1 My sister was ambushed during a supply run. Her pulmonary artery was ruptured. As she was being airlifted to the military hospital for emergency surgery, I was at the firing range, practicing with my sidearm. My movements were clean, precise. Thirty seconds later, my fiancé, Jack, kicked open the blast-proof door. “Aria,” he roared, his voice thick with fury, “your sister is dying! You’re the only one who can save her. Every senior officer is waiting for you outside! You can’t just let her die.” I knew I was the only one who could perform the complex microvascular suture required. But all I said was a cool, “Oh,” as I reloaded my magazine. My parents, both high-ranking political commissars, burst in next. My father’s fist slammed into my right hand. “That’s your sister! She saved your life! How can you stand there and do nothing? Are you even human?” I shoved them away, revealing the horrifying scar on my right forearm. This hand, which had saved countless lives on the battlefield, was now twitching uncontrollably. “What a shame,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “My physical this morning revealed I’ve been exposed to a neurotoxin.” “This hand is useless now.” The once-noisy firing range fell silent. Three pairs of eyes were fixed on my right hand. The hand that had performed countless impossible surgeries, the hand once hailed as the “Hand of God” in the field hospital. Now, it was just a grotesque, trembling mess, a public declaration of my fall from grace. Jack was the first to recover. He shook his head in disbelief. “Aria, stop the act. You were fine yesterday. How could your hand just be ‘useless’ today?” I held my hand out to him, my voice like ice. “Perhaps fate has decided it’s time for Aurora to die.” Jack was speechless with rage. My mother rushed forward, clutching my hand, her voice a desperate plea. “Aria, are you still jealous of your sister?” “Please, Mom is begging you. Just this one surgery. Where would you be without her?” I lifted my head, my eyes as dead as a winter sky. When we were kids at a military summer camp, I somehow fell into a river. It was my sister, Aurora, who jumped in and saved me. To show their gratitude, my parents, who had always wanted another child, adopted Aurora, an orphan. From that day on, everything I had, Aurora had too. I knew it was fair. Aurora was better than me at everything. She was a more fitting daughter for my parents. Crucially, she was more promising. We both tried out for the new recruits program. I was disqualified because I got a stomach bug. My parents had always dreamed of me becoming a general, leading troops into battle. I failed to live up to their expectations. Aurora succeeded. And so, the scales of their love began to tip. My mother always said Aurora needed more nourishment for the battlefield, so all the best food, the best of everything, went to her. I knew, and I nodded silently. It’s only right. If I couldn’t be a soldier on the front lines, I would be their support from the rear. I became the most skilled surgeon in the military. But in my parents’ eyes, I was still second best… Faced with my mother’s accusations, I said nothing, continuing to load my pistol. My father’s anger boiled over. He slapped me across the face. It was the first time my father had ever hit me. I never knew his hand could hurt so much. “Aria, has your conscience been eaten by a dog? Even if she isn’t your biological sister, she’s lived with you for so long.” “Think about it! Aurora has always been the one taking care of you!” The past flooded my mind, each memory a blow to my heart. Still, I remained silent. I raised my pistol and pulled the trigger. My mother couldn’t take it anymore. All her commissar’s authority vanished. She lunged at me like any other frantic woman, pounding on my chest. It was the first time I had ever seen her lose control like this. Not even when I was held hostage by enemy combatants had she looked so distraught. “Aria, I’m begging you. Just do this one surgery. Do you really want me to get on my knees and beg?” “Or at least go take a look! See if there’s another way to save her!” My father stepped forward. “The fact that you’re still here practicing your shooting tells me it’s not that serious. Get to the operating room, now.” “Even if your hand is crippled, you will finish this surgery before it’s crippled for good!” Click. A bullet missed the target completely. Zero points. A mocking smile spread across my face. “Are you sure? If Aurora dies on my operating table, whose fault will it be?” 2 The three of them stared at me, their eyes filled with disappointment. My mother shrieked, out of control. “What do you mean by that? Are you planning to kill her during the surgery?” I just smiled without a word. “You’re insane!” The clock was ticking. The golden window for a pulmonary artery repair was forty-five minutes. After that, not even a god could bring her back. Just then, Jack stepped forward. “Uncle, Auntie,” he said, his voice firm. “Let me do the surgery.” “Aria and I graduated from the same medical academy. My skills aren’t that far behind hers. And I’ve been her assistant on all her major surgeries. I know the procedure inside and out.” My parents hesitated. This was their favorite daughter’s life on the line. Jack took my mother’s hand. “Auntie, I know my skills aren’t quite there yet. But with the help of Aria’s robotic arm, I know I can do it.” My heart skipped a beat. I had been developing that robotic surgical assistant for five years. It was designed to guide delicate procedures like vascular sutures with unparalleled precision. The success rate was already at seventy percent. My parents’ faces lit up, but they were still apprehensive. “But it’s just a machine. Can it really be more flexible than a human hand?” “It will be fine,” Jack insisted. “As long as I have a few assistants, I’m confident I can complete the surgery.” Just then, a dozen doctors crowded in from the doorway, all volunteering to assist. This was the commissar’s daughter. Saving her would mean commendations, promotions—a golden opportunity. I turned to look at them. These were the same doctors who had once sworn to follow me forever. My parents finally relaxed, gripping Jack’s hand with gratitude. “Thank you, Jack, thank you so much. After the surgery, I will personally write a recommendation to your commanding officer. I’ll make you the youngest specialist in the military.” That was my dream. “Wait,” I said, my voice cutting through their celebration. “You’re planning to use my robotic arm. Have you received my authorization?” Jack stared at me, incredulous. “Aria, have you lost your mind? You’re worried about authorization at a time like this?” 3 “That is my intellectual property. Why should I let you use it for free? Just because you’re my boyfriend?” Shame and anger warred on Jack’s face. He glared at me, his eyes burning with hatred. “Unless,” I said, my voice dangerously soft, “you give me the villa that’s under my parents’ name. Then, I might consider it.” My parents were trembling with rage. My father raised his hand and slapped me again. I just smiled. “A million dollars a slap. Otherwise, don’t even think about getting my authorization.” My father’s hand trembled, but he didn’t strike again. “You monstrous child!” he choked out. “Using your sister’s life to blackmail us for money! Are you even human? That villa was meant to be your sister’s dowry!” I said nothing, just tapped my watch, reminding them that time was running out. A few seconds later, my father finally nodded. I pulled out a pen and paper and had them write and sign a transfer certificate on the spot. I sent it off to be officially stamped. Otherwise, I would never agree. Only when I saw the officially sealed document did I nod in satisfaction. “You have my permission. I hope you can operate the robotic arm successfully.” In reality, the arm was still a prototype. The most critical component was still the lead surgeon. Jack looked at me with open contempt. My parents just shook their heads, their eyes full of disgust. The other doctors whispered and pointed at me. I held the document, my head high, and walked out of the firing range. I went home and started packing, removing every trace of myself from the house and moving into the villa. The carnations my grandmother loved, which she had planted by the door, were dead. But that was okay. I would fix that. The surgery lasted nearly four hours. Everyone in the field hospital was on edge. The entrance was swarmed with media. My phone was blowing up. Everyone was calling me a cold-blooded monster, a woman who would trade her sister’s life for money. I ignored it all, simply arranging the carnations I had brought with me. Finally, six hours later, the operating room doors opened. Jack announced that the surgery was a success. A roar of celebration erupted through the hospital. The media descended on Jack. The consensus was clear: the title of the best surgeon in the field hospital had a new owner. Jack was being hailed as the new “Hand of God.” In front of the cameras, Jack passionately recounted the details of the surgery. He announced that he would work to get the robotic arm into hospitals everywhere, for the benefit of all. “A doctor’s duty is to save lives. What Aria refuses to do, I will do in her place!” Soon, medical device corporations were lining up, all vying for exclusive rights. Jack eventually chose to partner with the Horizon Group. Overnight, Jack’s name became a household word. And I became a pariah, a rat crawling in the mud. Looking at the message from my father on my phone, I knew it was time for my judgment. 4 A few days later, a military vehicle pulled up in front of the villa. I gathered everything I had prepared and said goodbye to my grandmother’s portrait by the door. “Grandma, wait for me. I’ll be back soon.” I calmly got into the vehicle. At the military tribunal, every eye was fixed on me, burning with anger. My parents looked like they wanted to devour me whole. The judge banged the gavel. “Aria Sterling, the tribunal accuses you of dereliction of duty and violating the military physician’s code by refusing to render aid. Do you have anything to say?” I slowly raised my head and said, word by word, “I do not accept the charge.” The courtroom erupted. Accusations flew from every direction. If it weren’t for the bailiffs, my parents would have torn me to shreds. “Aria, we all saw you refuse to help! We saw you extort your own family! How dare you plead not guilty!” Jack stared at me with disgust. “Aria, if you have any shred of conscience, you’ll confess. If I hadn’t performed that surgery, your sister would be dead right now!” I looked at them, my eyes lifeless. “But she’s not dead, is she?” The entire courtroom gasped. Camera flashes exploded around me, the media desperate to capture the face of this villain. No matter what the judge asked, my only answer was, “I do not accept.” Just as they were at a loss, the doors opened. Aurora was wheeled in, looking incredibly frail. Even with a successful surgery, she would never recover her full strength. Her dream of being a general was over. “Your Honor, Mom, Dad,” she said, her voice weak but clear. “If my sister won’t admit to abandoning me, will she at least admit to treason?” Every eye in the room swiveled back to me. Aurora’s voice rose with emotion. “I was ambushed because someone leaked our operational plans. And that person was Aria!” “She couldn’t stand that I, an orphan, received all of our parents’ love, so she decided to destroy me!” “But you didn’t expect me to survive, did you, Aria? Now, I’m going to expose your vicious true colors!” Aurora presented her evidence: security footage of me in her office the night before the supply run. I had stood by her desk for a full five minutes. “My entire operational plan was on that desk. If Aria hadn’t betrayed me, how could we have possibly been ambushed?” The anger in the courtroom intensified. If looks could kill, I would have been dead a thousand times over. But I remained expressionless, listening to her accusations. “Aria, I’ve always treated you like my own sister. Why would you do this to me?” “Bullying me at home was one thing, but how could you do something like this?” My parents rushed to comfort Aurora, cradling her like a precious treasure. “What? Aria has been bullying you?” Aurora nodded, a look of profound pain on her face. “She believes I don’t belong in this family. She would often put things in my food to make me disoriented. I almost fainted on the battlefield several times.” “Aria, you’re not human!” My father’s roar nearly shattered my eardrums. Forgetting where he was, he actually pulled out his service weapon and aimed it at me. Just as he was about to fire, the doors burst open again. Several men in higher-ranking uniforms entered. “Good afternoon. We are from the Central Military Commission. We’ve received a report that Captain Aurora Sterling violated protocol in her mission planning, resulting in the deaths of six soldiers. We are here to investigate. Who filed the report?” I smiled and raised my hand. “I did.”

