The day after I was brought home as the long-lost daughter of the wealthy Lockwood family, I climbed to the school rooftop, ready to end my life. No one understood. I was finally about to live the good life. Why would I want to die? Because I remembered. In my previous life, shortly after being “welcomed” into the Lockwood family, I was framed as a murderer—a drunk driver who killed a family of three in a hit-and-run. It was my replacement, their precious adopted daughter Amelia, who had committed the crime. But the Lockwoods made me their scapegoat. My adoptive parents, the only real family I’d ever known, bankrupted themselves trying to save me. They died of grief and despair. My biological parents held a press conference, disowning me. They claimed that growing up poor had corrupted my character. In the end, I was stabbed to death by a grieving relative of the victims. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day after the Lockwoods had found me. This time, things would be different. This time, I would break my legs. How could I possibly go drunk driving then? … I stood on the rooftop for half an hour, a crowd of students and teachers gathering below. They were all gossiping, trying to figure out why the newly-found Lockwood heiress, a girl who should have been celebrating her good fortune, was about to jump. I ignored their murmurs and swung one leg over the ledge. Panic erupted below. They realized I wasn’t joking. Someone called the police. “I’ve had enough!” I screamed down at them, my voice raw with anguish. “Stay away from me, or I’ll take you all with me!” A teacher, Mr. Henderson, tried to reason with me. “Holly! Don’t be rash! Whatever’s wrong, we can talk about it. Come down, and the school will do everything we can to help you.” I looked at him, my expression one of profound sorrow, and nodded. Then, I stepped back from the edge. Seeing me comply so easily, a wave of relief washed over the teachers. The students, however, started to jeer. “Seriously? I thought something was actually wrong. She was just putting on a show.” “Yeah, what a drama queen. Pretending to jump for attention—” Their laughter died in their throats as they saw me reappear, this time in a fourth-floor window, one leg already dangling outside. The teachers’ hearts leaped back into their throats. They shushed the other students, terrified of provoking me further. “Holly, what’s wrong?” Mr. Henderson called out again, his voice gentle. “We agreed to talk, remember?” I stuck my head out the window. “I know! I’m on my way down. We can have a nice long chat.” As I was talking, my phone rang. It was my biological mother, Mrs. Lockwood. Her voice was a whip crack of anger. “What do you think you’re doing? Your school just called me! You really are a savage, raised in the gutter! When will you ever be as well-behaved as Amelia?” I glanced at the time on my phone and smirked. It was six p.m. At this very moment, her “well-behaved” Amelia was out joyriding, a bottle of vodka in her hand. In three hours, she would mow down a family and flee the scene. I didn’t know the victims. I had no way to warn them. The only person I could save right now was myself. “You’re the ones who drove me to this!” I shrieked into the phone. “I can’t take it anymore!” The students below, realizing who I was talking to, exchanged knowing glances. Mrs. Lockwood, unaware she was on speakerphone, continued her tirade in her condescending, aristocratic tone. “Go on then, make a scene. If you die, you’ll have deserved it. I already have a perfect daughter in Amelia.” With that, she hung up, her cruelty on full display. Mr. Henderson looked horrified, on the verge of tears himself, still begging me to come down. I closed my eyes, tuning him out. Her cold words had transported me back to my previous life, standing alone in that courtroom. The judge’s cold stare. The jury’s contempt. It wasn’t an ordinary hit-and-run. It was a massacre. A drunk driver in a sports car had killed three people, including an eight-month-old baby, who was crushed into an unrecognizable pulp. The law, public opinion—there was no escape. No one knew the real killer was the Lockwoods’ beloved adopted daughter, Amelia. They couldn’t bear to see her go to prison, so they offered me up instead. All the evidence pointed to me. I had no way to fight back. But in this life, how could I drive a car with broken legs? Just as I was steeling myself, my adoptive parents arrived. My mom ran toward the building, her face streaked with tears. “Holly!” she cried, her voice trembling. “What’s wrong, baby? Tell me what’s bothering you. Please, I’m begging you, don’t do this!” She was bent over, practically on her knees, pleading with me. My dad stood beside her, his face a mask of despair, but his voice was strong. “Come home, sweetheart. Come back to our house. We never should have let you go to them.” The teachers and students looked at them with pity. My dad turned to the crowd. “I’m so sorry for the trouble. My daughter will be fine. She’s coming down. She’s coming home with us.” Once again, they were putting me first, sacrificing their pride, their everything, just to keep me safe. Seeing their desperate faces, tears streamed down my own. In my past life, when I was accused, the Lockwoods held a press conference and disowned me. But my adoptive parents never stopped believing in my innocence. They sold their only house, everything they had, to hire a lawyer for me. But the Lockwoods had been meticulous. They had fabricated a perfect chain of evidence to protect Amelia. The case was airtight. My parents spent their life savings and still couldn’t uncover the truth. After I was sent to prison, they died, heartbroken, in a small, rented apartment. The memory hardened my resolve. I had to jump. It was the only way to prove my innocence, the only way for the three of us to have a future together. “It’s no use!” I shouted down to them. “You can’t fight a family like the Lockwoods! The only way out for me is to die! Just go!” My voice was filled with a theatrical despair. My mom just looked at me, her face etched with pain. “Have you ever heard of tragic literature?” I screamed, my voice taking on a manic edge. “When I’m dead, the Lockwoods will regret it! They’ll throw that Amelia out, and I’ll be their one and only daughter forever!” I laughed, a wild, unhinged sound. My parents stopped crying. The teachers and students stared, stunned. A few students whispered among themselves. “Has she lost her mind?” “It’s only been a few days. What did the Lockwoods do to her?” My mom covered her mouth, stifling a sob, afraid to say anything that might push me over the edge. I continued my mad rant. “I’m not crazy! The Lockwoods are wonderful to me! The first day I was there, they let me sleep in the cozy, comfortable maid’s room.” “They threw out all the local specialties my real parents packed for me. They said it was all garbage.” “And my loving biological parents told me that as soon as I graduate, I’m to be married off to the degenerate son of the Morrison family, in Amelia’s place.” Every word was a bombshell. The crowd looked on in disbelief. “What kind of parents are they?” “She must be making it up!” Only I knew it was all true. I had been treated like dirt from the moment I arrived. But in my past life, I had clung to the hope of finding love and acceptance with them. And my reward had been to become Amelia’s scapegoat. This time, it wasn’t just Amelia who would pay. The entire Lockwood family would suffer. My mom looked like she was about to faint. A few teachers rushed to support her. A student called out, “Even if your biological parents are terrible, you can’t just throw your life away! Look at your adoptive parents! They love you!” To ensure the Lockwoods wouldn’t target them later, I had to be cruel. I shook my head violently. “No! It’s not the same! You don’t understand!” Just then, I heard the sound of sirens in the distance. The police and an ambulance were arriving. My time had come. I scrambled down to the third-floor window. The police rushed into the building, hoping to grab me. But I didn’t hesitate. I threw myself out the window. As a pre-med student, I knew a fall from the third floor wasn’t likely to be fatal, especially if I landed on my feet. A sharp, agonizing pain shot through my left leg, but the rest of my body seemed fine. Amid a chorus of screams, I was lifted onto a stretcher. The pain was so intense that I blacked out. When I woke up, I was in a hospital room. My adoptive parents were by my bedside, their faces etched with worry. I looked down at my leg. It was in a thick cast. My mom saw I was awake. “It’s just your left leg,” she said softly. “The doctor said it’s a clean break. It’ll heal quickly. You just rest now. No more crazy thoughts.” I looked at her exhausted face and nodded. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 8:30 p.m. In half an hour, Amelia would commit her crime. After she killed that family, the first thing she would do was call the Lockwoods. Her parents would immediately send their “fixers” to dispose of the bodies and the car. The crime scene was in a deserted suburb. With the Lockwoods’ cover-up, it would be a month before the truth came out. I assumed it would be the same in this life. I could only save myself. “Mom, don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t cause any more trouble. I’ll rest up, and when I’m better, we’ll go home. Our home.” Tears of relief welled up in her eyes. She squeezed my hand and nodded. “Yes. Our home.” Just then, my phone rang, shattering the peaceful moment. The caller ID read: Mrs. Lockwood. My mom answered it for me. A torrent of abuse poured out of the speaker. “If you wanted to jump, you should have just died! Why did you have to run your mouth and spread those lies?” So, my little performance had gone viral. The Lockwoods were feeling the heat. There was no need to pretend. “Were they lies?” I asked coldly. She was furious. “I don’t have a daughter like you! I should have strangled you at birth! You’re nothing but a curse!” I was unfazed. “I don’t have a mother like you, either. And I’m never going back to the Lockwood house.” With that, I had my mom hang up. The truth was, the Lockwoods had known I was their daughter all along. They had only kept me away for Amelia’s sake. Their business had run into trouble recently. To save it, they needed to form an alliance with the powerful Morrison family, and their daughter was the price. They couldn’t bear to sacrifice Amelia, so they came for me. In my last life, I went to prison, and Amelia ended up marrying the Morrison heir anyway. They were the ones who needed me, yet they treated me like I was something they had scraped off their shoe. This time, I was done with them. They couldn’t use me as a scapegoat, and they couldn’t sell me off in a business deal. Amelia, the Lockwoods—it was time for them to pay for their own sins.

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1 After my father died, my mother tried to kill us both. At three, she forced sulfuric acid down my throat—until my melting face scared her away. I survived, but lived as a monster for 25 years. Then came Larry, who loved my scars, and his stepsister Aurora, who called me her closest friend. On Aurora’s birthday, I brought her favorite cake to their family party. Through the door, I heard Aurora’s voice: “Don’t worry, Mom. The donor is Larry’s girlfriend—she’s desperate for us. She’ll do it.” The door swung open. The woman froze. It had been 20 years, but I knew her instantly—my mother. “Go die,” she hissed. “Don’t ruin my life.” I set down the cake. “Happy birthday.” For a second, guilt flickered in her eyes. I walked away. I’d waited for this day so long. … The next day at work, Larry rushed over, his voice a mixture of concern and reproach. “Cora, what happened? It was Aurora’s birthday yesterday. My parents waited for you. Why didn’t you come?” I looked into his eyes, trying to gauge how much of his concern was real. “Something came up,” I said. “You couldn’t have sent a text? I called you a dozen times. We were worried sick.” I just nodded and went back to my work. Larry glanced around, then pulled me by the hand into a deserted stairwell. He handed me a medical file, his expression serious. “Cora, I need to ask you for a huge favor.” I thought back to the conversation I’d overheard. The bone marrow. My heart sank. The first page of the report confirmed it: Aurora had been diagnosed with leukemia. The next page was a compatibility test. A perfect match. Between her and me. “My sister… Aurora… she has leukemia,” he said, his voice tight. “She needs a transplant. At the last company health screening… I had a sample of yours tested against hers. It was a match, Cora. A perfect match!” “I was going to tell you at the party yesterday. Look, I know my parents can be… difficult… about your appearance. This is the perfect way to win them over. Once you do this for us, getting married will be a breeze.” His voice was bright with a triumphant certainty. He was so sure of himself. “Larry,” I said, my voice flat. “I won’t do it.” The thought that I might refuse had clearly never crossed his mind. He just stared at me, stunned. Aurora and Cora. Our names were a world apart. She was the morning glow, the rising sun. I was just dust, easily swept away. After my mother disfigured and abandoned me, it was an elderly neighbor who found me and rushed me to the hospital. For the past two decades, I have lived on the verge of suicide. Every day, I cake my face in thick foundation and hide behind a surgical mask. Because of how I look, it doesn’t matter how smart I am or how talented. The only jobs I can get are the most basic ones. I can’t have mirrors in my home. I’m terrified of seeing the monster that looks back at me. But now, I needed to see what Larry would choose. “Cora, she’s your best friend!” he pleaded. “Are you worried about the surgery? The side effects?” He grabbed my arms, but his eyes were fixed on my lips. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the horrifying scars that covered the rest of my face. “It’s not a painful procedure. The hardest part is finding a match, and you’re a perfect one! Some donors are walking around the same day. Please, Cora. Save her.” His confusion was turning into frustration, a hint of resentment creeping into his eyes. Of course the match was perfect. I was her daughter, too. I knew Larry didn’t know the whole story. But was he really with me because he could look past my scars, or was he just tolerating me for the sake of this donation? Why couldn’t he even meet my gaze? “I’m sorry,” I said, turning to leave. “I can’t. You’ll have to find someone else.” He grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. “Cora, how can you be so cold-blooded? Everyone looks down on you, they whisper about you behind your back! But Aurora and I—we never did! Who else would ever give a freak like you the time of day?” His voice rose, cracking with disbelief. “It’s a minor procedure, and you won’t even do it to save her life?” I turned back to face him, my eyes locking onto his. “I’ll do it,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “On two conditions. First, you give me five million dollars. Second, I want Vivian to come to me, on her knees, and beg for my forgiveness.” “Meet those conditions, and I’ll be at the hospital in three days.” Late that night, a message from Larry appeared on my phone. 【The family agreed. I didn’t know about your history with Vivian. I’m so sorry, Cora.】 Too little, too late. In three days, I would be gone. But this time, I would be the one doing the abandoning. 2 The nightmares I’d had for over a decade came roaring back. My face began to itch, a deep, maddening sensation, like a million ants were eating my skin from the inside out. I scratched until I drew blood, but it brought no relief. I’d seen countless doctors. They all suggested I see a psychologist, convinced it was a phantom pain, a scar on my mind left by the acid. To keep my skin from getting worse, I slathered on some ointment and put on my mask before heading to the office. “Cora, you’re finally here! Your mother has been waiting for you at your desk for ages.” Mother. The word stopped my breath. For a second, I was back in that night of agonizing, searing pain. I peered through the crowd of gawking colleagues. Vivian was sitting in my chair, looking impatient. She was dressed in expensive designer clothes. Life had been good to her. My first instinct was to run, but she spotted me. “Cora!” she called out. “Do you remember me? It’s Mom. I’m so sorry about that night. I just… wasn’t ready. Please don’t hold it against me.” She looked me up and down. “You’re all grown up.” The sight of her saccharine, fake sincerity made me want to vomit. “I’m not donating my bone marrow to Aurora,” I said. “Give up.” A crack appeared in her perfectly crafted, pleading expression. Her eyes narrowed, filled with a venomous light. “Cora, name your price. I’ll give you anything. Just save Aurora.” “What happened before was my fault, I know. But your life is already ruined. Aurora is still so young. She has her whole future ahead of her.” She grabbed my hand and slapped her own face with it, then threw herself at my feet, clinging to my legs. “She’s your sister! You can’t just let her die! Larry told me what you want. You want me to kneel? You want to hit me to feel better? Fine, do whatever you want.” “You want five million? Her father and I will give it to you. Just save her!” Vivian groveled on the floor, knocking her head against the linoleum, her voice thick with performative worry for her precious daughter. I watched her, and the memory of the night my father died flooded back. He was a truck driver. Not a man of great means, but he adored my mother and me. He never let Vivian work a single day in her life. He worked himself to the bone for a meager salary, and she would spend more than half of it on skin treatments and beauty salons. He never complained. He just worked harder, which is why he fell asleep at the wheel and died on the highway. Vivian thought her world had ended. She bought a bottle of acid for her grand, tragic suicide pact, but when she tried to pour it down my throat, I thrashed in terror. The acid splashed across my face, searing into my skin, twisting my features into an unrecognizable mask of agony. The sight of what she had created sent her scrambling backward. She dropped the bottle and ran. I almost walked out right then. I didn’t want to wait three days. I wanted to destroy her now. “It’s not enough,” I said, my voice cold. “You could bow a hundred times, and it wouldn’t even begin to soothe the hatred in my heart.” My colleagues started whispering. “Cora is so cold. She’s always been a weirdo, hiding behind that mask. Now her own mother is on her knees, and she won’t even save her sister.” “See? I told you. Never feel sorry for people like that. There’s always a reason they’re pathetic.” “She won’t even help her own sister. She’s not human.” Seeing my resolve, Vivian’s face finally changed. The mask of the grieving mother fell away, revealing the monster beneath. “Have you had enough?” she snarled, getting to her feet. “Is that any way to speak to your mother? I knelt, I apologized, I brought the money! What more do you want?” “I know you’re dating Larry. Don’t think for a second you’ll ever be a part of my family without my permission.” I just laughed and started to walk away. Panicked, Vivian grabbed my arm. “Cora, I’m warning you. Don’t push your luck.” “I gave birth to you! The only reason you’re alive is because of me! And now I’m asking you to donate a little bone marrow, and you dare to give me this attitude?” Her voice dripped with contempt. “I should have strangled you in the womb. You’re just as useless as your deadbeat dad.” 3 I spun around and grabbed the collar of her expensive blouse, my eyes blazing with fury. “You have no right to talk about my father!” I screamed. “The moment he died, you wanted to drag me down with you! Every good day you ever had was because of him! I look like this because of you!” “The person who deserves to die most in this world is you, you venomous bitch!” “You shut your mouth!” SMACK. Her hand connected with my face, sending my mask flying across the room. A collective gasp went through the crowd of onlookers. Some of them gagged. “Oh god, that’s disgusting! What is that? Her face is so… vile!” “No wonder she wears a mask all the time. She’s uglier than a demon. How can her boyfriend even look at her? My eyes are burning.” “Who even hired someone like that? I have to sit near her all day. I’ve lost my appetite. I think I’m going to be sick.” The hideous face I had hidden for more than a decade was now on display for everyone to see. Listening to their revulsion, I began to tremble uncontrollably. I wanted the earth to swallow me whole.

