Word on campus was that the golden boy of the pre-law program had a very strict moral code. Whenever a girl confessed her feelings and gave him a gift, he would reject her flat out. But to keep his conscience clear, he would always pay her back for whatever the gift cost. As a broke college student surviving on instant noodles, desperation bred a wicked idea in my head. Clutching a cheap beaded bracelet I bought off a street vendor for two bucks, I blocked his path and put on my most soulful gaze. “I have a massive crush on you. Do you want to go out with me? Oh, and I bought you this bracelet!” The golden boy looked at me. “No. How much was the bracelet? I’ll transfer you the money.” Me: “Seven hundred and eighty dollars. And fifty cents.” The golden boy: “?” 1 While I was staring miserably at the glaring deficit on my tuition bill, my roommate was hanging off her loft bed, eagerly spilling the latest campus gossip. “Did you guys hear? Weston from the law school rejected another girl yesterday.” “Oh, I heard about that! She gave him an engraved fountain pen. He rejected her, pulled out his phone, and Venmoed her a hundred bucks on the spot. He said he doesn’t accept gifts, but he pays for what he’s given. The guy has principles.” I shot up from my mattress like a rocket. “Wait, seriously? He reimburses the original price of the confession gifts?” “Yup. It’s his golden rule. He doesn’t take advantage of anyone. A rejection is a rejection, but he refuses to owe anyone a favor.” I thought about the pathetic twenty-seven dollars sitting in my bank account. Then I glanced back at the four-digit nightmare on my tuition portal. Poverty really does awaken the criminal mastermind in you. A brilliant, flawless scheme instantly formed in my brain. Over the next two days, I memorized Weston’s class schedule and the routes he usually walked on campus. Then, I stopped by a local flea market stall just off campus to pick out a bracelet. “How much for this string of beads?” “Fifty.” “Are you out of your mind? I’ll give you two bucks.” “Deal.” “…” “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” the vendor grinned. “This bracelet is blessed for romance. Whoever you give it to will definitely fall in love with you!” I didn’t care about the romance. I just needed it to bless my tuition fund. Everything was set. At four-thirty on a Wednesday afternoon, right outside the law building, I perfectly ambushed Weston just as he walked out of his seminar. He looked even better in person than he did in the rumors. Dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark slacks, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, he looked like he was walking around with his own personal spotlight. I swallowed hard, took a massive step forward, and planted myself right in his way. I shoved the bracelet toward him. “Weston, I have a massive crush on you. Do you want to go out with me? This is a bracelet I bought just for you!” Weston stopped in his tracks. He didn’t even blink. “No.” My heart leaped into my throat. I was just waiting for those magic words. “How much was the gift? I’ll transfer you the money.” Bingo. Without batting an eyelash, I recited the exact number I had calculated beforehand. “Seven hundred and eighty dollars. And fifty cents.” Weston stared at the flimsy string of beads that looked like it was going to snap if the wind blew too hard. A look of pure disbelief crossed his face. “This thing is nearly eight hundred bucks? Maybe I’m just out of touch, but is this some new form of daylight robbery?” My cheeks burned, but I bit the bullet and spouted absolute nonsense with a straight face. “I took this bracelet to a spiritual guru to get it specially blessed. He said our auras are perfectly aligned, and this will ward off toxic relationships for three years. You get what you pay for.” A low chuckle escaped his lips. His eyes rippled with amusement, bright and clear like sunlight hitting the water. The corner of his mouth curved up. He was so ridiculously handsome that my conscience almost woke up and forced me to confess the scam. But my sheer poverty kept me completely blind to guilt. “You’re an interesting one.” He tilted his chin. “Show me your Venmo QR code.” My eyes lit up like fireworks. I whipped out my phone, pulled up the code, and shoved the screen toward him. I moved so fast, terrified he might change his mind. A soft chime rang out from my phone. You have received eight hundred dollars. My internal organs practically threw a parade. “You… you sent twenty dollars too much!” I tried my best to keep my face neutral. “Keep the change. I hate typing decimals.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked past me without a second glance. I spun around and yelled at his retreating back, my voice dripping with the most genuine gratitude I had ever felt in my life. “Thank you, boss! May you graduate with a 4.0! May you drown in scholarship offers! May all your toxic exes stay away! May you win every bet you ever make!” His footsteps paused for a fraction of a second. He didn’t turn around, just lazily raised a hand in acknowledgment. “Enough.” He left me with the view of a very cool, very generous back. I stood there clutching my phone, almost crying tears of joy. 2 Looking at my bank balance, which now perfectly covered my tuition with a few bucks to spare, I let out a long, heavy sigh of relief. But that peace only lasted about twelve hours. A text from my mom completely shattered my reality. She transferred me forty bucks. Attached was a message. Be careful with your spending this month. Your sister needs a new laptop for school, so money is a bit tight. I stared at the forty dollars in total silence. Last month she gave me four hundred. This month, it was slashed to ten percent. How was I supposed to survive a whole month on forty bucks? The wicked ideas started bubbling up again. I had already done it once. What was stopping me from doing it again? Dying of embarrassment was temporary. Dying of starvation was permanent. This time, I was going to be way more prepared. I stayed up for three hours reading a thread called Ten Thousand Lines to Melt a Guy’s Heart. I filled half a notebook with cheesy romantic lines and memorized them until I could recite them backward. The next day after class, I clutched my textbook and sprinted toward the law building, terrified I’d miss him. But the second I actually saw him, my brain turned to absolute mush. I spotted him standing outside the building talking to his buddy. I quickly smoothed down my shirt, took a deep breath, and marched over. I shoved a cheap, goofy capybara plush keychain right into his face and opened my mouth. “Weston, you are the light of my bank account… wait, no! You are the light of my life!” The moment the words left my mouth, my entire body went rigid. It was over. I completely fumbled the script. The air went dead silent for two agonizing seconds. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes swimming with pure mockery. “The light of your bank account?” My face burned hot enough to fry an egg. I scrambled to fix it, my words tumbling out in a panicked rush. “No, no! I meant, you are like a light, illuminating my life… my life, not my bank account!” The more I panicked, the worse it got. The romantic lines I had spent all night memorizing violently collided in my head. “My love for you is like a freight train… completely off the rails! It’s like… like the pizza at the dining hall, cheap but full of substance… wait, no!” His friend totally lost it. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, laughing so hard he practically collapsed onto the pavement. “I’m dying! Weston, where did you find this comedian?” Even Weston’s lips twitched upward into a genuine smile. I wanted the concrete to open up and swallow me whole. I dropped my head, my voice shrinking down to a pathetic whisper. “Sorry… I just got a little nervous…” This was humiliating. Weston tapped the capybara keychain I was still holding up in the air. “Did your spiritual guru bless this one too? How much?” “No, no guru this time. It’s just a hundred and fifty…” He took the goofy little capybara from my hand, turning it over in his fingers. He glanced from the plushie to my face. “This little thing kind of looks like you.” He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen a few times. A second later, the beautiful notification chime rang out. Two hundred dollars. I looked up at him, my eyes wide and confused. “The extra…” He raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his dark eyes. “…is the admission fee for that comedy routine.” I clutched my phone, staring at the fresh two hundred bucks in my account. Suddenly, the humiliation completely evaporated. If embarrassing myself paid this well, I would happily do it every day of the week. His friend threw an arm around Weston’s shoulder and grinned at me. “Hey, freshman! We’ve got a basketball game tomorrow at three. Make sure you come cheer for our boy! Don’t forget to bring him some water!” I gave an awkward laugh, but after his friend practically demanded I show up, I finally nodded. 3 The next day, I arrived at the campus basketball courts right on time. It was packed. I had to stand all the way in the back, clutching a bottle of ice-cold sports drink, feeling a weird knot of anxiety in my stomach. The second Weston stepped onto the court, the screaming from the bleachers almost blew the roof off. He was wearing a royal blue and white jersey. His dark hair was slightly damp, sweeping just above his brow bone. During warm-ups, his shirt lifted just enough to expose a sliver of a lean, heavily muscled waist. I couldn’t look away. I literally counted eight distinct abs. I silently concluded that looking at him was basically a meal in itself. The whistle blew. When Weston was focused, he was ridiculously attractive. His movements were fluid and lethal. Dribbling, crossing over, jumping, shooting. He sank three-pointers effortlessly, one after another. Every time the ball swished through the net, the crowd absolutely lost their minds. The energy was contagious. Before I knew it, I was screaming his name with the rest of them. This guy was literally paying for my survival. He was my greatest benefactor. By the end of the first half, I was shouting with so much passion that my throat felt like sandpaper. The halftime buzzer echoed through the gym. I clutched the icy bottle to my chest and carefully squeezed my way through the packed crowd toward the benches, terrified the drink would get warm before I could hand it to him. Just as I broke through to the front row, a heavy hand clamped down on my arm. It was a guy in a stained muscle shirt. He looked like absolute trash. His eyes slowly dragged up and down my body, a greasy, uncomfortable smirk plastered on his face. “Well, well. Pushing your way to the front, sweetie? You here throwing yourself at Weston too?” I frowned, trying to yank my arm back, but his grip was like a vice. “Let go of me.” “Don’t be in such a rush.” Two of his equally gross friends stepped up, boxing me in from both sides. “Stop dreaming, little girl. Weston’s standards are sky-high. He’s not gonna look twice at a thing like you. Why don’t you hang out with our boy Trent instead? He knows how to treat a girl right.” The buddies snickered. “Skin looks so soft,” Trent sneered, his hand reaching out toward my face. “I wonder if the rest of you is just as…” He never finished that sentence. A long, heavily veined arm shot out from my blind spot. A large hand clamped down over Trent’s wrist, violently twisting it backward. A sickening pop sounded, followed by a blood-curdling scream. Trent was yanked halfway around by sheer brutal force. Before he could even regain his balance, a heavy sneaker slammed into the back of his knee, forcing him to instantly drop to the floor in agony. The entire section of the bleachers went dead silent. I looked up and crashed straight into a pair of icy, lethal eyes. Weston. He had just stepped off the court. He hadn’t even grabbed a towel yet. Sweat trailed down his sharp jawline, and the muscles in his forearms were tight and completely flushed with adrenaline. “What did you just say? Repeat it.” His voice was like shattered glass. A raw, terrifying violence burned in his eyes, making him look like a completely different person from the aloof golden boy I knew. All the color drained from Trent’s face. “Weston, hey man, I… I was just joking…” “Watch your fucking mouth.” Weston released his wrist and gave him a casual shove. Trent collapsed onto his backside, scrambling away like a rat. Weston shifted his gaze to the two friends, whose faces were now sickly pale. His tone was as casual as discussing the weather. “If I ever see any of you near her again, a kicked knee will be the least of your problems.” “Apologize to her.” Trent clenched his jaw, staying silent. Weston took a slow half-step forward. “I’m sorry!” Trent screamed, his voice completely cracking in terror. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I was being a piece of shit! It’ll never happen again!” The two buddies tripped over their words trying to apologize, looking more pathetic by the second. “Get lost.” The guys nodded frantically, hauled Trent to his feet, and shoved their way blindly through the crowd to escape. Weston didn’t even watch them leave. He slowly turned his head and looked down at me. The terrifying, murderous look in his eyes faded, replaced by something dark and unreadable. “You. Are you okay?” I stood completely frozen, my fingers gripping the plastic bottle so hard it crinkled. I still hadn’t fully processed the chaos. Weston reached over, grabbed a clean towel from the bench, and slowly wiped down his fingers, acting as if he had just touched something deeply contaminated. “Why are you just standing there? Give me the water.” I snapped out of it, hurriedly handing him the bottle. “Thank you. For helping me.” “It’s still ice cold. Drink it slowly so you don’t hurt your throat.” He paused right as he unscrewed the cap. He lowered his eyes to look at me, a lazy, amused smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You’re surprisingly attentive.” I didn’t think anything of it. I just nodded sincerely. “Of course I am.” You’re literally funding my college degree. You are my god. I watched his profile as he tilted his head back to drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply with every swallow. My ears suddenly felt uncomfortably hot. I quickly snapped my gaze to the floor. Weston let out a soft laugh. He pulled his phone from his gym bag and tapped the screen. The beautiful, angelic notification sound chimed from my pocket. You have received three hundred dollars. My eyes went wide. I stared at him in shock. “Why… why did you send me money? The water was a gift. It was free!” He leaned down. He got so close that there was barely an inch of space between our faces. He blinked slowly. “You screamed your lungs out for a whole half. Consider it hazard pay. Don’t let those garbage guys ruin your mood. Go buy yourself a massive dinner tonight.” He was too close. My entire field of vision was just him. My heart completely lost its rhythm, thumping wildly against my ribs. I could only manage a dumb, mechanical nod. The referee blew the whistle. The second half was starting. Weston pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, gave me one last, lingering look, and jogged back out onto the hardwood. 4 Because of Weston, my quality of life skyrocketed. I used to sneak into the dining hall and only order plain rice and the free egg drop soup. Now, I was ordering a meat entrée, a side of vegetables, and occasionally treating myself to a giant fried chicken leg. I was sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, happily destroying my chicken leg. “Wow. Eating good these days, huh?” A plastic tray slammed down onto the table directly across from me. I looked up. The chicken leg froze halfway to my mouth. It was Blake. He was the notorious nightmare of our major. He came from a filthy rich family, looked decent enough, but had a completely rotten personality. His favorite hobby was making my life a living hell. On the first day of freshman year, he threw my textbook in the trash. Since then, it escalated to pouring glue on my chair and stealing my homework, just to watch me panic. Whenever I saw him, my fight-or-flight response kicked in, leaning heavily toward flight. He slouched into the chair, lazily stabbing a piece of braised pork with his fork, glaring at me out of the corner of his eye. “You look pretty cozy lately. Eating fried chicken? What, did you hit the lottery?” I lowered my eyes, completely ignoring him, and pulled my tray closer to my chest. “Don’t play deaf.” He slammed his fork against the edge of my tray, making a sharp, annoying clatter. “Everyone on campus is talking about you. Running to the law building every single day, chasing after Weston like a desperate groupie… is there something wrong with your brain?” A few students at the surrounding tables turned their heads to look at us. I gripped my chopsticks. “That is none of your business.” “How is it none of my business?” He threw his fork onto the table, leaning aggressively over the center, his voice loud and venomous. “Do you even know who Weston is? He’s the top of his class. His family owns one of the biggest law firms in the state. And you? You’re a charity case who sneaks around for free soup. Do you honestly think you two live in the same universe?” Every single word felt like a rusty nail, hammering into the reality of the gap between us. A reality I had been trying very hard to ignore. I didn’t say a word. He paused, a cruel, mocking smile spreading across his face. “Besides, do you really think he’s rejecting you just because you’re a nobody? Let me spell it out for you. He already has the girl of his dreams.” “The only reason Weston hasn’t dated anyone is because he’s waiting for her. He is never going to look at you. You running up to him confessing over and over again… you’re just embarrassing yourself. Can you stop being so pathetic?” I didn’t hear a single word he said after that. Only one sentence echoed violently in my head: He already has the girl of his dreams. My chest suddenly felt incredibly tight. But… If I looked at it from another angle, didn’t that mean my confessions would never, ever be accepted? Which meant… I could just keep confessing and keep collecting that sweet rejection money with absolutely zero risk of him saying yes? The heavy guilt weighing on my conscience evaporated instantly. I remembered the cafeteria had just introduced a new sweet and sour rib dish. I kinda wanted to try it… Thinking about my future meals, the corners of my mouth couldn’t help but curve up into a bright smile. “What the hell are you smiling at?” Blake’s voice cracked. He looked like he was choking on his own spit. “I just told you he’s hopelessly in love with someone else, and you’re sitting there smiling?” I snapped back to reality. I looked at him dead in the eye, my tone completely light and airy. “Nothing. I think it’s great he has someone he loves. I’m happy for him.” “…What?” “It just proves I have excellent taste. A guy who is that loyal and devoted is rare.” I looked back down and shoved a massive bite of rice into my mouth, my cheeks puffing out as I mumbled through the food. “It’s romantic. I wish them a lifetime of happiness.” Blake sat there completely paralyzed. It was like someone had hit his mute button. “You…” He opened his mouth, his face turning a chaotic mix of purple and pale white. It was like he had thrown his hardest punch into a brick wall, and the impact had rebounded right back into his own face. He violently shoved his chair back. The metal legs screeched against the tile floor. “You’re completely delusional! Let’s see how long you keep acting like a clown!” He hadn’t taken a single bite of his braised pork. He spun around and stormed out of the cafeteria, his footsteps heavy and furious. I looked at his abandoned tray, whispering a tiny complaint. “What a waste of good food.” Then, I took another massive bite of my chicken leg. Honestly, the cafeteria chefs were really stepping their game up.