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The holiday break was on, and my wife insisted on dragging me to her class reunion. By the time we got to the hotel, almost everyone was already there. They all looked like they’d made it big. A sea of Mercedes and BMWs filled the parking lot; my lone Dodge stuck out like a sore thumb. Even from a distance, I could hear the loud chatter. “I just don’t get it. Isabelle was the queen of our class back in the day. How did she end up marrying a loser like Christopher?” Hearing me insulted, my wife, Isabelle, didn’t say a word in my defense. Instead, she beamed, eagerly pulling her old friends into photos, deliberately leaving me standing alone on the sidelines. After the dinner and drinks had wound down, Wyatt, the old school bully, sauntered over to me, holding Isabelle’s hand. “Christopher,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ve taken a liking to your wife. Name your price.” I tugged at the collar of my shirt, an involuntary smile touching my own lips. “You two should think this through,” I said softly. “Divorcing me could land you in prison.” 1 If my wife hadn’t pleaded with me over and over, I never would have had the time for a class reunion. But for the sake of old times, I’d gritted my teeth and asked my superior for leave. I never imagined that, at the dinner table, a former classmate would try to buy my wife right in front of me. What chilled me to the bone was that my wife, Isabelle, actually seemed to agree. “Christopher, oh, Christopher,” Wyatt drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. “It’s been years, but your talent for bullshit has really grown, hasn’t it?” He pulled out a thick checkbook. “The money is a courtesy. A thank-you for taking care of Bella for me all these years. A little something for your trouble.” He leaned in closer. “You? Get me thrown in jail? You should ask around. Who in all of Sterling City would dare to touch me?” Before I could respond, Isabelle threw herself into Wyatt’s arms. “Christopher, I’d advise you to just take the money,” she said, her voice cool. “Don’t make this awkward for everyone.” I looked up at their intertwined fingers, my own voice turning to ice. “This feels… rehearsed. You two planned this, didn’t you?” Back when I was at the office, Isabelle had called me relentlessly, insisting I had to come back for this, no matter what. Now it was clear. She and Wyatt had already rekindled their old flame. They were planning to use this reunion to publicly force me into a divorce. No wonder. All these years of marriage, and she’d never let me touch her. Her heart had always belonged to someone else. The moment I said it, Isabelle’s face changed. She stepped forward, her voice sharp. “That’s bullshit! What Wyatt and I have is true love. If his family hadn’t forced him to study abroad back then, I never would have agreed to marry you in the first place!” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I was stunned. Back in school, their breakup was explosive. The whole campus knew Wyatt had brutally dumped her. Now, in her version of the story, it was some star-crossed romance. I had no idea how they’d gotten back together, but one fact remained: right now, Isabelle was still my wife. A knot of anger tightened in my chest, a bitter pill I couldn’t swallow. “Isabelle, this is called cheating,” I said, my gaze locked on her. “An affair. You get that?” She couldn’t meet my eyes. Wyatt, ever the hero, pulled her protectively into his arms. “Cheating, not cheating, who cares?” he scoffed. “You’re just upset the price isn’t right, aren’t you?” He gestured expansively. “Name a number. I’ve got more money than I know what to do with!” I looked at his fleshy, sneering face and saw nothing but a clown. “Wyatt, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I said, my voice low and steady. “If Isabelle divorces me today, within half an hour, both of you will be behind bars.” Before he could even react, Isabelle jumped in. “Don’t you dare try to scare us, Christopher! Who the hell do you think you are? You think you can get us arrested?” She laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “After all these years of marriage, I barely see you. For all I know, you’re off working some construction gig in the middle of nowhere.” She looked me up and down with disdain. “Let me be honest. If it weren’t for the fact that you once had a pathetic little crush on me, you wouldn’t be getting a single damn cent.” A construction gig? The absurdity of it was almost comical. If my identity weren’t classified, I would have slapped that smirk right off her face. Her words sent a ripple of laughter through the room. “See? What did I tell you?” someone chimed in. “You marry at your level. A guy like Christopher, no background, no money… it was only a matter of time before his wife left him for someone better.” “Exactly! Look at what he’s wearing. I’m surprised he even had the nerve to show up.” “When it comes to real power, you gotta look at Wyatt. Throws money around like it’s nothing, and his family connections are solid gold.” The air thickened with their fawning praise for Wyatt. Not a single person spoke up for me. In their eyes, I was just the evening’s entertainment, a circus clown for them to mock. This kind of reunion, with these kinds of ‘friends’… I was better off without it. 2 I tuned out their jeers, preparing to get up and leave. But before I could move, a heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Leaving so soon?” Wyatt’s voice was a low chuckle, but his eyes were pure contempt. “Did I say you could go?” He leaned in, his breath sour. “I’m giving you two choices, Christopher. Take the money and sign the papers, or I’ll beat you until you sign them. It’s up to you. Think carefully.” A real laugh escaped my lips this time. “You sure you want me to be the one to choose?” Wyatt, completely oblivious to the catastrophic mistake he was making, puffed out his chest. “Of course. You sign away your wife, and I’ll make sure you’re set for life. You’ll be living easy.” I fought down the surge of anger, keeping my voice level. “Fine. I can divorce Isabelle. And I don’t want a penny of your money. But…” I paused, drawing out the moment. “You have to let me make a phone call first. This isn’t a decision I can make on my own.” Wyatt burst out laughing. “Who the hell do you think you are, Christopher? I’m giving you a choice out of pity, not because we’re negotiating. I don’t give a damn who you have to call. You are signing this divorce today. Got it?” The threat was unmistakable, but I barely registered it. I was almost amused. “I already told you, I agree to the divorce,” I said calmly. “But I need the green light from upstairs. I really can’t authorize this myself.” Wyatt’s face darkened, and he looked ready to lunge, but Isabelle stopped him. “Honey, let’s be the bigger people here,” she cooed, stroking his arm. “Don’t stoop to his level. If he wants to make a call, let him. My heart belongs to you now. It doesn’t matter who he calls; nothing’s going to change my mind.” She looked at me with smug satisfaction, certain I was just making a desperate last-ditch effort to save our marriage. Before I could correct her, she continued, “And Christopher, don’t say I didn’t warn you. It doesn’t matter who you get on that phone. I am divorcing you today. It’s over.” I thought back on our marriage. I had never wronged her. I sent my entire monthly stipend to her, every last cent. She didn’t have to work, didn’t have to do chores. Her days were a carefree cycle of shopping and card games with her friends. The only drawback was that she only saw me once a year. But apparently, that life wasn’t enough. In that instant, whatever lingering flicker of affection I held for her was extinguished. “Don’t flatter yourself, Isabelle,” I said, my voice devoid of warmth. “I have no intention of trying to win you back. Frankly, the thought of it makes me sick.” I shifted my gaze to meet Wyatt’s. “As for you two… I just hope that after I make this call, you don’t live to regret it. Because when the fallout comes, no one will be able to save you.” I had tried, for the sake of old times, to give them an out. But some people just refuse to take it. People like Wyatt. “You son of a bitch,” he snarled, jabbing a finger at me. “Still putting on a show. Whoever regrets this is a coward’s whelp.” He was about to say more, but I held up a hand. “Good,” I said. “That’s all I needed to hear.” With that, I pulled out my phone and dialed my superior’s number. 3 “Hello? Director? It’s Christopher.” The voice on the other end was warm and familiar. “Christopher! You’re supposed to be on leave, kid. What’s so important you had to call me?” “Sir, I have a situation to report.” I quickly explained what was happening—the reunion, Wyatt, Isabelle, the forced divorce. I had barely finished when I heard the distinct sound of a glass shattering on the other end of the line. “Who has the audacity to force you into a divorce?” the Director’s voice boomed, stripped of its earlier warmth. Before I could answer, Wyatt snatched the phone from my hand. “Listen up, whoever you are,” he spat into the receiver. “I don’t give a damn who you are to Christopher. His wife is mine now, and nobody’s changing that. I’d advise you to stay out of it, unless you want a piece of this mess too!” The Director was probably stunned into silence for a few seconds. I could almost picture his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was dangerously calm. “So you’re the one forcing Christopher to get a divorce?” Wyatt, still blissfully unaware of who he was talking to, swaggered. “That’s right. It’s me. In Sterling City, what Wyatt wants, Wyatt gets. We’re talking about a woman here. Just a woman. I want her, so I’ll take her. Who’s going to stop me?” With a final, triumphant sneer, he slammed the phone down on the table, then stomped on it for good measure, grinding the shattered screen under his heel. My God. I’ve met some brave men, but I’ve never met anyone with a death wish quite like his. “Alright,” Wyatt said, turning back to me. “You made your call. Now it’s time to keep your promise.” He tossed a file onto the table, a pre-printed divorce agreement. “I even had the paperwork drawn up for you. Sign it.” Seeing the documents only confirmed my suspicions. Isabelle had been cheating for a long time. For someone like her, I felt no need for mercy. Without hesitation, I picked up the pen, signed my name, and pushed the papers back across the table. Isabelle stared at me, a flicker of shock in her eyes. “Christopher, what are you doing?” I looked up at her, my voice flat. “What? Isn’t this what you wanted from the very beginning? I’m giving you your wish. I’ve signed, I’ve pressed my fingerprint. Now you’re blaming me?” I gestured towards the papers. “You’d better sign it too. Before your beloved Wyatt changes his mind about you.” My words struck a nerve. Her face turned a sickly green. “Fine! I’ll sign! It’s not like I want to be married to you anyway!” she shrieked, snatching a pen and scribbling her name on the divorce papers. And just like that, my five-year marriage was over. Oddly, as I watched her sign her name, I felt no regret. Only a profound, liberating sense of relief, as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. “I’ve signed. She’s all yours now,” I said, pushing my chair back. “Can I go?” “Wait!” Just as I was about to stand, Wyatt stopped me, a malicious grin spreading across his face. “Your business with Bella is finished,” he said, his voice dropping to a low growl. “But now… it’s time we settled our own score.”

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In my last life, a fire tore through my home, and my seven-year-old daughter was trapped inside. To get her out, I agreed to the locksmith’s sudden, exorbitant demand: ten thousand dollars. But he deliberately wasted time. My daughter burned to death. Before I could even process the grief, he went on social media to build a following, slandering me with a twisted lie. He claimed I’d refused to let him pry open the lock, all to save a fifty-dollar fee. “She just stood there and watched her own daughter burn to death!” he cried to his camera. “I bet she’s the one who started the fire in the first place!” The internet exploded with hate. A tidal wave of curses and threats crashed down on me. I was branded a monster, a murderer. On the night of my daughter’s memorial, a vigilante mob, fueled by online rage, set my new apartment on fire. They burned me alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the day of the fire. 1 “Hey, Sarah! You better get down to the garage! Looks like someone just keyed your car!” The familiar voice snapped me back to reality. I blinked, my eyes focusing on Jenna’s face through the closing elevator doors. It hit me like a physical blow. I was back. In my last life, that message had sent me rushing to the parking garage. By the time I’d dealt with the scratched paint and gotten back upstairs, my apartment was already in flames. My daughter, Lily, was still inside. I’d sprinted up the stairs, fumbled with the key, and in my panic, twisted it so hard it snapped off in the lock. And right on cue, the locksmith, Rick Bauer, had appeared behind me. I’d begged him, pleaded with him to open the door and save my daughter. But the man I’d always known to be a friendly neighbor saw his opportunity. “Sure, I can open it,” he’d said, a greedy glint in his eye. “But we need to talk price. Ten thousand, not a penny less. I’m risking my life here, you know. Fire doesn’t pick favorites.” I agreed without a second of hesitation. But he took an entire hour to open the door. By then, the fire department had arrived, but it was too late. When we finally got inside, Lily was unconscious on the floor, her small body covered in burns. The paramedics did everything they could, but they couldn’t save her. After her death, I was an empty shell. But the soulless monster, Rick, used my tragedy for clicks. He spun a tale online about how I’d haggled over a fifty-dollar fee, how I’d refused his offer to open it for free, how I’d let my own daughter die. The video went viral. The internet judged me, condemned me, called me a disgrace to motherhood. The most zealous of them decided I didn’t deserve to live. They tracked me down and became my executioners. After I died, as a wandering spirit, I overheard a conversation between Jenna and Rick. It was them. She had lured me away. He had jammed my lock. They had set the fire. All to corner me, to force me to pay their blood money. They were the ones who killed my daughter. And this time, every ounce of suffering they put me through, I was going to give it right back to them. My thoughts snapped back to the present. I glanced at my watch. There was still time. I slammed the “door open” button and burst out of the elevator. I took the stairs, my hand trembling as I dialed Lily’s number. I told her to stay a little longer at her aunt’s house, that her dad would pick her up later. After hanging up, I sprinted all the way to the 15th floor. Seeing my apartment intact, I rushed inside and slammed the door shut. This time, there would be no fire. Ten minutes later, a knock came at the door. “Sarah? You back?” I peered through the peephole. It was Jenna. My face hardened. She was the mastermind. The one who started it all. Forcing down the inferno of rage in my chest, I kept my voice even. “I’m here. What’s up?” Jenna audibly sighed in relief, but her voice was laced with faux panic. “Hey, it looks like your lock is jammed. Rick is over here fixing a cabinet for me. Do you want him to take a look?” My heart clenched. I twisted the doorknob. It wouldn’t turn. It was already done. The sickening familiarity of it all sent a shiver down my spine. Before I could say anything, Rick’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Lock’s busted? Let me see.” A moment later, I heard him fiddling with it. “Yeah, this thing’s shot,” he said with a sigh of fake resignation. “It’s old, can’t be repaired. You’ll need a whole new lock. Five thousand, and I can replace it for you right now.” Watching him through the peephole, a hot fury shot through me. “Five thousand?! Are you insane? I’ll call someone else!” Rick’s mocking, confident voice drifted through the door. “Go ahead. But I should tell you, we locksmiths have a network. I’ve got this whole building covered. Nobody’s opening this door for you today but me.” The words hit me like a punch to the gut. He’d said the exact same thing in my past life. Hate consumed me. “Then I’ll call the police!” I snarled. I pulled out my phone to dial 911, but the screen was black. Dead. At the same moment, I realized the lights were off. They’d shut off the power at the breaker. Rick’s voice came again. “So? What’s it gonna be?” When I didn’t answer, he pressed on. “Look, lady, don’t be an idiot. I gave you a fair price. Now, if you don’t make it eight thousand, you’re not getting out of that apartment today!” But my daughter was safe. I didn’t have to play their game. “No thanks! I’ll just wait for my husband to get home!” The second the words left my mouth, I smelled it. The acrid, unmistakable scent of smoke. A horrifying thought clawed its way into my mind. I followed the smell to the bedroom and threw open the door. The room was already choked with thick, black smoke. Flames were writhing up the curtains. I didn’t have time to think. I grabbed buckets of water, but the fire was spreading too fast. In seconds, the entire window was a wall of flame. The searing heat on my skin was a stark reminder: I couldn’t fight this alone. If I didn’t get out, I would die. I stumbled back to the front door. Through the wood, I could hear them—Rick and Jenna—laughing at my pathetic attempts to fight the fire. A raw, primal rage erupted inside me. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “You monsters!” I screamed, pounding on the door. “You set my home on fire for money! Are you even human?!” Rick just laughed, his voice smug. “Now why would you say that? We haven’t even opened your door yet. How could we have possibly started a fire inside?” Jenna chimed in, her voice dripping with false concern. “She’s right, Sarah. Just let Rick open the door. Money isn’t more important than your life!” Trapped. Extorted. The same nightmare, all over again. I started screaming for help, my fists hammering against the door. Mrs. Gable from the eighth floor was heading downstairs. She heard the commotion and paused. “What’s going on? Did I just hear someone screaming for help?” I tried to call out, but the smoke filled my lungs, and I collapsed into a fit of coughing, unable to speak. I heard Jenna’s smooth voice. “Oh, it’s just the poor girl in 1502. She’s locked herself in. Rick’s working on it now. It’ll be fine in a minute.” Mrs. Gable, satisfied, continued on her way. As soon as she was gone, Rick leaned close to the door. His voice was a low threat. “Twenty thousand dollars. Or your life. You decide which one is more important. Don’t be stupid enough to die for a bit of cash.” My heart hammered against my ribs. “Twenty thousand? It was eight thousand a minute ago!” Rick’s coarse laugh was utterly deranged. “The price to open a lock is different from the price to save a life, isn’t it? Eight thousand was the service fee. Twenty thousand is what it costs for you to live.” I hated them with every fiber of my being, but I was powerless. Just as I was about to break, a small figure darted out from the kitchen. I grabbed her, spun her around, and my blood ran cold. “Maddie? What are you doing here?!” It was Maddie, Rick and Jenna’s daughter. The question that had haunted me for two lifetimes was finally answered. I had come home early, but the fire had started anyway. She was the one. She was their accomplice, hidden inside my apartment, waiting to set the blaze. Because I’d come back sooner than they’d expected, she hadn’t been able to escape. She was the same age as Lily, her sense of right and wrong not yet fully formed. The perfect pawn for her depraved parents. I forced myself to be calm. “Maddie,” I said, my voice steady. “You don’t want to burn in here with me, do you? Your dad is right outside. You need to tell him to open the door. Right now.” Maddie opened her mouth to speak but immediately started coughing, her face turning a frightening shade of red. I’d seen this before. It was an asthma attack. As she started to collapse, I caught her, holding her in my arms as I screamed at the door. “RICK, OPEN THE DOOR! YOUR DAUGHTER IS IN HERE! SHE’S HAVING AN ASTHMA ATTACK!”