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Mona, the internet’s self-proclaimed vigilante, built a ten-million-follower empire on one thing: punishing the rich. She smashed supercars, slashed priceless paintings—the more expensive, the better. I’d always dismissed her as another fame-hungry clown, a sideshow for the perpetually online. Then I realized the mansion she was currently trashing on her livestream was mine. By the time I rushed to our estate, the damage was apocalyptic. The custom-ordered European crystal chandelier was a glittering ruin on the marble floor. A masterpiece worth millions, shredded into canvas ribbons. An antique vase valued at a fortune, now just a pile of porcelain shards. When she saw me, her chin lifted in a gesture of pure arrogance. “Not bad on the props,” she sneered. “Thirty grand should cover this pile of junk, right?” I surveyed the wasteland that was once my living room, a knot of fury tightening in my chest. I simply signaled for my butler to begin calculating the losses. When he finally told her she owed me one hundred and eighty million dollars, she pissed herself. 1 “My payment info. Now.” Mona lounged on my bespoke sofa, her tone dripping with disdain. When I didn’t move, her patience seemed to snap. She shot to her feet, planting herself in front of me. “What? You think thirty grand isn’t enough?” she demanded. “Look, I’ll admit the props were convincing this time, but I never asked you to go this over-the-top. Do you have any idea how much effort it took to smash all this? How much of my time you wasted? I should be charging you for the trouble. Don’t push your luck.” She settled back, preening. In her world, a world of ten million followers, people paid for the privilege of her attention. She’d never encountered someone who didn’t immediately bow down. I ignored her rant, my gaze fixed on the wreckage. I just waited, my patience a thin veneer over a core of white-hot rage, as Peterson, my butler, continued his quiet assessment. Mona’s foot began to tap impatiently. “What’s taking so long? Thirty grand is more than generous. You should be thanking me for paying that much for this heap of garbage. If you keep this up, you’re going to find out what happens when you get on my bad side.” A flicker of genuine malice crossed her face. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I was almost curious to see what “her way” of dealing with me looked like. Seeing my lack of reaction, she switched to a boastful tone. “Do you even know how many fans I have? Do you know how much my top donors gift me every single day? All I have to do is cry a little on camera, and they will cyberbully you until you want to kill yourself.” Cyberbully me? If she could actually pull that off, I might almost be impressed. “Miss Mona, please, be patient,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Since you’re so powerful, why don’t you stick around and hear what this ‘pile of junk’ is actually worth?” Just then, Peterson finished his calculations and approached, whispering the final figure in my ear. One hundred and eighty million. A nice, round number. “Peterson,” I said. “Please inform the lady.” My butler straightened his tie and turned to Mona, his voice ringing with crisp, professional clarity. “Ma’am, based on our initial assessment, the damages total one hundred and eighty million dollars. How would you like to handle the payment?” For a split second, raw panic flashed in Mona’s eyes. Then, she leaped from the sofa as if it were on fire. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? One hundred and eighty million!” she shrieked. “Do you even know how many zeros that is?” 2 As she was screaming, the team I’d called in earlier was already documenting the scene, their camera flashes illuminating the destruction. “Of course I do,” I replied smoothly. “The real question is, are any of your ‘top donors’ willing to foot the bill?” To my surprise, Mona burst out laughing—a wild, unhinged sound. Has the shock broken her brain? I wondered. “Miss Mona,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “Playing dumb won’t do you any favors here. You need to start thinking about how you’re going to pay me back for my ‘pile of junk’.” I spat the last words out, each one a testament to the fury I was barely containing. Only I knew the truth: every shard on the floor was a stab to my heart. That goddamned Mona. She’d used a bottle of vintage wine worth over a hundred thousand dollars for a fucking bath. The painting she’d shredded was now nothing more than a glorified dishrag. And worst of all, the Ming Dynasty cloisonné vase. It had been a birthday gift from my grandfather last year, something he’d spent a fortune on at auction. If I didn’t make her pay for this, I wasn’t a Price. Mona, however, was still full of bravado. “You lowlifes are just trying to extort me because I’m a famous influencer, aren’t you?” she sneered. “Fine. I’ll add another twenty thousand. Fifty K total. That should be enough for you greedy pigs. This is blackmail, you know. I could call the cops.” Wow. The sheer audacity to twist reality like this was almost impressive. I still had no idea how she’d even gotten into my house, and here she was, painting herself as the victim. Some people truly have no shame. My upbringing, however, demanded I maintain a shred of composure. “Since you brought it up,” I said, a slow smile spreading across my face, “why don’t we? You trespassed, destroyed my property… by all means, let’s get the police involved.” I nodded to Peterson, who immediately reached for his phone. “Wait!” Mona yelped. The bravado was gone, replaced by a flicker of fear. “What’s wrong, Miss Mona? Afraid?” I purred. “You seemed so confident a moment ago. Let’s let the authorities sort this out. I’m quite sure my security cameras recorded everything. Or perhaps you could tell them you were sleepwalking? Possessed by a demon, maybe? Otherwise, you’d better get used to the color orange, because you’re going to be wearing it for a long, long time.” The seriousness in my expression finally seemed to penetrate her thick skull. A flicker of doubt crossed her face. Could I have really… smashed the wrong house? Just then, her phone rang. 3 She snatched it up, and her furious screech echoed through the cavernous room. “Leah! Where the hell are you!” “You need to get your ass over here! Now!” “Avalon Estates, Number 17! You told me this was all handled! Now these people are trying to shake me down for 180 million! They’re threatening me!” “What the hell am I paying you for? If you can’t do your job, you’re fired!” A muffled voice on the other end murmured placatingly. “Mona, calm down. I negotiated the price beforehand. If they’re giving you trouble, I’m on my way with backup right now,” Leah’s voice promised. “Avalon Estates, Number 17. Give me twenty minutes.” Hearing that reinforcements were coming, Mona deliberately switched her phone to speaker. A smug, triumphant look returned to her face. “You hear that?” she said, her voice dripping with renewed arrogance. “Apologize to me right now, throw in a million or two for my emotional distress, and I might just let this go. Otherwise… I promise you, your life is over.” My life is over? She really was a first-class moron. I wanted to crack her head open and see if there was anything inside besides air. Yes, this was the Avalon Estates. Except I live at goddamn Number 18. To wreck the wrong house and still act this high and mighty… she hadn’t grasped the reality of her situation at all. You don’t get to act like a queen in my kingdom. Even God himself would have to bow before walking out of here. Her voice was starting to give me a headache. I took a slow sip of tea. “Since you’re so confident, Miss Mona, let’s just wait for your people to arrive.” After that, I tuned out her stream of curses and insults. Leah and her crew were surprisingly fast. As they strode into the room, I saw Leah’s eyes widen in confusion. This opulent disaster zone was clearly not the cheap prop house she had arranged. But she quickly masked her unease, stepping forward with a dozen thuggish-looking guys behind her. “So you’re the one trying to scam us?” she said, her eyes raking over me with contempt. When I didn’t reply, she continued, “You look the part, I’ll give you that. But you’d better not get so lost in the role that you forget what you really are. Do you know who we are? Do you know how many fans Mona has? One word from her, and you’ll drown in a sea of their hate.” She took another step closer. “Now, you’re going to get over here and apologize to Mona. If you beg nicely, maybe I’ll put in a good word for you. Otherwise…” I’d heard enough. Was everyone in her line of work this delusional? “Otherwise what?” I interrupted, my voice calm. “I’m sitting right here. Let’s see what you can do to me.” My composure must have pushed Mona over the edge. Seeing her backup had arrived, the last of her sanity seemed to snap. “What are you waiting for, talking to her?!” she shrieked at Leah. “Did you bring all these guys just for decoration? She thinks she’s so tough? Grab her! I’m going to personally smash her face in and see if she can still talk so big!” Leah, still retaining a shred of sense, hesitated. “Mona, I don’t think that’s a good idea. What if she really calls the cops? It’ll get messy.” In response, Mona spun around and slapped Leah hard across the face. 4 “You traitorous bitch!” Mona screamed, her face contorted with rage. “Have you forgotten who signs your paychecks?” “I have millions of fans! So what if I beat her to death? A piece of trash like her dares to defy me? I’m going to teach her a lesson she’ll never forget, right here, right now!” I watched as Leah’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. So, not the most loyal of relationships, then. Mona ignored Leah’s silent fury and barked orders at the hired muscle. “What are you idiots waiting for?! Grab her! Maybe when I’m done with her, I’ll let you boys have some fun.” She shot me a disgusting, leering smile. At that, the men’s faces lit up. The leader, a greasy-looking thug, cracked his knuckles. “Your mistake was pissing off the wrong person, sweetheart,” he sneered. “But don’t worry. We’ll make sure you have a real good time.” They started toward me, a predator’s grin on their faces. I snapped my fingers. In a blur of motion, my security detail emerged from the adjoining rooms. It was over in seconds. They were professionals, and these were street thugs. The greasy leader who’d insulted me was the first to go down, a single punch shattering his nose and sending a couple of teeth clattering to the floor. He lay there, howling in agony. Did she really think I’d be unprepared? The moment I saw the damage, I’d called in my own people. I rose from my chair and walked slowly toward Mona, the sound of my heels clicking on the marble. “So, Mona?” I asked, my voice soft. “Any other brilliant ideas on how to ‘deal’ with me? If not, you’d better start thinking about that 180 million. Because until that’s settled, you’re not going anywhere.” I turned to my butler. “Peterson. Call the police.” The show was over. I was done playing games.