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1 I am the most terrifying, bloodthirsty dragon in the entire Abyssal Rift. To cement my dreadful reputation, I flew down the mountain and kidnapped the fragile princess offered as a sacrifice by the neighboring kingdom. He had skin as pale as milk, lips like crushed berries, and looked like a stiff breeze could blow him over. He spent his days huddled in the corner of my cavern, weeping silently. To prove I was a true monster, I forced him to roast my meat, polish my scales, and even share my bed every single night. Until the day the Lord of the Abyss came knocking at my door. Just as I was packing my bags to run for my life, my delicate princess stepped up and crushed the Lord’s skull with a single bare hand. Wiping the blood from his fingers, he turned to me with a sweet, elegant smile: “Did that scare you, darling?” 2 I am a dragon. My full name is Ignis Augustus Emberheart, Devourer of Realms. But I usually just go by Ember. Though my name is meant to stop crying children in their tracks, I am actually a total weakling. I cannot breathe hellfire to melt castles; I can only manage a tiny spark barely hot enough to roast a sweet potato. My scales are not impenetrable armor. They are soft and brittle, popping off if I scratch them too hard. In this brutal Abyssal Rift where only the strong survive, the only reason I made it to adulthood is because I look absolutely terrifying. I have scales as black as midnight, massive bone wings that cast a shadow over the sun, and slit pupils that glow crimson in the dark. As long as I keep my mouth shut and stay out of fights, I am the most menacing beast in the Rift. But lately, my territory has been threatened. A massive, one-eyed, two-headed dragon moved to the neighboring peak. She calls herself the Lord of the Abyss. She is constantly lurking around my cave, leaving pools of drool in her wake. I have been living in constant fear. If she ever finds out I cannot even conjure a proper fireball, she will eat me alive. To secure my territory, I decided to pull off a daring heist. I was going to fly down the mountain and kidnap a human. Our clan has an unwritten rule: the more humans you kidnap, and the more noble they are, the higher your status. If I brought back a royal princess, that stupid two-headed beast would definitely be scared off by my fierce reputation. 3 I chose a dark, stormy night to fly down to the human capital. Talk about luck. Right there on the sacrificial altar, a prime offering was chained up. It was a bit strange, though I could not quite put my finger on why. I flew closer to inspect. It was a young human male dressed in pristine white robes. Silvery white hair cascaded over his shoulders, and though he had a tall, slender build, he looked incredibly fragile. I landed on the altar, deliberately stomping hard to shake the stone, and let out a deafening roar. The human looked up. I froze. He was breathtakingly beautiful. His skin was whiter than any forest elf I had ever seen. But what really got me were his eyes. His pale gray eyes glistened with unshed tears, the edges of his eyelids flushed a soft pink. He looked like a delicate white rose waiting to be crushed by the storm. Staring up at my massive dragon snout, he did not scream, nor did he struggle. Only a flash of bewilderment crossed his face. I reached out with my claw, scooping him gently into my palm. His waist was so incredibly narrow. I barely dared to squeeze, terrified I might accidentally snap him in half. “You are mine now, human,” I growled in the deep tongue of dragons. “From now on, I will protect you.” He did not understand. He simply tilted his head and began to cough. A violent, racking cough shook his entire frame, leaving a thin trail of crimson at the corner of his lips. Panic flared in my chest. Do not die on me. I need you to show off to the neighbors. I hastily beat my wings and bolted back to my cave. 4 Back in the cave, I tossed him onto a pile of dry straw. To make communication easier, I shifted into my half-human form. Keeping my horns and tail, I put on my best impression of a cold-hearted half-dragon warrior. “Listen closely, human,” I said, looking down at him with a scowl. “From this day forth, you are my slave.” He leaned against the rocky wall, hand clutching his chest, panting softly. “My name is Alistair,” he whispered, casting his eyes downward. He looked so devastatingly fragile. “I am an outcast, sacrificed by the kingdom.” “Great dragon, are you going to eat me?” This human certainly knew how to stroke an ego. I let out a harsh sneer and leaned closer, deliberately baring my sharp fangs. “Eat you? You are nothing but skin and bones. You would not even flunk a tooth.” Tears immediately welled up in his eyes and spilled over. “I am sorry, mighty beast. I will try my best to get fatter.” “Hey, do not cry. Who said anything about eating you?!” Panicking, my tail swept across the floor, scattering dust. I quickly clamped a hand over my mouth, trying to salvage whatever remained of my terrifying facade. But in this half-dragon form, with horns on my head and bone wings on my back, there was not a single gentle bone in my body. “Really? You will not eat me?” His long eyelashes fluttered, still damp with tears. How could a grown man look so utterly endearing? It made keeping up my fierce persona next to impossible. “Hmph. I just think you are too skinny. A mighty beast like me…” I stuttered, my tail twitching. I was used to roaring, not holding long conversations with humans. “Anyway, you are my captive now. You will work for me. Wash my clothes, cook my meals, polish my scales. Got it?” Alistair nodded obediently. “I will do anything to stay by your side, master.” “Back in the kingdom, they never gave me enough to eat, and I had to work day and night. You will let me eat my fill, won’t you, master?” “Of course!” I puffed out my chest proudly. “My cave might be simple, but I am a fearsome black dragon. In this territory, I only take from others. You will not go hungry!” Alistair peered up through his lashes, a soft, glittering light dancing in his pale gray eyes. He pressed his rosy lips together, whispering, “You must keep your promise, master.” “My word is law!” In reality, my heart was hammering like a war drum. What do humans even eat? Usually, I just ripped into whatever prey I caught or grabbed some wild berries. But looking at this snowy, beautiful creature, if I threw a bloody, dirt-covered chunk of raw meat at his feet, he would probably faint on the spot. I scratched my head in frustration. My horns swayed with the movement, and my wings tucked close to my back in embarrassment. Alistair watched me with that same soft, gentle gaze, hands resting neatly on his knees. Well, he was too pretty to starve. With a sigh, I walked to the darkest corner of the cave, rummaged through the debris, and dragged out a coarse burlap sack. It was a bag of sweet potatoes I had swiped from a human farm near the border. I had kept them as snacks. “What is that, master?” Alistair asked, tilting his head. His silver hair slid gracefully over his shoulder. “A tribute from the humans,” I lied smoothly. I dug a small pit in the dirt with my claws and dropped a few potatoes in. Taking a deep breath, I leaned over the pit, my face flushing red as I strained my throat to produce a tiny, flickering orange flame. A weak spark lazily licked at the dirt. To keep it from dying out, I had to stay hunched over, blowing gently on the embers. It was a humiliating posture for a fearsome dragon of the Abyss. “Your control over the flame is exquisite, master,” Alistair praised from behind. The tip of my tail twitched happily. “Indeed. I am a master of precise temperature control. Lesser dragons would simply burn the food to ash.” I boasted, though I was actually starting to feel lightheaded from a lack of oxygen. Alistair rested his chin in his hands, crouching beside me. The faint glow of the fire reflected in his bright eyes. I felt a swell of pride. I had picked a truly excellent captive. 5 Then came the next hurdle: sleeping. My cave was piled with gold coins and sparkling gems. For a thick-skinned dragon, rolling around in gold was paradise. But if this delicate human slept on those hard coins, he would be covered in bruises by morning. Where was the softest spot? I looked down at my own belly. Whatever. I kidnapped him; I had to take responsibility. “Hey. You sleep here. My belly is warm and soft,” I said, putting on my coldest, most commanding tone while pointing to my stomach. Alistair clutched his chest, slowly turning his head. “Is… is that really alright, master?” “Stop complaining. I told you to lie down, so lie down. One more word and I will throw you to the two-headed beast outside.” Without another word, Alistair crawled over and settled against my stomach. My body went rigid. I had not expected him to cuddle so close. Before I could speak, Alistair murmured, “I have always been sensitive to the cold. The people in the palace despised me because of my frail health.” “They locked me away in the draftiest tower, refusing to even light a hearth.” He coughed again, his breath shallow. “Only you… only you cared if I was cold. You even let me use your belly as a pillow.” “You are so kind, master.” I thought he was incredibly foolish. Who calls an Abyssal dragon kind? But in the end, I did not push him away. If he wanted to snuggle, let him. 6 To keep up my terrifying reputation, I made Alistair roast meat and clean my scales. I expected these chores to make a delicate princess weep and beg for mercy. But he did not complain. Instead, I was the one who felt increasingly uneasy. For instance, whenever he polished my scales, his gaze was incredibly intense, almost as if he wanted to take a bite out of me. And he certainly did not cry while working. “Achoo!” Alistair sneezed again, his eyes red as he looked at me pleadingly. “Master…” I flicked my tail in irritation. “Not today.” Yesterday he had nipped the tip of my tail. Heaven knew what he would try to bite today. “But master, the cave is freezing.” Because of his fever, his eyes were reder than usual, his nose tipped with a soft pink, and his voice was thick. Liar. Absolute liar. I pressed my wings tight against my back and wrapped my tail around myself, watching him warily. The old lizard on the hill once told me that humans feel cold when they have a fever. But the way he stared at my tail, with a hungry, burning intensity, felt like it could melt my scales right off. “If you are cold, use more straw. Didn’t I gather three whole bundles for you?” “The straw is scratchy. And it does not smell like you.” Alistair slowly crawled closer. Rain began to fall outside, sending chilly drafts through the cracks in the stone. Alistair shivered, curling into a small, white heap. As if his body could no longer support his weight, he sank to his knees, gasping for air. My tail swept against the ground. Humans were ridiculously fragile creatures. If he froze to death in my cave, the beasts outside would spread rumors that Ember the Black Dragon could not even keep a single human alive. My reputation would be ruined. “Stay right there,” I growled. Alistair froze, looking up at me with tearful eyes. A single tear slid down his pale cheek. I let out an annoyed huff. Spreading one of my massive black wings, I swept him under my shadow, completely sheltering his shivering body. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Alistair immediately clung to me. His hands were burning hot against my chest. Every muscle in my body tensed. “Keep your hands to yourself! Touch me again and I will throw you to the flesh-eating plants!” “Your chest… is so warm,” Alistair murmured, pressing closer. 7 I kept my eyes open, unable to sleep. I was thinking of someone. Someone who had filled me with regret for twenty-five long years. Twenty-five years ago, when I was just a young dragon who had newly learned to shift into human form, I was much smaller than I am now. At the edge of a cliff, I found a tiny human baby in a wooden basket. I watched the basket for days, but no human ever came to claim it. Only vultures circled overhead. So, I brought the baby back. Back then, I could barely hunt for myself, let alone feed a human child. Every night, I had to sneak down to steal fresh goat’s milk from the farmers, sometimes getting chased for miles by their hounds. But spoonful by spoonful, I raised that child. Until they turned three. The child had insisted on playing on the slopes outside the cave and went missing. I searched every inch of the Abyssal woods, only to find a single, blood-stained shoe in a thorny ravine. As the night faded, the figure in my arms shifted. Alistair let out a soft murmur, rubbing his forehead against my collarbone. Dawn had broken, and the rain had quieted to a drizzle. “You’re awake. Now get off me.” “My belly is not your mattress. The sun is up, get to work!” Alistair pushed himself up, his eyes meeting mine. “I slept so deeply. I hope I did not hurt you, master?” “Do not flatter yourself. You weigh almost nothing.” He stared at my chest. “Master, I’m hungry…” “Eat the leftover sweet potatoes,” I replied coldly. Alistair looked at me with puppy-dog eyes. “Master, you are so powerful. Do you think you could find some fresh goat’s milk? I’ve always been weak, and milk might help me gain some weight. Then I’d have more strength to serve you.” Hearing the words goat’s milk, my tail went rigid. “Do you think I’m a merchant running a delivery service?!” “Where would I find goat’s milk in the Abyss? There’s only poisonous plant sap. Take it or leave it!” Alistair lowered his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” Seeing him look so defeated only made me more irritated. “Fine, fine! Shut up. I’ll go down the mountain tonight. If I run into a wild goat, I’ll bring some back. But don’t get any ideas! I’m only doing it because I want a change of pace!” Alistair looked up, a faint smile gracing his lips. “Thank you, master. I will wash myself clean and wait for your return.” I frowned. What a bizarre thing to say. I was not going to eat him. Why did he need to wash?

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1 The day before we were supposed to sign our marriage license, my fiancé took me to a bridal boutique, only to thrust a bridesmaid’s gown into my hands. I assumed someone had dropped out of the wedding party at the last minute and they needed a quick replacement. But then the fitting room curtain slid open, and my best friend, Vivian, stepped out wearing my wedding dress. Brent was leaning down, gently adjusting her veil. Seeing me freeze, he rushed to explain. “Vivian’s father has surgery tomorrow. He desperately wanted to see her in a wedding gown tonight.” “It is just a small family dinner to put his mind at ease.” “No registry, no public announcement. It won’t affect our wedding at all.” “Carol, you are still the one I love most.” “So please, just be understanding this once. Help us play along.” I looked at him and said nothing. Vivian clutched the lace hem of the gown, her voice trembling. “Carol, please don’t misunderstand. I am only borrowing Brent for one night.” “The moment my father goes into the operating room, I will give him back to you.” Brent frowned slightly, but his tone softened when he addressed me. “I know this is unfair to you.” “But a man’s life is on the line. Please don’t be petty right now.” A sudden laugh escaped my throat. I looked down and sent a message to the clerk at the city registry office. Please cancel tomorrow’s appointment. Brent. If you want to give her a night of dignity, then I will grant you a lifetime of freedom. After sending the message, I gripped my phone tightly in my palm. I looked up at him. “Should I still try on the bridesmaid’s dress?” Brent’s brow furrowed. “Carol.” He always used that warning tone whenever he felt I was being difficult. Vivian’s eyes welled with tears. “Carol, please don’t be upset. I know this is incredibly unfair to you. But my father goes into surgery tomorrow, and the doctors say the risks are high. His greatest regret in life is not seeing me walk down the aisle.” She slowly took a step toward me. The boutique assistant stood nearby, her polite smile entirely frozen on her face. “I have no intention of stealing your place. You and Brent are getting married tomorrow anyway. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t take him from you.” Her words were beautifully spun. I was the one getting married tomorrow, so I was expected to be magnanimous tonight. I held the official title, so she was allowed to borrow the man. I was about to win, so being stepped on shouldn’t matter. Brent finished adjusting the veil and walked over to us. “Vivian’s father mortgaged his own house years ago to help my family secure a loan. That is the only reason our business survived.” “He is so ill now. I cannot let him think his daughter has been abandoned, leaving him to pass away with a heavy heart.” I nodded slowly. “So you are throwing her a wedding.” “It is a family dinner.” “Wearing my wedding dress, standing by your side, and you call that a family dinner?” Brent’s throat cleared. “There is no minister, no marriage certificate, and no public announcement.” Vivian chimed in quickly. “It is true, Carol. I can hand my phone over to you right now. I promise I won’t post a single photo.” My gaze drifted to the diamond ring on her finger. I recognized that ring. Last month, when Brent took me to choose our wedding bands, I had mentioned that the diamond was too large, making it difficult to write on the blackboard during class. At the time, he had laughed. “My dear teacher, you won’t need to wear your wedding ring while grading papers.” But now, that exact ring was sitting on Vivian’s finger. The fit was perfect. I asked quietly, “Is the ring borrowed too?” Vivian instinctively pulled her hand back, hiding it behind her back. Brent stepped in front of her. “It is just a prop.” “My wedding ring is supposed to be a prop for her?” The entire boutique fell into a heavy silence. Vivian’s tears finally spilled over. “I will take it off. I am taking it off right now.” She tugged at the band with force, turning her knuckle a bright red. Brent grabbed her wrist to stop her. “That is enough, do not hurt yourself.” I had heard versions of that phrase so many times recently. Do not upset Vivian. Do not bicker with Vivian. Do not make her father worry. Each sentence seemed light, but accumulated over time, they were suffocating. I handed the bridesmaid’s dress back to the assistant. “There is no need to alter the size. I won’t be wearing it.” Brent’s face darkened. “Carol, do you really have to throw a tantrum right now?” Without another word, I grabbed my bag and walked straight out of the boutique. Brent chased after me, with Vivian running right behind him. The long train of the gown caught on her heel, and she nearly tripped on the pavement. Brent immediately spun around to steady her. I stood outside the glass doors, watching them. Vivian clung to his arm, tears streaming down her face like a tragic heroine. “Brent, don’t worry about me! Go after Carol! She must have misunderstood.” Brent didn’t budge. He only looked at me, a low simmer of anger in his voice. “Go home first. I will explain everything to you later.” “And tonight?” I asked. “I have to take Vivian back to the hospital.” “In a wedding dress?” Vivian sobbed. “My father just texted. He wants to see the photos first. I’m so afraid that before he goes into the operating room tomorrow…” Brent cut her off. “I know.” He turned back to me. “Carol, I will be at the registry office on time tomorrow.” I curled my lips in a mirthless smile. “With that ring on her finger?” His eyes fell on Vivian’s hand. Vivian flinched as if burned, frantically tugging at the diamond. This time, it slipped off. She held it out to me in her trembling palms. “Carol, I am so sorry. Truly. I only wanted to put my father’s mind at ease.” I didn’t reach for it. The ring slipped from her hands and clattered onto the pavement, rolling into the dark. Brent knelt to pick it up. I watched as he carefully wiped the dust from the band and slid it into his pocket. That moment brought back a memory from last Wednesday. My mother had a critical follow-up appointment at the clinic. Brent had promised to accompany us. I took half a day off work, waiting at the estate gates from six in the morning. At seven-twenty, a text arrived. Something came up with Vivian. Take your mother first, and I will meet you there as soon as I am done. My mother watched me put away my phone and offered a gentle smile to defend him. “Brent is a busy man. It is not easy building a career.” He never showed up that night. Instead, Vivian posted a picture on her social media. Under the warm glow of her garden lights, Brent was bent over, helping her prune her roses. Her caption read: When the right person appears, even the storms fade away. When I confronted him, he rubbed his temples in exhaustion. “Her father’s results came back terrible. She was having a breakdown. You were there to support your mother, but Vivian has no one but me.” Back then, I actually made excuses for him. The Sinclair family had fallen on hard times years ago, and Vivian’s father had saved them. It made sense for Brent to look after her. It was so normal that he forgot my birthday. It was so normal that he left me to handle my mother’s hospital visits alone. And tonight, it was normal enough that he expected me to wear a bridesmaid’s dress and watch him give Vivian a wedding. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a message from Brent’s mother. Carol, I know you feel slighted. But do not make things difficult for Brent tonight. The Song family was incredibly generous to us. Followed immediately by another. You are a teacher, so you are sensible. Once tonight is over, I will personally make it up to you. The word “sensible” stung. I remembered a young girl in my class who had come to me crying this morning. She said her desk mate kept borrowing her pens and never returned them. When I asked why she didn’t just say no, she lowered her head. “Miss, everyone says I have such a good temper.” I had told her, “Even people with good tempers are allowed to say no.” Yet when it came to my own life, I seemed to have forgotten my own lesson. Brent helped Vivian into the back of his car. Before the door closed, she cast a glance in my direction. Tears still hung on her lashes, but the corner of her mouth pulled into a faint, triumphant smile. I stood there in the cold wind, my hands freezing to the bone. A message came from Brent. Do not be stubborn. Go home and wait for me. I deleted the message and hailed a cab. It was nearly eleven when I unlocked the door to our apartment. The foyer light was on. On the dining table sat the document folder for our marriage registration. I opened it. My birth certificate was there, along with my ID. But Brent’s ID was gone. In its place was a sticky note. Had to grab this quickly. Will bring it tomorrow morning. I sat at the table and called him. It rang for a long time before he answered. It was loud in the background. “What is it?” his voice sounded hurried. “Where is your ID?” “I will bring it straight to the registry office in the morning.” “So you will finish your family dinner tonight, and meet me there?” Silence for a moment. “Yes.” “Where are you right now?” “The hotel.” “Decorating your wedding venue?” “Marcus wanted something a bit more formal. I am just having them set up a backdrop.” “Brent, you are registering your marriage with me tomorrow.” “I know.” “Do you really?” Another silence. Then, Vivian’s soft voice echoed through the line. “Brent, should we take down the welcome sign? Carol might be upset if she sees it.” Brent whispered back, “Leave it for now. We cannot let my uncle notice.” My grip on the phone tightened. “What does the welcome sign say?” He didn’t answer. I hung up. A few minutes later, he sent a photo showing only a corner of the floral backdrop. Do not overthink this. I will give you a proper explanation tomorrow. I set the phone down and went to the bedroom to pack. On the hanger, the white silk shirt I had prepared for tomorrow was still pressed perfectly flat. Beside it lay a stack of small cards from my students. Happy wedding, Miss Carol! Mr. Sinclair, you must treat our favorite teacher well! Miss, even if you are getting married, do not forget to grade our essays! I took them down one by one and tucked them into a drawer. Inside the drawer, the jewelry box was open. The jade bracelet Brent’s late grandmother had given me was missing. Before she passed, the old lady had held my hand. “Carol, do not be afraid when you join our family. Brent has a stubborn mouth, but he truly loves you.” I had believed those words for seven years. The phone buzzed. Vivian had sent a photo. She was sitting in the hotel bridal suite, wearing the wedding gown, and on her wrist was the heirloom green jade bracelet. Carol, Mrs. Sinclair said I could borrow the bracelet for tonight. It will put my father’s mind at ease. You do not mind, do you? I looked at my empty jewelry box. Brent must have taken it when he swiped his ID. I called his mother. “Carol, dear, I was just about to call you about the bracelet,” she answered. “Who took it?” “Brent did. Vivian looked a bit plain without any jewelry, and her father asked about it. Brent did not want the old man to worry.” “That was a gift from his grandmother. It belongs to me.” “I know, dear, and we will return it tomorrow. Do not be so petty. Tonight is a special circumstance.” I let out a sudden laugh. On the other end, his mother went quiet. “Mrs. Sinclair,” I asked, “am I still getting married tomorrow?” Silence stretched. “Of course you are! You and Brent have been together for so long; no one can come between you. Vivian is just a young girl, and her family is going through a tragedy. Just let her have this.” I hung up. Half an hour later, I carried the empty jewelry box to the hotel. The banquet hall was on the third floor. The moment the elevator doors parted, a massive, crimson welcome sign greeted me. The Wedding Feast of Brent Sinclair and Vivian Song. Below it, a smaller line of elegant script: May they walk together through the years, hand in hand, morning and night. I froze. A waiter approached. “Excuse me, ma’am, are you a guest of the bride?” Before I could speak, a familiar voice called out behind me. “Miss Carol?” I turned. It was Mrs. Higgins, the head of my department, standing with several of our colleagues. They were having a staff dinner at the same hotel. Mrs. Higgins looked at the empty jewelry box in my hand, then at the welcome sign. Her face fell. “This… aren’t you supposed to get married tomorrow?” My mouth parted, but not a single sound came out. Someone whispered behind her, “Brent Sinclair? Isn’t that Carol’s fiancé?” I clenched my fingers around the box. Just then, the double doors of the banquet hall swung open. Vivian, draped in white, stepped out with her arm linked through Brent’s. Her father sat in a wheelchair, pushed into the center of the foyer. The old man’s hair was mostly white, and though he looked frail, he smiled warmly as he reached for Brent’s hand. “Brent, my boy. I know this was a difficult request.” “Vivian has loved you since she was a little girl. I used to tease her for being foolish, but seeing her stand by your side in a wedding gown… I can rest easy now.” Brent knelt beside the wheelchair. “Uncle, do not worry. The surgery tomorrow will be a success.” The old man looked at Vivian. “Be good from now on. Do not be stubborn, and do not always trouble Brent.” Vivian sniffled, tears welling in her eyes. “Father…” The old man sighed. “Tonight is like a beautiful dream for me. When I wake up, I will not burden either of you any longer.” Several onlookers wiped their eyes. Brent’s mother was sobbing softly into her handkerchief. Standing beside the welcome sign, I felt like the punchline of a cruel joke. Vivian suddenly spotted me. Her face turned pale. “Carol… you came.” Every head in the lobby turned toward me. My colleagues stood frozen by the elevators. I walked over and placed the empty jewelry box on the reception desk. “My bracelet. Give it back.” Vivian clutched her wrist. “Carol, right now? My father is right here…” Brent lowered his voice, anger flashing in his eyes. “Carol, do not make a scene!” I looked him dead in the eye. “You took my document folder. You took the heirloom his grandmother gave me. You dragged me to a shop to try on a bridesmaid’s dress, and then you made me stand in front of this sign. Brent, tell me, how exactly am I making a scene?” His expression hardened. “I will explain everything later.” “You have explained things plenty of times.” I held out my hand. “The bracelet.” Vivian’s tears began to flow. As she struggled to slide the bracelet off her wrist, she looked at her father. “Father, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have worn it. I only wanted you to be happy. It does not matter if no one wants me.” The old man frowned. “What do you mean, no one wants you?” Vivian sobbed harder. Brent immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her. “Uncle, do not worry. You have me tonight.” With those words, the lobby fell silent. I looked at Brent. He seemed to realize the weight of his words under my gaze, his lips parting slightly. “Carol, I only meant…” “No need to explain.” I took the emerald bracelet, placed it securely inside the box, and snapped it shut. Mrs. Higgins tried to step forward to comfort me, but I shook my head. As I turned to leave, Vivian suddenly grabbed my hand. “Carol, please do not go. If you leave, my father will think I ruined your relationship.” I pulled my hand back sharply. Losing her balance on her high heels, she slipped. Brent caught her in his arms, looking up at me with pure accusation in his eyes. “Carol, she cannot handle any stress tonight!” I nodded slowly. “Then I wish you both a wonderful wedding feast.” When I got back to our apartment, I packed a single suitcase. My textbooks, my lesson plans, a few changes of clothes, and a framed photograph of my mother. I left everything else behind. Before walking out the door, I placed the keys on the dining table. Beside them, I left a simple note: Brent, you owe me nothing. And I owe you nothing.