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My seventy-million-dollar private jet was gifted by my wife to one of her pet actors. On the livestream, Aaron Cranston flicked his hair back for the camera, showing off. “Wheels up! Checking out the boss lady’s super-jet. Time for a five-star nap on my way to a private island~” The comments section instantly erupted: 【HOLY SHIT! Is that a Gulfstream G650?】 【I saw that plane in Forbes! I think it belongs to Cross Industries!】 【Damian Cross spoils Aaron rotten!】 I let out a cold laugh and dialed Lydia’s number. “Explain to me why my jet is suddenly someone else’s.” Her voice on the other end was careless. “Aaron’s a celebrity, he needs to maintain a certain image. It’s not like you’re short one plane…” “I want that jet back on the tarmac in five minutes.” The only response I got was a dial tone. Two minutes later, the plane carrying Aaron Cranston developed a sudden malfunction. It was stuck circling at thirty thousand feet, unable to land. At the same exact moment, the stock price of Legacy Entertainment, her company, took a nosedive off a cliff. You dare touch what belongs to me, Damian Cross? Then you’d better be prepared to pay the price. 1 When Aaron Cranston finally stumbled down the airstairs, the face his fans called ‘god-tier’ was as white as a sheet. His expensive custom suit was splattered with vomit. Behind him, the multi-million-dollar jet was engulfed in flames. “Damian Cross! Are you fucking insane?!” he shrieked, his voice filled with impotent rage, though his legs were shaking too hard for him to stand straight. “Lydia gave me this plane! What right do you have to destroy it?!” I brushed a bit of ash from my sleeve and looked down at this clueless starlet who had no idea who he was messing with. He would probably never understand that some things can’t be obtained just by being cute and throwing a tantrum. Things like this jet. Things like… Lydia. “Yours?” I chuckled softly. The sound wasn’t loud, but it made Aaron flinch. “It seems Lydia failed to mention that I am the sole owner of this aircraft. I can do whatever the hell I want with it.” Aaron’s face paled, but he quickly puffed out his chest again. “Lydia said it was a gift, so it’s mine! She never goes back on her word! You just wait, she’ll get justice for me!” I suddenly felt a wave of boredom. Arguing with this pathetic clown was a complete waste of my time. I didn’t bother wasting another word on him, just tilted my head toward the bodyguards behind me. “Take him somewhere to cool off.” They immediately moved in, grabbing Aaron by each arm. “What are you doing? Let go of me!” Aaron screamed, struggling uselessly. “Lydia! Help me!” My men were impassive. A flurry of slaps landed squarely on his face. Before he could recover, they grabbed him by the collar, dragged him like a sack of potatoes over to a maintenance trough, and shoved his head into the water without a second thought. He looked like a drowned rat, a far cry from the smug celebrity who had been flaunting his prize on the livestream just an hour ago. “Stop it!” A familiar female voice cut through the air. Lydia came running, teetering on her four-inch heels. Her perfectly applied makeup couldn’t hide the panic and fury on her face. She rushed to Aaron’s side, helping him up with a look of profound pity before glaring at me. “Damian, what is wrong with you?” she demanded. “Aaron has a heart condition! Are you trying to kill him? It’s just a stupid plane! You have plenty, do you have to be so petty?” Me, petty? It seemed she’d truly lost her mind. I didn’t mind reminding her. “Lydia, where did you get the nerve to give away my property?” My voice was calm, but her face instantly drained of color. “I see you’ve forgotten my rules.” At that moment, Aaron, still oblivious, decided to provoke me further. “I’m young and handsome! What’s wrong with Lydia treating me well? You’re just jealous, you old man!” My eyes hardened as I stared at Lydia. “You know what happens to people who touch my things.” Lydia knew I wasn’t joking. Once, some arrogant heir stained my suit, and the next day he was found to have “accidentally” fallen into the ocean. “Aaron, apologize,” she commanded through gritted teeth. “What? Lydia! He’s the one who…” “Apologize. Now!” Aaron finally seemed to realize that the person he was relying on was utterly powerless in front of me. He gave a reluctant, shallow bow, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cross…” I sneered and turned, walking toward the waiting Rolls-Royce. In the rearview mirror, I could see Lydia tenderly wiping the blood from Aaron’s face with her handkerchief. That gentle touch used to belong only to me. Three years ago, Legacy Entertainment was on the verge of bankruptcy. Lydia’s father had jumped from his office window, leaving behind a mountain of debt. She came to me, dressed in mourning clothes, and knelt in the pouring rain for six solid hours. “Mr. Cross, please, save Legacy. I’ll do anything.” I’ll admit, in that moment, I was moved. Not just by her beauty, but by the defiant fire in her eyes. I told her my price was marriage. She agreed without hesitation. For three years, I poured resources into Legacy Entertainment, building it into a ten-billion-dollar behemoth. Lydia, in turn, grew from a timid, trembling girl into a formidable executive in her own right. I thought our bond was unbreakable. Until today, when she crossed a line for another man. 2 When I got home, I sent a contract termination notice to Lydia. If she was smart, she’d understand my meaning. It was a warning. After all these years, I wasn’t opposed to giving her a second chance. All she had to do was get rid of that annoying starlet. But the next morning, my assistant knocked frantically on my office door. “Mr. Cross, Legacy’s main brand just updated its official website and social media with a new brand ambassador… it’s Aaron Cranston.” I stared at the arrogant face on my computer screen, my gaze turning to ice. In the poster, Aaron wore the latest suit from Legacy’s couture line, his posture disdainful. The caption was a slap in the face: “Global Ambassador for the Legacy Group · Aaron Cranston.” The most ridiculous part? That position was supposed to go to the Oscar-winning actress Sienna Rowe, a deal I had personally brokered. I gave a cold laugh and hit the intercom. “Get the legal department on the line. I want a lawsuit filed against Legacy for breach of contract. Immediately.” My assistant hesitated. “Sir, Legacy is your wife’s family company. If this goes to court…” “Do as I say,” I cut him off. “And get the car. We’re going to Legacy Tower.” Half an hour later, I stepped into the headquarters of the Legacy Group. Just as I got off the elevator, I heard Aaron’s voice booming down the hallway. “The deal Legacy offered is pretty good, but I think there’s room for negotiation,” he was saying. “After all, my fanbase’s spending power is a known quantity. Doubling their sales is just a matter of time.” His agent chimed in with fawning agreement. “Of course! Lydia values you immensely. She even turned down the actress Cross Industries was pushing, all to promote you! She’s crazy about you, you have to lock her down!” Aaron laughed. “There isn’t a woman on this earth who can resist my charm.” I stopped in my tracks, my expression turning glacial. Lydia had rejected the ambassador I’d chosen just to prop up this piece of trash? I gave a subtle nod to my assistant. He understood instantly, striding forward and kicking Aaron’s legs out from under him. “What the hell are you doing?” Aaron yelped from the floor. “I’m with Lydia! You’re just some corporate nobody. I’ll have her fire you for this!” I walked over and looked down on him. “Lydia? Hah. She doesn’t call the shots here. You shouldn’t be begging her. You should be begging me.” His face twisted. “Damian Cross! What gives you the right?!” “The right? I own 80% of Legacy’s shares. That’s my right.” He glared at me, his eyes burning with helpless rage. Lydia, hearing the commotion, rushed out. “Damian! What is the meaning of this?” I looked at her, my eyes cold. “I should be asking you that. The termination notice I sent last night—did you not understand it, or are you deliberately provoking me?” She bit her lip, her tone softening. “Honey, Aaron has a huge fanbase. If we suddenly terminate his contract, it will have a major impact on the brand’s image and sales… He’s just young and a bit impulsive. Don’t hold it against him.” She reached for my arm, her eyes pleading. “There’s nothing going on between us, you have to believe me.” I looked down at her and suddenly smiled. “Lydia, you once told me that you would only ever listen to me. Are you disobeying me now… for him?” Her face went white, her lips trembling as she struggled for words. I didn’t waste any more time. I turned to my assistant. “Notify all our partners. Effective immediately, all collaborations with Aaron Cranston are terminated. Anyone who continues to work with him is an enemy of Cross Industries.” Aaron finally broke, his lip trembling as fat tears rolled down his cheeks. “Lydia! I’m sorry. I’m just an ordinary person, I don’t have the power to protect you. Since Mr. Cross can’t stand me, I’ll leave. Don’t fight with him because of me…” Hearing his self-sacrificing words, Lydia’s heart shattered. She clenched her fists and suddenly yelled at me, “Damian! Do you have to be so heartless?” Without looking back, I stepped into the elevator, my voice like ice. “Lydia, I gave you a chance.” 3 For days, Aaron’s contract remained active. Lydia seemed determined to defy me, even throwing a hundred million dollars at a new reality show custom-built for him. Since she refused to listen to reason, I decided to make her understand another way. At the press conference, the lights were blinding, the reporters’ cameras all aimed at me. I had just announced my full acquisition of the Legacy Group when Lydia burst in, her face livid. “Legacy is my company! What right do you have to take it away?” she raged. “Damian, are you ever going to let this go? All this drama over one stupid plane! My patience is wearing thin. If you keep this up, you’re going to lose me for good.” It seems I’d spoiled her for far too long. “Lydia, you were the one who crossed the line first. Don’t blame me for this. I told you, three strikes and you’re out.” Aaron, who had followed Lydia in, suddenly dropped to his knees in front of me, his voice choked with emotion. “Mr. Cross, I’m just an ordinary person. I can understand you looking down on me, humiliating me. After all, you’re on top of the world. People like me are less than ants to you. But Lydia is your wife! How could you be so cruel to her…” His acting was superb. He looked like a martyr who had suffered a grave injustice, and I was the overbearing villain. His performance ignited the fury of everyone in the room. Reporters swarmed forward, shoving microphones in my face. “Mr. Cross, is what he’s saying true?” “Do you think being a CEO gives you the right to trample on ordinary people?” The scene descended into chaos. I stared coldly at Aaron. His head was bowed, but I could see the faint smirk playing on his lips. My assistant, seeing things were getting out of hand, immediately had security start clearing the reporters out. When the room was finally quiet, I turned to Lydia. “I’ve given you too many chances. This is the last one. You have two choices. Either you cut all ties with Aaron Cranston, and you remain the president of the Legacy Group. Or, you can take your dog and get out.”

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Ten years ago, Dan, the boy I’d grown up with, the heartthrob of our school, confessed his feelings for me. My heart was soaring, ready to burst with joy, when a wave of raucous laughter suddenly erupted around us. Only then did I realize it was all just a game of Truth or Dare. 1 I had no idea my old high school class was having a reunion at The Grandview Hotel when I walked in. It was Jessica who spotted me first. “Claire?” she called out, her voice laced with disbelief. I turned. A flash of stunned admiration crossed her eyes before she smiled. “It really is you! I thought you’d skip this one, just like you always do.” I was about to explain that I was here on business, not for some ghost of a high school reunion, but she’d already slung an arm around my shoulders. Her grip was firm, almost forceful, as she steered me toward a private banquet room. “Look who I found!” she announced, her voice booming. A collective gasp went through the room as all eyes fell on me. Someone chuckled. “Leave it to Jessica to have that kind of pull. She actually got our ‘Princess’ to show up.” Honestly, I hated that nickname. It, along with Jessica, had been a recurring nightmare that haunted my entire high school existence. Back then, she didn’t bother hiding her malice. She would often jeer at me in front of everyone, “Claire, your bra strap is showing. It’s pink.” The room would explode with laughter. Just as I stood there, mortified, with tears welling in my eyes, she’d coolly add, “You’re not gonna cry, are you? It was just a joke. Can’t you take a joke?” And when the tears inevitably fell, her face would twist with impatience. “Oh, come on, stop crying, Princess. I can’t stand girls like you, all weepy over nothing. It’s not like I did anything to you. Besides, you’re the one who pads her bra so much. You were just asking for people to talk about it, weren’t you?” The memories were a bitter taste in my mouth. I quietly found a seat in a corner, planning to slip out after a couple of minutes. But then, a lean, tall figure sat down beside me. A silhouette I once knew better than my own. My childhood best friend. Dan. “Claire,” he began, his voice raspy with emotion. “It’s been a long time. How… how have you been?” Before I could answer, Jessica slid into the seat between us, a little too perfectly. “Hey! What are you two whispering about behind my back?” she chirped. Whatever words had been on the tip of Dan’s tongue vanished. “Nothing,” he said, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. Jessica, pretending not to notice, sighed dramatically. “Well, you two really should catch up. Seriously, Claire, you were cold. Disappearing right after graduation without a word. You even cut off Dan, the guy you grew up with. If we’d known you couldn’t take a joke, we never would have played that prank on you.” “Yeah,” Dan murmured, his gaze fixed on me, a thousand unspoken words swirling in their depths. “But now that we’ve reconnected, we can’t lose touch again. My mom still asks why you never come over anymore.” Jessica immediately whipped out her phone. “Quick, let’s exchange numbers! I have to show off to my colleagues at work that I know such a gorgeous woman.” And then you’ll secretly pass my number to a hand-picked list of creeps, I thought. It was one of Jessica’s favorite moves. Seeing me hesitate, she raised her voice. “Don’t tell me you’re still holding a grudge after ten years. You’re not that petty, are you?” The chatter in the room died. Every head turned in our direction. Suddenly, I was the villain, the one committing some unforgivable sin. The sixteen-year-old Claire would have frozen, helplessly stammering that it wasn’t true. But I’m twenty-six now. So I looked her straight in the eye and admitted it, my voice clear and steady. “Actually, yes. I’ve always found you pretty unbearable.” Jessica’s face froze. Dan quickly tried to smooth things over. “Alright, let’s not do this. We’re all here to have a good time. Jessica, you know Claire’s sensitive. Why bring up the past?” Hearing Dan call me sensitive used to break my heart. Now, I felt nothing. The lively atmosphere in the room had evaporated. I was about to make my exit when Dan spoke again, his voice earnest. “Claire, all that stuff… it was a long time ago. I’ve been wanting to get everyone together, to clear the air. What happened back then was just a stupid joke. Let’s bury the hatchet and start over.” Jessica was the first to raise her glass, her old devil-may-care grin plastered on her face. “Claire, we were all classmates. If I ever offended you, don’t hold it against me. You know me, I’ve always been a straight-shooter, not great with all those complicated feelings you girly-girls have.” Her words were a signal. One by one, others stood up, glasses in hand. “Yeah, that’s right! Don’t be so dramatic. We always liked Jessica’s straightforward personality best.” “Let the booze do the talking! Who holds a grudge for ten years? Don’t be so petty.” “Seriously, lighten up. Jessica was being the bigger person by even inviting you here today.” They spoke of her dragging me here as if it were some great act of charity, a grace they were bestowing upon me. Their voices were just as grating as the jeers that had followed Dan’s fake confession all those years ago. The implication was clear: if I didn’t raise my glass, if I didn’t make peace with Jessica, I was being ungrateful. But I’ve gotten very good at being ungrateful. I didn’t touch my glass. “I can’t drink,” I said softly. “I’m pregnant.” CRASH. Dan’s glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor. The room was a sea of stunned, whispering faces. Only Jessica had a flicker of genuine delight in her eyes. Dan forced a pained smile. “Don’t joke like that, Claire. If you don’t want to drink, just say so.” I met his gaze calmly. “I’m not joking. I’m married. And pregnant. I’m back in the country with my husband to handle some business.” Jessica clapped me hard on the shoulder, as if we were the best of friends. Her voice was giddy with a joy she couldn’t conceal. “When did this happen? Why didn’t you invite us? Congratulations!” It was probably the most sincere thing she’d said all night. After all, she no longer had to pretend to be just Dan’s “girl-bro.” Dan’s voice was bitter, strained, as if he were just casually mentioning it. “Yeah… You always used to say you’d be my bride one day… You’re lying to me, right, Claire?” Someone stepped forward, as if they couldn’t stand to watch this. “Claire, why would you say something like that? Do you have any idea how long Dan has been