1 I was being followed on my way home. And then, I saw the pop-up comments. [OMG! The villain’s first love is about to be dragged into an alley and tortured by a psycho! And the villain is still stuck working his convenience store shift!] [When the villain found out the crime scene was just a street away, he was consumed by regret! He lost thirty pounds from the grief!] [But the attacker is the female lead’s DAD! After the villain kills her dad, the female lead hates him forever and teams up with the male lead to get him executed.] [Run, first love, run! The female lead’s dad has a history of mental illness! He barely suffers any consequences after this!] [Why should she run? If the first love doesn’t die, how will the male lead and female lead even meet?] Tortured? First love? My hand tightened on my purse strap. I quickly ducked into the convenience store the comments had mentioned and tugged on the sleeve of the boy behind the counter. “Excuse me, do you need a job?” I blurted out. “I have an opening. Twenty-four-hour personal bodyguard. Five thousand a month, room and board included. Interested?” 2 The convenience store fell silent. When our eyes met, the boy turned his head away, but not before I saw the sullen shadows in his eyes ignite into twin sparks of fire. I recognized him then, and my mind went blank. Caleb Moss. He was in my class. I’d heard all about his “glorious achievements” from my childhood friend, Troy Turner. Group brawls, beating up classmates… he’d even put his own father in the hospital. “Stay away from him,” Troy’s warning echoed in my ears. But I didn’t have time to think. The comments were describing, in grotesque detail, the vile things that were about to happen to me. I instinctively moved closer to Caleb, my eyes darting nervously towards the glass door. I scanned the dark street for the hulking figure I knew was out there, my voice trembling as I spoke. “Are… are you interested?” [Interested? Honey, if you just batted your eyelashes a little, he’d go out there and beat the guy to a pulp for you right now!] [?? Why did she go to the villain? Did she realize she was being followed?] [Personal bodyguard… how personal are we talking? The kind I’m thinking of?] The comments flooded my vision, a suffocating net closing in around us. My proximity had made Caleb stiffen. A dark blush crept up from his neck to the tips of his ears. Then, his sharp gaze fell on my trembling hand. “Who’s bothering you?” he asked, his voice so soft it was almost a sigh. [Is this the same cold, ruthless villain from the future? This doesn’t seem right.] [Love is the hand that reaches out but pulls back! Ugh, can you two just get married for my sake? And also send me two million dollars.] [Shout out to the female lead’s psycho dad for bringing these two beautiful people together.] Guided by Caleb’s quiet question, I poured out my story, telling him everything about the feeling of being watched, of being hunted. When I finished, I looked up at him cautiously. His jaw was clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line. His hands were balled into tight fists. “What’s wrong?” I asked, letting go of his sleeve. He looked like he was about to hit someone. I kept that last part to myself. We were classmates, but I could count the number of conversations we’d had on one hand. “Bodyguard” had been a desperate, panicked offer. I hadn’t considered whether he’d even want to get involved. “I’m sorry, that was really impulsive of me…” The bright lights of the store had calmed my frayed nerves, but the unsettling feeling of being watched still clung to me. I decided I’d just wait here until it was safe to leave. “I don’t need the money,” Caleb said suddenly. My heart skipped a beat. “No money?” I repeated, my voice a whisper. His handsome, angular face seemed to fill my vision. His long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. “Room and board is enough.” “Room and board is enough?” He scanned a product barcode with practiced ease, a low chuckle escaping his lips. “No money. Room and board is enough.” [No money?! Villain, your deadbeat dad’s gambling debts are all on you! Are you running a charity now?] [You don’t get it. A chance to live under the same roof as his first love? He’d pay HER for the privilege!] [The female lead’s dad is still out there, watching! So creepy… gets away with everything because of his mental illness diagnosis.] [And people still defend him! The villain’s turn to darkness was completely justified! Too bad he was outplayed in the end.] Who was this female lead? And why would her family let someone with a serious mental illness wander the streets? Did he sneak out? And why was I the one who had to suffer the consequences? I glanced at the comments, my brow furrowed. “Welcome!” the automatic door chimed. A large, overweight man squeezed through the entrance, his lecherous eyes landing directly on me. He grinned. “There you are, sweetie. Daddy was getting worried waiting for you.” 3 [AHHHHH! It’s a horror movie!] [This guy isn’t so bad. The male lead pays for his treatment later, and he even visits the first love’s grave! It’s not like he did it on purpose. He’s sick!] [? Is the person above missing a brain stem? He’s the one who KILLS her. You want her to crawl out of her grave and thank him?] [The male lead, her childhood sweetheart, doesn’t even blame the female lead’s dad. Who are you to judge?] Childhood sweetheart?! The only person who fits that description is Troy. The same Troy who swore he’d protect me forever when we were kids. A bone-deep chill washed over me. I tried to control my breathing, but my lungs felt tight, starved for air. Seeing my expression, the man let out a delighted, wheezing laugh, his fleshy body jiggling. “Daddy’s here to take you home, sweetheart! Let’s go!” Then, his face contorted into a mask of rage. “Where did you get that nice dress? I can’t afford that! You must have stolen the money! Take it off! TAKE IT OFF!” [OMG OMG, what is the villain doing?!] [Move! Run! God, she’s just standing there.] [Stop with the perfect victim narrative! If this happened to you, you’d be screaming your head off. The fact that she’s not is a miracle.] The man’s thick legs pounded against the floor as he charged toward me. “I’m telling you! You’ll never escape my sight! For the rest of your life, you’re my— AAGH!” A black shadow burst out of the staff room and slammed a foot into the man’s chest. He went down like a mountain of flesh, his body writhing on the floor as he howled in agony. Caleb… [Damn! He’s so hot my stomach hurts.] [A kick like that is what sent the villain’s dad to the hospital. The female lead’s dad is surprisingly tough.] [The female lead was just chatting with the first love at a party earlier. When she finds out her dad put her in the ICU, she’ll just hide behind the male lead.] [Reported. What does this have to do with the female lead? She can’t control what her father does with his life.] I gasped for air, my hand, which had been clutching a small pocketknife behind my back, was numb and cramping. Caleb had already changed out of his uniform. Without a glance at the man on the floor, he walked over and gently pried the knife from my hand. “Let me borrow this.” 4 I couldn’t see his expression clearly, but I felt it—a coiled, dangerous energy that had been held in check was now unleashed, promising a storm. “My leg! You’ll pay for this! Pay up! Aaaaaaaagh!” The man’s flailing limbs knocked products off the shelves, creating a chaotic mess. Caleb knelt beside him. He slammed the knife down, the tip burying itself in the linoleum just inches from the man’s ear. The sound was sharp and violent. Instantly, the man fell silent. “Get out,” Caleb said, his voice flat and cold. The man scrambled away, colliding with the next shift worker who was just walking in. “Psycho!” the worker grumbled. He stomped inside, saw Caleb, and started yelling again. “You’re leaving? Who’s going to cover your shift tonight?!” [I’ve seen this episode. The senior employee always sleeps in the back during the night shift, and the villain ends up doing both their jobs. The manager just looks the other way.] [No matter who he’s scheduled with, they always dump their work on him. The villain’s a pushover at work, but a tiger at home.] I didn’t have the patience for this. I stepped in front of Caleb and forced a polite smile. “I’m sorry, he’s just accepted a new position.” Caleb nodded obediently. “That man who just left… he had some kind of episode. Knocked over a lot of the merchandise on the lower shelves.” I turned back to the worker. “You should probably clean that up. We’re leaving now.” 5 In the elevator, I stole a quick glance at Caleb. The violent brawler and the overworked employee. And the only one who had come to my rescue. A strange warmth spread through my chest. “You know,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “I really think I should give you a base salary.” “You don’t have to.” “Also, my name is Caleb.” His voice was cool and crisp, distinctive. It had a quality that could seem standoffish at first. “I know your name,” I said softly. I know everything about you. A slow smile spread across Caleb’s face, lighting up his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. [Thank you, Beyoncé! This is the content I signed up for.] [Butler: The young master hasn’t smiled in years.] [I don’t get it. If the first love doesn’t end up in the hospital… the male lead won’t get his inheritance and make his comeback. And the female lead won’t be able to rise through the ranks.] [Stop being a misogynist. When a man wants money, it’s a ‘comeback,’ but when a woman wants it, she’s ‘rising through the ranks’?] [The first love’s death is inevitable. You can dodge it once, but you can’t dodge it forever!] My gaze hardened. “Caleb, I got you fired. I can’t let you work for free. It wouldn’t be right.” The elevator doors opened. I punched in the code to my apartment in front of him. He followed a step behind, his eyes averted, all the ease he’d shown in the elevator gone. “You didn’t get me fired…” [This lucky bastard. Pay me, and I’ll play the little sister for a couple of episodes!] [A penthouse! I can understand why the villain is feeling insecure. He must feel so out of place.] [Yeah, in the future, the villain buys the apartment next door, but by then, she’s already gone…] The comments were making me more and more anxious. It was as if my entire life was a pre-written script, every step leading to my inevitable demise, with Caleb right behind me. 6 I looked at him, my voice serious and deliberate. “Don’t look away. Look at me.” “I’m going to register your fingerprint. From now on, this is your home, too.” [He’s so hot my stomach hurts.] [Stomach-ache girl, you need a doctor.] [AAAAAHHHH! The villain is falling, and so am I! Please don’t die, first love!] Caleb seemed stunned for a moment, and some of the darkness in his eyes seemed to dissipate. Our gazes locked. “Okay,” he murmured, his shoulders slumping as if a great weight had been lifted. “I’ll listen to you…” Click. The locked door swung open from the inside, cutting him off. A man was on the phone, hastily putting on his shoes. “Serena, don’t worry, I’m on my way…” Caleb quickly pulled me back, saving me from being hit by the door. Troy met my eyes and faltered. “Ava? Serena’s family has an emergency. You’re her friend, too. Come with me.” He started to grab my arm. “Her dad’s in the hospital. You know their situation. They’ll probably need our help with the medical bills…” He finally noticed Caleb leaning against the wall, and his face changed. “Who’s this?” [Oooooh! A love triangle! I love it! But I love the puppy who’s only gentle with his first love more!] [The first love is pretty careless, bringing a strange guy home. I don’t buy the ‘innocent’ act.] [Here we go with the slut-shaming again. Caleb is her employee. Troy is the one who let himself in! Maybe you’re the one who needs to get your mind out of the gutter.] [The male and female leads are interacting more. The villain is the ultimate matchmaker, lol.] Caleb didn’t answer. I felt the tentative walls he had started to lower come right back up. “Ava, what am I going to do with you?” Troy said, his voice laced with impatience. “Don’t just bring strange men home. When I’m not here, there’s no one to protect you.” “Forget it. Let’s just go to the hospital. Serena is waiting…” SLAP! Troy’s head snapped to the side. He stared at me in disbelief. “How did you get in?” I asked, my voice trembling. 7 I had changed the locks a few weeks ago. I had never given Troy the new code. How did he get in? Could it be that night, when I was lying in a hospital bed, barely conscious after the attack, and I called him, desperate to hear his voice… he didn’t answer because he was sleeping in my apartment? Yet he picked up for the female lead, Serena, in a heartbeat. Caleb silently moved closer, his pinky finger hooking mine. His cool fingertips gently rubbed my palm. The intimate gesture didn’t feel strange; instead, it gave me a surge of courage. [Hahahaha, the villain is making his move! So they’re not a thing! Phew.] [Such a cunning little puppy. Ava, you’re in for a treat.] [What a male lead. More like a mooch with an attitude.] Troy was baffled. “Are you crazy? Your passwords are always either your birthday or your parents’ birthdays. It’s not that hard to guess! You’re hitting me over this?” Even with my usually calm temperament, his complete lack of boundaries was infuriating. I thought changing the locks was a clear enough signal that I didn’t want him coming and going as he pleased anymore. We were almost adults. We couldn’t act like we were still children. I thought he would understand. I could hear crying from his phone. He hadn’t hung up on Serena. “Troy…” At the sound of her voice, Troy’s agitation was palpable. “This is a waste of time! We need to get to the hospital!” He grabbed my shoulders and started to push me toward the elevator. “Pfft.” Caleb let out a short, sharp laugh. He swung his leg, his foot connecting squarely with Troy’s side. It was a kick I recognized. Troy flew backward, his phone skittering across the floor to Caleb’s feet. Caleb bent down, picked it up, and held it to his ear. “Serena,” he said, his voice calm and detached, “stop treating everyone like they’re idiots. Control your father. Next time, it won’t be just a kick to the ribs.” 8 Caleb handed the phone back to Troy, even offering a hand to help him up. Troy slapped it away and staggered to his feet, his eyes burning with fury as he looked at me. “Ava, you’d better have a good explanation for this.” It was clear he had put the pieces together. “I was being followed,” I said, my voice flat. “Caleb helped me.” But my simple statement of fact took on a different meaning in his ears. “That’s enough! Ever since your parents died, you’ve been paranoid, imagining someone is following you! I believed you, I wasted my time staking out your apartment, and I never saw a single suspicious person!” he yelled. “Serena is a kind, gentle girl! Her father would never hurt anyone! But Caleb? I told you to stay away from him! He has more than enough of his own family problems to deal with!” “You’d better stop this nonsense and come to the hospital with me right now. Or you won’t be able to handle the consequences of those two kicks.” He stalked off to the elevator, not even looking back, so sure that I would follow. Watching his back, I suddenly felt like I had never really known him at all. The comments said that Troy loved me deeply. That when he saw me in the hospital, covered in wounds and attached to a catheter, he was in agony, wishing it had been him instead. He folded me 1,000 paper cranes, wishing for me to forget the past and move on. Serena, despite my cold glares, humbled herself, begging for my forgiveness for her father’s actions. My aunts and uncles visited, my school organized a visit from my classmates. It seemed that as long as I could “get over it,” everything would go back to normal. The comments also called me stupid. Said I had everything and was still so stubborn, so determined to die. And after I signed over my parents’ company shares to Troy, paving his way to success, they put me on a pedestal, my tragic story turning me into his “unforgettable first love.” But the person I could never forgive, not even in death, Troy had forgiven for me, just like that. Just like he was now demanding I go pay the medical bills for the man who had tried to assault me. It was all the same brand of shamelessness. The bond of our shared childhood was like a dull knife, slowly, painfully carving away at my heart. I followed Troy’s lead and turned my back, pulling Caleb inside with me. Caleb stood obediently in the entryway, his eyes fixed on me. Suddenly, a warm hand cupped my cheek. Caleb’s palm was large, covering almost half my face. His lashes were lowered, his thumb gently, clumsily wiping at the corner of my eye. “Don’t hold it in,” he murmured. “It’s okay to cry.” [AAAAAAH the sweet, awkward tenderness of young love! AAAAAAH I’m eating this up!] [I was too shy to comment earlier because I was on my way to the courthouse with their marriage license. Let us bless this new old couple.] [Is anyone else noticing Troy’s sulky face as he holds the elevator door open? What’s his deal?] [Go home, kids, go home. Male and female leads, please stop messing with the first love so the villain doesn’t have to mess with you.] Caleb’s intense gaze made me freeze. I could feel my face burning, a blush I couldn’t control. My body acted before my mind could. I threw myself into his open arms.

