know you’re all adults now, but you can’t be doing… strange things in the restaurant booths.” Liam and I instinctively looked at each other, then immediately looked away, our faces burning again. When you’re embarrassed, you do stupid things. I started rearranging the plates again, even though they were perfectly fine. The spicy chicken in front of me smelled incredible. I decided to focus on that. Liam thoughtfully served me rice, wiped my chopsticks, and poured me a glass of water. He might be an ass, but he was a gentleman. I started to enjoy my meal, and my opinion of Liam softened. The atmosphere in the booth became more relaxed. “You’re not allowed to spy on my computer anymore.” He stopped eating, his eyebrows drooping like a sad puppy who’d been told he couldn’t play. “But I’m the main character. Why can’t I read it?” “Besides, I was your editor. I fixed your typos. Where else are you going to find a reader that dedicated?” “And how do I know you’re not slandering me in there? I have an image to maintain—top student, morally upstanding, physically fit…” I rolled my eyes. He had a point, but still. “No. It’s distracting. It’s hard to… drive the bus when I know you’re watching.” “Drive the bus? Honey, you’re flying a rocket ship.” Me: … He started to whine. “I want to read it! I’ll pay for a subscription. Three hundred a month.” Me: ? “How much?” “Five hundred?” Me: ?? “How much?!” “Eight hundred?” What did he take me for? Did he think I was that cheap? “Deal!” I said. “A thou—” we both said at the same time. I realized what he’d been about to say and instantly regretted it. He smiled and put a piece of chicken in my bowl. “You’re so good at saving me money.” And so, Liam became my sugar daddy. I was to provide three chapters a week. After I finished, I would send them to him for review. I’d started writing to relieve stress. I never thought it would become a source of income. But Liam refused to let me send the files over the internet, claiming it was “not secure.” So we had to meet in person. We started having frequent “business lunches.” My roommates were convinced I was secretly dating someone. Dating? Please. I was making bank. I had to admit, Liam had impeccable taste. Every restaurant he chose was perfect. He was always attentive, pouring my water, passing me napkins, catering to my every need. I was starting to like him a lot. So much so that in my recent chapters, the main characters’ relationship had taken a turn for the tender. They were making love now, not just… you know. That night, I received a “bonus” from my patron. Liam: [Good work deserves a reward.] Liam: [–Transfer $66.66–] Me: [Your humble servant thanks you for your generosity, Your Majesty.] Me: [heart.jpg] I was about to put my phone down and get back to writing when another message came through. Ding. Liam: [kittysass.gif] My nose almost started bleeding. Who taught him how to make GIFs? It was a custom one. Liam, shirtless, with a cute cat filter. He lifted a paw and wiggled it, the little cat ears on his head twitching. The filter made his already fair skin look almost pink. Oh my god. Who showed him how to do this? My brain: [screaming.gif] I was clutching my head, silently shrieking, when I accidentally hit the screen and sent a sticker. Me: [excellent, preparing to lick.jpg] Before I could unsend it, he replied instantly. Liam: … Liam: [kittyblush.gif] Another custom Liam GIF. This one had the blushing cat filter, and the shy expression on his face was surprisingly convincing. Me: … I swear, that’s not what I meant. Me: [Good work deserves a reward.] Me: [–Transfer $99.99–] Me: [you’re the GOAT] The next time we met, I couldn’t even look at him without blushing. He, on the other hand, was acting like nothing happened. He just seemed unusually cheerful and talkative. “Let’s have fish today. There’s a new place that’s really popular. My roommates went and said it was great.” He took my laptop bag from me without asking. The small, light blue backpack looked almost comical on his broad back. I loved fish, so I agreed. And with him carrying my bag, I was happy to let him. The subway was packed. It was Friday, and everyone was heading off campus for the weekend. We were the center of attention the moment we stepped onto the platform. When I saw people taking pictures, I tried to put some distance between us. I shot him a glare. Why do you have to be so handsome? You look like a damn celebrity. He caught my look and shrugged helplessly, then… proceeded to