waiting for you?” Another woman added, her tone dripping with faux-sincere advice, “Look, you came to this reunion, so you obviously still care. A woman who wants a happy life can’t be so difficult. You need to know when to quit. If you let a great guy like Dan go, you’ll regret it. You’ll never find anyone like him again.” Such heartfelt advice. Not a word of it was something I wanted to hear. But I’d learned in high school that nothing good ever came out of their mouths. So I just smiled, completely unbothered. “I really am married. As for what I used to say… let’s just call it a joke.” I held Dan’s gaze, watching as the boomerang he’d thrown ten years ago finally came back and hit him square in the chest. “You’re not going to get upset over a little joke, are you?” 2 Dan and I were inseparable. From kindergarten through our first year of high school, our lives were completely intertwined. Then came Jessica. To be fair, she was pretty, with a confidence that drew people in. When she was first seated in front of me, she didn’t seem like the loud, tomboyish type she’d later become. Her eyes lit up when she saw Dan sitting next to me. She leaned back and whispered, “Go tell the teacher you want to switch seats with me.” I shook my head. I didn’t want to sit next to a stranger. Suddenly, Jessica leaned back in her chair and called out in a loud, clear voice, “Wow, you’re so possessive. Are you two secretly dating or something?” The entire class turned to stare. Our faces flushed crimson. Dan, his handsome features painted with embarrassment, shot back, “What are you talking about? We’ve known each other our whole lives. What does our friendship have to do with you?” Jessica didn’t get angry at being yelled at. She just grinned. “I’m a straight-shooter, I just say what’s on my mind. Don’t mind me. I just wanted to switch seats with her, but she wouldn’t, so I thought maybe she was jealous.” A chorus of “Oooohs” echoed through the classroom. One of the guys piped up, “What about you? Why do you want to switch with Claire? You got a crush on Dan?” Jessica rolled her eyes dramatically. “You guys are so predictable. See a boy and a girl and you have to ship them. Can’t I just like sitting in the back? Besides, Claire’s so short, I’m afraid I’ll block her view of the board.” Dan glanced between us, judging our heights. “She does have a point, Claire,” he said softly. “It might be a bit hard for you to see. Do you want to switch?” I refused. Jessica shot me a look, one full of hidden meaning. Soon after, rumors that Dan and I were secretly dating started spreading like wildfire. The dean called us into his office several times before finally separating us for good. He moved me to a desk by the window and Dan to one against the far wall. We were on opposite sides of the world. That’s when Jessica came to us, a look of profound guilt on her face. “I’m so sorry. I’m just so blunt, I don’t have a filter. I say whatever pops into my head. I never thought people would spread such crazy rumors about you two.” I felt like something was off about her, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Dan, ever the forgiving one, felt his irritation melt away at her apology. “It’s fine,” he said. “You didn’t do it on purpose.” Jessica laughed, a bright, open sound. “I knew you were a bigger man than that! That’s why I love talking to you guys. You’re so chill, not like those other girls who are so petty and dramatic, always overthinking everything.” She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth and looked at me sheepishly. “Oh, I didn’t mean you, of course.” She’d already said it. If I reacted, I would just be proving her right—that I was the petty, dramatic girl she was talking about. I was too thin-skinned back then, and I figured since we didn’t interact much, it wasn’t worth making a fuss over. I had no idea that from that day on, Jessica would begin to systematically insert herself into my life with Dan. Because her desk was closer to his, they naturally grew closer. Soon, my walk home from school with Dan became a walk home with Dan and Jessica. She was loud and acted like one of the guys, quickly becoming friends with all the boys in our class, including Dan. One day, while roughhousing with Dan, Jessica knocked my water bottle off my desk. It shattered on the floor. It was part of a matching set I had with Dan. “Oh my God, I’m so, so sorry!” she exclaimed, frantically apologizing. “Let me buy you a new one. Please don’t be mad.” I shook my head quietly. “It’s okay. It was an accident. It’s just a bottle, you don’t have to replace it.” Jessica leaned down, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I really should. I know you little girls. You say it’s fine to my face, then you’ll go gossip behind my back.” What was that supposed to mean? That I was a gossip? The way the other girls nearby looked at me suddenly changed. “I said you don’t have to,” I repeated, my tone hardening. Jessica pointed a finger at me and raised her voice. “See? Look! Now she’s mad! It’s just a stupid bottle. If you wanted me to pay for it, you should have just said so! Why be so two-faced? I can’t stand girls who can’t just say what they mean.” She nudged Dan. “Hey, you better talk to your girl, or someone’s going to be in a mood all night.” Dan had been feeling guilty about the bottle. He knew how much I loved it. At her words, he sighed. “Come on, Claire, don’t be so petty. I’ll just buy you a new one. It’s not like it was expensive.” A knot of anger tightened in my chest. He thought I was being petty, too? My face hardened. “I’ll buy my own. I don’t need you to.” Dan knew he’d said the wrong thing and was about to apologize when Jessica slung an arm around his shoulder. “Dude, what kind of apology was that? You’re just making the Princess angrier. C’mon, let’s bounce. We’ll come back and apologize when Her Highness has cooled down.” And just like that, I had a new nickname in class. The Princess. Later, Dan himself would sometimes say it to me, his voice edged with impatience. “Alright, stop with the princess attitude. You don’t have the life of a princess, but you’ve sure got the attitude down.” But at that point, things hadn’t gotten that bad yet. And I wasn’t smart enough to see the deep-seated malice hidden beneath Jessica’s “blunt” personality. The shift in Dan—or at least, the moment I truly saw it—happened the next day, when I brought my new water bottle to school. It was a cartoon cat mug we had made together at a pottery shop during a trip. As Jessica passed my desk, she feigned surprise. “Is that a cartoon cat mug, Claire? You’re in high school. You still believe in that cutesy stuff?” All eyes in the classroom snapped to me. She picked it up and held it aloft for everyone to see. “Look! This is something a first-grader wouldn’t even use, and Claire’s using it! Hahaha! Claire, do you secretly make wishes to it?” “Hahahaha…” The room filled with exaggerated, piercing laughter. Even Dan—the same Dan who, on that trip, had pointed at that exact mug design and said it was cute and that we should make it—was smiling from his seat, watching me stand there, mortified. I was never an outgoing person. The harsh laughter felt like a swarm of angry bees, buzzing through my ears, churning my stomach, filling my head with a deafening roar. Jessica tilted her head, watching my face drain of color. “You okay? It was just a joke. You’re not getting upset over something so small, are you?” My knuckles were white from clenching my fists. Finally, Dan noticed how distressed I was. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said, his voice cutting through the noise. The sunlight streaming through the window cast a golden halo around him. “If the other person doesn’t think it’s funny, it’s not a joke. All of you, knock it off.” Jessica pouted. “Fine, fine. We get it. You have to protect your precious little childhood sweetheart.” She turned to her friends. “I guess we’re all just disposable friends he can toss aside.” Dan frowned. “What are you talking about now?” Their conversation brought them closer. Jessica hopped onto his desk, leaning over to playfully push his head down. “Alright, I’m letting you off the hook this time. Don’t forget to buy me lunch for this.” As she spoke, she glanced over at me, her eyes filled with resentment. 3 I had always believed that, with or without Jessica, I would always be Dan’s first choice. Until the day I waited for him all through lunch. The food in my lunchbox went from hot to cold. The bell signaling the end of the lunch break rang. A moment later, a boisterous group stumbled into the classroom, laughing and shoving each other. Dan saw the two lunchboxes on my desk and froze. “Claire? You haven’t eaten yet?” Jessica was even more theatrical in her surprise. “No way, Claire. Why are you so stubborn? We told you Dan was going out for spicy hot pot with us today. Who are you putting on this sad little show for? Dan has his own life, you know.” At her words, the guilt in Dan’s eyes vanished, replaced by a cold annoyance. “Claire, I can’t take care of you forever. Can’t you be a little more considerate, like Jessica?” I stared at him, bewildered. “When did you tell me you were going out for hot pot?” Jessica took a step back, as if she’d just encountered something completely irrational. “Are you trying to say I didn’t tell you? Seriously? Lucky for me, Mark and the guys were right there when I asked you. This is a school, Claire, not a stage for your petty dramas.” Mark, the boy she’d named, stepped forward. “Yeah, we asked you to come. You said you didn’t want to because you thought it was unsanitary. And now you’re acting all pitiful in front of the whole class.” “You’re being really manipulative,” another added. That was the final straw for Dan. His face turned to stone. “That’s enough, Claire. You’ve gone too far.” “This is school, not your house. Not everyone is going to baby you.” His words were daggers in my heart. The boy who had always walked by my side, who had pinky-promised to be my best friend for a hundred years, was now, in front of everyone, accusing me of being manipulative over something that never even happened. Jessica had approached me during our morning exercises. She’d pulled me aside and asked a few vague questions while Mark and the others stood far off in the distance. Then she’d walked away. No one had ever asked me if I wanted to go out for lunch. No one had told me not to wait for Dan. I tried to explain, to defend myself, but my voice was drowned out by the chorus of accusations. No one believed me. Realizing this, I choked back a sob, pushed past them, and ran out of the classroom, tears streaming down my face. I heard Jessica’s voice behind me. “Crying doesn’t make you right, you know. You think you’re the main character in some teen drama?” “Hahaha…” Her words sent a new wave of laughter through the class. I didn’t know where to go. I just knew I couldn’t stay in that room. After I left, Dan said, “Alright, that’s enough. Claire’s sensitive. She won’t do it again after this. I’ll apologize to you on her behalf, Jessica. Don’t hold it against her.” A flash of jealousy crossed Jessica’s eyes, but she just grinned playfully. “Aww, Dan, are you getting soft on your little wifey?” The others hooted with laughter. Dan’s face hardened. “Don’t be stupid. Our families are neighbors. I have to look out for her.” A skinny guy scoffed. “If you ask me, the only reason Claire acts like this is because you always have her back, Dan. You’re too good to her, and that’s why she’s such a princess. I say you need to teach her a real lesson.” Jessica’s eyes glinted. A plan was forming. She kept her tone light and casual. “Dan, don’t get mad at me for saying this, but we’ve all put up with a lot from her for your sake. I’m the victim here, and while I can let it go, you have to teach her a lesson.” “Otherwise,” she added, “she’ll just keep doing it, thinking you’ll always protect her.” Dan gritted his teeth and nodded. “Fine. I’ll give everyone a proper resolution to this.” Jessica barely suppressed a triumphant smile. “Great. We’ll all be watching. No backing out.” Before Dan could reply, she turned to the other boys. “This is what these girls are like. So shortsighted, so petty, so jealous. They make a storm out of nothing. You guys are so much easier to hang out with.” “Yeah, women are all like that,” someone agreed. “Totally. Except for our Jessica, of course. She’s different.” “She’s not even like a girl, hahaha!” They all laughed, but a flicker of fury crossed Jessica’s face as she snuck a glance at Dan. When she saw him smiling along with them, the jealousy and resentment in her heart burned even hotter. From that day on, Dan and I were in a cold war. And Jessica, for some reason, started targeting me even more relentlessly. “Whoa, Claire! Is that a cartoon keychain on your backpack? Do you think you’re a magical girl or something?” she’d jeer, striking a dramatic transformation pose. The boys around her would howl with laughter. After lunch, I’d wipe down my desk, a habit I’d always had. Jessica would roll her eyes. “God, Claire, you’re so extra. You think you’re the only clean person in this entire class?” “If you think we’re so dirty, why don’t you just get a private tutor? What are you even doing in a class with us?” At that, the glares from the other girls in the class grew sharper. During our weekly seat change, I struggled to move my stack of books. Jessica leaned her elbow on the remaining pile, her voice a sickly sweet imitation of a damsel in distress. “Oh, I’m so exhausted! Is there not a single loyal servant willing to carry these books for our dear Princess?” “Hahahahaha…” The entire classroom erupted. The sound was sharp, piercing, drilling into my brain. Some laughed so hard they doubled over, even mimicking the way I struggled with the books. Dan didn’t turn around, but he mumbled, “That’s enough.” Jessica shot him a dramatic eye-roll. “Alright, alright. Someone’s getting protective again.” Dan snapped back, annoyed. “Who’s protective? The last person I’d ever feel sorry for is that spoiled brat!” Jessica grinned. “Hey, we’re just trying to toughen her up. She’s too introverted, always getting stuck in her own head. How’s she ever going to survive in the real world?” Dan hesitated. “But… isn’t it okay for a girl to be a little sensitive?” Jessica immediately punched him lightly on the arm. “Hey! Who are you looking down on? I’m not like that!” Dan looked at her then, his eyes filled with a warmth and trust that sent a sharp, physical pain lancing through my chest. I thought if I just ignored them, Jessica would eventually leave me alone. But after a month of the cold war, it was Dan who gave in first. “Claire,” he said, catching me after class. “Please don’t be mad anymore. Don’t ignore me.” He looked at me with such sad, pleading eyes, like a puppy left out in the rain. In that moment, my resolve crumbled. I couldn’t ignore him forever. He was my childhood best friend. We had promised to go to high school together, to go to college together. I couldn’t just abandon him here. With that thought, we made up. Our bond was an extension of our parents’ friendship. Before we could even form memories, Dan and I were sharing a crib. We grew up, went to kindergarten together, and were even the flower girl and ring bearer at a family friend’s wedding. After we’d delivered the rings, the photographer started snapping pictures of the newlyweds. The happy couple seemed to glow under the lights. Dan squeezed my hand and said to me, his voice serious, “One day, I want Claire to be my bride. An even prettier one than her.” We didn’t understand what it meant to be together, or what a bride and groom were. We just happily ran to our parents and announced our plans, earning a wave of fond laughter. Dan’s mom was a gentle, kind woman. She stroked my hair and said, “Well, then I’d better be extra nice to my future daughter-in-law, before some other little rascal steals her away.” We held hands on the way to school until we hit elementary school, when the vague awareness of boys and girls began to dawn, and we finally let go. That was when the chubby kid behind me started teasing me. “Dan’s little shadow, holding hands on the way to school, shame, shame, shame!” He and his gang of little boys cornered me after class, mocking and poking at me. Dan charged into the fray like a warrior, wielding a chair, tearing into the group of boys with a ferocity that stunned them. When it was over, he stood over them, battered but victorious, and warned, “Claire is my little sister. If any of you mess with her, you’re messing with me!” We both got our parents called in that day. As Dan walked silently behind his mom, I was wracked with guilt, not knowing what to do besides cry. Suddenly, Dan slipped a piece of candy into my mouth. It was a sour plum candy, tart and sweet at the same time. And just like that, we were back to normal. Or so it seemed. I still waited for him with his jacket at the basketball court. We still walked home together under the streetlights. The only difference was Jessica’s occasional, lingering stares, which were always followed by a burst of laughter from her and the boys around her. The sound made me feel exposed and anxious, as if I had done something ridiculous without realizing it. I told Dan how I felt. He just frowned. “I think you’re overthinking it. They’re just joking around.” Seeing the look on my face, he softened. “Okay, okay. I’ll talk to them. I’ll tell them not to do it in front of you anymore.” He walked over to Jessica. She threw her hands up and announced to the room, “Now we’re not even allowed to laugh? Who does she think she is, a Disney princess? Does she think everyone is watching her 24/7?!” “Jessica!” Dan snapped. She pouted and shot me a venomous glare. During that time, Jessica’s voice, her actions, and the malice hidden beneath them were like invisible hands, slapping me across the face again and again. The whispers that followed her words were like the rustling of a thousand insects crawling over my skin in the dark. And in the middle of those unbearable days, Dan confessed his love for me.