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The day the true heiress of the Sterling family returned, I was in a car accident. My spine was permanently damaged. I was trapped in my own body, unable to move, a prisoner in a waking coma. I cried, I begged for death, but my adoptive mother insisted I live. She cared for me meticulously, day in and day out, for an entire year. Then, the true heiress, my “sister,” was diagnosed with leukemia. She needed umbilical cord blood to survive. My adoptive mother started letting strange men into my bedroom. One after another. Soon, I was pregnant. As my belly swelled, the heiress, Veronica, would taunt me, her voice dripping with triumphant malice. “Thank you for the baby. The cord blood is doing wonders for my skin.” It took me three days to slowly, painstakingly, pull out my own breathing tube. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day she returned. … “Sister, I think the car broke down. Could you get out and check?” Veronica’s voice, the voice of a demon, jolted me awake. The inky blackness outside the window confirmed it. I was reborn. “It’s so dark out there, and I’m scared,” she continued, her voice trembling. “The driver said he’ll stay in here with me. Can you please go see what’s wrong?” Her hand, cold as ice, gripped mine. I instinctively ripped my hand away, my eyes welling with tears. How long had it been since I’d felt the simple freedom of my own body? Veronica was the true Sterling heiress, lost for over twenty years, only recently found. The family was throwing a lavish party to welcome her home. She had insisted on riding with me instead of her parents, claiming she wanted to share “girl talk.” I had believed her. The car “broke down” on the highway. She cried, she pleaded, she begged me to get out and push. The moment I stepped out of the car, a speeding sedan slammed into me, sending me flying. As I lay dying in a pool of my own blood, Veronica, the same girl who had been sobbing in fear moments before, knelt beside me. Her face was a mask of dissatisfaction. “How are you not dead?” The driver who hit me leaned in and whispered something in her ear. “Miss, a live one is more valuable. You can do a lot more with her this way.” Veronica’s expression shifted as she looked at me. Then, she called my adoptive mother, her voice choked with fabricated sobs. By the time my adoptive parents arrived at the hospital, Veronica had bruised her own face. “It’s all my fault! If I hadn’t come back, there wouldn’t have been a party, and this wouldn’t have happened to Sharon! Why wasn’t it me? Am I bad luck? I shouldn’t have come back…” My adoptive mother, completely taken in, believed every word. To “compensate” me, she had a state-of-the-art medical suite built in our villa, with round-the-clock care. Then, Veronica was suddenly diagnosed with leukemia. She needed umbilical cord blood to survive. My adoptive mother listened to her, and an idea formed. She decided I would become a surrogate. A procession of strange men began to enter my room. On top of me, off of me… I lost count. I only knew that soon, I was pregnant. One child wasn’t enough. So there was a second. A third. As my dignity was systematically stripped away, Veronica would sit nearby, watching. “You stole my life for twenty years,” she’d hiss. “This is what you deserve.” Her eyes were filled with a vicious hatred. “I want you to suffer for twenty years before you die. Otherwise, I’ll never be satisfied.” In front of her lay my fifth newborn. As I watched its neck being snapped, I bit through the artery in my own wrist. A chilling cold spread through me. “Veronica,” I managed to whisper, “you will burn in hell for this…” She tossed the tiny body aside. “Thank you for the baby. Now I can use the cord blood for my beauty treatments.” That same demonic smile was now dancing before my eyes. Seeing me hesitate, she urged me again. “Sister, hurry up and get out. We’re going to be late.” I glanced at my phone. It was 8:00 PM, just like last time. And in the distance, I could already hear the roar of an approaching engine. “Okay,” I said, meeting her eyes, and obediently stepped out of the car. Normally, the side I exited on faced away from traffic. I shouldn’t have been hit. But last time, the moment my feet touched the pavement, our driver sped away, leaving me exposed. In the next second, the speeding car was on me. I had no chance to escape. The car door clicked open. I stepped out. A flicker of malice crossed Veronica’s eyes as she gave the driver a subtle nod. Just as the car door was about to close, I grabbed her hand. “I smell gasoline. The car isn’t safe. You should get out, too.” I yanked her out with all my might. The blinding headlights from the oncoming lane illuminated the terror in her eyes. At the last second, it was our driver who reacted first. He slammed on the accelerator, positioning our car to shield us. The sound of the impact was deafening. Veronica’s face went white, and she collapsed to her knees. I ignored her and dialed 911. “Hello, there’s been a violation on the highway, a car driving against traffic. I suspect attempted murder. Please…” Veronica scrambled to her feet and snatched the phone, ending the call. “Sister, we’re fine, aren’t we? Mom and Dad are waiting at the hotel. Let’s not cause any trouble.” “But you just got back, and something like this happens. I think someone might be targeting you.” I put on a concerned expression. “I should call Mom and Dad and have them pick you up.” Veronica refused. “Driver, can we still drive the car? Maybe we should just leave.” The driver gave me a furtive glance. “It’s a minor issue. It won’t affect our driving.” He cleared his throat. “Miss Sharon, Miss Veronica, Mrs. Sterling just called. The guests have almost all arrived. As the main characters, you shouldn’t be late. We should get going.” Looking at the driver, I knew. From the very day she arrived, Veronica had been buying off the staff. She had wanted me dead from the start. I didn’t know why she hated me so much. From the moment she returned, I had already decided to leave. She had found her real parents, and I wanted to find mine. But she never gave me the chance. She immediately started playing the victim in front of my adoptive parents, acting as if she were terrified of offending me. “Whatever sister doesn’t want, I’ll take. I like everything.” “As long as sister is happy, I don’t mind.” In just a few days, she had charmed everyone in the villa. It was why, when I later became a vegetable, everyone despised me. Half an hour later, we arrived at the hotel. My adoptive mother immediately saw the scrapes on Veronica’s arm, and her expression soured. “Sharon, did you bully Veronica?” Tears welled in Veronica’s eyes. “Sister didn’t mean it. She was just trying to protect me… Mom, don’t be angry.” Then, she came to me, gently tugging on my sleeve. “Sister, I didn’t come here to tear your family apart, just to join it. Please don’t be angry. Next time, I’ll make sure the driver checks the car properly. And if there’s a problem, I’ll be brave, just like today. I won’t let you face the danger alone.” My adoptive parents questioned the driver and learned what had happened. My mother shot me a glare. “Sharon, it seems genes really do determine everything. A bad seed is a bad seed. How could you make your sister get out of the car to check?” “You knew she’s afraid of the dark! Why didn’t you go yourself? Would getting out of the car have killed you?” The warmth in her eyes when she looked at Veronica vanished the moment she turned to me, replaced by pure disgust. My already-shattered heart ached anew. Before Veronica, I was the apple of her eye. She had given me all her love, made me feel like the happiest princess in the world. That was why I was so shocked, so uncomprehending, when she allowed Veronica’s men to hold me down. I didn’t even know how to resist. I just let her touch my face, let her smile as she tied me up herself. “Sharon, just bear with it for a little while. Veronica and I have finally been reunited, and I can’t lose her. As soon as you give birth, Mommy will let you go, okay?” I shook my head, and she slapped me, hard. Then, she lovingly applied ointment to my cheek. “I’m sorry, Mommy was just too anxious. You and Veronica are both my treasures. I don’t want to lose either of you. It’s just giving birth. Don’t be so resistant.” Now, I didn’t argue. I just bowed my head and apologized, afraid she would see the hatred in my eyes. “If sorry was enough, what would we need police for?” my adoptive father snorted. “Get out. I don’t want to see you again tonight.” His words were exactly what I wanted. I found an empty lounge to review the situation. But before I could close the door, several men burst in. My face went pale. They were Veronica’s bodyguards. In my past life, they were the first to torture me. In fact, the first child I lost was theirs. “What are you doing?” The men approached, their intentions clear. The one in front was already undoing his tie, wrapping it around his hand. “Miss, we’re just following orders. Don’t blame us for what happens…” I backed away, stumbling against a sofa. “Did Veronica send you? Why is she doing this?” “We don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss.” They were cautious. No matter how I tried to trick them, they wouldn’t say Veronica’s name. “We just like you so much, Miss. We wanted to… get to know you better.” The man in front suddenly raised his hand. I saw the bottle he was holding. My eyes widened. That familiar scent—last time, they said I was a living corpse, no fun at all. So before they touched me, they would always make me inhale an aphrodisiac. Over time, my tolerance grew. They went from spraying it to pouring it down my throat, to injecting it directly. I was so sensitized to it, I would never forget the smell. I clamped my hand over my nose, holding my breath, but I still caught a whiff. A familiar heat began to spread through my body. I couldn’t stop trembling. I dug my nails into my thigh, desperately trying to hide my reaction. But they had already noticed. Their laughter grew more unrestrained. “Miss, your neck is so red. It’s quite beautiful.” “I wonder if a neck that red tastes sweet? I can hardly wait. Look at my pants, they’re already straining…” “You’re so pathetic, just looking at her neck? I think the real scenery is further down.” Their laughter was like daggers, their movements sending tremors of fear through me. As they began to undress, memories of my past life assaulted me. After the car accident, I was a quadriplegic, confined to a hospital bed, needing 24/7 care. Veronica, who had always been healthy, fell ill shortly after I was brought home from the hospital. Acute leukemia. She needed umbilical cord blood to live. “Mom, I’m sorry. I’m so useless,” Veronica had said, lying in her bed, pale as a ghost. “If only I could get pregnant. I heard the doctor say that an infant’s cord blood is the most effective. Mom, please, find someone for me to marry.” “I want to be with you and Dad forever. I don’t care if I have to sacrifice my purity. I just want to be with you.” My adoptive parents struggled with the idea, unwilling to subject her to such an ordeal. They even considered buying a child, but Veronica stopped them. “Mom, Dad, that’s illegal. I don’t want you to take risks for me. I just want our family to be together.” Her emphasis on “family” made their gazes drift toward my bedroom. That night, my door was opened. That night, the lights in my room stayed on. My hoarse screams echoed through the villa, but no one came to save me. The next day, the nurses acted as if they saw nothing, changing my dressings and massaging my limbs as usual. The next night was another sleepless one. It was only when the nurse confirmed I was pregnant that I was given a brief respite. The day I gave birth, Veronica, who had been bedridden, came to see me. I watched, helpless, as they drained the blood from my newborn. Veronica looked at the blood and the lifeless body and smiled. “Sharon, you stole twenty years of my life. Now, you can give birth to my children for twenty years.” She curled her lip. “I hear umbilical cord blood is the best for one’s complexion. I must thank you for helping me stay young.” Because of her “thanks,” more men were brought to my room. I don’t know how many years that hellish torture lasted. I couldn’t even kill myself. Until that one day, when I finally managed to raise my limp hand to my mouth and end my own life. Reborn, Veronica had failed to kill me once, and now she had a backup plan. I scrambled behind the sofa, throwing anything I could grab at them. The loud crash attracted attention from outside. I found an opening and lunged for the door. “Help me!” A waiter down the hall turned. A flicker of hope ignited within me. In the next second, my hair was yanked, and I was dragged back. My scalp screamed as I was thrown to the floor, clumps of my hair falling around me. I clutched my bleeding head, staring at them in terror. “This is illegal.” “How much did Veronica pay you? I’ll give you double if you let me go.” “Pah!” The leader spat at me. “Miss Veronica is the true heiress. You’re just some bastard from god-knows-where. You think you can buy us off? Do you even have any money?” “Crawl over here and serve us well, and maybe I’ll tell my brothers to be gentle with you. Otherwise…” The glint in his eyes was like a knife, slicing at my skin, making every inch of me ache. Two men came over and pinned me to the floor, tearing my clothes with one hand. The sight of my white skin seemed to excite them further. “As expected of a pampered lady. This color… so nice!” “Let me have a feel… Ah!” I bit down hard on his arm, tearing away a piece of flesh. The foul, coppery taste in my mouth made me vomit all over him. But remembering what he had done to me in my past life, I lunged again, sinking my teeth into his other hand. My hair was pulled back so hard I could hear my scalp tearing. But I didn’t dare let go. This was my only chance. Finally, the man couldn’t take the pain and threw me off. I seized the opportunity, knocking into another man and ramming my head into the last man’s groin. Amidst his pained cry, I threw open the door. “Help!” I grabbed a passing waitress. “Call the police!” The waitress stared at me, covered in blood, my lips torn, and shrieked. She fumbled for her phone. I watched her, my heart pounding, as she dialed. “9-1…” Just as she was about to press the last digit, Veronica appeared around the corner. She gave her men a look. “Sister, are you sick again? It’s okay, I’ll have someone take you to the hospital. I’ll handle the assault.” She patiently explained to the waitress that I was just ill, that there was no need to call the police. My attempts to explain were silenced. As the waitress was about to leave, I broke free and rushed to her. “I’m not sick! They were about to assault me! Please…” But the waitress had already believed Veronica. She wouldn’t listen. Despair began to consume me. Veronica smiled. “No one will believe you. I’ve already spread the news that you have a mental illness.” “Mom and Dad are ashamed of you. They’ve already removed you from the family tree, Sharon…” she whispered in my ear. “Two lifetimes, and you’ll never beat me. Just give up.” I stared at her, my eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re reborn, too?” She didn’t answer, just motioned for the bodyguards to restrain me.