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At my funeral, my mother clawed at my portrait, finally seeing the stomach cancer diagnosis date—the same day I sold my kidney to buy my sister a diamond necklace. My father sat frozen in his Rolls-Royce, gripping the report for my cryopreserved kidney. Outside, bodyguards forced Jane into a psychiatric van. Their philosophy? Harden the son, spoil the daughter. We were “struggling”—so they claimed. To give Jane a princess life, we all worked endlessly. When she demanded a diamond necklace, my father nearly died hauling bricks, while my malnutrition led to terminal cancer. To spare them, I sold my kidney for her gift. But returning home, I overheard the truth: “Are we too harsh?” Mom wavered. “It’s training,” Dad growled. “I’ll return his kidney when he proves himself.” Jane added sweetly, “Being soft would ruin him.” Their poverty was a lie. Jane’s fragility, a ruse. They were leeches. But they didn’t know one thing—I was already dying. 1 My father’s words were like thunderclaps, exploding in my head. I doubled over, pressing my hand against the searing pain in my stomach. He signed a check and handed it to my mother. “Get this to the owner of that back-alley clinic. Tell him to fill in any number he wants. He needs to leave the country and never come back. No loose ends.” My mother hesitated. “Don’t be so sentimental,” my father snapped. “It’s that weakness that will be our son’s downfall.” It was the end of the month, my payday. My father glanced at the calendar and made a call. “You can come over now. And remember, make it look convincing. Don’t hold back.” “He just lost a kidney,” my mother ventured. “Shouldn’t we let him rest for a few days?” “What do you know?” he retorted, his voice thick with annoyance. “It’s in moments of greatest hardship that a man’s will is forged. If I don’t shape him properly, how can I entrust him with my legacy?” “Mom, Dad’s right,” Jane added. “You can’t coddle him. You’ll only make him weak.” I saw the designer dress she was wearing, the same one I’d seen in a high-end boutique window just last week. “Enough,” my father said. He picked up the heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table and, with a sickening crack, smashed it against his own forehead. My mother and Jane gasped, rushing to his side. “What are you doing? That’s insane!” Blood trickled down his temple, but his eyes gleamed with a feverish intensity. “I want to see what’s more important to him,” he panted. “His old man, or his money.” He waved them away. “He’ll be home any minute. Get ready.” I heard a car pull up outside. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Ethan, you’re back?” my mother asked, her face a mask of concern. I managed a choked “Yeah.” This place, once my sanctuary, now felt alien and hostile. I placed the necklace box in front of Jane. Her eyes widened, and she let out an exaggerated shriek of delight. “The necklace! Oh, Ethan, you’re the best brother in the world! I love you so much!” I clutched my aching side, forcing a pained smile onto my face. My father watched me, his expression unreadable. He opened his mouth to say something, but just then, the front door was kicked open with a violent crash. “Well, well, look who’s here.” A group of menacing figures filled the doorway, led by a brute holding a thick metal pipe. My father instantly transformed into a picture of terror, scurrying forward with a servile bow. “Spike, please, just give us a little more time. I swear, I’ll have the money next month.” Spike grabbed my father by the collar and hauled him into the air. My mother dropped to her knees with a thud, tears streaming down her face. “Please, Spike, I’m begging you! We have nothing left. We’ve sold everything. My husband just had brain surgery; we haven’t even paid the hospital bills yet!” She began to bow her head, knocking it against the hardwood floor again and again. Spike’s eyes landed on Jane, a greasy smile spreading across his face. “No money? A daughter will do just fine.” He lunged, grabbing Jane from behind me. “Ah! Let go of me, you bastard!” she shrieked, her face turning crimson as she struggled. My father tried to intervene but was thrown to the ground and mercilessly kicked. The pain in my stomach flared again. My knuckles were white as I watched this elaborate, two-decade-long play unfold, a production staged entirely for my benefit. A spectacle for which I had paid with my own flesh and blood. My mother’s desperate sobs echoed in my ears. “Please, Spike, just a few more days! We’ll do anything!” “That’s enough! Stop it!” I yelled, my eyes burning. Even knowing it was all a lie, a sick, twisted performance, I couldn’t bear to watch it. “There’s fifty thousand dollars on this card. It’s my last two months’ salary. Just take it and go.” Spike snatched the card from my hand. “So you did have money,” he sneered. “Playing poor with me.” He gave me a hard shove. The fresh incision on my side slammed into the corner of a cabinet, and the world went white with pain. I nearly passed out. My father scrambled to his feet, placing himself in front of me. “Don’t you touch my son!” Spike slapped him hard across the face, leaving a bright red handprint. Tears streamed down my face. “Enough!” I screamed, my voice raw. “You have the money! Get out of my house! If you touch my family again, I’m calling the police!” For a moment, everyone froze. My mother looked at me, a flicker of what looked like genuine pain in her eyes. My father fell silent. Spike shot my father a final glare before turning and leaving with his crew. My mother ran to her room, sobbing. Jane followed to “comfort” her. My father sighed, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Son, I’m sorry you have to go through this. But times are tough, and Jane… she’s a girl. She can’t handle this kind of hardship. A man has to bear more responsibility.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t work yourself to death. I’ll find a way to pay back the rest of the debt.” But Dad, I thought, the words a silent scream in my head, I’m your child, too. I turned away, swallowing the lump in my throat, and gave a small nod. Back in my room, I lifted my shirt. The bandage was soaked through with fresh blood. I fumbled for the painkillers and swallowed two, waiting for the agony to recede. The moon was full and bright. The doctor said my cancer was aggressive. In two months, I wouldn’t be able to see this beautiful night sky anymore. I took a deep breath, about to close the window, when I saw them. My father and Spike, standing under the old oak tree at the end of the street. Their voices were low, but in the stillness of the night, I could hear every word. “Mr. Stone,” Spike said, respectfully handing my father the debit card. “Here is the young master’s card.” “Good work,” my father replied with a hearty laugh. “Keep the money. A bonus for a job well done.” Then, my father climbed into the backseat of a car I had seen countless times, the one that belonged to his “creditor.” A gleaming Rolls-Royce. It sped off into the night. It was only later that I learned the truth. Spike wasn’t a loan shark. He was our family’s head of security. The next morning, my mother handed me a thermos. “Ethan, I made you some thin vegetable soup. You can have it for lunch. I’m so sorry, your father and I are so useless… we can’t even afford to buy meat.” Her eyes welled up with tears. I thought of the Rolls-Royce from last night. I glanced at the fried egg in Jane’s breakfast bowl. After a long silence, I mumbled, “It’s okay. I’m a man.” 2 I spent the morning working my part-time job at the mall. When my lunch break came, I was about to find a quiet corner to eat my vegetable soup when I saw them through the plate-glass window of a high-end steakhouse. My mother and Jane. Gone was my mother’s plain, worn-out attire. She was draped in expensive furs, a dazzling diamond ring flashing on her finger. There were only two of them, but their table was laden with more than a dozen dishes. The menu posted by the door was discreetly elegant; a single meal there would cost me several months’ salary. I stood frozen in front of the window. Jane turned her head and our eyes met. She gasped, frantically tapping our mother’s arm. My mother saw me, but her expression didn’t change. There was no embarrassment, no shame at being caught in her lie. She calmly put down her silverware and gestured for me to come inside. “Ethan,” she began, her voice cool and measured, “since you’ve seen this, there’s no point in hiding it from you anymore.” “Our family is much wealthier than you were led to believe. But you must understand, everything your father and I have done, we’ve done it for you. You’re the man of the family. You will inherit this business one day. Jane is a girl; she can’t endure the kind of hardship that builds character.” I let out a broken, humorless laugh. “For me? So ‘good’ you orchestrated a play to take one of my kidneys? What else do you need from me to complete your twisted ‘plan’? Tell me now. It’s not like I have much time left anyway.” SLAP. The force of her hand sent my head ringing. Her perfectly made-up face couldn’t hide the fury raging in her eyes. “How dare you! Threatening your own mother! I thought all these years of hardship would have taught you some humility, but you’re just as defiant as you were as a child.” “Security!” The bodyguards at the door strode in immediately. “Beat him,” she commanded, her voice like ice. “Beat him until he learns to submit.” The bodyguards were professionals. Each kick felt like it was rupturing my organs. The blood from my wound mixed with the spilled vegetable soup, creating a pathetic, swirling puddle on the polished floor. I saw my mother flinch, as if she were about to call them off, but just then, my father walked in. “The defiant brat,” he snarled. “Hit him harder.” My mother opened her mouth to protest, but my father shot her a look of pure contempt. “What are you worried about? He’s a man. Can’t he take a little pain?” As the blood loss intensified, my consciousness began to fade. I drifted into a distant memory. Jane and I were children. She saw a music box in a store window and had to have it. We already had a room full of them at home, so my mother refused. Jane secretly stole our mother’s favorite jade bracelet, sold it for a pittance, and bought the music box. When my mother found out, her rage was biblical. She made us kneel in the study. “If no one confesses to being the thief, you will both be punished.” Jane was trembling, her face pale with terror. Just as my mother raised the cane, I spoke. “I took it. I wanted to buy a video game.” That day, I was beaten half to death. My back was a bloody mess. I overheard my mother telling my father, “Steals a bracelet as a child, he’ll be robbing banks as an adult. We’ve been too soft on him. A boy must be raised with a firm hand and a lean purse.” … A searing pain jolted me back to the present. My father was pouring boiling water from a teapot onto my hands. They were instantly scalded, turning a painful, angry red. “See? That woke him up,” my father said dismissively. “Boys aren’t so delicate. A few kicks and a little hot water won’t kill him.” He sneered at me. “Now get up and get out of here. Don’t embarrass us any further. This isn’t over. We’ll deal with you at home.” I followed my father to his car. So this is what the inside of a Rolls-Royce looked like. The car sped towards a gated community in the suburbs. I stared in shock at the sprawling mansions, each sitting on acres of manicured land. My father snorted. “Don’t be seduced by material things. It seems our years of training still haven’t been enough.” I lowered my head and said nothing more. When the car stopped in the driveway of our villa, I was stopped by a bodyguard as I tried to enter. “Young Master, your mother has instructed you to kneel in the courtyard and reflect on your actions.” He placed a steel washboard on the hot gravel. It was July. The sun was a merciless hammer. The heat made black spots dance in my vision. Sweat dripped onto the ground, and my throat felt like it was coated in sand. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see my parents and Jane in the dining room, eating chilled sweet bean soup. My mother, worried Jane didn’t have enough, poured her own bowl into her daughter’s. Jane smiled sweetly. A pang of bitterness shot through me. My mother had never, not once, treated me with such tenderness. Any treat, any new toy, any nice piece of clothing—it always went to Jane first. A boy needs to learn hardship, they always said. The cook gave me a worried look from the kitchen. But my mother’s voice was cold and clear. “If he can’t even endure this, he’s useless. Let him kneel. When he’s ready to admit he was wrong, he can come inside.” 3 The third time I fainted and was revived with a splash of cold water, my mother was standing over me with an umbrella, her face a mask of disappointment. “So fragile,” she muttered. “Your father’s blood pressure is acting up again. There’s a project site on the east side that needs to be inspected. You’ll go in his place. There’s also an issue with one of the construction crews there. You’ll handle that as well.” I looked up at her, my voice a weak rasp. “But Mom… I don’t feel well. Can I just…” “I knew it,” she cut me off, her voice sharp as a whip. “We’ve been too lenient with you. You’re useless. Your father is getting older, his health is failing, and you can’t even be bothered to help with a simple task?” She shook her head. “We’ve raised a thankless snake. How can we ever trust you with the family business?” Sweat stung my open wound, making me gasp in pain. Seeing my distracted state only angered her more. “You have no respect! When a parent is speaking to you, you listen! Do you have any sense of responsibility? Any discipline?” “Mom, please. I think I’m going to pass out. Can I just rest for a little while?” She glanced at my pale face, and her tone softened, but only slightly. “Ethan, we’re doing this for your own good. A man must act like a man. Here’s the deal: you go, you handle everything, and when you get back, I’ll make you your favorite vegetable soup.” Without waiting for a reply, she had the bodyguards haul me into a car. She got into another one to follow, to make sure I complied. The project was on a barren, sun-scorched mountain. There wasn’t a single tree for shade. It was high noon, and the sun was at its most brutal. The construction workers were all resting in the temporary shelters. “That’s the site,” she said, pointing. “The foundation isn’t even dug yet, and the deadline is approaching. Your father is so worried he can’t even eat. You need to do your part.” I looked at the blazing sun. “Mom, it’s too hot. Even the workers are on break…” “Who are you, and who are they? If you don’t discipline yourself, do you want to end up like them?” she snapped. “I want to see if the sun can actually kill a person.”

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In my last life, I was canceled by the entire internet for refusing to star in a romance with the award-winning actress Juliana Vaughn. My agent abandoned me. The studio terminated my contract. With nowhere left to turn, I threw myself at the mercy of her biggest rival. I had no idea I was stepping into a nightmare that would swallow me whole, leading to a brutal death and an unmarked grave. So, in this life, the moment I saw Juliana again, I tossed my pride to the wind. All I wanted was to latch onto her and hold on for dear life. I just didn’t expect her to be so possessive. And more importantly, I had no idea she wasn’t straight. 1 “Juliana… don’t…” “Don’t what?” Juliana’s voice was a low purr. Her sly, almond-shaped eyes curved into a smile as she looked down at me, a full head shorter than her. She reached out, her long fingers closing around my chin, her thumb gently stroking my skin. My heart seized. I looked up at her, my mouth opening to protest, but she saw it coming. She cut me off, her voice smooth as silk. “Don’t forget, you’re the one who said I could do whatever I wanted with you. Are you already trying to back out?” Her eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in their depths. “Or were you just playing me? You know what happened to the last person who tried to play me, don’t you?” “No, that’s not what I meant… I just… I wasn’t expecting this. No one ever told me… that you weren’t straight.” Goddammit! Straight girls have rights, too! I’m not a lesbian! “Is that so?” she murmured. Her fingers moved from my chin to my earlobe, toying with it gently. Her voice was soft, but it sent a chill down my spine. “Well, you know now. What are you thinking?” “I’m not thinking anything… I just kind of want to go home, Juliana… I’m not… into girls.” I was trembling, watching as the warmth drained from her expression. The industry rumors about her ruthlessness flashed through my mind. My body tensed, ready to make a break for it. But she read me like an open book. In one swift movement, she pushed me back onto the bed, leaning over me, her breath warm against my ear as she whispered, “You can be. You said it yourself, remember?” “I…” I stared up at her, helpless. Whatever I was about to say was swallowed by her kiss. My eyes flew open in disbelief. I raised my hands to push her away. Just as quickly, she pulled back, her voice cool and detached. “What’s wrong? Having second thoughts about the role?” I froze. Just like that, I didn’t dare move a muscle. Without that show, this second chance at life would be meaningless. 2 One month ago. “I’ve got a great project for you. It’s a co-starring role with the A-lister Juliana Vaughn. Interested?” My agent, Sarah, tossed a script onto the desk in front of me. “Yes! Of course, I’m interested! Let’s sign it right now, Sarah! This is an incredible opportunity!” I said, agreeing instantly without even looking at the script. Sarah raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What’s the rush? You don’t even care what it’s about?” “Nope. As long as I’m acting with her, I’d be lucky to get any role. We’re talking about Juliana Vaughn! The youngest actress to sweep the awards season. This is a dream come true!” I gushed, sounding like her number one fan. The only thing missing was a giant sign declaring my undying admiration. Her expression shifted, becoming more probing. “Even if it’s a sapphic romance?” My answer didn’t waver. “Of course. To work with someone as talented as Juliana, I’d agree to anything. I’m sure I’ll learn so much from her. Plus, a role like this could be my big break.” I was practically glowing, my cheeks flushed with excitement, looking for all the world like a lucky fan who had just won the lottery. Sarah had nothing more to say. She just told me to go home and wait for news. “Okay, Sarah, I’m heading out! Let me know when the audition is!” She nodded, still looking a bit bewildered. She knew that, up until this point, I had despised Juliana Vaughn. My sudden change of heart was, to her, completely baffling. And if this were my past life, I would have thought I was insane, too. 3 It wasn’t that I was excited to star in a lesbian drama with Juliana Vaughn. It was that I was terrified of the consequences of refusing. Because that’s what happened in my last life. On this very day, Sarah had approached me with the same offer. I had rejected it instantly. My hatred for Juliana was so intense that I’d launched into a tirade, saying a lot of ugly, unprofessional things. Someone recorded it and leaked it online. The backlash was immediate and brutal. I was dragged across every social media platform for being disrespectful, for being ungrateful. The comments were vicious. Sarah had demanded I issue a public apology. But I was stubborn and proud, convinced I had done nothing wrong. Seeing that I was a lost cause, Sarah dropped me. After weeks of relentless online harassment, the studio terminated my contract and blacklisted me. At my lowest point, I met Claire Donovan. Juliana’s arch-nemesis. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. I took that saying to heart and sought her out, foolishly believing she would welcome me with open arms, eager to team up against our common foe. Instead, I was used, turned into a plaything for her powerful friends, and ultimately discarded. My life ended in a brutal, lonely death. Perhaps fate decided I didn’t deserve to die like that. I was given a second chance. So this time, I had to seize this opportunity. It’s just a romance between two women. I can do that. And honestly, compared to Claire, Juliana was a goddamn saint. This time, I was going to get it right. I clenched my fists, a silent vow echoing in my heart. 