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I was born with a plain face. So, I bought a handsome convict-slave to be my husband. But he found me coarse and would rather work as a laborer than be my husband. When his conviction was overturned, he didn’t hesitate to climb into the carriage back to the capital. Before leaving, he even offered me a piece of advice: “Jane, a butcher is the most suitable match for someone of your station.” I figured a scholar must know what he’s talking about. So, I accepted a side of pork as a betrothal gift from the butcher next door. But on my wedding night, a different man lifted my veil. His face was a mask of fury as he demanded, “Who told you to marry him?” 1 The day I learned his name was Napier Crawley, I was sitting by the well, pondering how to convince him to finally be mine. It had been two years since I’d bought him, after all. Two years of wheedling and coaxing, using every trick in the book, hoping he’d finally give in and let me provide for him. But Napier was unmoved. Every time I brought it up, his answer was the same: “We are not a suitable match.” For two years, I’d wondered what he meant by “not suitable.” But he would never explain. He couldn’t be bothered to speak to me. Just as I was at my wit’s end, the clattering of carriage wheels brought the answer to my doorstep. The next moment, Princess Annabelle pushed open my rickety old gate, a perfumed handkerchief pressed to her nose. When she saw the once-cool and aloof Grand Tutor, a man whose hands had never touched a speck of dirt, pushing a heavy stone mill, her beautiful eyes welled with tears. Napier had always lectured me about how a proper young woman should conduct herself with modesty and shame. But now, as Princess Annabelle threw herself into his arms, he seemed to forget all his own lessons. He just stood there, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air. After a moment, he finally shook off his shock and looked down at the woman in his embrace. “Annabelle?” he asked, his voice uncertain. Princess Annabelle nodded, tears of joy streaming down her face. “It’s me, Napier. I’ve come to take you home.” They stared at each other, lost in their own world, as if the donkey and I didn’t exist. To assert my own presence, I stepped forward and tugged on the princess’s silky sleeve. “Excuse me, miss,” I said helpfully, “but you’re hugging the wrong man. This is my husband.” Only then did Princess Annabelle seem to notice me. “Husband?” she repeated, her voice laced with doubt. When I nodded, she turned to Napier, her face a mask of shock. “Napier,” she stammered, “you’re… married?” And that’s how I learned his name was Napier. For two years, he had refused to tell me what it was. Naturally, Napier denied it. “No. She is… merely my employer.” I felt a twinge of guilt at his denial. He was right; he had never once agreed to be my husband. When my mother had first threatened him—either be my husband or be our laborer—he had walked out the door without a second thought, his body still weak from illness, and started pushing that stone mill. Over the past two years, I’d tried everything—threats, bribes, you name it. But he simply would not marry me. Now, hearing Napier’s denial, Princess Annabelle breathed a sigh of relief. She looked me up and down with disdain. “You coarse wench,” she said slowly, “how dare you covet the Grand Tutor of the court?” Her accusation stung. When I bought Napier, he was just an exiled convict. I had no idea he was a Grand Tutor. Besides, officials exiled to our remote corner of the world almost never returned to the capital. Who could have guessed Napier would be the first? Napier paid no mind to her insults. He simply looked at me and said, “Miss Jane, I’m afraid I won’t be able to work today.” 2 Insults or not, when dinner time came, the noble Princess Annabelle found herself sitting at the same table as this “coarse country wench.” My furniture was small and rough, and the princess complained endlessly. “Napier, this chair is so uncomfortable. Let’s just go back to the inn in town.” Napier smiled. I’d never seen him, a man as cold as ice, actually smile before. But there was a hint of sorrow in it. “I have sat in chairs like this for two years,” he said quietly. The disdain on Annabelle’s face was immediately replaced by a wave of heartbreak. She was so beautiful that even her scorn was endearing. Trying to lighten the mood, I chimed in. “And I’ve sat in chairs like this for eighteen years!” Napier never deigned to speak to me, and this time was no different. But Princess Annabelle shot me a mocking smirk. “And what if you sat in them for twenty? A lowly creature like you was born to sit in crude chairs.” I lowered my head in embarrassment, but under the table, I saw my mother’s fist clench and unclench. She had never liked Napier because he refused to marry me, but tonight, she remained silent. After a moment, Napier spoke, his voice formal. “You bought me when I was at my lowest. For these past years, I have worked from sunrise to sunset in your home. I believe my labor has repaid your kindness. We are even. We owe each other nothing.” With that, he stood and gave my mother a slight bow. Then he turned to leave with Princess Annabelle. In a panic, I moved to stop him, but my mother grabbed my arm. We listened as the carriage wheels clattered away into the distance. Only then did she sigh. “My daughter, give it up. I told you long ago, he is not one of us.” She had said the same thing the day I bought him. But I hadn’t listened. I had inherited my mother’s weakness for a handsome face. When the soldiers brought the convicts to town for sale, my eyes had locked on the thin, frail form of Napier in the crowd. His eyes were beautiful. One fleeting glance from him was enough to make my face burn. The day I brought him home, he collapsed from illness. The town doctor said he was barely clinging to life. As I paid the doctor, my mother sighed and cursed me for being a fool, for buying a sickly money pit who was clearly not our kind. I never imagined he was a noble Grand Tutor. I never imagined he would despise the idea of being my husband so much. And I certainly never imagined that he would one day leave this desolate place. And so, just like that, Napier was gone. That night, I lay in bed, staring at the bright moon, unable to sleep. Restless, I felt a piece of paper under my pillow. It was Napier’s indenture contract, the characters on it like little worms. I had to return it to him. So, before the sun was up the next morning, I clutched the contract and headed out the door. 3 The inn where Napier was staying was a long walk away. I didn’t dare rest for a moment on the road. I managed to arrive just before the roosters began to crow. The inn was strictly managed; a commoner like me couldn’t just walk in. I had to ask the old man at the gate to announce me. I waited outside, nearly dozing off, before Napier finally emerged with Princess Annabelle, moving at a leisurely pace. His brow furrowed when he saw me. “What are you doing here again?” Princess Annabelle demanded. I glanced at Napier, feeling awkward and out of place. He had changed into fine clothes that matched the princess’s, a world away from the man who pushed a mill in my yard. Standing before him, I suddenly found it hard to breathe. It was in that moment that I finally understood what he meant by “suitable.” He and Princess Annabelle looked right together, far more so than he and I ever could. After a long pause, I finally managed to stammer, “I… I came to see when you were leaving.” Princess Annabelle rolled her eyes. “When we leave is none of your business, you little opportunist.” I didn’t know when I had become an opportunist. Napier cut her off. “We are leaving shortly,” he said, his tone flat. Hearing that, a wave of disappointment washed over me. Napier noticed. He spoke one last time, his voice firm with rejection. “I told you a long time ago that I would not be your husband. Go home. Do not follow me again.” I had heard those words from him countless times before, but they had never sounded so harsh. Heartbroken, I felt the indenture contract in my sleeve. As Napier was about to board the carriage, I called out, “Wait. Just a moment.” He looked at me, puzzled, while Annabelle was clearly impatient. “You damn peasant, what is it now?” I held out the contract. “This is yours. You left it behind.” Annabelle snatched it first, handing it to a skeptical Napier. When he saw what it was, the tight line of his brow relaxed. Then, as I watched, he tore it into pieces. “I am a free man now. This contract is useless to me.” I stared blankly at the fluttering scraps of paper. Napier’s tone softened slightly. “Thank you for making the trip. You should head back. We must be on our way.” It was the first time he had ever spoken to me with such gentleness. As he turned to leave, I called out again. “Wait.” “What is it now?” I wrung my hands. “It cost me five taels of silver to buy you.” He paused, then turned to Annabelle, his voice back to its usual cool tone. “Annabelle, give her five taels of gold.” Annabelle pulled a gold ingot from her purse with a look of disgust and tossed it on the ground in front of me. As I bent to pick it up, the carriage rolled past. Napier lifted the curtain and spoke to me one last time. “Jane, with your station in life, a butcher would be the most suitable match. Do not aspire to anything else.” It was the first time he had ever used my name. As soon as he finished, Annabelle’s mocking laughter drifted from the carriage. “Did you hear that, you peasant? Stop dreaming of climbing the social ladder. It’s not for people like you.” She was wrong about me again. I didn’t want Napier as a husband because I wanted to climb some social ladder. When I bought him, he was just a disgraced criminal. I liked him because he was handsome. But what good was a handsome face? A man as lofty as him would never deign to look me in the eye. The carriage clattered into the distance. I stood there for a long time, until the carriage was completely out of sight, before I finally started the long, aching walk home. As I turned into my alley, I saw my mother waiting for me at the door. I was sure she was going to scold me for leaving without telling her, without grinding the day’s tofu. But she didn’t say a word. She just sighed. “There’s food for you on the stove.” Her quiet kindness made me feel even more guilty. My mother’s most frequent lecture was, “My dear Jane, don’t be like your mother. When you choose a man, never choose for his looks. Find one who is strong, who can bear a burden.” She said this not because my handsome father had wronged her, but because not long after I was born, my handsome, but frail, father had passed away. The day I’d gone to buy Napier, she had given me five taels of silver with strict instructions. “Two taels for the man, two for a donkey, and one for the beans. And make sure the man is sturdy. Don’t just look at his face.” I had betrayed her trust. I’d spent all five taels on the pale, weak Napier. But it wasn’t a total loss. I felt the hard lump of gold in my sleeve. Five silver taels for five gold ones wasn’t a bad trade. 4 After Napier left, the task of grinding tofu fell to me. The donkey, which I had bought specifically for Napier, finally got a rest. I was strong enough to push the mill for hours on end by myself; I didn’t need an animal. Before Napier, I had always done it myself. After he arrived, the mill turned at a snail’s pace. I had offered to do the work myself, but he had insisted on doing it to avoid being my husband. He thought too poorly of me. I wanted to marry him, yes. But I wasn’t the kind of opportunist Annabelle thought I was. I would try to persuade him, but I would never force him. I couldn’t bear to see his beautiful hands get calloused and raw, so I used my own savings to buy the donkey. Now, the donkey was no longer needed. My mother thought I would be heartbroken after Napier left. But I wasn’t. I worked just as hard as I had before he came, even harder. I used to make two blocks of tofu a morning; now I could make three and a half. My mother watched me pushing the mill day after day, her heart aching for me. At dinner, she tried to comfort me. “My dear, don’t worry. Mother will find you an even handsomer man, much better looking than that bean sprout.” I took a bite of pickled vegetables. “Mother,” I said, “I don’t want a handsome man anymore.” Her hand, holding her chopsticks, froze. “Then what kind of man do you want? Whatever you want, Mother will find him for you.” I tilted my head, thinking for a moment. “Find me a butcher,” I said. “That way, we’ll have meat to eat every day.” I lied to my mother. I didn’t want to marry a butcher for the meat. I had asked the children at the town school what a Grand Tutor was. They told me it was a very, very high-ranking official, one who had to be incredibly well-read. So Napier was a man of great learning. In that case, his words must be true. Marrying a butcher would be the most suitable path for me. My mother worked fast. Two days later, she brought the village matchmaker, Mrs. Wong, to our house. Mrs. Wong’s face was wreathed in smiles. “Jane, there’s a butcher in the next village. Are you interested?” I nodded without a second thought. The next afternoon, Mrs. Wong brought the butcher to our house. It was the first time I had spent time with a man other than Napier, and I felt incredibly awkward. But when I saw him, I realized he was someone I already knew. 5 After Napier came to our home, we started selling our tofu at the town market. He despised hawking our wares door-to-door, preferring to walk the extra miles to town rather than push a cart through the neighboring villages, shouting. I met Cole at the market. He sold pork at the stall opposite ours. Napier was aloof, and he sold tofu with the same aloofness. He hated the old women who picked through his wares and despised the matrons who haggled over the price. As a result, we often had tofu left over at the end of the day. One day, it rained. We had a lot of tofu left, and we were struggling to move it under the eaves. Some of it was getting soaked. That’s when Cole came to our rescue. He was a butcher, and years of work had given him a powerful build. In a few swift movements, he had moved our baskets and everything else to shelter. It was the first time I truly understood the value of my mother’s advice. A strong body really was a good thing. Now, seeing him again, Cole was even more nervous than I was. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. When I offered him water, he said it was the best water he’d ever tasted. When I invited him to sit on the edge of the heated brick bed, he said it was the most comfortable seat he’d ever sat on. His earnest, bumbling manner made me laugh. Seeing me laugh, he scratched his head in embarrassment. “I’m not very good with words. I’m sorry if I made a fool of myself.” “No, no,” I quickly reassured him. “I wasn’t laughing at you.” … We fell into a companionable silence. After a moment, Cole suddenly remembered he had brought something for me. He pulled a small packet of malt candy from his pocket and pushed it across the table. “It’s our first meeting. I didn’t know what you’d like, so I just bought some candy. I see the other girls in town eating it.” The candy was wrapped neatly in oil paper. It was a thoughtful gesture. I unwrapped a piece and popped it in my mouth. Seeing me eat his candy, Cole broke into a wide, happy grin. He was so simple and honest. I couldn’t deceive him. So I told him the truth. “I was married before,” I said. “You saw him in town, the one who sold tofu with me. He was a high-ranking official from the capital who was convicted of a crime. I bought him.” “But he found me coarse and didn’t want to live with me. His case was overturned a few days ago, and he has returned to the capital.” Most men would have been put off by such a story. But Cole just kept smiling his simple, honest smile. “It’s alright,” he said. “It’s good that he’s gone.” I was surprised. “You don’t mind?” Cole’s smile was shy. “As long as you don’t mind that I’m rough.” Just as we were getting along well, Mrs. Wong knocked on the window. “Cole, it’s time to go.” Cole stood up, looking at me, wanting to say more. But with Mrs. Wong hurrying him, he finally turned to leave. Just as he was about to step out the door, I called out to him. “Cole, this candy is delicious. Bring some more next time you come.” The disappointment in his eyes instantly vanished, replaced by a bright light. “Okay, okay,” he nodded eagerly. He must have been overjoyed, because he tripped on the threshold on his way out. Watching his earnest, bumbling figure look back at me three times as he left, I couldn’t help but laugh.

