Austin never liked taking photos, and he certainly never wanted to take them with me. For my graduation, he claimed his internship kept him too busy to make it, sending me a poorly photoshopped AI-composite image instead. When we traveled together, he shrugged and said professional photos were always heavily edited anyway, so he generated another batch of AI portraits for us. Now that we were getting married, Austin wanted our wedding photos to be AI-generated, too. “Wedding shoots are a massive rip-off and a waste of time,” he’d said. “Besides, those AI templates look exactly like the stuff your friend shoots. You’re the only sucker willing to pay her rates.” “The shoot conflicts with my business trip anyway, Fi. Why don’t we use that money to buy you a stunning dress instead?” Looking into Austin’s earnest eyes, I quietly closed the portfolio my best friend had sent over. Once Austin left for his trip, the entire burden of wedding planning fell squarely on my shoulders. I’d just pulled an all-nighter finalizing the wedding favors when Paige posted a new gallery on her Instagram grid. Another repeat client! This handsome guy went all out to book a custom birthday shoot for his favorite girl~ Slightly envious, I tapped on the photos. Only to find Austin’s familiar face smiling back at me next to a strange girl. 1 Thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me from sleep deprivation, I closed the app and opened it again. Paige’s geotag was set to the exact coastal town where Austin was supposed to be on his business trip. No matter how much I zoomed in or out, the man in the photo was undeniably Austin. The only difference was his bare left hand. No wedding band. When Austin proposed, he swore that once the ring was on, it would never come off. Once, I took mine off briefly before a shower, terrified of losing it in the drain, and he gave me the silent treatment for half a day. It took hours of coaxing to get back into his good graces. Yet here he was, the first to slip it off. The man who claimed to despise cameras had spent hours posing for beautiful, intimate photos with another girl. I pulled up Austin’s chat, typing out one last question. Can we please do a real wedding shoot when you get back? It was three in the morning, but he replied almost instantly. Fi, I thought we agreed on the AI pictures? You know how much I hate all that fuss and posing. Real shoots are exhausting. Let’s not get into this now, babe. Let your man get some sleep, okay? Always the same excuse. Too exhausting. Too tired. Was it not exhausting to pose for a glittering, fairy-tale birthday shoot with that other girl? Paige had told me about those shoots before. To get that perfect shot of glitter suspended in mid-air, you needed someone throwing handfuls of it over and over again. Those sessions took at least two grueling hours. In the photos, Austin’s hair and clothes were dusted with sparkles. He must have thrown them dozens of times. He didn’t mind the hassle for her, but a wedding shoot for us was too much to ask. My fingers trembled so badly it took me several tries just to close his chat. I screenshotted the gallery and sent it straight to Paige. Why didn’t you tell me? She, too, replied instantly. So you saw. Honestly, whatever. If anyone should feel guilty here, it’s you. My fiancé had slipped away on the eve of our wedding to play boyfriend to another woman. My best friend had actively covered for them and taken the damn photos. Why on earth should I feel guilty? Before I could even type a response, another text popped up from Paige. Fiona, you always claimed Austin hated photos. You never supported my business, and you wouldn’t even book me for your wedding photos. But guess what? Austin loved my work. He praised me and has hired me several times now. You were never a real friend to me. Several times? I followed Paige’s work religiously. If that girl had been in her portfolio before, I would have noticed. The only explanation was that Paige had blocked me from seeing those specific posts. Paige and I had grown up together. We were supposed to be sisters. When she said she wanted a professional camera, I worked two exhausting summer jobs just to buy her one. When she couldn’t find a job after graduation, I was the one who pushed her to turn her hobby into a career. Her first, second, and third clients were all people I begged to hire her. Outside of my parents, she was the person I loved most in this world. Yet, she accused me of being a fake friend just because I didn’t hire her for my own wedding. And for a quick paycheck, she had willingly helped Austin betray me. Paige, how much did Austin pay you for this shoot? Her reply came a second later. Eight hundred bucks. Plus travel and hotel. Eight hundred dollars. Not even the cost of the first camera I bought her. Austin had balked at the five-hundred-dollar wedding package I wanted, calling it a waste. But eight hundred for a birthday shoot was totally fine. Look, Fi, don’t say I never did anything for you. I’ll give you the truth. Austin isn’t on a business trip. He took Mona away for her birthday. It’s a romantic getaway. Whether you still want to marry him is up to you. Attached was a photo. 2 When the image loaded, my fingertips went numb, and my heart dropped into a cold, hollow abyss. In the photo, Austin, a man who was usually an absolute neat freak, was sitting on a dirty curb, happily eating street food with Mona. No wonder he had replied instantly at three in the morning. He wasn’t asleep; he was out on the town with her. During his week-long trip, I had tried to text him about the wedding details. Every single time, he brushed me off, saying he was too busy and telling me to stop suffocating him. I had offered to fly out to help him shoulder some of his workload. He’d claimed he didn’t want me to exhaust myself, and that the extra travel expenses would be a waste of money. Too busy? Too expensive? He was just terrified I’d crash his romantic little bubble with Mona. The business trip was a lie. His hatred of photos was a lie. His love for me was a lie. I curled into a ball on the cold floor and wept until my chest ached. I must have cried myself to sleep because I was startled awake by my phone buzzing at ten the next morning. It was the confectioner, asking if I approved of the custom wedding favors. I grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, pressed it against my swollen eyes, and texted back: Please cancel the order. The wedding is off. I sent the same short, cold message to the bridal boutique and the wedding planner. Then, I texted Paige to ask about the other shoots Austin had booked with her. She refused to answer, claiming it was “Austin’s private business.” But she did send me a cheeky cash-request meme. A lifetime of friendship, reduced to a cheap transaction. I let out a hollow, bitter laugh and locked my screen. By the time I got home from work, Austin was already there. He looked up, a faint scowl on his face. “Fi, I asked you to pick me up from the airport. Why weren’t you there?” I checked my phone. He had sent over a dozen texts while I was working. He wanted a ride, and he’d demanded I stop by a specific tea shop to get him a highly customized strawberry milk tea with boba, herbal jelly, and vanilla ice cream, no ice. Austin hated sweet drinks. “Austin,” I said quietly, “can you order a boba for me?” He looked confused but opened his phone anyway. After scrolling in frustration for a minute, he shoved the device into my hand. “Just choose what you want and order it yourself.” I shook my head, handing it back. “Never mind. I lost my appetite.” “Fiona, what is your—” Austin started to snap, but he froze when he saw my eyes, swollen like bruised plums. “What happened to your eyes?” He grabbed an ice pack from the fridge and pressed it to my face, sighing. “Did you stay up all night stressing over the wedding again? Fi, a wedding is just a formality. You don’t need to drive yourself crazy over it.” Looking directly into his lying eyes, I couldn’t help but ask, “Then why are birthdays so important? More important than me?” Austin had pursued me for two whole years before we started dating. I truly believed he loved me. So when he said he hated photos and wanted AI portraits, when he brushed me off time and time again, I kept telling myself it was just his personality. That he was just pragmatic. It was all a lie. I couldn’t help but wonder if those two years of chasing me had been about love at all, or just the thrill of the hunt. A soft weight brushed against my hands. Austin was handing me something. His expression turned pleading, trying to placate me. “What birthday? Fi, what are you talking about? Of course you’re my priority. Look, I even brought you a gift.” I had already seen this “gift” on Paige’s Instagram. It was a cheap, scratchy airline blanket given to first-class passengers. Every traveler got one for free. Outside, the afternoon sun was blindingly bright, and the AC hummed in the background, blowing a chilly breeze through the room. I managed a faint, empty smile and tossed the blanket onto the sofa. 3 Austin opened his mouth to complain, but his phone chirped with a custom, high-pitched ringtone. I glanced at the screen. The contact name read: Lil followed by a cute kitten emoji. Austin had always hated clutter on his phone. He had refused to even pin my chat to the top of his messages. Yet for Mona, he had custom nicknames and unique ringtones. I pulled my gaze away and began dragging my suitcase out of the closet. Austin watched me, his brow furrowing. “Fi, what are you doing with the suitcase?” “Just tossing out trash.” He stepped over, grabbing my wrist gently. “Do that later. Didn’t you say we were short on bridesmaids? I found someone to fill in. We’re meeting her for dinner tonight.” He let go of my wrist, immediately tapping a reply on his phone as he walked out of the room. Staring at his retreating back, I let out a bitter, self-deprecating chuckle. I had actually been naive enough to think he might notice something was wrong. Instead, his entire world revolved around Mona. I already had a sickening feeling that the bridesmaid would be Mona. But when I actually saw her sitting at the restaurant table, my chest tightened as if stuffed with heavy, suffocating cotton. “You must be Fiona! You and Austin make such a gorgeous couple,” Mona said, rising with a sweet, bubbly smile. “I’m Mona, his intern.” She stepped closer to shake my hand, but as she reached out, she awkwardly stumbled, tilting her glass and splashing ice-cold soda straight toward my shirt. With quick reflexes, I grabbed her wrist mid-air, twisting it so the sticky liquid splashed right back onto her own white top. “Fiona! What the hell are you doing to Mona?!” Austin’s angry shout echoed at the exact same moment as Paige’s gasp. Only then did I realize Paige was sitting there too. She had kept me in the dark yet again. Both of them rushed forward, flanking Mona and frantically dabbing at her wet clothes with napkins. I used to be the one they treated with such care. Now, they stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her, glaring at me like I was a monster. Looking at these two strangers who used to mean the world to me, I turned to leave. Before I could take a step, a freezing rush of water hit me from behind, soaking my back. “You don’t get to act like a bitch and just walk away, Fiona!” Paige snapped, tossing her empty glass onto the table. “Mona was sweet enough to save your wedding by stepping in as a bridesmaid. And this is how you treat her? Honestly, I’m reconsidering whether I even want to attend your wedding.” I looked at Austin. He remained silent, his cold stare making his agreement painfully clear. In the beginning, I had told him a small wedding party was fine, just one bridesmaid and one groomsman. He didn’t have many close friends, and his groomsman was just a casual coworker anyway. There was no need to force a large party. But he had insisted on adding more people. Now I knew why: he wanted an excuse to include Mona. I wiped the cold water from the back of my neck. My voice was eerily calm. “Then don’t come,” I said. “And Austin, don’t bother showing up either. Everything is AI-generated anyway. The wedding is canceled.” Austin glanced at my bare hand, a look of condescending realization washing over his face. “Are you seriously still throwing a tantrum over the photos?” “AI wedding portraits are completely normal nowadays. You’re calling off our marriage over something so trivial?” He pulled out his phone, pulling up the AI photos and video templates he’d generated, boasting about how perfect they looked. They were pretty, sure. But the smiles were empty, the bodies weren’t ours, and the backgrounds were entirely fake. I didn’t care about flawless pictures. I wanted memories. I wanted to look at a photo decades later and remember the joy of that exact moment. I didn’t want to stare at a pixel-perfect stranger’s face and feel absolutely nothing. Austin swiped too quickly, accidentally bringing up the source file for one of the video clips. It was a video of him and Mona, laughing and holding hands. It wasn’t some random AI-generated template. He had taken a real video with her and simply swapped my face onto her body. Before I could process the sheer disgust rising in my throat, my phone rang. It was my sister. “Fi, it’s Mom! The hospital just called. She was in a car accident. Her leg is broken.” Hearing this, Austin instinctively grabbed his car keys, but Mona snatched them from his hand first. 4 “Austin, please… you know how hard it is to get a cab to my neighborhood at this hour…” Mona looked up with big, watery eyes, slowly holding the keys back out to him with a pout. Austin hesitated for a long, agonizing beat before pulling out his phone. “Fi, I’ll order an Uber for you. It’s the same thing. I’ll drive over and pick you up from the hospital later.” I looked at the ride-share notification on my phone, turned around, and walked out without looking back. “Don’t bother. I got my own.” When I rushed into the ER, the receptionist told me they needed my mother’s ID. Because it was an emergency, a photo or photocopy would suffice for now, and we could bring the physical card later. My sister was stuck out of town, and I was alone, unable to leave my mother’s bedside. Out of habit, I dialed Paige’s number. “I can’t right now, Fi. I’m shopping with Mona. She’s buying me a designer dress,” Paige said, hanging up before I could even explain the emergency. Swallowing my pride, I called Austin. He agreed to help and said he’d go to our apartment to grab it. Barely ten minutes later, a photo of my mother’s ID popped up in my texts. Relieved, I quickly showed the screen to the admitting nurse. The nurse took one look at the screen and handed the phone back with a frown. “Ma’am, this is a medical emergency. Please don’t try to pass off a poorly generated AI image to hospital staff.” My brain went entirely numb. An AI image? I looked closely at the photo. Sure enough, the tiny AI-generator watermark was clearly visible in the bottom corner. I dialed his number, screaming through my tears, “Austin! My mother is in the hospital, and you sent me a fake, AI-generated photo of her ID?!” But it wasn’t Austin who answered. It was Mona’s soft, mocking voice. “Oh, Fiona? Are you looking for Austin? He’s in the middle of winning me a giant plushie at the arcade. Can you call back later?” The call went dead. Only Paige and Austin had spare keys to my apartment. Grim-faced, I booked an emergency locksmith service on an app and sent them straight to my place. I finally breathed a sigh of relief when the doctor emerged to tell me my mother’s surgery was a success. But the moment I wheeled her into the recovery room, my phone rang. It was the police. Austin had returned to the apartment, caught the locksmith, and had him arrested for burglary. I rushed to the local precinct, showing the officers my booking history and digital receipt. After apologizing profusely to the traumatized locksmith, I turned to Austin, my energy entirely drained. “He showed you the booking receipt! Why did you call the police on him?!” Austin shrugged, completely unbothered. “With AI these days, anyone can fake a screenshot.” “Besides, if you hadn’t hired a stranger to break in, Mona wouldn’t have been terrified. You owe her an apology.” He unlocked his car. Mona was sitting in the passenger seat, her eyes red and teary. “Austin, it’s okay. Fiona was just panicked about her mom. I don’t blame her,” Mona said softly, tugging at his sleeve. But my eyes locked onto the gold filigree bracelet on her wrist. It was the exact heirloom bracelet my mother had kept in her jewelry box, my wedding gift. “Austin, did you bring her into my apartment?” Austin waved his hand dismissively. “It was late, and our place was closer and safer for her. How was I supposed to know you’d send a criminal to scare her?” Knowing without a doubt that the bracelet belonged to me, I lunged forward, reaching for her wrist. Before my fingers could touch her, Austin shoved me hard, sending me crashing onto the asphalt. He stood over me, shielding her. “Fiona, what the hell is wrong with you?!” I pushed myself up, ignoring the burning scrape on my palm. “What’s wrong with me? My mother was waiting for surgery while you sent an AI scam, and now you’ve given my mother’s heirloom to this girl!” Austin looked at the bracelet on Mona’s wrist, a flash of guilt crossing his face. “Fi, the AI image had all her correct info. The ER nurses shouldn’t have been so uptight about it.” “And Mona just thought the bracelet was pretty and wanted to try it on. She was going to give it back.” I didn’t argue. I simply held out my hand, glaring at Mona. “Fiona…” “Give it back. Now.” Perhaps shaken by the ice in my voice, Austin pulled the bracelet off Mona’s wrist and handed it to me. I placed the gold bracelet safely in my pocket. Austin spoke up again. “Tomorrow I have to take Mona to a therapy appointment. I won’t be able to make it to your dress fitting.” Without looking at him, I replied, “Do whatever you want.” He blinked in surprise. “Seriously? You’re fine with that?” Before I could change my mind, he quickly climbed into the car and drove off, leaving me alone in the dark. As the car pulled away, I heard Mona’s faint voice drift through the open window: Aren’t you worried she’ll actually call off the wedding? Austin let out a smug chuckle. “She’s just throwing a fit. She’d never leave me. Look, she’s still wearing my ring.” I looked down at my left hand. I had worn the ring so long it felt like a part of my skin. I had forgotten it was even there. The next morning, while my mother was resting, I went back to the apartment and packed every single thing I owned into suitcases. With one final look at the apartment we had shared for three years, I slipped the diamond ring off my finger and left it on the coffee table. Across town, Austin was sitting in the waiting room of the clinic with Mona when his phone rang. It was his mother. “Austin! Why did Fiona just return the entire dowry and all the wedding gifts?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “523911”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I had finally managed to score tickets to the World Cup, the one event Sienna loved more than anything. I was practically buzzing with excitement as I went to find her, but my steps faltered when I overheard her friend talking to her in the dressing room. “Gavin practically begged his boss for time off to take you to this game,” her friend was saying, sounding deeply concerned. “He pulled so many strings to get those tickets, Sienna. It’s really not right for you to go with Jasper instead.” Sienna didn’t even look up. She simply admired her freshly painted nails, her tone casual and entirely indifferent. “Going with Gavin is boring. I’m just used to watching the World Cup with Jasper. We’ve done it every single time.” Boring. Used to it. Those six words felt like twelve sharp slaps to my face, stinging with the weight of the twelve years I had spent loving her. Three World Cups had passed in our dozen years together. The first two times, she had used my hard-earned money to fly out and watch the games with Jasper. I had fought with her about it back then. She had held me close, whispering sweet promises to quiet my anger. “Jasper and I grew up together, babe. It’s just a habit. He was the one beside me long before you came into my life. I promise, next time, it’ll just be the two of us.” And like a fool, I believed her. I waited four long years. Yet here we were again, and her habit still had no room for me. I stared down at the pristine tickets in my hands and let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. Slowly, deliberately, I ripped the tickets down the middle and tossed the pieces into the trash can. It turned out that for twelve years, I was never a partner. I was just a placeholder runner in her marathon. She was right. It really was boring. When Sienna finally came home, she was cradling Jasper’s fluffy white cat in her arms. “Hey, babe, do you mind watching Jasper’s cat for a little while?” As the words left her mouth, she finally looked up and noticed me packing my suitcase. Her expression hardened instantly. “Stop packing, Gavin.” “It was Jasper’s birthday last month, and his only wish was for me to watch the World Cup with him this year.” “I already promised him I would.” Her tone was soft, but there was no room for discussion. She wasn’t asking. She was simply delivering a verdict. I ignored her, slipping my passport and social security card into the innermost zipper of my suitcase. My parents had mailed me those documents from upstate two weeks ago so we could register our marriage. We were supposed to walk down to City Hall next month, on the ninth, to sign the papers and make it official. But as I zipped the pocket shut, a wave of relief washed over me. A clean break now was infinitely better than a messy divorce later. I didn’t even look up, my voice dropping to a cold whisper. “Four years ago, you promised me this World Cup would be ours.” “That’s completely different!” her voice sharpened. “Jasper is a friend. If I break a promise to him, it looks terrible. I can’t just back out.” My heart felt like a stagnant pool of ice water. I finally raised my eyes to look at her. “Out of the three of us, I’m the one who feels like the outsider.” Sienna’s jaw tightened. “Are you really going to be this petty and jealous again? Can you please just stop?” “Jasper and I grew up in the same sandbox. I’ve told you a thousand times, we are strictly platonic!” “We are getting married next month, Gavin! Do you seriously have zero trust in me?” “You have no idea how exhausting you are!” She pressed her palm to her forehead, sighing dramatically. Every single time Jasper’s name came up, she played the victim, acting as if my boundaries were a heavy cross she had to bear. “I’m exhausted too,” I said quietly. I closed the lid of my suitcase. “If you’re so used to having Jasper beside you, go with him. I have no interest in begging for a seat anymore.” Sienna blinked, momentarily stunned by my lack of shouting. Assuming I was simply giving in like I always did, she let out a breath of relief. “Don’t overthink things, okay? I’ll bring you back something nice from the trip.” The white cat slid out of her arms, landing gracefully in front of my suitcase. “Jasper’s family is out of town,” Sienna continued, her voice light. “And my parents can’t stand cat