4 When I got home, I immediately started researching Juliana. In my last life, I knew very little about her, other than that she was a brilliant actress with a terrible reputation. She was notoriously difficult to work with and had a penchant for tormenting newcomers. That wasn’t just a rumor. I had seen it with my own eyes. The strange thing was, the young actress she had tormented was the one who ended up co-starring with her in this very show. After the series wrapped, Juliana left the country and transitioned to international films. She never came back. The internet had a million theories. But the most persistent one was that the two of them had been in a relationship. I didn’t buy it. Based on how Juliana had treated her, it looked less like love and more like she wanted the girl dead. Soon enough, Sarah called with good news: the audition was set. Determined not to lose this chance, I memorized the script backward and forward. When it was my turn, I nailed it. The director was so impressed that he offered me the role on the spot. We signed the contract that day. Sarah finally looked relieved. She clapped me on the shoulder. “I knew you had it in you. That was a great performance. With time, you’re going to be a huge star.” “You’re exaggerating, Sarah,” I said with a bashful smile, but my eyes were drawn to a woman who had just stood up across the room. It was her—the young actress who had gotten the role in my past life. The one the tabloids claimed had grown up with Juliana. Juliana’s beauty had been apparent from a young age, and she was discovered and mentored by a famous director. This actress, Ava, was her childhood friend. While not as stunning as Juliana, she was still pretty. After Juliana made it big, she tried to recommend Ava to her director. But Ava took it as an act of pity. She lashed out at Juliana, and their friendship crumbled. They hadn’t seen each other since. Until this show brought them back together. When their history was dug up, the fans called it a story of a “broken mirror made whole again,” a testament to their enduring love. If I hadn’t seen what I saw in that parking garage all those years ago, I might have believed it too. Their backstory sounded like something out of a novel. But only Ava knew the cold, hard reality. I clenched my fists, took a deep breath, and walked over to her. I was about to introduce myself when she shot me a look of pure venom. “Shameless thief.” She spat the words and stalked away. I stood there, stunned. Sarah, who had overheard, looked at me, confused. “Do you know her?” “No,” I said, then quickly added, “I saw her at the audition. We were both trying out for the same part.” That seemed to satisfy Sarah. She told me not to worry about it. And I wouldn’t. I had more important things to do. Getting the role was just the first step. “Sarah,” I said, “I need you to do something for me.” “What is it?” “I need you to dig up some dirt on someone.” I leaned in and whispered a name in her ear. She gave me a long, searching look but left without another word. 5 We officially started filming two weeks later. On the day of the opening ceremony, Juliana arrived. She had the same unapproachable, icy beauty as I remembered, her deep-set eyes holding a cool distance that made you want to keep your distance. She was dressed simply in a grey long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans, her waist-length black hair falling like a silk curtain over her shoulders. The director was busy with the preparations. He greeted her warmly, and they chatted for a few moments before her agent came over and whispered something in her ear. I watched from the sidelines. When she was finally alone, I gathered my courage and approached her, a small gift box in my hands. “Juliana,” I said, forcing a polite smile to mask my churning stomach. “I’m Stella, your co-star for this project. I made these cookies for you. I hope you like them.” Her eyes swept over me, a calculating look on her face. “You bake?” I nodded. She stared at me for a few seconds, then took the box and popped a cookie into her mouth. I held my breath. I was confident in my baking skills, but I was terrified she wouldn’t like them. I needed to get on her good side. This was all part of the plan. “So? Do you like them?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. She nodded. “They’re good,” she said, just as the director called for everyone to gather. I hesitated for a moment, then fell into step behind her. She glanced back at me but didn’t say anything, which I took as a good sign. The cookies must have worked. The ceremony was simple. After the director said a few auspicious words, the cast lit incense sticks for good luck. I stood next to Juliana, sneaking glances at her as she held the incense, her expression serene and devout. It reminded me of the rumors that she was a practicing Buddhist. Seeing her now, I believed it. I placed my incense in the burner and straightened up, only to find her staring at me. “What is it?” I mouthed, confused. She just shook her head and mouthed back, “Nothing.” But the intensity in her gaze said otherwise. She continued to stare at me until her agent pulled her away. Were the cookies that bad? To test my theory, I offered the remaining cookies to the director and producer. I even offered some to Juliana’s agent. As I did, I noticed Juliana watching from the side, her expression growing colder by the second. Oh god, does she think I’m trying to bribe everyone? My heart leaped into my throat. I quickly pulled back the box I was offering to her agent. “I’m so sorry,” I stammered, “these didn’t turn out right. I’ll make you a fresh batch next time.” The agent just stared at me, bewildered. I snuck a peek at Juliana. Her expression had softened slightly. Looks like I’d guessed right. A small smile touched my lips. When I looked back at her, she averted her gaze and walked away. 6 A few minutes later, the director approached me with a grim look on his face. “Stella, I’m so sorry,” he said, wringing his hands. “I’ve been thinking, and I just don’t think you’re right for this role. Maybe you should try looking for another project.” “What?” I was floored. “What do you mean? This morning you said I was born to play Lila. What changed?” “Just… consider me mistaken this morning,” he sighed. He saw the desperation in my eyes and glanced around. Seeing that no one was listening, he lowered his voice. “Look, it’s not my call. It’s Juliana. Did you do something to offend her? She came to me a few minutes ago and said she doesn’t want to work with you. She said it’s either you or her. The investors are all here for her, so my hands are tied. Maybe… maybe you should go talk to her. See if you can smooth things over.” He patted my shoulder sympathetically and left. I stood there, reeling, thinking back to Juliana’s strange behavior. It didn’t seem like she hated me. Why would she do this? I stared at the closed door of her dressing room. Finally, I took a deep breath and walked over. My hand was just inches from the door when it swung open. Juliana stood there, her stunning face half-hidden in the unlit room. She was backlit by the hallway light, a predator in the shadows, her eyes locked onto mine. A shiver went down my spine. Before I could say a word, she grabbed my arm and pulled me inside.

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There’s a copycat in my dorm. If I wear purple, she wears purple. If I wear green, she wears green. She even bought the exact same backpack as me. I finally snapped and had a huge fight with her about it. The next day, I was scrolling online and saw this post: [I’d walk through a wall for a straight girl, and she calls me a clone sheep.] Looking at the post’s author, located only 10 feet away from me, I started to reconsider everything. 1 Something is wrong with my roommate. Very wrong. She’s always wearing the same clothes as me, buying the same bags, and just a minute ago, she asked for the link to the socks I was wearing. This is not normal. Once is a coincidence. Twice is an accident. Three times is fate. But what about the fourth time? The fifth? The one hundred and eleventh? Worst of all, people have started mixing us up. My best friend, Maya, slung an arm around my shoulders, her face twisted in confusion. “You two are starting to look way too similar.” I couldn’t blame her. This was the eighth time she’d mistaken Clara for me from behind. I stared at the back of my roommate’s head, a figure that looked like it could be my twin. A wild thought sparked in my mind. Could it be… she wants to replace me? 2 The thought sent a shiver down my spine. Years of reading horror novels had prepared me for this. This was the classic setup for a story where someone slowly, methodically takes over another person’s life. I shuddered and immediately ran to Maya’s room to borrow a few outfits in completely different styles. Clara’s wardrobe was a near-perfect replica of mine; there was no way she could find a matching outfit in a single day. I snuck the borrowed clothes back into my closet when she wasn’t looking. Phase one of Operation: Avoid Replacement—a complete style overhaul. The next morning, I pulled out a purple dress I’d borrowed from Maya. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Clara staring at it. After a long moment, she stammered, “You… you changed your style.” I gave her a noncommittal nod, my guard raised. I’d never noticed it before, but now I realized her eyes were always glued to my clothes whenever I was picking out an outfit. Creepy. Terrifying. I climbed onto my loft bed to change. When I came back down, I was struck dumb. I was wearing a long, dark purple dress speckled with glitter. Clara was now dressed in the exact same color, only in a top and jeans. “What a coincidence…” she said, her expression a poorly rehearsed imitation of surprise. “We’re wearing the same color scheme again.” So fake. If our other roommate hadn’t been there, I would have thrown my backpack at her head. “Wow, you guys look so coordinated!” our other roommate commented from her desk, where she was doing her makeup. I watched, bewildered, as a faint blush crept up Clara’s neck. She’s guilty! That has to be it! 3 The next day, determined to break the pattern, I borrowed a green sundress from Maya. I’d never seen Clara wear anything like it. She definitely wouldn’t have anything to match this. When I got down from my bed, I saw she was still in her pajamas. A smug grin spread across my face. Ha! Stumped you, didn’t I? But as I was brushing my teeth, I watched her in the mirror. She opened a storage bin she kept under her bed, one she rarely touched, and pulled out… a green dress. A green… dress. I nearly crushed the plastic cup in my hand. She held up the dress, and catching my eye in the mirror, she gave me a faint, knowing smile. What was that smile? Evil! A challenge! A threat! She was about to take over my life! I couldn’t let that happen! 4 I couldn’t figure out how she managed to perfectly coordinate with me every single time. Who wants to be constantly mimicked? Not me. I hate copycats. It was time for the final move. Operation: Avoid Replacement—address the problem at its source. The one hundred and eighth time she asked me where I bought my socks, I slammed my phone down on my desk. “Why do you keep asking? What’s next, you want to know where I buy my underwear?” Her face flushed a deep red. “W-well… if you don’t mind…” she mumbled, peeking at me from under her eyelashes. That was it. That was the look of someone testing the waters, plotting her takeover. I could almost hear her next question: Can I peel your skin off and wear it as a mask? “Of course I mind!” I exploded, all my pent-up frustration finally erupting. “What is wrong with you? Don’t you have your own sense of style? Why do you have to wear everything I wear? Why do you copy me from head to toe? Are you a copycat? Do you know Dolly the clone sheep only lived for six years? Let me make this crystal clear: I don’t want to match with you anymore. If I see you wearing the same thing as me one more time, I’m throwing all your clothes out the window!” I punctuated my tirade by kicking a chair. Then I snatched my phone off the desk and stormed out, slamming the door behind me. I didn’t want to see her reaction. I didn’t care. 5 When I returned to the room later, I noticed she had changed into a completely different color. As soon as she saw me, my phone buzzed with a message from her. [I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I didn’t know you disliked it.] The message hit me with the force of a tidal wave of guilt. She was right. I’d never actually told her I didn’t like it. Having vented my frustration, I felt a little better and started scrolling through a social media app to unwind. Suddenly, a post popped up on my feed. The title was: [I’d walk through a wall for a straight girl, and she calls me a clone sheep.] The smile on my face froze as I read on, especially as my own words echoed in my head: “Do you know Dolly the clone sheep only lived for six years?” The story in the post sounded… eerily familiar. The gist of it was: I wanted to wear matching ‘couple’s outfits’ with my roommate by secretly coordinating our colors every day. But today she suddenly blew up at me and called me a clone sheep. The post ended with a sad, crying emoji. My eyes fixated on the tags at the bottom: #crushingonmyroommate and #lesbian. I fell into a deep, profound silence. I scrolled down to the comments, a stark contrast to my own stunned silence. User1: lol you lesbians falling for straight girls are doomed! User2: OP: Another day, another cute matching outfit with my crush! 🙂 Her Roommate: IF YOU COPY ME AGAIN I WILL END YOU. User120: is this the difference between a straight girl’s brain and a lesbian’s brain? User121: I’m crying, the straight girl would rather think you’re a literal clone trying to replace her than realize you just want to wear cute matching outfits. User122: Hey, the app says you’re not too far from me. OP, you don’t happen to go to Northwood University, do you? Seeing the familiar name of my university, I remembered the app had a location feature. With a sense of impending doom, I clicked on the user’s profile. A tiny line of text, usually insignificant, now filled my entire field of vision: [Distance: 10 ft.] Ten feet. I turned and looked at the back of my roommate, who was sitting at her desk. My brain slowly processed the information. That distance… is about ten feet. 6 After reading the post, I was completely shell-shocked. I quickly memorized the user ID, cleared my browsing history, and then logged into my anonymous burner account to begin a deep dive into her post history. I scrolled all the way back. The very first post was from a year ago, right when the semester started. [Saw the cutest girl today. She’s probably only 5’2”, but she’s so tiny and sweet.] Hmm. I’m 5’3”. Close, but not quite. It’s not me. Moving on. [She’s my roommate! And she was nice enough to offer me a bottle of water. She must think I’m pretty cool, too.] I have no memory of this. Definitely not about me. Moving on. [Wow, she can dance! And she has such a great personality. How can someone be so perfect?] The post was accompanied by a picture of me hosting an on-stage event, my face blurred out. Okay, confirmed. It’s me. The shift in tone seemed to have happened about six months ago, during the university’s track and field meet. [I sprained my ankle today. She offered to help me to the infirmary. She smells so good. Mmm, she said I wasn’t heavy, so maybe I can lean on her a little more… no, better not. I don’t want to tire her out.] I vaguely remembered this. My roommate, Clara, was an art major. She was always quiet and gentle. Because of her major, she was rarely in the dorm. That day, I’d been roped into volunteering for the event to get some required credits. For some reason, she had signed up for the 800-meter race. She’d sprained her ankle during the race, and since no one else was around, it fell to me to help her to the nurse’s office. I remember hurrying over and seeing her sitting on the ground, her forehead beaded with sweat. When I tried to help her up, she resisted. “Don’t touch me,” she’d mumbled. At the time, I thought she really disliked me. “Can you walk on your own if I don’t touch you?” I’d snapped. My tone must have scared her, because she immediately backtracked. “No, it’s just… I’m all sweaty.” I thought she was being ridiculous. So what if she was sweaty? Who doesn’t sweat when they run? I pulled her up. She was clearly in a lot of pain, but she barely put any weight on me. She was trying so hard to be tough, limping along and pretending it didn’t hurt. In my head, I nicknamed her “Iron Woman.” But, out of basic human decency, I said, “You know, you can lean on me. You’re not heavy, and I’m not tired.” “I am leaning on you,” she insisted, and I felt a little more weight on my shoulder. But because she was taller than me, I was mostly just supporting her arm. I noticed her ears were bright red. “Are you hot? Do you want to rest for a minute?” She shook her head vigorously, and I felt the weight on me disappear again. I figured she was just uncomfortable with me helping her, so I didn’t press the issue. And now this post was telling me she didn’t lean on me because she was afraid of being too heavy? I kept scrolling. And I found the origin of the “clone sheep” incident. 7 [By chance, we wore the same color today. Someone said we looked like we were wearing couple’s outfits! So happy! (Attached cat-rubbing-its-belly emoji)] That was the first time we’d worn the same color. But it wasn’t by chance at all. I wracked my brain. It was for some university-wide assembly where everyone had to wear the same uniform. Our so-called “matching outfits” were just the standard-issue school shirts. Seriously? This girl’s imagination is working overtime. After that, the posts were almost daily, all documenting our matching color schemes and outfits. [Another day, another couple’s outfit!] [Didn’t have the exact same color, but found something close enough! Wore it!] [She smiled at me today and said we must be kindred spirits!] …And so on, right up until today’s post. After reading everything, a new understanding began to dawn on me. This looks a lot like the diary of a lesbian with a secret crush. I shut my phone off and slowly turned around, only to find myself looking directly into Clara’s eyes. Before she could react, I whipped back around so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. “…Are you okay?” Clara asked from behind me. I don’t know if it was because of the post or something else, but I could have sworn I heard a note of genuine concern and nervousness in her voice. …It’s all in my head. All in my head. 8 That night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. I couldn’t reconcile the person in those posts with the quiet, reserved girl I knew. A storm of questions raged in my mind. Is she really that blogger? Is she a lesbian? Does she like… me? I fumbled for my phone in the dark and typed into the search bar: [what to do if my roommate likes me?] [what to do if my roommate is a lesbian?] [how to tell if someone is really a lesbian?] [what do i do if i yelled at the lesbian who likes me?] The search results were a bizarre mix of useless advice. [OP, you’re on your own.] [Easy, just kiss her. If you don’t find it disgusting, you might be one too.] [My advice is probably too graphic for this forum so I’ll just see myself out.] …Utterly, completely unhelpful. I put my phone down, feeling my face grow warm. These internet people were infuriating. I turned over, facing Clara’s side of the room, and finally drifted off to sleep. The next morning, I noticed Clara had deliberately chosen an outfit in a completely different color from mine. “Clara, what’s with the new style? You and Stella aren’t matching today,” another roommate said with a yawn as she climbed down from her bed. “Just felt like a change,” Clara mumbled, her mood clearly low. Even though the clone sheep problem was solved, I felt a strange pang of guilt. From her perspective, she hadn’t done anything wrong. All she’d done was like me. “Hey,” I said, grabbing my textbook and catching up to her on the way to class. “I was too harsh yesterday. I’m sorry. Let me buy you lunch today.” “Huh? Oh, okay.” Clara turned, and the surprise and delight in her eyes were impossible to miss. I texted her the time and place for lunch and then spent the entire lecture staring into space. As noon approached, my phone-checking frequency increased to about thirty times a minute. The moment the bell rang, I shot up from my seat, then froze. Wait a second. I’m a straight girl. Why am I so excited? Anyone would think I liked her or something! I deliberately slowed my pace, craning my neck to look for her. Finally, I spotted her.