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In my past life, I secretly adored Liam for four years. Then, I dated him for four more. Eight years. Eight years of my life, utterly erased the moment his childhood sweetheart, Valerie, returned. He ended things with me, no argument, no hesitation. I accepted it with a quiet, hollow resignation. No tears, no pleas. But days later, he was outside my apartment, live-streaming, kneeling, begging me to take him back. He claimed that even if we were truly over, he just wanted one last chance to celebrate my birthday, to hold me one more time. Swayed by the flood of online comments urging me to reconsider, my heart, foolishly, softened. I went downstairs. But the moment we met, he ended the live stream. And then, he produced an axe. He hacked at me, blow after brutal blow, his voice a frantic mantra. “You wanted to be separated? Fine. I’ll separate you.” I fought, thrashed, desperate to escape, but he stuffed my body into two canvas bags. Until my last breath, I couldn’t understand it. He was the one who wanted to break up. When he loved me, he wanted us to be inseparable. When he didn’t, he scattered me, piece by piece. I opened my eyes again. I was back. Back to the day of his live stream. The insistent ringing of my phone jolted me fully awake. My familiar bedroom, the pulsating name on the screen—I was certain. I had been reborn. The ringing grew more frantic, each chime like a relentless death knell, sending a sickening chill through me. Cold sweat beaded on my back and palms. Last time, it was this very day that Liam called, asking to meet. I had initially refused. He was the one who had discarded me. But then I saw him, live-streaming his public plea for my return, and my heart, pathetically, had softened. When I saw him in the underground garage at 11 PM, he strode towards me, clutching a massive bouquet of flowers. I thought he was genuinely remorseful, coming to apologize. I couldn’t have known it was just the beginning of a nightmare. “Liam, if you promise me you won’t see Valerie again, I’ll…” My words died in my throat as a hand clamped over my mouth and nose. A noxious, chemical scent filled my lungs, and darkness swallowed me whole. I woke again in a derelict slaughterhouse. Liam stood over me, an axe in his hand. I was tied to a cold, stone slab, utterly helpless, able to emit only a weak, whimpering sound. “Wh-what are you… doing?” Liam’s expression was a horrifying blend of agony and a twisted smile, making him look like a demon clawing its way out of hell. He didn’t answer. Instead, he blindfolded himself. His axe rose and fell, hacking at my body, indiscriminately, blow after blow. “Separated. This is true separation.” Soon, my flesh was torn, my bones splintered. The excruciating pain made me writhe and scream, but it was useless. “Why?” That was the last word I uttered. “Elara, don’t be scared. It’ll stop hurting soon. Then, we’ll both be free.” My disembodied spirit hovered, watching the stone slab turn crimson with my blood. My body, cut into pieces, was stuffed into two canvas bags. Only then did Liam collapse onto the ground, exhausted. Even as a ghost, I felt the phantom agony of my flesh being ripped from my bones. I wanted to hurl myself at him, to demand an answer, but my hands passed through his body like smoke. Liam didn’t even spare my shattered remains. He poured gasoline over them and set them alight, then buried the ashes. His eyes, though, were gleaming with a chilling excitement. “Now,” he whispered, “Valerie and I can truly be together.” Even in death, the question echoed: Why? Why couldn’t he let me rest in peace? I didn’t understand. He broke up with me. I didn’t beg, didn’t cling. Why did I have to die for them to be together? And on my birthday, no less. Four years ago, on this very day, he had blushed and declared his feelings for me. This was the man I had loved for eight years. How could he be so cruel? The phone’s ringing shattered my thoughts, dragging me back to the present, reminding me of the bone-deep agony I had endured. I couldn’t bring myself to answer, couldn’t bring myself to hang up. I just flipped the phone over, silencing it. Once my racing heart began to calm, I opened my laptop. Logging into the video site as a guest, I searched the keywords burned into my memory. Sure enough, Liam’s live stream appeared. My hands clenched and unclenched, again and again, before I finally clicked. Just like last time, Liam was on screen, recounting our relationship. He didn’t mention Valerie at all, only that he hoped I’d give him a chance to end things amicably. “I just want to see her one last time. Our journey began on her birthday, and if it’s truly over, I want to see it through, to spend one last birthday with her.” The comments section exploded. Strangers were moved by his words, typing furiously. “I don’t know why you broke up, but love is worth fighting for!” “The chances of two people in the world truly loving each other are lower than winning the lottery. Go get her, man!” “If you’re begging for a second chance, you need to show some serious commitment. How about you ‘tip’ her five grand, just to show your sincerity?” Just like last time, my phone chimed with a bank transfer notification. Simultaneously, Liam displayed his own transfer of fifty thousand dollars on screen. “If she’ll just see me, I’ll give her anything.” He looked into the camera, his voice full of feigned desperation. “But she’s not answering my calls. Does anyone have other suggestions? I’m willing to try anything.” In my past life, it wasn’t his money that moved me. It was the sight of this normally aloof and proud man, looking so helpless, so desperate for strangers to offer advice. I had never seen him like that. Combined with the abruptness of our breakup, I decided to meet him, to hear his explanation. So I answered the call and went downstairs. My moment of weakness had cost me my life, torn limb from limb. Now, I knew the outcome. But seeing Liam’s face on the screen, a insidious voice still whispered in my mind, urging me to meet him. It even tried to convince me that maybe, just maybe, he had a good reason for what he did last time. The thought horrified me. My breath hitched, panic rising in my chest. I rushed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face for several minutes until I finally calmed down. I stared at my reflection. “My love-struck brain is beyond saving, isn’t it? I know exactly how this ends, and I still want to see him.” Calmer now, I looked back at the screen. Liam’s head was bowed, as if in sorrow. A comment caught my eye. “Maybe she didn’t see her phone, or she’s asleep. Just go to her place directly, man! That’ll show real sincerity!” Then, another comment appeared, chilling me to the bone. “I urge you all, don’t meddle in other people’s fates. This guy, he looks sad, but there’s a cold glint in his eyes. He might be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Haven’t you heard about those dismemberment cases? When they love you, they want to be with you every second. When they don’t, they want to cut you into pieces. Don’t encourage him to go looking for her in the dead of night.” I hadn’t seen that comment in my past life. By then, I was already downstairs. And the outcome was exactly as that stranger had predicted: I was cut into pieces. As I stared, frozen, Liam suddenly lifted his head. “Then I’ll go to her place,” he said, a smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. “I hope I don’t scare her. I’ll stop the live stream now, since it involves her address and other private information. Wish me luck, everyone.” He was smiling as he said it, but his gaze seemed to pierce through the screen, looking directly at me, as if to say, “I found you.” With that, he ended the live stream. A chill went down my spine. I didn’t even bother exiting the site; I just slammed the laptop shut, grabbed my phone and keys, and bolted out the door. Two elevators were ascending simultaneously. I had no idea which one he was in. As I left my apartment, I checked the lobby surveillance feed on my phone. I saw him step into an elevator. To avoid him, I decided to take the stairs. But as I hurried down to the tenth floor, a sudden, inexplicable dread seized me. I didn’t know if it was just my nerves, or if it was the intuitive warning of danger. I stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. I peered down the stairwell. The emergency lights below weren’t on, meaning no one was coming up. But the inky blackness below felt like a bottomless abyss. Each passing minute felt like an eternity. Amidst the fear, a twisted sense of anticipation flickered within me. I must be insane. Had dying once left my brain damaged, my cells rewired? The stairwell was silent, amplifying the sound of my ragged breathing. As I hesitated, I heard footsteps from below. They were soft, too soft to trigger the emergency lights, but each step echoed like a hammer blow against my chest. I tried to reassure myself—my apartment was on the eighteenth floor; Liam wouldn’t take the stairs. But I couldn’t bring myself to move. Just then, the magnetic lock on the stairwell’s security door clicked open with a soft thwack. The sudden noise made me jump, almost screaming. I stared, wide-eyed, at the person who stepped through. Ethan, my colleague, looked equally startled. He was about to speak when I clapped a hand over his mouth, pulling him into his apartment. Only when the door was shut behind us did I slide down the frame, collapsing in a heap on the floor, utterly drained. He saw my sweat-soaked face and offered me a glass of water. “Professor Elara, what’s wrong?” My throat was parched. I snatched the water and gulped it down, too frantic to explain. “Do you have a security camera outside your door? Can you check the footage for me?” I had noticed a small camera above his door, pointed squarely at the hallway. My hands trembled as I watched the footage from a minute ago. A few seconds after Ethan and I closed his door, a hand pushed open the security door to the stairwell. Liam appeared, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his arms. He glanced around, then his eyes settled, dark and menacing, on Ethan’s door. He had taken the stairs after all. But why? I recoiled, pulling Ethan further away from the door. “It’s impossible. How did this happen?” He had taken the elevator! And there was no one on the stairs before. How could he have appeared on the stairs after entering the elevator? During our four years together, Liam and I had often shared this strange, almost telepathic connection. Before I even spoke, he would know what I wanted to eat that day, even if the thought had just occurred to me. Or he would give me gifts I desperately wanted, things he, a self-proclaimed ‘man’s man,’ would never have heard of otherwise. Even during arguments, he always knew exactly what triggered my anger, allowing him to apologize precisely. Back then, I thought it was sweet. It was chemistry, the deep understanding of two people in love. But now, it felt bizarre, terrifying. The sensation of being unable to escape him, no matter what I did, was suffocating. “Professor Elara, what are you talking about?” Ethan asked. Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door, followed by Liam’s voice. “Elara? Is that you?” I sank onto the sofa as Ethan took his phone, checking the security feed. “Did you run into some creep? Is he stalking you?” My body tensed. I couldn’t answer. He finished watching the footage and started for the door. His movement sent a fresh wave of terror through me. “No, don’t… don’t open it!” I clung to his arm, shaking my head frantically. Ethan was a new computer science teacher at our school, and we shared an office. We hadn’t really spoken much beyond work, so I was surprised to learn he lived just below me. Right now, he was my only lifeline. I had no idea what Liam might be carrying. Were the flowers hiding only a sedative, or was the axe there too? Seeing my entire body tremble, Ethan knelt down, his voice soft and reassuring. “It’s okay. Just relax. Take a deep breath.” As he gently pried my hands from his arm, I realized I had dug my nails into his skin, drawing blood. “I’m sorr…” My words caught in my throat as my phone screen lit up again. Seeing Liam’s name, I almost burst into tears. Even though it was on silent, my body reacted. I wanted to throw the phone, but I couldn’t risk making a sound. I just curled into a ball in the corner, clutching my head, unsure how much time had passed. Finally, Ethan’s voice broke through the haze. “It’s okay. He’s gone. Do you want me to call the police?” A thought struck me. I held out my phone. “Professor Ethan, can you check if my phone has any tracking software installed?” Half an hour later, Ethan confirmed there were no tracking apps or plugins on my phone. I also checked myself thoroughly in the bathroom—my clothes, hairpins, nothing seemed out of place. This only deepened my confusion. Could love really create a psychic connection? But he didn’t love me. If he loved me, why would he kill me? Finally, I gave Ethan a simplified version of what was happening with Liam. “He’s my ex-boyfriend. He broke up with me, but now he’s trying to get back together. I’m scared he’s unstable, so I’m trying to avoid him.” I only told Ethan that I’d seen too many news stories about spousal murders, and combined with the online comments, Liam’s late-night appearance had terrified me. Ethan didn’t press for details. He simply comforted me. “It’s always best to avoid meeting alone when there’s an emotional dispute. It’s smart for a woman to be cautious. You did the right thing. He doesn’t seem emotionally stable.” “I think you should call the police anyway, just to have a record.” I shook my head. It was useless. Liam didn’t leave the complex until an hour later. Ethan accompanied me home to pack a few things. I couldn’t stay there. But I was also scared to be alone in a hotel. Ethan took me in. I slept in his room, and he took the sofa. Last night, I had thought it through. I really couldn’t call the police. Liam hadn’t actually harmed me yet. Aside from coming to my home, he hadn’t done anything extreme. So all I could do was stay away. Thankfully, school was out for summer break. I remembered seeing a travel guide on Ethan’s bedside table and, brazenly, asked him, “Professor Ethan, are you planning to travel? Could… could I come with you?” He paused for a few seconds, then gave a resigned, slightly amused nod. “Yes.” On the way, I learned Ethan was going back to his grandmother’s in a quiet mountain village. I also agreed to pretend to be his girlfriend to help him avoid incessant questions about marriage. Ethan’s grandmother lived in a charming, old two-story house with a sunny rooftop terrace. The slow pace of life there calmed me. I couldn’t help but sigh. “I wish I could stay here forever!” “Then stay.” I was startled when Ethan’s grandmother appeared, carrying a stack of blankets. I guessed she was going to sun them. “Grandma, let me help you.” She sighed, pulling me down to sit beside her. “My grandson has no luck,” she lamented. “Such a wonderful girl, and she’s not even his.” My eyes widened. “Grandma, I…” She held my hand, her gaze piercing. She said she knew from the moment she saw me that I wasn’t Ethan’s girlfriend. As I wondered if Ethan and I had given ourselves away, her next words stunned me into silence. “There’s something inside you, child…” She paused, drawing a deep breath. “It seems to be part of a pair. It means you have a beloved, a soulmate.” “Grandma, stop scaring her with your nonsense! We believe in science. Elara, don’t listen to her. She used to tell me these crazy stories when I was a kid to scare me.” Ethan’s voice rang out, but I had a chilling feeling his grandmother was telling the truth. “Grandma, what did you see? What’s inside me? Is it a tracker?” Grandma looked more shocked than I was. “You didn’t know?” I shook my head blankly. Grandma grew visibly angry, muttering about “despicable villains” and “disgraceful acts.” She asked if anything strange had happened to me recently, and I told her about Liam.