dander in their house. He couldn’t find anyone else to watch him at such short notice, so you’ll have to take care of him for a little while. Thanks, babe.” He takes care of my woman, and I take care of his cat. Unbelievable. Her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up. Even without looking, I knew from the sudden softness in her eyes that it was Jasper. Before heading into the study to take the call, she tossed a casual command over her shoulder. “The cat’s been meowing all morning. He’s probably hungry. Jasper says he loves fresh steamed sea bass, so make sure you prep a fish for him.” Twelve years together, and she spoke to me with the casual authority of a master instructing a butler. Without waiting for my reply, she slipped into the study and shut the door. I pushed my packed suitcase to the corner. My company had given me three days to hand over my responsibilities before my transfer upstate took effect. In three days, I wouldn’t just be leaving this city. I would be leaving Sienna, and the twelve years we had shared, far behind. Passing by the study, I heard her laughter drifting through the door. She was on a video call with Jasper, whose cheerful voice echoed through her speakers. Sienna’s tone was smug, dripping with absolute certainty. “I’ve been with Gavin for twelve years. He’s spent every single day catering to my whims. Why do you think every World Cup has been with you? He won’t make a scene. Just pack your bags and get ready for a good time.” I froze in the hallway, the chill in my chest hardening into solid ice. From age eighteen to thirty, I had devoted the best years of my life to her. I had cut off every other woman who showed interest, keeping my eyes solely on her. Among her friends, I was known as the perfect, most understanding boyfriend. Even when we fought bitterly over Jasper, I kept it behind closed doors to protect her dignity. But my discretion had only become her leverage. My silence was her license to walk all over me. A cold sneer crept onto my lips. Enjoy it while it lasts, Sienna. Because after today, I am never catering to you again. As I went through my remaining things, I noticed that one of the custom herbal sleep pillows my grandmother had made for me was missing. I had struggled with chronic insomnia due to high work stress. My grandmother had traveled to a renowned herbalist in the countryside to get me two special lavender-infused sleep pillows to rotate. On her journey back from getting those pillows, she was struck by a car and passed away. Those pillows were the most precious, irreplaceable keepsakes she had left me. When Sienna came out of the study, purse in hand, ready to head out, I stopped her. “Do you know where my other herbal pillow is? The one my grandma made.” Sienna paused, thinking for a moment. “Check the guest room. Jasper was staying there last week. If it’s not there, he probably took it back to his place.” We had lived in this apartment for seven years. Initially, we rented it, but later, I bought it outright from the landlord. At the time, wanting to prove my devotion, I put the deed under Sienna’s name. I had argued that a two-bedroom apartment was plenty for just the two of us. But she had insisted on a three-bedroom place, claiming it was for “guest convenience.” Yet in all these years, she had never allowed any of her girlfriends to stay over. Even when her best friend went through a messy breakup and got blackout drunk, Sienna had insisted on booking her a hotel instead of letting her use the guest room. The only person who ever slept in that room was Jasper. Whenever he got too drunk to drive, I would offer to call him a cab or get him a hotel room nearby. But Sienna would always block me, playing the “we’re practically siblings” card. She knew exactly how much it bothered me, how much it wounded my pride. Yet, she let Jasper claim that bedroom night after night, often presenting it to me as a completed fact before I could even object. Later, to quiet my protests, she installed security cameras in the common areas, claiming that having everything on tape was proof of their pure, platonic innocence. The guest room had essentially become Jasper’s private suite, constantly cluttered with his personal belongings: his brand of cigarettes, his shaver, his watch, and even his spare underwear. In the past, finding those things would have triggered a screaming match. This time, I simply walked into the guest room, saw that the pillow wasn’t there, and quietly walked out. Without a word of protest, I took my keys and drove straight to Jasper’s house. Jasper opened the door, his eyes widening in faux surprise. “Well, look who it is! Gavin, I don’t think you’ve ever set foot in my place before.” He offered a greasy, welcoming smile. “Come on in.” “I’m just here for my grandmother’s pillow,” I said, stepping past him. He chuckled, turning toward the kitchen to pour some water. I noticed his thumbs flying across his phone screen as he walked. He was texting Sienna, undoubtedly playing the victim. “Don’t bother with the water,” I called out. “I’m leaving as soon as I get it.” He walked back, scratching the back of his neck with an innocent shrug. “Honestly, I can’t remember where she put it. Why don’t you check the second room on the right? Sienna slept there the other night.” My chest tightened. I had never known Sienna to stay overnight at his place. Walking down the hall, I glanced at his balcony. Hanging on the drying rack, interspersed with his clothes, were Sienna’s garments, including her silk underwear, clipped right next to his boxers. Jasper followed my gaze and offered a breezy, casual explanation. “Oh, Sienna had a few too many drinks last night. She ended up throwing up all over herself and my shirt. I had to wash everything for her.” It sounded like an explanation, but the smug look in his eyes made it a blatant provocation. Years ago, he wouldn’t have dared to be this obvious. He used to swear up and down that they were just childhood friends with zero feelings involved. Lately, however, he had dropped the act entirely, adopting a silent, mocking attitude of believe what you want. Now, he was actively declaring war, waiting for me to lose my mind and tear down the thin veil of their “friendship.” In the past, a stunt like this would have earned him a fist to the jaw. I had hit him before out of sheer jealousy, which always resulted in screaming matches with Sienna. But this time, I simply gave a quiet nod. “I see.” As I looked away, my eyes brushed against a bottle of Sienna’s favorite dietary supplements sitting on his coffee table, mirroring the bag of Jasper’s favorite coffee beans that always sat on our kitchen counter. I was far calmer than I ever expected to be. Jasper’s smug expression flickered, replaced by a flash of disappointment. He had wanted a fight. He had wanted to play the fragile victim so Sienna would rush to his defense. I stepped into the bedroom. The entire wall above his headboard was covered in a massive, heart-shaped collage of photos featuring him and Sienna. There were goofy polaroids from their childhood, candid shots from high school, and professional studio portraits where they looked like a blissfully happy couple. Right in the center was a large, beautifully framed photo. Sienna was wearing a gorgeous white gown with a delicate tulle veil, laughing as she ran hand-in-hand through a field with Jasper, who wore a tailored suit. It wasn’t a wedding photo, but it might as well have been. In every single picture, Sienna’s smile was radiant, entirely unburdened. “We’ve collected these over the years,” Jasper said, watching my face closely. “Just keeping all our best memories in one place.” I felt a strange, hollow sensation. When your heart truly dies, anger simply evaporates. “They’re lovely memories,” I replied, my voice devoid of emotion. He smirked, stepping closer. “Want to join us for a picture sometime, Gavin?” I let out a soft, humorless laugh. He was letting me know, in no uncertain terms, that I was the interloper here. Despite twelve years beside Sienna, I was still the stranger knocking at their door. “A game built for two gets crowded when a third tries to play,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “Now, where is my grandmother’s pillow?” Flustered by my cold detachment, Jasper’s smile faltered. He turned to his wardrobe, rummaging through the shelves with exaggerated drama. “Sienna is so disorganized sometimes,” he muttered, tossing aside several of her shirts, including some delicate lace lingerie. “I don’t know where she put it. I’ll have to give her a serious talking-to.” I watched his little performance in absolute silence. He looked back at me, a sharp, knowing glint in his eye. “Gavin, don’t get the wrong idea. Sienna only stays here maybe seven nights a month. Every girl needs her own space, right? Especially when you’re traveling for work, she likes to come clear her head here. She’s lazy when she’s here. She expects me to pamper her, so she doesn’t lift a finger.” Every word was a calculated jab wrapped in a faux-friendly explanation. “Your arrangement is none of my business,” I said. “I just want the pillow.” Determined to find my breaking point, Jasper walked over to the neatly made bed and whipped back the duvet. There, lying right at the head of the bed, was my grandmother’s hand-embroidered pillow, looking entirely out of place next to a half-empty box of ultra-thin condoms. Jasper stood back, his eyes darting between me and the box, waiting for the eruption. I didn’t blink. “I have things to do today. Let’s speed this up.” “Maybe she put it in the walk-in closet,” Jasper muttered, clearly annoyed by my lack of reaction. I followed him into the closet. An open suitcase lay on the floor, half-packed with summer clothes. Resting right on top was a brand-new, unopened box of the exact same ultra-thin condoms. “I’m packing for our flight tomorrow,” Jasper said, watching me closely. “The World Cup only happens once every four years, you know. Everyone wants to get in, but the stadium seats are limited.” He leaned against the wardrobe, a smug, metaphorical grin on his face. “If you don’t belong in the stadium, no amount of squeezing will get you a seat. The seats are assigned from the very beginning. Some people are just destined to stay outside.” My patience evaporated. My voice turned ice-cold. “I came for the pillow, Jasper. As for Sienna? She’s all yours. You can keep her.” He froze, his smugness replaced by sudden panic. “Gavin, what are you talking about? Don’t make things weird. I was just talking about the football game.” “I want my grandmother’s pillow,” I repeated, each word heavy and deliberate. His eyes flickered, and he snapped his fingers. “Oh, right! I remember now. Follow me.” He led me to a third room, which had been converted into a luxurious play area for his cat. The moment I stepped through the door, my eyes landed on the rectangular herbal pillow, its delicate green embroidery stained and soaked, lying face-down inside the plastic cat litter box. A sickening stench of cat urine filled the room. My blood boiled, the heat rushing straight to my head. Jasper looked down at the ruined heirloom, putting on a pained, apologetic grimace. “Oh, man. I’m so sorry, Gavin. My cat is a little terror. It’s just a pillow, though. I’ll buy you a much better one to replace it. Sienna really shouldn’t have let the cat play with it.” The sheer, malicious disrespect snapped my final thread of self-control. Without a word, I pivoted and threw a hard, sweeping right hook directly into Jasper’s jaw. He crashed into the floor, his head slamming against a cat scratching post. “Gavin!” A sharp screech echoed from the doorway. Sienna rushed in, throwing herself over Jasper. She cradled his head, panic written all over her face as she looked at the dark red blood trickling from his split lip. Jasper groaned, putting on his best noble victim act. “Sienna, don’t… don’t be mad at Gavin. It was my fault.” Sienna glared up at me, her eyes burning with fury. “It’s just a stupid pillow! Was that really worth assaulting him over?!” My vision blurred with tears of pure rage. I stepped forward, and before she could react, I slapped her across the face. “Yes, it was.” Sienna’s head snapped to the side, a bright red handprint blooming on her cheek. She stared at me in absolute, horrified disbelief. “Gavin… you slapped me? Have you completely lost your mind?!” “I’m finally waking up from the nightmare of loving you,” I spat, my voice shaking with raw hatred. “Twelve years, Sienna. I regret every single second I spent loving you.” I turned on my heel and walked out. Behind me, her furious voice echoed down the corridor. “What is wrong with you?!” The next afternoon, after handing over my final files at the office, I rolled my suitcases through the airport terminal. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Jasper. I ordered ten premium pillows to your apartment. They should arrive in a couple of days. Also, Sienna and I are boarding our flight now. My cat is quite sensitive, so I’ve attached a care schedule and dietary spreadsheet. Make sure you stick to it. A second later, a text from Sienna came through. On the ninth of next month, I’ll be back. I’ll meet you at City Hall right on time to sign the marriage license. I stared at the screen and let out a cold, sharp laugh. On time? Sienna, that is an appointment I will never keep. From now on, you fly to your World Cup, and I fly to my freedom.

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1 The day my twin sister, Giselle, failed her audition for the National Conservatory of Dance, the entire family gathered around to comfort her. I stood quietly in the corner, staring at the acceptance email glowing on my phone screen. I wanted to tell my parents that I made it. But then, my phone buzzed. It was an incoming call from myself, ten years in the future. “You got into the Conservatory before she did. Do you honestly think Mom and Dad will finally love you for it?” A bitter laugh echoed from the speaker. “They won’t.” “In my timeline, you eagerly told them the news.” “Giselle couldn’t handle the rejection. She threw herself off the eighteenth-floor balcony.” “You spent the next eight years trying to atone for her death. In the tenth year, Mom and Dad broke your legs. You never stood on a stage again.” “That was when you finally realized they never loved you.” I stared at the screen, my heart freezing. The camera angled down, revealing two empty pant legs dangling from a wheelchair. “So, make your choice. Tell them, get your legs broken, or run away and live your own life.” The line went dead. Only then did my parents finally remember that I had applied to the Conservatory too. Mom sighed, looking at me with her usual comparing gaze. “Kayla, look at your sister. She worked so hard, while you just tagged along behind her for eight years, barely scraping by.” “No matter how poorly you did, she was always there to keep you grounded.” Dad pointed a finger at me. “Tell us, Kayla. You didn’t make it either, did you?” The warnings from the call echoed in my ears. My chest tightened. I shook my head slowly. “No, I didn’t.” If they truly never loved me, then I would rather choose the open road and leave them behind forever. Hearing my response, Dad let out a relieved laugh. “See, Giselle? You just hold yourself to such high standards.” “Look at your sister. She failed, and she is perfectly fine.” I watched them, my hard-won joy evaporating into nothing. “She is pathetic. How could she ever compare to me?” Giselle spat, her voice dripping with venom. I wanted to scream that I was not inferior. But remembering the future, I forced my mouth shut. Mom rubbed Giselle’s back. “Of course, sweetie. You have been winning local trophies since you were a little girl. You will get in next year.” Mom slipped a gold bracelet onto Giselle’s wrist. Then, she glanced at my bare wrist and sighed. “Kayla, you need to try harder. This bracelet is a reward for Giselle’s hard work. You cannot keep falling behind.” I lowered my head. My whole life, Giselle was the star. I was always the one who was not quite enough. Not quite as pretty, not quite as smart, not quite as talented. Today was the first time I had actually beaten her. But I still could not win our parents’ love. “You don’t think I’m playing favorites, do you, Kayla?” Mom asked. I shook my head. “No.” But my chest felt like it was being crushed. “Good. If worse comes to worst, you can retake the prep year with your sister. It will be easier if you two stick together.” “No,” Dad interrupted before I could speak. “Her situation is different. She is not built for dance. Another year is just a waste of money.” I knew what he meant. He always said I was too thin, too dark, lacking the natural grace Giselle had. I had heard it my whole life. Even our old instructor used to sigh at me. “Your proportions are all wrong, Kayla. You’re too short, your skin is too dull. If only you had half of Giselle’s natural grace.” My parents thought my desire to dance was just jealousy of Giselle. But I did not want to steal her spotlight. I just wanted to be seen. She got the custom costumes, the newest pointe shoes, the applause. I had to beg for a single pair of shoes, only to be told I was throwing their money away. I worked so hard for this. I wore through hundreds of shoes in secret. But to them, I was still the disappointment. Dad tossed a local community college brochure onto the table. “Don’t crowd your sister. Just pick something local. That way, we can still look after you.” I bit the inside of my cheek until it bled. “Okay.” But under the table, my fingers tapped the screen of my phone, officially confirming my enrollment at the National Conservatory. It was three thousand miles away. Once I left, I would not be coming back. I went back to my room to pack. My wardrobe was bare. Out of dozens of outfits, only three or four faded, well-worn shirts belonged to me. Mom always said, “You’re twins, you can share.” But I had sensitive skin. Synthetic fabrics gave me hives. They never believed me. I put the clothes back. I did not need them. I packed light. My phone rang. It was Mom. “Kayla, come down to the bistro. Your sister needs our support to get through this. We’re celebrating her courage to try again.” I opened my door. The apartment was completely empty. They had already left without me. They forgot me, as usual. I wanted to refuse, but this was my last week with them. “Okay,” I quieted my voice. At the restaurant, the table was piled high with Giselle’s favorites. Steamed lobster, garlic butter shrimp, baked oysters. I was allergic to shellfish, but they never believed me. “You’re twins. If she’s not allergic, how could you be?” they would say. “If you don’t want to eat, don’t. More for your sister.” I sat down. Giselle’s plate was piled high with shrimp peeled by Mom. In front of me, there was not even a fork or a glass. Dad poured pomegranate juice for Giselle. “How much allowance did Dad send you?” Giselle asked me with a smug smile. “I got ten thousand dollars. Since you’re going to college, you must have gotten more, right?” I looked at my phone. A single notification for fifty dollars. I did not accept it. Mom placed another lobster tail on Giselle’s plate. “Kayla is an adult now. She needs to start earning her own keep.” Giselle leaned into Mom’s shoulder. “Aw, I don’t ever want to grow up then.” Mom stroked her hair. “Don’t worry, sweetie. You focus on your prep year. If you need more, just ask.” “I want to go to Bora Bora before classes start! Can I have another thirty thousand?” Mom smiled and transferred fifty thousand right there. On Mom’s phone, Giselle’s chat was pinned to the top. My name was buried somewhere at the bottom, invisible. “Why aren’t you eating?” Dad tapped the table. “I don’t have a plate,” I said. “Then ask the waiter. Are you a princess? Do we have to feed you ourselves?” I looked at Giselle’s plate, piled high with food they had peeled for her. I lowered my eyes. When the waiter finally brought a plate, Mom tossed a shrimp onto it. “There. Now don’t go telling people we play favorites.” I stared at the shrimp. “Your mother gave you food, why the long face?” Dad snapped. “Eat.” I forced myself to swallow it. Instantly, my throat began to burn. Dad laughed. “See? I told you she was faking it.” I stood up, my throat tightening. “I’m full.” “Kayla!” Mom called out. For a second, I hoped she noticed my swelling skin. Instead, she said, “Since you have some free time before your local classes start, go find a summer job. You’re old enough to contribute.” I walked out into the cool night. I had always been the mature one. I gave up my clothes, did the chores, never asked for money. But because they did not care, everything I did was wrong. I took a cab to the clinic alone. “Acute allergic reaction,” the doctor said, shaking his head. “Any later and your airway would have closed up. Doesn’t your family know about this?” “They forgot,” I whispered. If it were Giselle who had not come home, they would have called the police. But my phone remained completely silent. I scrolled through social media. Mom had posted a picture of Giselle holding a candied apple, flanked by both of them. My sweet girl! Always our baby! I stared at the screen, my eyes burning. The next morning, I walked back to the house. Mom and Dad were packing Giselle’s bags in the living room. “Where did you sleep last night, Kayla?” Dad asked casually. “Does it matter? You didn’t notice anyway.” The room went silent. Dad’s face darkened. “Are you throwing a tantrum now? You stay out all night and then talk back to us?” My skin was still covered in fading red welts. They saw them, but chose to look away. “It won’t happen again,” I said, walking to my room. My heart shattered when I opened the door. My things had been tossed into cardboard boxes in the hallway. In the trash can, my clay ballerina figurine lay shattered. I painted that when I was eight, the day I took second place in a competition. Giselle took first. Giselle smirked from the doorway. “Since you’re going to college, you won’t need this room anymore, right? I want to turn it into my walk-in closet.” “Sure,” I said quietly. I was not coming back anyway. Giselle’s smirk faded. “You’re not even mad?” I picked up my suitcase. In the living room, Dad blocked my path. “Kayla, you think you’re tough now? Trying to run away to scare us?” “I’m not,” I said. “You aren’t giving me allowance, so I have to go work.” “Are you blaming us?” Dad roared. “We paid for your dance classes for eight years! Even when your instructor said you had no talent! We bought your clothes, your food, your shoes!” He listed every penny. “Do you have a conscience, Kayla?” “I’ll pay you back,” I said, tears finally spilling over. Dad’s arm swung, and his palm cracked against my cheek. The blow spun my head around. “With what? You couldn’t even pass an audition! Why can’t you be sensible like your sister?” Giselle rushed over, grabbing my arm with fake tears. “Kayla, don’t make Dad angry. They do everything for our own good.” I pushed her away. I barely touched her, but she stumbled back, crying out. Mom immediately shielded her, glaring at me. “We love you both equally! Kayla, you’ve disappointed us for the last time.” I turned toward the door. “If you walk out that door, don’t you dare come back!” Dad screamed. I pulled out my train ticket to the Capital. “I won’t,” I said. Let the mountains and the seas divide us. From this day on, we are strangers.