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1 At five in the morning, a piercing shriek dragged me from my dreams. It wasn’t an alarm clock. It was the manor’s highest-level security alert. My heart plummeted. I threw on a robe and bolted outside. The moment I stepped into the courtyard, my knees nearly gave out. The main gate had been violently torn open, the heavy, wrought-iron doors twisted to one side as if rammed by some immense force. But what made my vision swim with black spots was my garden. My rose garden, a sanctuary I had poured my entire soul into creating. A dozen people wielding cameras and equipment swarmed like locusts across my meticulously manicured lawns and pathways, leaving muddy footprints in their wake. Countless precious rose bushes were snapped and crushed, their petals ground into the mud. It was a scene of pure carnage. And in the center of this devastation stood a woman in a gauzy white dress. Sierra Stone. The current “It Girl.” I recognized her. Her face was plastered everywhere lately, part of a massive PR push billing her as the “last innocent seductress of Hollywood.” Right now, she was holding a blossom from my most prized specimen, a ‘Princess Sissi’ rose, smiling brightly for the camera as she wove a flower crown, acting as if she were in her own backyard. “Hey babes, look how gorgeous these flowers are,” she cooed. “You can make the most beautiful crown with them.” She held up the ugly, mangled thing she’d made, and a cameraman immediately zoomed in for a close-up. That was a ‘Princess Sissi’! The most exclusive rose varietal in the world. It took me three years of constant, painstaking effort to get it to root and bloom here. The cost of nurturing a single one of its flowers to blossom was astronomical. And now, this woman was treating it like a common weed. “Who are you people? Who let you in?” My voice trembled with rage. The entire crew froze for a second, all eyes turning to me. A man in a baseball cap who looked like the director stepped forward, his face etched with annoyance. “We’re with The Homestead reality show. We’re just here to get a few shots. You must be the groundskeeper, right?” The Homestead? I’d heard of it. A show that sold itself as a “return to nature and a tranquil lifestyle.” Return to nature? By breaking down gates and destroying someone’s garden? Sierra finally deigned to look away from the camera. She scanned me from head to toe, her eyes dripping with undisguised contempt. “Wow, it’s such a shame,” she said to the camera, her voice a saccharine drawl. “All these beautiful flowers, and the owner has no idea how to appreciate them. You have to be like me, and really show off their beauty.” She was talking to the lens, but every word was a poisoned dart aimed at me. I almost laughed out of sheer fury. “Appreciate them? By trespassing, breaking and entering, and destroying private property? Is that what you call appreciation?” Sierra seemed shocked that a mere “groundskeeper” would dare to speak to her like that. Her face darkened instantly. “What would a hick like you know about art?” She rolled her eyes. “We’re doing you a favor by using your flowers. Being on our show is the best thing that will ever happen to you.” Her assistant, taking the cue, pulled a crumpled wad of bills from her purse and tossed them disdainfully at my feet. “Alright, that’s enough noise. Don’t interrupt the shoot. Here’s five hundred bucks. That’s probably a month’s salary for you, right? Take the money and get lost.” Five hundred dollars? I stared at the wrinkled bills on the ground as a white-hot rage shot through me. I walked toward Sierra, one deliberate step at a time. My advance startled her, and she took a step back, though her voice remained defiant. “What do you think you’re doing? I’m telling you, I’m—” CRACK! The sharp, clean sound echoed through the morning air. The world went silent. Everyone stared, stunned, including Sierra herself. She clutched her cheek, the reality of what had just happened dawning on her after a few seconds. Then, she let out a blood-curdling scream. “Ah! You hit me! You filthy hick, you actually dared to hit me!” I shook out my stinging hand and looked at her coldly. “Hick? Dig three generations into your own family tree, and I bet you’ll find dirt under their fingernails. Who are you pretending to be?” “You!” Sierra’s face turned a shade of mottled purple. The innocent, pure image she cultivated was gone, replaced by the snarling face of a shrew. “Get her!” she shrieked at her assistants and bodyguards, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Scratch her face up! Do it!” A few burly men immediately started to close in on me. I didn’t move. I just watched them with cold eyes. “There are security cameras covering every inch of this property. What you are doing right now is a criminal offense. If you touch me, that’s assault on top of everything else.” My words made the men hesitate. They exchanged glances and stopped in their tracks. The director, realizing things were spiraling out of control, rushed over to play peacemaker. “A misunderstanding! This is all a huge misunderstanding! Ms. Stone was just a little emotional. Ma’am, look, can’t we just…” “A misunderstanding?” I laughed. “Breaking down my gate was a misunderstanding? Destroying my garden was a misunderstanding? Or was her ordering your men to attack me also a misunderstanding?” The director’s face flushed red and white. He was speechless. Sierra, however, was still screaming. “I’m calling the police! I’m going to sue you! You just wait!” “Good. Call them,” I said, pulling out my own phone. “Because I’d like to tally up the damages.” My eyes swept over the wreckage of my garden before finally settling back on the clear, five-fingered mark on Sierra’s face. “You want to pay for this? Fine.” I spoke each word with chilling clarity. “I just wonder if you can afford it.” My tone was quiet, but it sent a shiver through everyone present, including the arrogant director. They looked at me, their initial contempt morphing into confusion and a flicker of unmistakable panic. In the end, the crew scrambled away in disgrace. Before she left, Sierra clutched her face and shot me a venomous glare, squeezing out one last threat through clenched teeth. “You just wait. I’m not done with you.” I watched their pathetic retreat, then looked at my ruined ‘Princess Sissi.’ My heart felt nothing at all. Sierra Stone and her goons fled, leaving a disaster in their wake. I didn’t bother with the impending online storm. Instead, I went inside, changed into some old clothes, put on gloves, and went back out with my shears and a small trowel to begin the heartbreaking work of cleaning up my garden. Broken stems needed to be pruned, crushed blossoms cleared, and fallen trellises righted. The ‘Princess Sissi’ was the worst casualty. Sierra had snapped its main stem, and its remaining buds were caked in mud. A sharp pain lanced through me. I had acquired that plant from an elderly master horticulturist abroad; it was as precious and fragile as a real princess. My phone was buzzing incessantly in my pocket, vibrating like it was having a seizure. I ignored it until my best friend, Chloe, called. “Vivienne! You’re trending! Check online, right now!” she screamed into the phone. “I know,” I said calmly, propping up a trampled rose bush and securing it with a splint. “You know? Do you know what they’re saying about you? They’re tearing you to shreds! Sierra Stone’s fans are threatening to dox you, to post your address online!” I finally stopped my work, peeled off my gloves, and unlocked my phone. The number one trending topic on every platform, a bright red “VIRAL” tag burning next to it. #ItGirlSierraStoneAssaultedOnSet I clicked on it. The post was from The Homestead’s official account. The caption read: We only wanted to capture beauty, but some people are filled with malice. Our hearts go out to our sweet Sierra. The attached video was only thirty seconds long, but it was a masterclass in manipulative editing. It started the moment I stormed up to Sierra. Then, my hand lashing out—CRACK—followed by Sierra’s look of stunned disbelief, and my cold voice saying, “Dig three generations into your own family tree…” The preceding events—them breaking my gate, destroying my garden, throwing money at me—were nowhere to be seen. Not a single frame. In their version, I looked like a jealous, unhinged lunatic. The comment section was a war zone. “Who is this woman? Why would she just hit someone? Is she crazy?” “Look at her in that ratty robe with her messy hair. She’s probably just jealous of how gorgeous Sierra is.” “The show just had bad luck running into a psycho like that. Poor Sierra, she must have been terrified.” “DOX HER! We have to find out who she is! Make her get on her knees and apologize to Sierra!” “Anyone got the address yet? Girls, let’s go pay her a visit and teach her a lesson!” I scrolled impassively through the hundreds of thousands of comments. It was an avalanche of insults and curses. Just then, the page refreshed, and a new post appeared. It was from Sierra Stone herself. A high-definition selfie, perfectly angled in soft light. The handprint on her cheek was visible enough to be tragic but not so garish as to be ugly, giving her a fragile, broken look. Her eyes were red, as if she’d just been crying, but she was forcing a brave little smile. The caption: “Thank you for the love, babes. I’m okay, it just hurts a little. Please don’t attack anyone on my behalf. I believe the world is still full of kindness.” A true master of her craft. Her post was the spark that ignited a wildfire of fury and protectiveness among her fans. “AAA MY POOR BABY! Her face is all swollen! How could that bitch lay a hand on her!” “She’s telling us not to attack anyone, she’s too kind! People like that deserve to be bullied off the internet!” “My heart is breaking. I’ve already reported the video of the assault. I hope they take it down so my Sierra doesn’t have to suffer a second time!” “Girls, talk is cheap. I’ve got a lead on the address. It’s that rose manor on the outskirts of the city. Let’s go get justice for Sierra!” I looked at my phone and let out a small laugh. Justice? Fine by me. I put my phone down and went back to my flowers. An hour later, after I’d done what I could to tidy the garden, I went to my study and opened my laptop. The manor’s security system was state-of-the-art. 360-degree, high-definition coverage, all stored on a secure cloud server. They couldn’t edit it, let alone delete it. I downloaded the full, unedited footage, from the moment they broke down my gate to the moment they fled with their tails between their legs. It was twenty-six minutes of crystal-clear 4K video. You could even see the derisive eye-rolls from Sierra’s assistant. I didn’t post it myself. I sent it to a friend who runs a top digital marketing firm. “I need a favor.” He replied instantly. “Anything for you, boss.” “Get this video trending. I want it hotter than #ItGirlSierraStoneAssaultedOnSet.” “No problem, boss. Budget?” I thought of Sierra’s face, and my poor, violated ‘Princess Sissi.’ “Start with ten grand. Add more if you need to.” “Done.” My friend was efficient. In less than thirty minutes, a new hashtag shot up the trending list like a rocket. #TheHickAndTheFiveHundredBucks The title was self-deprecating and intriguing, far more compelling than a dry title like “Full Unedited Video.” I made a single post on my own dormant social media account, with a link to the full video. “Why watch a deceptively edited clip? If you’re going to show something, show all of it.” After posting, I shut my laptop, brewed a cup of herbal tea, and sat on my terrace to enjoy the view after the storm. The coming online bloodbath had nothing to do with me. … The next few hours were like watching a primetime drama unfold in real time. My post, boosted by a significant ad spend, was pushed to every single person consuming the drama online. At first, it was mostly Sierra’s fans, arriving like an angry mob. “Here we go with the damage control. You think there’s an excuse for hitting someone?” “I don’t care what happened before, you don’t put your hands on someone!” But as they watched the full twenty-six-minute video, whether out of patience or a desire to find fault, the tone of the comments began to shift. “Whoa… did I see that right? They literally broke down her gate?” “The director said they were ‘getting a few shots.’ They look more like bandits raiding a village.” “Oh my god, Sierra Stone just started picking the woman’s flowers and then said the owner didn’t know how to ‘appreciate’ them? What kind of psycho logic is that?” “The assistant crumpled up the money and threw it on the ground… that is so incredibly insulting.” “Wait. So they trespassed, destroyed her garden, insulted her, and tried to humiliate her with money before she did anything? In that case… I kinda get the slap?” The tide of public opinion turned faster than I could have imagined. The power of the unvarnished truth is absolute. When people realize they’ve been played for fools, their emotions manipulated by a deceptive video to bully an innocent person, their rage boomerangs back onto the original perpetrator with double the force. #SierraStoneTrespasses #TheHomesteadViolentCrew #CancelSierraStone New hashtags surged to the top, burying #ItGirlSierraStoneAssaultedOnSet without a trace. The comment section under Sierra’s victim-playing selfie became a spectacular dumpster fire. “‘I’m okay’? Yeah, you’ve got some nerve. Were you ‘okay’ when you were breaking down someone’s door?” “The world is full of kindness? Is your kindness destroying other people’s hard work?” “Innocent seductress? More like a shameless, entitled brat.” “Unfollowed. I can’t believe I was ever a fan of such a classless shrew.” Of course, there were always the die-hard fans, frantically trying to defend her. “The gate didn’t have a ‘No Trespassing’ sign. What’s the big deal?” “They’re just a few stupid flowers! Sierra noticing them was a blessing!” “They’re just weeds from some backwater garden. They aren’t worth anything! That woman is just trying to extort money!” “Sierra is a public figure! Who does this nobody think she is, hitting her? She probably recorded the whole thing on purpose to get famous!” Reading these distorted comments, I didn’t feel anger. I felt a sort of detached amusement. Ignorance is bliss. They had no idea what those “few stupid flowers” they were so dismissive of truly represented.