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Every single boyfriend I’ve ever had has been stolen by my best friend. And she always caps it off with the same smug little line: “If he can be stolen, he wasn’t worth keeping.” So, in a fit of rage, I found the ugliest, trashiest scumbag I could. That night, she showed up at my door, reeking of booze, a sneer on her face. “You’re really getting desperate, aren’t you? You’d even stoop to that kind of trash!” But as she spoke, tears started rolling down her cheeks. “You’d rather have him… than have me.” 1 The moment I told Sloane I had a new boyfriend, she did exactly what I knew she would. She showed up in a killer outfit, all tight fabric and strategic cutouts. A sliver of her toned stomach was visible above the waistband of a micro-miniskirt that showcased a pair of long, pin-straight legs. She sauntered toward me, but when her eyes landed on the man standing by my side, Ethan, her confident smile froze solid. “You’re telling me this is your boyfriend?” Before I could answer, Ethan blew a gasket. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Rachel and I like each other, so yeah, I’m her boyfriend! Let me tell you, if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t even be wasting my time meeting you.” Underneath a disastrous explosion of bleached hair, his narrow eyes bulged with indignation. His skin had a sallow, unhealthy tint, and his leg bounced restlessly as he spoke. He was the perfect picture of a street-corner sleazeball. “Rachel,” Sloane said, her voice dripping with disdain, “you’ve really outdone yourself.” Seeing the disgust in her eyes didn’t hurt at all. In fact, it was thrilling. This was the first time I’d ever seen her look so completely thrown. The last time, when I was dating a slick corporate shark, she’d claimed she was just “testing his loyalty for me.” The next day, they were Instagram official. I was seething, but she just gave me that infuriatingly charming smile and said, “If he can be stolen, he wasn’t worth keeping.” Then there was the pretty-boy actor I dated. For him, she didn’t even bother with a pretense. She just showed up to his set looking like a supermodel and walked away with him. The actor broke up with me in a flood of tears, and when I furiously jumped on Sloane’s back and tried to bite her, she just calmly lectured me. “If he falls for a little temptation like that, he’s not worth your time anyway.” After that, I got smarter. I screened my boyfriends meticulously—career, looks, character. I even tried to keep them a secret from Sloane. But it never worked. She always managed to steal them, and then she’d have the audacity to lecture me about it. “Oh, my sweet Rachel,” she’d say, “compared to those snakes, you’re just a babe in the woods. How could I ever trust them with you? I’m just taking one for the team.” I racked my brain, trying to figure out a way to finally beat her at her own game. And then, I met Ethan. The second I saw him, I knew. This time, I was going to win. 2 Even after we sat down in the cafe, Sloane’s face was a thundercloud. I’d never seen her like this. While a part of me was secretly giddy, I slid the menu over to her. She didn’t even glance at it, just snapped at the waiter, “Iced black coffee. Extra ice.” Ethan, completely oblivious, slung an arm around my shoulders and pulled the menu toward him. “Babe, whatever you want, I’ll get it for you.” Watching Sloane’s expression darken even further, I decided to twist the knife. I snuggled into his side and purred, “I want a latte, something sweet just like you.” He leaned in to kiss my forehead. I braced myself for the impact, but just before his lips touched my skin, Sloane slammed her fist on the table. “Rachel, tell me. What could you possibly see in him?” Sloane and I were both daughters of Bridgewater’s most prominent families. The very first lesson we ever had was in etiquette and emotional control. But right now, the class valedictorian looked like she was about to erupt. Her face was pale with rage, her eyes burning with a volcanic fire. This was spiraling far beyond what I’d planned. I thought she would just swallow her disgust and try to seduce Ethan like all the others, and I would finally get to laugh in her face. But now, all I wanted was for this to be over. “Sloane, he’s actually… he’s…” I stammered, unsure what to say with Ethan right there. But he shot up from his seat, jabbing a finger in her direction. “You just can’t stand to see us happy, can you!” he snarled. “What, are you gay or something? Got a thing for my Rachel?” Every head in the cafe swiveled in our direction. I watched Sloane’s face drain of all color. Her hands were clenched into tight fists, and I could see the muscle in her jaw working as she ground her teeth. Ethan, the idiot, was completely unaware of the danger he was in. He was preening, proud of himself for silencing her. He didn’t know that Sloane was the state kickboxing champion. “Sloane, Ethan’s just joking, don’t take it seriously,” I pleaded, trying to defuse the situation. But she didn’t seem to hear me. Her gaze was locked on me, intense and piercing. “So, what’s your choice?” Her eyes were so deep, so sharp, that a strange knot of fear tightened in my stomach. “I… I…” I didn’t even know what she was asking. “Fine,” she said, her voice flat. “I get it.” She turned and walked out of the cafe. And in that moment, a real, gut-wrenching panic seized me. 3 It’s true that Sloane stole every boyfriend I had, and damn her, she succeeded every single time. I hated her for it, wanted to scream and tear my hair out. But that didn’t change the simple, undeniable fact that I couldn’t live without her. We’d been in the same schools since kindergarten. Our families did business together, our mothers were inseparable, so it was only natural that we became best friends. She was bold and confident; I was the quiet, well-behaved daughter. Because of that, I was an easy target at school. My mom always dismissed it as kids just being kids, but Sloane never saw it that way. The boy who pulled my pigtails ended up pinned to the ground with her sitting on his chest. The girl who called me a mute got a lovely caricature drawn on her face in permanent marker. Sloane even laid down the law: “Anyone who wants to mess with Rachel has to go through me on the playground first.” Overnight, I went from being the pathetic victim to the untouchable plague. Everyone gave me a wide berth. After we graduated and started learning the ropes at our respective family companies, I felt like she began to change. When I got my first real boyfriend, I told her immediately, hoping for my best friend’s blessing. Instead, she started undermining me, flirting with him, stealing him away. She did it again and again. I started to believe that we weren’t really best friends anymore. But then, during a major negotiation with the formidable Apex Corporation, she found out I was her main competitor. Without blinking, she dropped out of the running, handing me a two-hundred-million-dollar project. Just like that. In that moment, I felt like nothing had ever changed between us. Or maybe… maybe something had been added, something I couldn’t quite name. 4 I bolted out of the cafe without a second thought. Seeing her walking away, her shoulders slumped in a way I’d never seen before, my heart ached with a sour, unfamiliar pain. “Sloane! I’m sorry about today. How about afternoon tea at The Hilton? Just the two of us?” She didn’t even turn around. “I don’t need your pity brunch,” she said, her voice like ice. “Save your money and take your boyfriend.” She was angry, I knew that, but I couldn’t figure out why. “Where are you going? Let me give you a ride!” I caught up to her, but she deliberately hailed a taxi and slipped inside. As the car sped past, all I could see was her forlorn face in the window. A wave of frustration washed over me, which only intensified when I saw Ethan sauntering over, a smug look plastered on his face. “Babe, that friend of yours is just a stuck-up brat. With a temper like that, it’s no wonder she can’t get a man. You should probably hang out with her less.” That was it. The polite, gentle Rachel vanished. He’d been my “boyfriend” for all of two days, and he thought he had the right to criticize Sloane? “The only person I’ll be seeing less of is you,” I snapped. I waved at the cafe’s entrance, and a couple of security guards immediately came over to block Ethan’s path. 5 I drove around the city for hours, aimless and empty. Nearly all of my weekends were spent with Sloane. I was realizing for the first time just how unbearable a day could be without her. It was late when I finally got home. To try and lift my spirits, I drew a hot bath and lit a new scented candle. The sweet scent of bluebells mingled with a hint of cedarwood, and I felt my tense muscles finally begin to relax. Just as I was sinking into the water, a frantic knocking echoed from the front door. It was late, and my building had some of the best security in the country. I couldn’t imagine who it could be, but I knew it had to be someone I knew. They wouldn’t have let a stranger up. I swung the door open without a second thought, and my heart stopped. It was Sloane. She’d been gone for only half a day, but she looked like she’d been through a war. She reeked of alcohol, her usually perfect bob was a mess, and her eyes, red-rimmed and raw, sharpened with a familiar mockery when they landed on me. “You’re really getting desperate, aren’t you? Stooping to trash like Ethan!” A sharp pain, like a needle to the heart, shot through me. My chest felt tight, and my first instinct was to lash back. “Did you really come all the way here in the middle of the night just to insult me? Because if so—” My words were cut off as she threw her arms around me, pulling me into a crushing hug. Her chin dug into my shoulder, and I felt a sudden warmth spreading through the fabric of my robe. She was crying. “Why…” her voice was a choked whisper. “You’d rather have him… than have me…” My breath hitched. My heart started pounding against my ribs like a drum. “Sloane, I… I would never choose him over you…” Her head snapped up, her eyes locking onto mine. A flicker of hope ignited in their depths, so bright it made my cheeks burn. “We’re best friends…” As the words left my mouth, the light in her eyes died as quickly as it had appeared. She dropped her gaze, her expression sullen. It was only then that I started to understand. A cool autumn breeze drifted through the open window, and the silence in the room was deafening. It was the first time I’d ever felt this strange, fragile tension between us. “Sloane, the thing with Ethan…” I reached for her arm, wanting to explain everything. But she stumbled, falling against me, and promptly threw up all over my chest. The sight of the white, foul-smelling mess mixed with the acrid stench of alcohol obliterated every ounce of guilt and replaced it with a piercing shriek. “SLOANE!” 6 The ruined top went straight into the trash. I glanced over at her and saw that her own shirt was in even worse shape. Dressed in a clean slip dress, I hauled her toward the bathroom. She was swaying unsteadily but was surprisingly compliant. But when I reached out to pull off her shirt, she clutched it to her chest, her face turning a deep shade of red. “Are you… are you sure about this?” She was definitely drunk. “Positive,” I said firmly, leaving no room for argument. She smelled awful. Was she planning on keeping that shirt on until Christmas? But as my fingers brushed her collar, she suddenly leaned in, her body pressing against mine. The intoxicating scent of alcohol and something uniquely her washed over me. I saw her face, her flawless skin, getting closer and closer. The tip of her nose brushed against mine, and then I felt a soft, warm pressure on my lips. Sloane was kissing me. My face felt like it was on fire. My heart hammered against my ribs, and my palms grew slick with sweat. My brain completely short-circuited. I just stood there, frozen, a deer in the headlights. She slowly pulled back, a dangerous, unreadable glint in her eyes. “No,” she murmured, her voice husky. “That’s not responsible enough.” And then, her hand reached up and pulled down the thin strap of my dress. My mind exploded. I finally understood what she meant by “responsible.” Heat flooded my entire body, all the way to the tips of my ears. Mortified, I shoved her away. “I think you’re drunk out of your mind! Wash yourself!” I couldn’t even look at her as I fled from the bathroom and locked myself in my room. 7 Tossing and turning, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the image of Sloane kissing me flashed in my mind. Even more mortifying, I found myself replaying the feeling—that soft, warm, yielding pressure. I’d never felt anything like it from any of my boyfriends. Oh god. Am I actually gay? I burrowed under the covers, rolling back and forth in a cocoon of shame and confusion. Just then, I heard slow, deliberate footsteps outside my door. Is Sloane coming in? I shot out from under the blankets, quickly turned on my side, and squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. I waited. Five whole minutes passed, but the doorknob never turned. Is she mad at me? But I’m the one who should be mad! Then, I heard the click of a lamp in the living room, followed by the soft creak of the sofa. She was sleeping on the couch. A strange pang of disappointment hit me. We’d been having sleepovers since we were kids, always piling into the same bed. Why did this feel so… wrong? Was I really this upset just because she wasn’t sleeping in my bed? For the first time, I felt like I didn’t understand myself at all. I squeezed my eyes shut, determined to force myself to sleep. Just as I was drifting off, I heard my bedroom door creak open. It was Sloane. The room was dim, lit only by the warm orange glow of my nightlight. It cast a soft, almost melancholy light on her. I’d never seen her look so vulnerable. She walked to my bedside, took my hand, and gently traced the lines on my palm. Her expression was a raw mix of sorrow, loneliness, and guilt. “Rachel, I’m so sorry…” she whispered, her voice hoarse and still thick with the lingering scent of alcohol. I guessed she hadn’t slept either. I watched her through my eyelashes as she stood there, just looking at me. Finally, as if afraid of waking me, she turned to leave. But my hand shot out and grabbed her arm before she could. “I’m scared,” I mumbled, my voice sleepy. “Don’t go.” Her body went still. Then I heard a soft chuckle as she gracefully climbed into bed beside me. An instant later, I was enveloped in her familiar, comforting scent. Within seconds, I was fast asleep. 8 The next morning, I was woken by the soft rustle of fabric. I opened my eyes to see Sloane pulling on one of my dresses. At five-foot-nine, she turned my knee-length sundress into a very short mini-dress. She had a dancer’s waist and a lean build, but years of training had given her sleek, toned muscles that hinted at a quiet strength. “You have an amazing body, Sloane,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. She turned, and when I met her knowing gaze, I blushed. “Like what you see?” Her eyes traveled from my face down to my lips. The memory of last night’s kiss flooded back, and my cheeks grew hot. Without thinking, I blurted out, “Do you remember what happened last night?” The second I said it, I wanted to bite my tongue off. “Which part?” she asked, a smirk playing on her lips. “You know… the…” I stammered, unable to finish. She let out a sudden laugh. Confused, I watched as she wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into a hug. “I remember…” she began, drawing out the words, making my heart pound in my throat. “…that you insisted on giving me a bath, tried to rip my clothes off, and then you totally forced a kiss on me!” What? Looking at her mischievous, sparkling eyes, I realized she was teasing me. I was so mortified I could have died. I launched myself off the bed as she darted for the door. I grabbed pillows and cushions, hurling them at her, but I didn’t even come close to hitting her. “Sloane! You asshole, you’re messing with me!” I shrieked, stomping around the living room. She had just stepped out the door, but she suddenly poked her head back in. “Rachel, what did you think happened?” Her expression was suddenly serious, a hint of frustration in her eyes. “Because I only kiss people I have feelings for.” I froze, completely stunned. My brain felt like it was filled with cotton. I didn’t know what to think, what to feel, what our relationship even was anymore. I took a slow step toward her. We needed to talk. But right then, my phone rang. The name “Ethan” glowed on the screen, and Sloane’s face immediately darkened. “Rachel, it’s almost nine. Are you going to be late for work? Don’t tell me you’re turning into one of those lovesick fools who lives for romance.” Seeing the anger on her face, I immediately, and very obsequiously, declined the call. She turned and left without another word. I grabbed a jacket and raced out the door after her. “My beautiful, kind, generous Sloane! My car’s broken down, you have to give me a ride!” I whined, trailing behind her like a lost puppy. She kept her face set in a stony mask, but she didn’t stop me from getting into the passenger seat of her car.

