The ninety-ninth time my father tried to run away from my mother, he didn’t pack a bag. He simply stepped off the seventeenth-floor balcony of our apartment building. And yet, our neighbors spent the evening wiping tears from their eyes, offering their deepest condolences to my mother. “She’s always been so poised, so steady,” they whispered in the hallways. “It’s a tragedy she was saddled with a husband so brooding, so utterly unstable.” No one remembered the boy my father had been before he married her—the loud, laughing teenager who carried the sun in his eyes. It was her cold, systematic indifference that had carved him out, day by day, until there was nothing left but a hollow shell. It wasn’t until I was packing up his things that I found the truth buried in a dusty shoe box in the back of her closet: a faded photograph of her high school sweetheart, surrounded by a thick stack of hand-written love letters. And worse—recent call logs. They were still in touch. When she realized I’d found them, panic broke through her cool facade. She threw the letters into the fireplace, and before I could even process the smoke, she grabbed my wrist with terrifying strength. She snatched a pair of sewing shears from the table and drove them straight into her own chest. I stood there, covered in her blood, holding the scissors she had forced into my hand. Overnight, I became the monster of the town—the son who had murdered his own mother. But when I opened my eyes again, the smell of copper and smoke had vanished. The air was loud, vibrating with chatter and the rich, roasted scent of coffee. I was sitting in a crowded local diner. I looked down at my hands—they were smooth, uncalloused. I caught my reflection in the dark windowpane. I wasn’t myself. I had traveled twenty-five years into the past, inhabiting the body of Drew—the very man my mother had spent her life obsessing over. Beside me, a hand tugged impatiently at my sleeve. “Come on, man,” my father said, his voice bright and dripping with youthful irritation. “Evelyn is driving me insane. She’s dead set on setting me up with this ‘sensible, grounded’ girl.” I stared at him. His face was vibrant, untouched by the decades of silent misery that would eventually ruin him. He was alive. He was whole. Tears blurred my vision, hot and uncontrollable, spilling over my cheeks. “You… you used to laugh like this,” I whispered, my voice cracking. … Wright blinked, his annoyance melting into instant worry. “Whoa, Drew. Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying? Did some girl break your heart? Tell me who she is, and I’ll go break her windshield.” He raised a fist, a fierce, protective grin breaking through his concern. Looking into his clear, shadowless eyes, my throat tightened. The image of his broken body on the pavement twenty-five years later overlapped with the warm, living boy sitting right in front of me. I grabbed his wrist, feeling the steady, rapid beat of his pulse. “You’re the one who’s about to be fooled by a monster, Wright.” “Shut up,” he said, flushing slightly as he pulled his hand back. “I haven’t even been on a date yet. Besides, my standards are sky-high. I’m not that easy to fool.” We walked down the parkway toward the café. Wright kicked a loose pebble along the sidewalk, his playful demeanor softening into something quieter. “Honestly, I’m terrified,” he admitted, his eyes fixed on his sneakers. “I’m scared of finding someone who seems perfect, only for the mask to slip after the wedding. The guys at the auto shop say women change the second you put a ring on their finger. I want something real, Drew. Something passionate and warm. I don’t want to spend my life trapped in a quiet, freezing house.” I slung an arm over his shoulder, drawing strength from his warmth. “No one is perfect, Wright. Sometimes, the ones who seem the most composed on the outside are hiding the ugliest secrets. Let’s go make sure she’s actually worth your time.” In my heart, a cold resolve took root. This time, I would do whatever it took to pull him back from the edge of the cliff. I would not let Penny destroy his life. “Come on,” I said, quickening our pace. “Let’s go meet this ‘sensible’ girl.” Wright took a deep breath, his chest rising. “As long as you’re with me, I can handle it.” When we pushed open the heavy glass door of the café, the bell chimed above us, and the scent of cinnamon and espresso washed over us. In the far corner, sitting by the window, was a young woman. Hearing the bell, Penny looked up. The moment her eyes landed on my face, the glass she was holding rattled against the tabletop. Her carefully constructed poise shattered in an instant, her eyes flaring with a raw, desperate hope. “Drew?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What… what are you doing here?” I stared at her young face. In my past life, she was the woman who sat in silence on our velvet sofa, watching my father unravel into madness without offering a single word of comfort. Her indifference had been a slow-acting poison. But looking at her now, her eyes held a burning intensity she had never once directed at my father. She wasn’t incapable of love; she had simply hoarded all of her passion for Drew—the boy who got away. Wright looked between us, his eyebrows knitting together. “Drew? Do you two know each other?” I searched my mind. In this timeline, the original Drew barely knew her—perhaps a passing glance in a school hallway years ago. I met her intense gaze and let my face remain entirely blank. “No. I don’t know her.” The light in Penny’s eyes extinguished instantly, her shoulders slumping. She caught herself quickly, taking a shallow breath and forcing a polite, fragile smile to cover her slip. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else.” Wright, completely oblivious to the undercurrents, seemed charmed by the coincidence. The fact that his match had recognized his best friend made him let his guard down. He slid into the booth and immediately pulled the pastry basket closer, pushing a plate of scones toward her. “These are actually really good,” Wright said, trying to break the ice. “Sugar always makes things better, right?” I watched his sweet, unguarded face and felt a pang of protectiveness. Pulling a napkin from the holder, I gently reached over and wiped a speck of powdered sugar from the corner of his mouth. I leaned close to his ear, my voice barely a whisper. “Slow down, Wright. We have all afternoon. Don’t lay your cards on the table too fast. You can’t see who someone really is in the span of a single cup of coffee.” My quiet warning seemed to ground him. He swallowed his bite and nodded, though his eyes still danced with excitement. “I know, I know. But she seems nice. Not fake at all.” I kept quiet. The universe had handed me the ultimate weapon by placing me in the body of her obsession. I just had to wait for the right moment to strike. Wright cleared his throat, leaning back. “So, I hear you’re pretty busy with work. Your family putting the pressure on you to settle down?” Penny set her cup down, her long eyelashes casting shadows on her cheeks. “It’s just me and my dad,” she said softly. “He’s… he’s my entire world.” She paused, her lips trembling with practiced sorrow. “But he’s very sick. The doctors say he doesn’t have much time left.” She let out a dry, bitter laugh. “To be honest, I didn’t expect much from today. I know our families are in different leagues. If I’m being completely honest, the money for this coffee… my dad took it out of his emergency medical fund just so I could look presentable for you.” Wright’s eyes softened, turning a sympathetic pink at the rims. This was her trap, and it was engineered perfectly for him. A fragile, grieving girl who needed a savior was the exact opposite of his domineering mother, Evelyn. He put his fork down. “I lost my father when I was very young. I know how hard it is. But your dad is a fighter. He’ll make it.” Penny turned her gaze back to me, her voice softening into a gentle, probing tone. “And what about you, Drew? Your parents must be so proud of you.” I met her eyes, my voice flat. “I’m an orphan.” Wright immediately reached out, squeezing my hand supportively as he filled in the blanks. “Drew grew up in the county home. He had a really rough start, but we’ve been inseparable ever since. I’m not letting him go anywhere.” Hearing this, the way Penny looked at me shifted entirely. There was a sudden, intense flash of maternal protectiveness in her eyes, a desire to pull me under her wing. “I had no idea you’d gone through so much, Drew. If you ever need anything… anything at all, please let me know.” A wave of disgust washed over me. She was actively flirting with her blind date’s best friend, right in front of him. In my past life, when my father had been burning with a high fever, begging her for a glass of water, she had locked herself in her study, complaining that his sickness was distracting her from her work. Yet here she was, playing the patron saint of broken boys. And yet, Wright was completely taken in by her performance, nodding along with a look of pure admiration. Before the conversation could go any further, the diner door burst open. A middle-aged man, drenched in sweat and panting heavily, scanned the room until he spotted us. He sprinted toward the booth, his face pale with panic. “Penny! Quick!” he gasped. “Your dad collapsed. The paramedics just rushed him to the county hospital!” Penny’s face drained of color. She stood up so fast her chair screeched against the floor. She ran to the register, her voice tight. “Bill, please.” She began digging through her pockets, her movements growing frantic as she realized she didn’t have enough. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead. The cashier tapped his fingers impatiently. “Ma’am, you’re five dollars short.” Penny froze, her face burning with humiliation as she tried to avoid looking back at our table. Wright didn’t hesitate. He pulled out his leather wallet and slid a twenty-dollar bill across the counter. “Keep the change,” he told the cashier, then turned to Penny with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s get to the hospital. We’ll drive you.” Penny kept her head down, her voice barely audible. “Thank you.” I watched Wright take her arm and lead her out of the diner. My hands curled into tight fists in my pockets, and I followed them into the cold afternoon air. When we arrived at the hospital, the red “In Use” light above the emergency room door was glowing. Penny collapsed against the sterile white wall, burying her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook as tears slipped through her fingers, splashing onto the linoleum floor. A chill went down my spine. When my father had jumped from that seventeenth-floor balcony, his body shattered on the pavement below, she hadn’t shed a single tear. She had stood behind the police tape, calmly asking the investigator if his life insurance would cover the cost of the cleanup. Now, she was weeping like a broken child. It was a masterpiece of a performance. Wright was utterly devastated by her grief. He stepped closer, gently patting her back. “He’s going to make it, Penny. He’s a strong man.” Penny looked up, her eyes red and swimming with tears. “Thank you, Wright. I’m sorry you have to see me like this.” Wright shook his head quickly. “Don’t say that. You’re a good daughter.” I could feel the trap closing around him. He was falling for her, hook, line, and sinker. My fingernails dug into my palms. Just then, a sharp ringing broke the silence. Wright reached into his pocket and pulled out a bulky mobile phone—a rare, expensive luxury in this era. Penny’s eyes locked onto the device, a fleeting glint of naked envy crossing her face. Then, she looked at my empty hands, her expression softening into a look of quiet solidarity. She assumed I was as penniless as she was. “Hey, Mom,” Wright said into the receiver. It was Evelyn. Her voice carried clearly through the cheap plastic. “How’s the date going?” Wright lowered his voice, turning away slightly. “Her dad just got rushed to the hospital. We’re in the waiting room.” Evelyn gasped. “Oh my goodness. I’m coming right over.” Hearing her panic made my stomach churn. They hadn’t even finished a first date, and my grandmother was already acting like they were family. The emergency room light clicked off. A doctor emerged, pulling down his mask with a heavy sigh. “The damage is severe. His organs are failing, and we can only keep him comfortable. You should go in and say your goodbyes.” We followed Penny into the dim hospital room. The man in the bed was skin and bones, his chest rising and falling in shallow, rattling gasps under an oxygen mask. He slowly opened his clouded eyes. “Penny…” his voice was a dry rattle. “Which one… is the boy?” Penny stiffened. Her eyes instinctively darted to me first. Wright, completely blind to her reaction, stepped forward and gently took the old man’s frail hand. “Sir, I’m Wright. Evelyn’s son.” I stood in the back of the room, my jaw clenched. Don’t do this, Wright. Don’t let them pull you in. Frank’s dull eyes flickered with a brief spark of interest as he studied Wright’s handsome, healthy face. “You’re a beautiful boy,” the old man whispered. “My Penny… she’s a lucky girl. I’m afraid she’s too good for this world, and far too gentle for me.” Wright flushed, looking down. “Don’t say that, sir. Penny is wonderful.” Frank recognized the boy’s innocence immediately. He squeezed Wright’s hand, pivoting into a calculated emotional plea. “Wright, my time is running out. But looking at you… I can tell you care about her. Am I right?” Wright bit his lip, casting a shy glance at Penny, and nodded. Frank let out a ragged sigh and began spinning a story from the past. He revealed that Evelyn had been his first love—a grand romance cut short by family disapproval and stubborn pride. A single tear slipped down the old man’s hollow cheek. “The regrets of the old shouldn’t belong to the young. If you two could find happiness together, I could close my eyes and finally rest in peace.” Wright’s eyes welled with tears. “I understand, sir.” This narrative of fated love was the ultimate trap for a boy as romantic and soft-hearted as Wright. I could see the decision sealing itself in his mind. By midnight, the room had fallen into a heavy silence. Wright had fallen asleep with his head resting on the edge of the mattress, and Frank had drifted into a deep, medicated slumber. Penny stood up from her chair and walked over to me. “Drew,” she whispered, her eyes shining with an intense, quiet heat. “Can we talk outside? Just for a minute?” A cold smile touched my lips. The moment had finally come. “Sure,” I said quietly. As she turned to walk out, I reached down and lightly tapped the side of Wright’s ribs—a specific, rhythmic double-tap. It was a secret signal we’d used since we were kids, a silent code that meant wake up and pay attention. He stirred slightly, his eyes opening just enough to show he was awake, his breathing remaining slow and even so Penny wouldn’t notice. Out in the hallway, a cold draft stirred the hem of Penny’s white blouse. She leaned against the windowsill, trying to maintain her poised, tragic mask, but the slight tremor in her hands betrayed her desperation. I leaned against the opposite wall, watching her silently. She looked at me, her eyes filled with a sudden, suffocating longing. “You know… I’ve known who you were since high school. You used to sit by the window in the library. You were always so quiet, so out of reach.” “And?” I asked, my voice flat. She took a step closer. “All these years have passed, and you haven’t changed at all. You’re still so clean, so untouched by the world.” Her praise made my skin crawl. I knew what this was. When faced with a wealthy, vibrant boy like Wright, her deep-seated insecurity made her feel small. But with me—the boy she believed was as poor and broken as she was—she felt a sick sense of ownership. “Drew, you have no idea how shocked I was to see you today,” she said, a bitter, honest laugh escaping her lips as her mask finally slipped. “I’ll admit it. I’ve been living a lie. My dad is dying, and I’m drowning. I need money. I need someone who can carry the weight of this family so I don’t sink.” I raised an eyebrow. “So you targeted Wright?” “Wright is perfect. He’s rich, he’s naive, and he’s stupidly sweet,” she said, her voice dripping with cold calculation. “I know he’s already half in love with me. If I say yes, he’ll marry me by the end of the week.” I forced my voice to remain steady. “Then why are you telling me this?” She took another step, closing the distance between us until I could smell the stale coffee on her breath. Her eyes were wide, manic with obsession. “Because my heart has only ever belonged to you, Drew. We are the exact same kind of person. We don’t have the luxury of wealth, which means we actually understand what it takes to survive. We belong together.” She grabbed at my sleeve, her chest heaving. “Drew, just say the word. If you want me, I will dump Wright tonight. I don’t want to hurt him, but if you tell me to stay, I’ll tell him it’s over. I’ll explain everything.” She paused, her voice dropping into a dark, threatening register. “But if you don’t… I have to marry him. For the money. For my dad.” I stared at her—this woman who could speak of survival and love while planning to hollow out two different men for her own gain. She had wrapped her greed in the language of tragic necessity. In my past life, she had taken everything my father owned. She had controlled every cent, making him beg for pennies while she slowly drained the joy from his soul until he had no choice but to leap into the dark. “You really are something else,” I whispered, a cold smirk playing on my lips. She thought she was making a grand, romantic confession. She had no idea I had built this trap specifically for her. My eyes drifted to the hospital door, which was cracked open just an inch. In the shadow of the doorway, a familiar figure stood perfectly still, a hand clamped tightly over his mouth to muffle his sobs. Wright was standing there, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces as he heard the girl of his dreams describe him as a brainless safety net. Seeing my silence, Penny reached desperately for my hand. “Just say yes, Drew. I’ll cut that idiot loose tomorrow morning!” Before she could touch me, the hospital door slammed open against the wall with a resounding thud. Wright stepped out into the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway, his face tear-stained and twisted in fury. “Why don’t you say that to my face, Penny?”