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Vince Holt and I were Manhattan royalty—and sworn rivals. I loved his brother Elias; he obsessed over my sister Isabelle. Everything changed the night a deranged woman held a blade to my throat, screaming I was her rape-conceived bastard child. As Elias coldly declared, “Let the psycho’s daughter die,” Vince grabbed the blade bare-handed. “If my brother won’t have you, I will.” We married. After nearly dying birthing twins, I believed his tears when he vowed to get a vasectomy. Then our children vanished on their fourth birthday. Found bloodless, their tiny bodies drained. Elias’s shout outside my hospital room revealed the truth: “You drained your own children in one go?!” Vince’s reply froze my soul: “Isabelle needed the blood. We can always make more.” Fine. They’d get exactly what they deserved. 1 “Vince, you knew how much Stella loved Leo and Lily. Yesterday was their fourth birthday!” “I didn’t want to do it! But who knew Isabelle would have a relapse yesterday?” “Elias, you know her rare blood disorder can only be managed with blood from a direct relative. The twins were a perfect match. I’ve been taking them for small donations every year, storing it for her. This time… I was desperate. I panicked and took it all!” Vince’s voice cracked, a frantic edge creeping in. I bit down on my own knuckle, hard enough to draw blood, swallowing the metallic tang in my throat. So this was the truth. The two souls I had nearly died to create were just medicine bags for the woman he truly loved. But it didn’t make sense. The night the children disappeared, Vince had been a portrait of frantic despair. He’d raced to their preschool to pull the security footage himself, deploying his security team to search every inch of the neighborhood. And the next morning, when the police knocked on our door with the two small, colorless bodies, he had shattered every piece of porcelain in the living room, his roars for the killer’s head echoing through the house. Outside my room, Elias pulled out a cigarette, then remembered he was in a hospital and shoved it back in its pack. He rubbed his forehead, a picture of weary frustration. “Vince, Stella was never the favorite in her family. You orchestrated that whole ‘hero saves the day’ scene, releasing her birth mother from the asylum just to play the savior and trick her into marrying you. Turning your marriage into a chess game is one thing, but to leave her without her children… that’s a new level of cruel, even for you.” My blood turned to ice in my veins. A cold numbness crept up my scalp. Twenty years of bickering and fighting, followed by four years of what I thought was a deeply devoted marriage. I never imagined he was capable of such monstrous evil. Vince let out a cold snort. “That’s because you were too soft, Elias. You could never bring yourself to properly reject her, which made Isabelle feel insecure. She had no choice but to turn to me for help.” The moment he mentioned Isabelle, his tone softened, transforming into something tender, almost reverent, like a zealot speaking of his god. “I would do anything to ensure Isabelle’s happiness.” The blood-soaked truth lay bare before me. I clutched the bedsheets, leaning over the side of the bed and gagging, my stomach heaving with violent, empty retches. On our wedding night, I had asked him when he first fell in love with me. He’d flicked my forehead gently, a look of fond exasperation on his face. “You idiot,” he’d said. “In all of Manhattan, out of all the people I could have tormented, why do you think it was always you?” I had blushed, convinced my own heart had been too slow to see the truth. I’d completely missed the flicker of mockery deep in his eyes. Elias was silent for a moment before sighing. “But Stella is stubborn. I’m afraid she’ll dig until she finds the truth.” “I’ve already arranged for a scapegoat. Don’t worry about it, brother,” Vince said, his voice regaining its confidence. “Besides, Stella is in love with me now. She would never suspect me.” He paused. “We’ll have more children. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to her.” Elias clapped him on the shoulder, a note of approval in his voice. “Well said. The men of the Holt family don’t do divorce. Only death. And I will only ever have one wife: Isabelle.” 2 When Vince pushed open the door to my room, I fought back the wave of nausea and revulsion, pretending I had just woken up. “Stella, my love. They found the killer,” he said, his voice soft. “A repeat child abuser. I swear to you, I will make him pay.” He opened a thermos and poured a bowl of steaming chicken soup. After gently blowing on the spoon to cool it, he brought it to my lips, coaxing me to drink as if I were a fragile doll. “Darling, I’ve already scheduled the vasectomy reversal. As soon as you’re strong again, we can try for another baby.” “Stella, you have to let go. We have to look forward. Our life together is still long.” I grabbed his sleeve, my knuckles white. I wanted to scream, to tear him apart, but before any words could form, the tears began to flow, hot and silent. “Don’t cry, my love,” he whispered, his own eyes welling up as he brushed the tears from my cheeks. “Please, don’t cry. You’re breaking my heart.” Suddenly, as if struck by an idea, he gripped my hand, his tone urgent. “Stella, let’s… let’s lay Leo and Lily to rest today. It will help you find closure, help you move on.” I stared at him, my whole body trembling. “No,” I croaked. “It’s too soon. There are arrangements to make. We can’t just… bury them today.” “I know, but I can’t stand seeing you in so much pain. I thought it would help.” Before he could say more, I threw back the covers and ran from the room. “Stella! You don’t have any shoes on!” I fled the hospital and hailed the first cab I saw. “The Crestwood Manor, and hurry!” As soon as the car stopped, I used the facial recognition scanner and burst into the villa. When the police had brought our children home, I had fainted on the spot. Vince, busy rushing me to the hospital, had no choice but to leave them in the nursery. I pushed open the door. There they were, Leo and Lily, lying so still they looked like they were only sleeping. My hand trembled as I reached out to touch their cold, waxy faces. The tears I had been holding back finally broke free. “It’s mommy’s fault,” I sobbed. “Mommy married a monster.” I was about to call the funeral home to have them moved to a morgue when a flicker of movement caught my eye. Lily’s tiny finger had twitched. My heart hammered against my ribs. I pressed my ear to her chest, holding my breath. After what felt like an eternity, I heard it. A faint, fluttering heartbeat. I immediately dialed the emergency line. “I need an ambulance!” By the time Vince arrived at the children’s hospital, Lily was already in the ICU, surrounded by a team of doctors fighting for her life. His face was a mask of shock and guilt. “She’s alive? Lily’s alive? Oh, God, it’s all my fault! I should have checked, I should have known! I swear, Stella, I will protect you and our daughter with my life!” I ignored him, my eyes glued to the closed doors of the ICU, a barrier between life and death. For two days and two nights, I didn’t sleep, didn’t even blink. Finally, a doctor emerged. The news was a fragile, double-edged sword. Lily was out of immediate danger. His expression was grave. “Your daughter suffered massive blood loss. She’ll likely need medication for the rest of her life.” But I was already crying with relief. “As long as she’s alive, that’s all that matters.” For the next week, I never left Lily’s bedside. Isabelle showed up one day, Vince at her side, carrying a container of food. I immediately handed it to a nurse and told her to have it tested for toxins. Isabelle’s eyes filled with tears. “You think I’d poison the food? Stella, how could you? I’m your sister. Lily is my niece.” Vince looked at me, his face etched with pain. “Stella, you’ve lost your mind.” On the seventh day, Lily finally woke up. I shot up from my chair, my hand reaching for the call button to summon the doctor. But her small fingers wrapped around mine, stopping me. I looked down. Lily swallowed, her eyes wide with a child’s simple desire. “Mommy,” she whispered, “I want a candy apple.” “Oh, sweetie, you’re still too weak. You can’t have snacks right now.” Her little eyelashes fluttered. “But Mommy… it hurts.” My heart broke. “Okay, baby. Okay. Mommy will go get you one right now. You stay right here and be a good girl, don’t move, okay?” She nodded, her voice small and sweet. “I’ll be good.” I called a nurse and made her promise not to take her eyes off Lily for a second, then ran out of the hospital. I was back in less than ten minutes, a giant, glittering candy apple in my hand. But as I reached her room, the doctor blocked the doorway. His face was a grim mask. “Ms. Bernstein, please, you need to prepare yourself. Your daughter… she went into sudden cardiac arrest. We did everything we could, but she’s gone.” I shoved past him. The heart monitor was emitting a single, flat, continuous tone. Lily’s body, which had been warm just moments ago, was already growing cold. The candy apple slipped from my grasp, hitting the floor with a dull thud. The next second, I lunged at the doctor, my nails digging into his flesh. “You killed her! You must have done something! You killed my baby!” Nurses rushed to pull me away. I fought like a wild animal, screaming and clawing, until Vince, hearing the commotion, came running. 3 “Stella, that’s enough!” he roared, his voice cracking like a whip. “This is a hospital, not the goddamn asylum you crawled out of!” He slapped me. The force of the blow sent a ringing through my ears, and the world tilted. I stood there, stunned, my hand rising to my throbbing cheek. He seemed to snap back to reality, his expression shifting to one of horror. He pulled me into his arms. “Darling, I’m so sorry… The doctors, they’re not gods. They did their best. You have to accept it.” “Did you hear that? Her mother’s a psycho. No wonder she’s acting like this. She was terrifying.” “Yeah, why do people like that even have kids? They just pass on the crazy.” “A woman like that, with no class, no self-control… she doesn’t deserve to be a mother.” The nurses stood by the door, whispering, their eyes filled with disgust. I felt my hands begin to tremble. Vince saw it and spun around, yelling at the staff. “Shut your mouths! All of you! Say one more word and I’ll have this hospital shut down by tomorrow!” He turned back to me, his voice fierce. “No one talks about my wife like that. No one.” He was defending me, this man who had created the very situation that had brought me to this public humiliation. “Don’t touch me!” I shoved him away and fled. I ran from the children’s hospital straight to the nearest police station. I filed a report, accusing the doctor of negligence and malpractice, and demanded the police reopen the investigation into my children’s deaths, insisting they had the wrong man. The officer on duty was patient, carefully writing down everything I said. But as I grew frustrated with his slow pace, I heard hurried footsteps approaching from behind me. The officer looked up, and a polite, professional smile appeared on his face. “Mrs. Holt, we’re going to need you to cooperate with a quick examination.” Before I could process his words, I felt a sharp prick in my neck. The world went black. When I slowly regained consciousness, I found myself strapped to a bed, my arms and legs bound. Isabelle was sitting beside me. Seeing I was awake, she dabbed at the corners of her eyes, feigning tears that weren’t there. “Stella, you’re finally awake! You scared me half to death.” I looked around the sterile, white room, a cold dread seeping into my bones. “Where am I?” “Here?” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Why, this is a psychiatric hospital. And I’ll let you in on a little secret… your mother is right next door. You’re finally reunited. Aren’t you happy?” “Was it Vince?” I screamed, my voice raw. “Vince, you bastard! Get out here!” “Shhh,” Isabelle said, placing a finger to her lips. “Don’t bother. This is the most secure facility in the state. Once you’re in, you never get out. Unless…” she leaned in closer, “someone intentionally lets you out.” Seeing the color drain from my face, Isabelle let out a triumphant laugh. “Oh, you figured it out. Yes, it was Vince who let your mother out all those years ago.” “And all because of one little thing I said. I told him I felt so insecure with you constantly chasing after Elias. I asked him to help me, and he did. He sacrificed himself and married you.” A sharp, cramping pain seized my stomach, a physical manifestation of my rage. I forced myself to breathe, to remain calm. “We’re half-sisters. Why do you hate me so much? Ever since we were children, you’ve taken everything I’ve ever wanted.” “Taken?” Isabelle laughed, a shrill, ugly sound. Then her face twisted with fury, and she lunged forward, her hands closing around my neck. “If your mother hadn’t seduced my father, you wouldn’t even exist! You are a mistake that never should have happened! There should have only ever been one daughter of the Bernstein family!” Just as my vision began to tunnel and my lungs burned for air, she released me. She leaned in close, her breath hot on my ear, her words a venomous hiss. “So, I whispered one more thing to Vince. I told him I was sick, with a very rare blood disorder, and that only the blood of a direct relative could save me. I had everyone in the family tested, and what a coincidence… only Leo and Lily were a match.” “That fool. He actually brought them in every year for donations. And this time, all I had to do was pretend to be a little sicker, a little more desperate, and he drained them completely for me!” Her eyes glinted with a wicked light. “You should have seen it, Stella. When his bodyguards held Leo and Lily down to draw their blood, they screamed so horribly. They kept crying, ‘Daddy, it hurts, please stop!’ But Vince was afraid I’d go soft, so he had their arms and legs broken. He sealed their mouths and eyes with duct tape.” “But your little Lily, she was a tough one. She actually survived that. So I just had to faint in front of Vince one more time. You should have seen how panicked he was. He held her down himself, a struggling, crying child, and drew the rest of her blood with his own two hands.” She smiled, a cruel, triumphant curve of her lips. “Tell me, Stella. Just how much must he love me, to sacrifice his own flesh and blood?”

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On the day of Landon’s engagement party, he arranged for a couple of street thugs to pick a fight with me. By the time I finished giving my statement at the police station, night had fallen. When I finally got home, I overheard someone ask where I’d been. Landon just laughed. “I was worried she’d make a scene, so I arranged for her to spend the day… getting acquainted with the police. By the time she gets out, it’ll all be over.” I stood outside the door, a bitter smile twisting my lips. I blocked Landon’s number and every other contact we had in common, turned on my heel, and boarded a flight out of the country. I heard later that when Landon couldn’t find me, the ever-composed man finally lost his mind, his eyes turning a feral red as he muttered to himself, “She’s just jealous. She’s playing games to punish me. Once she cools off, she’ll be back. She has to be.” But he didn’t understand. I wasn’t playing a game. I was really, truly, leaving him for good. 1 The sky was already dark by the time I finished my statement at the police station. The day Landon got engaged, my world tilted. I was so out of it that I turned a corner and hit another car. The other driver was determined to drag it out, and the whole mess had only just been resolved. Landon’s phone went straight to voicemail, every time. My social media feed was a minefield of photos of him and his fiancée. Each picture was a fresh stab to the heart. I was furious. A full day’s worth of humiliation and anger churned inside me, demanding release. I hailed a cab and went straight to his house. The door was ajar, and the sounds of laughter and conversation drifted out. Landon often had friends over for drinks or to watch a game. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but when I heard my own name, I froze. “Honestly, man, we all thought you and Aria would be the ones,” his friend Ethan was saying, his voice laced with regret. “You guys grew up together. She’s stunningly beautiful, but damn, that temper…” “She’s spoiled,” another voice chimed in. “She’s been throwing tantrums for years. You’d think she’d get tired of it.” Landon was sunk deep into the sofa. He glanced at his watch, a flicker of irritation crossing his handsome features. He was probably thinking it was about time for me to show up, ready for a tearful, screaming match. The thought alone gave him a headache. “It’s weird, though,” Ethan mused. “You getting engaged to Lila… I expected Aria to raise hell. But she’s been a ghost all day. Where is she?” Landon chuckled. “I was worried she’d make a scene, so I arranged for her to spend the day getting acquainted with the police. By the time she gets out, it’ll all be over.” “Damn, that’s cold. Only you could handle Aria like that, Landon,” his other friend, Josh, said with admiration. “Landon,” Ethan said, his tone more serious now. “Have you ever thought… with you engaged to Lila, what if Aria is really hurt? What if she just… leaves?” An image of my tear-streaked face flashed through Landon’s mind, and a wave of unease washed over him. He quickly snuffed it out with a cold scoff. “Frankly,” he said with a shrug, “I’d be relieved.” Relieved. That’s what seven years of devotion had earned me. I pulled my hand back from the door and turned away. It was early winter, and the air hadn’t turned truly cold yet. But a chill seeped right through my coat and into my bones. All these years, orbiting Landon, fighting and making up, I was the only one who ever stayed. I truly believed we were endgame. But here he was, having me detained just so he could get engaged to someone else without a fuss. How pathetic did he think I was, to let him degrade me like this, again and again? Rain began to fall, and the weather forecast had predicted a drop in temperature, maybe even snow later tonight. When it snowed in this city, it never seemed to stop. I used to hate the winter, but Landon would wrap me in his oversized coat, and he always kept a warm blanket in his car just for me. Now, it was clear those moments of perceived happiness were just illusions, destined to crumble before the finish line. The rain fell harder, plastering strands of hair to my forehead. My steps faltered. I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. How had my life come to this? Suddenly, the fight drained out of me. The endless arguments about love and loyalty felt like a joke. I pulled my damp coat tighter around myself, and an idea took root in my mind. I needed to go somewhere warm. Somewhere without winter, without snow. And most importantly, without Landon. 