stick to me like a golden retriever. “Why are you so far away? Aren’t we best friends?” I punched him in the chest. “Who’s your best friend? Stop being so conceited!” The train stopped, and even more people pushed their way in. Liam wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into the space in front of him. He took my hand and placed it on his bicep. “The train is crowded. Please hold on tight, little one.” His solid chest was right in front of my face. I kind of… wanted to… A soft chuckle came from above me. The faint scent of gardenias washed over me. “It’s crowded. No licking.” “…” Who said I was going to lick him?! The restaurant was nice. Liam had chosen a table by the window, which I loved. My good mood improved my appetite. He kept serving me food, picking out the fish bones, pouring my water, passing me napkins… The only thing he didn’t do was wipe my mouth for me. I felt like his child. His service was impeccable. As evening fell, we finished our meal and prepared to head back to campus. Liam went to pay the bill. Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice behind me. “Lily?” It was my fellow literary society VP, a girl named Zoey. Behind her was our president, Sam, and a few of the younger members. I was already in a good mood from the delicious meal, and seeing my friends made me even happier. I waved enthusiastically. “Sam! Zoey!” “Lily, you’re eating here too?” A few of the freshman girls were with them. They were all sweet, and I enjoyed reading their submissions. I knew they were setting up for the Lit Society’s event tonight. Sam smiled, adjusting his glasses. “You look happy. The fish here must be good.” I nodded enthusiastically. The freshmen girls started giggling. “Ooh, Sam, you know her so well!” “Yeah, you even know her favorite food!” “Are you two… a thing?” They were all talking at once, not giving us a chance to explain. Zoey stepped in. “You guys have been reading too many romance novels. I know what Lily likes to eat, too.” I knew Zoey had a crush on Sam, so it made sense that she’d say that. I quickly added, “Don’t be ridiculous. Sam has a crush on someone else. I’ve seen him looking at her picture.” I really had seen him looking at a girl’s photo once, but he’d hidden it so fast I didn’t get a good look. It was very suspicious. Sam’s cheeks turned pink. It was the first time in the three years I’d known him that I’d ever seen him blush. My gossip-loving heart was thrilled. We were all laughing and chatting when Liam returned. “Lily, are these your friends?” He stood beside me, a little closer than necessary. Sam looked surprised. “You two… came together?” The freshmen girls looked like they were about to scream. “Liam! Lily, are you guys on a date?!” “Are you together?” “You two look so good together!” They were all buzzing with excitement again. Even Zoey, who was usually so calm, looked thrilled. “So this is why you couldn’t come to the setup. You had a date!” “No, no, it’s not like that! We’re just friends!” I protested. The freshmen looked disappointed. Sam, on the other hand, seemed… relieved? It was probably just my imagination. “Well, since we’re all heading back to campus, we should go together…” Sam started to say. “No need,” Liam cut him off. “We’re going somewhere else.” And with that, he took my hand in front of everyone and pulled me away. Even as we walked away, I could hear the freshmen girls squealing behind us. I glanced at Liam. His face was a thundercloud. Yeah… best not to say anything. We walked for a while before he finally let go of my hand. His mood seemed to have improved. Well, improved enough for him to start mocking me in a sing-song voice. “Ooh, Sam, you know her so well…” “He even knows her favorite food…” “And here I thought we were best friends.” “You were practically beaming at that guy. I’ve never seen you smile at me like that.” He looked so pouty, like a big dog who’d just smelled another dog on its owner. I rolled my eyes. “Let’s go, you big baby.” That only made him grumpier. He kept lagging behind, then tripping me and catching me, all while muttering about how Sam was probably a secret villain. Me: … I had no idea Liam was like this. It was another Friday. I had to be at the literary society event, so I sent Liam the latest chapters.