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1 Two days before our engagement party, my fiancé, Christian, was on one knee, adjusting the hem of my dress when his fingers brushed against my ankle. “Lorna,” he murmured, his touch light, “how come I’ve never seen you in heels? You have such beautiful feet.” I was busy fussing with the waistline of my gown in the mirror. “I can’t get used to them,” I said dismissively. “They hurt when I walk.” “You should try. They’d be perfect with this mermaid dress.” His palm slid up the line of my leg, pausing at the soft hollow behind my knee. “Red-soled stilettos. The kind that gives you a flash of red when you walk, that makes your hips sway… You’d look absolutely stunning.” I met his gaze in the mirror. It was intense, focused. “Since when did you become a fashion expert?” Christian’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting away from mine. “I, uh, flipped through a few magazines.” I said nothing. He moved closer, his fingers gently tipping my chin up. “What, you don’t believe me?” His touch was warm, but his gaze flickered again, just for an instant. “Of course I do,” I said, forcing a bright smile as I poked him playfully in the chest. “I’m just surprised that Christian Price, the esteemed attorney, has time for this kind of research.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “For you, my love, I’d learn anything.” He pulled away. “I’ll go get you a glass of water.” He turned and left the room, leaving his phone behind on the vanity. I hesitated for a moment before picking it up. My fingers typed in the password—my birthday, the same it had always been. It was the first time in all our years together that I had ever looked through his phone. The call logs, messages, and photo gallery were all spotless. Clean. A wave of relief washed over me, and I chided myself for being so suspicious. But as my thumb hovered over the search bar, some dark instinct took over. I typed in “red-soled stilettos.” The search pulled up a blocked contact. The profile picture was blank, the username a single word: “Stella.” It was impossible to unblock and add her from his phone. I memorized the contact ID and switched to my burner account on my own phone. After a quick search, a profile with a blurry side-profile picture popped up. I sent a friend request. She accepted almost instantly. A message came through: “A fan?” My heart seized, and the blood ran cold in my veins. “Yeah,” I typed, my hands starting to tremble. “I saw you in a magazine. A friend of a friend gave me your contact.” She didn’t seem to question it. “Haha, thanks, babe! So sweet of you. Which friend was it? Doesn’t matter, welcome! ” “You know, Mr. Henderson,” I lied, pulling a name out of thin air. Sweat beaded on my palms. She sent back a cute GIF. “Ooh, say no more! That explains it. Thanks for the love! ” After a short exchange of pleasantries, I clicked on her profile feed. The most recent posts were professionally edited selfies and photos from events. The woman in them had vibrant, sharp features and an enviably lean figure. The backdrops were a rotation of high-end restaurants, backstage at fashion shows, and boutique gyms. A model, for sure. I kept scrolling down, my thumb moving faster and faster, until I stopped on a post from a week ago. It was a picture of her back, the pose languid but powerfully seductive. She was on her tiptoes, showing off the flash of a familiar red sole. This photo, unlike the others, had a caption. “Thank you for the gift, Mr. C. ” Mr. C? A phantom hand clenched around my heart, squeezing the air from my lungs. I clamped a hand over my mouth, terrified I would scream, but a broken, choked sob escaped anyway. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The mysterious luxury brand receipt I’d found in his coat pocket last week. His recent string of late nights “at the office.” Even the hushed phone call on the balcony two nights ago—the one he’d abruptly ended when he saw I was awake, claiming it was an urgent case. So this was the truth. Ten years. Ten years we had been together, and we were finally on the verge of making it official. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—believe that the man who had loved and cherished me for a decade would betray me. But a cold, clear voice in the back of my mind whispered the undeniable truth: My fiancé was in love with another woman. 2 My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold my phone. Plink. A single tear hit the screen. I swiped it away and opened my text messages, finding the credit card notification from the day he bought the shoes. A charge for $2,200 from a high-end shoe boutique downtown. The exact same amount as the receipt I’d found. The sound of footsteps approached the door. I quickly locked his phone and placed it back on the vanity, exactly where he’d left it. “Sorry, did I take too long?” Christian asked, walking in with a glass of water. In his other hand, he held a tell-tale orange gift box. His smile was warm, intoxicating. “Guess what I got you?” He opened the box to reveal a new designer handbag, a model that was notoriously hard to find. “An early engagement present. Do you like it?” Any other day, I would have thrown my arms around his neck and playfully scolded him for spending so much money. But now, the gesture felt like a grotesque joke. “Yes,” I managed to say. “It’s beautiful.” He smiled, ruffling my hair. “I’ll get you an even better gift for the wedding. More beautiful than this. You can start looking forward to it now.” I stared at him, a raw, acidic pain rising in my chest. God, how I wished the last ten minutes had been a nightmare. The next day, I stood in the security office of the downtown shoe boutique, my nails digging so deeply into my palms that they almost broke the skin. On the monitor, Christian had his arm wrapped around Stella’s waist, his head bent low to listen as she whispered in his ear. He took the stiletto she’d been trying on and knelt before her, gently sliding it onto her foot. The salesclerk fawned over them as he casually took Stella’s purse, waiting patiently while she admired herself in the mirror. After paying, she spun around on her tiptoes, her skirt flaring out around her. Christian reached out to steady her, his eyes burning with an intensity I hadn’t seen in years. I glanced at the date stamp on the footage. It was the night I’d stayed at the lab until dawn, rushing to finish a project so I could take my wedding leave early. He had texted me a picture of a coffee cup on his desk at the law firm, telling me he was buried in work. It was all a lie. “That gentleman is a regular,” one of the security guards muttered to the other. “Always comes in with that lady, spends ages while she tries on shoes.” “That model,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Do you have it in stock?” The salesclerk, who had been called into the room, blinked in surprise. “We do, yes, but the price…” “I’ll take them all.” I swiped my card and walked out of the store with six large gift boxes. When I got home, Christian was in the kitchen, humming as he stirred a pot of soup. “You’re back!” he called out. He stepped out of the kitchen, and his eyes fell on the small mountain of shoe boxes at my feet. His smile froze. “What… what is all this?” he asked, his voice tight. I calmly opened one of the boxes, pulled out a red-soled stiletto, and dangled it in front of him. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” I said, a razor-sharp smile on my lips. “The clerk told me they’re the most popular style.” His face went pale. “Why did you suddenly buy so many?” “Suddenly?” I tilted my head. “Aren’t you the one who suggested I try them?” His mouth opened, then closed. He looked away, his fingers nervously tracing the rim of the soup bowl on the counter. A suffocating silence filled the room. I stood up and grabbed my coat. “Something’s come up at the lab. I have to go in.” “Now?” He looked up, his eyes wide with panic. “But the engagement party is tomorrow.” “There’s an issue with the data,” I said, my tone flat as I walked out the door. “It’ll be an all-nighter. Don’t wait up.” I got in my car, turned the key, and slammed my foot on the gas. My destination wasn’t the lab. It was the location Stella had tagged in her social media post half an hour ago: a runway show for an indie designer. 3 The house lights dimmed as the final round of applause echoed through the venue. I stood in the shadows, watching Stella get swept backstage by a crowd of admirers. She was even more dazzling in person, her auburn curls bouncing with every step, her waist as fluid as a ribbon. She had a pair of eyes that could melt stone. After the crowd dispersed, I overheard two crew members talking. “Stella seemed off her game tonight. Almost twisted her ankle on the catwalk.” “Heard she’s having relationship trouble…” I followed her up to the rooftop terrace. She was leaning against the railing, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers, its cherry a tiny red star in the dark. “Stella?” I asked, feigning nervousness as I approached. “Can I… can I get a picture? I’m a huge fan.” She glanced at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “A female fan?” She waved me over. “Sure, why not.” After we took the photo, I looked at her with faux concern. “Are you okay? You seem a little down.” Her expression clouded over. She stubbed out her cigarette on the railing. “Whatever. It’s not like I have a date tonight. Might as well talk.” She took a long swig from a flask she’d pulled from her purse. “You know,” she began, her voice laced with bitterness, “I really thought he’d show up tonight.” She let out a harsh laugh. “Men. Every single one of them is a piece of trash.” She took another drink and launched into her story. “I met him after a show. He sent me a bouquet of white roses, said he was captivated by my presence on the runway.” “And then?” I prompted, my own voice a stranger to my ears. “And then?” She smirked, a sly, knowing look in her eyes. “The second time we met, he took me to a private vineyard. Waited until I was a little tipsy, then kissed me. Told me he’d never met a woman as exciting as me.” My heart gave a painful thud. I remembered that night. Christian hadn’t come home, telling me he was pulling an all-nighter at the firm to prep for a major case. “Not long after, he posted a picture of an engagement ring on his social media. His, and some other woman’s.” “I knew he had a fiancée. He said she was sweet, like a little lamb, but totally boring. Spends all her time cooped up in a lab.” “It was a mutual arrangement. I needed his connections to climb the ladder.” “I’ve seen a million guys like him. Two-faced. The second his fiancée was out of town, he invited me over to his place.” “Our first time was in their marital bed.” “He tried to act all innocent afterward. Said he regretted it, that we should stop seeing each other. But all I had to do was send one text, and he’d come running back.” “He’s an animal in bed, completely wild. Refuses to use a condom. And then he has the nerve to talk about ‘not wanting to betray his fiancée.’ But the moment I wrap my arms around his neck, he forgets everything.” “Lately, he’s been trying to play the devoted partner. Says he has to do right by his fiancée, but he can’t bear to break things off with me. Please.” She snorted. “Oh, and these shoes? He bought them for me. Said they make me look like a total siren.” Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, quickly wiped the corners of her eyes, and her bright, dazzling smile snapped back into place. “Alright, little fan, duty calls. See you around.” I ducked back into the shadows of a stairwell corner and watched as she ran into a familiar embrace. Christian. He was wearing the deep gray trench coat I’d bought him for his birthday. A bouquet of white roses sat on the hood of his car. He looked so gentle, and so utterly alien. I raised my phone, my hand trembling as I hit record. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her—a deep, passionate, lingering kiss that seemed to go on forever. In that moment, my heart didn’t just break; it felt like it was being shredded by a blender. The pain was so intense I had to double over. Tears streamed down my face, hot and uncontrollable, and my whole body shook. I bit down hard on the back of my hand, swallowing my sobs. After the pain, all that was left was a hollow, crushing exhaustion. They were long gone. I collapsed onto the cold concrete, staring blankly at the moon. Tomorrow was our engagement party, the day we had been waiting for, for so long. Ten years of love, and only now was I seeing the man I was supposed to marry for who he truly was. What would I tell my parents? How could I possibly explain this? I hated myself for being so blind, for wasting a decade of my life on a lie. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a notification. An email confirmation. Without a second of hesitation, I had added my name to the list. A solo trip. Far away. With a monumental effort, I pushed myself up and staggered away from the rooftop, leaving the city lights behind me. 4 I pushed open the door to our apartment. The entryway light was still on. A sticky note was plastered to the refrigerator. Urgent case at the firm, won’t be back tonight. I promise I’ll be there on time tomorrow. Love you. The words seemed to mock me, their cheerful cursive a testament to my own stupidity. Liar. I ripped the note off the fridge and tore it into a thousand tiny pieces. I walked into the bedroom and pulled out a thick stack of faded love letters from the back of the closet—the ones he used to slip into my textbooks every day in college. I took out the photo albums filled with pictures of our travels, him always hugging me from behind, his chin resting on my head as he grinned like an idiot. From the depths of the wardrobe, I pulled out the shirt he wore on our first date, the one with my initials embroidered on the cuff. And the scarf I’d spent weeks knitting for him… I gathered them all in my arms, carried them to the bathroom, and dumped them into the tub. Then I flicked a lighter. The flame roared to life, a hungry beast devouring every last trace of “Christian and Lorna.” Next was our marital bed. He had picked it out himself, in the exact shade of blue I loved. Now, the sight of it made me sick. I grabbed a pair of shears and started cutting, slicing the mattress and the duvet into ragged strips. Then I moved through the rest of the apartment, taking a hammer to anything and everything that held a memory of him. What was once our sanctuary was now a field of wreckage. I sat in the ruins of our life together, watching the sky slowly lighten outside the window. The sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the silence. Christian pushed the door open, a smile on his face that quickly dissolved into a mask of horror. “Lorna, are you insane?!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “Do you have any idea what day it is? You’ve destroyed our home!” He rushed toward me. “Get dressed, now! Put on the gown, we can still make it!” I slapped his hand away. “The engagement is off.” “Stop screwing around, Lorna! The guests have been notified, our parents are already at the venue.” CRACK! I hurled one of the red-soled stilettos at his feet, then brought the hammer down on its heel with all my might. The heel snapped, and he flinched back as if he’d been struck himself. “What’s the matter?” I sneered. “Does this bring back a memory? Are you remembering kneeling to put it on her foot, or are you just tasting last night’s kiss?” Christian’s face went chalk-white, his lips trembling. “Lorna, please, let me explain…” “Shut up!” I grabbed the other shoe and threw it, hitting him square in the chest. He reached for my wrist, but I twisted away and slapped him across the face, so hard his head snapped to the side. He froze, clutching his cheek, a look of pure shock in his eyes. He’d never imagined his docile Lorna could be violent. I grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head up, forcing him to look at me. With my other hand, I used the sole of the shoe to strike him across the mouth, again and again. His face swelled instantly, and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his lip. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t even struggle. He just let me do it. And I didn’t hold back. I was a cornered animal, venting every ounce of my fury on him. I didn’t stop until the shoe’s heel broke and my wrist ached. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. I scooped up a handful of the ashes from the bathtub and threw them in his face. He looked pathetic. Wrecked. Panting, I sank onto the sofa. Christian crawled toward me, blood and ash streaking down his chin, and wrapped his arms around my legs. “Lorna, I was just… I was confused for a moment…” His voice was a ragged whisper. “Ten years, Lorna. Can’t you forgive me just this once?” I laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “No. I have a thing about cleanliness.” “And once someone’s dirty,” I said, looking down at him with contempt, “they’re worthless to me.”