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1 Fred was a Pulitzer-winning documentary photographer. For our anniversary, I had begged him for weeks to take a portrait of me. He had simply toyed with his Leica, coolly stating that his lens only captured raw reality, never staged poses. But then came the afternoon I cleared out his study. I stumbled onto his private cloud drive, the one he guarded like a vault. It wasn’t even password-protected. Inside, there was only a single folder labeled A Distant Her. I clicked it open to find tens of thousands of photos. The subject of every single one was Sienna. Sienna yawning mid-sentence, Sienna with a stray crumb on her lip as she stared blankly ahead, her silhouette fading into the changing seasons. He had documented her life for seven years, from sunrise to twilight. Every frame was meticulously cataloged with precise aperture and shutter settings, a collection far more intimate and guarded than any of his award-winning portfolios. It turned out his lens wasn’t allergic to daily life. It was just that his life had no room for me. I quietly closed the tab, emailed my transfer request to the editor-in-chief, and accepted the field reporter posting in the rugged backwoods of Oregon. Keep your precious lens, Fred. I won’t stand in its way anymore. I slipped the printed transition checklist into a folder. Five neat pages. That was the sum total of the tedious administrative and logistical work I had done at the magazine over the past seven years. I had chained myself to that desk job just to ensure I could clock out on time, rush home, cook dinner, and wash Fred’s clothes. Staring at the paper, I couldn’t help but find it slightly pathetic. Seven years of devotion boiled down to a few flimsy sheets of copy paper. The door swung open, and Fred walked into the study. He was holding a takeout bag from a coffee shop. “Got you an Americano,” he said, placing one of the cups on my desk. “I was over on the south side visiting Arthur, and Sienna insisted on tagging along. We passed by your office on the way back, so I grabbed these.” He leaned against the doorframe, his posture casual, completely indifferent. I glanced at the custom label on the plastic cup. Extra whole milk, extra sweet, two pumps of vanilla syrup. I had been drinking my coffee black for six years. This was Sienna’s exact order. I didn’t even have the energy to call him out. I simply swept the cup directly into the wastebasket beside my desk. “Thanks, but no thanks.” Fred’s brow furrowed. “Evelyn, what is with the attitude lately? Are you seriously still throwing a tantrum because I wouldn’t shoot those anniversary portraits?” His voice carried a sharp edge of irritation. I ignored him, continuing to sort the documents on my desk. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m a documentary photographer. My camera only captures truth,” he argued, attempting to justify himself. “I don’t do staged shoots. It’s a matter of professional integrity. Sienna is different. She is a natural, an incredibly expressive subject.” Round and round he went, but every excuse he made always circled back to Sienna. I closed the folder with a soft thud. “I know,” I said quietly. “You don’t need to explain.” Fred blinked, visibly unnerved by my lack of pushback. Normally, I would have argued, trying to make him see my side, which would end with him slamming the door and driving straight to Sienna’s apartment. He stepped closer, his eyes dropping to the map of Oregon spread across my desk. It was marked with red ink circling various remote field stations. “Going on a trip?” He raised an eyebrow. “Work assignment.” He let out a dry, mocking laugh, his eyes flashing with condescension. “A work assignment? You run the logistics desk. Since when do they send coordinators out to the Oregon wilderness? Evelyn, is this another desperate attempt to pack up and leave just to force an apology out of me?” He didn’t believe a word. Or rather, he had never cared enough to understand what I did. To a high-minded artist like him, my coordination work was nothing more than mindless, trivial labor. Only his work, spending weeks chasing the perfect light to capture a single frame, deserved to be called a career. My phone buzzed. It was a message from my editor: Evelyn, the paperwork for the Oregon transfer is finalized. Can you depart in three days? I typed back: Absolutely. Right then, Fred’s phone rang. It was a custom ringtone, Sienna’s personal melody. The irritation vanished from his face instantly, his voice softening without him even realizing it. “Hey, what’s wrong?” “Fred, my ankle is flaring up again. It hurts so bad,” Sienna’s fragile voice drifted through the receiver, followed by her signature, calculated innocence. “But… will Evelyn be upset? Maybe you shouldn’t come. I can just take an Uber.” Fred glanced at me briefly. “I’m on my way,” he said into the phone. Hanging up, he grabbed his car keys from the counter. “Sienna’s old ankle injury is acting up. I have to take her to the clinic.” He headed toward the front door, throwing a half-hearted promise over his shoulder without looking back. “Stop being so difficult. I’ll bring you those macarons you love when I get back.” I hated macarons. They were Sienna’s favorite dessert, not mine. The front door clicked shut. I pulled my dusty suitcase from the back of the closet and began packing my clothes, my books, and everything that truly belonged to me. I looked up at the center wall of the living room, where Fred’s Pulitzer-winning masterpiece hung in a heavy frame. It was a black-and-white shot of a young girl running through a torrential downpour. Back when he took that, he had absolutely nothing to his name. And back then, I actually believed he loved me. Three days. It was the perfect amount of time. Plenty of time to scrub every trace of my existence from this house, and every trace of him from my heart. The next morning, I went to the office to finish handing off my responsibilities. Word had spread that I was taking the permanent post in Oregon, and colleagues kept dropping by my desk to say goodbye. Lily helped me pack my personal items into a cardboard box. “Evelyn, why the sudden move to the middle of nowhere?” she whispered, unable to hide her curiosity. “How are you and Fred going to handle the distance?” I cleared the remaining local files from my computer. “Just business,” I replied evasively. In the afternoon, my mother called. “Happy birthday, sweetie! Bring Fred over tonight. I made a whole spread of your favorites.” I held the phone to my ear, staring out at the bumper-to-bumper traffic below. I had completely forgotten it was my birthday. For the last five years, my calendar had been entirely consumed by Fred’s exhibition dates, his shoot schedules, and his milestones. My own birthday had simply slipped through the cracks. “I’ll be there, Mom,” I said. When I clocked out, I was shocked to find Fred’s SUV idling by the curb outside the office building. It was incredibly out of character. He almost never picked me up. He usually complained that the downtown high-rises were too suffocating, claiming the commercial chaos offended his artistic sensibilities. I walked up to the passenger side and reached for the door handle. Locked. The tinted window slid down halfway, revealing Sienna sitting in the passenger seat. She offered me a sweet, helpless smile, her eyes wide with a carefully rehearsed look of apology. “Oh, Evelyn, I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “My car is in the shop, and since Fred mentioned he was coming to pick you up, I figured I’d hitch a ride.” Without saying a word, I opened the back door and climbed in. Fred caught my eye in the rearview mirror before pulling out into the lane. “My mother wants us over for dinner,” I said. Fred’s hands tensed on the steering wheel. “Tonight?” “Yes.” His brow furrowed. “I can’t tonight. Sienna has a shoot at a private estate upstate. I promised I’d go with her to help set up the angles and lighting.” I stared at the back of his head. “My mother spent the entire afternoon cooking.” “It can’t be helped, Evelyn. This shoot was booked weeks ago,” he dismissed, his tone entirely self-righteous. “Sienna’s been off her game lately. If I’m not there, she’ll mess up the framing.” Sienna chimed in, her voice hushed. “Fred, really, you should go with Evelyn. I’ll manage on my own.” “No,” Fred cut in immediately. “It’s a remote location. It’s not safe for you to go out there alone. I’m driving you.” He didn’t even bother offering me another excuse. The SUV veered into a left turn lane, heading north toward the highway. “Drop me off at the next subway station,” I said. Fred’s glare met mine in the mirror. “Don’t start acting up,” he warned, his voice rising. “It’s just a dinner. You can visit your mother tomorrow.” “Let me out,” I repeated. Fred slammed on the brakes. The heavy vehicle jerked to a violent halt by the curb, throwing me forward against the seatbelt. “Evelyn, can you grow up for once?” he snapped, turning around to face me, his eyes blazing with resentment. “I’m not just your husband, I’m an artist. My work has real value.” “I know.” I pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool evening air. The door slammed shut behind me, and he immediately hit the gas, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust. I stood on the sidewalk and called my mother back. “Hey Mom, Fred got called away for an urgent shoot. I’ll be coming over by myself.” After dinner, I stood by the sink, helping my mother wash the dishes. “Is everything alright between you two?” she asked gently. “Everything is fine,” I said, stacking a clean plate into the cabinet. By the time I got back to our apartment, the night was late and the rooms were pitch black. Fred wasn’t home. I walked into the study, booted up his laptop, and logged into his cloud drive. Sure enough, in the folder named A Distant Her, a dozen fresh uploads appeared. They were all shots of Sienna at the upstate estate. She was draped across a vintage leather sofa, wearing nothing but a thin silk slip. Her laughter was captured with effortless warmth, her eyes staring into the lens with soft, bedroom intimacy. The lighting in every shot was breathtakingly romantic. The day before my departure to Oregon arrived. My packing was complete. A single thirty-inch suitcase held every shred of my life from the past seven years. On the living room couch, I left a neat pile of things belonging to Fred that had gotten mixed in with my belongings. My phone vibrated with a text from him: I won’t be home tonight. Sienna’s shoot ran into some technical issues. The lighting rig broke, and I need to stay to fix it. I didn’t bother replying. At ten that night, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Sienna standing on the welcome mat. She was wearing an oversized beige trench coat, a men’s style. “Evelyn,” she said smoothly, peering past me. “Fred is waiting for me in the car downstairs. He sent me up to grab some spare lenses from the study.” Before I could even step aside, she slipped past me, navigating the hallway toward the study with practiced ease. On her way back out, her eyes caught the heavy suitcase sitting near the door. “Going on a trip?” “None of your business.” She didn’t flinch. Instead, she took a slow step closer, her expression shifting to one of mock pity. “You know, Evelyn, I actually feel sorry for you,” she said, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. “You’ve babied him for seven years. You know his favorite designer brands and his exact measurements. Yet, in all this time, he’s never taken a single portrait of you.” I remained silent, staring at her. “He told me you’re just so incredibly boring,” Sienna whispered, taking another step forward. “He said you only care about grocery lists and whether he eats his vegetables on time. You don’t understand his art. He told me that when he looks at you through the viewfinder, his finger simply refuses to press the shutter.” “Are you finished?” I pointed toward the open front door. “If you are, get out.” “Anger really doesn’t suit you, Evelyn. No wonder he hates coming home,” she sneered, brushing past me and letting herself out. The door clicked shut. I sat down on the sofa, staring at the pile of Fred’s things. So that was what my devotion meant to him. I was simply boring. For seven years, when he couldn’t book a single gig, I was the one coupon-clipping and living on pennies to keep us fed. When he couldn’t afford gear, I maxed out my own credit cards to buy him his first prime lenses. I took a starving, broke art student and supported him until he stood on a stage holding a Pulitzer. Now that he was well-fed and comfortable, he had decided to wander off in search of a soul he deemed more interesting. I unlocked my phone and dialed a local junk-removal service. Early the next morning, the truck arrived. I hauled out all of Fred’s old discarded gear, duplicate prints, and clutter from the living room, handing it over to the scrap collector. He handed me fifteen dollars. The price of two cheap coffees. That was all Fred was worth to me now. I dragged my suitcase down the stairs and walked out of the complex, flagging down a yellow cab. I had just finished loading my luggage into the trunk when my phone began to vibrate violently in my pocket. I stared at his name flashing across the screen before sliding to answer. The moment I put the phone to my ear, his voice hit me like a physical blow, thick with fury. “Evelyn, where the hell is my khaki trench coat? I can’t find it anywhere. And the test prints from my desk drawer, what did you do with them?” His trench coat? It was probably being used as a rag in some junkyard by now. As for the prints, they were likely already sitting at the bottom of a recycling bin, shredded to pieces. “I sold them,” I said. “You sold them? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he barked, his voice climbing an octave. “Exactly what it sounds like. Got fifteen bucks for the whole lot. Free pickup included.” I slid into the back seat of the cab and pulled the door shut. Over the receiver, I heard the loud clatter of him kicking a chair. “Evelyn, have you completely lost your mind? I’ve kept those prints for years! And that coat was a custom designer piece! Are you doing this because I didn’t come home for your birthday yesterday? You threw away my life’s work behind my back over a petty birthday?” So he did know it was my birthday. He knew, and yet he chose to stay out, inventing cheap excuses about broken equipment just to spend the night playing handyman for another woman. “Is there anything else you want to ask?” I looked out the window as the familiar streets began to slip away. Fred’s voice was relentless, shaking with anger. “Where are you right now? Go back and get my things immediately! Sienna needs that coat for her shoot today, and the prints were supposed to be used for the background set. She’s waiting on them. If you ruin her shoot, do you have any idea how much that’s going to cost us?” “If she’s that desperate for trash, tell her to go dig through the scrap yard on the south side. She might find a real bargain there.” “Evelyn!” he roared. “The divorce papers are on the kitchen island, Fred. Make sure to sign them,” I said calmly. Silence fell over the line, thick and heavy. Then, he let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Divorce? Evelyn, how many times are you going to play this hand? Every single time you threaten to leave, you always come crawling back to cook my meals. Where else could you possibly go without me?” “You’ll be waiting the rest of your life for that meal,” I said, and ended the call. I immediately blocked his number. Then, I opened my social media apps. Every photo of Fred, every post, every message history, I deleted them all, wiped my accounts clean, and blocked him across every platform. The airport intercom crackled to life, announcing the final boarding call for my flight to Portland. I handed my ID and boarding pass to the gate agent. I took one last look at the city skyline, the place where I had wasted seven years of my life, turned around, and walked down the jet bridge without looking back.