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After quitting my girl group, I was forced into an arranged marriage with a man I’d never even met. The groom didn’t even show up for the wedding. He just called me. “This marriage was my family’s idea,” he said, his voice cold as ice. “As long as you don’t cause trouble, I won’t interfere with your life in any way.” “I’m already in love with someone. In two years, we’ll get a divorce, and I’ll compensate you handsomely.” So what was with the diary in his room, the one filled with page after page about how much he loved me…? 1 While I was still in school, I secretly became a trainee for a girl group, using a stage name to hide my identity. I’d like to think I worked hard. I practiced until midnight every day, sometimes even sleeping in a split. But in the end, I just wasn’t popular enough. I missed the final debut spot. My parents, on the other hand, were ecstatic. You’d think they would have set off fireworks to celebrate. The moment I graduated, they dragged me back home to marry Tag Vance, the heir to the Vance Corporation. I’d never seen the man in my life. All I’d heard were rumors—that he was aloof, ruthless, and cold-hearted. My friends all said he had the face of a saint—refined, elegant, with an almost ascetic appeal that drew people in. But in reality, he was a shark, a tyrant known for his brutal business tactics. They called him the Ice King. As my friends chatted, their tone slowly shifted from gossip to pity for me. “I’m so worried for Anna. How is she going to deal with a man that cold?” “Her life is going to be so hard from now on.” I turned off my phone, my gaze lost in the distance. All I could manage was a pair of bleak, hollow laughs. I closed the chat and logged into my fan platform account, the one with only a handful of followers. With a heavy heart, I posted the farewell message I had been preparing for weeks. 2 I might not have been a fan favorite among the trainees, but I had a few die-hard supporters. The second my farewell post went up, the familiar usernames flooded my DMs. Among the endless stream of messages, one fan stood out: ‘JV’. Throughout my four years as a trainee, he was a constant presence. Any post that mentioned me, he was there, cheering me on. He never missed a single one of my updates. If I attended an event, he would somehow post the most stunning, high-definition photos of me. He poured money and energy into promoting me, organizing fan support, and boosting my online presence. He was the ultimate stan. Other fans even called him our one-man PR team. His entire social media presence was a shrine to my best practice moments, all compiled and pinned to the top of his profile. Whenever I posted a new dance video, he would try to learn the choreography himself. He always hid his face and his movements were clumsy, but his sincerity shone through every awkward step. But it wasn’t just that. What truly made me remember him were his simple, earnest blessings, sent again and again. “Wishing you happiness and success.” No over-the-top praise, no gushing confessions of love. Just those five simple words. But today, he was different. He sent message after message, each one a mini-essay. He described the exact moment he first noticed me at a fan event, how thinking of me got him through his darkest days, how the highlight of his day was seeing a new post from me. His last message felt like the final thread of sanity he was clinging to after an emotional collapse. “I’m sorry. I know this might be overwhelming.” “But I can’t stop myself from telling you. Shani, you were a light that broke through the darkness of my life. The only color in my bleak world.” “For four years, from the moment I first saw you, you filled every day with hope.” “You’ve become an inseparable part of my life.” I read through his walls of text. Some words were misspelled, the sentences jumbled. He must have been so upset, his fingers trembling as he typed, his hands shaking so much he could barely hold his phone. Tears welled in my eyes. After I calmed down, I sent him a genuine reply. “Thank you so much for your love and support over these past four years. Wishing you happiness and success. Perhaps our paths will cross again.” 