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On our anniversary, my boyfriend brought his “relationship coach” for a three-person date. I exploded. “What are you thinking?” He shrugged. “Ava helped us. Why shouldn’t she celebrate with us?” “Stop making a scene,” he added. “She doesn’t mind.” The audacity made me faint. I woke alone on a theater bench. Michael and Ava were huddled over his phone. “Maybe I should go,” she fake-whispered. “She’s faking for attention,” he said. I texted him: “Three’s a crowd. I’m out.” His phone pinged. He didn’t look up. I laughed bitterly and walked away—not knowing someone had been waiting to replace me. 1 I pulled out my phone and called the guy who had been patiently waiting in the wings. “I’m looking to celebrate my anniversary with someone else. Are you free?” There was a two-second pause on the other end, followed by a triumphant shout that nearly blew out my eardrum. “BE—RIGHT—THERE—” After hanging up, the faint sound of laughter from across the lobby made the emotions I’d been suppressing erupt. My heart clenched with a sharp, familiar pain. Michael and I had been together for three years. His secretary, Ava, had been his self-proclaimed “relationship coach” for two of them. Every single important date, every holiday I looked forward to, Michael would find some excuse to bring her along. I had fought, I had cried, but all it ever got me was the silent treatment from him and an even more blatant display of their “friendship.” The ridiculous thing was, I couldn’t bring myself to let go. But in that moment, waking up on that bench, I suddenly realized how pointless it all was. I was done. I had just sat down at a Starbucks when my phone started buzzing incessantly. It was Michael. Hannah, can you stop being so unreasonable? You’re making Ava really upset! You have two minutes to get back here. The same old lines. I was sick of hearing them. I don’t want a boyfriend with no boundaries. We’re done. After the message sent, I quickly blocked his number and all his social media. A wave of relief washed over me. I ordered my favorite Frappuccino and settled in by the window to enjoy a rare moment of singlehood. I was staring out the window, lost in thought, when Michael’s angry voice suddenly boomed in my ear. “Hannah, what is your problem? You’re breaking up with me because Ava watched a movie with us?” “You’ve threatened to break up a hundred times. Aren’t you tired of playing these games?” I froze. This mall was huge. How did he find me so fast? Before I could figure it out, Ava’s sickly-sweet voice piped up. “Hannah, there’s really nothing going on between Michael and me. You don’t have to fight with him over me every time. He’s so good to you. You have no idea how much I envy you.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right, ‘nothing.’ You just share every detail of your days, she touches your face, you hold her hand, and you two occasionally share a milkshake. Totally normal friend stuff!” My words shut her up. Her face flushed a deep red as she mumbled, “That’s what friends do. It’s not a big deal.” Michael immediately jumped to her defense. “Ava’s right. You’re overreacting. You’re so petty! You should learn to be more understanding, like Ava.” His words reminded me of when we first got together. He had held me and promised that I just needed to be myself, that I never had to change for him. He loved the whole me, not just the good parts. Now, in his eyes, Ava was the good one. I was the bad one. The thought drained all the fight out of me. I turned my head and ignored them both. 2 Seeing my silence, Michael’s patience wore thin. “Fine,” he snapped, his face a mask of annoyance. “Sit here and sulk by yourself. See if I care.” With that, he took Ava’s hand and stormed off. Watching their intertwined fingers, a lump formed in my throat. Michael used to cherish my hand just like that. He knew I had a phobia of crossing busy streets after a childhood car accident, so he would always grip my hand tightly, carefully shielding me as we navigated the traffic. When I fainted from exhaustion after working overtime, he held my hand by my hospital bed, just so he’d be the first to know when I woke up. I was prone to nightmares, so he held my hand every night as we slept, a silent promise that he was there, that I didn’t need to be afraid. Then Ava appeared, and his hand slowly let go of mine. It made sense. A hand holding someone else’s can’t hold yours at the same time. A wave of sadness threatened to overwhelm me. I quickly grabbed my phone and opened a short video app to distract myself. But of course, the damn algorithm recommended one of Ava’s videos. In it, she and Michael were sitting in a dimly lit movie theater. She was happily holding a bucket of popcorn while he stroked her head, smiling and making a peace sign for the camera. The caption read: A special day, a special movie with my favorite person. It was sickeningly sweet and deeply ambiguous. I couldn’t resist. I clicked on her profile and scrolled through her videos. Michael was in almost all of them, and he had liked every single one. Was this the same Michael who told me he hated having his picture taken and never liked anyone’s posts? The same Michael who refused to ever appear on my social media and had never once liked a single thing I posted. Smack. I slammed my phone down on the table, fury coursing through me. Tears, hot and angry, streamed down my face. As I fumbled in my bag for a tissue, a familiar, exasperated voice sounded from above me. Michael sighed, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “Why do you do this to yourself? It’s not worth getting so worked up over something so small.” “Hannah, Ava and I are just good friends. Can’t you stop being so hostile towards her? I promise, from now on, I’ll ask for your permission before I bring her out.” I looked up at him, at the man who had left and now returned, and hid the flicker of sadness in my eyes. “Michael, you made that exact same promise to me three days ago. And this is the 38th time you’ve made it in the past two years.” “You know you can’t keep it, so why do you keep lying to me? Do you enjoy watching me get my hopes up just to be disappointed again and again?” I knew this anniversary would be no different. I had specifically told him I wanted it to be just the two of us. He had promised, sworn even, that he wouldn’t bring Ava. But he broke his promise. Again. And in that moment, I finally accepted it. In his heart, Ava was more important than me. Caught in his lie, Michael looked uncomfortable. “I swear, this is the last time. From now on, you will always be my priority.” Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the message, and his expression turned awkward. “Hannah,” he stammered, “I brought Ava out today, so I have to see her home first. Just wait for me here, okay? I’ll be back for you soon.” And with that, he left me again. I let out a cold laugh. The last shred of hope I had for him, for us, vanished completely. 3 Leaving Starbucks, I headed straight for a jewelry store in the mall. I was going to buy myself the gold necklace I’d been eyeing for months to soothe my wounded heart. I was excitedly trying it on when Ava materialized behind me like a ghost. “Hannah, that necklace is beautiful. It’s a little mature for you, though. I think it would suit me better. Too bad it’s so expensive. I could never afford it.” She stared at the necklace around my neck, her eyes glinting with greed. I rolled my eyes. “Whether it suits me or not is irrelevant. What’s important is that I can afford it, and you can’t. What’s the point of it ‘suiting’ you if you’re broke?” My retort made her eyes well up with tears, her lip trembling in a perfect pout. “Hannah, I know you have Michael to buy you whatever you want. But at least the little I have, I earned myself. What right do you have to look down on me?” I almost laughed out loud. So now Ava was implying I was a kept woman, a sugar baby, while simultaneously painting herself as a hardworking, independent woman. I glanced at Michael. He stood there, silent, making no move to defend me. And in that instant, I understood. This misconception of Ava’s had to be his doing. In our three years together, besides exchanging gifts, we had always split our expenses. When he was starting his business, I was the one who covered our living costs, knowing money was tight for him. After he became successful and his assets multiplied, not only did he never thank me for my support, he insisted we go back to splitting everything. And yet, after all that, he was still out there telling people I was living off his money. I was shaking with rage. I handed the necklace to the salesclerk to be boxed up, desperate to get away from these two toxic individuals. I was afraid if I stayed a second longer, I’d literally have an aneurysm. “Wait.” My hand, extended to the clerk, froze in mid-air. I turned to look at Michael. “Get a different one,” he said, his voice flat. “Ava likes this one. I’m buying it for her.” My eyes widened in disbelief. He knew how long I’d wanted this necklace. Just yesterday, he’d told me he was going to buy it for me for our anniversary. I had been excited all night. And now, not only was he not giving it to me, he was taking what I loved and giving it to her. All the hurt and frustration I’d been bottling up exploded. “Why should I let her have it?” I yelled, my voice cracking. “When I was your girlfriend, you favored her. Now that we’ve broken up, you still favor her! Michael, just because I loved you, does that mean I deserve to be treated like this?” Michael’s face was a stony mask. His tone was as cold as ever. “Hannah, it’s just a necklace. Don’t make such a big deal out of it. Ava rarely likes anything. What’s the big deal if I buy it for her this once? I’ve given you plenty of gifts. Why are you being so petty?” “Be more mature. Don’t fight with a young girl over a trinket.” Ava stood beside him, a triumphant smile playing on her lips. “Hannah, if you really like it that much, you can have it. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to make things difficult for Michael.” Watching these two, a tag team of treachery, I ground my teeth in fury. “I’m not giving it to her!” I clutched the necklace box tightly. Michael gave me a long, hard look. Then, he reached out and squeezed my wrist. A sharp, searing pain shot up my arm, making my vision go black. I had no choice but to let go. I leaned against the counter, cradling my throbbing wrist, tears streaming down my face. I have a very low tolerance for pain. A small cut that most people would barely notice could leave me in agony for hours. When Michael first learned this about me, he had been so careful. He padded all the sharp corners in our apartment with foam. He kept comfortable slippers for me in his car, his office, even his backpack, just in case my high heels started to hurt my feet. He even said he never wanted me to go through the pain of childbirth, that we should be child-free forever. Now, all the vulnerabilities he once so tenderly protected had become the blunt instruments he used to stab me in the heart. It hurt. It really, really hurt.

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My neighbor abandoned her cat. I adopted him. He was never affectionate with me, but he was always winding around my husband’s legs, a constant, purring presence. That’s when I started paying attention. One night, when my husband, Mark, claimed he was working late, I knocked on my neighbor’s door. She answered, one hand resting protectively on her slightly protruding belly. “Chloe? What can I do for you this late?” The challenge, the sheer triumph in her eyes, told me everything I needed to know. When Mark tiptoed home in the dead of night, he found both our parents sitting in the living room. And on the coffee table, a set of divorce papers. 1. “A divorce?” “Chloe, are you serious?” Mark’s voice was incredulous. “You’re throwing away seven years of marriage because of a stupid cat?” He didn’t even bother to read them. He snatched the papers and threw them at the Ragdoll cat, who was currently rubbing against his leg. “If you don’t sign, we’ll settle this in court,” I said quietly, then turned and walked back to our bedroom. Our parents stared, bewildered. Just last month, we were the picture of a happy couple, as affectionate as newlyweds. How had things escalated to divorce so quickly? Mark hung his head, trying to hide the panic in his eyes, his hands clenched into trembling fists. His parents rushed to block my path. “Chloe, you can’t just accuse Mark of cheating because of a cat! Some cats are just naturally drawn to men. What does that prove?” his mother pleaded. “We’ve all seen how good Mark is to you. When you had that terrible flu, he stayed by your bedside for 48 hours straight. When you had that fall, he sold company shares, moved heaven and earth to assemble the best medical team money could buy.” “Does all of that mean less to you than one cat?” My own parents chimed in, their voices thick with disappointment. “Where are you going to find a husband as good as Mark?” my father asked. “Chloe, you can’t have children after your accident,” my mother added, her words a sharp sting. “The fact that Mark doesn’t hold that against you is a blessing. You need to be realistic.” Suddenly, Mark grabbed my hand, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with a desperate, all-consuming love. “Honey, we dated for two years, we’ve been married for five. We faced down death together and never let go. How can you let a cat come between us?” “Is this because I’ve been so busy with the company crisis lately? Do you feel neglected?” “I swear, from now on, no matter how busy I am, I’ll be home on time every night. I’ll be here for you…” The room was filled with people who, on the surface, all loved me. My in-laws, educated and kind, who had always treated me like their own. My parents, more pragmatic, who saw my marriage to Mark as a ticket to a secure life. But my face remained a mask of cold resolve. I pulled my hand from Mark’s grasp. “Let me say this one more time: if you don’t sign these tonight, we’re going to court.” “This is the last shred of dignity I’m offering you.” His eyes were bloodshot. “Chloe, how can you be so cruel?” “It’s simple,” I said, my voice flat. “Because I don’t care about you anymore. Not one bit.” Done with the pointless drama, I walked to the front door and left. The disappointed sighs of our parents followed me out, but I didn’t hesitate. I just walked faster. The Ragdoll slipped out of the open door behind me. Later, as I sat numbly on a park bench, I saw the cat chasing after its former owner, who was taking out the trash. The woman, Hailey, kicked at its head in disgust, but the cat stubbornly refused to leave. I couldn’t watch. I went over to intervene, but the Ragdoll arched its back and hissed at me, claws extended. Hailey let out a laugh. “You see, Chloe? People are just like cats.” “When someone doesn’t like you, they just don’t like you. You can’t force it.” I saw the taunt in her eyes, the smug superiority. I glanced at her pregnant belly, and it all clicked into place. “You’re right,” I said. “You can’t keep a creature that’s determined to be unfaithful. Whether it’s a cat or a person.” Just then, Mark found us, his face a mask of anxiety and panic. But it wasn’t for me. “Chloe, can you just act normal for once?” he snapped. “I told you, the cat liking me is just a coincidence! It has nothing to do with our neighbor! It’s one thing to throw a tantrum at home, but to come down here and harass a pregnant woman? Have you lost your mind?” He didn’t even know what had happened. He just saw me with Hailey and instantly assumed I was the jealous wife causing a scene. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I realized that even if Mark still loved me, that love couldn’t hold a candle to whatever he felt for Hailey. 2. Afraid I would cause more trouble for Hailey, Mark practically dragged me back to our apartment. His parents’ faces were grim. They had read the terms of the divorce agreement and had already thrown it in the trash. “Chloe, what is the meaning of this?” his father demanded. “We’ve treated you well, haven’t we? It’s bad enough you want a divorce over a cat, but you want to leave Mark with nothing?” “Have we been so kind to you that you think you can just walk all over us?” My own parents were red with shame. “You’ve gone too far, Chloe,” my dad said. “We can’t support you when you’re being so unreasonable.” I offered no explanation, just repeated my ultimatum. “If you don’t agree, I’ll see you in court.” A man who cheats deserves to lose everything. Mark’s voice trembled with desperation. “Chloe, is this about money? You know the passwords to all my cards. You can spend whatever you want. Isn’t that enough?” Not all his cards. Or, it used to be. Now, Mark had a few new cards, and I could only imagine how much he’d spent on Hailey behind my back. I was about to point this out when there was a knock on the door. Hailey stood there, the picture of innocence. “I’m so sorry to bother you all this late,” she said sweetly. “Downstairs, I saw Mr. Crawford and Chloe arguing because of me, and I just felt so terrible.” “Chloe wasn’t really harassing me,” she continued, her voice soft and apologetic. “She was just taking her anger out on the cat. I probably shouldn’t have said anything. It’s my fault. She can hit me or yell at me, it’s okay.” My in-laws’ faces darkened. “Chloe, you abused an animal and bullied this young woman?” My parents looked at me with profound disappointment. “Chloe, what has happened to you?” None of them noticed the one, glaring slip-up. “Mr. Crawford?” I asked, a slow, cold smile spreading across my face. “So, you do know my husband, Hailey. You must have been biting your tongue all those times we passed in the hallway and you pretended not to know him.” Hailey’s head snapped down, her eyes wide like a frightened deer. She darted a panicked glance at Mark, a silent plea for help. Her right hand, adorned with a sparkling diamond ring, went to her stomach. The fear and affection in Mark’s eyes were there for only a second before he smoothed his expression over. “I do know Hailey. She’s a junior employee at my company. We’ve crossed paths a few times.” “I didn’t think she was important enough to mention, and I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea,” he said, his tone placating. “Chloe, honey, don’t overthink things.” I had to laugh. If he had nothing to hide, why was he so afraid of me “overthinking” things? And how could a “junior employee” afford a luxury penthouse in the city center? Seeing my silence, Mark’s father stood up, his voice booming. “Chloe, if you have proof, I won’t say a word about the divorce! But if you think you can clean out my son based on nothing but suspicion, I’m telling you right now, you are dreaming!” Before I could reply, Hailey spoke up, blinking innocently. “Leave him with nothing? Chloe, don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?” “Even though you’ve never been to the office, every employee there knows how much the CEO adores his wife. Everyone knows how much he loves you. Chloe… could it be that you have another man? Are you just using me as an excuse to try and take all of Mark’s money?” At her words, I didn’t hesitate. I swung my hand and slapped her hard across the face. “Watch your mouth,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Mark may put up with your nonsense, but I won’t.” 3. For a split second, Mark’s hands clenched into fists, his eyes burning with a rage I had never seen directed at me. Then, he composed himself and turned to Hailey, his voice full of concern. “Are you okay?” Hailey was already crying, her eyes red. “I’m fine. I shouldn’t have said that. Chloe was right to hit me. Please, don’t be angry because of me.” In seven years together, Mark had never once raised his voice to me. Now, he gritted his teeth. “Apologize to Hailey. Bow and apologize.” I gave a disdainful snort. “Why should I? She deserved it.” Suddenly, Mark raised his hand and, with all his might, slapped himself across the face. The sound cracked through the tense silence. Half of his face immediately began to swell. “I’ll take that slap for her,” he said, his voice strained. “Chloe, I’m begging you. Please, stop this.” “Is that it?” he asked, his voice softening into a twisted kind of sympathy. “After your accident, has being cooped up at home all these years… has it affected you mentally? I promise, no matter what’s wrong, I’ll never hold it against you.” “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. Just please, stop talking about divorce, okay?” “No,” I said without a moment’s hesitation. “It’s impossible.” “Mark, being with you for another second makes my skin crawl. It’s suffocating.” His concessions, my stubbornness. Our parents had reached their limit. Mark’s parents stood up, their faces cold with fury. “If you insist on a divorce, fine! We’ll see you in court! But don’t think you’ll get a single penny from our family. We will spend whatever it takes to make sure you are the one who leaves with nothing!” My own parents just shook their heads. “Chloe, you’re the one in the wrong here. When you end up with nothing, you’ll regret this.” But was I the one in the wrong? No. The contact I had cultivated inside Mark’s company soon sent me a video file. I was watching it in the guest room when Mark knocked and entered. To prevent him from seeing it and deleting the evidence, I quickly slipped on my wireless earbuds and put my phone away. “Chloe, what’s the point of this divorce?” he asked, his voice weary. “You can’t have children. No family with my kind of standing will ever want to marry you.” I looked at him and laughed coldly. “Mark, do you remember why I can’t have children?” It was because of an accident two years into our marriage. Mark loved thrills, extreme sports, and he always insisted I join him. One day, while rock climbing, he slipped. I risked everything to grab him, and while he managed to find a foothold, my strength gave out. I was the one who fell. Everyone said Mark was a saint for staying with me. He had literally put my life on the line. Now, he looked away, a guilty silence hanging between us. Through my earbuds, I could hear his voice, intertwined with Hailey’s flirtatious laughter. “Mark, that parachute jump was amazing! I had so much fun,” Hailey’s voice cooed. “But maybe having me move in next door is a little too risky, don’t you think?” A series of soft, wet kissing sounds followed. Then, Mark’s voice, low and conspiratorial. “That’s what makes it exciting.” “Chloe’s gotten so boring these last few years. Only you, Hailey… only you make me feel alive.” 