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The year I went under, I called seven of my closest buddies. They either sent me straight to voicemail or ghosted me completely. In the end, I had to liquidate my shop and sell my family home just to clear the debt. Two years later, Joey suddenly called me out of the blue. “Brother, my business is tight right now. I need eighty grand to float me for a bit. Wire it over, will you?” I let out a dry laugh. “Two years ago, when I needed ten grand to keep the lights on, what did you tell me?” Dead silence on his end. I hung up the phone and blocked his number. 01 The phone rang three times before Joey picked up. “Hey man, I hit a massive wall. Supply chain cut me off. I’m short about ten grand. Can you spot me?” Silence stretched over the line for two seconds. “Brother, it’s not that I don’t want to help. I just drove a brand new truck off the lot. I am completely tapped out.” I swallowed my pride. “Joey, even five grand would save me. The moment my receivables clear next month, I’ll pay you back with interest.” “Try asking some of the other guys. Lou should have some loose cash. I’m seriously strapped right now.” I said okay. I ended the call and stared at the final notice sitting on my desk. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars. If I didn’t pay it off by the end of the month, my suppliers were taking me to court. And I couldn’t even scrounge up ten grand. I lit a cigarette, scrolling through my contacts until I found Lou’s number. Ring. Ring. Ring. Straight to voicemail. I dialed again. Voicemail again. I shot him a text. “Lou, it’s an absolute emergency. Call me back.” The message sat there. It never turned to read. I sat alone in my office. Out on the floor, the heavy CNC machines were already dead silent. Half of my crew’s wages from last month were still unpaid, and the raw material vendors had completely cut off my steel supply. That hundred and fifty thousand dollar black hole? My business partner dug it. We ran that custom metal fabrication shop together for three years. Last month, he took the company ledger, drained the operating accounts, and vanished. I filed a police report, and the cops said they were looking into it, but the money wasn’t coming back anytime soon. My suppliers didn’t give a damn about my sob story. My signature was on the contracts, which meant the debt belonged to me. I kept scrolling down my contact list. Tommy. Fifteen years of history. We shared a dorm room back in trade school. He owned a hardware and lumber yard over in the next county and was doing pretty well for himself. The call connected. “Tommy, I caught a bad break over here. Can you float me ten grand? Just need it to keep my head above water.” The TV was blaring in the background on his end. He was clearly lounging at home. “Look, Dave, it’s not that I don’t want to bail you out. But loaning cash ruins friendships. Think about it. What if you go under and can’t pay me back? It’d make things weird between us.” I gripped the phone. “One month. I swear on my life, I’ll have it back to you in thirty days.” “I’ve got my own headaches right now. The wife monitors the bank accounts like a hawk. You gotta figure something else out, man.” I said okay. Hung up. I crushed my cigarette into the glass ashtray. My fingers were trembling slightly. It wasn’t the cold. It was this heavy, suffocating weight rising from the bottom of my chest that I couldn’t push back down. Thirty-seven years old. I had been grinding in this local industry for eight years and knew half the town. But guys I could genuinely call brothers? I counted exactly seven. We drank together on holidays. I never missed an envelope of cash for their weddings or baby showers. The year Joey was short five grand for his down payment, I wired him the cash without asking a single question. When Lou’s dad was in the ICU, I handed him a thick envelope of cash at the hospital. When Tommy opened his lumber yard, I catered the opening day out of my own pocket. I thought that meant something. I dialed Bobby’s number next. “Bobby, look, I…” “Hold that thought, Dave. Let me run it by the missus and I’ll call you right back.” He didn’t even ask how much I needed. I said alright, I’ll wait for your call. I sat by my phone until midnight. Bobby never called. The next morning, I called him again. He didn’t pick up. That afternoon, he finally sent a text. “Sorry brother, things are just too tight at home right now.” Four guys. Not a single dime. I sat in the empty shop, looking at the silent machinery. There was a batch of half-finished metal brackets sitting in the warehouse. They were basically worthless in that state. I had three calls left. I gripped my phone, staring at the cracked screen for a very long time. 02 The fifth call went to Greg. Greg was my neighbor. We practically grew up in the same dirt lot. He ran a massive produce wholesale operation in the city and had been raking it in over the last few years. The phone rang seven times before he picked up. “Yeah, who is this?” “Greg, it’s me. David.” “Oh, Dave. What’s going on?” I laid out the situation. He paused. “How much do you need?” “Ten grand.” “Ten grand…” He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Dave, it’s not that I don’t have your back. I just secured a massive shipment of imported fruit, and every liquid asset I have is tied up in the warehouse. You know how the produce game works. It’s all cash flow.” I swallowed hard. “Even five grand would help.” “I seriously don’t have it. You gotta believe me. Let’s grab a beer next time you’re in the city. My treat.” I said sure. Hung up. Sixth call. Marcus. Marcus ran a popular sports bar in town. The business was average, but he knew everyone. In our circle of friends, he was the social glue. He organized every single poker night and barbecue. I dialed. He picked up immediately. “Davey! What’s the word?” “Marcus, my cash flow just hit a brick wall. Can you spot me a loan?” “How much?” “Ten grand.” He let out a sharp laugh. “Ten grand? Brother, what the hell did you get yourself into?” I gave him the short version about my partner skipping town. He stayed quiet for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice dropped to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Dave, let me give it to you straight. With the mess you’re in, I’m telling you right now, stop begging for loans. You’re a hundred and fifty grand in the hole. What the hell is ten grand gonna do? You need to find an exit strategy.” I rubbed my eyes. “I just need to make payroll first. Then I’ll figure the rest out.” “Well, I definitely can’t pull that kind of cash out of the register right now. Don’t hold it against me, man. If I had it, I’d give it to you.” I told him I didn’t hold it against him. I hung up. I only found out later that very same night, Marcus was standing behind his bar, telling everyone who would listen. “David is completely toast. He owes over a hundred grand, the shop is dead in the water. Anyone who loans him a dime is a certified idiot.” Word traveled fast. It reached the ears of my main supplier. Originally, they were going to give me a two-week grace period. The very next morning, they hit me with a formal lawsuit warning. The final call. Ray. Ray bought and sold heavy industrial equipment. We had done plenty of business together. Two of my best CNC machines came from his lot, and he gave me a solid discount back then. “Ray, listen, I…” “Dave, I already heard.” His voice was completely flat. “Your partner took the money and ran, right?” “Yeah. I’m incredibly short on cash right now.” “How much?” “Ten grand gets me through the week.” He paused. “Dave, I don’t have ten grand to hand out. But let me tell you something. If you’re looking to liquidate those machines on your floor, I can find a buyer for you.” My stomach dropped. “Ray, I’m not at that stage yet.” “I’m just giving you a heads up. When it gets to that point, don’t go to anyone else. Come to me. I’ll give you a fair market price.” I said okay. Seven calls. Done. I needed ten grand. I didn’t get a single penny. When I got home that night, my wife, Sarah, was cooking dinner in the kitchen. She took one look at my face and turned the burner off. “Nobody came through?” I nodded. She wiped her hands on a dish towel, walked into our bedroom, and came back holding a faded checkbook. “My mom’s retirement savings. Four thousand. We were supposed to save it for the kid’s college fund.” I didn’t reach for it. She shoved it directly into my palm. “Use it for now. You can’t let your crew go hungry.” I sat heavily on the couch, gripping that checkbook for a very long time. Four thousand wasn’t even enough to cover the back pay. 03 The lawyer’s letter from the supplier arrived the next day. I looked at the deadline. They had moved it up by a full two weeks. When I called to ask why, they told me outright that rumors were flying around town that I was planning to skip the state. I knew it was Marcus. But I didn’t have the luxury of picking a fight. If I didn’t produce the cash by the end of the month, the supplier was going to file for an asset freeze. My shop, my machines, and my personal bank accounts would all be locked down. I scrambled everywhere trying to find a lifeline. The bank rejected my loan application. I didn’t own the land my shop was built on, I just leased it, so the bank considered me a massive liability. I visited three predatory payday loan offices. The interest rates were downright criminal, bordering on forty percent annually. I didn’t dare sign those papers. Sarah looked at me across the kitchen table. “Let’s list the house.” It was our only property. A decent three-bedroom in the suburbs. We paid two hundred and fifty thousand for it. I told her I needed more time to think. She stared right at me. “If we lose the house, we can buy another one eventually. If the stress kills you, we lose everything.” I looked at her. The rims of her eyes were red, but she refused to cry. On the third day, Ray called me. “Dave, you made a decision on that equipment yet? I got a buyer lined up. The price is solid.” “What’s the offer?” “For the two CNC mills and the hydraulic press brake… I can get you forty-five grand.” I had paid over a hundred and twenty grand for that setup just three years ago. “Ray, that is a garbage price.” “Dave, look at the mess you’re in. Who the hell else is gonna touch your assets right now? What happens if the court locks down your shop tomorrow? The buyer loses his money. I’m taking a massive risk here just because we’re buddies.” I stayed silent for a long time. “Let me think about it.” “Don’t think too long. My guy isn’t gonna wait around.” After I hung up, I took a slow walk through the shop floor. Dust was already settling on the steel. The air felt empty and cold. I stood in front of the two CNC machines. I saved up for three brutal years to buy these. The day they were delivered, I bought dinner and drinks for all seven of those guys. Joey had slapped the metal casing and called them my personal printing presses. Now, they were going to be auctioned off for pennies. I didn’t call Ray back. I started hunting for buyers myself. But thanks to Marcus and his big mouth, my financial ruin was public knowledge across the entire county. Everyone knew I was bleeding out. Every single person who came to look at the machines lowballed me to death. Eventually, I listed the equipment on an industrial forum. A buyer from two states away liked the specs and wired me eighty-five thousand dollars. When Ray found out, he called me up, furious. “Dave, that’s a real scumbag move. I line up a buyer for you to do you a favor, and you flip it to some outsider?” I gripped the phone. “Ray, you offered me forty-five. This guy offered me eighty-five. If you were in my shoes, who would you sell to?” He scoffed. “Fine. You’re a real genius. Don’t ever call me again.” The machines brought in eighty-five. I put the house on the market, and the realtor told me it would take at least a month to close. I drove down to the supplier’s corporate office three separate times to beg for an extension. They finally agreed to give me until the fifteenth of the following month, but only if I dropped an immediate forty-thousand-dollar good-faith deposit. Sarah’s four grand, plus a chunk of the machine money, barely covered it. I paid the deposit. The remaining hundred and ten grand depended entirely on selling the house. We listed the house for two hundred and forty thousand, slightly below market value. Four different families toured it in the first week, but nobody made an offer. On the tenth day, a middle-aged guy walked through the property. He looked around and offered two hundred thousand flat. I told him absolutely not. The floor was two hundred and thirty. He looked me dead in the eye. “Dave, I’m not gonna play games. I know you’re drowning in debt. Two hundred and ten thousand. All cash. We close in three days.” I stood in the middle of our living room, looking over at Sarah. She was standing in the hallway holding our three-year-old daughter, who had fallen asleep against her shoulder. “Two hundred and ten,” I said. Three days later, the title transferred. The cash hit my account. Adding it to the remaining equipment money, I had about a hundred grand. I was still short ten thousand dollars. I went back to the empty shop and sold the remaining raw steel, the scrap metal, the half-finished brackets, and the office furniture. Desperation scrounged up another six grand. The final four thousand dollars came from Sarah. She went back to her mother, and her mom completely emptied out her retirement account. One day before the final deadline, I wired the full one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to the supplier’s account. That night, I sat in our new rental, a cramped, damp two-bedroom apartment on the edge of town that cost eight hundred bucks a month. Sarah set a bowl of cheap noodles in front of me. I took two bites and set my fork down. “It’s all gone,” I said quietly. She sat across from me. “Gone is gone. We’re still breathing. As long as we’re alive, we still have a chance.” I lit a cigarette and didn’t say a word. The shop was gone. The house was gone. Our life savings were vaporized. Thirty-seven years old, starting completely over from absolute zero. Seven brothers. Not a single one lifted a finger. 04 Starting over from zero was infinitely harder than I imagined. Without a shop and without machines, my options were limited. I had spent eight years in custom fabrication, but my client list was entirely wiped out. Even though I paid the supplier back in full, nobody in the industry wanted to risk doing business with a guy who just collapsed. I found a job in the city working as a warehouse manager at a massive building materials lot. I made three thousand dollars a month. Sarah got a job as a cashier at a local grocery store, bringing in two grand. Between the two of us, we pulled in five thousand a month. After rent, groceries, formula, and daycare, we barely had a few hundred bucks left over. I wrote down the four thousand dollars I owed my mother-in-law in a ratty notebook. I paid her back five hundred bucks every single month without fail. That was our life for a while. During that time, I stopped checking my phone. I deleted my social media. But rumors still drifted my way. One night, Sarah came home from her shift. “Joey got a new car. An Audi A6.” I didn’t say anything. She kept going. “Marcus posted a video of a massive dinner party online. Half the town liked it.” I looked at my plate. “Has nothing to do with us.” She gave me a long look and dropped the subject. Another time, I was moving pallets of drywall at the supply yard. I saw Tommy. He was pushing a heavy flatbed cart right past me, picking up inventory for his lumber yard. He saw me. I saw him. He froze for a second, then gave an awkward nod. “Dave? You working here now?” “Yeah. Managing the warehouse.” He rubbed his hands on his jeans. “Look… about what happened back then, it’s not that I didn’t want to bail you out, it’s just that the wife…” I waved him off. “It’s in the past. Don’t worry about it.” He stood there awkwardly, searching for something else to say. Finally, he patted my shoulder. “Right. Well, keep grinding. We should grab a beer sometime.” He walked away. Grab a beer sometime. I had heard that line for eight years. That “sometime” never actually arrived. I worked at that supply yard for three solid months. Every single day, I woke up at six in the morning and clocked out at ten at night. But I wasn’t just managing inventory. I was watching exactly how the local construction supply chain operated. There was a vendor in the yard who specialized in high-end aluminum doors and windows. The owner was an old guy named Frank. He was a master craftsman, but his body was giving out. He wanted to sell the business and retire. I talked to him a few times on my lunch breaks. He asked me, “What did you do before pushing pallets?” “Custom metal fabrication and CNC.” “You know how to build commercial window frames?” “I built them for eight years.” He looked me up and down. “So why the hell are you working in a warehouse?” I gave him the short version of my bankruptcy. Frank took a slow drag of his cigarette. “Son, taking a hard fall doesn’t make you a failure. If you want to take over my shop, I’ll cut you a deal on the buyout.” “How much?” “Fifteen grand. The cutting rigs, the client list, and the supplier discounts. It’s all yours.” Fifteen grand. I literally had zero dollars to my name. I went home and talked to Sarah. She sat at the kitchen table, running the math on a piece of scratch paper. “I can ask my mom for another loan. With what we’ve managed to save, we can scrape together five grand. You go talk to Frank. See if he’ll let you finance the rest.” I told her I absolutely refused to take another dime from her mother. She slammed the pen down. “This is our ticket out. If you let this go, we’re stuck. Go talk to Frank.” The next morning, I went straight to Frank’s office. “Frank, I don’t have fifteen grand. I can give you five grand cash today. I’ll pay the remaining ten out of my monthly profits over the next six months.” Frank stared at me for a very long time. “Deal.” He tapped his cigarette ash into a coffee can. “You look like a guy who knows how to work. But here’s the catch. If you miss a single payment in those six months, I take the shop back.” I told him we had a deal. Just like that, with five thousand dollars, I became the owner of Frank’s window and door shop. Sarah quit the grocery store and came to work with me. I ran the saws and built the frames; she handled the books and the customers. The first two months were brutal. There were seven other window vendors in the yard, and I was the new guy. Nobody trusted me. So I hit the pavement. I drove my beat-up truck to every single housing development, every general contractor office, and every active construction site in a fifty-mile radius. I worked until my hands bled, eating gas station sandwiches in the cab of my truck. By the third month, the repeat customers started rolling in. My frames were perfectly square, my materials were honest, and I never cut corners on installations. Word of mouth spread like wildfire. By the fourth month, our gross revenue hit forty grand. By the fifth month, I walked into Frank’s house and handed him a cashier’s check for the final ten thousand dollars. Frank slapped me on the back. “Dave, you’re a real one.” I just smiled. A year later, I bought out the vacant lot next to my shop and expanded into premium thermal-break windows. Business exploded. I started landing massive commercial contracts. Sarah looked at the ledger one night. “Should we pay off the rest of the money we owe my mom?” I told her I’d wire it on Friday. She smiled. “And then what?” “And then we go buy a house.” She laughed. Two years. Going from completely ruined to standing on my own two feet took two brutal, exhausting years. 05 When I finally dug myself out of the grave, I didn’t make a sound. I didn’t post flashy photos online. I didn’t host a massive dinner party. I didn’t tell a single soul what I was doing. I changed my phone number and set up a new social media profile. The only people in my contacts were Sarah, my mother-in-law, a few key clients, and my suppliers. I still had the numbers of those seven guys memorized, but I never reached out. Life was beautifully quiet. Until one day, a random friend request popped up on my phone. I looked at the message attached to the request. “Dave, it’s Bobby. Long time no see, brother. Add me back.” I thought about it for a second, then hit accept. He immediately fired off a message. “Brother! Where are you at these days? Haven’t heard from you in forever.” I replied, “Working in the city. Running a small shop.” “What kind of shop?” “Doors and windows.” He sent a thumbs-up emoji. “I knew it! Always said you were built different, man.” I didn’t reply. Two days later, another message. “Dave, you free this weekend? Let’s grab a beer, catch up. It’s been way too long.” I told him I was swamped. He replied, “No worries, we’ll do it another time. Drinks are on me.” Another time. I brushed it off. But exactly a week later, he actually showed up at the supply yard. I was in the back operating the miter saw when I heard someone yelling my name over the noise. I killed the power and walked out. Bobby was standing at the front desk, holding two expensive bottles of whiskey. “Davey!” He grinned, walking toward me with his arms wide open. “Man, I had to ask half the county just to figure out where you set up shop.” I wiped the aluminum dust off my hands with a rag. “Bobby. What brings you out here?” He handed me the heavy bottles. “Just passing through, figured I’d drop by and check on you. Business looks booming, man. Two separate shop floors now?” I set the whiskey down on the front counter. “Take a seat. You want some water?” He sat on a stool, his eyes darting around the showroom. I could practically see the gears turning in his head as he calculated my profit margins. “Dave, you are incredible. Two years, and you’re back on top.” I poured him a paper cup of water. “So, you just came all this way to say hi?” He took a sip, set the cup down, and rubbed his palms together nervously. “Well, Dave, there is actually something I wanted to run by you.” I just looked at him. “So… my wife’s younger brother, you remember him, right? He opened up a coffee shop last year, but the overhead is killing him. He wants to pivot into the trades. He saw how well you’re doing with the windows, and he wanted to know if you’d be willing to take him under your wing.” I listened, my face completely blank. He quickly added, “He’s not asking for a free ride! He’ll pay an apprenticeship fee, and you can take a cut of whatever jobs he pulls in later. He just wants to learn from the best.” I took a slow sip from my own cup. “Bobby, the night I called you two years ago, you told me you were going to run it by your wife. What happened after that?” The forced smile on his face instantly froze. “You didn’t even send me a text.” He opened his mouth, stammering. “Dave, things were just an absolute mess at home back then, my wife was…” I held up a hand, cutting him off. “It’s in the past. I’m not holding a grudge. But you walking into my shop today? That’s only because my name is on a successful business. If I was still pushing a broom in the warehouse out back, would you be sitting on that stool?” He didn’t answer. I stood up. “Bobby, finish your water and head home. I can’t help your brother-in-law.” He sat there for a long, uncomfortable moment, then slowly stood up. “Dave, you know, you’re being really…” “I’m being really what?” He stared at me for two seconds, then aggressively snatched the two bottles of whiskey off the counter. “Fine. I’ll take these back.” “Take them.” He walked out. I sat back down and turned the saw back on. Sarah walked out from the back office. “Who was that?” “Bobby.” “What did he want?” “To ride my coattails.” She scoffed and went back to her paperwork without another word. I just didn’t expect that less than a month after Bobby’s visit, my phone would ring again. This time, it was Lou.