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1 There was a piece of meat in our freezer, palm-sized, that my wife refused to throw out. For over a year, it sat there, a frozen block of mystery she guarded fiercely. I was curious what could be so precious. One day, I chipped off a tiny piece and sent it to a lab for analysis. The results came back, and the world tilted on its axis. It was a human placenta. My wife, Clara, and I had been DINKs—dual income, no kids—for twelve years. By choice. By a mutual, loving agreement. So how in the hell did this end up in our freezer? When I got home, I found the key to her locked desk. My hands trembled as I opened her diary and found it tucked inside: a birth certificate. The mother’s name was Clara. The father? Leo, the man she called her adoptive brother. The date of birth fell squarely within the two years I was abroad on an overseas engineering project. My wife, who had convinced me to get a vasectomy in the name of our child-free life, had secretly borne a child for another man. It turned out she didn’t want to be child-free. She just didn’t want to have a child with me. … I was sitting in the study when Clara got home. As she always did, she went straight to the kitchen. I heard the familiar hum of the refrigerator door opening, then a sudden, sharp silence. The soft slide of the freezer drawer was followed by a frantic rummaging. Her footsteps hammered down the hall. She burst into the study, her face a mask of pale panic. “Ethan! Have you seen what I had in the freezer?” I looked up at her. The face I once found endlessly gentle now seemed like a grotesque caricature of warmth, a thin veneer over something cold and false. A tidal wave of questions crashed against the inside of my skull. Why did you lie to me about wanting kids? Why did you have another man’s child? Why did you treasure that… that thing… like some kind of holy relic? But the words that came out were flat, devoid of emotion. I closed my book. “Oh, you mean that piece of meat that’s been in there forever? It was taking up space. I tossed it.” “You what?!” Her voice shot up, cracking with disbelief. “Ethan, are you insane?! How could you throw it away? That was mine! You didn’t even ask me!” I watched her meltdown with a cold, detached sense of irony. “It was a rotten piece of meat that’s been frozen for over a year. What’s the big deal? It was an eyesore in my freezer.” “It wasn’t rotten meat!” she shrieked, her composure shattering completely. “It was more than just meat! You don’t understand… you have no idea what it meant to me!” “Oh?” I stared at her, my voice like ice. “Then what was it? What was so important that you’re screaming at me like this?” My question stopped her cold. A flicker of panic crossed her face. “…It’s nothing. Forget it. I’m not feeling well tonight. I’ll sleep in the guest room.” And with that, she practically stumbled out of the room. In twelve years of marriage, it was the first time we’d ever slept apart. I stared at the closed door, a frigid hand squeezing my heart until it was a knot of acid and pain. If she was willing to build a family with him, why drag me through this twelve-year charade of a loving, child-free marriage? Clara had always been my rock—independent, resolute, my soulmate. I loved her more than anything. I remembered when her best friend had a traumatic birth, hemorrhaging badly. Clara was terrified, suffering from nightmares for weeks. My heart ached for her, and I promised I would happily live a child-free life with her. But even that wasn’t enough to soothe her fears. She gently persuaded me to get a vasectomy. Afterward, she would curl up in my arms, her eyes shining, and whisper how perfect our life was. Just the two of us, free from the ties of children. And this woman, this champion of freedom who claimed to despise the chains of motherhood, had gone behind my back while I was working my ass off in another country to build our future and had a baby with someone else. Leo, her so-called adoptive brother. He was the son of her parents’ late best friends, a guy they’d practically raised alongside her. Clara always treated him like blood, fussing over him constantly. Leo was frail, with a brooding, melancholy nature, and she was always there, scheduling his doctor’s appointments, making sure he took his medication. I’d once gently mentioned that her devotion seemed a little… excessive. She’d chided me for being petty, insisting Leo was family. Her family. I chose to trust her. But I wasn’t blind. I saw the way Leo looked at her. It wasn’t how a brother looks at a sister. It was thick with a heavy, repressed hunger. Before I left for my overseas post, I took Leo aside. I told him, man to man, that Clara was my wife, and I expected him to respect that boundary. He stared at the ground for a long moment before murmuring, his voice hoarse, “Don’t worry, I know… As long as Clara’s happy.” He sounded so sincere, so resigned to his fate. I believed him. I never imagined that while I was pouring my heart and soul into our future, she was giving him a child. The first hint of dawn was breaking when a phone rang in the guest room. I heard Clara’s voice, hushed but sharp with anxiety. “A fever? Okay, I’m on my way. Don’t worry.” The front door clicked shut. I bolted to the window. Below, her silhouette slipped into her car, the engine roared to life, and the vehicle shot away from the curb. My heart hammered against my ribs as a terrible suspicion took hold. I threw on clothes and got in my car, tailing her. For the first time in our marriage, I was following my wife like a spy. She drove toward the outskirts of the city, finally pulling into the parking lot of a private children’s medical center. I pulled on a mask and a baseball cap, keeping my distance as I followed her inside. She moved with a practiced ease, swiping a key card and heading toward the exclusive VIP wing. The moment she pushed open a door, a small boy, maybe three or four years old, launched himself into her arms. “Mommy! You’re finally here!” The word “Mommy” was a shard of ice driven straight into my skull. I watched, paralyzed, as Clara knelt, her face melting into a look of pure, unadulterated love as she hugged the boy. And what crushed the air from my lungs was the man standing beside the child—Leo. The same man who, three years ago, claimed he was moving to the next state to care for a sick aunt, was now standing there, draping a familiar arm around my wife. “Andy’s been waiting for you all morning,” Leo said, his voice soft. “He was just saying he wanted to draw a family portrait.” My mind flashed back to when I first returned from my assignment. Clara was always “working late,” and she’d come home with the faint, sweet scent of baby powder clinging to her. I’d teased her about moonlighting as a nanny. She’d blushed and said a colleague brought their baby to the office. It was all a lie. I crept silently to the door of the room. The window was slightly ajar, and I could see them clearly. Leo wrapped his arms around Clara’s waist from behind, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “Well, look at you two,” a nurse said, entering with a tray and a cheerful smile. She winked at the little boy. “Andy, your mommy and daddy are just the cutest.” Andy giggled, tightening his arms around Clara’s neck. “Mommy loves Daddy the most, and Daddy loves Mommy the most!” A faint blush colored Clara’s cheeks. She leaned down and kissed Andy’s forehead. “And Mommy and Daddy love our Andy the most. We just need our boy to get all better soon.” Leo stood behind them, stroking the child’s hair, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made my stomach churn. I leaned against the cold wall outside, feeling like I couldn’t breathe. Twelve years. I was nothing but a fool, a supporting actor in their twisted little play. The nurse left, and the boy, Andy, soon drifted off to sleep. The mood in the room instantly grew heavy. Leo’s voice was low and urgent. “The doctor said we can’t wait any longer. Andy needs the bone marrow transplant now.” Clara was silent, her fingertips trembling. “The tests came back,” Leo said, his voice rising with an edge of frustration. “Ethan’s a perfect match, isn’t he? What are you still hesitating for?” My heart stopped. A match? They were talking about… me? Last year, during a company health drive, Clara had suggested I register for the bone marrow registry, saying a local clinic was looking for volunteers. “You might save a life,” she’d said with a smile. All this time, they had been planning to use me. “I…” Clara’s voice was hesitant. “I haven’t figured out how to tell him.” “What is there to figure out?” Leo grabbed her wrist, his tone accusatory. “Are you getting soft on him? Clara, Andy is our son! Are you really going to watch him just…?” “No!” she cut him off, her voice thick with tears. “Of course you and our son are more important to me! He doesn’t even compare! I’ll find a way. I swear, I’ll convince him to donate. Just trust me!” I slumped against the cold wall, every ounce of strength draining from my body. So this was the woman I had loved with everything I had for twelve years. Not only had she betrayed me and had another man’s child, but now she was plotting to manipulate me into giving up my bone marrow to save the evidence of her affair. I looked at the silhouette of their perfect little family through the glass. A laugh, harsh and broken, escaped my lips, echoing down the empty hospital corridor. My entire life was a joke. I left the medical center and went straight to the nearest bar. I poured whiskey down my throat, one glass after another. The alcohol burned a path to my stomach, but it couldn’t melt the glacier that had formed around my heart. Twelve years of my life had been nothing but an elaborate, calculated lie. I was an idiot, completely snowed, thinking I’d married the best woman in the world. Stumbling out of the bar, I started the walk back to my apartment complex. Just as I reached the entrance, I saw them. Two familiar figures locked in the shadows. Clara had her back to me, and Leo had her pressed against the wall, his hands slipping under her shirt as they kissed, deep and desperate. She wasn’t resisting; she was on her toes, pulling him closer. “Son of a bitch!” A white-hot rage exploded behind my eyes, the alcohol fanning the flames of my sanity. I lunged forward and slammed my fist into Leo’s face. He staggered back, caught completely off guard, and fell, his head cracking against the edge of a concrete planter. Blood instantly welled from the gash. Clara spun around. Her eyes widened in panic when she saw me, but the moment she saw Leo on the ground, that panic morphed into pure fury. “Ethan! What the hell are you doing?” She scrambled to help Leo. “What gives you the right to hit him?” “What gives me the right?” I was shaking with rage. “You two are all over each other out here, Clara. What am I, dead?” She smelled the alcohol on my breath, and her expression soured. “Are you drunk? Leo was just walking me home! You’re seeing things!” “Seeing things?” I sneered. “His hands were halfway up your shirt. You think I’m blind?” “You’re drunk and you’re delusional!” she insisted, gently helping Leo to his feet. “He’s my brother! We hugged goodbye! Is that such a crime you have to assault him?” I laughed, a raw, ugly sound, and moved to hit Leo again. But Clara threw herself in front of him and slapped me hard across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the silent night. I cupped my cheek, staring at her in shock. In twelve years, she had never laid a hand on me. “You hit me?” My voice trembled. “When are you going to stop this, Ethan?” Her eyes were chips of ice. “You have a few drinks and you turn into a raving lunatic!” She carefully supported Leo and started to walk away. As she passed me, she shoved me hard. I lost my footing and tumbled backward with a splash into the decorative pond next to the walkway. The late autumn water was shockingly cold, a brutal, icy shock to my system. “Clara… he fell in,” I heard Leo say, a hint of hesitation in his voice. Clara didn’t even turn around. Her face was a blank mask. “Leave him. He knows how to swim. Let the cold water sober him up.” Then she was gone, helping Leo away without a backward glance. I struggled toward the edge, but a cramp seized my leg, pulling me down. Icy water filled my mouth, and the desperate need for air burned in my lungs. As I watched their retreating figures, the last flicker of warmth in my heart died out. In her eyes, I was truly nothing. When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. The complex’s security guard had found me on his rounds and pulled me out. I was in the hospital for a day and a night. Not a single call from Clara. Finally, on the second evening, my phone rang. “Where are you? Why aren’t you home? Are you out drinking again?” Her voice was laced with impatience, completely devoid of concern. I said nothing. “Look at the mess you’ve made. You split Leo’s head open. He needed stitches.” Her voice hardened. “Tomorrow, you’re going to go and apologize to him, and we’ll put this behind us.” My heart felt like a block of ice. She only cared about Leo’s injury. The fact that I almost drowned meant nothing. When I remained silent, her tone softened slightly, becoming deceptively gentle. “Ethan, you were drunk. You really didn’t see what you thought you saw. Leo and I are just… he’s my brother. It was just a goodbye hug.” She paused, then her voice shifted again, turning practical. “But… you don’t have to apologize if you don’t want to. There’s another way.” “A relative of Leo’s has a child with leukemia,” she continued, her voice smooth as silk. “They desperately need a bone marrow transplant. And it just so happens, you’re a perfect match. Think of it as doing a good deed. Just go and donate.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “I’m not feeling well. I can’t donate.” “Ethan! How can you be so cold-hearted?” Her voice instantly sharpened into a shriek. “This is a child’s life we’re talking about! Have you no compassion? I completely misjudged you!” She launched into a tirade, throwing every nasty word she could think of at me before slamming the phone down. I held the phone in my hand, feeling utterly exhausted, as if every drop of life had been drained from me. The day I was discharged, I told my office I was going on a business trip and checked into a hotel near work. Two weeks later, I received the divorce papers drawn up by my lawyer. Twelve years of marriage, ending in such a pathetic, humiliating way. I opened my email and resubmitted the application for the African development project I had put on hold three years ago. The moment the confirmation message popped up, my mother-in-law called. Her voice was as venomous as ever. “Ethan, don’t forget your father-in-law’s birthday party. Saturday at noon.” “And make sure you bring a decent gift this time,” she spat. “Don’t embarrass us with a bottle of discount wine like last year. It’s a disgrace to the family. Clara was so unlucky to end up with you. Can’t even give her a child.” That last line was the needle that burst the last bubble of my composure. Twelve years ago, Clara had clung to me, crying about her friend’s traumatic birth, swearing she never wanted to experience that. I loved her so much that I went and got a vasectomy, then took all the blame from her parents, letting them call me a “useless failure” just to protect her. All my sacrifices, my compromises… it was all just a joke.

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My first love and I were kidnapped. My fiancé, Roger, had to choose. After agonizing silence, he picked me—his childhood friend. Days later, Beth, his first love, was found dead in an alley, violated and broken. He never showed grief, but I knew he hated me. For eight years, he never touched me, watching coldly as society mocked me. I thought we’d suffer forever. Then, during a terrorist attack abroad, Roger—who’d hated me for a decade—shielded me with his body. As he died, he smiled. “Ellie, I can finally be with Beth. Next life… don’t stand between us.” I woke back on the kidnapping day. This time, I wouldn’t let him save me. This time, I’d let him go. In this life, I’d wish him and Beth happiness—without me. 1 I woke up to the smell of smoke and the roar of flames. Just as I expected, I was tied up next to Beth. The kidnapper was already on the phone with Roger, forcing him to make his choice. “One is the girl you grew up with, your little sister. The other is the old flame you can’t forget. A little game of Sophie’s Choice for you, Mr. Pierce. So, who will it be?” The kidnapper’s voice was laced with a cruel amusement, not urgency. He was enjoying this, curious to see what Roger would do. Outside the burning warehouse, Roger was silent. His mother, however, was frantic. “Don’t you dare hurt Eleanor!” she screamed into the phone. “Please, we’ll give you anything you want, any amount of money!” “Don’t hurt Eleanor,” she repeated, her voice cracking, before turning on her son. “Roger, what are you waiting for? Choose her! Her father died saving your father’s life. Are you going to make us owe the Dereks another life?” Still, Roger said nothing. I knew what he was thinking. He wanted to save Beth. She was the one he cherished, the one he held on a pedestal in his heart. In our last life, even after she was gone, he remained celibate for her, a twisted form of devotion. He only chose me because his mother had forced his hand. The kidnapper was losing his patience. “You’d better decide quickly, Mr. Pierce,” he snarled, glancing at the thick plumes of black smoke billowing into the sky. “A few more seconds of hesitation, and you’ll lose them both.” Across the inferno, our eyes met. He was looking at me, but his gaze was filled with a torturous conflict. “Fine,” he finally said, his voice strained. “I choose Elea—” Before he could finish my name, just as he had before, I scrambled to my feet and screamed with every ounce of strength I had. “Save Beth!” Roger’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. After all, in the past, I would throw a fit if he didn’t prioritize me in even the most trivial matters, let alone a life-or-death situation. To see me hand him over to another woman—and not just any woman, but Beth—was unthinkable. Everyone in the city’s elite circles knew that if there was one person Eleanor Derek despised, it was Beth Dean. Roger and I had been inseparable since we were children. I had always believed he was mine, and I’d made it my mission to extinguish any romantic spark he had with anyone else. I was on high alert with any girl who got too close. But Beth was different. She was the one Roger had actually loved. His one true sweetheart. And there was nothing I could do about it. My hatred for her was really just fear. The smoke was getting thicker, the heat suffocating. The sea breeze whipped at my dress. I said it again, my voice firm. “Save Beth.” Don’t hesitate, Roger. Save the woman you love. This time, I don’t want to be in your debt. And I don’t want to be hated by you for the rest of my life. 2 In the end, Roger paid the eight-million-dollar ransom. For Beth. As he scooped her up and ran from the fire, he didn’t spare a single glance in my direction. From where I stood, I could see the pure, unadulterated joy of having her back in his eyes. A bitter smile touched my lips. Even though I knew he never loved me, it still hurt. More than a decade of shared history, of a bond I thought was unbreakable, had apparently left no mark on his heart at all. … Just before the warehouse exploded, one of the kidnappers dragged me out through a hidden back path. As I watched Roger carry Beth away, their figures shrinking in the distance, I remembered my past life. I remembered Roger, bleeding out in my arms, begging me to let him be with her. Well, Roger, I thought, your wish is granted. I owed him a life. Now, I’ve given it back to him and the woman he loves. This time, we’re even. And this time… I can finally let him go. 3 I was safe. The rescue team arrived just in time. The city’s special police force had been lying in wait at the other exit the whole time. A sudden, chilling thought occurred to me: If they were here all along, why did Beth die in my past life? She should have been rescued too. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. My best friend, Sarah, launched herself at me, a mess of tears and snot, seemingly more traumatized than I was. “Oh my god, Eleanor, you scared me to death!” she sobbed. As the ropes were cut from my wrists, I patted her head, a small laugh escaping me. “It’s okay, I’m fine.” Sarah’s face was flushed with anger. She pointed toward the front of the warehouse. “That bastard Roger! Can you believe he chose Beth? He abandoned his own fiancée for that worthless piece of trash!” Yes. Roger and I were engaged. I knew that by tomorrow, at the latest, the city’s gossip columns would be screaming the headlines: PIERCE HEIR DUMPS FIANCÉE FOR OLD FLAME. It would make me the laughingstock of our social circle. I had always been the one to force Roger into public displays of affection, desperate to prove to everyone that he loved me. So much of our “love story” had been a fabrication of my own making. Thinking back on it now, it was all so pathetic. True love doesn’t need to be flaunted. It’s the ones who have nothing who show off the most. Sarah was still cursing Roger’s name, defending my honor. I cut her off, dropping a bombshell with quiet calm. “They used to date.” Roger and Beth had a history. He told me himself, late in our last life. They had been forced to break up because his mother disapproved. Sarah’s eyes went wide with disbelief. I just smiled, a hollow, weary expression. So you see, he was just saving the love of his life. Perfectly understandable. In the chaos, my eyes caught a flash of a man in a black suit with a silver stud in his ear. I squinted, certain I wasn’t mistaken. Nearly 6’3″, the silver earring, an air of quiet authority… There was only one man in the city who fit that description. The heir to the Leonard family fortune, Archer Leonard. 