3 After replying to the last of the messages, I let out a long sigh and closed my eyes, preparing to delete the account for good. Suddenly, a notification exploded onto my screen, a breaking news alert featuring the name of my Ice King fiancé. #TagVanceBreaksDown Curiosity got the better of me. I tapped it, and a video immediately started playing. In the dim light of a car’s interior, Tag Vance’s handsome face was clearly visible. He was leaning back against the headrest, his eyes, streaked with tears, staring blankly at the ceiling. His expression slowly crumpled from sorrow into pure agony until he finally covered his face and sobbed, his whole body radiating a sense of shattered hope. The comment section was on fire. “OMG. The Ice King is crying. Did I miss the memo about the world ending today?” “Did he get possessed or something??” “This is terrifying. Demons, be gone! Leave Mr. Vance’s body at once!” “But for real, what could possibly make the great Tag Vance break down like this?” That question opened the floodgates. Some guessed he’d lost a major deal to a rival. Others speculated he was having a meltdown about being used as a pawn in an arranged marriage. Whatever the reason, I didn’t have the energy to care. I scrolled a few more times and then went to deal with the contract termination from my garbage agency. 4 That night, I collapsed onto my bed, utterly exhausted. Just as I caught my breath, my phone buzzed. It was a friend request. From the broken man in the viral video. The name was simple. “Tag Vance.” I hesitated for a moment, then decided to check his profile. His profile picture and background were solid black. He had no bio, and his username was just a period: ‘.’. He radiated a “stay away, mortals” vibe. I swept my hair from my face and, like a soldier marching to their doom, I tapped ‘accept’. Less than a second later, a voice message appeared. I pressed play, and a chill went down my spine. His tone was cold and impersonal, like he was dealing with an unpleasant task he was forced to complete, his politeness a thin veneer of civility. “Miss Anna Young, my name is Tag Vance. Your fiancé.” I was more of a texter. “Hello,” I typed back. He clearly had no interest in small talk. “Miss Young, I am already in love with someone. She is the only one for me, so I’d advise you not to waste any of your efforts on me.” “This marriage is a business transaction. I have no issue with you pursuing your own happiness; I will not stand in your way. Likewise, you will not interfere with my life.” “Furthermore, your family mentioned you have a crush on someone who’s about to return to the country. I don’t mind if you go to him. I can even provide you with a cover story.” I was so stunned the question slipped out before I could stop it. “Are you offering to help me get with my crush?” “Precisely.” “Frankly, I have no desire for any entanglements with you. The fact that you have someone else in mind is a relief.” … This was so unbelievably bizarre I didn’t know what to say. “Do you have anything else to add?” he asked after a moment of silence. “Our marriage will only last for two years,” he typed. “After two years, we will divorce. You will not try to prevent this. I have no desire for our families to be embarrassed.” “Fine by me,” I replied instantly. He seemed to relax. “In that case, there’s no need for a wedding ceremony. And we will not be expected to fulfill… marital duties.” “We also don’t need to announce our marriage publicly. I don’t want this getting out. It will be better for both of us in the long run.” I had zero objections. I agreed immediately. After laying down all his rules, Tag went silent for a long time, as if making sure he hadn’t missed anything. Twenty minutes later, a final message came through. “That should be everything for now.” “My apologies, Miss Young, but in a transaction of this nature, tangible agreements are paramount.” “To prevent any future misunderstandings, I would like to draw up a written contract for us both to sign.” “The agreement will detail everything we’ve just discussed, in addition to the division of assets post-divorce.” “How does that sound to you, Miss Young?” It sounded absolutely perfect. “Of course, Mr. Vance. Send it over when it’s ready.” “I can have it for you by tomorrow,” he replied, his tone audibly brighter. A thought occurred to me. “By the way, Mr. Vance, should we meet before we register the marriage?” His response was swift and decisive. “There’s no need to waste time. There’s nothing to see. We’ll just go directly to City Hall the day after tomorrow and sign the papers.” This was better than I could have imagined. “Perfect. No problem.” 