2 I blocked Landon and all his friends. Every last one. A message came through from an unknown number. It was Lila, Landon’s fiancée. [He’s engaged to me now. You have no idea how much he adores me. You should back off gracefully and keep some of your dignity. Landon always hated dealing with you. Every time he had to see you, he’d buy me a gift to make up for it. Everything you have, I have. And I have plenty that you don’t. Stop bothering him. Or I’ll tell everyone how you’ve been trying to seduce my fiancé.] Lila. Landon’s perpetually clumsy personal assistant. Delicate and fragile, her eyes would well up at the slightest harsh word, like a frightened kitten. Did Landon know this venomous side of her? She had been subtly sabotaging me for months. “Accidentally” spilling wine on my couture gown, “unintentionally” breaking my diamond necklace. I saw her for the master manipulator she was back then, but Landon was always completely taken in by her act. If I so much as raised my voice to her, he would leap to her defense. A shame about all those beautiful clothes and jewels. I’d tried to argue with him, but he’d just placate me with a dismissive, “You have plenty of things like that. She’s just a girl new to the real world, what does she know? Don’t make things hard for Lila.” I had plenty. But if someone else broke them, they had to pay. I forwarded the matter to my lawyer, instructing him to bill Lila for every last penny. Then I took out my SIM card and tossed it in the trash. Good riddance to bad rubbish. I hope they’re miserable together forever. My parents came upstairs to find me packing, their faces etched with worry. “Aria, sweetheart, are you sure about this? What that Landon boy did was unforgivable. We’re going to march over there and demand an explanation!” Our families had always tacitly approved of our relationship. Similar backgrounds, a shared history—it seemed like the perfect match. “Mom, Dad, if you want me to have any pride left, please don’t,” I pleaded. “I can go abroad and help my brother with his business, right? You always wanted me to get more real-world experience.” They were stunned to hear me say it. For years, I had been completely obsessed, chasing Landon around since high school. “You’re not just doing this to make a point?” my mother asked cautiously. I hugged them both tightly. “I used to be a mess, I know,” I said, my voice firm. “But not anymore.” My parents had the same high hopes for me as they did for my brother. It was I who had been reckless and stubborn, mistaking Landon for my entire world. “Alright,” my dad said, his voice thick with emotion. “Our daughter is strong and capable. If you’ve made up your mind, you go do it. If you get into any trouble, Dad will be right here to bail you out.” “I will,” I promised, my voice catching in my throat. I turned and walked onto the plane, leaving the city and everything it held behind me. It was a closed chapter. 3 That night, Landon waited. For Aria. Or a call from her. He told himself that if she called again, he’d be gracious and pick up. He’d even tolerate her tears and her accusations. But there was nothing. The feeling was like a kite string snapping in his hand—a sudden, gut-wrenching hollowness. “Landon, I can’t hang, man. I gotta get some sleep,” Josh said, his eyes barely staying open. They’d been drinking all night, but as the hours wore on, it was clear Landon’s mind was elsewhere. Lila called, her voice a soft, cooing murmur. “Landon, are you still up? I miss you. I want to come see you.” Landon swirled the liquor in his glass. “Josh and Ethan are here. It’s my last bachelor party. Be good, get some sleep.” After a little more pouting, Lila reluctantly hung up. Josh sidled up to Ethan. “What’s with him?” he whispered. “Who throws themselves a bachelor party after they get engaged?” Ethan stared into his glass and sighed. “What bachelor party? He’s waiting for someone. Isn’t it obvious?” Normally, Aria’s temper would have sent her storming over hours ago. The fact that she hadn’t was a very bad sign. “Should I try calling her? See where she is?” Ethan offered. Landon walked to the window without turning around. “Do what you want.” Ethan called the police station first. They confirmed Aria had left at dusk. Her own phone was unreachable. When Landon tried, he discovered he’d been blocked. So had Ethan and Josh. “Looks like she’s really pissed this time, man,” Josh said. “Aria’s not one to sit still. What if she’s serious this time? You had her locked up and got engaged to someone else. It was a bit much, Landon,” Ethan said, finally voicing what he’d been thinking all night. They tried calling Aria’s friends, but no one had seen or heard from her. The ever-composed Landon finally snapped. He kicked over the coffee table, sending bottles crashing to the floor. Glass shattered everywhere. He had never, not for a moment, imagined she would actually leave. She was like his shadow, always there, always clinging to him. They had been together for so long, and both their families had accepted it as fact. As for Lila… the more Aria bullied her, the more he felt the need to protect the girl. He’d protected her for so long he couldn’t even untangle his own feelings anymore. His eyes were bloodshot as he muttered to himself, “She’s just jealous. She’s playing games to punish me. Once she cools off, she’ll be back. She has to be.” It had happened before, before Lila. She’d get angry, they’d fight. But if he was patient, if he just coaxed her a little, she’d always forgive him, and love him even more fiercely than before. But he didn’t know. Aria wasn’t running away in a tantrum. She was running away for good. 4 The flight was long. After an entire night in the air, I landed. My brother wasn’t there to pick me up. Instead, it was his best friend, Caden. I’d heard they were inseparable, the kind of friends who grew up practically sharing the same pair of pants. There were even rumors that Caden was secretly in love with my brother. So, I kept my guard up and offered him a polite smile. “Long time no see, Caden.” He was tall and strikingly handsome, dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt. His smile was as bright and warm as the climate here. “Your brother had to fly out for a business meeting last minute. He asked me to pick you up.” He reached for my suitcase and patted the top of it. “Wanna ride?” “I’m not a kid anymore.” Caden was five years older than me. He used to come over to our house all the time when we were younger, and his favorite game was to pull me around the house in his suitcase. He whistled, tossed my luggage into the trunk, and drove me to his place. The weather here was perfect, a comfortable 70 degrees. He blasted music from his flashy red convertible, and as I watched the scenery fly by, the warm wind seemed to blow away all my fatigue, washing away the icy residue of my old life. I liked this place. “Your brother’s place is being renovated, so you’ll have to rough it here with me for a few days. Your room’s ready. Upstairs, second door on the right. It’s across from mine.” The room was great, with a huge floor-to-ceiling window. The decor, however, was… questionable. Pink. Everywhere. Classic straight-guy decorating. I was exhausted. I unpacked a few things and crashed, hoping to catch up on sleep. In my dreams, I was back in high school, the first time I saw Landon. He was leaning against a windowsill, listening to music, reading a book. The wind rustled the leaves outside, playing with his hair and the hem of his crisp, white shirt. It was a scene straight out of a movie. A group of girls were daring each other to be the first to confess their feelings to him. Without a second thought, I walked right up to him. “Landon, I like you.” He looked up at me, a mocking smile on his lips. “Aria, are you an idiot?” I woke up with a jolt. It was mortifying, even in a dream. God, I really was brave back then. As I recalled, on the actual day of my confession, Landon had just smirked and said nothing. Caden’s voice came from outside my door. “Aria, are you a damn pig? You’ve been sleeping for a day and a night! Even a pig would lose to you in a sleeping contest. Get up and eat!” The food was Caden’s own cooking, and it was incredible. He was famous for his impulsive passions. If he had a bad meal at a restaurant, he’d open his own. He liked drumming, so he started a band. He got interested in geology, disappeared into the mountains, and had to be rescued by a helicopter. He dropped out of college halfway through to become a race car driver. His life was a long list of rebellious acts. Finally, his family had enough and shipped him abroad to learn some discipline. When he found out my brother was here, he moved his company’s branch office to be nearby. At the time, my parents and I were terrified he would corrupt our family’s only son. But a part of me envied him. A life lived like that… could he have any regrets? “So, Caden, what have you been up to all these years?” I asked, curious. “Business,” he said, not even looking up. “And you? What are you doing here?” “Learning business from my brother.” We sounded like we were conducting a very dry interview. He frowned, then said thoughtfully, “Well, your brother’s out of town. You can learn from me for now.” 5 And so, I started learning business from a former delinquent. It turns out you really can’t judge a book by its cover. When a person who spent their youth messing around suddenly gets serious, they can be dangerously sharp. I started as Caden’s personal assistant, which basically meant making tea, fetching coffee, and making copies. It was a bit of an insult to my shiny diploma. A new girl in the secretarial pool, her makeup caked on and her neckline plunging, snatched a cup of coffee from my hands and sashayed into the president’s office. “Mr. Hayes, your coffee.” Caden didn’t even lift his eyes from his screen. “Before you ‘accidentally’ spill that on me, I feel compelled to inform you that my suit and shoes cost a combined total of twenty-three thousand dollars. They are handmade and took three months to complete. Are you quite sure you can afford to replace them?” The girl silently retracted the foot she’d been about to trip with. As she placed the coffee on his desk, she leaned over deliberately. Caden held a handkerchief to his nose. “Is that poison you’re wearing? The fumes are about to trigger my rhinitis.” She fled the office in tears, her makeup streaking down her face. I stood outside the door, trying desperately not to laugh. “Ms. Summers,” he called out. “Your posture is excellent. The military training at your university must have been top-notch.” I stiffened. “It was alright, sir. Thank you for the compliment.” “With form like that, perhaps I should transfer you to the security department?” “No, no, thank you!” “Then what are you waiting for? Get in here.” I made a mental note to call my brother and ask what on earth had happened to Caden over the years. His tongue had become a lethal weapon. Caden leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, his long fingers tapping a rhythm on the keyboard. His sharp eyes were fixed on the screen, a faint smile on his lips. “Did you write this quarterly report?” My stomach clenched. “Yes, Mr. Hayes.” “It’s very good,” he nodded. I beamed, quickly laying on the praise. “Thank you, sir! I’ll keep working hard.” He looked up at me. “It reads like a damn novel.” My heart shattered. “Rewrite it. I want it on my desk before you leave today.” But backing down wasn’t my style. It was just a report. I could do this. I was still working on it at ten o’clock that night. “Not done yet? You’re writing so slowly you’re making me hungry,” Caden complained from his seat nearby. I was perched on the edge of his leather executive chair, feeling like I was sitting on a bed of nails. An hour later, the takeout he ordered arrived. “Eat first, write later. It’s not like you’re going to finish anytime soon anyway. A few more minutes won’t make a difference.” Could someone please pay to have this man silenced? He was insufferable.

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My wife developed severe postpartum depression after our son was born. The only way she could sleep was by hiding in our walk-in closet every night. Even after six long months, she still couldn’t share a bed with me. I tried to defy it once. Convinced it was all in her head, I gently lifted her sleeping form from the closet floor and carried her back to our bed. The result was a disaster. She woke up and sobbed inconsolably, and the next day, her depression spiraled so badly she had to be hospitalized. After that, I walked on eggshells. I never dared to touch her again. I just let her retreat to the closet, night after night. Until our son’s first birthday. That morning, Stella emerged from the closet, stretching lazily like a cat. I took one look at her face, glowing and rosy from a good night’s sleep, and said it. “I want a divorce.” The party chatter in the room died. Every eye swiveled to me. Her father’s face hardened. “Because my daughter sleeps in a closet? You want to divorce her for that?” Her mother’s eyes, already misty with emotion for her grandson, welled up with tears of rage. “Stella went through hell to give you a child! She’s suffering from postpartum depression, can’t even sleep in a comfortable bed, and you—you heartless bastard—you have the nerve to ask for a divorce?” I remained silent, my decision unshakable. Stella’s own eyes turned a painful, brilliant red. Tears clung to her lashes as she confronted me. “William,” her voice trembled, “if I hadn’t carried your precious son for ten months, I wouldn’t have postpartum depression! I know you don’t understand, but to divorce me just because I sleep in the closet… are you serious?” I stared at her, my gaze cold, and pointed a finger at the offending piece of furniture. “You said that closet is your home,” I said, my voice devoid of all emotion. “Fine. Go marry your closet.” … “The courthouse. Ten o’clock tomorrow morning.” I turned my wheelchair to leave the party, but a hand shot out and clamped down on my arm, yanking me to a halt. It was her brother, Tim. “William, you’re not going anywhere until you explain yourself!” he snarled, his eyes burning with a hatred so intense it felt like he wanted to devour me whole. He squeezed my arm, the pressure making it hard to breathe. “We’re both men. I know exactly why you’re doing this,” Tim seethed. “It’s about what happens in the bedroom, isn’t it?” “My sister nearly died giving you that baby. Have you even looked at her stomach? It used to be flawless. Now it’s covered in stretch marks like a roadmap to hell. She gained thirty pounds for you, her whole body changed, and now you’re disgusted? A little late for that, don’t you think?” His words were brutally blunt, and they hit their mark. Everyone in the room glared at me, their faces a mixture of judgment and contempt. I could feel them mentally lumping me in with that one distant cousin whose name was now mud in the family circle—the guy who divorced his wife after she “let herself go” post-baby. They were ready to nail me to that cross. As I opened my mouth to defend myself, Stella’s father slammed his wine glass down on the table. “William, a man’s fortune rises when he cherishes his wife,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Every woman goes through this. If this is your reason for leaving my daughter, I’ve lost all respect for you.” Her mother let out an impatient scoff. “All you men ever think about is what’s between your legs! My daughter has been struggling for over a year. Can’t you show a little compassion? She’s your wife, not your release valve!” I said nothing. Stella’s tears finally broke free, fat droplets rolling down her cheeks. “William, you soulless bastard. Is that really why? Is this really about me sleeping in the closet… about us not having sex?” Her voice, thick with sobs, rose to a crescendo. “Let me ask you something, William. Our son is a year old now. How many diapers have you changed? How many times a day does he need a bottle? Have you ever even cared to notice?” The room turned on me, a chorus of angry murmurs. “He looks so put-together, but he has zero sense of responsibility. What a pathetic excuse for a man.” “You’d think he had a throne to pass down, the way he wanted a son. Turns out he can’t even be bothered to raise him.” “Now I get why Stella’s depressed. If I were married to a man like that, I’d want to kill myself.” Expressionless, I scanned their hostile faces and let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Say whatever you want.” My eyes found Stella. “Tomorrow morning. The courthouse.” “So you admit it?” Tim’s fist tightened, and he swung at me. “I’ll kill you, you animal! My sister must have been blind to marry a piece of trash like you!” As his fist flew toward my face, Stella shrieked in terror. “Tim, no! Don’t hit him!” She threw herself in front of me, shielding my body with her own. “He was in a car accident! He can’t even fight back! You’ll hurt him, and… and it would break my heart!” The punch stopped inches from my cheek. A bitter, desolate smile twisted Tim’s lips. “You see that, William? Do you see how much she loves you? It’s a reflex. She sees you in danger and protects you without a second thought. You’re a cripple in a wheelchair, and she hasn’t abandoned you. What right do you have to complain about her?” He leaned in close, his voice a low growl. “William, I’m asking you one last time—are you sure you want to go through with this divorce?” “Yes.” I turned my head, my face a mask of indifference, and looked at Stella. Tears streamed from her eyes as she shook her head. “William,” she whispered, grabbing my arm, “I know I’ve neglected you this past year. It’s my fault. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll change.” A harsh laugh escaped my lips, and I shook her off with disgust. “Stop the act. Get away from me.” “No matter what, this marriage is over.” I spun my wheelchair around, determined to leave. Thump. The sound of knees hitting the floor. Stella was on the ground, tears streaming down her face as she jammed her hand into the spokes of my wheelchair. If I moved an inch, her hand would be crushed. My brow furrowed. “Let go.” She just sobbed and shook her head. “William, I’m on my knees begging you. Can’t we just talk this through? Please, don’t divorce me. You’re doing this in front of everyone… my family will be so worried…” Her voice cracked. “And it’s just about me sleeping in the closet, isn’t it?” She swore, her words choked with tears, “If you hate it that much, I’ll stop! I’ll never sleep in there again! I’ll sleep in the bed with you, even if… even if I can’t sleep a wink…” Her supposed concession was my condemnation. The guests erupted in a fresh wave of insults. “He’s not a man, he’s a monster!” “Making a federal case out of something so small. Whoever married him is the unluckiest woman alive.” “Poor Stella, living like this. Honestly, if it weren’t for the baby, she should divorce him!” In their eyes, I was the undisputed villain. They looked at me as if they wanted to flay me alive. A smirk touched my lips. “Then why don’t you dare tell them the real reason you sleep in the closet?”

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