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For three hundred and sixty-two days, I have texted my boyfriend the exact same photo as a daily check-in. He still hasn’t noticed. Other messages quickly buried the photo I just sent, rolling up and off the screen. My roommate leaned over my shoulder, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Is Gilbert literally blind? You’ve sent him the exact same picture of your lunch for almost a year, and he hasn’t noticed once?” A year ago, he asked me what I was having for lunch. I snapped a quick, nondescript photo of a turkey panini and a side salad and sent it over. He told me to keep doing it—to send him a daily update of my meals so he’d know I was eating well. But I’ve sent that exact same photo three hundred and sixty-two times since. He hasn’t tapped to enlarge it once. I typed another message below the photo: Out at that bistro with Erica today. His reply came instantly. Erica hates onions. Why didn’t you ask them to take them off her plate? Of course. The moment Erica’s name entered the conversation, his attention to detail became razor-sharp. We’ve been together for a year, yet he knows my best friend’s quirks and preferences infinitely better than my own. Every time we planned a weekend trip or a night out, he only agreed to come if Erica was joining us. Even at our university’s career fair, he went out of his way to hand-deliver Erica’s resume to an alumnus he was close with at a top firm. “Erica’s resume isn’t as strong as yours,” he’d told me casually when I asked why he hadn’t done the same for me. “You’ve got the GPA to get hired anywhere on your own.” So Erica got the offer. She walked right into the same corporate office as Gilbert, working just down the hall from him. I was rejected, landing a role at a firm on the opposite side of the city. Seeing Gilbert became a logistical chore, a trek across heavy traffic. Meanwhile, he and Erica commuted together every single day, sharing morning coffees and evening rides. I’m organizing a dinner with our college friends this weekend, I texted him. Can you make it? Can’t do it, he shot back. It’s Erica’s birthday this weekend. Why would you even schedule it for then? He had completely forgotten. That Saturday was our one-year anniversary. It was also the day my wager with Erica would expire—the day I was supposed to leave him. 1 Gilbert’s messages popped up in rapid succession. And you call yourself her best friend. How do you not even remember her birthday? Reschedule the dinner with your friends. We’re celebrating Erica this weekend. I couldn’t reschedule the dinner. It wasn’t just a casual get-together; it was my farewell party. I had quietly accepted a three-year transfer to our London office. When I returned, it would be with a guaranteed promotion to regional director. A year ago, on Erica’s birthday, her wish over the blown-out candles had been to end up with Gilbert. I remember the flickering warm light on her face, and how her eyes had swollen red with tears when she confronted me afterward, asking why I had confessed my feelings to him first. I hadn’t known. I had absolutely no idea we were in love with the same man. I had felt so horribly guilty, so deeply apologetic. Erica had pointed at my glowing phone screen. “If you text him the exact same photo every day for a year and he never notices, it means he doesn’t really look at you. If he doesn’t notice, you let him go, and let me have my chance. Deal?” It sounded absurd at the time. I wanted to laugh. Who could possibly go a whole year without noticing their partner was sending the exact same picture? So, I had smiled and nodded, confident in my relationship. But I had been incredibly, foolishly naive. Gilbert had made sure I lost the bet in the most devastating way possible. I went to put my phone down to continue packing my suitcases, but the screen lit up again. It was a message from Erica: Three days left on our bet! She didn’t need to remind me. I had long realized this was a game I had already lost. That was why I hadn’t invited her to the farewell dinner. Our friendship, once so open and effortless, had deteriorated into something sharp, fragile, and distant. I didn’t know how to look her in the eye and say goodbye. When I didn’t reply to his texts, Gilbert’s incoming call screen flashed. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you replying?” His tone was sharp, a demand rather than a genuine inquiry. He wasn’t worried about my well-being; he was simply irritated by the delay. He expected immediate compliance. He didn’t even wait for me to answer. “You can hang out with your college friends anytime. We all live in the same city; you can see them whenever. Erica’s birthday only happens once a year.” I stared at my flight itinerary on my desk. Even though we lived in the same city, the last time we had seen each other in person was three months ago. He always blamed it on work—late nights, deadlines, climbing the corporate ladder. “I’m doing this for us,” he’d say. “If I don’t grind now, how am I going to afford a ring and a house for us?” An empty, glittering promise used as a shield to avoid a forty-minute drive to see me. Yet, he always found the time to travel to Chicago for a three-day marketing seminar because Erica needed a senior mentor to accompany her. I knew the answer, but a pathetic, stubborn part of me still needed to ask. “Gilbert… do you know what day it is in three days?” 2 “Erica’s birthday. What else would it be?” He sounded entirely dismissive, moving briskly to his next point. “Just make sure you buy her a nice gift. I already booked the restaurant and ordered the cake.” He let out a dry laugh. “Honestly, you’re her best friend and you’re this hands-off. Good thing I’m here to handle the details.” I swallowed the sudden lump of bitterness in my throat. On my birthday last month, he had told me he had to work late. I had driven down to his office downtown, booked a table at a bistro nearby, and waited in my car until he finally logged off. He had forgotten to order a cake, grabbing a dry, single-slice cupcake from a grocery store counter on his way out. I had been visibly upset that night, and we hadn’t spoken for three days afterward. He had complained to his friends that I was high-maintenance and didn’t understand the pressure he was under. Yet, for Erica, he remembered everything. He planned everything. “I’ll have a gift for her,” I said quietly. Hearing this, Gilbert finally seemed satisfied. Without another word of inquiry about my day or my health, he hung up. I stared at my call history. His name appeared so infrequently it looked like the contact log of a distant acquaintance. Our last call before today had been a month ago, when Erica fainted at work due to severe menstrual cramps. Gilbert had panicked, rushing her to the ER in a frantic state. He had called me from the waiting room, his voice shaking, asking what medication she usually took for pain. I had never heard him sound so terrified, so desperately anxious. A few months prior, I had fallen off a step-stool while cleaning my apartment windows, fracturing my ankle and spending a week in the hospital. Gilbert hadn’t shown up until the second evening. “How do you manage to break a bone just cleaning a window?” he had muttered, setting down a cheap bouquet of supermarket flowers. “You’re so clumsy.” He stayed for exactly thirty minutes before his phone buzzed with a work question from Erica. He left in a hurry to help her iron out a proposal. He never visited me again during my recovery. I reached for the beautifully wrapped gift box sitting beside my suitcase. I did have a gift for Erica. We had been best friends for over a decade, growing up on the same tree-lined street, sharing lockers, sharing secrets. I used to think what we had was unbreakable. I used to start planning her birthday gifts six months in advance, sourcing rare books or handmade jewelry. I thought we’d be doing this when we were grey and old. I didn’t realize this would be the final one. My transfer paperwork was complete. The HR department had already signed off, granting me a week of paid leave to pack before my flight. I was at a local boutique picking out small parting gifts for our college friends when my phone rang. It was Derek, our former class president, who was coordinating the dinner. “Hey, Melissa. Gilbert called me earlier and said we need to cancel the dinner this Saturday? Does this mean you’re staying? Are you guys finally getting engaged or something?” Derek’s tone was teasing, though I could hear a faint trace of disappointment. Back in college, I had graduated top of our major. Everyone assumed I’d easily land a spot at the prestigious consultancy firm alongside Gilbert. But during the final round, something shifted behind closed doors. Gilbert’s uncle was a senior partner there, and somehow, Erica ended up with the position instead of me. Everyone in our department had been shocked, but we were quickly learning that the corporate world cared very little about grade point averages compared to personal connections. I had swallowed my pride, taken a role at a smaller competitor, and worked my way up through sheer grit. But I never expected Gilbert to take it upon himself to call Derek and cancel my own send-off party. 3 I swallowed the tightness in my throat, forcing my voice to remain steady. “No, nothing like that. Gilbert just won’t be able to make it himself. The dinner is still on. My flights are already booked, Derek.” Derek sounded confused, but he had the grace not to pry. “Alright, then. We’ll see you Saturday at seven.” After hanging up, I took my items to the counter. As the cashier was ringing them up, a familiar laugh echoed from the high-end boutique across the atrium. “Will that be all for today, ma’am?” the cashier asked, her polite voice snapping me out of my trance. I looked across the mall. Gilbert was standing outside a luxury shoe store, carrying three large shopping bags. Erica was beside him, holding a designer coat against herself, looking up at him with a bright, radiant smile. How rare. In our year of dating, I could count the times he had accompanied me to a mall on one hand. Even then, he’d set a strict timer. Twenty minutes, max. “If you know what you need, just buy it and let’s go,” he would grumble, checking his watch. “What’s the point of wandering around aimlessly?” But now, watching him lean against a railing, patiently waiting as Erica tried on different outfits, it was clear his patience wasn’t short. It was just reserved entirely for her. I paid for my items and turned toward the escalators, hoping to slip away unnoticed. “Melissa!” Erica’s voice carried over the ambient mall music, sharp and clear. Several shoppers turned their heads, and I had no choice but to stop and turn around. Gilbert approached, his eyes dropping to the boutique bags in my hands. “Is that Erica’s gift?” I shook my head slightly. “No. These are just some things for the weekend.” His brow furrowed immediately, a familiar look of disapproval settling over his face. “I thought I told you to get her gift ready. You’re always focusing on your own things.” The casual sting of his rebuke made my chest tighten. He spoke with the easy authority of someone who had entirely forgotten whose boyfriend he actually was. Erica nudged his arm, looking at him with gentle reproach. “Stop it, Gilbert. Melissa probably bought my gift weeks ago. Right, Ly?” She gave me a playful, knowing wink, playing the role of the peacemaker perfectly. Gilbert let out a soft sigh, his expression softening as he looked down at her. “You always defend her, Erica. But look at her—she didn’t even remember your birthday until I brought it up.” “How could I forget a day this important?” I said, my voice flat, devoid of any anger. The day I confessed my feelings to him. Our one-year anniversary. The day I officially conceded the wager. But in Gilbert’s mind, the only significance of this date belonged to Erica. Gilbert scoffed. “Sure. If I hadn’t reminded you, you’d be off having dinner with Derek and the others.” Erica’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “A reunion dinner? You didn’t tell me about that.” She looked at me, her expression instantly shifting to one of hurt. “Melissa, are you mad at me? I feel like you’ve been so distant lately. You never have time to hang out anymore. Gilbert’s the only one who ever keeps me company these days.” “I’ve been very busy,” I replied quietly. And soon, I won’t have any time for you at all, I added in my head. Besides, she didn’t need my company anymore. She had already replaced me with my own boyfriend. Seeing the disappointment on Erica’s face, Gilbert quickly stepped in to comfort her. “Well, her office is all the way uptown now. It’s naturally harder for her to make the drive than it is for me.” Erica’s smile returned, bright and easy. “Yeah, that’s true.” I watched them stand there, their shoulders brushing. Even though I had spent months preparing myself for this, the sight still carved a cold, hollow space in my chest. It felt like standing in an open field in dead winter, watching the wind carry away the last remnants of my twenties—my best friend and my first real love—leaving me entirely bare. My phone vibrated in my hand with a notification—my boarding pass confirmation for London. Gilbert caught a glimpse of the screen. “An airline confirmation? You going on a business trip?” I didn’t answer, letting the silence serve as a quiet affirmation. He didn’t press further anyway; it was just a passing thought. He had always been this way—asking questions about my life out of habit, never actually waiting for the answers. By the time we walked out of the mall, a torrential downpour had started. I was waiting under the awning for an Uber when Gilbert’s dark sedan pulled up to the curb. The passenger window rolled down. “Get in,” Gilbert called out. “We can drop you off on our way.” Erica was sitting in the passenger seat, looking out at me with a warm smile. On our way. The words felt like a small, sharp twist of a knife. But what made me freeze entirely was the small, playful decal on the passenger-side dashboard: Reserved for the Girlfriend. I stood there, paralyzed, as rain began to splatter against my shoes. Behind Gilbert’s car, a taxi honked impatiently. Gilbert glared at me through the windshield. “Come on, Melissa, you’re blocking traffic. Get in.” “No, thanks,” I said. I turned, stepping out from under the dry awning, and ran straight into the pouring rain toward a yellow cab that had just pulled up down the block. 4 The rain caught up to me. By the next morning, I was running a high fever, my joints aching under the blankets. My mother called me on FaceTime to check in on my packing progress. “Oh, sweetie, you look terrible,” she said, squinting at the screen. “Where’s Gilbert? Shouldn’t he be there taking care of you?” She paused, her expression turning tentative. “Is he… is he upset about the London transfer? Does he think three years is too long to wait?” When Gilbert and I first started dating, I had called her immediately, bubbling over with excitement. I had spent three years of college harboring a quiet, desperate crush on him, and when he finally asked me out, it felt like a miracle. Back then, I was naive enough to believe in happily-ever-afters. I shook my head on the pillow. “We actually broke up, Mom.” My mother sighed, a soft, sympathetic sound. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry. But you’re so young. There are plenty of good men in England. You’ll find someone who deserves you.” I offered a weak smile. Maybe she was right. But this relationship had cost me both my love and my longest friendship in one swift blow. Sometimes, in the quietest hours of the night, I wished I could go back to the afternoon I confessed to him on the university quad. If I could, I would have kept my mouth shut. But regrets are just ghosts. Later that afternoon, an email arrived from the London office with transition documents. I tried to read through the first few pages, but the letters swam together, my head throbbing. A knock sounded at my apartment door. Assuming it was the pharmacy delivery I’d ordered, I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and dragged myself out of bed. I opened the door to find Gilbert standing on the welcome mat. He didn’t wait for an invitation, stepping past me into the entryway with a flat pastry box and a bouquet of flowers. “I knew you were acting weird lately,” he said, setting the items on my kitchen island. “If Erica hadn’t reminded me, I honestly would have missed it.” He turned to face me, a defensive edge to his voice. “If you wanted to do something for our anniversary, you should have just said so instead of playing these passive-aggressive games.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Erica actually canceled her birthday dinner plans for Saturday so I could spend the weekend with you. I figured, since it’s only a one-day difference, I’d come over tonight and get this done early.” I stayed by the door, holding the blanket tight. “Why didn’t you just celebrate her birthday early instead?” His hands paused over the bakery box. He looked at me, his voice tightening. “People don’t celebrate birthdays early, Melissa. Besides, an anniversary is just a date on a calendar. What difference does it make which day we celebrate, as long as I’m here?” It made all the difference in the world. He spent every single day with Erica. Yet our one milestone required my best friend’s permission, and his presence felt like a chore he was checking off his list. I pulled the front door wide open. “I don’t want to celebrate. You should go.” Gilbert stepped closer, reaching out to wrap his arm around my shoulders. I stepped back, evading his touch. His expression softened slightly, adopting a patronizing tone. “Come on, Lyd. Stop being dramatic. If I actually leave, you’re just going to lock yourself in here and cry.” I looked down at the hardwood floor. Erica was the one who cried when things went wrong. I had never once let myself cry in front of him. Perhaps that was why he assumed I was indestructible—that I didn’t need comforting, that I could handle everything on my own. The truth was, whenever I actually wanted to cry, he was never there to see it. He certainly wouldn’t have rushed over to stop it. I looked up, meeting his eyes. “Gilbert… do you ever regret saying yes when I asked you out?” If he had said no back then, Erica would have confessed her feelings next. If he were Erica’s boyfriend, would he treat her the way he treated me? He frowned, seemingly taken aback by the question. He hesitated, then shook his head. “No. I remember how nervous you looked when you handed me that cup of coffee at the library. I thought you were sweet.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Stop overthinking things.” He opened the bakery box, pulling out a small cake and sliding a single candle into the frosting. “You made a big deal about me forgetting the cake on your birthday, so see? I got you a cake and flowers this time.” I looked at the counter. The cake was strawberry chiffon—Erica’s favorite. The bouquet was pink roses—also Erica’s favorite. There was no warmth in my chest, only a dull, nauseating ache. My head throbbed violently. Gilbert lit the candle, then immediately pulled out his phone. He snapped a quick photo of the cake and the flowers, his thumbs flying across the screen. I caught a glimpse of his chat with Erica. Mission accomplished, he had texted her, followed by a playful puppy emoji. It was all just a task to him. A favor he was performing to appease Erica’s conscience. “If Erica asked you to break up with me,” I asked quietly, “would you do that too?” 5 Gilbert stared at me, his eyes wide with incredulity. “How can you be so cynical about her? Erica spends half her time reminding me to call you and buy you things. She’s the one who remembered our anniversary and made me get the cake. She’s constantly looking out for you, and you treat her like she’s some kind of enemy.” I gave him a tired, empty smile. “Maybe I’m just petty like that.” Another knock sounded at the door. This time, it was the courier with my fever medicine. I signed for the delivery and took the brown paper bag. Seeing the logo of the local pharmacy, Gilbert finally seemed to notice my pale face and glassy eyes. “Are you sick?” he asked, stepping forward and reaching out to touch my forehead. I slammed the door shut, locking it in his face. Outside, the delivery courier was walking down the hall, muttering under his stomach, “Bro doesn’t even know his own girl has a fever. Unreal.” Gilbert’s pride was wounded. He knocked on the heavy wood several times, his voice muffled but sharp. “Melissa! Open the door. Take your medicine. And don’t forget—tomorrow at seven, we’re celebrating Erica’s birthday at the Aventine. Don’t be late.” Eventually, the sound of his footsteps faded down the corridor. I walked back to the kitchen, scooped up the strawberry cake and the pink roses, and tossed them directly into the trash can. The next morning, my phone buzzed with a text from Gilbert. Room 203 at the Aventine Grill. Seven sharp. Don’t forget. I stared at the screen, a dry laugh escaping my lips. It felt like a joke designed by fate itself. My farewell dinner with our college friends was booked at the exact same venue—in Room 204. I arrived at the restaurant early, carrying a small tote of wrapped gifts for the group. Our friends knew about my impending departure, and when they saw me walk in without Gilbert, they exchanged quiet glances but had the decency not to ask. My phone kept vibrating in my pocket with incoming texts from him. I ignored every single one. As the dinner drew to a close, Derek pointed to a beautifully wrapped, heavy box sitting on the edge of the table. “Hey, Melissa, didn’t you hand out all the parting gifts? Who’s that last one for?” I flagged down our server. “Could you do me a favor? Please deliver this to the table in Room 203. Just tell them it’s a birthday gift from Melissa, and that I couldn’t stay.” The server nodded and took the box. Derek nudged my shoulder gently. “You and Gilbert having a rough patch?” “We broke up,” I said simply. Through the thin walls, the faint, joyous chords of “Happy Birthday” drifted over from the adjacent room, followed by Erica’s delighted laughter. My presence had never been necessary at that table anyway. When our party finally broke up and we walked out into the corridor, a few of our friends stopped outside Room 203, looking through the glass door. “Wait, isn’t that Gilbert and Erica?” someone whispered. They turned back to look at me, their expressions a mix of confusion and awkwardness. “Melissa… I thought you and Erica were practically sisters. Why is she in there with him instead of out here with us?” The question hung in the air, answerless, though the reality of it was obvious to everyone in the hall. “It’s fine,” I said quietly, adjusting my purse strap. “That’s all in the past now.” My feelings for Gilbert, my decade of friendship with Erica—they were all just relics of a life I was leaving behind. I left the restaurant, took a cab back to my apartment, picked up my suitcases, and headed straight to the airport. After clearing security, I sat at the gate and opened my text thread with Gilbert. We’re done, I typed. Goodbye. I popped the SIM card out of my phone, held it in my palm alongside the thin silver necklace he had bought me for our six-month anniversary—the only piece of jewelry he’d ever given me—and dropped them both into the recycling bin near the boarding gate.