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1 I found an old brass lamp by chance, and it gave me three wishes. My first wish was for my childhood best friend, Oliver, to walk again. A few days later, his legs, which the doctors swore would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life, miraculously regained sensation. The very first thing he did when he stood up was confess his love to me. During our junior year of college, Oliver’s family went bankrupt overnight. So, I made my second wish. The day after I saved his family’s empire from ruin, he showed up at my door with an engagement ring. I was bubble-wrapped in joy, preparing for our future just three days before our engagement party. Then, I overheard his friends teasing him. “Hey, Oliver, how does the charity case taste?” Oliver chuckled, his voice dripping with easy amusement. “Not bad. Actually, a lot sweeter than Minnie.” The engagement gift I had lovingly wrapped slipped from my hands, hitting the floor with a quiet, devastating thud. His buddy whistled. “Aren’t you afraid your little heiress will throw a tantrum?” Oliver shrugged, his tone utterly indifferent. “A guy like me was never going to settle for just one woman my entire life. Gratitude is one thing. Everything else is a separate transaction.” I ran all the way home, tears blurring my vision. I pulled out the antique lamp and whispered my final wish: “I wish for the first two wishes to be completely undone!” The lamp flickered, its ancient light sputtering a few times before going entirely cold and dark. The wish was sealed. Based on how the previous wishes worked, it would take three days to take effect. It would happen exactly on the night of our engagement party. Tears spilled over, hot and unstoppable. Outside, a sudden burst of fireworks exploded across the sky, painting the harbor as bright as day. I stared blankly at the brilliant lights, my mind drifting back to the night Oliver proposed to me. It had been just as dazzling. Having spent eight agonizing years in a wheelchair, the moment he finally stood up, he spun me around in his arms, laughing like a madman. “Minnie, you’re my good luck charm!” As the words left his lips, a cascade of fireworks bloomed behind him, reflecting in his shining eyes. “Will you be my girlfriend?” I had loved him in secret for five long years. When my dream finally came true, the sheer joy nearly blinded me. But I didn’t want him to ask me out just because he felt obligated to pay me back for his legs. Back then, he had sworn to the heavens that his feelings were real. “I only held back because I was paralyzed,” he had whispered, pressing his forehead against mine. “Minnie, if I ever betray you, you can tell your magic lamp to take it all back!” It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. My phone buzzed relentlessly. The class group chat was blowing up. “Which rich boy bought out the sky for Tessa tonight?” “Damn, this is even crazier than the night Oliver confessed to Minnie, isn’t it?” Tessa replied with a blushing emoji. “Stop it, guys. Oliver just wanted to celebrate me landing my internship.” The chat fell dead silent for a few minutes. Finally, someone broke the ice. “If I remember correctly, Minnie is still in this group, right? Won’t she lose her mind if she sees this?” The very next second, Oliver flooded the group chat with digital cash links, drowning the conversation. A barrage of expressions of gratitude quickly pushed the old messages out of sight. I slammed my phone face down on the desk, biting my lower lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Then, the doorbell rang. Oliver stood on the porch, holding a massive bouquet of red roses. When he saw my face, he paused, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his handsome features. “Who upset my little princess?” he asked, reaching out to pull me into his chest. I stepped aside, dodging his touch. Oliver let out a dry laugh, assuming I was just throwing one of my usual, spoiled tantrums. Without another thought, he tossed the bouquet onto the console table and walked into the living room as if he owned the place. “Minnie, seriously, you need to work on that temper of yours,” he said, loosening his collar. “You’re about to be Mrs. Sinclair. You can’t keep acting like a petulant child forever.” Before I could utter a word, his phone chimed. He answered it, and a girl’s soft, sweet voice drifted through the speaker. “Oliver, thank you so much for helping me get the internship. To show my appreciation, can I buy you dinner? There’s a cheap diner near campus. It’s not fancy, but the food is amazing.” A soft smile tugged at Oliver’s lips, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Wait for me. I’m on my way.” He hung up and gestured to his phone. “You should learn from her. She’s hardworking, independent, and low-maintenance. Look at you. All you do is shop, spend my money, and throw tantrums.” He sighed, shaking his head with a patronizing grin. “But I guess that’s my fault for spoiling you so much.” As he gestured, his collar shifted, revealing a fresh, dark hickey on his neck. A sharp, suffocating pain flared in my chest. I blinked back the tears stinging my eyes, forcing a cold, mocking smile to my lips. “Oliver, since when did your taste get so trashy?” Getting a job at Sinclair Enterprises through his connections was called being hardworking. Eating cheap diner food was called being low-maintenance. I guess when you eat steak every day, even garbage starts to look like an exotic delicacy. His brow furrowed instantly. “Minnie, she’s just a classmate. I was doing her a favor. Don’t be so disgusting.” “A classmate? What kind of classmate sleeps in your bed?” Oliver froze, a rare flash of panic breaking through his calm facade. “How did you…” I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tears streamed down my face as I slapped his hand away. “You promised you’d never betray me, Oliver!” Before he could respond, his phone rang frantically. He picked it up, and his friend’s panicked voice filled the room. “Oliver, Tessa just got hit by a car! We don’t have enough cash for the emergency deposit. Can you come down here right now?” Without a single second of hesitation, Oliver spun on his heel. “I’ll explain everything when I get back!” I grabbed the bouquet of roses he had brought and hurled them at his back. “Don’t bother, Oliver! We’re over!” He stopped. His back tensed for a brief second before relaxing. “Minnie, don’t be naive. We can’t break up.” He turned around, his usual playful arrogance replaced by a heavy, foreign exhaustion. “At this point, our family businesses are completely tied together. Do you really think this is your choice to make? Even if you want to call off the engagement, do you think your father would ever agree? On our engagement night, three days from now, do you expect us to just humiliate both our families?” He walked out, leaving nothing but a mess of crushed petals on the floor. I stepped on them numbly, the red rose juice staining my white silk night gown like fresh blood. He was right about one thing. Ever since my second wish saved his family, Sinclair Enterprises had reached unprecedented heights. My father, a ruthless businessman to his core, would never let me call off this merger. But Oliver had no idea that the third wish had already been cast. For an entire day, Oliver didn’t send me a single text. I blocked his number. I spent the afternoon packing away every single thing he had given me over the years: his messy love letters, the clumsy scarf he had knitted for me, and the birthday gift he had flown across the world to buy at an auction, spending a whole year’s allowance. All those sweet memories, once swallowed like candy, now felt like broken glass tearing through my throat, leaving me bleeding inside. The last item was our engagement ring. I had custom-ordered it from a designer, engraving each other’s initials on the band. I traced the letters O.S. with my thumb, then threw it into the trash box with the rest of his things. I hadn’t looked at my phone all afternoon. The quiet group chat had exploded once again. “Did you guys hear? Tessa was hit by a car and lost her vision!” “Oh my god, that’s awful! Her family is broke, how is she going to afford the surgery?” “We don’t need to worry about that. Oliver is covering everything. But the doctors said her corneas are severely damaged. She might be blind for life!” I stared at the screen, my face blank. I shut down the phone, picked up the box of trash, and walked out. As soon as I opened the front door, I ran into Oliver. He looked disheveled, panting as he ran toward the villa. Was it my imagination, or was he limping slightly? Before he could even catch his breath, he grabbed my arm. “Minnie, does your lamp still have one last wish? Let me borrow it, please!” The box of trash slipped from my grip, spilling our memories all over the driveway. Oliver didn’t even glance down. He dragged me toward the house. “Tessa is blind, and we can’t find a matching cornea in time! Take the lamp and come to the hospital with me!” I yanked my hand back with all my strength. “Why? What makes you think I would use my wish to save your mistress?” Oliver gritted his teeth. “She’s only twenty-two! How can you be so heartless?” “What does her life have to do with me?” During our shouting match, Oliver’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out, and as his eyes scanned the screen, his face darkened into something truly terrifying. He looked up, his expression venomous. “Minnie Reed, how can you be so vicious?” I froze. “What the hell are you talking about?” He shoved the phone in my face. It was a text from his friend. “Oliver, Tessa is awake. She said she saw the driver who hit her. It looked like Minnie’s family driver.” Then, an audio message played. Tessa’s weak, trembling voice filled the air. “It was Minnie’s driver! I’ve seen him before! Why is she doing this to me? I’m blind now… I’d rather be dead!” I stared at Oliver for a long, silent moment. Then, I began to laugh. Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes, but I couldn’t stop laughing. “Oliver, did you leave your brain in her bed? If I wanted to destroy her, would I really be stupid enough to send my own family driver to run her over?” Oliver bit his lip, searching my face for any sign of a lie. But his desperation won. He pushed past me, heading straight toward the study where I usually kept the lamp. “I don’t care! We have to save her first!” He snatched the brass lamp from the shelf and ran for the door. I lunged forward, grabbing his arm. “Give it back!” Oliver violently shook me off. The force sent me stumbling backward. My temple slammed hard against the sharp corner of the wooden console table, and the world spun. I collapsed onto the floor. Oliver turned, his face draining of all color. He dropped to his knees, panic-stricken. “Minnie! Minnie!” He pressed his hand against my forehead, but hot blood was already pouring through his fingers. Darkness swallowed me whole. When I finally regained consciousness, the first thing I heard was a muffled, angry argument outside my hospital room. It was Oliver’s voice. “Gratitude? I threw my entire life away for her! Isn’t that enough payback? Tessa wants nothing from me. I couldn’t give her a future, and now she’s lost her eyes because of me! If it was going to end like this, I wish Minnie had never saved me in the first place!” My heart seemed to stop. I clenched my fists so hard my nails cut into my palms. Then, his father’s voice, hushed but furious, replied: “If it weren’t for Minnie, the Sinclair family would have been bankrupt years ago! The engagement party is tomorrow. How am I supposed to explain this to her father?” Oliver let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Explain what? Her father has a dozen mistresses. Didn’t his affairs drive Minnie’s mother to suicide? What right does he have to judge me? And honestly, look at Minnie’s emotional instability. She probably inherited her mother’s mental illness. I’m exhausted from playing her perfect prince all these years!” I bit the inside of my cheek until the copper taste of blood filled my mouth. He knew. He knew my mother’s death was my deepest trauma. He had sworn to protect me from the kind of neglect that killed her, and now, he was weaponizing it. A cold, burning rage consumed me. Just as I reached to grab the water glass on the nightstand to smash it, the door burst open. Oliver’s friend ran in, panting. “Oliver! Tessa is pregnant!” The news of Tessa’s pregnancy was a bomb that shattered the Sinclair family’s hesitation. Even Oliver’s father changed his tune, sending endless expensive supplements to her room. The night before the engagement party, I walked into Tessa’s hospital ward. Her eyes were bandaged, her pale face making her look fragile and pitiable. Hearing my footsteps, she offered a sweet, fragile smile. “Oliver? Is that you?” “It’s me,” I said. Her smile instantly vanished. She went completely rigid, her hand instinctively shielding her stomach. “Minnie? What are you doing here?” I sat down on the chair by her bed, my voice ice-cold. “Why did you frame me?” She didn’t expect me to be so direct. For a second, she faltered. But then, a smug, triumphant smirk crept onto her lips. “Does the reason even matter? Oliver believed me, not you. That’s all that counts, isn’t it?” Before I could respond, her ears perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway. In a split second, her entire demeanor changed. She lunged forward, grabbing my hand, sobbing hysterically. “Please, Minnie! For the sake of our college days, spare me! Please don’t hurt my baby!” I tried to yank my hand back, startled by her sudden act, but the door was already thrown open. “Minnie! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Oliver stormed in, grabbing my wrist with bruising force and dragging me out of the room. He didn’t even give me a chance to speak. “I warned you to stay away from her and my child!” I wrenched my wrist from his grip, glaring at him. Oliver’s chest heaved. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before his tone softened into a placating whine. “Minnie, what’s done is done. Stop fighting me on this, okay? Once she has the baby, I’ll pay her off and send her away.” I rubbed my swollen wrist, a mocking laugh slipping out. “And what about your bastard child?” He winced at the word, but forced himself to remain patient. “We’ll keep the baby. We can tell the world you gave birth to it.” “Are you insane?” I stared at him, realizing I didn’t know this man at all. He avoided my gaze. “Your mother had severe mental issues, and your temper is unstable. I’m worried it’s genetic. Besides, you’ve always said you’re terrified of the pain of childbirth. Isn’t this perfect? You get a child without any of the suffering.” What a generous offer. I forced down the rising bile in my throat. Knowing what was coming tomorrow, I suddenly wanted to laugh. “Fine,” I said. Oliver blinked, stunned by my quick capitulation. “You agree?” He smiled, assuming I had finally submitted to his will. “Good girl. I knew you’d understand. Save the lamp’s last wish for Tessa’s eyes. It’s the least we can do to compensate her. I’ll drop the hit-and-run investigation.” He leaned against the wall, rubbing his left leg. He looked uncomfortable. I smiled coldly. “Sure. But on one condition.” “Name it.” “I’ll heal her after we exchange our rings tomorrow.” Oliver let out a soft chuckle, reaching out to stroke my cheek. “What, afraid I’ll run away? Don’t worry, I’m marrying you. I know you love me enough to do anything for me. Just look pretty tomorrow.” I smiled back. Oh, I wasn’t worried about him running away, because after tomorrow, he wouldn’t be running anywhere ever again. The next day, the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel was packed with the city’s elite. I spent three hours on my makeup, looking flawless. When Oliver saw me, his eyes lit up. He walked toward me, but after a few steps, his left leg visibly spasmed. He shook it off, ignoring it, and offered me his hand. “Shall we, Mrs. Sinclair?” I placed my hand in his, walking up the steps to the stage under the flashing lights. Just as Oliver took the microphone, smiling warmly at the crowd, the double doors of the ballroom slammed open. The Sinclair family’s lead assistant ran in, his face completely bloodless. “Mr. Sinclair! Something went wrong! The federal investigators just seized our main development project!” The room erupted into chaos. At that exact moment, a horrific scream tore from Oliver’s throat. He collapsed onto the stage, clawing at his left leg, his eyes wide with sheer terror. “My legs! I can’t feel my legs!”