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On our fifth anniversary, Asher suddenly told me he was moving to Denver to set up a new branch. I had waited up for him all night. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I dragged myself off the sofa and wrapped my arms around his waist. “So, we’re really doing the long-distance thing, huh?” I murmured, clinging to him, unable to let go. Asher didn’t hug me back. He only muttered a low, cold “Yeah.” Back then, I had no idea he was putting distance between us on purpose. I was foolish enough to keep calling him, bombarding his phone with messages. It was only when I threatened to buy a ticket and show up at his doorstep that Asher finally said, “Jesse, let’s break up.” I stayed quiet for only a brief second. Then, I slipped my lung cancer diagnosis back into the drawer. “Okay,” I said, as sweet and compliant as I had always been. “Sure.” 01 I hung up quickly after that. After all, crying in front of an ex is just embarrassing. To be honest, I had a feeling this was coming. Asher had completely forgotten our anniversary. He had worked at the office until past midnight that night. When he finally walked through the door and saw the cake I had spent hours baking, he froze for a second. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice flat. “Work has been crazy lately.” I should have known then. Who apologizes on an anniversary? Shouldn’t he have pulled me into a suffocating embrace and whispered “I love you” over and over, the way he used to? I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring into space. That was when it hit me: Asher hadn’t said he loved me in months. My phone dug painfully into my palm, but it didn’t ring. I unlocked the screen and opened his pinned chat. The last two messages were the ones I sent last night. “I miss you so much… [crying cat meme]” “I bought my ticket! I’m going to hug you so tight tomorrow!” Asher was always busy. I never got angry when he didn’t reply right away. I was just terrified. Because earlier that afternoon, the doctor told me I had lung cancer. It was just a mild cough. How could it be cancer? “We need a needle biopsy to determine if it’s benign or malignant,” the doctor had said. “You should talk to your family and get admitted for treatment as soon as possible.” But I hadn’t had any “family” since I was a kid. I only had Asher. And how was I supposed to tell him? His company had just gone public, and the new branch was in its critical launch phase. If I fell sick now, what would he do? Well, I didn’t have to worry about that anymore. I wiped my nose and forced a silly smile. This was actually for the best. By breaking up, I wouldn’t be a burden to him. A sharp pain flared in my chest. The cancer, probably. Before the checkup, I hadn’t felt all that bad. But the moment you find out you are sick, your body seems to capitulate to the reality. Once the tears cleared from my eyes, I packed a bag and walked out the door. Instead of looking for Asher, I went to check myself into the hospital. Maybe if I left our apartment, I would stop crying. 02 After the biopsy, the nurse’s aide placed my phone on the pillow. “Did anyone call?” I asked, my voice raw. “It rang once,” she replied. I struggled to turn my head and asked her to hand it to me. There were no missed calls. Just a single text message from Asher. “I’m coming back this weekend to pack up my things.” I knew he wouldn’t change his mind. I wasn’t holding out hope for a reconciliation. But my heart still gave a pathetic, violent flutter before sinking like a stone. The monitor beside my bed began to beep frantically. The aide silenced it with a practiced click. “You bought the apartment.” My head was spinning, and with IV lines taped to both arms, I hit send before I could finish the thought. I forced myself to keep typing: “So you don’t need to move. I will. But can I leave my stuff there for just a little while?” I wouldn’t need to go back while I was hospitalized, but finding a new place to rent would take time. Minutes ticked by, but no reply came. Asher was probably busy again. He had stopped replying to my messages a while ago, honestly. Probably because I always sent him trivial, pointless things. “I have zero inspiration today. I can’t draw my webtoon. I’m going to have to take a sick week!” “Just saw this new dessert place online! Let’s go together after you finish work, okay?” Or even: “If I turned into a cockroach, would you still love me?” Even after he moved to Denver, I still sent him updates every day. “It’s freezing in the city today! Don’t forget an extra layer before you head out!” “Make sure you eat well and sleep on time, even without me there to nag you.” Asher was a CEO running multimillion-dollar deals. It made sense that he didn’t have time for my silly texts. I used to think that even if he just glanced at them, it might give him a moment of peace. Now that I thought about it, he must have found me incredibly annoying. Was that why he wanted to break up? Because I talked too much? I fell asleep trying to guess all the reasons he might have fallen out of love with me. Asher never texted back. On the weekend, he called me directly. “Jesse, you’re not at the apartment?” It hadn’t actually been that long since the breakup, but hearing his voice felt like a lifetime ago. I froze for a second before answering, “Are you there?” “Yeah, just picking up some things,” Asher said, his tone detached and clinical. “And we need to settle the deed transfer.” I wanted to tell him he didn’t need to give me the apartment. But then I remembered the diagnosis sheet tucked inside my nightstand drawer. The fear of him finding it sent a jolt of adrenaline through me. I scrambled to sit up. “Wait, don’t touch anything yet!” In my panic, I forgot about the central line newly inserted in my upper arm. As I pushed myself up, a sharp pain shot through my chest, and a quiet gasp escaped my lips. “Jesse?” Asher’s voice sharpened over the line. “What’s wrong with you?” I winced, forcing myself out of the hospital bed. “Nothing. I’m fine.” “Just don’t pack anything yet, okay? I’m on my way back.” “Fine,” Asher said after a brief pause. “But make it quick. I have an important meeting in two hours.” To hide the bandages and the IV port on my arm, I pulled on a heavy coat over my long-sleeved shirt. When I washed my face in the hospital restroom, I realized I looked like a ghost. I looked terrible. I imagined Asher seeing me, frowning, and thinking how lucky he was to have broken up with me. I stopped by the convenience store near the hospital entrance, bought a cheap lipstick, swiped it on, and hailed a cab home. When I opened the door, Asher turned to face me. He hadn’t changed at all. Still tall, handsome, looking every bit the successful, sharp executive. I think I tried to smile. But it must have looked forced, because his expression only grew colder. He was holding a sheet of paper. Walking toward me with a grim expression, he asked, “What is this?” 03 For a terrifying second, I thought he had found the diagnosis sheet. But as he drew closer, I realized he was holding the transfer deed. Before I could let out a sigh of relief, Asher pointed a finger at my collar. “Jesse, what is that?” I looked down, confused, and saw a faint smudge of pink on my lapel. Lipstick. I must have smudged it while applying it in the cab. “Oh, nothing,” I said, trying to cover it with my hand, rubbing at the spot. I didn’t want him to know I had put on makeup just to see him. It would make me look desperate, like I was trying to win him back. But Asher’s eyes narrowed. “And on your lips? Is that lipstick?” His expression turned to one of pure disgust. “You waste no time, do you?” he sneered. “Next time you kiss someone, at least have the decency to wipe your mouth.” No matter how slow I was, I understood what he meant. He thought I had a new boyfriend, and that we had just been kissing. How could he think that? I could never find anyone better than him. Back in college, Asher was the golden boy of the computer science department. He was brilliant, wealthy, and striking. But he was also aloof, quiet, and arrogant to everyone else. Yet, when we were together, he was a completely different person. When a webtoon publisher tried to scam me, he hired a lawyer to fight them. When I was broke, he paid for two years of my tuition. He never cared what anyone else thought. He always held my hand in public. Even when his parents found out about us, cut off his trust fund, and threatened him, he didn’t waver. He built his startup from scratch just to support me through grad school. Sometimes, when I got upset by his controlling nature and hid under the blankets to pout, he would play along. He would walk around the room, loudly asking, “Where’s my Jesse? I can’t find him anywhere!” Then he would scoop up the giant lump on the bed, pretending to be thrilled. “Aha! Found him!” But as his company grew, he no longer had the time or patience for those silly games. Over those five years, Asher kept moving forward. He became mature, calculated, and wildly successful. Meanwhile, I remained frozen in the cozy little bubble he had built for me. If Asher turned around, he could always find me exactly where he left me. But if he abandoned me, I would have no idea how to find him. Looking at his angry face now, I forgot for a brief second that we were over. I wanted to reach out, grab his hand, and tell him the truth. I wanted to tell him there was no one else. But before I could even lift my hand, Asher stepped away. He didn’t let me touch him. He threw the paperwork onto the dining table. “Whatever. Just sign the damn papers.” I just wanted to get my diagnosis sheet and leave. I walked toward the bedroom, mumbling, “The apartment is yours. I don’t want…” “What are you throwing a tantrum for now?” Asher strode over and grabbed my arm roughly. “Stand still and talk to me!” A sharp gasp escaped my throat as the central line shifted under my skin, tearing at the tissue. Asher immediately let go, his face darkening. “What’s wrong with your arm?” “You just grabbed too hard,” I lied quickly. “It’s fine.” “You used to hate the heat. Why are you wearing a coat today?” He didn’t believe me. “Take it off.” 04 I couldn’t let him find out I was sick. Because if he did, no matter what he chose to do, it would destroy me. If he came back out of guilt, I would feel like I had chained him to me. It would be a slow torture for both of us. And even if I got better, he might just break up with me all over again. So, for the first time in five years, I didn’t obey him. I didn’t hide under the covers to cry, either. I just stood there and said softly, “I have a cold. That’s why.” Then I looked him in the eye. “Asher, we broke up.” We broke up. I didn’t have to listen to him anymore. Asher stared at me, his jaw clenching. “Is that why you won’t take the apartment?” his voice shook with rising anger. “You want to cut ties completely?” That wasn’t it. I just didn’t want the place where we lived and loved for years to become some sort of consolation prize. And I didn’t need consolation. He had loved me truly for five years, and those memories were enough. But I couldn’t say that. It would make me look weak. So I lowered my gaze. “Isn’t that what people do when they break up?” Asher looked at me as if I had slapped him. He seemed utterly speechless. Then, in a fit of rage, he snapped, “Fine!” “Where is the ring I gave you? Give it back!” I froze. After a long silence, I whispered, “I lost it.” “Lost it?” Asher let out a dry, angry laugh. “Unbelievable.” He marched to the window, slipped his own matching ring off his finger, and threw it out. The silver band caught the sunlight for a split second before vanishing into the thick grass below. He turned back to face me. “I suppose that’s how easily you ‘lost’ yours, too?” No. The nurse’s aide had lost it after my biopsy. But I didn’t correct him. I just shook my head. After a tense silence, Asher checked his watch. “I’ll give you one last chance on the apartment. If you change your mind, call my lawyer.” “Since we’re cutting ties, there’s no reason for us to ever meet again.” He turned and walked out, never once looking back. He was right. We shouldn’t meet again. Every meeting felt like dying a little more. I stared at the empty hallway, my mind involuntarily drifting back to the way he used to leave. He would always kiss my forehead in bed and whisper, “I’m off to work.” And I would run down to the entryway just to get one last hug. “Jesse, I’m going to be late,” he would say, but he never let go. He would tilt my chin up and kiss me thoroughly before finally opening the door. But somewhere along the way, those kisses had quietly stopped. My phone buzzed, cutting through the silence. I wiped my face quickly and answered. “Is this Jesse?” a stranger’s voice asked. 05 “Yes,” I replied, cautious. “Who is this?” “Hi, Jesse. This is the host at The Black Pearl. We are so sorry, but the window table you reserved for tomorrow night was accidentally double-booked. We’ve had to move your reservation to the center island. Is that alright?” Tomorrow was Asher’s birthday. I had booked that table weeks in advance, imagining us sipping champagne while looking out over the city skyline. “It’s fine,” I said quietly. “Any table is fine.” Asher wouldn’t be there anyway. It didn’t matter where I sat. Since the custom cake couldn’t be refunded, I went to the restaurant anyway. After I was seated, the cake was delivered to my table. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sunset bled into the sky. I looked up and noticed that the window table I had originally booked was still empty. The chemo had ruined my appetite, so I just picked at my food. As the night grew darker, the city lights outside began to sparkle. Suddenly, the chime at the entrance rang. I looked up and saw a tall man walking in. Even in the dim light, I recognized him instantly. Asher. What was he doing here? I had planned to surprise him for his birthday, but I hadn’t even told him about the reservation yet. How did he know? My heart hammered. What do I do? The food is cold, and the cake is already cut. Should I order another one? Then, I saw the woman walking in behind him. They didn’t look toward the island tables. They walked straight to the window table, the one that was supposed to be mine. Asher pulled out her chair, smiling gently. Once they ordered, her excited voice carried over to me. “I heard this place is almost impossible to book! How did you get this table on such short notice?” Asher muttered a low response, but the words drowned in the rushing sound in my ears. It wasn’t a double-booking mistake. Someone had pulled strings to steal my table just to impress a girl. And Asher had no idea I was sitting just yards away, holding a cake to celebrate his birthday alone. I felt like a fool. I needed to get out of there. I paid the bill in a rush, grabbed my cake box, and headed for the exit. The dark wooden floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. My eyes were dry, yet everything was a blur. Right near the door, I collided with a waiter carrying a tray. With a loud crash, glasses and silverware shattered on the floor. Every eye in the restaurant turned toward me. Including Asher’s. “Jesse,” his voice cut through the murmurs as he approached. “What are you doing here?” I couldn’t focus on his face. I tried to take a step back. Asher grabbed my arm, his grip cold. “Yesterday you wanted to cut ties, and today you’re stalking me?” “Jesse, I don’t have time for your mind games.” I tried to pull away, my voice barely a whisper. “I wasn’t stalking you…” My nose began to itch. Before I could wipe it, a warm, thick liquid spilled over my upper lip. I stared at him blankly as someone nearby gasped, “Oh my god, your nose is bleeding!” 06 I touched my face and saw my hand covered in bright red. Why now? Of all the times to have a nosebleed, it had to be right in front of Asher and his date. It was so humiliating. Asher pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, reaching out to help. I flinched away, wiping my face with my sleeve. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, keeping my head down as I rushed to the restroom. Under the bright lights of the bathroom mirror, I saw my blood-smeared face, my red eyes, and my swollen nose. I looked like a clown. I stuffed a wad of paper towel into my nose. Maybe I can just hide in here until they leave, I thought miserably. The bleeding slowly stopped. But then, a tickle started in my throat. I began to cough, trying to muffle the sound as footsteps approached the door. Just as the door swung open, a violent cough ripped through me, and a spray of blood splattered across the white porcelain sink. With my lips stained red, I turned to see Asher standing in the doorway. “Jesse?” Asher stared, a look of profound confusion on his face. He stepped closer as I quickly turned on the faucet to wash the blood away. “What’s wrong with you?” I rinsed my mouth with cold water, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Nothing. The nosebleed just ran down my throat and choked me.” He kept staring, though the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly. “Is it still bleeding?” “No,” I muttered, looking down. “Why did your nose start bleeding out of nowhere?” I looked up at him for a few seconds. “Happy birthday.” It was completely inappropriate, but I knew it might be the last time I ever got to say it to him. The vanity lights caught his eyes, reflecting my pathetic image back at me. I had a giant wad of paper stuffed up my nose, and my eyes were puffy and wet. I must have looked so ridiculous that he couldn’t even bring himself to be angry. He just looked at me, with an intensity he hadn’t shown in a very long time. It reminded me of our first kiss, right here in front of a bathroom mirror. He had been so passionate that he accidentally cut my lip. Back then, he had held my chin, looking at the tiny cut with such tenderness and care. I knew he had loved me once. But love doesn’t come with a lifetime guarantee. He didn’t love me anymore, and someone else would be celebrating his birthdays from now on. That was okay. “So,” Asher said quietly, “you came here just to say that?” “No,” I lied, looking at the floor. “I booked this table a long time ago. Then I realized I’d never actually eaten here, so I figured I’d try it out by myself.” “Goodbye, Asher.” I slipped past him and walked out. At the door, the manager stopped me, handing me my cake box. “I am so sorry, sir. Our waiter ruined your cake.” “We can order a replacement for you if you’d like.” Through the clear plastic window of the box, I could see the collapsed layers and smeared frosting. “Do you want us to throw this out and make a new one?” the manager asked. “No, thank you,” I said. “I’ll keep this one.” I walked out of the restaurant just as a cab pulled up. The driver rolled down his window. “Where to, buddy?” “St. Jude’s Hospital,” I said, opening the door. Suddenly, a hand gripped the car door, stopping me. I turned and saw Asher standing behind me. “Jesse,” he demanded, his brow furrowed. “Why are you going to the hospital?”