5 At three in the morning, while I was dead asleep, Tag finalized the contract and sent it to me in three different file formats, as if he was terrified I’d back out. Even more ridiculously, at six a.m. sharp, he showed up at my door with the printed copies. My mom practically dragged me out of bed before my eyes were even open and shoved me into the bathroom. “Hurry up! Your father is downstairs trying to buy you some time!” Once she left, I crept to the top of the stairs and peeked down. Tag Vance was exactly as my friends had described. He was seated on the main sofa, his posture as perfect as a sculpture. The severe black suit was a stunning contrast to his refined, handsome face. It was a look that made you want to sin. Even sitting perfectly still, he radiated an aura of celibate allure. No wonder my dad was so proud of this match, insisting that Tag was the perfect man for me. Then, a flash of fluorescent blue caught my eye. It was the exact shade I had chosen with my fans as my official support color if I debuted. Who knew that behind that powerful, intimidating facade, Tag Vance had such a cute side, wearing a brightly colored little leather wristband. Interesting. 6 As my dad chatted with him in the living room, he kept shooting glances up the stairs, trying to signal me. Tag, however, sat like a Zen master, not even twitching an eyebrow, completely ignoring my father’s unsubtle hints. He was making it crystal clear: he had absolutely zero interest in his bride-to-be. My dad finally gave up on subtlety. “Tag, my boy, why don’t you stay for breakfast? Anna’s home, you two could finally meet.” “No, thank you.” Tag’s voice was low and final, leaving no room for argument. “We’ll have plenty of time to be tied together in the future. Missing one meeting now hardly matters. Don’t you agree, Mr. Young?” My dad opened his mouth to protest, but Tag cut him off coldly. “Well, that’s settled then. Goodbye, sir.” Before the words had even fully left his mouth, he was already striding towards the door. I happened to reach the living room just as he was leaving. He was close enough to hold the door, but he didn’t even bother to glance back. He might as well have had “NOT INTERESTED” tattooed on his back. 7 The moment he was out the door, a message popped up on my phone. “Miss Young, I’ve given the contract to your father. You can sign it after you’ve reviewed it. I’ll have my assistant pick it up.” I read the agreement from top to bottom. In addition to everything we’d discussed last night, there was a new clause at the end—any profits generated from our two-year marital alliance would be split between us. Seventy percent for me, thirty for him. This wasn’t just a number; it was set-for-life money. I read the entire contract again, counting the zeroes to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. My initial reluctance was rapidly being replaced by a giddy anxiety over this unexpected windfall. I typed back cautiously, “Mr. Vance, I noticed there aren’t any clauses in the contract regarding you and the person you’re in love with. Was that an oversight?” I had to ask. This was a lot of money. My question seemed to annoy him. “Miss Young, there’s no need to beat around the bush.” “In our society, women are often at a disadvantage in a marriage. I assure you, during our time together, you will not be made a laughingstock.” I was speechless. Even through the phone, I could picture his face—eyebrows furrowed in irritation, probably muttering under his breath, “Who does this woman think she is, meddling in my affairs?” But his typed response was carefully controlled. “I refuse to let her be seen as the other woman. Not in any capacity.” He paused. When he continued, his cold tone had softened, warmed by the thought of his beloved. “I will wait until my marriage to you is completely and cleanly dissolved. Only then will I pursue her with my whole heart, confess my feelings, and ask her to marry me.” “Of course, that’s all contingent on her not being in love with someone else, and on her consent.” Well, well. The Ice King was quite the romantic. After his sentimental outburst, he went quiet again, as if savoring the thought. Then, suddenly: “Also, send me your passport number.” “What for?” I asked, immediately on guard. “I have a business trip the day we register the marriage. I’ll be flying to the country where your crush lives.” “I might as well book you a ticket. We can say it’s our honeymoon. It fulfills my promise to provide you with a cover story and help you pursue your love. Or are you not interested?” Tag explained. I hesitated, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. He waited, and when I didn’t reply, he began to patiently persuade me. “This is a golden opportunity, Miss Young.” “A coincidence like this might not happen