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Just before his college acceptance dinner was about to start, my son turned to me, his tone incredibly casual. “You know, Dad and Aunt Gillian never actually broke up. They’ve been sleeping together for years. I’m the one who covered for them.” He offered a small, smug smile. “Even Gillian said she owes half the credit for her third pregnancy to me.” I froze, the blood rushing out of my face. My voice shook so violently I could barely form the words. “Why… why would you do that?” Wyatt rolled his eyes, his expression shifting to one of sheer impatience. “Why else? What man doesn’t like a little excitement? Oh, and by the way, I didn’t enroll at Columbia. I withdrew my application and registered at the local community college. I’m staying here to be with Cassidy.” I looked up at him, tears already spilling over my eyelashes, hot and stinging. Cassidy. She was the daughter of Gillian, my husband’s mistress, from her previous marriage. “Don’t think you can control my life just because you gave birth to me,” Wyatt sneered, leaning in close. “I’ve already slept with Cassidy. She’s the only one I want, and I’m keeping her. I invited Gillian tonight, too. She’s basically my second mother and my future mother-in-law, so you better play nice. Don’t go ruining her evening.” The coldness in his eyes was absolute, his words cutting through me like a serrated knife. My entire body went numb, but beneath the shock, a strange, quiet clarity began to take hold. They seemed to have forgotten something crucial. I was never a victim who quietly accepted her fate. I was a woman who had spent twenty years clawing her way to the top of the business world. … Memories washed over me in bitter waves, and a humorless laugh escaped my lips. Twelve years ago, when Charles first packed his bags to live with Gillian, I was left entirely alone. Wyatt fell critically ill, and I spent three agonizing months nursing him at his bedside until I collapsed from sheer exhaustion. Back then, a nine-year-old Wyatt had ripped the IV needle from his own hand, throwing himself over my sleeping form, his little face flushed red with tears. “Doctor! Please save my mommy!” he had screamed. “I don’t want the medicine anymore! I just want Mommy to be okay!” Now, that same boy stood before me, his voice dripping with disgust. “Look, I’m only telling you this so you don’t make a scene. Get along with Gillian, and don’t embarrass me in front of my friends.” A sharp, physical pain bloomed in my chest. It turned out that when you are betrayed by both your husband and your son, you aren’t even allowed the dignity of anger. Right then, the banquet doors swung open. Gillian stepped inside, flanked by a young boy who bore a striking resemblance to my husband, Charles. Charles and my mother-in-law, Martha, walked on either side of Gillian, hands hovering near her elbows as if she were made of spun glass. Wyatt, usually so aloof and distant, practically sprinted across the room. He beamed as he took Gillian’s designer handbag, bowing slightly to guide her toward the seat at the head of the main table. I stood frozen in the center of the room, the air caught in my throat. Around us, the whispers from the invited guests began to swell. “Who’s the actual mother here? The mistress looks more like the lady of the house.” “What good is being the legal wife? Her husband has a whole other family, and even her own son is taking the mistress’s side. What a pathetic excuse for a woman.” The snide remarks and pitying glances pelted me like gravel, but I didn’t say a word. My gaze was locked onto the heavy gold bangle gleaming on Gillian’s wrist. Back in March, I had noticed a charge on Wyatt’s card for a substantial gold bracelet from Tiffany’s. I had spent months quietly anticipating it, thinking my son was finally growing up and wanted to surprise me. But on Mother’s Day, neither my husband nor my son came home. There were no texts, no calls. I had sat alone in our dining room, eating a home-cooked meal that had gone cold hours before. I had assumed they were just busy. I never imagined my son was using my money to buy jewelry for another woman. Sensing the shifting mood of the room, Gillian’s face paled. Her voice trembled, thick with tears. “No… Charles, I shouldn’t sit here. This seat belongs to Diana.” She made a show of clutching her lower abdomen, stumbling back a step. Cassidy and her younger brother immediately took their cues. They looked at me with wide, terrified eyes, shrinking back as if I were a monster. “Diana, please!” Cassidy sobbed, throwing her arms around her mother. “Don’t hurt my mom! If you’re angry, take it out on me! I beg of you!” Wyatt instantly stepped in front of them, turning to glare at me with pure fury. “Today is my celebration!” he roared, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. “I decide who sits where. You don’t have a say in this!” Charles picked up his youngest boy, his face hardening into a mask of righteous indignation. “Diana, after all these years, you are still as relentlessly cruel as ever!” he barked. “Gillian is pregnant. Would it kill you to show a little decency?” Martha chimed in, her voice shrill and final. “I’m putting my foot down! If you dare touch a hair on Gillian or my grandson’s head, I will make your life a living hell!” I stood there, a bitter smile gracing my lips. This was how it always was. I hadn’t said a word, hadn’t moved a muscle, yet they had already cast me as the villain. Seeing the grim look on my face, Charles stepped forward. He grabbed my wrist, squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise, and hissed into my ear. “Diana, if you want to keep whatever dignity you have left, I suggest you get out. Nobody wants you here.” I wiped a solitary tear from my cheek, ripped my wrist out of his grip, and spoke with a terrifying, flat calm. “Mr. Higgins, call security.” I had personally paid twelve thousand dollars to rent this country club hall for the evening. If anyone was leaving, it was going to be them. Charles’s face turned livid. “If you want to do this the hard way, Diana, don’t blame me for what happens next.” He turned to the door. “Get them in here!” A dozen heavily built security guards—men hired by Charles’s firm—flooded the room. Before I could react, they grabbed my arms, pinning me in place. Wyatt walked over to the venue manager, pulling out a credit card. “Ten thousand dollars. You know what to do.” The manager’s professional demeanor vanished instantly, replaced by a sycophantic grin as he bowed to my son. Wyatt knew my bank PIN. It was his birthday. I had never changed it. As they dragged me toward the exit, the whispers of the crowd followed me out. Some looked shocked, some pitied me, but mostly, there was only cold amusement. I stumbled onto the wet pavement outside, a hollow laugh bubbling up in my throat. Twelve years ago, when Charles first walked out, he didn’t come home for two years. He took our entire fifty-thousand-dollar savings and transferred it to Gillian, leaving me with nothing. I had built my logistics company from scratch while raising Wyatt, surviving on cheap instant noodles because I couldn’t afford anything else. Later, Martha had forced Charles to apologize, claiming he had just made a foolish mistake. Charles had fallen to his knees, weeping, swearing the money was just to repay Gillian’s father, who had once saved his life. He swore they were innocent. I believed him. For the sake of our son, I stayed. Then, three years ago, I caught them in bed together. I fell apart, but Charles knelt again, swearing on his life that he would cut all ties. To protect Wyatt during his final years of high school, I endured the humiliation, burying myself in work and preparatory school meetings. I had no idea that they were still sleeping together right under my nose—or that Wyatt had been so thoroughly brainwashed by Cassidy that he would throw away a near-perfect SAT score just to attend a local trade school with her. Rain began to mix with the tears on my face. Why? Why did my endless forgiveness only earn me endless humiliation and betrayal? My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a screenshot from my closest friend, Leonard. Diana, look at what this disgusting woman just posted on social media. The nerve of her! I opened the link. Gillian had posted two photos. One was a close-up of her clutching a limited-edition Hermès bag; the other was a staged family portrait—six people spanning three generations, smiling warmly at the camera. The caption read: We were supposed to be celebrating the kids’ graduation, but my husband and mother-in-law insisted on rewarding me instead. They said I’m the true foundation of the family’s success. Followed by a blushing, laughing emoji. The true foundation of their success. What a joke. Over the years, who had paid for my father-in-law’s private nursing care? Who had given Martha her monthly allowance? Every single cent had come from my accounts. Charles’s business partners were already flooding the comment section with praise. Gillian is the definition of a supportive wife! A good woman brings prosperity to the whole household! I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. A strange, glacial calm settled over me. I forwarded the screenshots directly to my divorce attorney. I was done. I was letting go of this rotten family. But when I got back to our estate, the house was unrecognizable. My personal belongings had been tossed into heavy black trash bags and left by the curb. The rare, hand-painted screens my late mother had left me were shredded on the floor, and a team of contractors was already busy converting my private study into a nursery. The absolute fury I had been suppressing finally erupted. “What do you think you’re doing?” I screamed, my voice cracking. “Stop this! Get out of my house!” Gillian cast a quick glance at her youngest son, and the boy immediately threw himself onto the floor, wailing. “Don’t hit me! Mommy, she’s going to hurt me!” Charles rushed into the hallway, his face twisting into a mask of pure rage. “Gillian is only staying here for a few weeks to rest!” he bellowed. “How can you be so heartless as to attack a child?” “Diana,” he continued, his tone shifting to a patronizing drawl. “I told you. If you play nice, you can remain Mrs. Jeffrey. You can still be Wyatt’s mother, and you can go on living here. But if you keep acting like a lunatic, don’t expect me to be gentle.” A hysterical laugh escaped my throat. “You’re letting me live here?” “Charles, have you lost your mind? The townhouse we bought when we got married was transferred to Gillian years ago. This estate was bought entirely with my own money. It has absolutely nothing to do with you!” Wyatt stepped out from the remodeled study, his voice cold and devoid of any familial warmth. “Mom, you seem to have forgotten. The deed to this house is in my name.” He crossed his arms, staring down at me. “I didn’t get around to telling you, but two weeks ago, I legally signed this house over to Cassidy as a pre-marital gift.” I stared at him, the shock leaving me completely speechless. Wyatt pulled Cassidy close, tucking her under his arm. “And your voting shares in the logistics firm? I sold them to Dad’s holding company for a nominal fee of one dollar. Dad and Gillian are the majority shareholders now.” My vision blurred. I began to shake. “That’s impossible… You can’t sell my shares without my signature!” Wyatt pulled a folded document from his jacket and tossed it carelessly at my feet. There, at the bottom of the stock transfer agreement, was my signature, bold and clear. My mind raced back to the week before his final exams. He had brought a stack of “school permission forms” to my office, asking me to sign them because he was too stressed to handle the paperwork. I had signed them without a second thought, trusting him completely. It had all been a trap. The very child I had carried in my womb had become the weapon they used to destroy me. “Wyatt…” my voice was barely a whisper. “You used my trust… you used my love for you to ruin me?” A brief flicker of guilt crossed his eyes, but he quickly masked it with irritation. “Gillian has spent years being treated like an outsider because of you. This is just her compensation. Besides, Cassidy and I are going to be family. What difference does it make whose name is on the deed?” Charles softened his tone slightly, offering a sickening sliver of charity. “Diana, like I said, if you can learn to coexist with Gillian, you can keep the title of my wife.” My heart felt as though it were being crushed by iron bands. I slowly shook my head. They had stripped me of my home, my company, and my dignity, and now they expected me to thank them for their mercy. I turned to leave, but Gillian suddenly lunged forward. She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly tight, her voice rising to a theatrical shriek. “Diana, please don’t go! Please let me stay!” she wailed. “I swear I’m not trying to take your place! I’ll do whatever you want, just let me stay with Charles!” Before I could push her away, she threw herself backward, landing hard on the hardwood floor. She clutched her stomach, screaming in agony. “Ah! My baby! The baby!” Cassidy dropped to her knees beside her, sobbing hysterically. “Mom! Oh my god, Mom! What did she do to you?” Before I could even process what was happening, a heavy blow struck the side of my face. The force of Charles’s slap sent me sprawling against the wall. “I knew you were bitter, Diana, but to attack a pregnant woman? You’re a monster!” Wyatt pointed a shaking finger at me, his eyes burning with hatred. “I am utterly ashamed to have a mother like you.” They scooped Gillian up, rushing her toward the SUV parked in the driveway. Before they left, Charles grabbed my phone, threw it onto the pavement, crushing it beneath his heel, and dragged me by the collar toward the back seat. “No! Let me go! I didn’t touch her!” I screamed, struggling against his grip. But Charles was beyond listening. His chest heaved with rage as he slammed me into the vehicle, pinning my wrists. “If anything happens to Gillian or my child, I will make sure you pay with your life!” During the agonizing drive to the private clinic, the security guards held me down on the floor of the SUV. Charles’s youngest son sat above me, kicking my hands and pulling my hair. “Bad lady! I’m going to kill you for hurting my mommy!” Every joint in my body screamed in pain. When we arrived, Gillian was wheeled into the emergency wing. She looked up at Charles, her face pale, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s not Diana’s fault… it’s mine. I’m so sorry, Charles… I couldn’t save our baby…” “Don’t apologize, sweetheart,” Charles murmured, his eyes full of tenderness before they turned to ice as he looked at me. “Make her get on her knees. She’s going to beg for forgiveness.” At his command, the guards forced me down, slamming my forehead repeatedly against the linoleum floor. Blood pooled in my eyes, and the world faded to black. When I finally regained consciousness, the hallway outside the operating room was empty of doctors, but the door to the side recovery room was slightly ajar. Cassidy dragged me inside through a service entrance. On the bed, Gillian was sitting up. There was no sweat on her brow, no paleness in her cheeks. She was sipping a green juice, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. I stared at her, the truth washing over me like cold water. “You were never pregnant.” Gillian smirked, taking a slow sip. “Of course not.” “You can’t beat me, Diana,” she whispered, her voice sharp and venomous. “I’m not just taking your husband and your house. I’m going to make sure your own son hates you for the rest of his life. I’m going to ruin you so completely you’ll never be able to look at the light of day again.” With a sudden, sharp intake of breath, she grabbed a scalpel from the tray beside her, smeared her own blood on it, and forced my fingers around the handle. Before I could drop it, she screamed at the top of her lungs. The door burst open. Charles and Wyatt rushed in, only to see me standing over a terrified Gillian, holding a bloody scalpel. Cassidy threw herself over her mother, shielding her with her body. “She already killed the baby! Now she wants to kill my mom! Why can’t you just leave us alone?” Charles’s face turned purple with rage. “You wanted to cut her open, Diana?” he roared, his voice trembling. “Let’s see how you like it. Doctors! Get in here! Perform a full exploratory laparotomy on her. No sedatives. Make sure she feels every single second of it.” Wyatt stood beside Cassidy, comforting her as she sobbed. “Do it,” he cold-heartedly commanded the clinic staff. “No painkillers. Let her feel the pain she caused Gillian.” They walked out, carrying the mother and daughter, leaving me pinned to the cold operating table. For the next several hours, I was subjected to a horrific, forced medical procedure under the guise of an “emergency evaluation.” The physical trauma was excruciating, and the agony of my previous surgical scars being torn open made me black out repeatedly. By the time they threw me out of the clinic, it was dawn. My assistant finally managed to reach me on a burner phone I kept in my office. His voice was shaking so violently I could barely understand him. “Mrs. Jeffrey… it’s over. The board of directors held an emergency meeting. Gillian has been named the new CEO.” “And the media… there are articles everywhere calling you a violent psychopath who tried to murder a pregnant woman. Your son went on a live stream and publicly disowned you. The public is praising him for his ‘moral clarity’…” As the horror of the news washed over me, I clenched my teeth through the blinding physical pain, whispering into the receiver. “Contact Leonard. Tell him… he can release the files.” My assistant gasped. “What files, ma’am? I don’t understand.” I gripped the edge of the brick wall behind me, using the last ounce of my strength to stay upright. “The files that will ruin Charles Jeffrey forever.”