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The System sent me to push the villain over the edge and unleash his dark side. The problem? The villain was a total pushover, a painfully honest saint of a man. I got him drunk and took advantage of him, only for him to wake up and gently tell me he would take full responsibility. His parents abused him as a child, yet he still dutifully paid for their comfortable retirement. Even when his own brother repeatedly tried to kill him, he simply let out a heavy sigh and quietly sent him into exile abroad. I was absolutely furious. I spent hours screaming and throwing tantrums, but he just knelt before me, holding my warm foot bath, and softly asked if I had cooled down yet. Eventually, I completely broke. Realizing he was a hopeless case, I decided to abandon the mission. But on the very day I was preparing to fake my death and escape, the brother he had so mercifully spared sneaked back and kidnapped me. Seizing the perfect opportunity, I played along and threw myself straight off a cliff. Back in the real world, fully accepting my failure, I dragged myself back to the mundane, everyday corporate grind. Yet, seven days later, a sharp chime echoed in my mind, announcing my mission was a resounding success. The System appeared, sobbing hysterically. “Host, that final move of yours was too brutal! The villain has completely snapped and is about to destroy the entire world. Could you please go back in and calm him down?” 01 I stormed into the penthouse, my heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor. Damien was still in the kitchen, carefully preparing dinner. I marched over and threw my designer bag straight at him, venting my frustration. “You sent your brother away?” Damien caught the bag gently, placed it aside with practiced patience, and nodded. “Yes.” “He tried to ruin you!” I snapped, my voice rising. “He literally tried to kill you, Damien! Now that you finally wrestled the company back from him, your grand revenge is just sending him to some remote country?” He looked at me with his usual mild-mannered patience, his voice soft. “Then what should I have done?” “An eye for an eye!” I yelled, stepping closer. “Run him over with a car! Pour boiling water on him! He wanted you dead, so he deserves to rot!” Damien frowned slightly, looking genuinely troubled. “That’s illegal, Naomi. Besides, he is still my brother. Now that he’s exiled, he won’t be able to bother us anymore.” I felt a massive headache coming on. Even the System in my head was screaming in pure disbelief. System: Is this guy serious? He’s supposed to be a ruthless villain! Abused as a child, backstabbed by his brother, he has the perfect tragic backstory! Why won’t he just snap? I took a deep breath, massaging my temples. What’s his corruption level right now? System: Twelve percent… Twelve percent. I had been stuck in this world for five whole years, trying my absolute best to bully him, humiliate him, and push him over the edge. I had even forced him into marriage by drugging him on our first night together. When I woke up the next morning, I had insulted him, telling him he was pathetic in bed. But he had only looked at the bruises on my wrists from the night before, let out a soft sigh, and whispered, “I’m sorry I hurt you last night, Naomi. I’ll take responsibility.” I had been completely stunned. The System, however, had cheered in my head. System: Perfect! Marry him, act like a total nightmare, torment him, and force those dark urges to the surface! But after the wedding, no matter how much I ordered him around like a servant, he just took it. He was like a still lake; no matter how many stones I threw, there wasn’t a single ripple. When I stole his company’s trade secrets and handed them to his competitors, he actually blamed himself: “Naomi, have I done something to upset you lately?” And he wasn’t just soft on me. He sent regular allowances to his abusive parents, and he sent his backstabbing brother abroad with nothing but a gentle slap on the wrist. Five years. I was the one about to go crazy. And his corruption level was a pathetic twelve percent. After dinner, I was still fuming. Damien brought in the foot spa basin, just like he did every night. Usually, if I was in a good mood, I’d wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. But tonight, I ignored him, scrolling through my phone. Damien waited, but when no kiss came, he didn’t complain. He just knelt in front of me, taking a towel to dry my feet. System: Keep pushing his buttons. Pick a fight! Without waiting for him to dry my feet, I stepped right onto his shoulder, digging my heel in. Damien caught my ankle, his grip firm but gentle. He looked up, his deep voice quiet. “Still mad at me?” I scoffed and turned my head away. He reached for the towel again, murmuring, “Let me dry you…” I looked down at him from my high perch and deliberately wiped the wet soles of my feet all over his clean home clothes. I tilted my chin up, mocking him. “No need. I already have a perfect towel right here.” Even I felt that was a bit too cruel. I eagerly asked the System: Well? Did that do it? What’s his level now? A long silence followed. System: It dropped. We’re at eleven percent now. Me: “…” 02 That night, Damien tried to kiss me, but I turned away. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, listening to his steady breathing next to me. I took a deep breath. System, I’m quitting. I want to abandon the mission. System: Are you sure? If you quit now, you won’t get the cash prize, and you will have wasted five years of your life here. I nodded. There was no way I could make this golden retriever of a man turn into a dark lord. The System thought for a moment. Fine. Let’s do one last task. If his corruption level still doesn’t budge, I’ll send you back to your own world. I agreed. The task was simple. The male and female leads of this story were starting a business and had a crucial bidding war tomorrow. According to the original plot, Damien was supposed to use underhanded means to win it. Since he was too honest to do it, I had to do the dirty work. The next day, after Damien left, I intercepted the leads’ car. The male lead swerved sharply, crashing his door and dislocating his arm in the panic. I rolled down my window and smiled sweetly at them. “Oops. Looks like you guys need a trip to the ER.” By the time they got checked out, they would miss the bidding window, and Damien would win by default. The male lead recognized me as Damien’s wife. He gritted his teeth. “Is this how you two play the game? With dirty, low-class tricks?” I put on my best villain sneer. “Exactly.” The female lead stared at me. “Does Damien know you’re doing this?” I felt a flicker of guilt but forced myself to say, “He’s the one who ordered it.” That line cemented the rivalry. The leads went to the hospital, missing the bid. I went home, satisfied. Soon, Damien came back. He was rubbing his temples, looking unusually exhausted. His first words were: “Naomi, what did you do today?” I blinked innocently. “I helped you win the bid. You should be thanking me.” He let out a heavy sigh, his tone unusually stern. “Who taught you to behave like this? Tomorrow, you’re going to apologize to them with me. I’ll handle the rest.” I was stunned. “But this is business! And it was so easy. Damien, if you just harden your heart a little, you could have endless wealth and power…” He looked at me with deep disappointment. “But it’s dishonest, Naomi. How can anyone live like that?” I wanted to scream. You are the villain! Why do you care about playing fair?! Seeing my silence, his tone softened. “Be good, sweetheart. Just show up and apologize. I’ll take care of the rest.” I muttered, “No.” He knelt before me, looking into my eyes. “If you do it, I’ll buy you that designer bag you wanted?” I kicked him lightly. “Don’t care about the bag.” “How about I let your friend Nora stay over for a few days?” I shook my head. “No.” Damien’s face hardened. His tone turned sharp. “Naomi.” In five years of marriage, we had argued countless times, but it was always me screaming while he patiently coaxed me. This was the first time he had ever used that cold, warning tone with me. I looked away, asking the System in my head: His level? System: Still eleven percent. I felt nothing but resignation. Of course. Damien seemed about to lecture me further, but I looked up and said, “Fine. I’ll apologize tomorrow.” He froze, caught off guard by my sudden compliance. “Really?” I nodded meekly. “Really.” At that moment, the System chimed: Warning: Mission failed. Initiating protocol to return host to the real world. 03 Over the next few days, I behaved myself. I apologized to the leads, and I didn’t ask how Damien cleaned up the mess. The System told me it would arrange a car accident in a few days so I could “die” and leave this world naturally. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. No more trying to bully a saint. Even when I saw him wire another huge sum of money to his abusive parents, I didn’t lose my temper. Damien bit his lip, trying to explain. “My father had a sudden heart attack. He needs surgery.” I just nodded calmly. “Oh. I hope his surgery goes well.” Damien froze. “Are you… upset?” I smiled gently. “No. If keeping them healthy makes you happy, then I hope they stay healthy forever. I just want you to be happy.” I had realized that everyone has their own way of living. Since I was leaving, none of this mattered anymore. Damien stared at me, his eyes filled with a sudden, aching tenderness. He thought I was being mature, and it broke his heart. “Sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let’s go on a trip in a few days, just the two of us. Okay?” “Sure,” I agreed, wanting to enjoy my final days. But on the day of our trip, something entirely unexpected happened. Damien’s brother, Jared, who was supposed to be exiled in Africa, had secretly sneaked back into the country. He intercepted my car and kidnapped me. 04 Jared dragged me to an abandoned cabin on a desolate mountain. He called Damien immediately. “If you want her back, I want twenty percent of the company’s shares.” Twenty percent! What a greedy bastard. I knew Damien’s weak-willed nature; he would agree without hesitation. The thought of Damien losing that much money made my heart ache. That was money that could have bought so many nice things! I opened my mouth to curse Jared out, but the System chimed in: System: Don’t worry, Host. I will protect your physical safety. Then it hit me. I was leaving anyway. Why did I care about the shares? If I needed to fake my death, wasn’t this the perfect opportunity? My eyes lit up. This was a gift from heaven. Besides, Damien had been tortured by my temper for five years. Once I was gone, he’d probably feel a massive weight lift off his shoulders. Don’t protect me, I told the System. Let’s do the fake death now. Prepare the transfer. The System agreed it was a cleaner exit. Jared, paranoid about being tracked, dragged me to the edge of a cliff. He held a knife to my neck, sneering. “We’ll wait here. If Damien tries anything funny, I’m throwing you off.” He shoved a phone in my face. “Beg him. Tell him to sign the papers quickly if he wants you alive.” He hit record on a voice message. I took a deep breath, unable to hold back my true feelings any longer. I yelled into the phone, “Damien, I absolutely hate you!” Jared flinched and accidentally sent the message. He glared at me. “I told you to beg, not throw a tantrum! Do it again, or else… wait, what are you doing?!” In his moment of panic, I spun around. And I plunged backward, straight into the abyss. The sensation of weightlessness rushed over me, accompanied by the roaring wind. The last thing I heard was the System’s mechanical voice: System: Initiating transfer to the real world… System: Transfer successful.

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1. After the car crash, Arthur woke up with amnesia, completely forgetting everything we had shared. As the heir to Crown Holdings and a golden boy of Manhattan’s elite, he couldn’t wrap his head around why he had married a simple community college graduate. During his hospital stay, he refused to let me visit him. Once he was fully recovered, he finally came to find me. The very first words out of his mouth were: “Jenny, I think we should get a divorce.” I clenched my fists, letting tears well up in my eyes as I nodded. Six years. I had finally waited out the clock for this exact day. Living day in and day out with a ridiculously gorgeous, ice-cold, stoic man was absolute torture for an ordinary girl like me. The second my best friend heard the news, she texted me a picture of a guy with a rock-solid eight-pack. “Interested?” … In the quiet corner of the coffee shop, Arthur looked at me as if I were a complete stranger. “Please, sit, Jenny.” I sat across from him, cooperating without a word. This was the first time I had seen him since the accident. He looked slightly thinner than I remembered, which only made his sharp jawline look even more imposing. He slid the divorce agreement across the table, a sleek black card resting on top of the papers. “The townhouse and the SUV are yours, plus five million dollars in this account as compensation. You’ve had a tough few years with me.” I squeezed my hands together, tears immediately filling my eyes. Arthur frowned slightly, assuming I was devastated. Fearing I might make a scene, he hesitated for a fraction of a second before speaking again. “I’ll add another three million. Just stop crying.” I froze. Eight million dollars? I had worked like a dog at Crown Group for six years, dragging myself up from an administrative assistant to the deputy director of HR, pinching every penny just to save thirty thousand. This was an absolute jackpot. I signed the papers with tears still shimmering in my eyes. Arthur, convinced I was utterly heartbroken, gently pushed a tissue toward me. “There is a thirty-day cooling-off period. I’ll have my driver pick you up when it’s time to finalize the paperwork.” “I’ll have a team pack up my things from the townhouse.” I nodded tearfully. “Of course, Mr. Crown.” He flinched slightly. “You don’t have to call me that.” “Very well, Arthur.” His lips parted as if to say something else, but he stopped, stood up, and walked away. I sat in my seat, watching his tall, lean figure push open the glass door. The morning sun caught his sharp silhouette, making him look like a model stepped straight out of a high-fashion magazine. He was such a fine specimen of a man. He was just entirely too cold. In our six years of marriage, we could count our intimate moments on both hands. Once, fueled by liquid courage, I had thrown myself at him in a silk slip. He had simply caught me in his steady arms, tucked me back into bed, and whispered, “Sleep it off if you’re drunk.” That frigid restraint was baked into his very bones. To him, I was probably just a fragile vase to be safely stored, not a living, breathing woman. The day his things were completely cleared out of the townhouse, I treated myself to a rose-petal bath and a glass of fine red wine. Leaning against the tub, I snapped a photo showing a bare shoulder and posted it on my socials. The caption: “Single, thriving, and ready for my next chapter.” I raised the glass to my lips, but suddenly my stomach turned. A wave of nausea hit me, and I dry-heaved over the tub. I checked the expiration date on the bottle. It was perfectly fine. My phone buzzed. The caller ID showed Austin, Arthur’s younger brother and a total brother-worshipper. The moment I answered, his panicked voice blasted through the speaker. “Jenny! Are you and my brother actually getting a divorce? Has he lost his mind, or have you?!” Swirling the wine in my glass, I let out a dry laugh. “Austin, you were the one who threw a check in my face years ago, telling me to get lost so your brother could marry his precious college sweetheart. Now you’re asking me if I’ve lost my mind? Are you having a personality split?” He sputtered, his voice suddenly thick with tears. “My brother literally cut ties with the family to marry you! He gave up his inheritance and sent our grandfather to the hospital for two weeks! He’s not going to divorce you. You can’t sign those papers. If he gets his memory back and realizes what he did, it will kill him. Please, Jenny, just hold on. I’ll find a way to get his memory back, I swear.” I gave him a half-hearted reply and hung up. Why would I want to go back to a passionless marriage when I could easily get myself a handsome young partner? Just then, a text popped up from my best friend, Gigi. Are you seriously getting divorced? Yep. Gigi spammed exclamation points before sending another photo. It was a guy standing on a beach, shirtless. Tan skin, defined obliques, water droplets glistening on his chest. And a fiercely attractive face. My eyes practically glued to the screen. That’s Beckett, my husband’s cousin. Just got back from studying abroad. Six-foot-two. And most importantly— She sent a voice note: “He’ll actually keep you satisfied.” I sent a voice note back: “Stop it, you’re making me blush.” “But Arthur and I are still in the cooling-off period. Isn’t transitioning to someone else a bit too fast?” Gigi immediately sent a link to a trending tabloid page. Cooling-off period my foot! Your husband was just spotted at the airport picking up his golden girl! My fingers froze. I clicked the link. There was a photo of Arthur in a tailored black overcoat, waiting at the arrivals terminal. He was reaching out to take a suitcase from Megan, a soft look in his eyes. The headline stung: Crown Holdings CEO Welcomes Back First Love: Six-Year Marriage Exposed as a Sham. A ridiculous thought crossed my mind. Did he actually know Megan was returning, and simply used the car accident and amnesia as an easy excuse to get rid of me? 2. I stared at the photo, a heavy weight settling in my chest. Megan. She was Arthur’s college classmate, and they had been the golden couple on campus. After graduation, she went abroad, and for some reason, they broke up. After that, her name became a forbidden topic. Nobody dared mention her around him. When I first applied for the administrative role at Crown Group with only my associate degree, I thought I stood no chance. To my shock, I was hired. Later, when our relationship went public, the elite social circle labeled me as nothing but a cheap substitute for Megan. I zoomed in on the photo. Megan wore oversized sunglasses, revealing a pale, flawless complexion and a slender, elegant frame. I walked over to the full-length mirror. A round face, still carrying a bit of baby fat. We looked absolutely nothing alike. The tightness in my chest dissolved slightly, replaced by a strange sense of relief. At least I wasn’t some tragic stand-in. Gigi texted again: My wedding is next week. You guys can meet there. Nobody will say a word if it’s at my wedding. I replied: You always have the best ideas. Excited, I threw open my closet to pick an outfit. I tried on a few form-fitting dresses, but they all seemed strangely tight around my waist. I touched my stomach. Why did I look so bloated lately? I hadn’t even been eating that much. Needing a distraction, I went to the mall. I picked out a beautiful powder-blue mermaid gown and headed to the fitting room. When I stepped out to look in the mirror, my heart stopped. Arthur was standing right there, adjusting the zipper on a woman’s dress. And that woman was wearing the exact same powder-blue gown. We all froze. Arthur’s gaze swept over my midsection. He frowned slightly. “That dress shows off your tummy. Try something else.” I instinctively pulled in my stomach. Was it really that obvious? I’d had no appetite lately and barely touched any sweets. The woman turned around, playfully swatting Arthur’s arm. “Arthur, don’t be so insensitive. You’re going to embarrass her.” Then she offered me a polite, flawless smile. “Hi, I’m Megan.” I forced a smile. “Nice to meet you.” Megan turned back to the rack and pulled out a loose, drab gray dress. “This one is much looser and the fabric is very comfortable. It looks perfect for your current… state. Why don’t you try it on?” I didn’t reach for it. It was incredibly dowdy, something my mother wouldn’t even wear. Before I could decline, Arthur pushed the gray dress aside, his frown deepening. “That’s too old-fashioned for her.” He looked at me. “I assume you’re shopping for Gigi’s wedding. Since our divorce isn’t finalized yet, if you show up looking like a mess, it reflects poorly on my family.” Megan’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she pouted beautifully. “Arthur, maybe I shouldn’t go to the wedding with you after all. If she’s going to be there, people will start whispering.” Arthur hesitated. Gigi was my best friend, but her groom was Arthur’s close friend. After a moment, he turned to me. “Are you sure you want to go? Without the status of my wife, people might try to make things difficult for you.” Looking at the way he protected her, I suddenly felt completely drained. I let out a dry chuckle. “I can skip a casual acquaintance’s wedding, but Gigi is my best friend. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” “Don’t worry, Gigi will look out for me. You don’t need to stress.” In my heart, Gigi was infinitely more dependable than he was. When our relationship first went public, the socialites did everything they could to humiliate me, calling me a social climber who couldn’t even tell the vintage of a wine. It was Gigi who held my hand, taught me the luxury brands, showed me how to deal with passive-aggressive remarks, and took me to flower arranging and horseback riding lessons. She molded me from a timid clerk into a confident director. I took a breath. “If you think having Megan there with me around is too awkward, you can always choose not to go.” With that, I turned and walked back into the fitting room. Arthur stood there, looking slightly hurt, as if his genuine concern had been thrown back in my face. 3. To avoid any awkward run-ins at the office, I went to Crown Group the next day to hand in my resignation. Standing in front of the towering skyscraper, I felt a wave of nostalgia. Six years ago, I didn’t think my associate degree would even get me through the front door. Yet, I had climbed the ladder from an assistant, to team lead, to manager, and finally to deputy director. The best six years of my life, both my career and my love, had bloomed here. Now, it was all ending. Ever since the airport rumors broke, the office gossip mill had been running wild. Everyone assumed I was the discarded wife being pushed out by the returning first love. My resignation only confirmed their suspicions. The moment I stepped into the department, a mocking voice echoed from behind. It was Ashley, the colleague who had lost the promotion to me. “Well, if it isn’t our deputy director. Swept out with the trash, are we? Let me know if you need a recommendation for your next job. Given your history with the CEO, I might be able to get you a spot on the janitorial staff.” Several colleagues clutched their coffee cups and chuckled. I turned around, calmly flashing the digital enrollment certificate on my phone. “Actually, I got into Columbia’s executive master’s program last year, and I’m planning to apply for a PhD next year.” “So don’t worry about my career, Ashley. You might want to focus on cleaning up the absolute disaster you made of last month’s annual gala before you’re the one getting fired.” Ashley’s face turned a violent shade of red. I didn’t waste another second on her. I grabbed my things and walked out. Back at my apartment, I collapsed onto the sofa, debating whether to look for a new job or open my own business. Suddenly, the front door was kicked open with a loud bang. Arthur stormed in, radiating cold anger. He marched right up to me, his eyes freezing. “Jenny, how can you be so vicious? Did you really hire someone to run Megan off the road?!” I was stunned. “What are you talking about? Run her off the road? I’ve been at the office all day filling out my exit paperwork!” “Who else has a grudge against her?” He refused to believe me, his grip tightening painfully around my wrist. “You better pray she’s okay, or I will make sure you spend the rest of your life in prison.” Without giving me a chance to explain, he dragged me out, shoved me into the passenger seat, and sped off, demanding I apologize to Megan. I was completely speechless. We flew down the road to the hospital. Outside the VIP suite, Arthur pushed the door open. I saw Austin huddled in the corner, his hair looking like a bird’s nest. The moment he saw us, he jumped up, bowed ninety degrees to me, and then did the same to Arthur. His face was a mask of sheer panic, his voice trembling. “Arthur! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know Megan was in that car! I just wanted to stage a minor fender bender to shock your memory back!” I froze in shock. Arthur went completely still. “What did you say?” his voice cracked. Austin practically stamped his feet in frustration. “Arthur, you cannot divorce Jenny! You almost broke off all ties with the family to marry her! You practically threw away your inheritance! Your wedding was all over the news, you can still find the videos online! If you actually go through with this, you’ll hate yourself forever once your memory returns!” I knew why Austin was always so protective of me. Years ago, he had been in a terrible street racing accident and urgently needed a rare Rh-negative blood transfusion. I had donated nearly a liter of blood to save his life. That was also how I found out my initial hiring at Crown Group had been entirely due to my blood type matching the family’s needs. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Megan, whose head was heavily bandaged, clenching her sheets. Arthur swallowed hard, struggling to find his voice. “I… I’m sorry. I should have investigated before blaming you.” I let out a dry laugh. “Is she going to be okay?” Arthur looked at Megan but didn’t say a word. On the drive back, Austin kept glancing at me from the driver’s seat. “Jenny, there’s something I’ve kept secret for years. The real reason Arthur broke up with Megan back in college was because she cheated on him.” “It was her birthday. Arthur wanted to surprise her, so he flew out without telling her. When he walked into her apartment, he caught her in bed with some guy. He booked the next flight back and never mentioned her name again. Please don’t let her ruin your marriage.” My jaw dropped. After a long pause, I sighed and patted his shoulder. “Thank you for telling me, Austin.” “But my decision to leave your brother has nothing to do with Megan.” “Then why?” Austin stared at me, wide-eyed. My face flushed bright red, and I looked away. I couldn’t exactly tell him that his brother’s stoic, passionless approach to our intimate life had left me feeling like an ornament. 4. Before I knew it, the day of Gigi’s wedding arrived. At the entrance of the venue, Gigi and her groom were welcoming guests. When she saw me, she reached out and poked my belly. “Jenny, are you pregnant? You’re definitely showing a bit.” I blinked. Pregnant? “No way.” “When was your last period?” “I don’t even know. My cycle has always been irregular. It’s normal for me to miss a couple of months.” “Don’t ignore it,” Gigi scolded, tapping my forehead. “Go get a blood test as soon as you can. Don’t be clueless if you actually have a little one on the way.” Suddenly, her eyes lit up, and she waved at someone behind me. “Hey! Beckett! Over here!” I turned around. A tall guy in a crisp white shirt walked over, holding a professional camera. It was the guy from the photo, Beckett. He was incredibly tall. As he stood next to me, his shadow completely enveloped mine. “Beckett just started a creative agency,” Gigi explained with a wink. “He’s looking for a content director who understands photography. Didn’t you love shooting film back in college? You two should talk.” With that, she excused herself to greet other guests. Beckett and I found a quiet table in the corner. He looked younger in person, his white shirt sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms. “You look even more beautiful in person, Jenny,” he said, his voice carrying a warm, smoky depth. “Gigi showed me your social media, and I could tell immediately that your shots have real soul.” He leaned in slightly as he spoke, creating an easy, comfortable intimacy. When the topic shifted to photography, his eyes lit up, his fingers tracing compositions on the tabletop. There was a vibrant, burning energy to him, a stark contrast to Arthur’s cool reserve. We talked about vintage cameras, new lenses, and creative ideas, the conversation flowing effortlessly. I hadn’t laughed like this in a very long time. Right as we were laughing at a joke, a sudden hush fell over the entrance. I looked up. Arthur had arrived, looking devastatingly handsome in a tailored black tuxedo. Megan was clinging tightly to his arm, wearing a shimmering white gown. As they walked in, the pink diamond necklace around Megan’s neck caught the light, and a sharp pain pierced my chest. I knew that necklace all too well. At a charity gala last year, another socialite had worn the exact same necklace as me. The woman had ripped hers off on the spot, throwing it into the trash, calling it a curse to wear the same thing as a community college grad. I had hidden in the restroom, crying for hours. Arthur had held me close that night, promising he would personally design a unique, one-of-a-kind piece just for me. He spent over six months tweaking the sketches. Now, that very necklace was draped around another woman’s neck. A suffocating tightness squeezed my lungs. The music and laughter in the room began to fade into a dull hum. The world turned black. As my knees gave out, the very last thing I heard was Arthur’s voice, cracking with a panic I’d never heard before. “Jenny!”