again.” “You should think it over carefully. An opportunity like this won’t knock twice.” I still didn’t answer. After that childhood crush ended in disaster, I had cut off all contact with that jerk. Tag persisted. “I heard from your father that you were heartbroken when he left the country.” “I have a friend who’s a relationship counselor, an expert in these sorts of situations.” “I could bring him along. Who knows, maybe you two will finally break the ice and your dream will come true.” He was starting to win me over. What the hell. I could treat it as a vacation. I sent him my passport number. “Well, thank you then, Mr. Vance.” “Don’t mention it.” His tone immediately brightened, and his attitude towards me warmed considerably. It was clear he was terrified I would actually become attached to him. 8 With the contract signed, I waited for Tag’s assistant to arrive. Just before the scheduled time, he sent me a last-minute message. “Apologies, Miss Young. I’ve been pulled into an emergency meeting, and my assistant is tied up. I’m afraid I’ll have to trouble you to bring the contract to my home.” “I’d feel more secure if you delivered it personally. It’s best we finalize this today, so we both have peace of mind.” He had a point. He was afraid I’d go back on my word. And I was afraid he’d find out I’d added a few extra zeroes to my share. I looked outside. The sky was dark, lightning splitting the clouds. A storm was brewing. Screw it. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the contract and headed to Tag’s house. Thankfully, he lived just down the road, less than a five-minute drive. I peered through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Why did his furniture look so familiar? Where had I seen it before? I entered the code he’d given me. The layout was open and intuitive, and I quickly found his study. But… what was with the fluorescent blue door? I froze. The entire house was a symphony of black, white, and gray—minimalist, precise, and impeccably tasteful. But this one door was a jarring, brilliant slash of fluorescent blue, completely at odds with the cold, sterile aesthetic of the rest of the house. After a moment’s hesitation, I slowly pushed it open. And was immediately stunned into silence by a life-sized cardboard cutout. Good lord. It was me.

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The raid was meant to be simple: destroy the nest, extract the team. Mission accomplished. Until I found the ledger in the ruins—names that could burn the entire syndicate and its protectors to ashes. But when I stumbled back, evidence in hand, I wasn’t met with backup. Just my captain’s gun. Lucas Thorne. The bullet tore through my chest as he shouted into his radio: “Ethan’s turned! Hostile!” Executed by my own team. Body burned. Name branded a traitor. Vandals smashed my mother’s windows. My father collapsed from shock, left paralyzed. Claire, my wife, took my death benefits and married Lucas. Even let my daughter call him Dad. Three years later, construction crews dug up a charred skeleton from the frozen earth. And inside it—a bullet hole stuffed with a fireproof memory card. Lucas. Claire. Hell is cold. And I’m not going alone. … At the border monument construction site, the roar of the excavator died abruptly. Cradled in the steel bucket was a blackened skeleton, curled into itself, horrifying wisps of tissue still clinging to the bone. I’d been trapped here for three long years. “What the hell… is that a person?” a young officer, Ben Carter, stammered, shrinking back. The veteran detective, Miller, spat his cigarette onto the ground, his eyes as cold as the wind. “Who else could it be? The traitor, Ethan Hayes.” He sneered. “Tried to kill his own guys to protect a shipment of scum. Dying on the border was too good for him.” My soul hovered in the frigid air, my spectral nails digging into palms that were no longer there. A traitor? Me? Ethan Hayes, who had bled for this department, for this country? How did I become a traitor? My gaze drifted through the small crowd and landed on two familiar figures. Claire wore a tailored uniform, her expression severe and professional. At her side was Lucas, now the Captain of the Narcotics Division. He was gently straightening the collar of her coat. The captain I trusted with my life, the man I respected above all others, was now my wife’s new husband. And he was the one who had pulled the trigger three years ago. “Captain Thorne, Head Supervisor,” Ben asked