4 Later that night, Sarah drove me back to the Pierce estate. The butler informed me that Roger’s mother, Diana, had been so furious with him for not choosing me that she’d made him kneel in the family chapel all afternoon. She had even used the “family discipline,” which was code for a cane. She’d forbidden anyone from giving him food or tending to his wounds until he admitted he was wrong. But Roger would never believe he was wrong. He had saved the woman he loved; he was probably thanking his lucky stars. After a lifetime as his wife, I knew him. And honestly, I didn’t blame him. I went to find Diana to comfort her, but my presence only made her more emotional. She pulled me into a hug, tears streaming down her face, apologizing on Roger’s behalf. “Eleanor, don’t you worry. I’ve taught that boy a lesson he won’t soon forget. I won’t let him off easy this time.” Her anger flared again. “The nerve of him! I told him years ago that I would never approve of him and that Beth girl. And he still dared to put you in danger for that little fox!” She took my hands in hers. “Don’t you be angry, dear. I’ll beat that boy until he gets on his knees and apologizes to you personally, and then he’ll swear to never see Beth again.” Diana’s fierce protectiveness moved me. After my father died, I became an orphan, taken in by the Pierce family. But I never once felt the insecurity of a guest in someone else’s home, all because Diana treated me like her own precious daughter, spoiling me even more than she spoiled Roger. The moment I confessed my schoolgirl crush on him, she had immediately arranged our engagement. In her eyes, if I wanted something, she would move heaven and earth to get it for me. My eyes welled up, and I buried my face in her shoulder. It had been so long since I’d felt such unconditional love. In our last life, Diana had passed away early on, never knowing the bitter, resentful couple Roger and I had become. “Thank you, Aunt Diana,” I mumbled, my voice thick with emotion. “But… it was me. I told Roger to save Beth.” I pressed myself closer, finally saying the words I’d been holding back since my rebirth. “Aunt Diana, I think we should call off the engagement.” The words hung in the air. Both Sarah and Diana stared at me, utterly stunned. Everyone knew I loved Roger to the point of obsession. Since middle school, I had followed him around like a lost puppy he couldn’t shake. At my eighteenth birthday party, when someone asked what my wish was, I had declared in front of all our friends and family, “I will marry no one but Roger Pierce.” So much time had passed. I couldn’t remember the look on Roger’s face that night, only that it wasn’t a happy one. How ridiculous. I should have known then that he didn’t love me. That no amount of chasing or devotion would ever change that. If someone doesn’t love you, they don’t love you. And yet, I’d ignored his feelings and forced him into a marriage he never wanted. I never once considered how he felt. No wonder he despised me. 5 Thank God, in this life, there was still time to change everything. After my relentless pleading, Diana finally, reluctantly, agreed. Armed with the news Roger most wanted to hear, I went to the family chapel. A twenty-four-year-old Roger knelt quietly on the cold stone floor, his profile sharp and perfect in the dim light. In this life, his eyes held no hatred for me, no disgust. Just a sincere, profound apology. “I’m sorry, Ellie, I—” I shook my head. “It’s not your fault, Roger.” He flinched. It had been a long, long time since I’d called him by his first name without the possessive tone of a lover. Not since I’d confessed my feelings for him. He frowned, confused. But I just smiled at him, a genuine, uncomplicated smile, as I stepped back into the role of his little sister. “I was selfish and immature before. I never considered your feelings, and I’m truly sorry for that.” “It won’t happen again.” “I just spoke with your mother. I asked her to cancel our engagement.” When I said the words “cancel our engagement,” a flicker of something—surprise? disbelief?—crossed his usually placid face. He stared at me, his voice certain. “You’re angry.” I shook my head. I didn’t understand. He should be happy. Happy that I was finally letting him go. Happy that he was free to be with Beth. And yet, all he said was a quiet, “Fine.” Then he closed his eyes, refusing to look at me again. I turned and left, trying not to overthink it. In this life, this was for the best. Our paths would diverge here. 6 That weekend, Sarah threw a party to “calm my nerves.” It was just our close circle of friends. After a few rounds of drinks, we had some uninvited guests. Beth, pushed forward by her older sister, came to thank me personally. She looked terrified of me. “Eleanor,” she stammered, “about the other day… th-thank you.” Everyone in the private room exchanged glances, waiting for the inevitable fireworks. They all knew how much I loathed Beth, how I never missed an opportunity to humiliate her, calling her a homewrecking fox who was seducing Roger. I had made a public spectacle of her more than once. But my hatred for Beth had roots. I wasn’t wrong. She had seduced Roger. Beth was the unloved second daughter of her family; all their affection was reserved for her older sister. Before I met her, she had been nothing more than a living blood bag for her chronically ill sibling. One day, she’d had enough and tried to run away from the hospital. Roger and I found her. Roger knew the dark secrets of her family and warned me not to get involved. He tried to hold me back as I rushed to her defense, but I broke free. I saved Beth. The Pierces were the most powerful family in the city, and everyone wanted to be in their good graces. The Deans were no exception. They were thrilled that Beth had connected with me. I took her under my wing, just as she’d hoped. She was a frail, malnourished little thing back then, a frightened rabbit hiding behind me. Sarah and I showered her with gifts and food. But it wasn’t enough for her. I treated her like a friend. I told the world, and her, that I loved Roger, that he was my fiancé. And she still went after him. I was furious. Diana had raised me to be proud and imperious. I could not tolerate betrayal from a friend. I used my influence with Diana to have Beth’s family force her to kneel outside in the freezing cold for two hours. But Beth was too weak. After only a short time, she collapsed and was rushed to the ICU. That was the first time Roger ever truly got angry with me. “Eleanor! Didn’t I warn you to leave her alone?” he’d yelled. “Her life at home is hard enough. You’ve disappointed me more than I can say.” My eyes had filled with tears. It was the first time I’d seen genuine pain and concern for someone else in his eyes. He ignored me for a month after that, all for Beth. I finally got scared. I promised him I would never bother her again. But Beth was a master actress. On Christmas, Roger made me bring a gift to her house and apologize. Because I loved him, I went. But that night, the media reported that Beth had spiked a high fever after I left, nearly dying. Everyone, including Roger, believed I had pushed her to the brink of death. I had no way to defend myself. Later, at a high-society gala, I saw her again. I lost control. I had my bodyguards force her to her knees in front of everyone who mattered in the city and slapped her twice across the face. That was the day my relationship with Roger shattered completely. … “Miss Derek?” Her sister’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. The past felt like a long, terrible dream. But now, standing before me was a very much alive Beth. And Roger and I had not yet reached the point of mutual hatred. I raised my glass, looking at the woman my husband had obsessed over for a lifetime. A wry smile played on my lips. “No need to thank me. Roger always wanted to save you anyway. If you want to thank someone, thank him.” I couldn’t take credit for his choice. Beth dared to look up, her eyes studying me, as if she couldn’t believe I was letting her off so easily. Just then, a waiter entered with a large tureen of soup. Beth and I were standing closest to him. With a sudden cry of alarm from Beth, the entire pot of scalding soup tipped over, splashing directly onto her.

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My mother is a doctor with Doctors Without Borders. When I was in an accident with her colleague’s daughter, she chose to operate on her adopted child first. But when I woke up, my memory was gone. I was sixteen again, back in the year my parents had just returned from a war zone. 1. “Ava, just hold on. We’re at your mom’s hospital. She’ll save you, I promise.” My consciousness was fading, the world blurring at the edges. My aunt’s frantic, desperate voice was the only thing anchoring me. A flicker of hope sparked within me. My mother was a renowned surgeon, a hero who had saved countless lives on the front lines. She had a reputation to uphold. But a moment later, Mila, who had arrived after me, grabbed a nurse’s arm and shrieked, “Dr. Evelyn Reed is my mother! Tell her I’m here! I hit my head, and my eyes… my eyes really hurt! I think I might be going blind!” A chill washed over me. Mila had been in the same car crash, but her injuries were nothing compared to mine. Still, competing for my mother’s affection had become her favorite pastime since she’d moved in with us. Every single time, I had lost. But my mother was a doctor. She’d always said that in her hospital, patients were patients. It didn’t matter who you were; the only thing that mattered was the severity of the injury. The one closest to death always came first. I didn’t want to die. A sliver of hope remained. She has to save me first. But the moment my mother saw Mila, her face hardened with decision. “Get her to an OR, now!” My aunt rushed forward, grabbing her arm. “Evelyn, look at Ava! She’s so hurt she can’t even speak! Please, just look at her!” At my aunt’s plea, my mother finally turned her gaze toward my gurney. She saw a face caked in blood, a body broken and still. Even a layman could tell who was in more danger—the pristine, barely scratched Mila, or me. Ten seconds stretched into an eternity. My mother took a deep, steadying breath. “Mila’s eyes were injured in a conflict zone. I can’t risk it. Another doctor can handle Ava. It’s the same.” A single tear escaped the corner of my eye as the world went black. The last thing I heard was my aunt’s choked sob. “The way you treat her… one day, you’ll regret this until your dying day.” 2. The world plunged into darkness. I felt like I was a child again, back in the small town where I lived with my grandmother. She was a bitter old woman who saw favorites, and I wasn’t one of them. Every day, she called me a burden, dead weight. She dressed me in my cousin’s old, baggy hand-me-downs and kept my hair cropped short like a boy’s. I was never allowed to eat at the table. I could only watch with hungry eyes as my younger cousin devoured all the snacks. By the time I was six, I was helping my grandmother cook, standing on a small stool to reach the stove. One day, my cousin, in a fit of mischief, kicked the stool out from under me. I fell hard, my forehead splitting open and a blistering red burn spreading across my arm. I staggered to my feet, the pain so intense that I fainted. When I woke up, I was being held in a pair of gentle arms. It was my mother. She had a unique scent, a mix of something sweet and the faint, clean smell of antiseptic. It was the first time in my memory that I had ever seen my parents. She carefully cleaned and dressed my wounds, murmuring apologies for all the years she’d been away. My father, seeing my filthy clothes, exploded at my grandmother, accusing her of using the money he sent for me to support my uncle’s family instead. It was only then that I realized I wasn’t an orphan. I had accomplished, important parents. My mother was a doctor with Doctors Without Borders, saving lives. My father was the first from our town to go to college and was now working overseas for Greenpeace, tackling global issues. But they had more important things to do than raise me. My father gave my grandmother a thick wad of cash, telling her to take better care of me. My mother wiped away tears as she packed her bags again. “We had to come back in such a rush,” she said, her voice thick with regret. “Ava’s burn is going to scar. We’ll have to wait until she’s older to fix it.” She told me about the sacred duty of saving others, planting a seed in my young mind. “Ava, when you grow up, you’ll understand why Mommy had to do this.” 3. Maybe I was born to be understanding. I took my mother’s words to heart and strived to be the perfect daughter. I threw myself into my studies, determined to follow in my father’s footsteps and claw my way out of that small town. My grandmother grumbled constantly, saying it was a waste for a girl to get so much education. She loaded me with chores, even making me wash my cousins’ underwear. I tried to call my parents, to tell them what was happening, but they were always busy, their phones often unreachable. Finally, New Year’s Eve arrived. I assumed the whole world celebrated. I borrowed the village chief’s phone and dialed their number. My father’s voice was weary. “Ava, you’re already a guest in your grandmother’s house. It’s not too much to ask for you to help with some chores.” A sour feeling churned in my stomach. I wanted to tell him that my grandmother refused to buy me the textbooks I needed, but then I heard my mother’s voice in the background. “David, come look at Mila’s drawing. Don’t you think Mr. Roberts will be pleased?” Then, a little girl’s cheerful voice. “Daddy, I’m going to get an A on this assignment, right?” The line went dead. Was that my parents’ new daughter? Had they replaced me? Tears streamed down my face, hot and unstoppable. 4. I dragged myself back to my grandmother’s house and collapsed into bed. She beat me for not helping with dinner, screaming that I was ungrateful. I developed a high fever that turned into pneumonia, but she refused to take me to a doctor. My Aunt Clara heard about it when she was visiting a neighboring village for the holidays. Heartbroken, she rescued me from my grandmother’s house and took me in. She assured me the girl on the phone was the daughter of my mother’s colleague, a doctor who had been killed in the line of duty. His wife had passed away from an illness years before, so my parents had adopted the girl, Mila. I naively thought that the daughter of such a kind man must be a wonderful person. I couldn’t have been more wrong. When I was sixteen, my parents decided to move back to the States permanently to give Mila a better education. They bought a house in the city and brought me from my aunt’s to live with them. I was reluctant to go, but my uncle resented my aunt for not having children and for spending money on me. Fearing I was a burden, and clinging to a desperate hope for my own parents’ love, I tried my best to fit into their family of three. My father bought a three-bedroom house. They gave me the smallest room, which was already cluttered with Mila’s piano and her overflowing wardrobe of beautiful dresses. “Mila has claustrophobia,” my mother explained. “She can’t be in a small space. You’ll have to let her have the bigger room.” But Mila would practice the piano whenever I tried to study, deliberately hitting wrong notes that made my head throb. One winter, my mother bought a box of expensive, imported cherries. Mila and I both loved them. I took one, and she immediately snatched the rest of the box and locked it in her room. I was about to tell her to share, to at least leave some for our parents, when my mother snapped at me. “Mila was with us while we were dodging bullets, while you were safe and sound here. How dare you fight with her over a single cherry?” I was lectured for being petty and selfish. To soothe Mila, my father brought home a box of gourmet sea urchins, just for her. “Mila’s father was a hero,” he told me earnestly. “A hero’s child deserves to be treated with kindness.” But my parents were heroes, too. So why had my entire life been filled with nothing but suffering? It took me a long time to understand. Not all parents love their children, especially one they didn’t raise. And I wasn’t a daughter they could be proud of. I had to fight tooth and nail just to get into a decent public high school, while they paid a hefty donation each year to send Mila to a prestigious private academy. Their friends and colleagues all praised them for their kindness and generosity. 5. I slowly opened my eyes. My aunt’s face swam into view, her eyes red and puffy from crying, with dark circles underneath. “Ava, you’re finally awake! You scared me half to death.” She told me I had a severe skull fracture and had lost a dangerous amount of blood. She’d been staring at the door, hoping someone would show up. Seeing me lying there quietly, she quickly added, “Your father is out of town on business, but he’s on his way back. Your mother is just swamped with work. She’ll be here as soon as she’s free.” Before I could respond, I overheard two nurses talking in the hallway. “That girl in the VIP room… she must be Dr. Reed’s real daughter, right?” “Definitely! A mother knows her own. The girl looked like she only had scrapes, but Dr. Reed was so worried she ran a whole battery of tests on her personally. Right now, she’s in there telling her to get off her phone and rest.” My aunt, afraid I’d be upset, quickly explained, “Your mother is just worried Mila might have a concussion. Don’t overthink it.” I looked at her, my expression one of pure confusion. “Isn’t my mother overseas? And… who’s Mila?” The apple in my aunt’s hand slipped from her grasp and rolled across the floor. Soon, the surgeon who had operated on me came to check my condition. After a thorough examination, he confirmed it. I had amnesia. My memory had reverted to before my parents returned to the country. My mother arrived an hour later. I looked up at her, my gaze calm and empty. There was nothing in my eyes but the cool distance one reserves for a stranger. She saw the thick white bandages wrapped around my head, and a flicker of panic entered her voice. “Ava… do you know who I am?” I studied her as if she were a complete stranger. “Are you a doctor here?” She walked stiffly to my bedside. “I’m your mother!” I lowered my eyes. “I don’t remember,” I said softly. “As I recall, I only met my mother once, when I was six. I remember growing up in a small town, and then my aunt took care of me. To me, Aunt Clara is my mother.” My own mother stared at me with an expression of pure disbelief. I could see the anger simmering beneath the surface. The truth was, I hadn’t lost my memory. When I was sixteen, seeing my parents for the first time in years had filled me with a desperate, hopeful joy. I was terrified they wouldn’t love me. I had cried and told them how much I’d missed them. But now, I was done pretending. I was done with this hollow imitation of a family. This time, I would be the one to sever the ties. 6. My mother refused to believe I’d forgotten her. She demanded test after test, but you can’t force memories into someone who is determined to forget. She was destined for disappointment. No matter how many times she asked, my answer was always the same: “I don’t remember you.” Finally, her hands clenched into tight fists, and she stormed out of the room. That night, Mila sauntered in to gloat. “I just had a few scratches, and Mommy was so worried she pulled strings to get me a VIP room,” she sneered. “Stuck in a six-person ward, Ava, isn’t it noisy?” “Are you auditioning for the role of my warden? Where I stay is none of your business.” She was clearly shocked that the normally submissive me would talk back. She stepped forward, reaching for the bandage on my head. I wasn’t an idiot. I kicked out, sending her sprawling to the floor. She burst into tears. “I was just trying to adjust your pillow! Why did you kick me?” “Some people lose weight by exercising,” I said sweetly. “Did you decide to start with your brain cells? I’m covered in injuries and can barely move, and you come at my head. Did you expect me to just lie here and take it?” My mother, who had just entered, saw the scene, and her face darkened. “Ava, Mila is your sister! How could you hurt her?” “Mommy,” Mila sobbed, “she must be angry that you saved me first. She’s taking it out on me.” She turned to me, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Ava, Mom works so hard at the hospital. Can’t you just be a little more understanding and not cause her any more trouble?” My face was a mask of calm. “Could you two please stop performing this touching mother-daughter drama in front of me? I have no idea who you are. Why would I waste my energy on strangers?” My mother stared at me, her face turning a pale shade of green. “Ava, I am your mother. How dare you speak to me with that tone?” The old me never would have. I was always the good, obedient daughter, desperate for her and my father’s approval, swallowing every injustice without complaint. But now? Now I had amnesia. I didn’t care who she was. I pulled the covers up to my chin and lay down, pointedly ignoring them. My mother looked like she was about to explode, but she saw the other patients in the ward staring. It was like punching a pillow; she was left fuming, with nowhere to direct her anger. 