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Right after high school graduation, my dad had a sudden midlife crisis and bleached his hair platinum blonde. On college move-in day, he showed up dripping in streetwear, riding a custom Harley to drop me off. He was way too hot for his own good, turning heads the entire way across campus. Everyone staring assumed he was my sugar daddy. And of course, out of all the people in the world, the guy I’d been secretly crushing on was there to witness it. David. He just gave us one cold, sweeping look and walked away. Later that night, I ended up screaming “Daddy” until my throat went hoarse. David showed absolutely no mercy. 01 The midlife crisis hit my dad hard the second I got my high school diploma. The platinum blonde hair was just the beginning. By the time college move-in day rolled around, he rolled up to the dorms on a roaring motorcycle, decked out in designer streetwear. He pulled off his helmet and casually shook out his hair. I buried my face in my hands. “Dad, you’re thirty-six. Not sixteen.” The second I stepped into my dorm room, my three new roommates practically broke their necks peering out the window. “Holy shit, who is that blonde god who just dropped you off?” “Broad shoulders, narrow waist, legs for days. The older man aesthetic is literally aiming right for my heart.” “Is that your boyfriend?” I dropped my suitcase on the floor. “That’s my dad.” The room went dead silent for three seconds. Then, one of them looked at me with absolute deadly seriousness. “Is your dad currently accepting applications for step-daughters? Because I can call him Daddy right now.” I just stared at her. Right on cue, my dad knocked lazily on the open door frame. “You all unpacked, sweetie? Let’s go grab some food.” My roommates’ eyes instantly shifted from shock to pure, unadulterated envy. I grabbed his arm and dragged him out into the hallway as fast as I could. “Let’s go, let’s go. Stop embarrassing me.” My dad raised an eyebrow. “Embarrassing? Do you know how many girls asked for my Snapchat on the way across the quad?” He smoothly took my tote bag from my shoulder and looked down at me. “What are you craving, sweetie?” I was just about to tell him to stop being so cheesy when my eyes locked onto David. He had just finished playing basketball. His dark hair was damp with sweat, his white t-shirt clinging to the sharp lines of his shoulders and back. His pale skin was flushed from the workout. My heart kicked into overdrive, heat rushing straight to my cheeks. For three years of high school, I had quietly passed him notebook paper, lent him pens, and stared at the back of his head more times than I could count. He was standing just a few feet away, holding a bottle of water. His dark eyes dropped to where my dad’s hand was resting casually on my shoulder. My chest tightened. I opened my mouth to call out to him. “David.” Before the word fully left my lips, his knuckles turned white, and the plastic water bottle in his hand gave a loud, violent crack. The guy standing next to him jumped. “David, what the hell man? Aren’t we grabbing food?” David dragged his gaze away, his voice freezing cold. “I lost my appetite.” He turned on his heel and walked away. The greeting died on my tongue. His friend stood there looking totally lost. “What is his problem? He was literally fine two seconds ago.” Another guy rubbed the back of his neck. “No idea. He’s been acting like someone keyed his car ever since he got back from registration.” He paused, lowering his voice. “You don’t think it’s about Brenda, do you?” Brenda. Just hearing that name felt like a bucket of ice water down my back. On the day of his eighteenth birthday party, Brenda was the only girl David had actually accepted a gift from. So he was in a bad mood because of her. My dad watched David walk away, then looked down at me and patted my shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, kid. Men are basically garbage anyway.” I shot him a flat look. “Right. Coming from the guy who had a kid at eighteen. Real solid track record.” Late that night in the freshman boys’ dorm, the silence in David’s room was suffocating. His roommate, Brody, was scrolling through the campus gossip page when he suddenly burst out laughing. “Bro, you gotta see this. Some blonde dude on a Harley dropped a freshman girl off today. First day of college and her sugar daddy is already marking his territory.” David lifted his eyes. “Who.” Brody tossed him his phone. In the grainy photo, the blonde guy was holding Sally’s bag in one hand, his other arm draped protectively over her shoulder. Sally was looking up at him, a bright, effortless smile on her face. The comment section was completely out of control. “Freshmen are built different this year. Boyfriend already pulling up to assert dominance?” “The older guy blonde aesthetic is actually doing things to me.” “Who wouldn’t want a 6-foot-2 older Daddy who actually pays for things?” David stared at the screen for a long, agonizing minute, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. “Do girls really… like calling their boyfriends Daddy now?” 02 The next day was uniform pickup for the mandatory Freshman Phys-Ed Boot Camp. I dragged a heavy stack of registration forms around the campus quad for twenty minutes before finally accepting that I had zero sense of direction. The late summer sun was brutal, making my head spin. To make matters worse, my heavy duffel bag got snagged on the corner of a concrete step. I yanked it twice, but it wouldn’t budge. Suddenly, a large hand reached past me. David lifted the bag with zero effort, his face completely unreadable. “Where are you going.” I blinked up at him. “What are you doing here?” “Just walking by.” His tone was detached, but he smoothly slung my heavy bag over his own shoulder and took half the forms right out of my arms. I had to jog slightly to keep up with his long strides, my heart doing stupid little flips in my chest. “Yesterday… why did you just leave like that?” David’s footsteps faltered. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “I didn’t want to interrupt you two.” “Interrupt what?” We kept walking side by side. There happened to be a local farmer’s market pop-up near the edge of campus, and a guy selling produce was shouting over the crowd. “Fresh watermelons! Sweetest on campus!” David’s comment about not wanting to interrupt had left an empty, hollow feeling in my chest. Needing a distraction, I crouched down by the fruit stand. I tapped the rind of a dark, deeply lined watermelon at the edge of the pile. “I’ll take this one.” The vendor grinned widely. “You’ve got a good eye, little lady. You picked out the oldest one in the bunch.” I was just about to nod when a cool, sharp voice drifted down from above me. “So you really do like them old.” I looked up, hugging the watermelon to my chest in total confusion. “Yeah. I guess?” He stared at the melon in my arms, a bitter little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Makes perfect sense.” I frowned. “What?” David didn’t say another word. He just adjusted his grip on my bag and kept walking. I instinctively called out after him. “David.” He stopped, but he didn’t turn around. I gathered my courage. “Are you just having a really bad week or something?” Suddenly, a guy jogged up and clapped him on the shoulder. “David, bro. Brenda’s been looking everywhere for you. She said to meet her by the South Gate.” Brenda. Those three syllables killed whatever courage I had left. I walked up and pulled my bag off his shoulder, forcing a polite smile. “You should go. I can find my dorm from here.” David turned to look at me, his dark eyes colder than they had been all day. “Am I that embarrassing to be seen with?” I recoiled, shocked. “No. I just don’t want to keep you from her.” David stared at me for a long, heavy moment. I dropped my gaze to the pavement, refusing to say anything else. He had barely taken two steps when my phone started ringing. My dad’s booming voice blasted through the speaker. “Sweetie, you get your gear yet? I’m pulling the truck around to take you out to dinner.” I scrambled to turn the volume down. “Got it, got it. Please don’t come to campus, you’re causing a scene.” “Nonsense. It’s my baby girl’s first week—” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw David standing perfectly still, watching me. My hand jerked, and I accidentally hung up on my dad. David’s gaze was glued to my phone screen. I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly. “Sorry about him. He’s just like that.” David stayed quiet for a few seconds before letting out a dry, mocking laugh. “It’s really none of my business, is it.” Annoyance finally flared in my chest. I glared right back at him. “You’re right. Brenda is your business. Go.” I reached out to grab my stack of forms. My fingertips brushed against his skin, and I pulled back immediately like I’d been burned. David’s eyes flicked down to the text conversation between me and my dad on my screen. His voice was terrifyingly calm. “You better go too.” “Don’t want to keep your Daddy waiting.” He turned and walked away into the crowd. I stood there hugging my bag, a lump forming in my throat. What the hell was his problem. If Brenda was waiting for him, why was he taking it out on me. I looked down to text my dad, ready to tell him to stop calling me ‘sweetie’ in public. But when my eyes landed on his profile picture, I completely froze. When did this old man change his profile picture to this. I tapped on the image. It was an edgy, black-and-white anime guy, and right underneath it was a brand new bio: [Sole love of my life, Vivian.] Vivian. My mom’s name. 03 The first social mixer of the semester was at a Korean BBQ joint just off campus. I really didn’t want to go, but my roommates practically dragged me by the ankles. “If you don’t go to these things, you’re gonna be a ghost for the next four years.” By the time they shoved me into the private dining room, it was already packed. David was there. He was sitting by the window, his jacket draped over the back of his chair, the sleeves of his dark shirt rolled up to his forearms. He was swirling a glass of liquor in his hand. Brenda walked over with a glass of lemon water and set it gently in front of him. “Pace yourself. You’re going to feel awful tomorrow.” David glanced up at her, then reached out and took the glass. I couldn’t stomach watching it anymore. I turned and walked right back out the door. If I had stayed one second longer, I would have seen David slide that exact same glass of water over to Brody. Brody looked at it like it was a holy relic. “For me?” “Drink it.” I stood on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, taking deep breaths. The cool night air helped clear the suffocating feeling in my chest. When I looked up, I accidentally locked eyes with David through the restaurant window. I immediately looked away. My phone buzzed. A text from my dad. [Sweetie, call me when you’re done. I’m parked by the campus gate.] Before I could even type a reply, my phone started ringing. “Dad, didn’t I say I’d text you when I was done?” He chuckled softly on the other end. “Just making sure no one sweeps you off your feet.” “Who is going to sweep me off my feet.” “You look exactly like your mother. I took my eyes off her for one second and managed to steal her right out from under your grandfather’s nose.” “…” Before hanging up, I threw one last glance over my shoulder. The dining room door was cracked open. David tipped his glass back and downed the rest of his drink in one smooth motion. His throat worked as he swallowed, his dark brows pulled low in frustration. Brenda was sitting right next to him, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. I ended the call, texted my roommates that I had a headache, and started walking. The wind picked up, making my eyes sting. I was walking down a quiet side street leading back to the dorms when I heard heavy footsteps behind me. “Sally.” I stopped. David caught up to me. He had left his jacket inside. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, his collarbone exposed, and the sharp scent of alcohol clung to him. I took a step back instinctively. “Why did you follow me?” He closed the distance between us, his voice rough and ragged. “Is he picking you up again?” “Who?” “Your Daddy.” I blinked, and the spark of anger from earlier erupted into a full blaze. The image of Brenda handing him water, of her hand on his arm, flashed behind my eyes. Who gave him the right to interrogate me. I lifted my chin and glared at him. “How is that any of your business?” The edges of David’s eyes turned a deep, bruised red. “So it’s true.” I furrowed my brows. “What is true?” He took another step, trapping me against the brick wall of the alley. His voice was dSallystatingly hoarse. “Is that the kind of guy you want?” He was so close I could feel the heat radiating off his chest. My stupid heart started hammering against my ribs. “David, you’re drunk.” He looked down at my lips, a bitter, self-deprecating smile twisting his features. “If he gets to be your Daddy.” “Let me be your dog. Deal?” I just stared at him. “What.” “David.” A soft, desperate voice echoed from the mouth of the alley. My entire body went rigid. Brenda was standing there, clutching his dark jacket against her chest. Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. She saw how close he was standing to me and hesitated. But then she hurried over, reaching out to grip David’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Sally.” Her voice was thick with apology. “He’s completely wasted. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, please don’t take it personally.” David scowled, trying to shake her off. “Don’t touch me.” That was when I saw it. The silver band on the pinky finger of his right hand. The gift she had given him for his eighteenth birthday. It had her initials engraved on the inside. So they really had exchanged gifts. The last bit of warmth in my chest died. Brenda just tightened her grip on his arm. “You can barely stand up straight. Stop fighting me.” Brody and two other guys from the mixer came jogging down the street. “Bro, what are you doing out here?” Seeing Brenda holding him up, the guys immediately started feeding into the drama. “Brenda to the rescue again.” “Looks like his lady is the only one who can handle him when he’s like this.” “You two look too good together. Just make it official already.” David shot them a lethal glare. “Shut your mouth.” The guy choked on his words and looked away. Brenda stared at the ground, looking embarrassed. “Don’t say things like that.” A low, rumbling engine echoed down the street. Headlights swept over the brick walls. My dad walked into the pool of the streetlight, swinging his motorcycle helmet in one hand. His bleached hair caught the wind, looking absolutely unhinged and effortlessly cool. “Sweetie.” David’s head snapped up. My dad took one look at David stumbling in the alley, and the casual smile dropped from his face. Without missing a beat, he grabbed my arm and pulled me smoothly behind his broad back. “Listen here, kid.” “Stay the hell away from my girl.” David stared at me, hiding behind my dad’s leather jacket. For a long moment, the only sound was the hum of the motorcycle. Then, David slowly pulled his arm out of Brenda’s grip, snatched his jacket from her hands, and let out a broken, quiet laugh. “Right.” “Message received.” Brenda tried to reach for him again. “David, let’s just go.” He looked down, swatting her hand away completely. He let Brody throw an arm around his shoulder to keep him steady, and they walked away into the dark. Brenda trailed closely behind them. It wasn’t until his broad shoulders completely disappeared around the corner that I realized the cold wind had made my eyes start watering. My dad shoved the helmet against my chest. For once, his voice was completely serious. “You got feelings for that kid?” I looked down, gripping the helmet tightly. It took me a long time, but I finally shook my head. “Not anymore.” 04 I started actively avoiding him. And David went into a complete tailspin. When Brody pushed open the door to their dorm room that night, he found David sitting motionless in his desk chair. His phone was sitting on the desk, and he looked like he was attending a funeral. Brody jumped back. “Jesus, bro. Do we need to call a paramedic?” David looked up, his dark eyes swirling with pure frustration. “She hates me.” Brody threw his backpack on the floor and dropped onto his bed. “Sally?” David didn’t answer. Brody started laughing. “Oh, so now you’re panicking? Back in high school I told you to stop acting so untouchable. You liked her for three whole years and couldn’t even string a sentence together around her.” David gave him a death glare. Brody immediately threw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop being right.” David gripped his phone, his knuckles turning white. “What do I do.” Brody rubbed his chin, pretending to think deeply. “What can you do?” “Just keep acting like a simp, obviously.” Brody dragged his chair over to look at David’s phone. “First of all, stop brooding in the dark like a serial killer. Let’s do some market research. What is her exact type?” Brody swiped open Sally’s social media and started scrolling through her likes and comments. He scrolled down. First video: A guy with bright red hair smirking at the camera. Sally’s comment: [Red hair!] [It’s the red hair!] [I am looking respectfully.] David stared at the words, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows. Brody kept scrolling. Second video: A college guy in a black button-down, leaning against a railing and drinking water, his throat moving as he swallowed. Sally’s comment: [Good boy, drink up. Do you need me to hold it for you?] David: “…” Brody: “…” Brody let out a nervous laugh. “Gotta hand it to her, she’s got a way with words.” David’s voice was borderline demonic. “Keep scrolling.” Brody swallowed hard. Third video: A fitness influencer with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, lifting his shirt to wipe his sweat and flashing his abs. Sally’s comment: [I want to use Daddy’s abs as a slip and slide.] Brody couldn’t hold it in. He burst out laughing. David shot him a look that could kill. Brody immediately covered his mouth. David’s eyes were glued to the screen, tracking every single word. Fourth video: A guy wearing thin, gold wire-rimmed glasses reading a book in a library. Sally’s comment: [God I love a morally grey academic. Absolutely feral for this aesthetic.] David slowly looked at the massive pile of textbooks on his desk. Then he looked at the wire-rimmed glasses sitting on his nightstand—the ones he hadn’t worn in six months because they got in the way when he played basketball. Silence fell over the room. Brody opened his mouth to read the next one, but David cut him off. “Stop.” Brody was fighting for his life trying not to laugh. He cleared his throat. “Look, man. Girls just say this stuff on the internet. It’s a meme. It doesn’t mean anything.” David suddenly looked up, a terrifying light in his eyes. “So she likes guys with red hair and gold glasses.” Brody nodded slowly, sensing danger. “I mean… I guess?” David lowered his eyes, internalizing the information like a battle plan. A deep, unshakable sense of dread washed over Brody. The next morning during the Phys-Ed Boot Camp roll call. I had just adjusted the brim of my cap when a massive wave of whispers rolled through the freshman formation. “Holy shit, who is that?” “Is that a new instructor?” “No, that’s David.” I snapped my head up. David was walking across the turf in his tactical uniform. The bright morning sun hit him, illuminating the fact that his normally dark, untouchable hair had been dyed a vibrant, reckless shade of red. And sitting perfectly on the bridge of his nose was a pair of thin, gold wire-rimmed glasses. It made his pale skin look flawless, making his dark eyes look infinitely sharper and more intense. My heart completely betrayed me and skipped a beat. David walked straight up to me and nervously ran a hand through his red hair. Fifty people were openly staring at us. He seemed totally oblivious to the absolute spectacle he was causing. He leaned down and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Do you like it?” I just blinked. The girl standing next to me inhaled sharply and started pinching my arm behind my back. I winced, fighting to keep my face neutral. “It’s fine.” A spark of genuine hope lit up David’s eyes. “You like it?” Before I could even think of a response, a massive collective gasp echoed from the other side of the field. “Oh my god!” “They’re matching!” “Brenda dyed her hair red too!” My blood ran cold. Brenda was walking over from the second platoon. Her normally soft, brown hair was now a fiery, unmistakable red. In the sunlight, the coordination was impossible to miss. She saw David’s hair and stopped in her tracks, looking surprised. “Wow, what a coincidence, David.” The entire field erupted into chaos. “Are you kidding me? Just date already!” “Matching hair dye is insane.” “Brenda knows exactly what she’s doing!” “Bro, you can’t hide it anymore!” David’s face instantly hardened into stone. “Shut up.” But the damage was done. The more he denied it, the louder the cheering got. Brenda stood next to him, the tips of her ears burning pink. She spoke softly, meant only for him. “I was just thinking about changing my look yesterday, I didn’t expect…” I stood there mentally cursing myself for being such an idiot. Five seconds ago, I had actually let a pretty face trick me. I had almost become a pawn in their little romantic drama. David turned back to me, real panic flashing in his eyes behind the gold frames. “Sally, it’s not what you think.” I looked up at him. “What do you think I’m thinking?” He froze. I pulled the brim of my cap down low over my eyes, making my voice as dead and hollow as possible. “David, what color you dye your hair has absolutely nothing to do with me.” The instructor blew the whistle, and I immediately spun around and fell into formation. “Line up! Anyone caught talking is running laps!” I stood perfectly still under the blazing sun, my spine rigid. Thank god the heat was so brutal. It dried the moisture in my eyes before anyone could see. For one split second, I actually thought he had changed his hair for me. Looking back, it was the dumbest thought I’ve ever had. 05 That night, the tension in the boys’ dorm was lethal. When Brody pushed the door open, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Did someone turn the AC down to freezing?” David was slumped in his desk chair, radiating despair. He was staring blankly at his phone screen. Right above the text box was a bright red exclamation mark. “Damn, bro. You got blocked? It’s really over for you.” Brody winced. David aggressively ran a hand through his red hair, his voice completely wrecked. “Why does she hate me even more now?” Brody rolled his eyes and dragged his chair over. “Are you insane? You show up with the exact same hair color as Brenda. It’s basically a neon sign screaming ‘Couples Goal.’ Sally isn’t blind. Why would she be nice to you after that?” David looked genuinely crushed. “How was I supposed to know Brenda dyed her hair? I literally took the idea from Sally’s internet comments!” “And this is why you’re single.” Brody leaned back, slipping perfectly into his role as the master strategist. “But the reality is, you stepped on a landmine. You said you were gonna be her dog. What is the number one rule of being a dog?” David looked lost. “What.” “You gotta wag your tail!” Brody slapped his own thigh. “You have to grovel! Buy her things, apologize, be pathetic! Girls love a guy who is obsessed. You gotta lower your pride, man. Do you understand?” David stared thoughtfully at a post Sally had made three days ago. [90 degrees at Boot Camp. An iced watermelon juice would literally save my life right now.] After a long pause, he gave a slow, serious nod. The next day during training, my body decided to betray me. Aunt Flo arrived early, and she was furious. Standing in formation under the brutal sun, I was clutching my stomach, cold sweat dripping down my spine. When the break whistle finally blew, I dragged myself into the shade of a large oak tree. I was just about to curl up into a ball on the grass when a freezing cold cup of iced watermelon juice appeared in my line of sight. I followed the long, tanned arm up and saw David. He was breathing hard, a thin layer of sweat shining on his forehead like he had just sprinted across campus. He pushed the cup closer to me. The ice rattled against the plastic. “I got this for you.” I stared at the frost forming on the outside of the cup, and I swear to god, my uterine lining retaliated with a violent cramp. I weakly pushed his hand away. “I don’t want it.” David looked confused. “Is this about Brenda?” Hearing her name when I was already in blinding pain was the final straw. “I said I don’t want it!” I practically yelled it, clutching my stomach and turning my back to him. I couldn’t even look at his face. David stood there holding the freezing juice, completely spiraling into a pit of self-doubt. He immediately pulled out his phone and texted Brody. [She refused the juice. She wouldn’t even let me explain. She looked at me like she wanted me dead. What do I do.] Brody replied instantly. [You’re an amateur! Maybe she just wasn’t craving watermelon today? Listen to me. Go to the cafe and buy one of EVERYTHING on the menu. Let her choose!] David thought this was a brilliant tactical move. He turned and sprinted toward the campus strip mall. When afternoon training finally ended, I was practically a walking corpse. I finally had a second to breathe. Suddenly, four delivery guys on electric scooters slammed on their brakes right in front of me. “Which one of you is Sally Sinclair? Your drinks are here!” While dozens of my classmates watched in absolute shock, the delivery guys started hauling massive insulated coolers onto the grass. I walked over, completely bewildered. “Miss, here are the 43 iced beverages you ordered. Please sign here.” I looked down. Iced lemon slushies, frozen green tea, mango madness with extra ice, cold-brewed oolong… Forty-three massive cups. Every single one packed with ice, gleaming in every color of the rainbow, spread out across the lawn. And right in the middle was a massive, handwritten receipt note: [For Sally. — David.] My classmates started whispering and making “ooooh” noises. Meanwhile, I stood in front of an absolute mountain of freezing, icy drinks, feeling the knives twisting in my lower abdomen, and thought I might actually pass out from rage. The hormones took over. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely unlock my phone. I pulled his number out of my blocked list, typed furiously, and hit send. [David, if you want to murder me, just stab me and get it over with!] Then, I blocked him again. Leaving David sitting in his dorm, staring at a red exclamation mark, questioning his entire existence. After failing twice, David was completely dSallystated. Brody watched him sulk, slamming his hand on the desk in frustration. “Drinks aren’t working. It’s time for the nuclear option. Bro, trust me on this. There is not a single woman on this earth who can reject flowers!” “Flowers?” “Yes! Red roses! 999 of them! Have them delivered straight to the lobby of her dorm. Bury her in romance and cash!” And so, early the next morning. I had just finished brushing my teeth when the dorm RA yelled up the stairwell. “Sally Sinclair! Room 302! You have a massive delivery!” I walked downstairs, totally confused. The second I hit the bottom step, I was confronted by a nightmare. A monstrous, six-foot-tall heart made entirely of crimson roses was blocking the main entrance to the building. The flowers were violently red, bleeding a thick, suffocating perfume into the enclosed lobby. A crowd of girls had already formed a circle around it, taking photos and whispering with absolute jealousy. My vision immediately went dark. Because I have chronic allergic rhinitis. And I am violently allergic to pollen. “Ah—Achoo!” My nose instantly flared with unbearable itching. Water started pouring out of my eyes like a broken faucet. “Sally, this is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen!” my roommate squealed, shoving my shoulder. “Roman—achoo! God help—achoo!” I covered my nose with both hands, tears streaming down my face in endless rivers. I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence. Meanwhile, hiding in the bushes outside the dorm, Brody was acting like a sniper doing recon. He excitedly held down the voice memo button to David. “Bro! It worked! It worked flawlessly! Sally took one look at the flowers, dropped to the floor, and started bawling her eyes out! She was so overwhelmed with emotion she couldn’t even speak! The tears are literally flooding the lobby!” Sitting up in his bed, David heard the memo and shot up like a rocket. He immediately opened a fake Instagram account he had made the night before (after realizing he was blocked again), pretending to be a student council rep. [Do you like the flowers, Sally? It’s David.] Half an hour later. Campus Clinic. IV Therapy Room. I was slumped back in a sterile chair, questioning why I was born. My left arm was hooked up to an IV dripping antihistamines, and my right hand was crushing a wad of tissues as I violently blew my nose. My phone buzzed. I stared at the direct message, my vision going red with absolute fury.