hesitantly, “what should we do with… the remains?” Claire’s eyes swept over me. Her fingers tightened for a fraction of a second, but her composure returned just as quickly. “Treat it as a John Doe. Call the morgue, have it cremated tomorrow.” “Wait.” Lucas stepped forward, his eyes locked on my chest cavity. “What’s that in there?” He reached out, trying to pry at the object, but my charred hand bones were fused over my chest, shielding it. He couldn’t break them apart. “Forget it,” Lucas said, pulling his hand back. His face was a shade paler than before. “It’s nothing. Just a piece of rotten cloth. Get rid of it, quickly. We can’t let this delay the monument’s construction.” Claire said nothing, only casting one last, lingering glance at the skeleton before turning to leave with Lucas. My spirit followed them, drifting through the walls of the house that was once my home. A wedding photo of Lucas and Claire hung on the wall of what used to be my living room. In the picture, Claire was holding a little girl, her smile radiant. The girl… she had my eyes. “Daddy, where do people go when they die?” my daughter, Lily, asked, tugging on Lucas’s sleeve. Lucas knelt, stroking her hair. “Good people who do good things all their lives go to Heaven, with the angels.” “What about the bad people?” “The bad people, of course, they go…” Lucas trailed off, his expression souring as if a dark memory had surfaced. Claire walked over with a bowl of fruit, her gaze flickering. “Don’t talk to her about things like that. Lily, honey, go do your homework.” Once Lily was gone, Lucas wrapped an arm around Claire’s waist, his voice low and soothing. “Stop thinking about it. He was a traitor. Are you still not over him after all these years?” He tightened his grip. “If you hadn’t stood up back then and testified that Ethan was colluding with the traffickers, I’d never have made Captain. And that death benefit of his? It was just enough for the down payment on this house.” He let out a low chuckle. “In a way, I should really be thanking him.” I stared at him, my spectral form trembling with a rage that had no outlet. I wanted to rip the words from his throat. My death benefit? The money I had earned with my life was now paying for their happy home? I looked at Claire. The smile was gone from her face, but she didn’t argue. She didn’t even flinch. She simply leaned into Lucas’s embrace. “Don’t talk about it. It’s all in the past. Let’s just focus on our life together.” “What? You still can’t let him go?” Lucas’s voice was laced with irritation. Claire gently placed a hand over his mouth and hugged him closer. “I’m so happy now. I’m so lucky to have you.” I floated in place, watching them hold each other, the hatred in my chest a churning magma that threatened to incinerate my very soul. Suddenly, Claire looked up. “Lucas, let’s go to the courthouse tomorrow.” Lucas paused. “Let’s have Ethan’s name removed from the records. Add yours.” “From now on, it’ll be you, me, and Lily. A real family.” Her voice was soft, but each word was a dagger twisting in my heart. A flash of surprise, then triumph, lit up Lucas’s eyes. He pulled her into a tight embrace. “Claire, are you sure?” Claire rested her head on his shoulder, her tone serene. “I’m sure.” “The dead are dead. We have to look forward. Happiness belongs to the living. To our future.” “And Lily needs a good father. I want her to grow up healthy and happy.” Lucas bent his head and kissed the top of her hair. “Then we’ll do it first thing in the morning.” “From tomorrow on, there will be no Ethan Hayes. Just us and Lily.” My soul shuddered violently, nearly tearing free from its ethereal bonds. Eight years ago, on a sweltering summer day, I held the deed to this house and knelt on one knee in this very living room, holding a ring up to Claire. “Claire, marry me. This will be our home. I’ll protect you with my life.” Later, when our daughter Lily was born, the list of people I would die for grew by one. Claire used to say, “Ethan, I don’t want anything, except for you to come home safe.” But now, she was the one erasing every last trace of my existence from this home. My gaze fell on Lucas’s face, and a sick feeling churned in my gut. He was the captain I trusted, the brother I confided in. During a raid three years ago, a trafficker tossed a grenade at our feet. Without a second thought, I tackled Lucas to the ground, shielding him with my body. Shrapnel tore through my arm, leaving a scar that went down to the