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After my legs were taken from me, I used to think I was the luckiest girl in the world. I had two people who refused to let me go. One was my little sister, Sadie. When we were children, I ran into the woods to draw the abductors away from her. They caught me, and they shattered my left leg so I couldn’t run again. After we were rescued, Sadie became my legs. She carried me on her back to school, to clinic after clinic, until her own spine curved under my weight. When our parents talked about putting me in a state facility to ease their own burden, Sadie held a kitchen knife to her own wrist, screaming that she would bleed out on the linoleum if they threw me away. That was how she kept me alive. The other was Jude. He was the boy in the cellar, the one I traded my right leg to save when the captors grew impatient. To buy me the customized prosthetics that might let me stand again, Jude dropped out of high school. He worked illegal, grueling shifts before throwing himself into the underground bare-knuckle fight rings, turning himself into a desperate, fearless madman who welcomed pain if it paid. The moment he turned eighteen, he proposed to me, swearing an oath to protect me for the rest of his life. They were my twin stars. They were the only reasons I didn’t use a blade on myself during those long, quiet nights. Until Sadie, weighed down by the anchor of my existence, sank to the very bottom of the marriage market. That afternoon, after her latest suitor ran out of our house—terrified by the sight of my two mangled stumps—I saw Jude pull her into his arms in the hallway. “I couldn’t stop myself from falling in love with you,” Jude whispered, his voice thick with a desperate, agonizing pain. “But you’re forcing me to marry her. I’ll do it. I’ll marry her. But what about your happiness, Sadie? What about us?” Sadie didn’t push him away. Her tears were a sound of pure desolation. “Don’t, Jude. Please, don’t. Georgia… she has nothing left but us.” Jude’s voice sounded as if it were being dragged through gravel. “I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her, and then I’ll end my own life to pay for it. I can carry her on my back forever, Sadie, but I won’t let her drag you to the grave with her.” In the kitchen, my hand trembled. I reached into my cardigan pocket, my fingers brushing against the diagnostic paper from the clinic. Thirty days. A month-long countdown to my death. I wiped the dark, hot blood leaking from my nose, and for the first time in years, I smiled. Death didn’t seem so terrible after all. It was the only real gift I had left to give the two people I loved most. 1 I scrambled to wipe the blood and tears from my face, desperate to slip back into my room unnoticed. But as I spun my wheelchair, my grip slipped. The chair tipped, crashing hard against the linoleum. The metal frame dug violently into the sensitive, scarred edge of my right stump. The pain was a blinding, white-hot flash. As I dragged myself across the floor, trying to crawl away before they could see me, the hallway door flew open. Sadie ran in first, her face instantly draining of color. “Georgia!” She dropped to her knees, her hands shaking as she reached for me. “Oh my god, how long have you been out here? Why are you bleeding? I’m taking you to the ER right now.” I forced my lips into a gentle, reassuring smile. “I only came out two minutes ago to get some water, and I fell. What were you two doing in there?” It’s okay, I wanted to tell her. You don’t have to be afraid. I didn’t hear a thing. Sadie let out a ragged breath, but her face remained deathly pale. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry I didn’t take care of you.” A sharp ache bloomed in my chest, pulling me back to a memory from our childhood. I was fourteen, shivering with a high fever from an infected bone spur in my stump. Sadie had woken to my whimpering. She was only thirteen, but she had hoisted me onto her back and run through the freezing rain toward the town clinic, sobbing apologies the entire way because she hadn’t protected me. From that night on, she never slept through the night, always keeping one ear open for the sound of my breathing. Suddenly, Jude stepped forward and kicked the overturned wheelchair aside. The movement was so violent that the metal scraped against my bare, sensitive skin. I bit my lip until it bled to keep from screaming. “Georgia!” Jude’s breath hitched, his chest heaving with a mixture of anger and panic. “You’ve been in that chair for ten years! How do you still manage to fall in your own living room? Sadie is wearing herself to the bone keeping watch over you. What more do you want from her?” Listening to his ragged breathing, I squeezed my eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I’m just… useless.” Jude’s anger deflated into a hollow exhaustion. He closed his eyes, knelt down, and lifted me into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he muttered into my hair. “I just panicked. Did you hurt anything else?” Before I could answer, the diagnostic slip slid out of my pocket and fluttered to the floor. Jude frowned, leaning down to pick it up. Panic seized me. I scrambled out of his arms, tumbling onto the floor to snatch the paper before his fingers could touch it. Both of them stared at me, startled by my frantic reaction. “It’s… it’s a surprise for Sadie’s birthday,” I lied, my voice trembling as I stuffed the paper back into my pocket. “If you look at it now, it’ll ruin the surprise.” Jude’s hand hung in the air. He looked at Sadie, who was already using her sleeve to gently wipe the fresh blood dripping from my nose. Then, with a heavy, deliberate movement, he lifted me and dropped me onto the sofa. “If you want to give her a surprise,” Jude said, his voice laced with bitter restraint, “try not being her anchor for once.” “Jude, stop!” Sadie snapped, but when she looked at me, a flicker of bone-deep weariness crossed her eyes. In that split second, I understood. Sadie felt the exact same way. As I fumbled to wipe away the blood that wouldn’t stop flowing, my mind drifted back to our high school graduation. Our parents had packed their bags and left town, leaving us behind. Jude’s parents had threatened to disown him if he didn’t take his college scholarship and go abroad. But Jude had torn the acceptance letter to pieces right in front of them. “I owe her my legs,” he had told them. “I’m staying.” I had held a kitchen knife to my throat back then, begging them to leave me, to stop ruining their futures for a cripple. But they had both thrown themselves over me, weeping, pinning my arms to my sides. “You are not a burden, Georgia,” Sadie had sobbed, kissing my forehead. “Wherever you are, that’s where my future is.” “We’re trees from the same root, Georgia,” Jude had whispered, his hands shaking as he took the knife from me. “If the root dies, we die. You aren’t my burden. You are my life.” They had tied their lives to mine. One had bound her youth to my body; the other had paved my path with his blood. And I, a useless creature with no legs, had made them suffer so much. I pressed my sleeve against my nose and let out a soft, hollow laugh. “You know, in the movies, when someone gets constant nosebleeds, it means they’re dying of some tragic disease. What if I have one of those?” 2 Sadie’s hands began to shake violently. She grabbed her purse, dumping every faded bank card and crumpled bill onto the coffee table. “Georgia, what’s wrong with you? We’re going to the hospital. Right now. If you’re sick, we’ll sell everything. We’ll find a way.” Jude remained standing by the window, motionless. But after a long, agonizing silence, he walked over and gripped the handles of my wheelchair. “We’re going to get you checked,” he said quietly. “If you’re sick, I’ll just take on more matches.” A lump formed in my throat. I looked at Sadie’s thin, faded t-shirt—she hadn’t bought herself anything new in three years. I looked at Jude’s right hand, where his pinky finger curved at a grotesque angle from a bone that had healed poorly after a fight. Every cent they made was swallowed by my medical bills. I couldn’t do this to them anymore. I couldn’t be their ruin. “I was just kidding,” I said, forcing a cheerful chuckle. “The air is just really dry lately. My head is just a little heavy.” Seeing their suspicious, lingering stares, I pretended to be exhausted and retreated to my bedroom. But the moment my head hit the pillow, the throbbing pain in my skull dragged me down into darkness. When I finally drifted back to consciousness, the muffled sound of an argument was leaking through the bedroom door. “You can’t speak to her like that!” Sadie was crying, her voice hushed but fierce. “Please, Jude. Just be kind to her.” “I only have enough room in my heart to ache for you!” Jude’s voice sounded as if it were tearing from his chest. “I can’t stand watching her drain the life out of you day after day.” “I don’t need your pity!” Sadie sobbed. “If you think my life is so tragic, fine. I’ll marry the next guy who asks. I’ll go back to Derek—” The argument cut off abruptly. A draft blew through the apartment, nudging my bedroom door open just an inch. Through the sliver of space, I saw Jude pin Sadie against the hallway wall. He leaned down and kissed her. His hand cupped the back of her head, gripping her hair with the desperate intensity of a drowning man clinging to his last lungful of air. Sadie pushed against his chest once, weakly, and then her hands stilled. She let herself dissolve into him. I slowly turned my face back to the wall. The tears ran silently, soaking into the cheap fabric of my pillowcase. It’s okay, I told myself. I really don’t mind. Three days later, Sadie came home and told us she had a boyfriend. She wanted us all to go out for dinner so we could meet him. It was Derek—the same man who had fled our house in disgust only a week prior. Sadie kept smiling at me across the living room. “His family is doing really well, Georgia. And he’s so sweet to me.” I stared into her eyes, my throat tightening so hard I could barely breathe. She thought that by sacrificing herself to a man she didn’t love, Jude would finally let her go and dedicate himself to me. She was such a fool. Jude sat beside me, his expression dark as a thundercloud. His knuckles were white, his fingernails digging so deeply into his palms that they drew blood. When we arrived at the diner, Derek didn’t even look Sadie in the eye. Instead, his gaze immediately landed on my wheelchair, scanning my stumps as if assessing a damaged piece of clearance-rack furniture. “Look, Sadie,” Derek said, tossing his menu onto the table. “With your sister in this condition… she can’t even stand, let alone take care of herself. Since she’s going to be a package deal, I won’t be paying a dowry. Honestly, considering the circumstances, you should be glad I’m willing to marry you at all.” He leaned back, gesturing vaguely at Sadie’s worn clothes. “I mean, look at you. You don’t even have a decent dress. My friends are already laughing at me, saying I’m marrying a live-in maid.” Sadie’s smile froze. I reached for my water glass, my hand shaking with a sudden, violent urge to throw it in his arrogant face. But Jude was faster. He rose from his seat, his fist flying across the table and connecting with Derek’s jaw with a sickening crack. Sadie threw herself between them, her fingernails digging into Jude’s arm to pull him back. “Stop! Jude, please, just stop!” she screamed. “This is my life! It has nothing to do with you! Just get out of here!” I grabbed Sadie’s trembling hand, trying to pull her toward the exit. “Sadie, come on. You don’t have to do this—” But before I could finish, Jude grabbed the handles of my wheelchair and pushed me out of the restaurant in a silent, furious sprint. Through the glass window of the diner, I saw Sadie standing alone, her head bowed as Derek shouted at her. When we reached the intersection, Jude stopped. He stared back at the diner, his eyes locked on the silhouette of Sadie and Derek through the glass. His shoulders rose and fell with heavy, ragged breaths. “Wait here,” he whispered, his voice so faint it was barely a breath. He let go of the wheelchair and ran back toward the diner, leaving me alone at the edge of the busy, roaring intersection. The cold night wind rushed down my collar. Behind me, a group of neighborhood kids riding bicycles slowed down. “Hey, look at the legless freak!” one of them yelled, laughing. “Let’s get the monster!” Before I could turn around, a hard shove slammed into the back of my wheelchair. The chair rolled off the curb, hurtling down the steep, dark slope toward the main road. The brake cable snapped with a sharp twang. I clawed at the air, but there was nothing to grab. I rolled directly into the path of an oncoming semi-truck. The high beams blinded me, filling my world with a sudden, terrifying white light. 3 The truck driver slammed on his horn, swerving violently at the last second. My wheelchair flipped, throwing me into the muddy ditch at the side of the road. I rolled through the thorns, my face covered in hot, sticky blood. The driver yelled a curse out of his window, hit the gas, and vanished into the dark. I lay in the dirt for what felt like hours before I heard Sadie’s voice tearing through the night. “Georgia! Oh my god, Georgia!” Jude reached me first. He stared at the blood dripping from my forehead, his eyes turning a wild, bloodshot red. “Haven’t you seen enough today?” he roared, his voice cracking with a terrifying mixture of guilt and fury. “Because of you, Sadie has to suffer these humiliations! I told you to wait for me! Why do you always have to wander off and cause trouble?” He stormed to the trunk of his old car, pulled out a pair of dusty, cheap prosthetics, and dragged them onto my stumps, fastening the straps with brutal, shaking hands. “From now on, you learn to walk,” he hissed, hoisting me up and forcing my weight onto the artificial limbs. “For Sadie’s sake, you are going to stand.” Sadie tried to push him away. “Jude, stop it! You’re hurting her!” “How many more times do you want to be humiliated like today?” Jude screamed back, his eyes wild. “How many more times, Sadie?” Sadie went entirely still. She slowly let go of his arm. I tried to take a step, but the alignment was wrong. I fell hard onto the asphalt, the pain in my thighs radiating up to my skull. Still, I reached down and tightened the straps myself. These were the first prosthetics Jude had bought for me three years ago, spending every cent of his savings. But the money hadn’t been enough for a proper fit. The cheap, hard plastic had rubbed my stumps until they infection-bled, damaging the nerves. Back then, Jude had knelt before me, weeping as he carried me to bed. “I’m sorry, Georgia. I swear, unless I can buy you the best pair in the world, I will never make you wear these again.” And Sadie had cried with him, clutching my hand. “And me, Georgia. I’ll be your legs for the rest of your life.” They had kept those promises. Jude had fought in illegal rings until three of his ribs were broken, and Sadie had carried me everywhere until her own spine curved like an old woman’s. They were such good people. And I had ruined them. I forced a bloody smile. “I’ve… I’ve been wanting to practice anyway, Jude. I want to learn.” The plastic chafed against my skin, peeling away layers of flesh. But I didn’t care. My time was running out anyway, and if walking could give them a sliver of peace, I would crawl through glass to do it. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the tumor growing in my brain. Day by day, my balance grew worse. After a week of falling, Sadie sat on the edge of my bed, cleaning my weeping wounds, her tears dripping onto my scarred thighs. “Don’t do this anymore, Georgia,” she whispered. “Please. Just stop.” Perhaps she wanted to save me from the pain, or perhaps she wanted to completely extinguish Jude’s hope. Over the next ten days, Sadie went on nearly a dozen blind dates, bringing home different men just to show us. The air in our apartment grew cold, heavy with Jude’s silent, suffocating rage. The breaking point came on a Tuesday afternoon. I was trying to stand in the living room when my knees buckled, and I crashed into the coffee table. Jude snapped. He marched over, scooped me up into his arms, and carried me out to his car, throwing me into the passenger seat. Sadie ran out of the house, clawing at the car door. “Where are you taking her? Jude, open the door!” Jude locked the doors from the inside. His face was entirely devoid of emotion, his voice dead. “She says she can’t stand. I’m going to make her.” He drove us out to a deserted dirt road on the edge of town, dragged me out of the car, and left me on the gravel. “Why won’t you stand?” he asked, his voice cracking with a terrifying, hollow despair. “I ruined my entire life for you, Georgia. That was my choice. But you can’t drag Sadie down with us forever.” He got back into the sedan, started the engine, and threw it into drive. He aimed the car straight at me. He wanted to terrify me. He wanted the primal fear of death to force my legs to move. I wanted to move too, but my nerves were dead, my body entirely unresponsive. As the car sped closer, only three feet away, I saw Jude’s eyes through the windshield. There was no hatred in them—only a deep, welcoming desire for death. He was ready to end us both. I tired of fighting. I closed my eyes and waited for the impact. But the screech of tires tore through the quiet night. “Stop it! Both of you, stop!” Sadie had arrived in a taxi. She threw herself in front of the car’s bumper, her face streaked with tears. Jude collapsed against the steering wheel, his shoulders shaking violently. Sadie marched to the driver’s side door, ripped it open, and slapped him hard across the face. “Are you insane?” she screamed. “Are you trying to kill her?” Jude didn’t flinch. He didn’t even wipe the blood from his lip. “I just wanted her to stand,” he whispered, sounding like a broken child. “I just wanted her to stand.” I dragged my useless body across the gravel, reaching out to grasp Jude’s trembling hand. “Sadie, don’t. It’s okay. I asked him to do it. I wanted to try this way.” Jude froze. Then, he leaned out of the car, buried his face in the crook of my neck, and sobbed. I gently patted his back, my fingers tracing the tense muscles of his shoulders. “Don’t cry, Jude. I’ll stand. I promise I’ll stand.” Sadie’s lips trembled, but she didn’t say a word. When we returned to the apartment, the home we had built together felt like a cold, damp tomb. No one spoke. The silence was absolute, broken only by the muffled, agonizing weeping that leaked through the walls late at night. “I told you, Jude… you only had to be good to her,” Sadie sobbed into her pillow one night. “Why did you try to kill her? Is the only way you’ll let her go if I marry someone else?” My head throbbed with a blinding, agonizing pain. I crawled into the bathroom and threw up dark, clotted blood into the toilet. Almost there, I thought, wiping my mouth. Soon, they will both be free. The next morning, I saw Sadie sitting on the sofa, her face painted with a hollow, plastic smile as she agreed to another dinner date with Derek over the phone. My heart sank. “Sadie, please. He’s not a good man.” Her hand paused on the phone. She forced a dry, brittle laugh. “Don’t worry, Georgia. He’s great. Besides, I want to get married. I’m tired of being a third wheel to you and Jude.” She grabbed her purse and walked out, slamming the door behind her. Jude stared at the closed door, then turned his gaze to me. In his eyes, I saw a terrible cocktail of helplessness, pity, and a tiny, dark sliver of… resentment. I took a sip of warm water, but my tongue was too numb to feel the heat. Just a few more days, I thought. Just a few more days. But when Sadie returned that night, her coat was missing. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her lip was swollen and bleeding. When she reached up to adjust her collar, the light caught a dark, purple bruise shaped like a man’s fingers pressed deep into her collarbone. Jude’s entire body went rigid. His knuckles cracked as he balled his hands into fists. “Did he touch you?” 4 My body began to shake violently. “Sadie… tell me who did this. I’ll kill him. I swear to God, I’ll kill him.” Sadie flinched, her eyes turning wild. She grabbed a ceramic mug from the counter and hurled it at me. “Shut up! Just shut up and stay away from me! If it weren’t for you… if it weren’t for your useless legs, none of this would be happening!” The mug shattered against my ribs. The force of it knocked me back, a sharp, blooming pain in my chest making me double over. Jude didn’t look at me. He grabbed the back of my wheelchair and pushed me roughly into my bedroom, locking the door from the outside. “Stay in here, Georgia.” Through the thin wood of the door, Sadie’s sobbing was relentless, a sound of pure, unadulterated grief. “Because of her, I have to let a monster touch me! Because of her, I can’t love the only man I’ve ever wanted! She was taken because of me, yes! But I’ve paid her back with ten years of my life! Ten years! When is it going to be enough? I hate her for making me owe her. I hate that she’s still alive…” The tears ran down my cheeks, hot and heavy. I reached down and touched the empty fabric of my right trouser leg. I hate myself too, Sadie. I hate myself more than you ever could. I lay awake in the dark all night, watching the moonlight slowly crawl across the ceiling. At dawn, the lock clicked. Jude walked in, carrying a small, warm bowl of vanilla custard. It was my favorite. Years ago, when the pain of the amputations made me want to starve myself to death, Jude would stay up all night to make me warm custard, feeding it to me spoonful by spoonful. “Eat something sweet, Georgia,” he would whisper. “If you eat something sweet, the world won’t taste so bitter.” But vanilla custard at five in the morning was strange. Jude’s expression was incredibly calm, his eyes hollow. “Sadie shouldn’t have hit you yesterday. Eat this. It’ll make you feel better.” I looked at the custard, and then I looked into his eyes. I understood. It was okay. Dying a few days early didn’t make any difference now. I took the bowl from him. But as I raised the spoon to my lips, Jude suddenly spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “Georgia… I really did love you once. More than anything.” I smiled at him, my heart feeling lighter than it had in years. “I know, Jude. I know.” When I was twenty, my stumps had become severely infected. The doctors said they needed to amputate more of the bone, and the surgery would cost ten thousand dollars. The fight rings hadn’t paid enough, so Jude had gone to three different black-market blood clinics under fake names. He had sold so much of his own blood that his skin turned translucent, and he collapsed in the alleyway. When he woke up in the clinic, the first thing he did was show me the crumpled envelope of cash. “I got the money, Georgia. We can do the surgery now.” “Jude,” I said softly, looking at him one last time. “I love you. And I love Sadie. No matter what happens, I always will.” He turned his face away, his shoulders trembling. I raised the bowl and began to swallow the sweet, warm custard in large gulps. But just as I reached the final spoonful, Jude suddenly screamed, lunging forward and slamming the bowl out of my hands. “Don’t! Don’t eat it!” The ceramic shattered on the floor, splashing the yellow custard across the rug. But it was too late. The drug was already in my system. Within seconds, a sharp, agonizing fire tore through my stomach, as if a thousand claws were ripping me apart from the inside. Through a heavy, suffocating fog, I felt hands squeezing my throat, trying to force me to throw up. Then came the cold, clinical glare of hospital lights, and the brutal sensation of a plastic tube being shoved down my esophagus. I retched violently, my body convulsing on the metal gurney. When the distant wail of sirens finally faded, I used the absolute last of my strength to open my eyes. I knew this was the end. I wanted to look at the people I loved one last time. Sadie’s eyes were swollen and red from crying. Jude stood beside her, his face a mask of gray, lifeless shock. I looked past them, locking eyes with the police officer standing at the foot of my bed. “I… I didn’t want to live anymore,” I whispered, my voice a dry rattle. “I took the pills myself. It was me. No one else.” I wanted to say more, to make sure they were safe, but the darkness was pulling me down, heavy and absolute. I closed my eyes, and the world slipped away. Jude’s frantic voice seemed to come from miles away. “We pumped her stomach! Why isn’t she waking up? Why is her heart slowing down?” Then, the doctor’s heavy, exhausted sigh. “The patient has a terminal brain tumor… the poisoning must have triggered a massive cerebral hemorrhage. There’s nothing more we can do.” A heavy sound echoed, like someone collapsing to the floor. “What tumor…” But the rest of his words were drowned out by the quiet, beautiful silence. In my coat pocket, the suicide note I had written days ago slid out, fluttering onto the hospital floor. Jude picked it up with trembling fingers: Sadie, Jude, If you are reading this, it means I am finally at peace. Please, be together. Don’t let my ghost stand between you. You’ve carried me for ten years; now, it’s time to run. Go forward, my sweet, stubborn kids. I’m letting go.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “457761”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When I caught Devon at the hospital, accompanying my sister Hailey to her prenatal checkup, I demanded a divorce on the spot. But Devon didn’t flinch. Instead, he calmly slid a DNA report across the cold desk, revealing a truth that fractured my entire reality: I was adopted. “Stop making a scene,” Devon had said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. “Your parents have known for years. Our marriage was a merger of dynasties, Gill. If it weren’t for my ring on your finger, do you think the Callahans would have kept you around for a single second?” “Other heiresses have a family legacy to fall back on when their marriages fail. You? If you leave me, you walk away with absolutely nothing.” The words hit me like physical blows. My hands shook so violently the paper rattled in my grip. The family who had raised me, the name I had carried—it was all a beautifully constructed lie. And so, suffocated by the sudden weight of my own insignificance, I swallowed my pride. I fell into line. I became the quiet, compliant wife he always wanted. Until the day Hailey went into labor. Devon told her he would grant her any wish she wanted. “Devon,” Hailey had whispered, her eyes shining with tears as she held the newborn. “I want to be your real wife. I want our baby to be able to call you Daddy out in the open. Gill is just a foster child anyway. Can’t she… can’t she just play the mistress for a year? Just until things settle?” Devon had looked down at her with a tenderness he hadn’t shown me in years. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. I’ll take care of it.” Then he turned to me, his jaw set, ready to deliver the ultimatum. But before he could utter a single word, I gave him a small, obedient nod. “Okay,” I said. He froze, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He probably thought I had finally been broken. That I had accepted my fate. But what he didn’t know was that weeks ago, in that very hospital corridor, I had stood outside the half-open door of his office and heard him speaking to my parents. Devon’s voice had been cold, calculating: “The only way to make her obedient is to let her believe she has no claim to the Callahan legacy. Once she realizes she’s nothing without us, she’ll fall in line.” And my mother and father—the people who had tucked me into bed for twenty-three years—had eagerly nodded. “Of course, Devon. The Callahan Group’s cash flow is entirely dependent on your investment. She’s your wife. Do whatever you must to manage her.” I remembered how the tears had slipped silently down my cheeks in that sterile hallway. I remembered reaching into my purse, pulling out my own positive pregnancy test, and letting it drop into the trash can. This family had never been mine. And there was no longer any room for me in this house. … “Since you’ve agreed, you should pack up and move out today,” Devon said. He was cradling the baby, his eyes searching mine with a cold, unfamiliar detachment. I stood near the bedroom door, my fingers digging into the edge of the ultrasound photo hidden deep in my coat pocket. My chest ached, but I kept my lips sealed. He had the child he wanted. Revealing my own pregnancy now would only invite ridicule. I slipped into the bathroom, quietly tossed the ultrasound into the wastebasket, and began packing my bags. The master closet was a museum of luxury—designer dresses, rare handbags, expensive trinkets. But after three years of marriage, almost none of it belonged to me. Every time Devon bought me something nice, Hailey would claim she loved it, and she would take it. At home, my parents always sang the same chorus: “She’s your younger sister, Gill. You have to share.” I had foolishly believed that marrying Devon would rescue me from that endless cycle of yielding. For the first six months, he did protect me. But then, slowly, his loyalty shifted. “I don’t think Hailey is as malicious as you make her out to be,” he’d told me one night, his voice laced with exhaustion. “But you? You’re constantly paranoid. You pick fights over everything.” It didn’t matter anymore. I knelt in the corner of the closet, reaching into the furthest recess of the bottom shelf to pull out a small paper bag. Inside were the tiny organic cotton baby onesies I had secretly bought a month ago. Back when we were still happy, back when Devon and I used to whisper about names in the dark, we had wanted this more than anything. What a waste. I let out a dry, bitter laugh and tucked the baby clothes into the corner of my suitcase. Suddenly, the door clicked open. Hailey stood there, her eyes immediately zeroing in on the bag. “Gill, what is that?” Before I could close the suitcase, she gasped, her voice instantly cracking into a dramatic sob. “Gill! I know you hate me, but how could you steal my baby’s clothes? Are you planning to do something sick with them? Are you trying to curse my little Rory?” My mind went entirely blank. A primal surge of protectiveness hit me, and I lunged to grab them back. “These are mine—” Before the words could leave my mouth, a sharp, stinging slap cracked across my cheek. My head snapped back, my vision blurring. Through the hot tears, I looked up to see Devon standing over me, his face twisted in pure disgust. “Gill, even if you aren’t a biological Callahan, they raised you with manners. How can you be so vicious? Stripping a newborn of his clothes out of sheer spite?” My chest tightened until I couldn’t breathe. It was always like this. A simple look at the store receipt would have cleared everything up, but Devon never asked. Just like my parents, he had already written the script in his head, and I was the villain. The bitterness choked me. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. I had learned long ago that trying to explain only made the punishment worse. Compliance was a survival mechanism. Devon’s expression softened slightly, a flicker of uncertainty passing through his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Just finish packing and go. Stop upsetting Hailey.” Perhaps a foolish, dying spark of hope still lingered in me. I stood up, holding his gaze. “Devon. Aren’t you even going to ask me why I bought those clothes?” He hesitated, but before he could answer, Hailey cut in. “Oh, please, Gill. Don’t tell me you’re going to lie and say you’re pregnant too. Didn’t you show me your own medical reports? You’re sterile.” She tapped her phone screen and held up a forged laboratory document. Devon’s face instantly darkened, the last trace of warmth vanishing from his eyes. “Gill, you are absolutely pathetic.” When they threw me out, a light December snow was beginning to blanket the driveway. Devon didn’t follow me out, which gave Hailey the perfect opportunity to drop her sweet act. She held up the baby clothes, a triumphant, mocking smirk spreading across her face. “A charity-case foster kid trying to play mistress to her sister’s husband,” she whispered, her voice dripping with venom. “You really thought you were worthy of carrying Devon’s heir?” My lips parted, but no sound came out. Everyone in our circle knew the truth—I was the lawful wife. But truth meant nothing when the people in power decided to rewrite it. They had fabricated the DNA test, forged the medical records, and locked me out of my own life. With a hollow laugh, I dragged my suitcase down the icy driveway, leaving the estate behind. I hadn’t walked half a mile before my phone buzzed. It was an audio recording from Hailey. In the clip, her voice sounded small and innocent. “Devon… do you think we’re being too cruel to Gill?” Devon’s scoff was loud and clear. “You’re too soft, Hailey. Gill doesn’t have a fraction of your grace. I thought she was reasonable when we married, but lately, she’s been tracking my location, checking my phone, throwing tantrums if I so much as look at another woman. Her pride needs to be broken. Once she learns her lesson and begs for forgiveness, I’ll bring her back.” “But what if she gets too angry and never comes back?” Hailey asked. Devon laughed, a cold, confident sound. “She won’t. When we were teenagers, she almost drowned trying to drag me out of that lake. She’d never actually leave me.” The snow was falling faster now, stinging my face. I stood frozen on the sidewalk, my fingers trembling as I clutched my phone. He was right. Once, I would have died for him. Back when my parents shoved me into the shadows to let Hailey shine, Devon had been the only one who stood in front of me. He bought me the toys they took away; he held my hand and promised he would never let Hailey hurt me. But everything began to rot the moment Hailey showed up at our wedding. Shaking off the memories, I walked into a nearby real estate office. Cold and exhausted, I needed a place to sleep. But when the agent ran my card, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Your account has been flagged and frozen.” The freezing wind seeped through my coat. I pulled out my phone and dialed my closest friend. It rang eight times before she finally answered. “Hey, I’m in a really tight spot. Could you lend me—” “Gill, don’t hate me,” she cut in, her voice hushed. “Devon put a warning in the group chat. He told everyone you’re a fraud, that you tried to seduce your sister’s husband, and that anyone who helps you is officially his enemy.” There was a heavy silence. “Just… don’t call me again, okay?” The line went dead. I tried three more friends. One claimed to be boarding a flight; two went straight to voicemail. The last one picked up only to ask if it was true that I had stolen baby clothes. Hailey had posted a tearful video on her Instagram story with the caption: Sister, even if you hate me, please don’t hurt my baby. The comment section was a bloodbath of strangers calling me a monster. The December wind felt like a blade slicing through my bones. I dragged my heavy suitcase through the slush until my legs gave out, and I slumped onto a metal bench at a deserted bus stop. I don’t know how long I sat there, but eventually, the quiet hum of an engine broke the silence. A sleek black Bentley pulled up to the curb. The tinted window rolled down, revealing Devon’s sharp, handsome face. He took one look at me—shivering, covered in a light layer of snow—and his brow furrowed in irritation. “Gill, are you stupid? It’s below freezing. Why didn’t you go to a hotel?” Before I could open my mouth, Hailey leaned over from the passenger seat, wrapping her arm tightly around his. “Oh, Devon, she’s just putting on a show. Remember last week when she locked herself out on the balcony in the middle of the night just to make you cancel your board meeting? She loves playing the martyr.” Devon’s hand froze on the door handle. The irritation in his eyes instantly solidified into ice. He felt manipulated. Again. But last week, it had been Hailey who locked me out on that balcony. I had screamed until my throat was raw. I had explained it to him, but he had dismissed it as a pathetic lie. I didn’t bother defending myself this time. What was the point? Devon rolled up the window, and the Bentley glided away into the snowy dark. That night, the temperature plummeted to single digits. I curled up on the frozen bench, clutching my knees, waiting for a morning that felt like it would never come. When the sun finally rose, my entire body was burning. My head throbbed with a terrifying pressure, and my limbs felt like lead. As I struggled to sit up, harsh, whispered voices drifted over from the sidewalk. “Hey, isn’t that the girl from the video?” “Disgusting. Stealing her own sister’s husband.” “Imagine pretending to be a wealthy heiress your whole life, only to end up a cheap homewrecker.” “No, that’s not…” I tried to speak, but my voice was a raspy whisper. It felt like swallowing glass. Across the street, the massive digital billboard of a department store flickered with the morning news. The camera zoomed in on Hailey, her eyes glistening with perfectly styled tears. “Gill isn’t a Callahan,” she sobbed into the microphone. “She lied to my family for decades, and she lied to the man I love. Now, she’s trying to tear us apart. I don’t want to hurt her, but my baby deserves a father.” Devon was standing right beside her, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said, his voice carrying over the street. “My heart has always belonged to you.” A wave of nausea hit me so hard I dry-heaved over the side of the bench, clutching the handle of my suitcase. I remembered the night Devon proposed. He had gone down on one knee in the rain, his voice thick with emotion: “Gill, you saved my life. I’ll spend every day of mine making sure you’re happy.” And now? He was the one who signed the fake DNA papers. He was the one who threw me to the wolves. “Gill, it’s just for a year,” he had told me in the hospital. “Just bear with it.” The whispers around the bus stop grew louder. A small boy, egged on by his mother, threw a slush-covered stone that hit my shoulder. “Stay away from families, you home-wrecking witch!” The sharp sting snapped me out of my stupor. Looking at the crowd of judgmental faces, I pulled my collar up and fled into the bitter cold, leaving my suitcase behind. The suitcase held the only remnants of our three years: the love letters he wrote me in college, our wedding photos on the beach, our marriage license. I didn’t care anymore. My only thought was reaching a clinic. I had to protect my baby. But the local clinics were ruthless. The receptionists recognized my face from the local news and social media. “We don’t serve homewreckers here,” one said, throwing my ID back at me. “Get out.” I collapsed onto a curb, my mind drifting in and out of consciousness. I didn’t cry. I just brushed the snow off my coat, stood up on trembling legs, and kept walking. Eventually, an off-duty nurse saw me shivering in an alley. She didn’t ask questions; she just handed me a small packet of fever reducers and a bottle of water. I thanked her and moved on, terrified of causing her trouble. But Devon’s reach was absolute. Two days later, I heard she had been fired. By then, I had managed to find a dishwashing job at a greasy spoon diner on the edge of town. The elderly owner had looked at me with kind, grandfatherly eyes and offered me a shift. But when I heard about the nurse, my chest ached with guilt. I pushed the contract back across the table. “Thank you, sir. But I can’t take this. I’m sorry.” If Devon was willing to ruin a nurse for giving me medicine, he wouldn’t hesitate to destroy this old man’s diner. As I walked out of the diner, a gaunt, slick-looking man in a cheap suit approached me, sliding a business card into my hand. “Looking for quick cash? High-fashion modeling. Daily payouts, no questions asked. We just need girls with your look.” My fever was returning, my vision swimming. I was entirely out of money. I looked at the card, desperation overriding my instincts, and nodded. “Great,” the man smiled, his teeth yellow. “Let’s go meet the director.” I followed him down a series of increasingly deserted alleys toward a crumbling industrial park. But just as we reached the entrance of a windowless warehouse, a hand clamped down on my wrist like a steel vice. I was spun around to face Devon. His face was livid, his eyes blazing with fury. Two heavy-set bodyguards stood right behind him. “Gill, have you really crawled this low? The moment you leave my house, you rush out to sell your body?!” Before I could comprehend what was happening, I was dragged toward his SUV. Behind me, his bodyguards began systematically beating the scout into the pavement. The realization of what that warehouse actually was hit me like icy water. I had almost walked into a human trafficking trap. “Devon, I didn’t know—I—” “You didn’t know what?” he snarled, slamming the car door. “Are you telling me a Callahan heiress is too stupid to recognize a basic trafficking front?!” I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cold glass. I didn’t say another word. He drove me to his private estate in the suburbs. He told me there was a charity gala being hosted on the grounds tonight, and ordered me to stay locked in the guest room so I wouldn’t embarrass him. Before he left, he had a maid bring up a massive platter of steamed king crab. He had forgotten. Hailey was the one who loved seafood. I was severely allergic. I choked down some plain crackers, wrapped myself in the heavy duvet, and let the fever drag me into a deep, dreamless sleep. I don’t know how many hours passed before I was violently jerked awake. The blankets were ripped away, and Devon was towering over me, his eyes bloodshot and wild. “Where is he? Gill, where is the baby?!” My fever-addled brain couldn’t process the screaming. I stumbled as he dragged me out of bed, my knees buckling. He gripped my shoulders, shaking me violently. “Rory is gone! The security cameras caught someone in your exact coat pushing the stroller out of the gate!” I tried to tell him that I hadn’t left the room all afternoon. I tried to tell him to ask the security guards at the door, or the maids. But before the words could form, Hailey burst into the room, sobbing hysterically. She threw herself at my feet, clutching my knees. “Gill! I know you hate me! Take my money, take my clothes, take Devon—just please, give me back my baby! Give me Rory!” Devon knelt and pulled Hailey protectively into his arms. The look he directed at me was cold, merciless, and utterly dead. “I am giving you one last chance, Gill. Tell me where the child is, or I will personally hand you over to the people in that warehouse.” “I didn’t take him…” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Enough!” He stood up, looking down at me with unvarnished disgust. “You are a monster, Gill.” Something inside my chest—the final, fragile thread that had bound me to him since childhood—snapped. His phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting slightly. He muttered a strict order to the security guards to keep me locked in the room, and then he hurried out. The moment the door clicked shut, Hailey’s sobbing ceased. She wiped her dry cheeks, a slow, cruel smirk spreading across her face as she looked at my flushed, feverish face. “You look awful, sister,” she whispered. Then, she turned to the two guards standing by the door. “She took my baby. Mr. Prescott said we can do whatever it takes to make her talk.” I tried to back away, but my limbs were paralyzed with exhaustion. The guards stepped forward. One of them grabbed my arms, pinning them behind my back, while the other began driving his fists directly into my abdomen. A white-hot agony exploded in my stomach. I collapsed onto the hardwood floor, curling into a tight fetal position, my hands desperately trying to shield my belly. I felt it then—a warm, terrifying rush of fluid soaking through my clothes. “Stop… please…” I gasped, my voice barely audible as I wept into the floorboards. “Please, my baby…” Hailey let out a delighted laugh. “A baby? You? Please, Gill. Nice try with the fake blood pack.” The commotion must have drawn the guests from the gala downstairs. Within minutes, a crowd of wealthy, well-dressed onlookers gathered at the doorway, whispering and pointing. Once Hailey loudly explained who I was—the bitter, home-wrecking adoptive sister who had stolen her newborn—the whispers turned into jeers. Phones were pulled out. Flashbulbs blinded me. People began recording, cheering the guards on. “Beat her!” “That’s what she gets!” Hailey turned to the crowd, wiping away a theatrical tear. “I thought she just loved my husband too much, but she’s rotten to the core. Look what I found in her pocket.” She held up the cheap modeling card from the industrial park. The crowd erupted into disgust. “Disgraceful. And she calls herself a Callahan.” “No wonder she’s a mistress. If you’re willing to sell yourself in warehouses, you don’t have any dignity left anyway.” Among the crowd, an obese, middle-aged donor in a tailored suit caught Hailey’s eye. She gave him a subtle, approving nod. The man stepped forward, unbuckling his belt with a greasy grin. “Well, if she’s already been used by the whole city, she won’t mind giving the sponsors a turn, right?” “Don’t…” I whimpered, trying to crawl away, but my body was entirely broken. I couldn’t even lift my fingers. The crowd went quiet, but no one moved to stop him. The thrill of the spectacle had completely eroded their basic humanity. Two more men stepped forward, their eyes gleaming with predatory hunger. They pinned me down. My coat was ripped away, then my shirt. Despair, thick and suffocating, swallowed me whole. I closed my eyes, waiting for the end. But just as my pants were violently tugged down, the crowd suddenly parted. Devon walked into the room. “Hailey, we found Rory. Your mother took him to the garden for a walk and forgot her phone—” His voice died in his throat. He stood frozen, his eyes locking onto the dark pool of blood spreading across the floor beneath me, and the hands of the men pinning me down. The color drained completely from his face.