7. When my father arrived at the hospital, he was carrying a large box of cherries. Mila’s face lit up. “Thank you, Daddy!” she chirped, taking the box. My father turned to me, his voice carrying its usual tone of gentle persuasion. “Ava, you’re the older sister. Let Mila have them, okay?” He knew that once Mila started on a box of cherries, she wouldn’t stop until they were gone. And she never shared. My gaze was cold, wary. “I don’t care. I don’t know you people, and I’m not eating anything you brought.” The color drained from my father’s face. In the past, no matter how unfairly I was treated at home, my eyes would still betray my desperate longing for their approval, for a single word of fairness. But now, he saw nothing in my eyes but a flat, empty calm. It was as if his own daughter saw him as nothing more than a distant, irrelevant relative. Someone she’d met once, but couldn’t quite place. His expression was a wall that screamed, Stay away from me. He looked defeated. “Ava, you used to admire your mother and me so much. How could losing a few years of memories turn us into strangers?” To the outside world, they were heroes. One cared for the entire planet’s climate; the other braved war zones to heal the sick and adopted her fallen comrade’s daughter. I had once been so proud of them. After we were reunited, I had showered them with the affection of a long-lost child, and they had basked in it. My current behavior was completely beyond his comprehension. “Ava,” he said, his voice filled with anguish. “How could you forget your own father?” 8. During my hospital stay, my father visited often. He searched the house for old photos, trying to spark my memory, but he couldn’t find a single picture of me with them. All he found were countless family portraits of him, my mother, and Mila at the zoo, at amusement parks, at pop concerts. I was never there. Unwilling to give up, he brought me a bouquet of pink roses. Mila’s favorite. When Aunt Clara arrived with a thermos of pork rib soup, she saw the flowers and immediately threw them in the trash. “David, have you completely forgotten that your own daughter is allergic to pollen?” My father froze. In my sophomore year of high school, Mila was preparing for a piano competition. She knew perfectly well I had a severe pollen allergy, but she deliberately paraded around the house with a bouquet of flowers my father had given her, waving them in my face. I broke out in hives. My mother saw it happening, but she didn’t want to disrupt Mila’s competition preparations. She told me to just endure it, that allergies were a minor thing. I felt like I was suffocating. I called Aunt Clara, who rushed over immediately. The doctor said if she’d been any later, it could have been critical. Aunt Clara called to confront Mila, but my mother defended her. “Ava knows she’s allergic. She shouldn’t have tried to take Mila’s flowers. She brought this on herself.” My aunt was so angry she started to cry. “Evelyn, you’re so biased it’s sickening! You believe every word Mila says and won’t even listen to Ava!” “Mila grew up by my side. I know what kind of person she is,” my mother had retorted. “Ava was corrupted by that grandmother and uncle of hers. She lies as easily as she breathes.” My father, not wanting his precious Mila to be wrongly accused, checked the security camera footage when he got home. He saw Mila sprinkling pollen on my pillow and in my food, causing the severe reaction. But he never said a word. From that day on, though, he was just a little bit nicer to me. 9. My father’s face was flushed with embarrassment. “Ava, I… I forgot about your allergy.” I didn’t respond. I just sat on the hospital bed and offered him a tight, sarcastic smile. The police arrived. Their investigation suggested the car crash was suspicious. The car had suddenly swerved off the road and hit a traffic light pole. At the time, only Mila and I were in the vehicle. The dashcam was destroyed, and there was no CCTV footage of the car’s interior. Suddenly, Mila spoke up, her voice clear and confident. “I remember now! Ava was arguing with me in the car. She grabbed the steering wheel, and that’s what caused the crash.” My mother immediately backed her up. “That’s right! Ava has always had a terrible temper. She’s prone to fits and always bullies Mila.” The officer asked Mila why she was only saying this now. She hid behind my mother. “Ava was hurt so badly… I didn’t want to make things worse for her. I was afraid it would upset Mom and Dad.” My mother gave her a look of profound approval before glaring at me. I lowered my eyes. “Officer, I’m sorry. I have amnesia and can’t recall the specifics of that day. But I can assure you, I am not a hot-tempered or impulsive person.” Aunt Clara stepped forward. “Ava is an excellent driver and has a very calm demeanor. Even if they were arguing, she would never jeopardize her own life or the lives of others.” With two conflicting stories, the police had to continue their investigation. My father approached the officer. “Officer, this is a private family matter. Both my daughters are fine. Can’t we just let this go?” I knew he had figured it out. Mila was blinking rapidly, her tell-tale sign when she was lying. He used to think it was a cute, quirky habit. But for the sake of the daughter he had raised, he chose to protect her. Mila looked triumphant, smugly satisfied with her own lie. I gave my father a single, level look. He couldn’t meet my gaze.

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Our family is… a bit of a mess. I’m in love with my uncle. My uncle is in love with my older brother. My older brother is in love with me. My second brother, Quinn? He’s on another level. He’s in love with… well, you’ll see. 1. The air in the cramped bathroom was a humid, clinging fog. Vincent had me pinned against the tiled wall, the spray from the showerhead soaking his black shirt, plastering it to his chest and outlining a ridiculously perfect set of muscles. “Shane,” he growled, his voice a low rumble. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, don’t you? Serving yourself up on a platter for Richard Blackwood?” Richard Blackwood is my uncle. Something heartbreaking happened yesterday. I got blackout drunk and crawled into my uncle’s bed. In response, he opened another bottle of expensive whiskey, got me even more blackout drunk, and then delivered me back to my own bed, with all my parts attached and my virtue intact. When I woke up, I couldn’t face reality. I just wanted a long, hot shower to clear my head, but Vincent cornered me before I could even turn on the water. I stared into his bloodshot eyes. His hand, elegant and veined, slammed against the wall next to my ear. “Vince…” I stammered, my voice trembling. “Could I maybe… put some clothes on first?” I was completely naked, enveloped in his scent, the steam flushing my skin pink. I felt dangerously exposed. Vincent’s gaze flickered over me. He shut his eyes tight, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Go,” he rasped. 2. Our family situation is complicated. My parents had children late in life. My brother Quinn was supposed to be the heir, three years my senior. But he came out when he was twenty. Our parents nearly beat him to death, then shifted all their focus to grooming me, their backup son. I didn’t disappoint them. I came out at eighteen. My big confession was a love letter to my “uncle” Richard, a close friend of my father’s whom I’d fallen for at first sight. My parents, utterly defeated, adopted a new heir. Vincent. He was a student from a low-income family whom they had been sponsoring. Vincent was the perfect son: patient, disciplined, brilliant. He endured everything until our parents passed away. Only then did he finally come out. The day he did was… explosive. At the time, I was nursing a broken heart from being rejected by Richard for the umpteenth time. I’d hired a few cute models to drink with me and ease the pain. I was still in my boxers, thank God, when Vincent, who’d been in a business meeting in the next suite, burst in and caught me red-handed. He dismissed the models with a wave of his hand, leaving just me in the opulent suite. Me. My boxers. And my very eager friend downstairs, who was not cooperating with my state of despair. I saw Vincent’s Adam’s apple bob. … All I’ll say is, my brother is a very skilled man. Physically, it was incredible. Emotionally, I was a wreck. I’m sorry, but my heart still belonged to Richard. You always want what you can’t have. After Vincent came out, the happiest person in the family was Quinn. My depraved, chaos-loving second brother. He scrubbed himself clean and pranced right into Vincent’s bedroom, offering himself up like a sacrifice. Vincent beat the shit out of him. I mocked Quinn for his audacity. He, furious and humiliated, swore he’d conquer the one man I couldn’t have: our dear uncle Richard. Richard also beat the shit out of him. I howled with laughter at the sight of his black eye. He just looked at me and licked a split corner of his lip. … 3. The shower hissed off. I took my sweet time getting dressed, then called out lazily, “Okay, Vince. I’m decent.” Vincent stepped out of the bathroom, his gaze immediately snagging on my collar. “Button your shirt.” “Right.” So demanding. My mind was elsewhere, and my head was still pounding from the hangover. My fingers felt clumsy and disobedient; I fumbled with the top two buttons for what felt like an eternity. A hand reached out. Vincent took over, his knuckles brushing my chin. I tilted my head back, my eyes tracing the line of his jaw, the damp fabric of his shirt clinging to his chest. I poked him lightly. “Vince, your shirt is still wet.” His eyes darkened. “I know.” Once the buttons were fastened, he looked directly at me. “You’re really that crazy about him?” I met his gaze. “Vince, do you have any idea what love at first sight feels like?” His expression flickered. For a moment, he was silent. I turned to leave the room. “You should change and head to the office. I’m going to find some food.” As I stepped through the doorway, I heard a whisper, so quiet I almost missed it. “Of course I do.” … 4. For expert problems, you need an expert’s advice. That night, I met my best friend, Leo, for drinks at a high-end lounge. Leo. The most notorious heartbreaker in the city’s gay scene. In an era where bottoms were a dime a dozen, he was the one man who’d left a trail of a dozen gorgeous, devoted men in his wake, all of them still obsessed with him long after he’d dumped them. A singer crooned a soulful ballad on stage as we settled into a secluded booth with a few young idols Leo had invited along. Leo stroked his chin. “So, this whole situation with your uncle…?” I swallowed nervously. “Is there any hope? Be honest.” He blinked his wide, expressive eyes at me. “Shane, honey. You literally threw yourself into his bed, and he didn’t touch you.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Okay, okay, you can stop now.” Leo patted my head. “Why hang yourself up on one guy? You could have anyone you want.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “We bottoms can’t afford to be so wholesome.” One of the idols next to me smoothly offered me a drink. He was cute. I took a sip from the glass while he held it, then sighed. “But Richard is the one I want.” Leo shook his head. “You’re a lost cause. Honestly, I think your brother Vincent is a much better catch. And you’re not even related by blood.” “He’s… yeah, he’s great.” Great in certain… departments. A flush of heat crept up my neck as I remembered that night. Leo’s eyes danced with mischief. “Well, if you’re not interested, mind if I make a move?” “He’s not your type,” I blurted out. Leo raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Oh? And what is his type?” I paused. “He, uh… he likes the pure, innocent type. Like me.” Leo burst out laughing. “You? Pure and innocent?” He flicked the exposed waistband of my designer briefs. “Does ‘pure and innocent’ involve showing off your underwear?” I scooted away, annoyed. “You think I want to wear these? All my normal underwear has been mysteriously disappearing lately.” I could guess with my eyes closed who the culprit was. Leo draped himself over the man next to him, smirking. “Sure, sweetie. Keep telling yourself that.” I ignored him and reached for a drink on the table. As I turned, I realized I was practically in the idol’s lap. I froze, about to pull back, but he wrapped an arm around my waist and placed a fresh glass in my outstretched hand. The music on stage swelled, growing louder and more intense. The lights dimmed, casting the room in an intimate, hazy glow. “Another round, pretty boy?” he murmured. … I drank. A few rounds later, I was pleasantly buzzed when my phone vibrated. Vincent: Where are you? Me: Home. [GoodBoy.jpg] Just then, the singer from the stage joined our table, and Leo roped everyone into a drinking game. I tossed my phone aside and forgot about it. The games went on. The drinks kept coming. I rubbed my temples and finally glanced at my phone. Two hours ago. Vincent: I’ll give you one more chance. Where are you? One hour ago. Vincent: Be home within the hour. Thirty minutes ago. [Missed Call] [Missed Call] Now. [Vincent is requesting a video call.] I was about to answer when a low voice purred in my ear. “Still thirsty, pretty boy?” I glanced over. Leo and the singer were locked in a passionate kiss. A sudden, irrational anger flared inside me. Why was I the one with the damn curfew? I furiously accepted the call. “Vincent, can you just chill for one second? I’m busy having fun. Stop calling!” I hung up, raised my glass to the guy beside me, and clinked it against his. “Cheers.” I don’t know how much later it was when Leo, now arm-in-arm with the singer, came over. “Shane, sweetie, I’m heading out.” I nodded. The man beside me leaned in. “So, pretty boy, should we also…?” I waved a dismissive hand. “I’m going home.” Wait. Did I just… do something incredibly stupid? I fumbled for my phone. There was a new message from Vincent. It was a photo, taken from his perspective. He was sitting on the sofa, his long legs crossed, dressed in black suit trousers. In his hand, he held a long, thin discipline ruler. Below it was a voice note. “Good. Take your time. I’ll be waiting for you at home… Young. Master.” The alcohol vanished from my system. A cold dread washed over me. I was so, so screwed. In a panic, I called Richard. “Uncle! Code red! Can I come hide out at your place?” 5. A soft chuckle came from the other end of the line. “Shane, my boy. That’s a new one.” “No, I’m serious!” I kept him on the line while I forwarded him my entire chat history with Vincent. There was a sharp intake of breath on his end. “Shane,” he said, his voice suddenly tight. “Since you’ve asked so sincerely for my help, it would be wrong of me not to intervene. Send me your location. I’ll come pick you up and take you home.” Wait, what? I was speechless for a second. “No, Uncle, I meant I need a place to hide.” “Nonsense. Hiding at my place won’t solve anything. I’ll go have a word with your brother. Maybe I can talk some sense into him. Boys will be boys, after all.” I thought about it. “…Okay, fine.” I sent him my location. Less than ten minutes later, a flamboyant Rolls-Royce pulled up to the curb. The moment I got in and saw Richard in the driver’s seat, my heart started doing backflips. He was wearing a pale pink floral shirt, unbuttoned to the third button, offering a tantalizing glimpse of a firm chest. A pair of single-rimmed gold glasses rested on his perfect nose, framing his impossibly charming eyes. I swallowed hard. “Un… Uncle…” He glanced over at me. “Wipe your chin, kid.” …Right. As much as I wanted to drool, my fear of Vincent currently outweighed my lust. I sat quietly the entire ride home. Standing at our front door, I hesitated. “Uncle, maybe I should just go crash at a hotel. I can come back when Vince has cooled off.” Richard clapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t be afraid. If he tries to hit you, I’ll take the blow for you.” I was touched. I nodded, took a deep breath, and opened the door as if walking to my own execution. “You’re back.” Vincent’s voice was flat. He was sitting on the sofa, just like in the photo. He turned his head, and his expression instantly darkened when he saw Richard behind me. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice laced with ice. Richard strolled in, his tone light and breezy. “Poor Shane here was begging for my help. As his uncle, how could I refuse?” Vincent stood up and strode to the door, blocking Richard’s path. “We’re not entertaining guests tonight.” Richard stopped, his eyes flicking to the ruler in Vincent’s hand. “Isn’t this a bit much? The kid just wanted to have some fun. It’s normal for his age.” “This is a family matter. It has nothing to do with you.” Richard didn’t seem fazed by the rebuff. “What, am I an outsider now?” he sighed dramatically. “That hurts, Vince. I practically watched you boys grow up…” “Shane,” Vincent interrupted, his voice dangerously low. “Show our guest out.” A shiver went down my spine. He’d used my full name. I looked from Richard’s easygoing smirk to Vincent’s thunderous expression. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. Vincent’s knuckles were white around the ruler. This time, he was really pissed. After a rapid mental calculation, I spoke. “Uh, Uncle? Maybe you should head out for now…” Richard glanced between us and threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Fine, fine. The old man dies, and this is how you all treat me. I’m going to go burn some incense for him and ask him to haunt you all into showing some respect.” Muttering to himself, he walked out. At the door, he turned and gave Vincent a wink. “Vince, be gentle. Don’t be like your old man.” Vincent had had enough. He slammed the door shut with a resounding BOOM. The silence that followed was deafening. His eyes landed on my face, and I quickly looked away, unable to meet his gaze. He lifted a hand, and I flinched, shutting my eyes tight. The expected pain never came. Instead, a warm touch ghosted across my cheek. He was gently wiping away a lipstick smear left over from the drinking game. “Go drink the sobriety soup.” “Oh. Okay.” My adrenaline rush had sobered me up, but I obediently sat on the couch and drank the soup from the bowl on the coffee table. It was still warm. Vincent stood over me, watching patiently until I’d finished the last drop. “Why did you close your eyes? Did you think I was going to hit you?” I glanced at him, then at the ruler still clutched in his hand. Did this not look like the posture of a man about to inflict bodily harm? But then again, he never had. Not once. I shook my head. “No. But you seem really angry.” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “You’ve got that right.” I lowered my head, feeling guilty. Suddenly, I felt something cool press against my chin. Vincent was using the ruler to tilt my head up, forcing me to look at him. “First: you lied. Second: you broke curfew. And third,” his voice dropped, “you brought someone home you shouldn’t have.” “You tell me. What’s the punishment?” My face was burning. The position was humiliating, and he was right on every count. I had crossed a line tonight. I stubbornly averted my gaze. “Why don’t you go discipline Quinn? He’s still not home!” “My only requirement for Quinn is that he remains alive.” I was speechless. “Then what about me? Why do you care so much about what I do?” Vincent let out a cold huff and lowered the ruler. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of me, trapping me in his space, his scent. His deep voice vibrated next to my ear, sending a jolt of electricity through me. “Do you really not know why?” I knew. I’d known since that night. Vincent was in love with me. The memory of that wild night sent another wave of heat through me. His familiar scent was so close, my eyes were drawn to the slightly loosened knot of his tie, and my breathing hitched. I think I was still drunk. I shook my head, trying to clear the images from my mind. I raised my hands, pushing weakly against his chest. “Okay, okay, I get it! I won’t be out so late again.” He straightened up, letting me go. “You’re coming to the office with me tomorrow.” I was confused. “What for? I don’t know anything about business.” “The renovations are finished. I had a studio built for you next to my office. You like to paint, don’t you? It’s time you did something productive instead of hanging around with… those people.” I was stunned into silence for a moment. Then I nodded. “Oh… okay.”