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I was the male lead’s beloved first love, the one who died young. Fifteen years after my death, a cosmic entity resurrected me with a singular, urgent task: save the boy shivering on the edge of the high-rise rooftop. “He is your flesh and blood,” the system’s voice echoed in my mind, tinged with desperation. “If you abandon him now, he will truly have nothing left in this world.” But I had never been the nurturing, saintly type. I was born with a razor-sharp temper and a spoiled streak a mile wide. In my past life, people served me; I didn’t coddle them. So, instead of offering soft, tearful comfort, I marched over in my designer heels, grabbed him roughly by his collar, and yanked him back onto the solid concrete. “Stop whining and looking for a dramatic way out,” I snapped, glaring into his startled eyes. “This pathetic act is exactly how your father used to behave.” I let go of him, brushing the dust off my hands. “Where is he anyway? Doesn’t he know I’m back? Why isn’t he here to pick me up?” 1 The teenager stared at me in silence. For a split second, a flicker of sheer bewilderment crossed his face, but it vanished as quickly as it came, leaving his expression as cold and flat as a frozen lake. He tilted his head slightly, his quiet eyes analyzing me. I clicked my tongue in annoyance. “Call Gary,” I commanded. He hesitated for a long moment before slowly pulling a sleek black phone from his pocket. He dialed a number. The line rang for a grueling thirty seconds before a sterile automated voice informed us the user was unavailable. I narrowed my eyes. “Gary actually dares to ignore a call? He’s gotten awfully brave, hasn’t he?” Stellan looked entirely unbothered, as if this were his daily routine. He began to slip the phone back into his coat pocket. I snatched it straight out of his hand and hit redial. Three times. Four times. On the fifth try, the call finally connected. But the voice on the other end wasn’t my husband’s. It was a crisp, professional woman’s voice. “I’m sorry, Mr. Einbinder is in a meeting right now. Please do not disturb him.” The line went dead before I could even draw a breath to speak. I raised my arm to hurl the phone off the roof, but remembered just in time that it wasn’t mine. Slowly, I lowered my hand, grinding my teeth in silent fury. “Fine,” I muttered under my breath. “Just wait until I get my hands on him.” A soft tug at my sleeve broke my train of thought. I looked down. Stellan was staring at me with those glassy, pale eyes. He spoke two quiet words. “Go home.” 2 On the way back, I called up the system in my mind to double-check. “Are you absolutely positive this mute kid is my son?” During the cab ride, I complained that the backseat felt like cheap plastic. Stellan just nodded. I grumbled that the driver’s heavy breathing was driving me crazy. Stellan gave a quiet grunt. I pointed at his oversized, faded jacket and told him it looked hideous and dragged down my aesthetic. He just blinked in response. Finally, losing my temper entirely, I started cursing Gary, demanding to know where the hell that bastard was. Stellan finally looked up. His long eyelashes fluttered slightly, and in a voice so soft it was barely a whisper, he said, “Business trip.” I nearly choked on my own spit. Getting a word out of him was like pulling teeth. This couldn’t be my kid. When he was two years old, he had a pair of lungs that could keep Gary awake for forty-eight hours straight. He had my exact fiery temperament back then. How did he turn into this silent block of wood? “Host, please try to be patient with him,” the system pleaded gently. “The boy has suffered severe psychological trauma over the years. His selective mutism is just one of the symptoms.” My chest tightened. Looking at Stellan’s frail, slender frame and the dull, lifeless look in his eyes, a wave of hot anger and protective grief washed over me. Fifteen years. What on earth had Gary been doing while I was gone? 3 When we arrived at the penthouse, I went straight to my old bedroom. To my surprise, everything was exactly as I had left it fifteen years ago. Not a single perfume bottle or jewelry box had been moved. However, when I checked the shoe cabinet near the entrance, I noticed a pair of pale green silk slippers. I glanced at them. They were definitely my style, so I didn’t think much of it. But once I finished my quick tour of the house, I realized the kid had vanished. His bedroom door was locked. I frowned, found the master key in the kitchen drawer, and unlocked it without hesitation. The room was pitch black. No lights were on, and the heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight, blocking out every single ray of afternoon sun. As the bright hallway light spilled across the hardwood floor, it illuminated a lonely, slumped figure sitting by the windowsill. I marched over, flipped the wall switch to flood the room with light, and sat down directly across from him, crossing my arms. Stellan sat there like a statue, his vacant gaze fixed on a blank patch of wall. His eyes looked entirely hollow. I stared at him for a long moment before letting out a flat statement. “I’m hungry.” Stellan finally registered my presence. Hearing my words, he slowly unlocked his phone and tapped on a food delivery app. “I don’t eat takeout,” I snapped. “Is this how Gary has been feeding you all these years?” Stellan slowly lowered his phone, hanging his head. He retreated back into his shell of silence. Frustrated, I ran a hand through my hair, stood up, and stormed out of the room, complaining bitterly to the system. “This is a nightmare. I should have stayed dead.” Behind me, Stellan slowly lifted his head, his eyelashes trembling as he watched me walk away. 4 I summoned the system and demanded a full history of Stellan’s life over the past fifteen years. The system explained that after my fatal car accident, Gary had spiraled into a deep, dark depression. For a long time, he couldn’t even manage his own basic needs, let alone care for a toddler. Once, Gary drank himself into a stupor and slept for two straight days. During that time, two-year-old Stellan went without a single bite of food. He cried until he passed out from starvation and had to be rushed to the emergency room. After that incident, Gary realized he couldn’t handle the boy. He hired a live-in nanny and threw himself entirely into building his corporate empire. But the nanny saw that Gary barely looked at the child, so she treated Stellan terribly. She frequently skipped his meals, locked him in closets, and occasionally hit him. It wasn’t until Stellan went on a hunger strike and collapsed that Gary found out what was happening. By then, the damage was done. Stellan was severely traumatized and could no longer attend normal school. Gary fired the nanny immediately, but struggled to find anyone else he could trust to care for the boy. That was when his executive assistant, Fiona, stepped up and volunteered for the job. “Fiona?” I recalled the woman who had answered Gary’s phone earlier. “So it was her.” “Stellan detests her,” the system noted. “In fact, she became a major source of conflict between Stellan and his father.” “Three years ago, to balance his demanding workload and his home life, Gary prepared to marry Fiona. Stellan fiercely opposed the match. He held a knife to his own wrist and forced his father to swear he would never marry her, threatening to end his life if Gary went through with it.” I gasped, my stomach turning. “Gary actually wanted to marry someone else?” “Rest assured, Host. He called off the wedding. To this day, their relationship remains strictly professional, though Fiona has harbored deep resentment toward Stellan ever since.” I narrowed my eyes. “What did she do to him?” “She didn’t dare abuse him physically because of what happened with the previous nanny,” the system replied. “Instead, she used psychological tactics. Every day, she would tell him that his mother was never coming back. She told him to stop being a burden to his father. She kept reminding him that Gary needed a capable partner who could help him run the business, not the ghost of a dead first love.” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “A capable partner. How utterly touching.” “What do you plan to do, Host?” “My husband clearly has water clogging his brain, so I’ll just have to beat it out of him,” I said, a dangerous smirk playing on my lips. “As for Fiona, using those cheap tricks on my son? She’s about to find out exactly who she’s dealing with.” 5 I didn’t expect the confrontation with Fiona to happen quite so soon. The very next morning, I was jarred awake by a loud, echoing crash outside my room. I pulled the duvet over my head, wanting nothing more than to drift back to sleep, but the sharp voices in the hallway made that impossible. “Stellan, how could you bring a stranger into this house?” Fiona’s voice was sharp with condescension. “And a woman of such questionable background, no less?” “I know you have always resented my presence beside your father, but this is a pathetic way to lash out. What do you think your father will say when he finds out? What kind of cheap stunt is this?” No matter how much she scolded, Stellan remained silent, physically blocking her path. “Stellan, your behavior is incredibly disappointing,” Fiona raised her voice. “Do you really want me to call your father and tell him you brought some low-class woman home to sleep in your mother’s bed?” Stellan muttered something too low for me to catch, prompting Fiona’s tone to turn icy. “Fine. If you’re going to be this stubborn, I’ll let your father handle you himself.” Admiring my manicured nails, I let out a soft chuckle, turned the knob, and stepped out. When Stellan saw me, his brow furrowed slightly. “Woke… you?” “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. It was time for me to get up anyway.” Fiona sneered, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. “Well, you certainly have the looks. No wonder you managed to wrap a naive boy like Stellan around your finger.” “But as long as I am by Mr. Einbinder’s side, I will never allow someone like you to worm your way into this family. Stellan is isolated and easily manipulated, and you clearly took advantage of…” Slap! The sound of my palm connecting with her cheek echoed through the quiet penthouse. Fiona gasped, clutching the bright red mark blooming on her skin. She stared at me, her eyes wide with shock and fury. “You… you dare strike me?” I smiled sweetly. “Oh, absolutely. And I’d do it again.” Fiona took a deep, trembling breath, quickly raising her phone. “Mr. Einbinder, did you hear that? Stellan has completely lost his mind, letting this violent, unhinged woman run wild in your home…” “Hold on,” Gary’s voice crackled through the speaker. It was thick with a strange, trembling intensity and a raw, suppressed hope. “Turn on the video. Let me see her face.” Fiona froze for a second, but she quickly complied, angling the camera toward me. “Get out,” a cold, sharp voice cut through the air. Stellan stepped right in front of me, using his broad shoulders to block the camera lens from capturing my face. Before anyone could react, he grabbed my wrist, pulled me back into his bedroom, and slammed the door, locking it from the inside. Fiona pounded on the door from the hallway, her voice muffled but furious. “Stellan! You are being incredibly rebellious! Defying your father for some random woman will only make him despise you!” Stellan’s voice was flat, devoid of any warmth. “None of your business.” She kept up her nagging and lecturing for nearly an hour, but Stellan ignored her completely. Even when she threatened to tell Gary everything, he didn’t blink. Eventually, realizing she was getting nowhere, she gave up and stormed out of the penthouse. Inside the quiet room, I stared at Stellan, my eyes narrowing. “Why didn’t you want your father to see me?” His behavior was too calculated to be a simple teenage tantrum. This boy was sensitive, hyper-aware of his surroundings, and incredibly sharp. He had a specific reason for keeping me hidden. Stellan slowly looked up at me. He reached out, his fingers trembling as he gripped my wrist. His voice shook with a rare, desperate vulnerability. “Don’t… leave.” My heart ached. I pulled him into a warm, tight embrace, gently stroking his hair. “Hey, don’t worry,” I whispered, my voice softening. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” Stellan buried his face in my shoulder for a few silent seconds before stepping back. He pulled out his phone and showed me a digital document. As I scrolled through the text, my face darkened. “What is Gary thinking? Did he actually agree to this?” The file contained profiles of ten highly accomplished students whom Gary had personally sponsored over the years. According to the document, he was planning to choose one of them to adopt as his legal heir. I was so angry I wanted to call him right then and scream. “Has he completely lost his mind? His brain must have shriveled up over the last fifteen years. What an absolute idiot!” Stellan gently tugged my sleeve. “It was… Uncle Victor’s idea.” “Don’t… trust him.” I froze. Stellan’s “Uncle Victor” was my cousin, Victor Zhou. We had grown up together. We had always been close. In fact, when I insisted on marrying Gary despite my grandfather’s fierce opposition, Victor was the one who had helped me convince the old man. I forced myself to calm down, looking intently at Stellan. “What else do you know?” He shook his head. “It’s okay. I’ll handle this.” I stepped aside and dialed a number I still remembered by heart, my grandfather’s private secretary. I quickly explained who I was and asked him to run a discreet background check on Victor and find out Gary’s current whereabouts. “Understood, Miss Einbinder,” the secretary’s voice trembled slightly with emotion. “I will look into it immediately and have the results for you in three hours.” “Wait, one more thing.” “…Miss, does the Chairman know you’re back?” “Not yet. Don’t tell him just yet. I want to handle a few things first.” “Understood.” A brief pause. “How is my grandfather’s health?” “The Chairman is still going strong, though he misses you terribly. He speaks of you often.” My throat tightened, a sudden wave of emotion threatening to choke me. “I miss him too.”

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1 In the seventh year of my relationship with Ross, I realized I was trapped in a slow, agonizing punishment. Every time he chose Gemma, his first love, over me, a piece of the evidence that I had once loved him would vanish from my mind. The first time, when he spent the night celebrating Gemma’s birthday instead of coming home, I forgot the feel of our very first handhold. The second time, when he took the project proposal I had stayed up for nights to write and put her name on it, I forgot the gentle rain that fell the day he confessed his love to me. For our seventh anniversary, he rented out the entire riverfront for a massive fireworks display, making sure everyone in his social circle knew about it. But when he called to rush me, I was just sitting in the office breakroom, staring blankly at the unfamiliar number flashing on my screen. “Stop playing games,” he said, his voice laced with irritation. “You know what day it is.” Someone next to him laughed and asked, “Hey, Ross, is your girl jealous again?” He sighed impatiently. “She’s always like this. The more important the day, the more drama she creates.” I watched the fireworks burst against the night sky outside the window. My chest didn’t ache, and there was no sting of jealousy. I simply asked, in all seriousness, “I’m sorry, who is this?” … When Ross’s phone call came through for the second time, I handed my phone to the receptionist and asked politely, “Do you know who this is?” The receptionist blinked in confusion. Staring at the name Ross lighting up the screen, she whispered, “Sienna, that’s Mr. Ross. Your boyfriend.” I stared at the name. My fingers rested against the rim of my mug, the warmth of the tea barely registering against my skin. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said. I picked up the call, and Ross’s voice came through, low and sharp. “Sienna, have you had your fun? The fireworks are almost over. Get down here.” In the background, a woman giggled softly. “Don’t be so harsh, Ross. Sienna is probably just upset.” Ross seemed to pull the phone away slightly, though he didn’t bother to hide his words from me. “She’s always like this. If you give her an inch, she takes a mile.” I brought the phone back to my ear. “Mr. Ross, if you are a client, please contact my office through the proper channels. If not, please stop harassing me.” Silence hung on the line for a couple of seconds before he let out a cold laugh. “You still remember my last name, yet you’re pretending we’re strangers?” I didn’t reply. I hung up and blocked his number. The receptionist stared at me, dumbfounded. “Sienna, haven’t you two been together for seven years?” The number seven hung in the air, but my mind remained entirely blank. It felt as though someone had snatched all the photos from an album, leaving behind nothing but empty plastic sleeves. On my desk lay a blank photo album I had pulled from my locker earlier that afternoon. The cover was slightly worn, but the pages inside were starkly clean, each marked with a small numbered sticker from one to seven in the corner. I had asked my colleagues if it belonged to me. They assured me it did, telling me that I placed a new photo in it every single anniversary. Yet, no matter how much I searched my phone, I couldn’t find a single photo of Ross and me. When I walked out of the building at the end of the day, Ross was waiting near the entrance. His long black wool coat accentuated his broad shoulders, and he was holding a sleek silver gift box. Seeing me emerge, the tension in his brow relaxed slightly. He reached out, his fingers locking around my wrist. “Alright, let’s go. I’m here to pick you up.” I looked down at his grip. “Let go of me.” Instead of releasing me, he shoved the silver box into my arms. “For you. Our seventh anniversary gift. Gemma said the fireworks-themed necklace from this brand was gorgeous, so I had them hold one for me.” I didn’t catch it in time. The box slipped from my hands and hit the pavement, sending a delicate silver necklace spilling onto the concrete. The pendant was shaped like a tiny, intricate burst of fireworks. The receptionist, who was walking out behind me, gasped. Ross’s face darkened instantly. “Sienna, do you really have to embarrass me in public?” I bent down, picked up the box, and handed it back to him. “This isn’t mine.” He stared at me for a moment, then let out a bitter chuckle. “You’re really committed to this act, aren’t you? Usually, if I’m an hour late, you ignore me for two days at most. How long are you planning to stretch it this time?” Gemma stepped out of his car, a thick scarf wrapped around her neck. “Sienna, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t feeling well today, so Ross took me to the hospital first. He only put together the fireworks display because he was worried you’d be upset.” My eyes drifted to the scarf around her neck. It was a dusty blue, with a crooked, hand-embroidered letter S in the corner. Noticing my gaze, she gently touched the fabric. “Oh, this? Ross said it was just sitting in his car collecting dust, so he let me wear it.” Ross reached over and tucked the scarf tighter around her neck. “She has a cold. Don’t look at her like that.” I suddenly asked, “What does that letter stand for?” Ross paused, his voice quickly turning indifferent. “Nothing. Just some old junk.” Old junk. My fingers brushed against the cover of the blank photo album in my bag, and a fleeting, shattered memory flickered in my mind. I seemed to recall sitting by a window on a freezing winter night, clumsily stitching a letter onto a scarf, whispering that we would add a new photo to the album every year until the seventh, when we would finally get married. But before the face in that memory could clear, Gemma let out a soft cough. Ross immediately let go of me and turned to support her. “Get back in the car.” I stood frozen on the sidewalk as he looked back over his shoulder. “Stop acting up, Sienna. Bring your album to the office tomorrow. I’ll help you get those memories back.” Before the car door clicked shut, Gemma glanced at me through the window, her fingers resting directly over the embroidered S. When I walked into the conference room the next morning, Ross was adjusting the projector for Gemma. Cradling her laptop, Gemma looked up and smiled warmly at me. “Sienna, you’re here. Ross mentioned you were originally heading this project. I’m so nervous about presenting it. Would you mind stepping in to cover for me if I stumble?” I slid the photo album into my bag and pulled out a chair. “Why is her name on my proposal?” Ross’s fingers paused on the remote control. His tone was detached. “Gemma is up for a promotion, and she needs a strong case study under her belt. You’re established enough that missing out on this one won’t hurt you.” I stared at the title slide on the screen. The proposal was the result of seven sleepless nights of hard work, yet the author line now read Gemma. The department manager tried to smooth things over. “Come on, Sienna. You and Ross are practically family. There’s no need to be so possessive over a project. The younger staff need opportunities to shine too.” Gemma quickly slid her laptop toward me. “Sienna, how about I do the introduction, and you can present the core strategy? You’ll still get the credit.” Ross’s brow furrowed. “She’s supposedly lost her memory to the point of forgetting who I am. What do you expect her to present?” A few people in the room snickered. The quiet laughter stung like a needle. I stood up and reached for the projector cable. “If I’m unfit to present, then this proposal is unfit to be used.” Ross clamped his hand over my wrist. He didn’t squeeze hard, but it was firm enough to lock me in place. “Sienna, don’t bring your personal tantrums into the workplace.” I stared down at his hand. “You said yesterday that you’d help me remember.” He looked up at me. “We’ll handle that once we finish our actual work. I’ll take you to our old art studio this afternoon.” The laser pointer slipped from Gemma’s fingers, clattering onto the table. She bent down to retrieve it, her voice trembling. “Ross, my stomach is starting to hurt again. I think I forgot to take my medicine this morning.” Ross instantly let go of my wrist. “Where is it?” “Probably in the car,” she murmured. “I can go get it myself.” He was already grabbing his coat. “I’ll go with you.” I stepped in front of the door, holding out the printed project proposal. “Before you leave, change the name on the title slide back to mine.” Ross glanced at the paper but made no move to take it. “Sienna, don’t force me to say things I’ll regret in front of everyone.” “You already have,” I replied. He pushed past me, his shoulder brushing against my bag. The blank photo album slipped out and hit the floor, opening to the very first page. A small sticky note fluttered out. It was his handwriting: Year One: Making a wish under the fireworks. Ross will always choose Sienna first. The conference room fell dead silent. Gemma picked up the note, her eyes welling with tears. “Oh… so this was yours, Sienna? I always assumed Ross wrote it for me. No wonder he told me yesterday that his old wishes didn’t count anymore.” Ross’s expression shifted. “Gemma.” She quickly covered her mouth, looking horrified. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” I reached out and took the note from her. “What do you mean by that?” Ross avoided my eyes. “It was just a silly joke from years ago.” “And the scarf?” I pressed. “Was that a joke too?” His patience finally snapped. “Sienna, it’s a dusty old scarf and a scrap of paper from years ago. Do you really have to dissect every little thing?” The manager cleared his throat. “The clients are arriving soon, Sienna. Why don’t you step outside and cool off?” I looked at the faces in the room. They all knew exactly who had written the proposal. They all knew Ross and I had been together for seven years. Yet, in this moment, every single one of them was waiting for me to back down. Gemma leaned against the doorframe, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. “Sienna, if it makes you feel better, we can add your name as a co-author. Second place still looks quite nice.” I let out a quiet laugh and closed the album. “No, thank you.” Ross’s tense shoulders relaxed slightly, as if he believed I was finally behaving. He reached for my bag. “Let’s head to the art studio. I’ll help you remember everything.” I pulled the bag out of his reach. “Mr. Ross, the clients are here. You should help Gemma get ready for her presentation.” The door opened, and the clients walked in. Gemma immediately took her position at the front of the room. Ross lingered for a split second, looking at me, before turning to stand beside her, clicking the remote to display the first slide. As the screen lit up, my phone vibrated with a message from an unknown number: Want to know the third thing you forgot? Go to the old art studio. Don’t bring Ross. The elderly owner of the studio looked up when I walked in, his eyes softening. “Ah, you’re finally here to pick up that painting.” I froze. “What painting?” He reached into the bottom cabinet and pulled out a long cardboard tube, blowing a layer of dust off the top. “The canvas of the fireworks you and Ross painted together seven years ago. He told me back then he wanted to use it when he proposed on your seventh anniversary. But he came in recently asking to change the signature.” My grip on the tube tightened. “Change it to what?” The owner glanced toward the door and lowered his voice. “Some young lady named Gemma. She told him that the fireworks painting represented the beginning of her and Ross’s story.” The chime above the door jingled. Ross walked in, with Gemma and several colleagues from our office trailing close behind. Seeing the cardboard tube in my hand, his face hardened. “Who told you to come here alone?” Gemma rushed forward, her face lighting up with excitement. “Oh, the painting was here all along! Ross was searching everywhere for it. He said he wanted to display it at my promotion party.” I turned to Ross. “Isn’t this painting mine?” He remained silent for a long moment before reaching out to take the tube from me. “It’s just a silly college sketch, Sienna. It doesn’t matter who uses it.” The studio owner protested. “How can you say that? Miss Sienna was the one who painted the fireworks. You only filled in the silhouette at the bottom!” Our colleagues traded uneasy glances. Gemma’s face paled as she quickly tried to explain herself. “I had no idea… Ross just told me this painting was incredibly important to him. I assumed he wanted to gift it to me.” Ross slid the canvas out of the tube. The edges of the paper were yellowed with age. There were two small figures painted beneath a brilliant sky of fireworks: one in a white dress, the other holding a camera. Near the corner, the hand-painted signature Sienna had been lightly rubbed with a pencil, as if someone had tried to smudge it out and write Gemma over it. Staring at the blurred, ruined letters, a sharp memory flashed through my mind: a hand covered in paint holding mine, a warm voice promising, We’re using this painting when I propose. No one else gets to touch it. Noticing my silence, Ross’s voice softened slightly. “Sienna, didn’t you say you forgot? If it’s already gone from your mind, let it go. We’re trying to start over here, and you need to meet me halfway.” I looked up at him. “And starting over means erasing my name?” Tears spilled down Gemma’s cheeks. “Sienna, please don’t misunderstand. The promotion party is starting soon, and Ross was only worried I wouldn’t have any artwork to showcase. I never wanted to steal anything from you.” The department manager chimed in. “Sienna, you’re clearly not in the right headspace right now. Don’t make a scene in front of the clients. Gemma just closed a major deal. She needs this night to go smoothly.” Ross handed the painting to his assistant. “Get this framed.” I reached out to stop him, but Ross caught my fingers. His voice was a barely audible whisper. “Please, don’t make this difficult for me. Gemma cannot afford to fail tonight.” She is the only one who can’t afford to fail. I pulled my hand back, my fingernail scraping along the edge of the canvas, leaving a thin, pale scratch. Ross saw it, and irritation flashed in his eyes. “Sienna, this is childish.” The promotion party was held in the small hall right next to the studio. Gemma stood in front of the framed fireworks painting, giving her acceptance speech. She spoke about how the artwork represented her journey and the deep trust Ross had placed in her. As the room erupted into applause, Ross stood behind her, gently adjusting her microphone. Nearby, a couple of coworkers whispered. “Ross really treats Gemma differently. Even with Sienna losing her memory, he’s still putting Gemma first.” The other smirked. “Seven years doesn’t mean a thing. At the end of the day, the one who gets chosen is the winner.” I sat in a quiet corner, clutching my photo album, slowly turning the pages. The second page was empty. But tucked into the corner of the third page was a torn piece of an old medical receipt from three years ago. The header was from the city hospital, and the department read: Cognitive Assessment, Initial Consultation. Before I could read the details, Ross walked over and snatched the paper from my hands. “This is useless garbage.” “I was seeing a specialist three years ago?” I asked. He crumpled the paper in his fist. “You were under a lot of stress back then. I took you to a doctor, and they said you were perfectly fine.” Gemma approached us with a glass of juice. Her eyes lingered on his clenched hand before she murmured, “Ross, Dr. Reynolds asked earlier if you’re still bringing Sienna in for her follow-up tomorrow as planned.” Ross’s face darkened. “Gemma.” She immediately shut her mouth. I stared at them, a cold dread pooling in my stomach. Dr. Reynolds. Follow-up. As planned. The lights of the hall reflected off the glass of the framed, stolen painting. As I looked down, I noticed a corner of an appointment slip peeking out of Ross’s coat pocket. My name was printed on the patient line. Beneath it, in the notes section, were just three words: Exposure therapy triggers. When I slid the slip back into his pocket, Ross was kneeling on the floor, adjusting the strap of Gemma’s high heels. She sat on the velvet sofa, her silk dress brushing against his wrist, whispering, “Ross, won’t Sienna be upset if she sees us?” Ross didn’t stop. “She doesn’t remember anything anyway. Why would she care?” I stood at the entrance of the lounge. “I’m coming with you to the appointment tomorrow.” His fingers stiffened for a fraction of a second before he stood up and straightened his sleeves. “Of course. I told you, Sienna, I want to help you remember everything.” Gemma bit her lip. “But the doctor said we need familiar people and settings. Should I come along too? After all, I was there for most of those moments over the last few years.” I looked at Ross. “Why was she there?” He avoided my gaze, taking the photo album from my hand. “You’ve forgotten too much, and I can’t fill in all the blanks alone. Gemma is observant. She can help fill in the gaps.” The next day, Dr. Reynolds reviewed my chart, his expression grave. “Miss Sienna’s memory loss is not a simple case of emotional stubbornness. High-stress emotional triggers can worsen the cognitive blocks. Mr. Ross, I warned you last time about using substitute stimuli.” I turned to Ross. “What does ‘substitute stimuli’ mean?” Ross cut in smoothly. “Doctor, she’s been emotionally unstable lately. Just give us the bottom line.” Dr. Reynolds sighed. “It means taking items that belong to her and giving them to someone else in front of her. Doing this forces her brain to actively shut down to avoid the pain of betrayal.” Gemma sat nearby, nervously clutching her skirt. “Doctor, don’t make it sound so dramatic. Ross was only trying to use me to help trigger her memory.” Trigger it. The scarf. The painting. The proposal. None of it had been an accident. Ross grasped my wrist, his voice dropping to a gentle, persuasive murmur. “Sienna, don’t look at me like that. You were incredibly insecure back then. I only wanted to help you learn to accept things, so you’d stop seeing everyone around me as an enemy.” I stared at him. “So you knew this would happen? You knew I would forget?” He fell silent for a heartbeat. “I knew it would hurt you. I didn’t think you’d actually lose your memory.” Dr. Reynolds slid a consent form across the desk. “I do not recommend proceeding today. Unless Miss Sienna consents herself, we cannot perform the exposure therapy.” Ross picked up a pen. “I’ll sign for her.” I pressed my palm over the paper. “I don’t consent.” His brow furrowed. “Sienna, don’t you want to remember me?” Gemma intervened, her eyes red. “Sienna, Ross cancelled two major board meetings and went to so much trouble to gather all these things for you. Please don’t let his efforts go to waste.” I looked at Ross. I saw the exhaustion in his eyes, but I also saw the sheer confidence. He was absolutely certain I was just throwing another tantrum. He was certain that once he laid out our past, I would fall right back into line. There was a knock on the door, and Ross’s assistant stepped in. “Mr. Ross, the riverfront venue is ready. The event planners want to know if we are proceeding with the proposal setup from seven years ago.” The proposal setup. My fingers went completely numb, and a veil seemed to lift from my mind. The cold rain from seven years ago. The smell of paint in the studio. The crooked S on the blue scarf. And his voice under the fireworks: On our seventh year, I’m going to make you my wife. The memories rushed back. But as they flooded my mind, they felt utterly foreign. The man standing before me had torn those promises apart, handed the pieces to another woman, and now expected me to cherish the wreckage as proof of his love. Ross didn’t notice the shift. He let out a sigh of relief, as if he had finally caught a lifeline. “Perfect. Sienna, let’s go to the riverfront. I’m going to give you the proposal I owed you. Once you see the fireworks, you’ll remember.” Gemma’s face drained of color, but she still reached out to grab his sleeve. “Ross, let me come too. Just in case Sienna gets overwhelmed, I can help explain the details to her.” Ross hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Alright. Come with us.” I looked down and smiled quietly. I reached into the album, tore out the very last blank page, and slid it into my bag. The wind off the river was freezing. In the center of the terrace stood the framed fireworks painting with the smudged signature. Beside it lay the blue scarf, the silver necklace, and the empty photo album with its blank slots. Ross handed a velvet ring box to Gemma. “Keep this for a moment. Give it back to me when the fireworks start.” Gemma took the box, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “Of course.” He turned to me, offering his hand. “Sienna, stop playing games. Walk over to the painting with me.” I looked at his outstretched hand, then at the ring box in Gemma’s fingers, and finally at the sky where the first firework was about to launch. Ross finally noticed how calm I was. His brow creased. “Sienna, did you remember something?” Without answering him, I reached out and took the ring box from Gemma’s hands. I popped it open. Engraved on the inside of the band were two letters. They weren’t T and S. They were T and G. Gemma lunged forward to grab it, her voice shaking. “Sienna, don’t mess with that. It’s just a placeholder for the ceremony.” I snapped the box shut and placed it back in Ross’s palm. “Keep your placeholder. And keep your co-star.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “523905”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I was born with a terrible sense of direction. Not only do I fail to memorize routes, but I also couldn’t tell north from south if my life depended on it. My best friend, Austin, refused to believe it. He claimed he was going to cure me of this “awful habit” once and for all. He even dragged my sister, Sienna, and my childhood sweetheart, Violet, into his grand plan to give me survival training. Once, on a trip, they got off the subway a station early, leaving me stranded on the platform. Another time, during a mall run, they slipped out of a different exit without saying a word, leaving me wandering like a headless chicken, frantically scanning the crowds. All under the guise of building my spatial awareness. Today, it happened again. I stepped away to use the restroom during lunch. When I came back, all three of them were gone. The table had already been cleared, wiped clean as if they had never been there. I reached into my pocket to call them, only to remember I had handed my phone to Austin earlier for safekeeping. I walked up to the front desk, where the hostess handed me a folded note Austin had left behind. It had only two sentences written on it. We’ve walked this route with you twice before, Nolan. I know you can do this. You’ve got this! The three of us will be waiting at home. Suddenly, the whole game felt incredibly exhausting. Honestly, there was nothing wrong with having a bad sense of direction. As long as I had Google Maps, I didn’t need anyone to guide me. … By the time I finally made it back, dusk was settling over the neighborhood. The three of them were lounging on the sofa, sharing a couple of chilled watermelon halves while a movie played on the TV. Austin looked up as the front door clicked. A smug grin spread across his face, and he shot a triumphant look at the girls. “Told you Nolan would make it back before seven. You two lost the bet. Next month’s itinerary is entirely up to me! Besides, since your papers are basically done, delaying school by a few days won’t kill you.” Sienna rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Nolan? Did you and Austin team up to play us? Last time at the mall, it took you four hours to find your way back. Now you’re home in less than two?” Sienna was the sister my family took in when we were kids. Her parents split up when she was in the second grade, and neither of them wanted her. Back then, my biggest wish was for my parents to give me an older sister. So, after making absolutely sure her mother had abandoned her, I practically dragged her home with me. My dad had hesitated, trying to reason with my younger self. “Nolan, she’s a human being, not a stray kitten. You can’t just bring her home and raise her.” But Sienna had looked my parents in the eye and promised she would be the best big sister to me. Seeing her hungry and desperate, my dad finally softened and took her in. Now, it seemed, she had become Austin’s protective older sister instead. “Yeah, come on, Nolan. Spit it out. Did Austin leave you breadcrumbs?” Violet chimed in. She was my upstairs neighbor and the girl I had grown up with. Our parents had joked about a childhood betrothal when we were toddlers, claiming she would grow up to be my wife. Violet had taken it to heart. Knowing how easily I got lost, she used to wait for me after school every single day. Before Austin came into our lives, from first grade all the way through high school, we had walked hand in hand for ten years. She had once promised me, with absolute certainty, “Don’t worry. As long as I’m around, you’ll always find your way home.” But recently, she was the one who had abandoned me the most. “I knew you two would try to make excuses,” Austin said, tossing my phone onto the coffee table with a clatter. “That’s why I took his phone beforehand. Now you have to admit defeat.” Sienna’s smile stiffened. “Wait, you actually took his phone? Why didn’t you tell us?” Violet’s expression darkened as well. “What if something actually happened to him? We wouldn’t even have been able to reach him.” Austin looked genuinely baffled. “What is wrong with you two? We literally agreed on this training program! Are you turning on me now?” Sienna hesitated before offering a weak out. “Well, Nolan is back safe and sound anyway, so let’s just drop it. But don’t you dare take his phone again, Austin.” Violet went quiet for a moment, then walked over to me. She checked me over, grabbing my wrists to make sure I wasn’t hurt, and let out a soft sigh. “Austin was just trying to help. Don’t be mad at him. Sienna saved some chilled watermelon for you in the fridge. Let me get it.” “No need,” I said, picking up my phone from the table and turning toward my bedroom. “I’m tired. I just want to rest.” Austin blinked, looking awkward as he turned to Sienna. “Did… did I actually upset him?” He stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I should head home. He probably doesn’t want to see me right now.” Violet immediately followed him. “It’s late. It’s not safe for you to walk back alone. Let me walk you.” “I can come too,” Sienna added, rushing to put on her shoes. Violet gently pushed her back. “Oh, come on. My place is right upstairs, so I’m practically on the way anyway. You live here, there’s no need for you to make the trip.” Sienna glared at her. “Cut the crap, Violet. Your apartment is upstairs. How is walking him home on your way?” It was almost laughable. My sister and my childhood sweetheart were bickering over who got to escort him home. Yet, not a single one of them asked me how a directionally challenged guy with no phone had managed to navigate his way back. Sienna was eventually pushed back into the apartment by the other two. Once I was safely in my room, I unlocked my phone, opened the university group chat, and submitted my application for the study abroad exchange program. Around eight, my dad came home and cooked dinner. Sienna knocked on my door to call me out. When I didn’t answer, she let out a weary sigh. “Are you seriously still giving Austin the silent treatment? You know how he is. He’s loud and a bit reckless, but he really cares about you.” I remembered how we met. Back in the first semester of sophomore year of high school, Austin had transferred to our school. On our very first weekly exam, he took the school by storm, dethroning me and taking his place right alongside Violet and Sienna in the top three spots. A classmate who disliked me had sneered in my ear, “Looks like someone’s little kingdom is falling apart. You used to ride on the coattails of your sister and your girl, but now you can’t even hold onto third place.” Austin, who happened to be walking past, overheard the comment and immediately threw a punch. They both ended up in the principal’s office with their parents called. But I was drawn to Austin’s fiercely protective nature, and we quickly became best friends. From then on, our trio became a quartet. We even went to the same university together. Until, slowly but surely, I realized I was being pushed out of their world. Sienna pulled the blanket off my face. “Come on. Get up and eat.” My stomach rumbled. Deciding that being angry shouldn’t mean starving myself, I got up, washed my hands, and sat down at the table. During dinner, Sienna casually brought up, “A new theme park just opened in the city. They have this massive Ferris wheel. Austin suggested we all go tomorrow.” I was about to decline when my dad spoke up. “Oh, I heard about that from my coworkers. You should go, Nolan. I remember how much you loved watching Ferris wheels on TV when you were little. It’s a shame we never had one here, and I was always too busy with work to take you out of town.” With my dad encouraging me, I swallowed my refusal. After dinner, our group chat of four was blowing up. Austin was stressing over what to wear to take the best photos, spamming the chat with pictures of different outfits. Sienna and Violet were clashing, generating over a hundred messages debating the choices. Austin finally sent a frustrated voice note: “Who asked you two anyway? I posted these so Nolan could help me choose!” Then, he added in a softer tone, “Nolan, you aren’t still mad at me, right? I swear I won’t do it again.” Violet quickly replied on my behalf. “Oh, don’t worry about him. Nolan isn’t that petty. You practically cured his terrible sense of direction. He should be thanking you.” “Right, Nolan?” Austin bought it completely, pressing me to pick the best outfit. Violet tagged me. “Nolan, don’t you think the blue one looks great on him? The store clerk was raving about it when he tried it on the other day.” Sienna, sitting next to me on the couch, scoffed as she read the messages. “That clerk was just trying to make a sale, and Violet fell for it hook, line, and sinker. That blue washed him out. The yellow one I picked is way better. Austin loved it when he tried it on.” She nudged my shoulder. “Nolan, we’re the ones living under the same roof. You have to back me up here.” I looked at her, my voice quiet. “You guys bought those in person? When? How come I didn’t know about this?” Sienna was busy typing a reply to Austin. Without looking up, she blurted out, “On the third floor of the mall. You were right there, weren’t you? How do you forget these things so fast?” I froze, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. That day at the mall… I had only stepped away to pick up our bubble tea. When I returned, they were gone. While I had been running around like a headless chicken trying to find them, they had been happily helping Austin try on clothes. No wonder none of my calls or texts had gone through. Sienna finally realized what she’d said. Her thumbs hovered over the screen, and a flash of embarrassment crossed her face. “Wait… I got it mixed up. You weren’t there. I wanted to invite you, but that store only sells streetwear, and you don’t really wear that style anyway.” I didn’t say anything. I just stared at her. When she reached out to pat my head, I stepped back, avoiding her touch. “Are you jealous?” she asked softly. “Tell you what, I’ll take you out and buy you a couple of outfits next week, okay?” Before I could answer, my phone buzzed. Austin was starting a group video call. I didn’t answer it, but Sienna picked up on her phone and shoved it in front of my face. “Nolan, why aren’t you picking?” Austin’s face popped up on the screen. “Is it really that hard of a choice?” Sienna whispered beside me, “Just pick one. Otherwise, he’s going to think you’re still holding a grudge, and he won’t sleep a wink tonight.” I let out a soft laugh, refusing to play along. “They both look great. Just pick whichever one you want.” Austin whined about how half-hearted I was, but when we met at the amusement park entrance the next morning, he was wearing the blue one. He had chosen Violet’s pick. A shadow of disappointment passed over Sienna’s face. Austin sent the girls off to buy water and queue up, walking beside me at a leisurely pace. “I knew you wouldn’t hold a grudge. We’re best friends, after all!” I just smiled and kept walking. Since it was opening weekend, the crowd for the giant Ferris wheel was massive. But when we finally made it to the front of the line, Sienna and Violet started bickering over who would sit next to Austin. Violet argued, “You’re Nolan’s sister. Of course you should ride with him.” Sienna shot back, “Austin wore the shirt you picked today. To keep things fair, he should ride with me.” The people behind us were growing impatient, murmuring and complaining. “Are you guys getting on or what? Go argue somewhere else!” “Seriously, can’t the three of them just share a cabin? Why make such a fuss?” Sienna and Violet turned on the crowd simultaneously. “Who would want to ride with her?!” Yet, in the end, the three of them ended up in the same cabin anyway. Their excuse was that a single rider would have more room, so they both generously decided to let me have the solo cabin to myself. Austin pressed his face against the glass window of his cabin, looking down at me. “Man, I’m so jealous you get a whole cabin to yourself while I’m stuck squeezing in with these two.” A girl standing in line behind me muttered to her boyfriend, “Is he seriously complaining? That’s the most transparent, disgusting humble-brag I’ve ever seen. Look at him. That’s a textbook player right there. If you ever act like that, I’ll throw you off this ride.” I glanced back at her. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Sorry, I was just venting. Don’t mind me.” I didn’t mind. She was only speaking the truth. The ride operator, an older man, patted my shoulder sympathetically. “Don’t sweat it, kid. I’ll call my daughter right now to come down and ride with you. Heck, you can go around twice!” He actually started pulling out his phone. I waved my hand with a smile. “Thank you, sir, but it’s really fine. I actually prefer being by myself.” By the time my cabin touched down and I stepped off, the three of them were nowhere to be found. This time, I didn’t waste my energy looking for them. I calmly pulled out my phone and called an Uber. My dad was home on his day off and looked surprised when I walked through the door alone. “Back so early? Have you eaten? Where’s Sienna?” I didn’t answer. I just sat down next to him and rested my head on his shoulder. “Dad, I want to go on the study abroad exchange program next semester. What do you think?” “Of course!” he said warmly. “It’s good to see the world while you’re young. And with Sienna there to look after you, I won’t have to worry.” I shook my head. “Sienna isn’t going. We’re growing up, Dad. We have our own paths to walk. I can’t drag her along on a journey she doesn’t want to take.” My dad’s easy confidence wavered. “But you’ve never traveled far by yourself, let alone gone to another country. How are you going to manage?” “I won’t be alone,” I reassured him. “Other students from our school are going too. I’ve already found a travel partner.” Only then did he reluctantly give his consent. Sienna didn’t return until dusk. “Nolan! We just went to get some water. Why did you leave by yourself?” I was filling out my application forms and didn’t even bother to look up. “It was too hot. I didn’t feel like waiting.” Once the files were submitted, I checked my phone. The group chat was overflowing with over ninety-nine messages. They were excitedly discussing packing lists, sunscreens, car rentals, and local food spots for their upcoming trip. I stared at the screen for a long moment before typing, Where are we going? A loud curse echoed from the living room, and Sienna burst into my room a second later. “Nolan! We booked the tickets for our trip this afternoon. You weren’t there, and… we forgot to buy yours! I’m trying to get you on the standby list right now.” Austin’s voice note arrived at that exact moment. “Hey, those were the last three tickets available. It’s you two’s fault. You kept bickering in my ear, and I completely forgot the most important thing.” Seeing that another argument was brewing, I quickly typed back, Don’t worry about the standby ticket. It’s too hot anyway. I’d rather stay home. Sienna, sitting on the edge of my bed, let out a quiet sigh of relief and closed the ticketing app. “Yeah, this summer is brutal. It’s fine, I’ll take lots of pictures for you. And I’ll bring you back the coolest souvenirs!” On the day they set off for their beach vacation, I boarded my flight out of the country. Before leaving, Sienna was still fussing over me. “Don’t eat too much cold watermelon. Since Dad’s not around, don’t buy a whole one. Oh, and make sure to double-lock the door when you’re home alone.” Violet came down from upstairs and let out a dry laugh. “Alright, Mother Teresa. Let’s go. Austin is waiting for us.” Sienna grumbled but grabbed her bags and followed. I watched their car pull away from the curb and disappear down the street. Only then did I slowly roll my suitcase out of my room and head downstairs. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have to be the third wheel in their little world.