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I was scrolling through a relationship forum late at night when a thread caught my eye. “Slept with my boss after a few too many drinks. Now I’m pregnant. What do I do?” The top comment, sitting at several thousand upvotes, offered two clear-cut options: “Is he single? If yes, talk to him. If he’s married, get an abortion immediately, act like nothing happened, and take the secret to your grave.” It made sense to me. I was about to hit the like button when I saw the original poster’s reply below it. “He’s married, but his wife is child-free by choice. When he’s drunk, he constantly talks about how desperately he wants a kid of his own. Screw it, I just texted him to test the waters.” A second later, the screen of the phone lying on the coffee table lit up. It was my husband’s phone. The contact name read Heidi – Assistant. The preview of the message was brief, but it hit me like a physical blow: “Hey Gary, do you want a son?” … I only hesitated for a second before picking up the phone. I bypassed the lock screen by typing in my birthday—the passcode he had used for years. Right after that text, there was another message. An image. It was a crumpled, slightly blurry photo of an ultrasound report. Gestational age: three weeks. The timing was a cruel, perfect match. Three weeks ago, Gary’s childhood best friend had gotten married. After the reception, I had come down with a low-grade fever, so Gary had sent me home in an Uber while he stayed behind to keep the after-party going. He didn’t come home at all that night. The next morning, his excuse had been seamless: he didn’t want to wake me up or disturb my rest, so he had crashed at the hotel venue. But when he came home, I had caught the faint, unmistakable scent of citrus and iris on his collar. I had tested that exact perfume at a department store boutique a week prior but hadn’t bought it yet. At the time, I foolishly assumed Gary had secretly bought a bottle to surprise me for our upcoming anniversary. I had searched his briefcase, his car, and his pockets, looking for the telltale box. I never found it. My thoughts were abruptly cut short as a pair of strong arms wrapped around me from behind. The scent of his familiar, clean eucalyptus soap filled my nose. “Checking up on me?” Gary’s voice was warm, dripping with the lazy, affectionate indulgence of a man who believed he was completely safe. “I told you, Patricia, I deleted that gallery director last week. I even had Heidi notify her firm that we’re canceling all future event contracts. You can put your mind at ease.” The gallery director he was talking about was a woman who had tried to pursue him during a corporate art exhibition. Even knowing he was married, she had left her stockings in the passenger seat of his car. When the drama had landed on our doorstep, Gary had handed his phone over to me without a shred of hesitation. “Look for yourself, sweetheart,” he had said. “I’ve never replied to a single one of her texts. You can check whatever you want.” Suddenly, the phone in my hand buzzed twice. It was another message from Heidi. Before I could tap the screen, Gary’s hand darted over my shoulder, smoothly pulling the device from my grip. The movement was instinctive, a fraction of a second too fast. We both froze, the sudden tension thick enough to suffocate. “It’s… a work emergency,” Gary said, his voice dropping slightly as he tried to smooth over the crack in his composure. “Go to sleep first. I’ll go take care of it in the study.” Perhaps sensing his own awkwardness, he turned and walked down the hallway before I could reply, closing the study door behind him. I lay back down in our king-sized bed, staring at the ceiling as my heart hammered against my ribs. Sleep was entirely out of the question. I unlocked my own phone and opened the forum thread again. Heidi’s comment about “testing the waters” had already drawn hundreds of angry replies. Users were tearing her apart, calling her a homewrecker trying to force her way into a marriage. To defend herself, she had posted a cropped screenshot of their conversation. The forum users mocked her, claiming the screenshot was fabricated for clout and engagement. But as I stared at the image, a cold, numbing dread settled deep into my bones. Even though the profile pictures had been cropped out, the messages on her side matched the ones I had just seen on Gary’s phone. And Gary’s reply was a single word. “Yes.” It was followed by a period. He had a habit of ending every single text message with a period, no matter how brief. I gripped my phone, threw off the covers, and walked out into the dark hallway. The house was dead silent, save for the muffled, low murmur of Gary’s voice leaking through the cracks of the study door. “Just focus on resting and taking care of the baby right now. Once it’s born, I’ll make sure you have everything you could ever want.” There was a long, heavy pause. Then, a soft sigh. “You know I can’t give you a legal title, Heidi. Sweetheart, don’t cry. Where are you right now? I’ll come to you.” The doorknob turned, and the study door swung open. Our eyes met in the dim light of the corridor. I spoke first, my voice surprisingly flat. “Going out this late?” “The accounting department messed up some quarterly projections,” he said, stepping past me with a practiced, reassuring smile. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. “It’s a mess. I need to head to the office.” My stomach turned. I stared at his retreating back, my eyes tracking the phone gripped tightly in his hand. “Are you going to the office, Gary, or are you going to Heidi?” He froze, his shoulders tensing under his coat. “I saw the text she sent.” Gary slowly turned around to face me. The panic in his eyes was fleeting, replaced almost instantly by a calm, patronizing warmth. “Patricia, it’s just a sick joke. How could you think I’d actually do something like that? Besides, I promised you—we are child-free. I’ve never wanted anyone but you.” We were child-free because of me. Or rather, because of what had happened to me. During our first year of marriage, his company was on the brink of collapse. To secure a crucial two-million-dollar seed investment, Gary spent a month swallowing his pride, playing golf, and drinking himself to the point of alcohol poisoning with a group of predatory investors who kept moving the goalposts. Desperate to help him, I reached out to an old college friend who introduced us to a legitimate venture capital firm. The deal went through almost overnight. But the thugs Gary had been dealing with felt slighted. They hired a couple of street enforcers to corner him on his way to sign the papers, intending to teach him a permanent lesson. I had been there. When the knife lunged toward Gary’s chest, I threw myself in front of him. The blade punctured my abdomen. I survived, but the damage to my uterus was catastrophic. The doctors told us I would never be able to carry a child. I still remembered how Gary had knelt by my hospital bed, his eyes bloodshot, his face wet with tears as he pressed his forehead against my hand. “I’m so sorry, Patricia. This is my fault. I’m going to spend the rest of my life making this up to you.” That was the first time I had ever seen him cry. Years later, when he finally established himself in the business world, the very first thing he did was buy out the company belonging to those original investors and ensure the men who had attacked us were put behind bars. For a decade, everyone in our social circle told me how blessed I was. They said Gary’s devotion to me was legendary. And it was true—he did love me. But it was also true that in his drunken, unguarded moments, he had mourned the family he would never have. Gary didn’t leave the house that night. Instead, he sat on the living room sofa, placed a call to Heidi on speakerphone, and fiercely reprimanded her, demanding she apologize to me for her “inappropriate behavior.” Then, he hung up and sat next to me, taking my cold hands in his. “Do you remember when the company suddenly switched material suppliers last month?” he asked, his tone gentle and reasonable. “The truth is, Heidi was forced to drink at a corporate dinner. She was taken to a hotel room while she wasn’t fully conscious. “She’s a young, unmarried girl. If this gets out, her life is ruined. When she texted me about having a son, she was asking if we—since we don’t have children—would be willing to adopt the baby so she wouldn’t have to raise it alone. “But don’t worry. I’ve already told her no. I’m putting her on an extended paid leave so she can terminate the pregnancy and get some rest.” I didn’t push him further. I didn’t point out the flaws in his story. But a cold, sharp needle had lodged itself in my heart, and every breath I took made it dig deeper. My sleep was heavy, thick with exhaustion and feverish dreams. I dreamed of the first time I met Gary. He was sixteen, a lean, quiet boy standing beneath the massive oak tree in my family’s courtyard. He looked like an ink-wash painting, beautiful and entirely out of place. My parents had led me out to the yard, introducing him with soft, serious voices. “Patricia, this is Gary. From now on, he’s your brother.” Gary was the son of my father’s old military comrade who had died in the line of duty. My father had brought him home with a quiet, calculated purpose: when they were gone, Gary would be the one to help me run the family empire, ensuring I wouldn’t be preyed upon by the vultures in the business world. He was meant to be my protector. He was quiet, almost stoic, so I spent my youth flitting around him like a hyperactive sparrow. At first, he would tell me to keep my distance. But eventually, he learned to smile, to laugh, and to look out for me. The fragile peace shattered on a warm summer afternoon when my father walked into the conservatory and caught me kissing a sleeping Gary on the chaise lounge. My secret was out. My father was furious. He gave Gary a choice: pack his bags and face a total blacklist from every major firm in the city, or leave with nothing and prove he could make five million dollars on his own within three years. If he succeeded, my father would personally hand over my hand in marriage. We both knew the blacklist was a professional death sentence. In that moment, a desperate, wild courage possessed me. I grabbed Gary’s hand and ran. “Wherever he goes, I go!” I yelled back at my father. “We’ll make the five million together!” The three years that followed were the hardest of our lives. We lived in a damp, leaky basement apartment where we had to split a fifty-cent loaf of bread to make it last for two meals. Gary worked grueling double shifts during the day and fought in dangerous, underground boxing matches at night, all to save up enough money to buy me a cashmere winter coat. He never told me about the fights, and I pretended not to know. But every night, after he fell asleep, I would gently lift his shirt, tracing the jagged scars on his ribs while my tears soaked into his chest. Shortly after the three-year mark, my parents were killed in a sudden car crash. Their will left everything—the family company, the properties, the accumulated wealth—entirely to Gary and me. Our lives finally became comfortable. I had believed we would always be okay. That the foundation we built in that damp basement would hold us forever. But the ground beneath my feet was liquefying, pulling us into a dark, uncontrollable descent. When I finally woke up, the space beside me was cold. Gary was already gone, likely at the office. My head felt thick and heavy, a lingering remnant of the fever. I dragged myself to the kitchen to find some aspirin. As I reached for the cabinet, my eyes fell on the small trash can beside the counter. Lying right on top was a torn, empty foil packet of a heavy-duty prescription sleeping aid. The realization settled over me like a suffocating blanket. He had slipped a sedative into my warm milk last night. My hands shook violently as I pulled out my phone. Before I could dial Gary’s number, a notification popped up on my screen. It was an Instagram update from Heidi’s private account, which I had been quietly monitoring through a burner profile. The photo was a breathtaking shot of the sunrise over the Cascades. Heidi was leaning back against a man’s chest, her face glowing. The man’s face was cropped out of the frame, but he was wearing a distinctive gray plaid silk tie. I had bought that exact tie for Gary’s birthday last year. The caption read: “Watching the sunrise as a family of three. Grow strong, little one!” Down in the likes, Gary’s personal account was listed right at the top. I sank to the kitchen floor, my chest tightening so hard I could barely draw air into my lungs. But as I stared at the photo, my eyes locked onto something else. Around Heidi’s neck was a stunning, deep-green emerald necklace. It was my mother’s heirloom wedding set. A cold panic seized me. I scrambled up and ran to the master closet, tearing open the hidden safe behind the mirror. The heavy steel door swung open. The velvet jewelry boxes were empty. The heirloom emeralds, the diamonds, and the ten gold bullion bars I had inherited from my family’s estate were entirely gone. I sat in the middle of the closet, my vision blurring with rage. I pulled out my phone and dialed a private investigator I had retained once before during a corporate dispute. “I need you to locate someone. Now.” An hour later, I was driving up the winding mountain pass toward our private cabin in the Cascades. It was a beautiful timber-frame property Gary had bought years ago. We used to spend every winter there, watching the snow fall by the stone fireplace. But for the last two years, Gary had insisted we couldn’t go because of “ongoing mountain road construction.” My investigator had just called me back with the property records. The cabin had been transferred out of the family trust and deeded entirely to Heidi Cross two years ago—barely two months after she had started working as his assistant. They had been playing me for a fool from the very beginning. I parked my car in the driveway of the cabin, my heart pounding a steady, rhythmic beat of pure grief. I walked up to the heavy oak front door and typed in the passcode. It wasn’t my birthday. It was Heidi’s. I pushed the door open. The interior had been completely stripped of my influence. The rustic, warm timber-and-leather aesthetic was gone, replaced by soft pastel pinks and plush, delicate furniture. The walls were lined with framed photographs of the two of them. They had taken photos in every city Gary had supposedly visited for “business trips” over the past two years. They had dined at five-star restaurants, held hands in front of European landmarks, and smiled under foreign suns. I walked further into the house. The room that had once housed my grand piano had been converted into a sunlit, beautifully decorated nursery. The walls were lined with soft protective padding. Dozens of unopened boxes of high-end wooden toys and designer baby gear were stacked in the corner. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed from the second-floor landing, followed by Gary’s low, murmuring voice. “I didn’t want to make you apologize to Patricia last night, sweetheart, but I had no choice. You know I have to keep her calm right now.” I looked up. Gary was walking down the stairs, his arm draped protectively around Heidi’s waist. Heidi leaned into him, her voice trembling with soft, performative anxiety. “But I’m so scared, Gary. If Patricia finds out the truth, she’ll destroy me. What if she comes after the baby?” “She won’t touch you,” Gary promised, kissing her temple. “I’m here. I won’t let her hurt either of you.” I stood at the base of the stairs and began to clap, the sound echoing sharply against the high ceilings. “What a beautiful, tragic love story.” Gary’s face drained of color. He stopped dead on the landing. “Patricia? What are you doing here?” “You stole my mother’s heirlooms to fund your mistress’s lifestyle, Gary,” I said, my voice ice-cold. “Why do you think I’m here?” He frowned, immediately stepping in front of Heidi to shield her from my view. “I didn’t steal them. I borrowed them. It was a temporary measure—I was going to tell you.” “Let’s go. I’ll drive you back to the city.” I stepped back, avoiding his outstretched hand, and pointed a finger at the woman cowering behind him. “Borrowed? I’d love to know what kind of emergency requires an administrative assistant on medical leave to wear a six-figure heirloom emerald necklace and keep ten bars of gold bullion in her closet.” “Give them back right now, or I’m calling the police.” Before Gary could speak, Heidi let out a sob and ran down the remaining steps. She reached up, frantically tearing the emerald necklace from her throat. The sharp metal clasp dug into her skin, leaving a thin, bloody scratch across her collarbone. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Davenport! I didn’t want to take your necklace, I swear! It’s all my fault. You can scream at me, you can hit me, but please, please don’t hurt my baby! I beg you!” She collapsed toward the floor, attempting to drop to her knees in front of me. Gary caught her before she hit the ground, pulling her up into his arms with a look of fierce, protective agony. “What are you doing? Stand up!” he snapped at her, before turning his fury on me. “I took those pieces, Patricia! It has nothing to do with her!” He snatched the emerald necklace from Heidi’s hand and hurled it violently at my feet. “If you’re going to act like this over some old jewelry, take it! We don’t want your hand-me-downs anyway!” The heavy emerald pendant struck my forehead before clattering to the floor. A sharp pain bloomed above my eye, and I instinctively reached out to catch the necklace as it fell. I was a second too late. The delicate, antique setting struck the hardwood floor, and the flawless green emeralds shattered into a dozen fractured shards. My heart shattered with them. In our ten years together, Gary had only raised his voice at me twice. The first time was when we were eighteen. I had just packed my bags to follow him into poverty, turning my back on my family. He had stood on the street corner in the pouring rain, calling me an idiot, screaming terrible things at me to try to force me to go back home where I was safe. And when he accidentally pushed me to the ground, he had fallen to his knees, terrified, holding me close and begging for forgiveness. The second time was today. And he had done it to protect another woman, destroying my parents’ last remaining keepsake in the process. He knew exactly what that necklace meant to me. Gary looked at the small cut on my forehead, then at the blood dripping onto my hand from the broken stones. For a fraction of a second, regret flickered in his eyes. But Heidi let out another whimpering sob against his chest, and his expression instantly hardened back into ice. “Fine, Patricia. Since you’ve forced my hand, let’s lay it all out.” “I admit it. Three weeks ago, I didn’t stay at the hotel. I came here and slept with Heidi. I was drunk out of my mind, and it was a mistake. I didn’t expect her to get pregnant.” “I’ve spent the last three weeks trying to manage this, trying to keep our marriage together, but you just had to go and blow everything up.” “As for this baby—I want a child, Patricia. My company needs an heir to carry on the family name. But I can promise you this: once the baby is born, you will raise it. You will always be Mrs. Davenport. I’m not replacing you. So please, stop throwing these childish tantrums.” I stared at him, letting out a dry, hollow laugh. He had cheated on me, lied to me, drugged me, and stolen my inheritance—yet he was standing there, telling me I was the one throwing a tantrum. He wanted an heir for his company. But he had forgotten one crucial detail: Davenport Enterprises belonged to my father. And my father’s will was very specific about who owned the keys to the castle. I took a step forward, looking him straight in the eye. “I have no interest in raising your bastard, Gary. We are done.” Before he could react, I unlocked my phone and dialed 911. “I’d like to report a grand larceny at my property. The stolen assets are valued at over five hundred thousand dollars. I am currently at the scene with the suspect and the stolen goods.”