bone. “Ethan! Are you insane?” Lucas had shouted, holding me, his voice trembling. “Aren’t you afraid of dying!?” “Of course I am,” I’d grinned through the pain. “But you’re my captain. I couldn’t let you die.” After that, every time I showered, Claire would see the scar and gently blow on it. “Don’t be so reckless next time. You make me worry.” “It’s fine. It was for the Captain. It’s just a scratch.” Back then, at every department cookout, Lucas would clap me on the shoulder and declare, “Ethan, you saved my life. From now on, your problems are my problems!” And I believed him. I treated him like a brother, sharing everything with him. I even told him I was going to propose to Claire before I told anyone else. But what did he do? He started showing up at my house more and more often. Bringing Claire her favorite pastries, giving her expensive makeup, fixing broken furniture. He even offered to “look after” Claire for me when I was on assignment. Claire mentioned it more than once. “Ethan, Lucas is being… a little too attentive. It makes me uncomfortable.” But I always defended him. “He’s just grateful. He’s treating you like a sister-in-law, that’s all. Don’t overthink it.” “We’re brothers. He would never do anything to betray me.” Claire would frown. “But…” Eventually, she stopped voicing her doubts. It wasn’t until Claire became pregnant with Lily that Lucas finally started keeping his distance. At the time, I was naively grateful. I never imagined he was playing the long game. All that so-called “concern,” every word, every gesture—it was all designed to drive a wedge between me and Claire, to pave the way for him to steal my life. The cuckoo in my nest. And I, the damn fool, had mistaken a wolf for a brother and nearly pushed my own wife into his arms. You played your part perfectly, Lucas. The person I trusted most fired the bullet that killed me. My memory snapped back to that border raid three years ago. Three hours before the operation, a few silent villagers had gathered at the edge of our temporary command post. “Officer, please, you have to investigate!” an old woman pleaded, clutching my sleeve with a trembling, withered hand. “My son… the traffickers forced him to run one shipment for them, and then they killed him to silence him!” “They told everyone he did it willingly, but they dragged him from our house at gunpoint!” “Those men have protection,” a middle-aged man whispered, his eyes wide with terror. “The last person who reported them was accused of slander, and the police beat him for it!” I looked over at the village chief, who was in a hushed conversation with a few men in sharp suits. One of them wore a gold watch that was worth more than my car. He looked important. Noticing my stare, the chief hurried over. “Oh, Officer, please don’t listen to their nonsense,” he said with a sycophantic grin. “That woman’s boy was never right in the head. They’re just spinning wild tales. Protection? Here? Ridiculous.” “Is that so?” I watched him coolly. “Then how is it that reports of trafficking in your village never reached our department? Who buried them?” The chief’s face paled. Just then, Lucas walked over, cutting me off. “Ethan, don’t get bogged down in this. The villagers’ information is all over the place, none of it admissible.” “But the details they’re describing match the intel we have,” I countered, frowning. I turned back to the chief. “Who was that man you were just talking to?” Lucas’s expression flickered. He quickly changed the subject. “Just a local informant. Don’t worry about it. The mission is the priority. Let’s not get sidetracked.” I stared into his eyes, and for the first time, I felt like there was something hidden behind the gaze of my trusted brother, something I couldn’t understand. Looking at the villagers’ desperate faces, I made a silent vow: If I get the chance, I will find the proof. I will get justice for these people. Three hours later, the signal was given. The drug den was destroyed in a fiery explosion. The team began a systematic withdrawal. I was at the rear of the formation when a flash of white in the smoldering debris caught my eye. A blood-stained file folder, half-buried under the rubble. A quick glance confirmed it. It was the list. The ledger of protectors. “Captain, I’ve got critical evidence!” I yelled into the radio. But the moment I burst from the ruins, clutching the file, I was met by the cold, black muzzle of a gun. It was Lucas.

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