4. Once I had gathered enough evidence, I went to Mark’s company to investigate its financial state, making sure he couldn’t hide or transfer any assets. The senior partners knew who I was and cooperated fully. Only Hailey, emboldened by Mark’s favor, tried to obstruct me at every turn. She had someone lead me to an outdoor smoking area. With no one else around, she dropped the act. “Chloe, why can’t you just be a good little housecat, kept and cared for?” “A useless woman like you who can’t even have children… Mark keeping you around is an act of charity. Why do you have to make a scene and embarrass yourself?” I laughed. “Fine. I won’t divorce him.” Hailey blinked, confused. “What?” My laugh grew louder. “You’re not just a homewrecker, you’re an idiot. You came to provoke me because you wanted me to divorce him as soon as possible so you could take my place, right?” “The joke’s on you. When you do take my place, all you’ll inherit is a mountain of debt. You’ll get nothing.” “Remember that Ragdoll cat? Your fate will be even worse than his.” Hailey must have seen what happened to the cat. Starving, it had come back to my door, begging for food. I shut the door in its face. It was forced to fight with strays for scraps, and was now covered in infected bites, a pathetic, miserable creature. Perhaps the cat’s fate struck a nerve. Hailey’s face twisted in rage, and she lunged at me. “You’re the one who’s not wanted! You’re the useless trash about to be thrown out! How dare you curse me?” Disgusted, I sidestepped her easily. She lost her balance and fell to the ground, clutching her stomach and sobbing. The commotion drew a crowd. When Mark heard what happened, he rushed back to the office, grabbed my arm, and tried to force me to apologize to Hailey. I shook him off. “She fell on her own. The security camera will prove it.” Mark gritted his teeth. “Don’t be ridiculous. There are no cameras in the smoking area.” I was about to tell him that there was one I had installed, but Hailey started crying louder. “Mr. Crawford, it’s not Chloe’s fault! It’s mine! I shouldn’t have moved in next door and caused this misunderstanding.” “Please, can you talk to her for me? I don’t care how she treats me, but she can’t hurt the baby!” Mark’s eyes widened in horror. “Chloe, how could you? You’d attack an unborn child? The baby is innocent!” “Innocent?” I sneered. “We don’t even know whose bastard it is—” Before I could finish, Mark’s hand cracked across my face. “You’re unbelievable!” he roared. “You brought this on yourself, Chloe! Don’t blame me for being ruthless! You want to sue? Fine! I’ll have the court date set for tomorrow.” “My family doesn’t need a twisted, inhuman monster like you!” In that moment, we weren’t a couple anymore. We were mortal enemies. And everyone, including my own parents, was on his side. Before the hearing, they were still trying to talk sense into me. “Chloe, are you sure you’re not the one who had an affair?” my mother asked. “The internet is full of stories about you, saying you’re a gold-digger who cheated on her husband. Your reputation is ruined.” “Please, wake up before it’s too late,” my father begged. Mark’s parents wouldn’t even look at me. “A snake is a snake. You can’t change its nature.” “Mark,” his mother said, “when she’s left with nothing and comes crawling back to you, don’t you dare be soft.” Mark himself looked down at me as if granting a final mercy. “Admit you were wrong now, and I can pretend none of this ever happened.” “Otherwise, you’ll end up homeless and alone for the rest of your life.” I said nothing. I just looked at the judge, waiting for the proceedings to begin. The judge’s first words wiped the confident smirk off Mark’s face and sent a wave of shocked disbelief through the courtroom. “What… How could this be?” “Mark, what have you been doing behind our backs?”

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During a crucial conference call, my sister kept calling. When I answered, she was sobbing—someone stole her exchange program spot. I rushed to her university. There she was, cornered in a professor’s office, while a girl in designer clothes sneered: “You thought you could compete? I’m a Sinclair. My dad donated a science wing!” The professor added, oily: “Be reasonable, Hannah. Don’t make trouble.” I froze. A Sinclair of New York? Since when did our father have a third daughter? I called him, voice icy sweet: “Dad, when did you have another daughter behind Mom’s back?” … “What are you talking about, Freda?” On the other end of the line, my father, Arthur Sinclair, sounded genuinely baffled, caught between exasperation and amusement. “Stop pulling my leg. Besides you and your sister, what other daughter could I possibly have?” His denial was so firm, so absolute, that the suspicion in my heart evaporated. It made sense. In the elite circles of New York, my father was famous for being a “model husband,” the gold standard against which all other husbands were measured. His devotion to my mother, Eleanor, was the stuff of legend, a thirty-year testament to unwavering love that was the envy of every socialite and heiress. In our world, news of a man having an affair was hardly news at all. But everyone, and I mean everyone, was certain that Arthur Sinclair would be the last man on earth to do such a thing. “You’d better be right,” I said icily, and hung up. I looked up at the arrogant, pink-haired girl. The smoky makeup couldn’t hide her youth, and the brand names plastered all over her body screamed new money, a desperate, tacky kind of wealth. I smoothed the anger from my face and adopted a mild tone. “You just said you’re a Sinclair?” “Oh, look, she brought in backup,” the girl scoffed, crossing her arms. “Yeah, I’m Sienna Sinclair. Got a problem with that?” She let out a short, sharp laugh. “Oh, I get it. You’re trying to kiss up to me now, right? Too late! Besides my family, what other Sinclair family in New York even matters? God, you’re clueless.” Then, she turned back to my sister, the venom in her voice practically overflowing. “So what if you have good grades, Hannah? So what if you spent a whole year preparing for this? One word from my dad, one building donated, and all your hard work is worth nothing. Absolutely nothing!” My sister shrank under the verbal assault, her head bowed low, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. Watching her, so accustomed to being bullied, a sudden, sickening realization dawned on me. This girl, Sienna, had probably been tormenting my sister at school for some time. My mother always valued humility and wanted us to succeed on our own merit. So, both my sister and I have always been incredibly low-key, never flaunting our family name or wealth. Hannah, with her introverted nature and single-minded focus on her studies, had taken this to heart. I never imagined that our quiet discretion would be seen as weakness, an invitation for others to trample all over her. My heart ached. I gently pulled Hannah behind me, my gaze locking onto Sienna’s face again. My voice was cold now, sharp as glass. “As far as I know, all the applications for the exchange program, including the final review by the partner university, have already been processed. To swap out a candidate at the last minute… that’s against the rules, isn’t it?” 2 “Rules?” Sienna shrieked with laughter. She smugly pulled a thick file from her designer bag and waved it in my face. “You mean this? Hannah’s application? Oops. I had it held back. It was never even submitted.” Her smile was dazzling, but her words were pure acid. “So, you see, the final list the university sent out only ever had one name on it: Sienna Sinclair. It doesn’t matter how perfectly she prepared, does it?” And then, right in front of me, she tore the stack of paper—a testament to my sister’s countless sleepless nights and tireless work—clean in half. “Freda!” Hannah cried out, the sound ripped from her throat as fresh tears streamed down her face. I watched the shredded paper flutter to the floor, and the smoldering anger in my chest erupted into a raging inferno. I’ve met shameless people before, but I’ve never seen a display this brazen, this utterly devoid of decency. “You—!” The fury was so intense that my vision started to tunnel, the hand I pointed at her trembling. “Me what?” Sienna tossed the scraps of paper to the ground and ground them under the toe of her expensive heel, a sick, triumphant pleasure dancing on her face. “You got a problem with it? Go on, why don’t you get your dad to donate a building to the school? Oh, right. I forgot.” She looked us up and down with disdain. “People like you could never afford it.” My blood ran so hot I thought I’d pass out. I clenched my fists. Beside her, the professor, a Mr. Wallace, immediately jumped to her defense. “Ma’am, the situation is quite clear. Miss Sienna Sinclair’s father has generously donated an entire experimental research wing to our institution, a monumental contribution to our scientific advancement.” “After careful consideration,” he continued, his face a mask of sycophantic sincerity, “the university has decided to award the exchange program spot to the more suitable candidate, Miss Sinclair.” The sight of his fawning, obsequious expression made my stomach turn. “Mr. Wallace, is it?” I turned on him, my gaze like a physical force. “My sister, Hannah, earned this spot. She has the highest GPA in her year, her research project won a national gold medal, and her TOEFL score is near-perfect.” “So please, tell me,” I pressed, “what exactly does your ‘more suitable candidate,’ Miss Sienna Sinclair, have to her name?” Mr. Wallace was struck dumb, his face flushing a deep, mottled red. Sienna, however, burst into exaggerated laughter. “What do I have? I have my dad! My dad is Arthur Sinclair, the chairman of Valkyrie Industries! Having money is enough! Get it?” Valkyrie Industries? Chairman Arthur Sinclair? Each word that tumbled from her mouth sent a fresh wave of chilling amusement through me. Because the real power behind Valkyrie Industries… isn’t Arthur Sinclair. “Valkyrie Industries… the Sinclair family?” I raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise and a hint of confusion. “I think I’ve heard of them. A very powerful family. But… I don’t recall there ever being a Miss Sienna Sinclair.” My calm questioning clearly threw her off. In her world, the names Valkyrie Industries and Sinclair were meant to inspire awe and submission, not scrutiny. She stared at me for a second, her confusion quickly morphing into indignant rage. “Who the hell are you to question me? The affairs of my family are none of your business!” Mr. Wallace, seizing the opportunity to regain his footing, puffed out his chest and scolded me. “Miss, please watch your tone! Miss Sinclair’s identity has been verified by the university. It is not for you to stand here and make baseless, disruptive accusations!” “Verified?” I laughed. “And how was it verified? Based on her word alone?” “Of course not!” Mr. Wallace pushed his glasses up his nose, his expression arrogant. 3 “Miss Sinclair’s father, Mr. Arthur Sinclair himself, spoke with our university president personally. He confirmed both the donation and Miss Sienna’s arrangements. Are you suggesting that Mr. Sinclair’s own words are a lie?” Hearing my father’s name from this man’s lips felt like a punch to the gut. The denial from Arthur on the phone just moments ago had seemed so genuine. But now, the school was adamant that he had personally confirmed everything. What was going on? Where was the disconnect? Could it be… was my father really lying to me? I looked at my sister’s pale, tear-streaked face. She was clutching my sleeve, her body still trembling. I pushed the spiraling thoughts from my mind. This wasn’t the time for speculation. No matter what, I couldn’t let Hannah be subjected to this humiliation. I took out my phone and dialed the direct line to the Board of Trustees. “I don’t care who you think you are,” I said, my eyes fixed on Sienna, my voice low and steady. “Today, you didn’t just tear up an application.” I paused, letting the weight of my words sink in. “You tore up your own future at this university.” “I’m calling the Board of Trustees right now and having them deal with this. Let’s see what they think is more important: your so-called donation, or this school’s integrity.” The color drained from both Sienna’s and Mr. Wallace’s faces. They had clearly not expected a seemingly ordinary person to have the direct number for the Board. The trustees were powerful, influential figures, far removed from the day-to-day world of students and faculty. Beads of sweat formed on Mr. Wallace’s forehead. He looked like he wanted to snatch my phone but didn’t dare. Sienna was a mixture of fury and fear. Used to getting her way by brandishing her family name, she had never been challenged like this. “You wouldn’t dare!” she shrieked. “Who do you think you are, threatening me? Just you wait!” She shot me a venomous glare, fumbled for her own phone, and furiously stabbed at the screen. The call connected, and she immediately burst into crocodile tears. “Mom! I’m being bullied! Here, in the professor’s office! You have to come down here! There are these two nobodies trying to steal my spot, you have to come and back me up!” Hanging up, she seemed to regain her confidence, planting her hands on her hips and tilting her chin up defiantly. “Just wait. My mom’s on her way. When she gets here, I’m going to make you both get on your knees and beg me for forgiveness!” Mr. Wallace wrung his hands, looking nervously between us and Sienna, too afraid to intervene. I, on the other hand, watched the spectacle with cold detachment. That flicker of trust I had for my father was beginning to waver again. If this girl truly had no connection to our family, where did she get this unshakeable confidence? Someone powerful was pulling the strings. I’d bet my life on it. Hannah tugged on my sleeve. “Freda, maybe… maybe we should just let it go,” she whispered. “I don’t want to cause any trouble for you.” I squeezed her hand, my voice firm. “This is not your fault, and it’s not trouble. What belongs to us, no one can take away.” Just as I finished speaking, the office door burst open and a woman dripping in jewels and designer clothes stormed in. Despite the expensive facade, there was a hard, grasping look in her eyes, a sense of entitlement that radiated from her. “Sienna! My darling baby girl! Who’s bullying you?!” The woman rushed to Sienna’s side, fussing over her as if she’d suffered a mortal wound. 4 The moment her backup arrived, Sienna pointed at me and Hannah, launching into a dramatic, exaggerated tale. “Mom! It’s them! This Hannah girl tried to steal my exchange spot, and her sister here is backing her up, saying our family has no class!” The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “The nerve! In New York City, someone actually dares to accuse the Sinclairs of having no class?” She looked me up and down, her expression a mask of pure disdain. “My daughter taking an interest in this spot is the best thing that could happen to you. Do you have any idea who we are? What our family stands for? And who are you? What gives you the right to even compete with us?” She paused for effect, her voice rising in a crescendo of arrogant pride. “Do you know who I am? I am the wife of Arthur Sinclair, the chairman of Valkyrie Industries, one of the wealthiest men in this city! My daughter is his one and only princess! If you dare to bully her, you’re making an enemy of the entire Valkyrie corporate empire! I suggest you think long and hard about whether you can afford that!” “The wife of the wealthy Arthur Sinclair?” I stared at the completely unfamiliar face before me, the knot of confusion in my stomach tightening. I had never seen this woman in my life. My mother, Eleanor, came from a distinguished family of old money and intellect. Her grace was understated, her style classic and refined. She despised flashy displays of wealth and would never, ever speak in such a shrill, common manner. Could it be? Had my father really been keeping a mistress all these years? The thought sent a chill down my spine. The woman continued her tirade, her voice sharp and vicious. “Let me make one thing crystal clear!” she declared, pointing a diamond-encrusted finger at my sister before turning to command Mr. Wallace. “This exchange spot belongs to my daughter, Sienna! Anyone who says otherwise is declaring war on the Sinclair family!” “And you two,” she snar американка at us, “are going to apologize to me and my daughter. Immediately!” Sienna clung to her mother’s arm, her face a mask of vindictive glee as she added fuel to the fire. “Mom, just apologizing isn’t enough! After how arrogant they were, they need to get on their knees and beg.” The woman nodded, stroking her daughter’s hair. “Sienna’s right. On your knees. Or this isn’t over.” “In your dreams!” my sister retorted, her body trembling with rage. For all her quiet nature, Hannah possessed a core of unyielding pride. “Fine! You want to be tough, do you?” Enraged, Sienna grabbed her phone and made another call. “Dad! You need to get to the university, now! Mom and I are being ganged up on! If you don’t get here soon, your wife and daughter are going to be trampled underfoot!” She hung up, a look of absolute certainty on her face. About ten minutes later, the office door was thrown open with force. When I saw who it was, both my sister and I froze. It was our father, Arthur Sinclair. His eyes met ours the moment he walked in. For a split second, I saw it clearly—a flash of pure shock, then panic. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a mask of cold, hard indifference. He walked straight past us as if we were strangers, heading directly to Sienna and her mother. “Brenda, Sienna, are you alright?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. Brenda immediately threw herself into his arms, sobbing theatrically. “Arthur, you’re finally here! It’s these two! They accused us of being fakes, they even threatened to get violent!”