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1 Thirty thousand emergency meal kits bound for the disaster zone were incinerated as hazardous waste. The signatory was Nathan, my husband and Deputy Director of Public Health. The tipster was his childhood friend Rachel, a self-styled ex-undercover journalist. This was her third strike against my company. First, she reported my trucks for illegal parking; Nathan forced a public apology. Second, she claimed our labels violated safety codes; he fined us heavily and shut us down for a month. Each time, he sided with her, using me as his impartiality showcase. Now, with the zone without power or water, I drove all night, only to be blocked by them at the perimeter. I waved safety certificates, begging, “The frontline can’t wait! Hold me liable if anything’s wrong!” Nathan dismissed me coldly: “Rachel’s a pro. Confiscate and destroy it all.” Two days later, lab reports cleared my ingredients—but the food was ash, and online rumors of my “poisoned meals” exploded. Contracts vanished overnight. Nathan glanced at the report, guilt flickering but pride intact: “Rachel erred, but meant well.” I laughed, sliding off my ring: “Three chances. Divorce.” … I tossed the silver band onto the coffee table. Nathan frowned. He stared at it for several seconds before putting on a look of deep annoyance. “Valerie, grow up, will you?” “I cooperated with the media to run a routine food safety check. There was nothing wrong with my procedure.” “You know exactly how bad the situation is in the disaster zone. With tens of thousands of lives on the line, I had to minimize the risk.” When he used to say things like that in the past, it made me feel safe. Now, his words just felt like ice scraping against my bones. Right before the meals were thrown into the incinerator, I had shoved the preliminary quality report right into his chest. He did not even glance at it. He just looked down at his phone, pressed the button on his radio, and gave a single command. “Execute.” Rachel stood there with a fake, conflicted look on her face, acting like she was just trying to keep the peace. “Valerie, this is my fault.” She carefully controlled her tone, making herself sound incredibly guilty and heartbroken. “I used to investigate so many illegal sweatshops. When I saw the color of the meat in those containers, I was so terrified that the refugees would get sick. That is why I reported it to Nathan and exposed it on my livestream.” “My professional paranoia just took over. Please do not be mad at Nathan.” On her livestream, she had looked directly into the camera and viciously accused me of profiting off a national tragedy. Now, standing right in front of me, she was playing the innocent victim. She could switch faces faster than I could blink. “If you only suspected something by total coincidence, why did your broadcast team have four camera angles set up in advance?” “Your press release about the poisoned meals was published exactly one minute before the confiscation order. Tell me, Rachel, does your professional paranoia come with psychic abilities?” Rachel’s mouth twitched. Nathan immediately stepped forward and shielded her behind his back. “Valerie, watch your mouth! The media was following the relief efforts and just happened to catch it on film.” “Rachel is a journalist for the people. Do you really have to view everyone through such a dark, twisted lens?” He stood there with his arms wide open, protecting her from me. I looked down at the ring resting on the table. It was a simple silver band. Three years ago, he slipped it onto my finger with a gentle, determined look in his eyes. He told me that from that day on, I was under his protection. “I hope your blinding light can illuminate all the darkness in the world.” I turned around and walked toward the door. “Valerie!” he shouted behind me. I did not look back. When I returned to the office, the air was thick and suffocating, reeking of burnt coffee and hot printer paper. Dozens of employees sat at their desks in total silence. Cancellation letters were piled up on my desk. Starlight Cinemas, Evergreen Supermarkets, and seven regional distributors had completely cut all ties with us. The reason for termination was identical on every single page. To avoid severe public relations risks regarding food safety. Those thirty thousand emergency meals were a charity project officially sponsored by our board of directors. I had personally monitored the assembly line. I handpicked the highest quality suppliers for every single ounce of meat and vegetables. And now, everything was sitting at the bottom of an incinerator. Not even ash was left. My company was branded as a greedy corporation profiting off a disaster. Half of our net worth evaporated overnight. Sarah from administration was slumped over her desk, her shoulders shaking violently. She had been with me for three years and was always my sharpest worker. I walked over and gently tapped the edge of her desk. She looked up, her eyes completely bloodshot. “Boss, my parents called me today. They asked if I was working for a corrupt syndicate. I told them no, but they did not believe me.” Someone at a desk further back pushed their keyboard away. The heavy metal base hit the wood desk with a dull thud. Nobody spoke, but that heavy sound carried more weight than any words could. Marcus, our operations manager, walked over clutching a stack of documents. His voice was trembling. “Boss, the only way we can flip this narrative is if we publish the clean lab results right now to clear our name.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Nathan. Three lines of text that felt like a bucket of freezing water poured over my head. [The bureau decided it is not appropriate to publish the clean lab results right now. It would cause the public to question the credibility of our law enforcement.] [Rachel is about to be nominated for the Top Ten Voices of Justice award. She cannot have any negative press right now.] [Just cooperate with us. Issue a public statement saying the appearance of the meat was altered due to temperature control negligence in your warehouse. Once this blows over, I will find a way to compensate you.] I stared at the words ‘cooperate with us’. My stomach violently twisted. The year he first passed his civil service exams, a small local restaurant was maliciously reported by a jealous competitor. Nathan stayed awake for three days straight, combing through security footage and supply invoices. He fought back against the pressure from his superiors, slammed his hand on the desk, and declared that the government had no right to destroy someone’s livelihood without hard proof. Back then, I was absolutely deeply in love with his stubborn righteousness. Because of those words, I quit my high paying corporate job and founded this company. I wanted to make the cleanest food in the industry. I wanted to be the strongest shield backing him up. Now, he sat in his comfortable Deputy Director chair. When faced with his own wife’s inventory, thirty thousand meals meant to save starving refugees, he burned it all just because Rachel whispered a single suspicion. And after burning it all, he demanded that I swallow the dirty water to pave the way for Rachel’s career. I placed my phone face down on the desk. “Keep the lab results buried. Nobody is allowed to leak them,” I told Marcus. Marcus froze. “But if we don’t put it out there and explain ourselves…” “If we publish it now, the Public Health Board has a hundred different bureaucratic ways to spin it against us. All we can do is wait for the storm to die down.” I thought for a moment, then looked back at Marcus. “Our inventory was destroyed, and tens of thousands of people in the disaster zone are starving. The emergency response team definitely had to place a massive rush order for replacements.” “Go dig into it. Find out exactly who secured that contract.” The look in Marcus’s eyes shifted instantly. He had been in this industry for over a decade. He understood exactly what I was implying. The very next morning, a major news outlet published an exclusive interview. The Lone Hero of the Disaster Zone. Refusing to Let Refugees Eat Spoiled Meat. Rachel was standing in front of my confiscated delivery trucks wearing a rugged tactical jacket. Her eyes were red, her voice choking with emotion. “Some people say I am a busybody who ruins local businesses. But I am a journalist. My pen is my weapon.” “I would rather make a thousand mistakes than let a single refugee take a bite of rotten meat!” The comment section treated her like the second coming of Christ. Meanwhile, the comments under my company’s page were filled with death threats and curses. I scrolled through my social media feed and saw that Nathan had shared her interview. He added a simple caption. [Hold the line. Defend the truth.] I stared at those words for a very long time. The pain in my chest was a dull, heavy ache. His truth involved crushing the bones of my company to build a pedestal for another woman. At three in the afternoon, my private cell phone rang. It was Derek, an old friend who ran a search and rescue squad. His voice exploded through the speaker, raspy and frantic. “Valerie, what the hell is going on with your shipment?!” Derek was leading a team on the absolute front lines. I could hear him gasping for air over the phone. “The emergency board swapped your food for a batch of instant heating meals. The meat smells like literal garbage. We already have refugees vomiting everywhere!” I shot up from my chair, my fingernails digging deeply into the edge of the desk. “I ripped open four boxes myself! All four of them smelled like rotting acid! Is this supposed to be fit for human consumption?” “My squad has thirty guys. We have been surviving on two dry energy bars since yesterday noon. We saved our stomachs hoping for a hot meal from your trucks, and this is the garbage we get?” His voice cracked. He took two ragged breaths before continuing. “Do you know how hot it is out here? It is nearly a hundred degrees. We are wading through mud up to our knees. My guy got a cut on his leg and it is already infected and leaking pus, and we still have to wade through the water to drop off supplies!” “I confronted the logistics guy and he did not do a damn thing. He just said it was an emergency purchase and told me to take it up with higher management.” “Take it up with who? I called a dozen numbers and nobody picked up!” “Nathan used to feel so bad for you when you stayed up late doing quality control. Why the hell did he personally lead the team to confiscate your trucks this time?” Those words drove into my chest like a rusty nail. I took a deep breath, forcing down the metallic taste of blood rising in my throat. “Derek, listen to me very carefully. Take photos and videos of the spoiled food. Record the symptoms of the refugees and get written statements from the medics.” “Secure the evidence. Do not hand it over to anyone. Just wait for my call.” I went back to the apartment that night. When I pushed the door open, the smell of potted plants hit me. Nathan used to say a house needed life. I joked that everything I touched died, and he chased me around the living room with a slipper. Now, the leaves were bright and green, making the empty living room feel incredibly hollow. I walked into the bedroom and pulled my suitcase out from the closet. Our framed photo was still sitting on the nightstand. We took it on a hiking trip last autumn. We were leaning against each other, and he had a huge, carefree smile on his face. I left the photo right where it was. I was halfway through packing when the electronic lock on the front door beeped. Nathan was home. He took off his shoes, saw the suitcase on the floor, and his face instantly darkened. “Are you seriously throwing a tantrum right now? Don’t you think you are taking this a little too far?” I kept my mouth shut and continued folding my clothes. “Rachel has been so stressed by the internet drama that she hasn’t eaten a single thing all day. She has been constantly apologizing to me.” “And now you are trying to blackmail me by running away from home?” People in the disaster zone were vomiting from rotting food. My company was facing bankruptcy and a massive public witch hunt. And his heart was breaking because Rachel skipped a meal. I pulled the zipper of my suitcase shut and stood up. I walked to the entryway, unhooked my house key from the keychain, and placed it on the shoe cabinet. The metal clinked against the wood. A sharp, final sound. I finally looked at him. “I am not blackmailing you. I am making room for her.” I opened the door and walked out. There were no footsteps chasing after me. Only the bright lights of the living room burning behind me. The second day after I moved into the hotel, Nathan tracked me down. He was still in his official uniform. The metal badges on his shoulders caught the light. He immediately surveyed the room. The laptop bag thrown on the bed. The empty instant noodle cup on the desk. The curtains were drawn shut, making the room look dark and depressing. He frowned. It was a very subtle twitch, but I caught it. He stepped inside, dropped a manila folder on the table, and pulled out a chair to sit down. Before sitting, he lightly smacked the seat cushion with his hand to make sure it was clean. He pointed at the manila folder. His tone was slightly softer, but it still carried that arrogant ‘I am here to fix your mess’ attitude. “Why are you living out here? Do you want people to laugh at us?” He tapped the folder again. “The board made their final decision.” “Since there was no actual harm done to public health, and I personally vouched for your company’s flawless track record…” “A ten thousand dollar fine, and a two month business suspension. This is the absolute lightest penalty I could get you. I had to fight my superiors for this.” “Just sign the confession. Rachel will make a post defending you, and this whole thing will blow over. Then we can go home and live our lives.” I sat on the sofa, staring at the administrative penalty notice. Ten thousand dollars. Two months. A forced confession. My heart felt completely barren. “Go home? You mean go back to a home where my husband is ready to throw me under the bus at any given second just to protect his childhood crush?” I asked the question very quietly. Nathan stiffened. His voice immediately raised an octave. “Are you starting this again? I told you, she was just being professionally cautious! Why are you so obsessed with tearing her down?” I looked directly into his eyes. I decided to test him one final time. “Nathan, what if I told you the replacement supplies purchased by the emergency board were completely rotten? The meat is rancid, the rice is raw, and the refugees are violently ill.” He froze for a second. “That is impossible. The emergency board has a very strict procurement protocol.” “What if I also told you that the company providing those supplies is owned by Rachel’s uncle?” “What if her entire righteous crusade was nothing but a calculated scheme to destroy my inventory so she could profit off a national disaster?” The room went dead silent. Then, Nathan slammed his hand on the table and stood up. “Valerie, you are completely out of your mind! I grew up with Rachel, I know exactly what kind of person she is!” “She was an undercover journalist who risked her life for the truth! You think she cares about dirty money?” “You are actually inventing these disgusting lies to shift the blame off yourself? When did you become so narrow minded and vicious?” I watched his furious reaction, and the heavy pain in my chest suddenly vanished. The string that had been pulled tight for so long finally snapped cleanly in two. I pushed the divorce papers I had signed last night across the table. The cover faced up. The bold letters were impossible to miss. Nathan’s voice caught in his throat. He stared at the papers. His Adam’s apple bobbed, but no words came out. I looked down and placed the lid back on my instant noodles. The noodles were soggy and the broth was completely cold. He stood on the other side of the coffee table. His breathing was a little heavy, but he did not speak. I waited for about five seconds. He did not move. He did not reach out to touch the agreement. I reached out and pushed the papers a little further. The edge of the paper bumped right against the corner of his penalty notice. “I already signed it. Take the divorce papers and go back to your righteous journalist.” Nathan’s eyes were glued to the divorce agreement. His face went stiff, followed quickly by a look of offended rage. “Valerie, do you really think you can use a divorce to threaten me into cancelling your penalty ticket?” “You are completely disappointing. You are actually using our marriage as a bargaining chip just to dodge responsibility.” I looked at his face, twisted with righteous anger, and suddenly found the entire situation incredibly comical. Thirty thousand life saving meals were reduced to ash because of a single word from him. Tens of thousands of refugees were currently eating rotting food. And he honestly believed I was throwing a fit over a ten thousand dollar fine. “I already signed it,” I repeated calmly. “You do not need to cancel the penalty ticket. And you do not need to lower yourself to stay married to a vicious woman like me.” “Take the papers. I will see you at the courthouse tomorrow morning.” The corner of Nathan’s eye twitched violently. “Fine. Perfect!” “Since you are completely out of your mind, you can stay here alone and reflect on your behavior!” “Whenever you finally calm down and realize what you did wrong, we will talk!” He let out a cold laugh, grabbed his jacket, and turned toward the door. When he grabbed the door handle, he paused for a second. He was waiting for me to beg him to stay. A full three seconds of absolute silence passed before he slammed the door shut behind him. I pulled my gaze away and picked up the plastic fork from the table. I scooped up the noodles from the cup. The broth was ice cold. The noodles were bloated and mushy. Chewing them felt like eating tasteless mud. With perfect calm, I ate the entire bowl of cold noodles until there was nothing left. I swallowed the noodles right alongside three years of an absurd marriage. I swallowed all the trust I once thought was unbreakable, letting it digest into freezing, useless waste. Right as I swallowed the last bite, Derek called. “Valerie, I got the goods!” “I raided the distribution point with my guys and locked down two crates of those heating meals that haven’t been handed out yet.” “I went to the medics too. They wrote up over a hundred diagnosis reports for food poisoning. I took photos of every single one!” “Good job, brother. I owe you,” I said, my voice completely steady. “Owe me my ass! My guy got a severe infection and spiked a massive fever. They had to airlift him out last night.” “These people have already lost their homes, and now they are being fed literal pig slop! Valerie, we cannot let this slide!” “We won’t.” I looked out the window at the darkening sky. My cold, hardened expression was reflected in the glass. “Derek, find a secure channel. Take those two physical crates, all the video footage, and the original medical reports. Ship them overnight via express courier directly to Marcus’s private address in the city.” “Understood! I will do it myself right now!” I hung up and immediately dialed Marcus. He answered quickly, his voice heavy with exhaustion from pulling an all nighter. “Boss.” “Derek secured the evidence. It will be in your hands first thing tomorrow morning.” “Get our lawyers on the line. Take all of that evidence, along with the absolute flawless safety reports for our original thirty thousand meals. Add the documentation for Rachel’s previous three malicious reports.” I paused, my voice dropping to a freezing temperature. “Bypass the city board entirely. Submit a real name report directly to the Provincial Disciplinary Committee and the State Market Regulation Bureau.” Marcus took a sharp breath, his voice suddenly surging with energy. “Understood, boss! I will get on it right now. But…” He hesitated for a second. “Boss, the PR department just got a tip.” “Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, the Civic Center Auditorium is hosting the Voices of Justice award ceremony and disaster relief press conference.” “Rachel is the headline winner. And… Nathan is scheduled to give a speech as a special guest representing the Public Health Board. The whole thing will be broadcast live across all major networks.” My fingers tightened around my phone, my knuckles turning white. I slowly relaxed my grip, my voice totally flat. “Marcus, get us two front row tickets to that ceremony.” … The Civic Center Auditorium. The massive LED screens played a continuous loop of glowing words: Hold the Line. Defend Food Safety. I was wearing an inconspicuous black jacket and a baseball cap, sitting with Marcus in the sixth row of the audience. At exactly ten o’clock, the award ceremony began. Live broadcast cameras were mounted in every single corner of the room. Rachel stepped onto the stage in a sleek, tailored blazer, a red corsage pinned to her chest. The crowd erupted into applause. The face that had looked so devastated and heartbroken on her livestream was now glowing with absolute triumph. She could not hide the smug smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “As a former undercover journalist, I have always believed that wherever my pen points, justice will follow.” “When I found out that a certain corporation was trying to exploit a natural disaster by sending rotten, mutated food to the refugees, I was absolutely furious.” She paused perfectly on cue, letting her eyes turn red. “People threatened me. People tried to buy me off. But I never backed down!” “Because I knew that thousands of refugees were depending on me. I could not let them take a single bite of spoiled meat!” Thunderous applause echoed through the auditorium. On the broadcast screens above the stage, the live chat was moving at lightning speed. [Rachel is amazing! The literal light of justice!] [Why isn’t Valerie rotting in a jail cell yet?] [Boycott all corrupt businesses!] Rachel gave a slight bow, her eyes locking onto the VIP seats in the very front row. “Today, I want to give a special thanks to one specific person. Deputy Director Nathan.” “He faced immense pressure, but he upheld the law flawlessly. He ordered the destruction of those poisoned meals and killed the threat before it could hurt anyone.” “He is the true guardian of our city!” A spotlight immediately hit Nathan. He was wearing a perfectly ironed uniform, his hair styled without a single strand out of place. He stood up for the cameras and gave a slight, modest nod. He looked at Rachel on the stage, his eyes filled with absolute admiration and unwavering trust. That specific look used to belong to me. Now, it was the sharpest knife twisting in my back. The event moved into the media Q&A segment. A few pre-selected reporters in the front row stood up one by one, asking soft, highly scripted questions meant to praise her. “Rachel, do you have any further advice for maintaining food safety in the disaster zones?” “Do you believe there are any hidden dangers left?” a female reporter asked, holding up a microphone. Rachel looked directly into the camera with a warm, comforting smile. “With the city board strictly monitoring everything, I am highly confident that the food supply is absolutely safe and transparent.” “All threats have been entirely eliminated.” “Is that so?” A sharp, sudden voice cut through the room without a microphone. It echoed perfectly through the brief silence in the auditorium.