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1 It was a stormy night in New York when I saved my boss, a man known for his icy, untouchable exterior, after he’d been drugged. I had harbored a silent, desperate love for him for seven years, which meant I knew better than anyone what would happen. After tonight, I would become the very thing he loathed most: a scheming woman who climbed into his bed. But in his feverish delirium, he called out my name over and over again, gripping me so tightly that I couldn’t bring myself to leave him. When dawn broke, I dragged my exhausted, aching body back to the office, only to overhear his freezing command to his security team: “Find the woman from last night. Whoever dared to set me up, I will make her pay dearly.” I clutched my files and swallowed the bitter truth. Six weeks later, a positive pregnancy test forced me to make a quiet escape from the city. But he intercepted me at the airport gate, his eyes bloodshot as he demanded in a ragged whisper, “Whose baby is it?” … After slipping out of the hotel room that morning, I only had time for a rushed shower before heading straight to work. The atmosphere on the executive floor of McDonald Enterprises was stiflingly tense. Everyone was whispering about the night before. “I heard Mr. McDonald was drugged.” “Some woman actually had the nerve to sneak into his bed.” “You know how much Gabriel hates opportunists. If he finds her, she’s finished.” I stood outside the boardroom holding a stack of folders, my fingertips turning ice-cold. The double doors weren’t fully closed. Gabriel sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his crisp white shirt buttoned all the way to the top, perfectly hiding the marks I had left on his skin the night before. Victoria sat beside him, gently sliding a cup of black coffee toward his hand. “Gabriel, don’t let it ruin your day,” she murmured softly. “There are too many women in New York looking for a shortcut to the top. It was just a slip-up on the hotel’s end.” Gabriel let out a harsh, dry laugh. “A slip-up? That’s exactly how my father was set up years ago, leaving the family with a child they had to sweep under the rug. Women like that? I’ll ruin every single one of them I find.” Standing outside, I felt a physical squeeze in my chest. Last night, his skin had been burning with fever. I only wanted to help him back to his suite, but he had gripped my wrists with terrifying strength, begging me in a raw whisper, “Jane, don’t leave me.” Seven years of loving him in silence made it impossible to push him away. But in giving in, I had sealed my own doom. The executive assistant opened the door and signaled for me to enter. I kept my head down, quietly placing the prepared reports in front of Gabriel. He looked up, his dark eyes boring into mine. “Where were you last night, Jane?” I forced my voice to remain steady. “After assisting you to your suite, sir, I returned to the office to compile the financial statements.” “Someone entered my room afterward. You didn’t notice?” Through the cracked door, the whispered rumors still floated in: climbing into his bed, cheap tricks, social climber. Every whispered word felt like a physical blow. I tightened my grip on the leather folder. “Should I pull the hotel’s security footage, sir?” “Do it,” he muttered, irritably loosening his collar. “I want to see exactly who had the nerve.” Looking at the dark shadows under his eyes, a familiar ache bloomed in my chest. He had been in so much pain last night. If I had truly abandoned him in that state, what would have happened to him? The truth hovered right at the tip of my tongue. “Mr. McDonald, actually, last night…” Gabriel raised his eyes to meet mine. “Jane, I was set up last night. Don’t worry yourself with the details.” His tone was completely devoid of warmth. “Women who use their bodies as bargaining chips are disgusting. I find them repulsive.” The confession died in my throat. I lowered my gaze. “Understood, sir. I’ll investigate immediately.” Gabriel stared at me for a few silent seconds, his brow furrowing. “Why do you look so pale?” I looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “I didn’t sleep well last night.” He pulled a box of stomach medication from his drawer and tossed it onto the desk in front of me. “Take it.” The box landed with a soft thud. He was always like this. Cold and demanding one moment, yet tossing out these tiny fragments of tenderness the next. For seven years, I had fed on these breadcrumbs, foolishly convincing myself that if I just waited a little longer, he might notice me. I picked up the medication. “Thank you, Mr. McDonald.” His expression instantly turned icy. “What did you just call me?” In private, he had forbidden me from using his formal title. He used to say, Jane, you’re different from the others. But now, I didn’t dare test his limits. I was in the breakroom dissolving the medication in warm water when Victoria found me. She wore a tailored white dress, her makeup flawless, her smile sweet but deadly. “Jane,” she said softly. “How much do you know about last night’s power outage at the hotel?” My hand trembled, hot water splashing onto my fingertips. She didn’t miss my flinch; in fact, she seemed to have anticipated it. “That hotel is owned by my family, Jane. I’ve already secured the backup security footage from before and after the blackout.” She slid her phone across the counter. The video was grainy, but I recognized myself instantly. On that stormy night, in the pitch-black hallway, I was supporting a barely conscious Gabriel, pushing open his suite door. The next frame showed me stepping out hours later, my clothes disheveled, my steps unsteady. “Jane,” Victoria whispered, “if this video gets leaked, what do you think the tabloids will say about you? More importantly, how do you think Gabriel will react?” A deep chill settled into my bones. “He was drugged last night. I was only helping him.” “I know,” she smiled, “but the public won’t care. All they’ll see is you taking advantage of an incapacitated man to climb into his bed.” I clenched my cup. “I can explain it to him myself.” Victoria laughed as if I’d said something hilarious. “Explain what? That you’ve been secretly pining after him for seven years? That you finally found the perfect opportunity to pounce when he couldn’t fight back?” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a harsh hiss. “Jane, you know him better than anyone. He despises women who use these cheap tricks. If you confess, you’ll only make him sick to his stomach.” She had me pinned, and she knew it. “Resign,” she demanded. “Leave New York. Otherwise, I will send this video to every member of the McDonald family.” I stood frozen in the breakroom long after she left. The water had gone cold. The burn on my finger began to throb, but the ache in my chest was far worse. In the days that followed, my focus shattered. When I made my fourth data entry error in a single week, Gabriel slammed the folder onto his desk. “Jane! I pay you three times the market rate for an assistant. Am I paying you to daydream?” I swallowed the exhaustion that was making my head spin. “I’m sorry, Mr. McDonald. It won’t happen again.” He stared at me for a long moment, his tone softening slightly. “If you’re sick, go home and rest. Don’t wander around in front of me looking like a ghost. It’s annoying.” But I didn’t dare leave. I was terrified that Victoria would hand him the video the moment I stepped out of the building. I couldn’t bear the thought of his rare affection turning into pure disgust. During an evening meeting, the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee hit my nose, and my stomach turned violently. I barely managed to excuse myself before sprinting to the restroom. When I walked out, Gabriel was standing at the end of the corridor, his face etched with worry as he held the unread meeting materials. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” I looked away, avoiding his gaze. “I’m fine.” “Fine? Then why were you throwing up?” His voice was sharp, but he held out a cup of warm water. “Drink this.” I didn’t take it. His expression darkened. “Jane, are you defying me now?” In the past, I would have cherished these moments. He sounded angry, but he always remembered my weak stomach. His tone was harsh, but he was the one handing me the water. But now, his tenderness felt like a trap, making it even harder for me to let go. I took the cup. “Thank you, Mr. McDonald.” Gabriel stared at me, his gaze intense and unreadable. “What is going on with you lately? You’re avoiding me, you’re calling me Mr. McDonald, and you’re skipping meals.” He paused, his voice dropping. “Jane, are you hiding something from me?” For a split second, my eyes stung, and the urge to tell him everything almost overwhelmed me. I wanted to beg him to believe that I hadn’t planned any of it, that it was just a moment of weakness because I loved him too much. But Victoria didn’t give me the chance. She stepped out of the conference room, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she called out with a sweet smile, “Gabriel, the event planner is waiting for you to finalize my birthday banquet.” Gabriel turned his head to look at her. That single look was enough to snap me back to reality. Victoria was his childhood friend. She could stand by his side, call him by his first name, and pull him away from me with a single sentence. I was just his assistant, the assistant who had snuck into his bed and whose explanations would sound like cheap lies. I handed the cup back to him. “It’s nothing. Just tired.” Over the next few weeks, Gabriel’s frustration grew because the mystery woman remained unidentified. The tension on the executive floor was suffocating. I couldn’t sleep. My stomach constantly felt like a heavy block of ice. One afternoon, when he snapped at me during a briefing, my vision blurred, and my knees buckled. “Jane, you really haven’t been yourself lately,” Victoria said, stepping closer to Gabriel with a look of mock concern. “Gabriel, don’t be so hard on her. She’s probably just overwhelmed. Then again, with my birthday party coming up, there are so many details to coordinate. If Jane can’t handle it, maybe she should take some time off.” I knew exactly what she meant. She wasn’t offering me a break; she was pushing me out. Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your performance has been slipping. Hand over your current projects to Sarah. Go home and rest. Don’t push yourself.” I snapped my head up. I could endure Victoria’s threats, but hearing Gabriel dismiss me so easily cut me to the quick. I had worked beside him for seven years. I knew his schedule, his preferences, his dislikes, even the exact temperature he liked his tea. Yet Victoria had managed to dismantle all of my hard work with a single sentence. I forced a tight smile. “Understood.” Gabriel’s expression grew even colder. “What is that tone supposed to mean?” I didn’t reply. If I said another word, the tears I was fighting back would spill over. That night, I stayed late in my empty office. I drafted my resignation letter, deleted it, and wrote it again. Several times, I hovered over Gabriel’s contact info, wanting to text him one simple question: Did I ever stand a chance with you? But his last text on my screen remained professional: Ensure Miss Victoria’s birthday gift list is finalized by tomorrow morning. I stared at those words until they blurred, then quietly deleted all my unsent messages. The day I handed in my physical resignation letter, Gabriel’s fury shook the entire executive floor. He slammed the paper onto his desk. “Who gave you permission to leave? I told you to take a few days off, and you throw a tantrum and quit?” I kept my eyes on the floor. “It is no longer appropriate for me to remain your assistant, sir.” “Who decided that?” his voice boomed. “Miss Victoria,” I replied quietly. “And you do whatever she tells you?” I looked up. “She is your childhood friend, and soon to be your fiancée.” Gabriel stared at me for a long, agonizing moment, then let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “What? Did you find a better offer somewhere else?” His words stung like a whip. “No, sir.” “Then stay put,” he snapped, tossing a revised contract onto the desk. “I’m giving you a raise. Stop using your resignation to test my patience. I don’t have time for your games.” I stared at the paper, finding the situation utterly tragic. He thought I was playing hardball for a higher salary, trying to force his hand by threatening to leave. He had no idea how terrified I was, terrified of the disgust that would fill his eyes if he ever found out about that night, terrified of the question he would inevitably ask: Jane, were you trying to use me to climb the ladder, too? I pushed the contract back toward him. “I am not playing games.” Gabriel’s expression turned murderous. “Then what is this? Are you defending that woman from the hotel? Jane, you’ve been with me for seven years. You know my boundaries. Even if you try to cover for her, I will find her, and I will make her pay.” My eyes burned. Years of loyalty and carefully guarded trust crumbled to dust in a single second. The next time my dizziness forced me to visit the clinic, the doctor handed me a laboratory report. Pregnant. Six weeks. It lined up perfectly with that stormy night. Sitting on the cold plastic chair in the clinic hallway, my hands and feet went numb. But after the initial wave of panic subsided, I found myself gently resting my palm against my stomach. It was still completely flat, but I knew a tiny life was growing inside. This was the only tangible thing left to me from the man I had loved in silence for seven long years. Gabriel might hate me, but I couldn’t bring myself to give up this child. I agonized over whether to tell him. But when I returned to the office to gather my belongings, I overheard Victoria’s voice coming from the executive lounge. “Gabriel, your mother said it’s time we make our arrangement official. The families are waiting for an announcement.” Gabriel’s response was flat. “I told you, there’s no rush.” Victoria hesitated, her voice carrying a delicate whine. “But everyone is talking about your assistant, Jane. They say there’s something going on between you two. Your mother even asked if she would interfere with the family’s plans.” The lounge went completely silent for several seconds. Outside the door, I clutched the folded ultrasound report, my heart hammering against my ribs. Then, Gabriel’s cold, indifferent voice shattered my hopes. “She is my assistant. She does not influence my decisions.” That was when Tristan appeared. He was Gabriel’s biggest business rival, and the only person who had ever seen through my carefully guarded secret. Seeing the laboratory report in my trembling hands, he didn’t ask who the father was. He simply took off his heavy wool coat and draped it over my shaking shoulders. “Jane,” he said gently. “Let’s get you out of here.” I clutched the paper tightly. “I want to leave New York.” Tristan was quiet for a moment before nodding. “Okay. I’ll help you.” He arranged a private physician for me, found me a secure place to stay, and eventually placed a one-way ticket to Sydney on the table before me. “You don’t have to run,” he noted. “Do you want me to tell him?” I shook my head. I knew Gabriel too well. He despised the woman from that night with a passion. He would never accept a child conceived under those circumstances. This baby was my choice alone. On the day of my flight, I rolled my suitcase into the terminal. But just as I reached the security line, a group of suited security guards blocked my path. Gabriel stepped out from behind them, his face dark with suppressed fury. “Jane,” he growled, stepping into my space. “Resigning, moving out of your apartment, trying to fly out of the country… You’ve grown quite bold.” I gripped the handle of my suitcase, backed into a corner by his imposing frame. “This is my personal life, Mr. McDonald.” He let out a harsh laugh. “Your personal life? Does your personal life involve running away with Tristan?” My face drained of color. “This has nothing to do with him.” “Nothing to do with him? Then why did he book your ticket?” Gabriel’s eyes were bloodshot, a dangerous fire burning in their depths. “Jane, have I spoiled you too much? So much that you think you can just run off with another man?” My throat felt dry and tight. “You have plenty of people to replace me, sir.” “Whether I have replacements is not for you to decide.” Gabriel suddenly lunged and snatched my handbag. I reached out frantically to grab it back, but during the struggle, the bag slipped, spilling its contents across the polished floor. Medication, my passport, the plane ticket… and the folded pregnancy report. The air in the terminal seemed to freeze. Gabriel bent down and picked up the paper before I could reach it. He unfolded it. His eyes scanned the bold lettering: Pregnant. Six Weeks. The paper crumpled in his tightening fist. He looked up at me, his eyes dark with a wild, chaotic storm, his voice trembling with ice. “Jane,” he whispered. “Is it Tristan’s?”