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I’m the scum-of-the-earth beta in an ABO novel, and my Omega husband, Julian, is the main character destined for a happy ending with someone else. My role is to despise him, to be incapable of helping him through his heats. Julian has to work to support my deadbeat ass, and without a partner’s comfort, he’s supposed to fall into the arms of his Alpha boss, sparking a forbidden, passionate affair. But the script has gone haywire. Instead of cheating, Julian is all over me, constantly seeking my scent like I’m his personal catnip. He seems completely devoted. He’s even trying to trap me with a child. He clings to me, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, his voice a desperate plea. “Honey, can I have a baby for you? Please? Just look at me… love me a little, please?” I was so freaked out I almost scheduled a vasectomy. Then, he swallowed a pill, forcing himself into a heat. His sweet, intoxicating scent flooded the air, wrapping around me like a silken cage of desire. “Fine,” he whispered, his voice dangerously soft. “Then you can have my baby, darling. I’ll love it just as much as I love you.” 1 The rain outside was coming down in sheets, a relentless drumming against the windows. Then, the tell-tale click of the front door unlocking echoed from the entryway. I knew this was it. The first major plot point, where my husband, Julian, was supposed to start his affair with the main Alpha, Damian Sterling. This is an ABO novel. I died in my world, and when I opened my eyes, I was here, thrust into this story. And I’d been cast as the villain. The scum beta husband. A voice in my head promised me a chance at my old life if I just played my part and followed the script. So, I did. I went on a date with the main character, Julian, and I married him, just like I was supposed to. Shortly after the wedding, my startup spectacularly failed. The blow shattered my confidence, and I retreated into a world of video games, letting Julian work to support us while my temper frayed and my bitterness grew. My own insecurity made me lash out, finding fault in everything he did, despising him for my own failures. I’m a beta. I can’t satisfy an Omega’s needs, especially not during their heat. They say love conquers all, but reality was a chaotic mess of shattered dreams and mounting resentment. And that’s where the real hero, Damian Sterling, was supposed to come in. He was the one meant to rescue the wounded Julian, to finally give him the Alpha’s mark he deserved. Now, it was time for me, the scum husband, to deliver my lines. I slammed my controller down and swaggered out of my room, radiating arrogance. I didn’t even bother to put on slippers. The entire apartment was carpeted in plush, soft material anyway. I reached the entryway just as Julian stepped inside. He froze when he saw me, his expression a mixture of surprise and a flicker of carefully hidden joy. Behind him stood Damian Sterling. He was the picture of an Alpha CEO—tall, impeccably dressed, with an air of quiet power and deep, piercing eyes. The story’s hero, no doubt. Julian’s beautiful eyes lit up. “Honey, you came to greet me?” I lifted my chin, my voice dripping with disdain. “Don’t flatter yourself. Who’s he?” As I sized up Sterling, he was doing the same to me, a glint of surprise in his eyes. I was wearing a black silk pajama set adorned with little cat figures. My body was lean, my skin pale from months spent indoors. I was handsome in a sharp, delicate way, my features conveying nothing but contempt and pride, though a small beauty mark at the corner of my eye hinted at a subtle, almost hidden allure. My bare feet, pale as marble, sank into the cream-colored carpet. Julian’s gaze darkened. He knelt, his touch gentle as he cupped my foot. “You’re cold,” he murmured, his voice laced with concern. “You should wear socks around the house, honey.” He then looked up at his boss. “This is our company’s new director, Damian Sterling. The rain was too heavy, and his car ran out of gas right after he dropped me off. He was hoping to stay the night. Mr. Sterling, this is my husband, Michael.” ‘Ran out of gas.’ Right. What a laughably transparent excuse to get close to Julian. Couldn’t he just call a cab? I pressed my foot down on the back of his hand, my voice sharp. “Stop fussing over me.” Julian simply lowered his gaze, letting me pin his hand to the floor. His fingers curled slightly, brushing against the sole of my foot. A strange tingle shot up my leg, and I quickly pulled back before glaring at Sterling. “He can sleep in your room,” I announced. “But he’s not sleeping on my couch. And I’m hungry.” See? I’m a great wingman. I’m practically pushing them into bed together. Before Julian could respond, Sterling spoke, his voice smooth and deep. “You two sleep in separate rooms?” Julian’s face tightened. I let out a cold laugh, leaning into my role as the world’s worst husband. “I wouldn’t be caught dead sleeping with him! Anyone who wants him can have him. It’s not like we’ve ever even done anything!” You hear that, Sterling? He’s all yours. Pure and untouched. I haven’t laid a finger on him. Sterling raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the reality of Julian’s home life. Julian’s face was pale, but he forced a smile as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Honey, you’re hungry, right? I brought home dinner. Your favorite—honey-glazed wings.” I plopped onto the sofa with an air of condescending grace. On the coffee table were containers of my favorite takeout: honey-glazed wings and sweet and sour ribs. Finally, something good. Julian retrieved a pair of white cotton socks from his room and knelt before me, gently sliding them onto my feet. I didn’t have the energy to argue. He was so damn stubborn. If I refused, he’d just get that wounded, teary-eyed look, and I couldn’t handle that right now. From the moment I appeared, Julian had orbited me, soaking up every second of my presence. Even after putting on my socks, he lingered, watching me eat, his eyes filled with a tenderness so profound it was almost suffocating. He watched the way my cheeks puffed out as I chewed, and the adoration in his gaze was overwhelming. 2 Sterling’s gaze was heavy as he watched us. “You two seem very close,” he finally said. “What is it you do for a living, Mr. Michael?” After setting his sights on Julian, Sterling had obviously done his homework. He knew Julian’s husband was a failed entrepreneur, a recluse living off his Omega’s salary. His question was a deliberate jab, meant to twist the knife in my already wounded pride. He was jealous of the affection Julian showered on me. Fine. I’d give him the show he wanted. I masked my shame with bravado. “Hah! As if I’d chain myself to some dead-end desk job for a pathetic salary,” I scoffed. “I just can’t be bothered. Companies are practically begging me to work for them!” Julian’s eyes curved into crescents, shining with admiration. “That’s right! My husband is the most brilliant man I know!” Even when I acted like a complete loser, he looked at me like I was a god. It was as if no matter how far I fell, in his eyes, I would always be perfect. He was my most devoted believer. Sterling’s deep eyes remained fixed on me. “I’m sure,” he said, his voice a low purr. “If a man like you were to step outside, you could probably earn more in a month than most people do in a lifetime.” I was surprised. I hadn’t expected Sterling to flatter me. “Hmph. Like I needed you to tell me that.” Julian frowned slightly at Sterling’s tone and looked up. “Mr. Sterling, you must be tired. Please, feel free to get some rest. Your room is the one on the left. You’ll find a new toothbrush and towels in the bathroom cabinet.” A smirk played on Sterling’s lips, tinged with mockery. “Of course. Thank you for your hospitality.” With that, he headed towards the bathroom. The air between them felt thick with unspoken tension. Sterling was clearly jealous. This was the perfect moment for Julian to go and smooth things over. I put on my meanest face. “God, stop hovering around me! You’re so annoying. Just go away!” A shadow crossed Julian’s face, and he bit his lip. “Okay. I understand.” That look again! I couldn’t stand seeing him so hurt, so I quickly added, “And you have a guest. Don’t you know how to be a good host? People will think we have no manners.” Julian blinked, a look of sudden realization dawning on his face before it melted into a shy, pleased smile. “Right! You’re right, I’ll go check on him.” I had no idea why that made him happy, but he was always strange like that. Heeding my words, Julian walked to the bathroom and knocked softly. I heard his voice, gentle and concerned. “Mr. Sterling? Did you find the towels? Do you need any help?” “I do.” The door opened, and Julian slipped inside. The glass was frosted, but I could make out their silhouettes standing close together. They were murmuring something, their voices too low for me to hear. I imagined the scene from the novel playing out: Sterling: Julian, I need your help, too. Can that useless husband of yours truly satisfy you? He can’t even get you through a heat, can he? Julian, flushed with shame and anger: Stop! Mr. Sterling, please, have some self-respect! As my imagination ran wild, a loud thud echoed from the bathroom, followed by a muffled groan. Were they really going at it that intensely already? My chopsticks nearly clattered to the floor. I quickly ducked my head and shoveled the rest of my food into my mouth before scurrying back to my room. My job was to be the blind, deaf husband. I wouldn’t interrupt them for anything. 3 My room was a shrine to gaming—shelves overflowing with game cartridges and collector’s edition figurines. All I had to do was mention I liked something, and Julian would somehow acquire it for me. I had countless limited-edition items, some of which were now priceless collector’s pieces. I had no idea how he got them. They were probably knockoffs. I played for a while before exhaustion claimed me and I crawled into bed. My dreams were filled with memories of meeting Julian, of the early days of our relationship. Back then, I wasn’t forced to play the part of a cruel husband. I wasn’t so horrible. The first time I saw him, I was genuinely captivated. He was slender and graceful, with skin like porcelain. His smile was like a ray of sunshine on a cold winter day, impossible to look away from. When he shyly introduced himself, my brain short-circuited. “You smell… amazing,” I blurted out. In the world of ABO, saying that to an Omega was practically a proposition. He froze, a delicate pink blush creeping up his neck. I quickly stammered an apology, but thankfully, he didn’t hold it against me. My worldview was fundamentally different from the people here. I believed love shouldn’t be dictated by pheromones. That was no different from being a beast ruled by instinct. Pheromonal compatibility was a form of domestication. Love, true love, was a meeting of souls. Whenever I’d talk about these things, Julian would listen intently, his gaze fixed on my profile, his eyes deep and shining like a starry night. We didn’t have the primal connection of pheromones. We talked for hours, about everything and nothing, dreaming of a future together. Julian was an orphan; he yearned for a family, for a place to belong. He was starved for affection, and a scumbag like me took advantage of that. I remember what he said to me on our wedding day. “I love you because my soul loves you. I want to spend my life with you, and I would give anything for that.” He stood there in a white suit, his smile radiant, his clear eyes fixed on me, overflowing with hope and love. But I froze. A wave of panic washed over me, and an instinct I couldn’t control screamed at me to run. How could I? How could I accept such a pure, profound love when my own heart was built on a foundation of deceit? But then the voice returned, whispering in my ear. [Your only purpose is to bring Julian and Damian Sterling together. That is how Julian will find true happiness. They are fated. If you deviate from the script, you will alter his destiny. Can you bear that consequence?] Alter it? To what? Something worse? No. I couldn’t bear that. 4 I woke up to find my pillow damp. I sat up, rubbing my tired eyes, and heard a soft knock at my door. A glance at the clock showed it was 10:30 PM. I’d been asleep for less than an hour. The door creaked open after two gentle knocks. Julian stood in the doorway, clutching a pillow to his chest. His white pajamas were made of a light, soft fabric that draped elegantly over his frame—the matching set to mine. He bit his lip, his expressive eyes gazing at me, filled with an unspoken torrent of emotion. “Honey,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “Can I… can I sleep on the floor in here?” He looked so vulnerable, so pitiful. My resolve almost crumbled. I turned away, forcing a harsh tone. “No. Go back to your own room.” His response was instantaneous. A single, perfect tear welled up and rolled down his cheek. His long lashes fluttered, framing eyes filled with a silent, heartbreaking sorrow. He said nothing, yet his gaze screamed everything. My defenses shattered. I flopped back onto the bed and pulled the covers over my head. “Fine, fine! Sleep here! I don’t care,” I grumbled, my voice muffled by the blanket. Under the covers, a thought struck me. It felt like he was doing this on purpose, like he knew that his tears were my kryptonite. Julian settled onto the carpet beside my bed. “Goodnight,” he said softly. I didn’t need to look to know his eyes were fixed on me, brimming with that infuriating, all-consuming love. Having already slept a little, I was now wide awake. I lay there for a good twenty minutes before sleep finally began to pull at me again. Just as I was drifting off, I heard a rustling sound from the floor, followed by a faint, breathy gasp. He seemed to be sitting up. Then, my blanket shifted. A hand was sliding under the covers. My eyes flew open. I whipped my head around to find him staring at me, his face flushed with a feverish blush. His gaze was raw, direct, and filled with a desperate, naked craving. His full lips were parted, releasing shallow, ragged pants that smelled faintly of orchids. “Honey,” he breathed, his voice tight with restraint. “I feel… awful. Can you… can you help me, please?” He grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. One look at him and I knew exactly what was happening. His heat. Of course. This was why the original script had him sleeping with Sterling tonight. This was the moment Sterling was meant to mark him. Julian had been on suppressants for so long, without a partner to soothe him, that his heats were short but unpredictable. He never knew when one would strike, so he always carried an emergency dose. “Your suppressants!” I hissed, frantically patting his pockets. “Where are they?” His body trembled at my touch. He caught my searching hand, guiding it slowly, deliberately downward. The heat radiating from him was intense. A jolt of electricity shot through me. His lashes fluttered, his eyes clouded with a drowsy, possessive affection. It was a purely innocent form of seduction. “I don’t want suppressants,” he whispered. “I only want you.” I froze for a second before yanking my hand back as if I’d been burned. “I’ll get them for you.” I scrambled off the bed, but before I could take a step, his arms wrapped around me from behind. A hot tear splashed onto the nape of my neck. His plea was a broken, choked sob. “Honey, can I have a baby for you? Please? Look at me, just… love me a little? Please, love me… I’m begging you…” His voice was a fragile thread of raw desperation, so utterly humbled it broke my heart. He was willing to use a child to win back his husband’s love. The heat of his tears scalded my skin. Gritting my teeth, I pushed him away. “Julian, don’t you get it yet?” I said, my voice cold and cruel. “I don’t love you anymore. Nothing you do will ever change that.” I clenched my fists, forcing the words out, my mind already made up. I’d schedule the vasectomy tomorrow. I had to protect the story, to protect his happy ending, even if it meant destroying him—and myself—in the process. Julian’s eyelashes trembled. The light in his eyes flickered and died, leaving them empty. Tears streamed down his pale, shattered face. His fingers twitched, reaching for me for a brief, hopeful moment before retreating in fear.

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