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1 Sloane’s father had Alzheimer’s. Whenever an episode hit, I was the only person he recognized. Every single time he gripped my hand and refused to let go, Sloane would look at me with eyes full of helpless regret. “Declan, I already bought the tickets for the amusement park.” “Looks like Harper is going to get lucky and take my spot again.” I looked down at my hand trapped in her father’s wrinkled grip, letting out a soft sigh. Every time Sloane and I planned a date, Jacob would suffer an episode. Because of this, our mutual friends took turns accompanying her in my place so her plans would not go to waste. My closest friend went with her to watch the sunrise from the mountain peak. Her younger sister took my place to ride the rollercoasters at Disney. Her best friend went with her on a weekend hiking trip out in the countryside. I believed it all. Until today, when I accidentally unlocked Jacob’s iPad and saw a hidden group chat. The chat was named “Protecting Silas.” Silas. Sloane’s ex-boyfriend. I tapped the screen. The most recent message was from Sloane. “Silas is doing so much better today.” “Dad, thank you so much for faking another episode to keep Declan at home.” Jacob replied almost instantly. “Just focus on taking care of Silas. I’ve got things handled here.” Then he tagged everyone in the chat. “Make sure none of you slip up!” I watched as a row of familiar profile pictures, my friends and her family, replied with thumbs-up emojis and promises to keep the secret. My hands began to shake as I slowly set the tablet down on the counter. Tears hit the glass screen, blurring the reflection of my pathetic, bitter smile. Five years. Five years of a relationship, and every single date that was supposed to belong to me had been handed over to another man. The most ridiculous part was that everyone knew. I was the only fool kept entirely in the dark. “Declan, are those blackberry scones ready yet?” Jacob’s voice drifted in from the living room. I slowly lifted my head. Whenever Jacob faked an episode, his only demand was that I spend hours in the kitchen making complex, time-consuming pastries from scratch. Handmade berry tarts in the spring. Chilled lemon curd squares in the summer. None of the recipes were impossibly difficult, but they required hours of meticulous prep work. And he always demanded them right when Sloane and I were about to walk out the door. I used to think it was just a lonely old man craving comfort and company. Now I knew it was nothing but a calculated stalling tactic. I walked out of the kitchen, looking him dead in the eyes as I wiped my hands on a towel. “I’m not baking anymore.” Jacob immediately frowned, his tone shifting into something demanding. “You promised Sloane you would take good care of me.” I held his gaze without blinking. “Did you suddenly remember who Sloane is?” His irritated expression completely froze. A flash of genuine panic darted across his eyes. “It just came to me. My, my memory has been doing a lot better lately.” I stared at him in complete silence. Just then, the front door swung open. Sloane’s younger sister, Harper, walked in. Jacob scrambled to change the subject. “Weren’t you at the amusement park with your sister? Why are you back so early?” Harper instinctively shot a nervous glance in my direction before scratching the back of her neck. “Yeah, well, the park was way too crowded. The lines were a nightmare.” “I got tired, so I just walked around a bit and came home.” I stared at Harper. Just last week, she had been hugging the limited-edition designer bag I bought her, telling me how lucky she was to have me as her future brother-in-law. Yet here she was, looking me right in the eye and lying through her teeth to cover for her sister and another man. It was a clumsy, pathetic performance. And I had been stupid enough to buy front-row tickets for years. “Right,” I muttered quietly. Both of them exhaled a synchronized breath of relief. “I’m heading back to my place.” Without waiting for a response, I grabbed my keys and walked out the door. The moment I stepped into the house Sloane and I had bought for our marriage, I pulled my suitcase from the closet. Then I opened my laptop and submitted a formal request for a transfer to our company’s West Coast office in Portland. It was pitch black outside by the time Sloane finally came home. She walked through the door with a bright, effortless smile. “Declan, the amusement park was absolutely packed today.” “Harper is such a coward. She literally clung to my arm the entire time we were on the rollercoaster. You should have seen her.” She was complaining, but her eyes were soft and filled with lingering affection. I could perfectly picture the scene she was describing. The only difference was that the person clinging to her arm was Silas. She walked over and handed me a small velvet box. “Here. I picked these cufflinks up at the gift shop. They’re for you.” I looked down at the silver metal. Stuck to the velvet lining was a single, short strand of light brown hair. I didn’t reach for it. A memory clicked into place. Last month, she brought back a plush toy from Disney. It carried a faint, unfamiliar scent of expensive cologne. When I asked her about it, she claimed it was a limited-edition park fragrance. Now I realized the truth. Every single “souvenir” she brought home was something Silas had already used. When I didn’t take the box, Sloane’s smile faded into annoyance. “What is wrong with you today?” “Are you pouting because I didn’t take you out? You know how my dad gets. He needs constant supervision, and you’re the only one he trusts.” She leaned closer, forcing the box into my hand. The moment she did, a heavy wave of men’s cologne hit my face. “Sloane.” I cut her off. “Harper doesn’t wear men’s cologne. And she definitely doesn’t have short brown hair.” Sloane physically stiffened. Her face darkened instantly. “What are you implying?” “Are you actually accusing me of something?” I stood up, tossing the velvet box onto the glass coffee table. The sound echoed sharply in the quiet room. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I saw the group chat.” “The one I’m not invited to. The one where your dad fakes his illness to keep me locked in the kitchen so you can go on dates with Silas.” “Protecting Silas. That was the name, wasn’t it?” For a fraction of a second, true panic fractured Sloane’s composure. But it vanished instantly. She looked at me with total confidence, her tone dripping with defensive indignation. “Could you try not making it sound so disgusting?” “We weren’t on a date. I am trying to help him heal.” “He suffers from severe clinical depression. It got worse recently, so I took him out to get some fresh air.” “The only reason we didn’t tell you is because we knew you would overreact and ruin the mood.” I let out a breathless, humorless laugh. She had been dating her ex-boyfriend behind my back for months, and somehow, I was the one making things sound disgusting. Sloane let out an exhausted sigh. She reached out, falling back on her old habit of trying to stroke my cheek. “Come on, Declan. You’ve always been the mature one. We’re getting married soon. Once he recovers, you and I can go on dates every single day. Doesn’t that sound nice?” I tilted my head, letting her hand grasp empty air. Every single day? I turned my back to her and walked toward the bathroom. “There isn’t going to be an every single day.” Sloane’s irritated voice chased after me, treating me like a child throwing a tantrum. “Look at the attitude you’re giving me, Declan. Can you not muster an ounce of basic human empathy?” My footsteps paused. I didn’t bother turning around. When I stepped out of the shower, Sloane was pacing the bedroom with her phone pressed to her ear. I could hear the muffled sound of someone crying through the receiver. “Sloane, my apartment is so dark. I can’t sleep. My chest hurts so much.” Sloane grabbed her purse, her face pale with worry. “Don’t cry, Silas. I’m leaving right now. Just hold on, okay?” She ended the call and looked at me. “Silas had a panic attack today. I need to go check on him.” I stared at her, the corners of my mouth pulling into a bitter smirk. “Our wedding is exactly one month away. Do you really think it’s appropriate for you to run to another man’s apartment in the middle of the night?” She snatched her car keys from the dresser and marched toward the door. “This right here, Declan. This is exactly why we kept things from you.” “Your mind is always in the gutter.” Sloane left and didn’t come back that night. The next morning, as I was drinking my coffee, my phone lit up with a text from her. “Don’t forget your suit fitting today. I’m already at the boutique waiting for you.” When I walked into the high-end tailoring shop, my custom-made wedding suit was carelessly draped over a chair. I noticed a faint, greasy smudge of hair wax near the collar. My best friend, Mason, was standing there with Sloane. They were both huddled around a velvet armchair. Sitting in the chair was Silas. The three of them were looking at photos on Silas’s phone, laughing softly. It was a perfectly harmonious, sickeningly domestic scene. Mason was grinning, his voice full of genuine praise. “Man, you pull that look off flawlessly. You look way better than half the grooms I’ve seen.” Sloane’s voice was so tender it practically dripped with honey. “It really does suit you. The cut is perfect.” The shop assistant walked up to me, her face burning with nervous embarrassment. “I am so sorry, Mr. Declan. We tried to stop her, but Ms. Sloane absolutely insisted on letting the other gentleman try on your custom suit. We couldn’t do anything.” I gave the girl a small nod. I didn’t say a word. My throat felt tight, like I had swallowed broken glass. Mason finally turned his head and noticed me standing near the entrance. The smile instantly evaporated from his face. He hurried over, gripping my arm to pull me off to the side. “Declan, listen. Sloane told me that you know everything now.” “Silas is in a really fragile state. He can’t handle any emotional triggers. We just brought him along today to cheer him up.” “You’ve got a perfect life, man. You have a good career, you have Sloane. You don’t understand the kind of absolute despair he’s dealing with.” “Just drop it, okay? Be the bigger man.” I didn’t respond. I just lowered my eyes, staring at the faded white scar running across the back of my hand. Years ago, Mason’s gambling-addicted father had tried to smash a beer bottle over his head. I threw myself in front of him, taking the hit. It took three stitches to close the wound. Since that day, Mason swore he would always have my back. Yet here he was, standing across from me, telling me that because I had everything, I needed to tolerate the blatant disrespect of another man. A few feet away, Sloane called out to me. “Declan, come here and try your suit on.” I slowly pulled my arm out of Mason’s grip. “I’m not trying it on.” Sloane’s brows snapped together. “It is literally just a piece of clothing. Why do you have to throw a mood over everything?” “I feel dirty just looking at it.” Sloane completely froze. Tears immediately welled up in Silas’s eyes. He looked down, his voice trembling. “Declan, it’s my fault. I just really wanted to know what it felt like to wear a wedding suit. I just wanted to take one picture.” “I didn’t realize my presence disgusted you this much. I am so sorry.” Mason immediately stepped in front of Silas like a bodyguard, glaring at me. “Enough, Declan. He already apologized. What more do you want from him?” Sloane looked at me, her eyes filled with nothing but cold disappointment. “Could you try being a decent human being for once? He is sick. Do you really have to back him into a corner like this?” I looked at the three of them, standing together like a united front, protecting a grown man from my words. A soft, hollow laugh slipped from my lips. “Sloane, the wedding is off.” The moment the words left my mouth, Sloane let out a sharp, mocking scoff. “You’re a grown man, Declan. Are we really playing these childish games right now?” “What, do you suddenly not care if your dad gets to see you get married?” It felt like punching a wall of cotton. My anger felt entirely useless against her arrogance. It was true that I was the one who pushed for the wedding. My father’s health was declining, and his only wish was to see me settled. Sloane had claimed she wasn’t ready to be tied down, so I practically begged her to just have the ceremony first, even if we delayed signing the actual marriage papers. Because of that, she was absolutely convinced I would never walk away. I didn’t bother defending myself. When someone’s heart is already pointing in another direction, nothing you say will ever be right. Seeing my silence, Sloane assumed she had called my bluff. “Just let it go. If you can’t stand looking at Silas, then finish your fitting by yourself.” She turned around and wrapped her hands gently around Silas’s arm, supporting his weight. “Ignore him. Let’s go pick out a puppy. Once you have a dog to keep you company, you won’t have time to overthink things.” I stared at her, completely stunned. Sloane was terrified of dogs. I had a golden retriever named Lucky. He had been with me for six years. But when I moved into our shared house, I had to put him in a long-term boarding facility because she claimed the mere sight of a dog gave her anxiety. Yet right now, she was perfectly willing to walk into a pet store just to make Silas smile. I suddenly realized I was nothing but a prop in their little tragedy. Silas nodded weakly, tears still clinging to his eyelashes. Mason took his other side, and the three of them walked out of the boutique in perfect, rhythmic lockstep. The shop fell completely silent. The assistant looked at me with sympathetic anger. “Mr. Declan, your fiancée crossed a major line. Custom suits shouldn’t be worn by random strangers.” She was right. Even a stranger working retail understood basic respect. Sloane just didn’t care. “Cancel the order. Send me the invoice for the penalty fee.” I walked out of the shop, pulled out my phone, and called the hotel to cancel the banquet hall and the catering. Once the deposits were forfeited, I went straight back to the empty house. Later that evening, I received an email from corporate. My transfer to Portland had been approved. It was the only piece of good news I had received all week. I let out a long breath and fell into a dreamless sleep. The next morning, a call from Sloane woke me up. “My family is having a small get-together today. Dad asked you to come over so we can finalize the seating charts for the reception.” “I slept at my place last night, so just drive yourself over.” Before I could say a single word, the line went dead. I swallowed the words “the wedding is cancelled.” Fine. I would go. It was time to sever this rotting tie in front of all of them. When I arrived at Jacob’s house, the front door was left slightly ajar. Bright, echoing laughter spilled out into the hallway. It was Harper’s voice. “Honestly, Silas, if you hadn’t moved abroad back then, you’d be the one standing at the altar with my sister right now.” Silas was sitting in the exact center of the living room sofa, a thick wool blanket draped over his legs. He just offered a soft, melancholic smile. Sloane was sitting right next to him. She nudged his shoulder and laughed. “Stop talking nonsense.” Mason and the rest of our mutual friends were scattered around the room, nodding in agreement, treating Silas and Sloane like star-crossed lovers. Not a single person in that room thought it was profoundly messed up that the bride’s ex-boyfriend was being mourned as the lost groom a month before the wedding. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. “It’s not too late.” The warm, cheerful atmosphere died the absolute second my voice hit the air. Silas practically jumped off the sofa. “Declan, please don’t misunderstand. Harper is still young, she was just making a stupid joke.” “Harper, apologize to Declan right now.” Harper crossed her arms and muttered under her breath. “It’s the truth anyway.” Sloane marched over to me, her voice dropping into a harsh, threatening whisper. “Why do you have to ruin the mood the second you walk through the door? Do you enjoy making everyone miserable?” I lifted my eyes to meet hers. “I mean every word. Since you’re all so devastated by the tragedy of your separation, you should just get back together.” “Consider it a favor. I’m letting everyone live happily ever after.” “Shut your mouth.” Sloane cut me off aggressively, grabbing my arm to drag me toward the hallway. “Are you really trying to humiliate him in front of everyone?” It was almost funny. Even as her life was falling apart, her only priority was protecting Silas’s ego. I was completely exhausted by this theater. “Sloane, we are done. From this second forward, you can take him on as many dates as your heart desires.” I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit. Sloane let out a cold, mocking laugh behind me. “Declan, if you walk out that door today, do not expect me to come crawling after you.” I could hear Silas playing the victim in the background. “Sloane, maybe I should leave. I don’t want you two fighting over me.” Sloane raised her voice, making absolutely sure I could hear her. “Let him walk. He’s trying to manipulate me before we’re even married. He’s dreaming!” I didn’t stop walking. I just kept moving toward my car. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a call from the veterinary boarding clinic. I had messaged them earlier that morning, arranging to pick up Lucky before I left the city. The worker on the other end sounded highly confused. “Mr. Declan, your fiancée already came and picked Lucky up yesterday afternoon.” My boots stopped dead on the concrete. I turned around and walked straight back into the house. When Sloane saw me walk back into the living room, a smug, victorious gleam lit up her eyes. “Look who decided to come back. Are you done throwing a tantrum? If you just acted like an adult in the first place…” “Did you take Lucky from the clinic?” I cut through her arrogant speech like a knife. She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Oh. You mean the dog.” Her tone was completely casual. Dismissive. “Silas saw a picture of him and thought he was cute. So I picked him up and gave him to Silas as a gift.” My hands clenched into tight fists. My nails dug into my palms. That dog had been by my side for six years. I raised him from a puppy. She knew exactly what he meant to me. I forced down the violent rage bubbling in the back of my throat. “Sloane. That is my dog.” She straightened her posture, looking at me like I was making a scene over spilled milk. “Declan, we are getting married. Everything that belongs to you belongs to me. Lucky is going to be great company for Silas.” “He lives alone. He needs emotional support. Can you stop being so incredibly selfish?” Silas wiped at his eyes again. “Forget it, Sloane. Please don’t make things hard for Declan.” “I’m used to being alone anyway.” Sloane glared at me, her eyes filled with disgust. “He finally found an animal he connects with, and you’re really going to start a war over a dog?” My entire body was trembling with rage. I locked my jaw, forcing the words out. “Sloane. I am going to say this one last time. Give me my dog back.” She had never seen me look so furious before. She hesitated, glancing back at Silas. “Silas, just give the stupid mutt back to him. I’ll take you to a breeder tomorrow and buy you a better one.” Silas lowered his head, exposing the fragile curve of his neck. His voice was thick with guilt. “Declan, I am so sorry. I really wanted to return him to you.” “But he was just so disobedient. Yesterday afternoon, he bolted out the front door. He ran into the street… and got hit by a truck. He’s gone.” The words hit me like a physical blow to the skull. My mind went completely blank. White noise rushed through my ears. Silas slowly pulled out his phone, pulled up his photo gallery, and held the screen right in front of my face. On the screen, my sweet, loyal Lucky was lying on the asphalt. His golden fur was stained violently red. His small body was completely still. “I made sure to take a picture so you could see him one last time.” Silas leaned in closer. And right then, the absolute faintest, sickest smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. He did it on purpose. A tidal wave of absolute, catastrophic rage obliterated whatever sanity I had left. I raised my hand, put the entire weight of my body into my shoulder, and slapped Silas across the face with devastating force. The crack echoed like a gunshot. Before I could even lower my hand, a massive force slammed into my chest. Sloane shoved me violently backward. My feet tangled, and I crashed hard onto the hardwood floor. The back of my head slammed against the edge of a coffee table. Blinding pain exploded behind my eyes. The room spun wildly out of focus. “Declan, he’s just an animal! Have you lost your damn mind?!” The next second, the entire room erupted. Everyone jumped to their feet, staring at me with pure hostility. Mason, Harper, Jacob. They all rushed forward, forming a human barricade in front of Silas, looking at me like I was a rabid monster. I pressed my palms against the cold floor and slowly pushed myself up. Warm blood was dripping down the back of my neck, staining the collar of my shirt. Sloane’s eyes widened in horror when she saw the blood. She instinctively took a step toward me. “Declan, I…” But Silas suddenly bolted toward the large glass window, his voice hysterical. “It’s all my fault! I should just jump! I’ll pay for the dog’s life with my own!” Sloane froze in her tracks. The entire room scrambled to pull Silas away from the glass. Not a single person looked back at me. Not a single person asked if my head was bleeding. I turned around and walked out the front door. I drove back to my house, grabbed my packed suitcase, and ordered a car straight to the airport. On the highway, Sloane called me five times in a row. Dozens of text messages flooded my screen. I didn’t read a single one. I typed out a single, final reply. “Rot in hell, you monsters.” Then I powered down my phone, completely erasing that city from my life.

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