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1 On the day we moved into our new house, I made sure to reserve the ground-floor master bedroom with the wheelchair ramp for my father, whose legs were failing him. But the movers only told me after they arrived that the ground floor had already been taken by Lauren’s former father-in-law, Mr. Gable. My father was relegated to the fourth-floor guest room in a building with no elevator. Clutching his cane, he had to climb the stairs step by painful step, stopping to gasp for air at every landing. I called Lauren immediately. Her only response was, “The top floor gets better sunlight. Stop being so dramatic.” Yet just moments earlier, I had watched her bend down to install a motion-sensor nightlight by Mr. Gable’s bedroom door, because she was terrified the old man might trip in the dark. When my father finally reached the fourth floor, he leaned heavily against the doorframe and forced a smile. “Son, it’s nice and bright up here. I like it.” His pant leg was still rolled up, revealing a nasty purple bruise swelling on his calf. I looked down at the empty ramp downstairs and felt a sudden, sickening realization: I didn’t want to spend another day in this house. I quietly closed the bedroom door on the fourth floor, the cold sweat from my father’s forehead still lingering on my palm. He had taken his painkillers and lay on his side, his cane resting against the bed, barely hiding the dark bruise on his leg. When I went downstairs, the pristine wheelchair ramp looked painfully bright under the hallway lights, its handrails newly wrapped in non-slip tape. The kitchen door was slightly open. Lauren had rolled up the sleeves of her silk blouse and was carefully skimming the fat off a simmering pot of broth. She was making her famous wild herb and chicken stew, while soft pastries sat on the dining table, all of Mr. Gable’s favorites. I leaned against the doorframe, my voice barely a whisper. “Lauren, why didn’t you tell me you gave the ground-floor bedroom to Mr. Gable?” She didn’t even turn around, pouring the skimmed fat into a small bowl. “Is a minor moving detail really worth starting a fight over right now?” “My father has three steel plates in his leg. He had to climb four flights of stairs today, and he’s in too much pain to even touch his dinner.” Lauren turned down the burner, her voice infuriatingly calm. “Mr. Gable’s doctor warned him about early signs of a stroke last week. He shouldn’t exert himself. He’s all alone now that his son is gone. What’s wrong with me looking after him?” “And what about my father? He can barely walk. You saw that yourself.” She finally faced me, her brow furrowing. “Your father has you to look after him every single day. Who does Mr. Gable have? His son passed away, and as his former daughter-in-law, I have a moral obligation to care for him.” “A moral obligation?” I pulled up the original blueprints on my phone and shoved them in front of her. “This ground-floor room was custom-designed for my dad from day one. The ramp, the handrails, the shower bench… everything was built to his measurements.” Lauren barely glanced at it. “The fourth floor gets great sunlight, which is actually good for arthritis. Stop being so petty.” My fingers went numb with anger. “We are swapping the rooms back tomorrow.” She clattered the ladle against the marble countertop. Wiping her hands, she walked slowly toward me, stopping just inches away. “Mr. Gable cannot handle stress. If you make a scene in front of him and trigger his heart condition, don’t expect me to spare your feelings.” “Are you threatening me?” She grabbed my wrist, not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to keep me from pulling away. “John, we can handle a little discomfort within the family. But outsiders are watching how we treat those in need. Don’t humiliate me.” “So my father is just supposed to suffer?” “If that’s how you want to see it, I can’t stop you.” She let go of me, picked up the bowl of hot broth, and her voice softened. “I’m going to take this to Mr. Gable. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately.” She brushed past me, carrying the faint scent of lavender incense, the kind Mr. Gable always burned in his room to calm his nerves. Standing alone in the kitchen, a sudden wave of nausea hit me. I gripped the refrigerator door, my hand pressing hard against my stomach. My phone buzzed in my pocket, displaying a follow-up reminder from the hospital. Mr. John, your severe gastric ulcer has worsened to a critical perforation risk. Please schedule your follow-up immediately to prepare for surgery. I stared at the text, remembering how I had planned to tell her tonight about my deteriorating health. From the ground floor, Mr. Gable’s fragile voice drifted up. “Lauren, dear, you’re spoiling me. John won’t be upset, will he?” Lauren replied in a soothing tone, “He’s just acting like a child. He’ll get over it.” I locked my phone, but the sharp, stabbing pain in my stomach refused to fade. Outside, Mr. Gable chuckled, saying, “An old skeleton like me doesn’t deserve such a beautiful room.” Lauren’s response was tender. “You deserve the best. Don’t worry about a thing.” I leaned heavily against the fridge, my fists clenching until my knuckles turned white. The next morning, a torrential downpour slammed against the windows. Lauren, who had promised to drive us to the hospital, was nowhere to be found, and her car was gone. My father stood in the foyer, leaning on his cane and trying to hide his pain as he defended her. “Lauren is a busy woman. A cab will do just fine.” I stared at my phone, where a text from her had just popped up. Mr. Gable was craving those sourdough pastries from the West End bakery, so I’m in line to get some. Grab an Uber. I dialed her number. It rang for a long time before she picked up, the background filled with the chatter of a crowded bakery. “Lauren, you promised to take my dad to his orthopedic appointment today. His leg was throbbing all night, and in this storm, we can’t find a ride.” She sounded annoyed. “I’ve been in this line for an hour. If I leave now, it’s a waste of time. Just call a premium ride. I’ll cover the cost, okay?” “There are over a hundred people in the queue for premium rides. No one is picking up in this weather!” “John, stop being so dramatic over nothing. You’re an adult. You don’t need your hand held for a doctor’s visit.” My father gently tugged at my sleeve, his face pale. “Don’t argue, son. I can walk slowly.” I hung up and borrowed a large umbrella from the front desk. Rain lashed against the canopy, and with every step my father took, the rubber tip of his cane slipped on the wet pavement. I held the umbrella in one hand and gripped his arm with the other. “Dad, lean on me. Don’t try to carry your own weight.” He gasped for breath, still forcing a smile. “I’m fine, son. Back in the day, I worked the fields with this leg. I can make it.” The bus stop was only three hundred yards outside the residential gate, but today, it felt like miles. As we approached a deep puddle, my father suddenly pulled his arm away from mine. “You’re sick… don’t push yourself. I can cross this on my own.” My heart stopped. “Dad, you know?” He looked down at my bag. “Your medical report was sticking out yesterday. I didn’t ask because I wanted to wait until you were ready to tell me.” My eyes welled up, but before I could speak, the tip of his cane slid on the slick asphalt. My father crashed heavily onto the concrete curb, his cane clattering into the street. “Dad!” I threw myself down to pull him up, but the sudden strain sent a white-hot agony ripping through my stomach. My father gasped in pain, cold sweat pouring down his face, yet he used his weak grip to push my hands away. “Don’t lift me. Don’t move. Call an ambulance. Hurry.” I knelt in the muddy water, desperately waving at passing cars, but they only splashed us as they sped by. With trembling fingers, I dialed 911. Just as I finished giving our location, a notification popped up at the top of my screen. It was an update from Mr. Gable’s social media. The photo showed a plate of steaming, golden-brown pastries. Next to the teacup, Lauren’s manicured, spotless hand was visible. The caption read: My own son might be gone, but this wonderful girl is sweeter than any daughter I could have asked for. Truly blessed. I stared at the screen, digging my fingernails into my palms. By the time the ambulance arrived, my father was too weak to speak. The paramedics loaded him onto the stretcher, the medic frowning at me. “Why was he out walking in this weather? A fall like this is catastrophic for a leg in his condition.” I choked on my words, only able to whisper, “Please, just hurry.” At the hospital, the orthopedic surgeon’s face darkened as he reviewed the X-rays. “The steel plates have shifted, and there’s severe inflammation. Has he been climbing stairs recently?” My father looked down, his voice barely audible. “We just moved into a new place. The stairs are a bit steep.” The doctor looked at me. “He needs absolute bed rest. He must use a wheelchair from now on. No more stairs.” I nodded numbly. I went to the billing office and emptied my personal savings account to pay the deposit, then rented a cheap, second-hand wheelchair. As we wheeled out of the clinic, Lauren’s call finally came through. Her voice was flat. “Did you guys make it to the hospital? Mr. Gable felt a bit dizzy after breakfast, so I’ll be home late.” I looked down at my father’s damp, ruined pants. “Lauren, my dad fell.” There was a brief silence. “Is it bad?” Before I could answer, Mr. Gable’s coughing echoed from her end. Lauren immediately lowered her voice. “I have to go. Stop making a mountain out of a molehill. We’ll talk when I get home.” The line went dead. My father cradled his bent cane in his arms, looking up at me quietly. “John, is that ramp at home really out of the question for me now?” My hands froze on the wheelchair handles. The cold rain seeped down my collar, freezing me to the bone. It was evening by the time we returned. The doctor had made it clear that my father could not climb stairs, so I was determined to demand the ground-floor bedroom, even if it meant a screaming match. But when I pushed the door open, a burst of laughter hit us. Balloons, flower baskets, and a massive seafood spread covered the dining table. Mr. Gable sat at the head of the table in a custom velvet suit, a gold boutonniere pinned to his chest, grinning broadly. A three-tier cake stood nearby with the words: Happy 60th Birthday to my beloved Godfather. Lauren emerged from the crowd. Seeing my father in the wheelchair, she merely frowned. “What happened to you? Why can’t you be more careful?” I gripped the wheelchair handles, my voice freezing over. “He fell in the pouring rain trying to get to his doctor’s appointment, the one you were supposed to drive him to.” Lauren glanced at the guests and lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “Today is Mr. Gable’s sixtieth birthday. We’re hosting a celebration to mark our godfather-godson bond. Everyone is here to celebrate. Don’t ruin the mood with your attitude.” Mr. Gable quickly stood up, leaning against the table. “John, please don’t blame Lauren. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have allowed them to throw such a big party for an old man like me.” Despite his feigned humility, the massive emerald signet ring on his thumb flashed ostentatiously under the chandelier. My father gripped the armrests of his wheelchair, took in the room full of strangers, and forced a raspy whisper through his pain. “John, I’m tired. Ask the building staff to help carry me back to the fourth floor. Let’s not ruin their celebration.” The building staff sighed and carefully carried the wheelchair up the stairs, my father’s face slick with sweat from the sheer agony of the movement. I stared at his bloodless lips, a suffocating ache tightening in my chest. Once the staff left, I walked over to the ground-floor bedroom. A new nameplate hung on the door: Mr. Gable’s Suite. Inside sat a brand-new massage chair, a heated therapeutic mattress, an emergency call button by the headboard, and the bathroom threshold had been shaved down completely. This was the exact room I had meticulously planned for my own father. I walked over to the birthday cake, my fingers grabbing the edge of the tablecloth. Lauren noticed my expression and hissed, “John, don’t you dare. We have guests.” I stared at the word “Godfather” written in frosting and pulled the cloth with all my might. Plates, wine glasses, and the three-tier cake crashed to the floor, splattering frosting all over Mr. Gable’s trousers. The room fell into a dead silence. Mr. Gable clutched his chest, sinking backward into his chair. “Lauren, I can’t breathe.” His relatives swarmed him. “What kind of monster are you? Ruining an old man’s birthday like this!” Lauren’s face turned white with rage. She marched over, grabbed my shoulder, and shoved me away from the table. My back slammed against the doorframe, and a violent spasm seized my stomach. “John, have you lost your mind?” she spat. “Your father’s fall was his own fault for being clumsy. Why are you taking it out on Mr. Gable?” I stared at her. “Say that again.” Lauren’s lips thinned. “It’s his birthday, and he can’t handle this kind of shock. Apologize to him.” I let out a dry laugh. “Apologize?” Before the word could fully leave my mouth, a sharp, tearing pain tore through my gut. A thick, metallic taste surged up my throat, and I spat a mouthful of dark red blood onto the light-colored rug. Lauren froze, staring at the stain. But Mr. Gable started sobbing. “Lauren, maybe I shouldn’t be here. I’m the reason you two are fighting.” Lauren instinctively turned to comfort him. I clung to the doorframe, my fingertips ice cold. “Lauren, I’m throwing up blood.” She looked back at me, swallowing hard, but before she could speak, our caregiver ran down the stairs, panic written all over her face. “Mr. John, something is wrong! Your father heard the noise and tried to come down to stop the fight. He passed out on the fourth floor!” A loud buzzing filled my ears. I bolted past Lauren toward the stairs. She gasped and tried to follow, but Mr. Gable went limp, grabbing her sleeve. “Lauren, my chest… I think I’m having a heart attack.” Lauren paused, reflexively catching him as he slipped from his chair. That single second of hesitation was all it took. I didn’t look back at her again. By the time the paramedics carried my father down the stairs, she was still in the living room, frantically feeding Mr. Gable his emergency nitroglycerin pills. When the ambulance doors slammed shut, my father’s limp hand had already fallen off the side of the gurney. The medic administered oxygen while a nurse checked his blood pressure, turning to me urgently. “You need to secure funds. He might need an ICU bed, and the standard ward is completely full.” I nodded, my palms slick with cold sweat. At the emergency room, the doctor emerged, speaking rapidly. “It’s a massive hemorrhagic stroke. Our standard ward doesn’t have the equipment. He needs to go to the private ICU immediately, but we need a twenty-thousand-dollar deposit to clear the emergency path.” I clutched the payment slip. “My investment funds clear tomorrow. Can we please start the procedure now?” The doctor looked at me grimly. “We will do everything we can, but the system won’t open the pathway without the deposit. Every minute we lose increases the risk.” I crouched at the end of the hallway and dialed Lauren’s number. The first call went unanswered. On the second try, she picked up. The background was quiet, like she was in her car. My voice shook uncontrollably. “Lauren, my dad had a stroke. He needs to go to the ICU right now. Transfer the twenty thousand dollars from our emergency savings.” A two-second silence followed before her voice returned, dripping with irritation. “John, I know your dad passed out. Old people get overwhelmed easily. Stop exaggerating a stroke to scare me.” I froze, a cold dread washing over me. “What did you say?” “I said stop blowing things out of proportion just because you’re throwing a tantrum,” she snapped. “Mr. Gable had severe chest pain because of your stunt. I already used that twenty thousand for his luxury care home deposit. Your dad has chronic issues. Stop using him as a pawn to get my attention.” I leaned against the wall, the taste of blood thick in my mouth. “He is dying! The doctors are waiting for the deposit to save his life!” Lauren’s voice grew cold. “The money is paid. It’s non-refundable.” She paused, adopting a patronizing tone. “John, adults have to face the consequences of their emotional outbursts. You ruined the party tonight. You can’t keep throwing fits to get your way.” The line went dead. I stared at the dark screen, slowly dragged myself up, and stumbled to the billing window, handing over every credit card I owned. The clerk shook her head. “Insufficient funds.” I desperately called relatives, friends, and real estate agents, offering to sell my pre-marriage apartment at half price, but the fastest transaction would still take until tomorrow. Suddenly, a flat, continuous beep echoed from the trauma bay. The doctor walked out, pulling off his mask, his eyes downcast. “Mr. John, I am so sorry. We did everything we can, but we missed the critical window. You should prepare to say goodbye.” I watched his lips move, but I couldn’t hear the words. The nurses wheeled my father out, a white sheet pulled over his chest. His hand, still marked with fresh bruises from the IV needles, hung limp. I reached out to hold it, but my own fingers felt entirely lifeless. My stomach violently convulsed, and when I looked down, I saw dark blood dripping from my chin onto the polished hospital floor, drop by drop. A nurse gasped. “Are you hemorrhaging from a gastric ulcer?” I tried to tell her my condition had ruptured, but the moment I opened my mouth, the world went black. When I woke up, I was in the surgical ward with a consent form placed in front of me. “You have severe internal bleeding from a ruptured ulcer. We need to perform emergency gastric resection surgery immediately. Where is your family?” I stared at the signature line and let out a weak laugh. “I don’t have any family. I’ll sign it myself.” My hand shook so violently I could barely write my name. As the nurse took the paper back, she softened her voice. “What is your wife’s phone number? You’ll need someone to care for you after the anesthesia wears off.” I turned my phone face down. “There is no need to call her.” The operating lights flickered on, cast in a blinding, sterile white. Lying there, I remembered the night we moved in, and the motion-sensor light Lauren had installed for Mr. Gable. She was so afraid he might fall in the dark, yet she let my father drag his broken body up four flights of stairs. After settling Mr. Gable, Lauren remembered the pool of blood on the rug and felt an unsettling knot of anxiety in her chest. She eventually drove to the hospital. Walking toward the nurse’s station, she caught the end of a shift change. The nurses spoke in hushed voices, but their words made her freeze mid-step. “That poor man, John. His father died of a massive stroke because they couldn’t afford the deposit, and then he nearly bled to death from a ruptured ulcer. He had to sign his own surgical consent form.” “What kind of monster is his wife?” The car keys slipped from Lauren’s hand, clattering loudly against the tiled floor.

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