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After six months closing a major deal, my boss promised a promotion. At the company meeting, it went to a new grad instead. Then comments appeared like subtitles: [ML is falling for FL! Giving her the promotion!] [He’s been faithful to FL the whole time!] [He’ll dump the villainess when FL gets hurt!] I stared at my smiling boyfriend of seven years. So I’m the villainess? Fine. I’ll play the role perfectly. … “While Ivy is new to the company, her hard work is plain for all to see,” my boss, Landon, announced. “This promotion is a way to encourage our new talent. For those who didn’t get the opportunity this time, keep up the good work.” He smiled warmly at the new graduate, Ivy. “To celebrate Ivy’s promotion, we’ll be having a company dinner at The Crown tonight at 7 PM. I hope everyone can make it.” Landon’s gaze lingered on Ivy, who returned it with a shy, blushing smile. A few of my colleagues exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes darting towards me, filled with a pity I didn’t want. My limbs felt like ice. I couldn’t move. Hard work? Did he mean coming in late more than a dozen times a month, and turning in a proposal a week late—a proposal I had to fix for her? Encourage new talent? Did he mean the five years I’d worked here without a single promotion, with him telling me it was a “temporary sacrifice” to protect our secret relationship? As I trembled with rage, more text appeared in my vision. [Look! He’s making eyes at her again! The chemistry is insane. The second they get together it’s gonna be explosive.] [He’s so worried the villainess and the other jealous randos will give the FL a hard time. He’s protecting her in public, even throwing a dinner just for her. He’s so in love. He deserves a wife like her.] I bit back tears and forced a smile. Oh yes. He was so in love. We’d been together for seven years, since college. When he started this company, he asked me to start from the bottom, and for five years, that’s where I’d stayed. He always said the company had a strict no-office-romance policy, and that I had to endure it for a while to avoid suspicion. But Ivy had been here for three months, and she was already my superior. Maybe he didn’t even realize it, but at home, her name was always on his lips. “This new girl is pretty good. You should mentor her. But as her senior, you need to take on more of her workload.” At the office, he was the impartial boss. When I accidentally spilled a cup of coffee, he scolded me in front of everyone: “Be more careful. You can’t do anything right with that kind of carelessness.” But when Ivy lost a contract, costing the company a significant amount of money, he comforted her in private with soft, gentle words. Then he turned to me, his face a stern mask, and said, “Ivy is your responsibility. When something like this happens, you need to reflect on your own failings.” On the night of our seventh anniversary, I waited for him at a restaurant, surrounded by flowers and candles, until midnight. I got a text saying he was working late and couldn’t make it. The next day, I found out he and Ivy had worked so late that they’d fallen asleep together on his office sofa, sharing a blanket. He seemed to have forgotten everything. When he had nothing, I worked myself to the bone, pouring every penny I earned into his fledgling company. I even borrowed a small fortune from my family when we were short on funds. He promised he would marry me. How quickly people change. Or maybe, he never really loved me at all. He just used me. After the meeting, Landon passed by my desk. He squeezed my shoulder and whispered, “You’re in charge of the dinner tonight. Put some effort into it. Make sure it goes well.” I ignored him, a cold laugh echoing in my mind. That night, I didn’t go. [What the hell is wrong with this villainess? Is she sick? The ML told her to do something and she just blows it off? She’s just a tool, why is she so bent out of shape? So lame.] [She embarrassed the ML so badly. He got to the hotel and found out no room was booked. My poor baby FL was standing there, about to cry. The villainess wanted this, didn’t she? So evil. If it wasn’t for her, the ML and FL would have been making out in the private room by now.] [Good thing the ML is rich. He just made a call and the hotel fixed everything. The villainess thinks the world revolves around her. So pathetic.] [Don’t worry, let her act out. She’ll push the ML away eventually. He was only staying with her out of a sense of duty anyway. She really thinks she’s something special.] [Look on the bright side, because of this, the ML spent an hour comforting the FL. That’s some sweet content for us. And when he gets home tonight, he’s definitely going to tear into the villainess. She’s about to get kicked to the curb.] I closed my eyes, shutting out the words. My breathing was ragged. I told myself not to care, but a deep, sharp pain still twisted in my gut. It had been seven years, after all. I’d noticed Landon’s strange behavior over the past few months, had my suspicions. But in the end, my faith in our long history had won out over my doubts. How could it not hurt to finally learn the truth? After what felt like an eternity, my pillow vibrated. I pulled out my phone. A message from Ivy. “Hey girl, truth or dare tonight. I got to kiss the boss. And he picked dare! ;)” “It was a French kiss. He was so into it, his tongue was all over mine. My lips are still sore, lol. So embarrassing, but it felt really good.” Below the text was a video. I pressed play. The two of them were locked in a passionate, desperate kiss. When they finally broke apart, they were breathless, their eyes glazed over, a thin strand of saliva connecting their lips. My heart clenched. Tears streamed down my face. Just then, Ivy sent a few more messages. “Oops, sorry, Claire. Sent that to the wrong person.” “Meant to send it to my friend. You’re not mad, are you?” My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles were white. Wrong person? A month ago, I had hinted to her about my relationship with Landon. Even if no one else knew, she should have known. I typed out a furious reply, my thumb hovering over the send button. But I stopped. Her brazen provocation was only possible because Landon gave her the confidence to do it. Responding would only make me look like a pathetic, jealous clown. Forget the woman. It was time to deal with the man. Landon didn’t get home until almost midnight, his face a dark storm cloud. He didn’t go to the bathroom first, as he usually did. He just stood there, looking down at me on the sofa. “You’ve had all evening to reflect. You can explain yourself now.” He spoke as if we were really just boss and subordinate. I smiled and slowly stood up. The cloying scent of another woman’s perfume hit me. I spoke each word with deliberate clarity. “Let’s break up.” The pop-up comments exploded. [Is this villainess crazy? This isn’t in the script! Psycho.] [How serious do you think she is about this breakup? 0%. She’s just throwing a tantrum to get the ML’s attention. She doesn’t realize this will only make him resent her more and appreciate the FL’s maturity in comparison.] [If he actually agrees, she’ll be the one who’s upset.] Landon froze, then frowned, his bright eyes staring at me. “Are you serious?” I nodded. “Perfectly serious.” He let out a derisive snort. “If you’re mad about the dinner, you’re being incredibly petty.” He took a step closer. “I gave you that responsibility because I trusted you. You failed, and I didn’t even blame you, and now you’re the one throwing a fit?” His voice grew colder. “Frankly, you embarrassed me today. And as a senior employee, you showed a complete lack of grace. Ivy is just a newcomer. There was no need to humiliate a young girl like that. What will the other employees think of her now?” I just looked at him, my expression unreadable. “So, let’s break up.” I continued, my voice even. “Because I’m not good enough. Not as good as the newcomer who’s only been here three months.” Landon stared at me for a long moment, then finally dropped his gaze. He gripped my shoulders, but he couldn’t meet my eyes. “Claire, I know you feel wronged,” he said, his voice softening. “But we agreed, didn’t we? We built this company together. No matter what your position is, we’re a team. Half of this company’s success is yours.” He sighed. “As for Ivy… she’s just a kid. To be honest, seeing her reminds me of us when we just graduated. I just want to give her a hand, that’s all. It’s not because I have feelings for her. And she is talented, she just needs time to grow. I’m asking you, please, don’t push her away.” He finally looked at me, his eyes pleading. “But… I’m not heartless. I would never abandon you… Let’s not talk about breaking up.” With that, he turned and went to his room, his back weary and tired. He never once asked if I was willing to continue. As if our relationship was his alone to decide. As long as he said we would continue, it was impossible for me to leave. But, Landon, since you won’t agree… Then you can’t blame me for what comes next. After that night, I didn’t mention the breakup again. I threw myself into my work, acting as if Landon’s words had moved me, ready to sacrifice everything for the company. Over the years, I had learned every inch of this business. How the big contracts were negotiated. Which projects bent the rules. Who our competitors were. I knew it all. When Ivy clicked into the office in her new designer heels, my colleagues oohed and aahed. “Wow, Ivy! Is that the latest bag? It must be worth a fortune!” “Did you get a new boyfriend? Spill!” “Oh, come on, you know who her boyfriend is. Better start sucking up now.” Ivy feigned embarrassment. “Stop it, you guys. Office romances are forbidden, you know. Don’t spread rumors.” She added coyly, “I didn’t even want it, but someone insisted on buying it for me.” She glanced at the cheap trinkets on my desk, her eyes filled with smug satisfaction. It was laughable. When Landon and I were together, we scrimped and saved. After he made it big, he never bought me a single item of clothing that cost more than a hundred dollars. I thought he was just naturally frugal. Turns out, he just didn’t think I was worth it. A dull, persistent ache started in my chest. I forced a smile and walked to Landon’s office. He raised an eyebrow when I entered. I handed him a report. “This is for the Northside development. There seems to be a problem with the funding. I need to see last year’s bidding contract.” Landon’s hand, which had been flipping through a file, paused. He didn’t question me, just stood up and walked to the safe. After all these years, he still trusted me. But only to a point. He would never let me see the combination. Just as I turned my back to wait for him to enter the code, the door was thrown open. Ivy bounced in without knocking. If that had been me, I would have been chewed out already. But Landon just gave her an indulgent look and tapped her on the nose. “You have no manners.” Ivy wrinkled her nose. “Hmph. Just wanted to see what you old folks were up to.” She shot me a hostile glare. She probably thought I was in here to pick a fight over him, and had rushed in to stake her claim. My chest tightened. Seeing my expression, Landon seemed to remember why I was there. “Claire needs a contract from me.” “Oh,” Ivy said, her tone suddenly sweet. “Let me get it for her.” I was about to remind her that the contract was in the safe, when she reached out and casually keyed in the combination. With a soft click, the safe opened. My world plunged into an icy abyss. I stared at Landon, my eyes wide with disbelief. The pain in my heart was so sharp it was numbing. Landon, how could you? [Does anyone else get a rush seeing the villainess’s face in that moment? Like, duh, he’s going to trust my girl over you. What if you took all the money and ran?] [Haha, this part of the plot is so satisfying. I skipped right to it. The ML is so doting!] I started to tremble uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face. Landon’s first instinct was to shield Ivy, pushing her behind him. “Go on, sweetie. You can go out first.” Ivy crossed her arms and shot me a timid look before scurrying out of the office. The moment I heard the lock click, I lost control.

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