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My boyfriend was a field doctor with an international aid group, and I was a pampered heiress who had never known a day of real hardship. When the field clinic in the conflict zone was bombed, he threw protocol to the wind. Ignoring a room full of casualties, he clawed through the rubble like a madman to dig me out. “If you so much as scratch your skin,” he’d said, his voice raw and trembling, “I will lose my mind.” On the flight back to New York, he held my dust-covered hand tightly, kissing my knuckles as if he had just survived a brush with death. I borrowed his laptop to send my father a quick email letting him know I was safe. That was when I saw the draft he had written to his first love—the one who got away: [If only I had protected you like this during the accident back then, would we still be together?] 01 My name is Kristin. My father always joked that the only hardship I’d ever faced in my life was an iced Americano served without simple syrup. It was an exaggeration, of course, but not entirely wrong. I grew up wrapped in cotton wool. Every detail of my life was meticulously arranged by others; the most strenuous thing I’d ever done was walking through three floors of Saks Fifth Avenue. And then, I fell for Lewis. He came from a modest background. Quiet, reserved, almost cold. After finishing his residency, instead of taking a lucrative position at a prestigious private hospital, he chose to run toward the darkest, most chaotic corners of the world. People called him an idealist. They said he was too rigid, that a man like him would either burn himself out or drive everyone around him away. But to me, he was fiercely protective. He knew I had a severe seafood allergy, so he memorized the menus of every single restaurant I frequented. When I ran a fever in the middle of the night once, he drove three hours through a snowstorm to sit by my bedside, watching over me until dawn without closing his eyes. When I complained that the seatbelt was too tight and secretly unbuckled it, he would pull the car over, his face dark, refusing to drive another inch until I buckled back up. Back then, I thought he was just overbearing. But he would lean down, adjust my collar, and say in a raspy voice, “Kristin, please. Don’t play games with your safety.” My friends told me that Lewis was the type who would never stay with me for money. Even my father had to admit that. Over the three years we were together, Lewis never accepted a single dime from me. When I bought him a watch, he rejected it, saying it was too extravagant. When I offered to have my father help pull some strings for his career, he declined on the spot. Even my trip to join his project in the Middle East with my family’s charitable foundation took me two weeks of begging my father to approve. Before I left, my father slammed his hand on the desk in frustration. “Why on earth are you going there? Do you think you can survive that kind of environment?” I hugged his arm, wheedling, “I’ll only be there for two days, Dad. Just to see him, and then I’ll come right back.” My father glared at me. “If Lewis had any sense, he wouldn’t let you go in the first place.” But when Lewis saw me step off the transport vehicle, he stood silent for a long time. Finally, he placed his helmet over my head. “Only two days,” he said, his voice grave. “Stay close to me, and don’t wander off.” I teased him. “And what if I do?” His brow furrowed. “This isn’t a playground, Kristin.” I pouted, feeling a sudden pang of hurt. A second after, his expression softened. He reached out, gently stroking my hair, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Be good. When we get back to the States, I’ll take you to meet my mother.” I froze. Meeting his family was something he had always avoided discussing. “Really?” “Yes.” “Does that mean… you’re planning to marry me?” He looked at me for a beat, his throat tightening slightly. “If you’ll have me.” I nearly threw my arms around him right there. I felt like every bit of trouble it took to get here was entirely worth it. But that night, a deafening explosion ripped through the supply depot. Before I could even register what was happening, the ceiling collapsed above me, burying me in darkness. 02 When the rubble settled over me, my mind went entirely blank. Through the thick dust, I could hear shouting—calls for medics, demands for stretchers, voices screaming for Dr. Ross. And then, I heard Lewis’s voice. It was close, frantic, bordering on hysterical. “Kristin!” I had never heard him speak like that before—his throat sounded raw, his words trembling with pure terror. Someone tried to hold him back: “Dr. Ross, we have critical patients over here, you need to—” “Get the hell off me!” Lying beneath the debris, I heard the heavy stones and concrete being ripped away. Chunks of plaster and dust fell onto my face. Others were shouting about protocols, direct violations, and abandoning his post, but he was entirely deaf to them. When a sliver of light finally broke through the darkness, I saw his bloodshot eyes. He was kneeling, his bare hands scraped raw and bleeding. “Kristin, it’s okay.” “I’ve got you.” He pulled me out from the wreckage, his arms shaking uncontrollably. I instinctively huddled against his chest, tears stinging my eyes. “You’re hurt,” I whispered. “I’m fine.” “Your hands are bleeding.” “I said I’m fine.” He stared down at me, his eyes terrifyingly bloodshot. “Kristin, if you so much as scratch your skin, I will lose my mind.” In that moment, I truly believed he loved me more than his own life. Our flight back was arranged on an emergency basis. Even after boarding the plane, I was still in a daze, my hands and face covered in soot, looking utterly disheveled. Lewis sat next to me, his grip on my hand never loosening. As the plane ascended, he leaned down and kissed the back of my hand, over and over again. My eyes welled up, my heart aching with tenderness. “I want to send my dad an email, just to let him know I’m okay,” I said. He nodded and handed me his laptop. “The password is the same.” His password had always been my birthday. I opened his email client, but before I could click compose, the screen refreshed to a pending draft. The recipient was Cora Whitman. If only I had protected you like this during the accident back then, would we still be together? Beside me, Lewis, who had just kissed my hand with such desperate devotion, was already fast asleep against the headrest. 03 Lewis slept deeply. He had been working back-to-back shifts for too long; deep dark circles shadowed his eyes, and a rough stubble lined his jaw. But as I sat beside him, the man I had loved for three years suddenly felt a million miles away. My mind began to trace backward, reconstructing pieces of our past. I remembered how he compulsively checked the brakes and seatbelts every time we got into a car. I remembered how furious he got if I drove even slightly fast; once, when a driver merely overtook another car, Lewis’s face had gone pale and rigid. I remembered how he never let me sit in the passenger seat, claiming it was the most dangerous spot in a collision. I remembered when I had wanted to learn how to ride a motorcycle on a whim, and he had argued with me for half an hour, ending with him almost throwing my helmet to the ground. Back then, I had secretly bragged to my friends that Lewis might seem cold on the outside, but his love for me was almost pathologically protective. But now, I didn’t dare to think that way anymore. What if what terrified him wasn’t the thought of losing me? What if he was just terrified of repeating his failure to save someone else? When the plane landed at JFK, my father’s security team was already waiting outside. Lewis pulled my suitcase, his brow furrowed as he asked, “Should we drop you off at home first, or should we stop by the hospital to get you checked out?” “Home.” “I’ll go in with you.” “No, my dad has everything arranged.” He hesitated, startled. “Kristin, what’s wrong?” “Nothing,” I muttered, keeping my eyes on the ground. “I’m just tired.” He clearly sensed the shift in my tone. But perhaps assuming it was just the shock of the explosion, he didn’t press. He reached out, gently touching my forehead. “Go home and rest. When you feel up to it, I’ll come over to speak with your father.” “We’ll see,” I said simply, getting into the car. The moment my father saw the small cut on my forehead, his face drained of color. He wrapped his arms around me, barely containing his rage. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go! Where is Lewis? How could he let this happen?” Usually, I was fiercely protective of Lewis, leaping to defend him at the slightest criticism. But this time, I opened my mouth, only to let it close in silence. That night, I asked my assistant to look up a name: Cora Whitman. She and Lewis had been classmates in college, active in the same volunteer organization. I found old photos of them online—standing side-by-side, looking effortlessly perfect together. In the comments section, people had cheered them on, calling them the campus’s golden couple. Scrolling further down, I found a local news article from a few years back. The headline was brief: College Student Critically Injured in Hit-and-Run. The accompanying photo was grainy, but I could still recognize the blood-splattered, kneeling man crying beside the stretcher. It was Lewis. 04 Lewis and I didn’t speak for three days. During those seventy-two hours, he sent me a barrage of texts—asking how my leg was feeling in the morning, reminding me to eat at noon, checking if I was asleep at night. Normally, this was my weakness. A little bit of his quiet attentiveness, and my heart would melt. But this time, every message I read only brought back that unsent draft: If only I had protected you like this during the accident back then. On the fourth evening, he showed up at my house. He held a box from my favorite bakery in one hand and a small velvet box in the other. “How’s your leg?” “Better.” “And your forehead?” “Almost healed.” He offered the box. “Open it.” I didn’t reach for it. After a tense silence, he opened it himself. Inside was a diamond ring. “I was planning to wait until your birthday,” he said softly. “But after what happened… I don’t want to wait anymore.” If I hadn’t seen that email draft, I probably would have burst into tears and thrown myself into his arms. He looked up at me, his throat tight. “Kristin, will you—” “Lewis,” I interrupted, “were you deeply in love with someone else before me?” The room fell utterly quiet. “Why are you bringing this up now?” “Just answer me.” He pressed his lips together, taking a long moment before speaking. “That’s in the past.” I looked at him, feeling a sudden, bitter urge to laugh. “In the past? So far in the past that you’re still drafting emails to her?” He remained silent, his jaw clenched tight. I stared into his eyes, forcing out every word: “When you were digging me out of those ruins, risking your life and your career… who were you really picturing? Me, or her?” “Kristin.” “Tell me.” A flicker of panic crossed his eyes. He reached out to touch my arm, but I stepped back. “It was just a draft I never sent. I was in a terrible head space after the blast, and I wrote it without thinking. It didn’t mean anything.” “It didn’t mean anything?” I echoed. “Then why write it at all?” Silence again. I didn’t fear arguments; I feared his quiet evasion—the fact that he knew the truth but chose to hide it. Just then, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. A notification popped up on the screen. The sender’s name: Cora. 05 I didn’t make a scene. My father always told me that the most pathetic thing a person could do isn’t getting their heart broken, but clawing desperately for answers when they already know they’ve been devalued. So the next evening, I attended my family’s foundation gala as scheduled. The gala was a fundraising benefit for our international medical aid initiatives. My father wanted me to make an appearance and network. I hadn’t wanted to go, but when my assistant sent over the guest list, I spotted a familiar name on the final page: Cora Whitman. I arrived late. Shortly after I walked in, one of our directors escorted a woman toward me, introducing her as a representative from one of our partner programs. “Kristin, this is Cora Whitman, one of our lead physical therapists.” She was quieter than I expected. Her hair was swept up elegantly, her dress simple. But as she turned, I noticed a slight, barely perceptible limp in her left leg. “Hello,” she said. I offered a polite smile. “Hello.” “Lewis always told me you were beautiful,” she murmured, her voice soft. “Seeing you now, I realize he wasn’t exaggerating.” The words seemed polite enough, but coming from her, they carried an underlying edge. I replied coolly, “He mentions you often, too.” The smile on her lips faltered. “Oh?” “Yes,” I said, holding her gaze. “After all, some people are impossible to forget.” She didn’t deny it. “Kristin, I don’t want you to misunderstand,” she said. “Lewis and I… that was a lifetime ago.” “Good to know.” I thought that would end the conversation. But she leaned in slightly, adding in a hushed tone, “He’s carried that guilt for years. My accident happened right in front of him. He’s always blamed himself for not protecting me.” My fingers tightened around my clutch. “And your point is?” “My point is, when he sees someone he cares about in danger, he panics more than most. It’s a trigger for him.” She looked at me, a patronizing warmth in her eyes. “Don’t be hard on him. He didn’t mean to make you feel like a substitute.” Don’t be hard on him. As if she were the one who knew him best. Before I could reply, I heard approaching footsteps. Lewis. “Cora, you shouldn’t be standing for this long,” he said, naturally reaching out to steady her elbow. It was an incredibly practiced, instinctive gesture. He only then looked up and noticed me. “Kristin? What are you doing here?” I let out a dry laugh. “Am I not allowed to attend my own family’s gala?” Realizing his blunder, his face stiffened. “That’s not what I meant.” I had no desire to hear his explanations. I turned and walked away. Behind me, he called my name, but I didn’t look back. Later that night, my assistant sent me a text: Kristin, just so you know, Lewis left the venue with Cora tonight. 06 I didn’t sleep a wink that night. The next morning, I placed the diamond ring back in its velvet box and had my driver deliver it to Lewis’s apartment. But the driver returned with the box still in his hand. “Mr. Ross wasn’t home, ma’am,” he said. “But I saw his car parked outside the rehabilitation wing behind the hospital.” The rehab clinic. Cora. Reason told me that I had seen enough. When a man’s heart belongs to someone else, you don’t need to dust for fingerprints to prove it. But human nature is masochistic; when a blade is plunged into your chest, you still want to peer down and see exactly how deep the wound goes. So that afternoon, I drove over. I waited in my car for nearly forty minutes before I saw Lewis step out of the building. He didn’t leave immediately; instead, he stood near the stairwell exit, lighting a cigarette. A moment later, Cora joined him. I stepped out of my car, moving quietly closer until their voices drifted over to me. “Does your girlfriend know?” Cora asked. Lewis kept his head down, stubbing out his cigarette against the railing. “Just give me a little more time.” I froze. “Can you really let her go?” Cora pressed. The breeze carried his reply, slightly muffled, but clear enough to pierce through me. “I owe you, Cora. I have to make it right.” In that single instant, it felt as though a bucket of ice water had been poured over my head.

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On a popular online confession forum, tucked away among thousands of teenage regrets, there is a post with tens of thousands of upvotes. “When I was young, I valued friendship more than life itself.” “My best friend in high school was a golden girl—beautiful, wealthy, and brilliant. But she fell for a scholarship kid who had nothing going for him but a pretty face. She was even ready to throw away her Ivy League acceptance to stay with him.” “I was terrified he was just a social climber who would ruin her life. So, I took the love letter she wrote him and gave it to her childhood best friend—a boy from another wealthy family, someone her parents actually approved of.” “But that wasn’t the end of the story. Before we even graduated from college, her family went bankrupt. And that poor boy? He built a tech empire from nothing and made the Forbes billionaires list.” The comment section below was a storm of righteous indignation. The top comment read: “Upvote this so the friend sees it. Run as far away from toxic, controlling people like this as you can.” The original poster replied almost instantly. “She did leave me. She got cancer. She died three years ago.” “If I could, I’d go back to high school with her. I’d spend an entire night just talking and laughing in the back of the study hall.” “But neither of us can ever go back.” The thread was quickly dubbed the most haunting post of the year, skyrocketing to the top of the trending pages. Daniel Westbrook, the billionaire male lead of that tragic story, knew absolutely nothing about it. He had just stepped off a grueling red-eye flight, carefully shielding a plush toy rabbit in his arms—a birthday gift for his daughter. … My phone screen lit up with a photo of Daniel, his wife Penny, and their little girl, Maisie. When he picked up, Maisie’s dimpled smile filled the screen. “Daddy! Why aren’t you home yet?” The exhaustion vanished from Daniel’s face, replaced by a gaze of pure warmth. “I had to wait in a long line to get your bunny, sweetie. I’m almost there.” Maisie squealed and bounced on her bed before Penny took the phone, her expression gentle but slightly exasperated. “I told you there was no rush, Dan. We could have celebrated her birthday tomorrow.” As the car sped through a dimly lit tunnel, Daniel’s wedding band caught the overhead lights. He stared at Penny, his eyes soft with affection. “It wasn’t just for Maisie. I missed you too.” Penny flushed, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Daniel, you are entirely too good at this. Who taught you how to love someone so well?” Daniel’s response was quiet, almost imperceptible. “I’m just copying someone else.” Watching this from the empty passenger seat, I felt a familiar, hollow ache. I was the mold he was copying. Every ounce of love I had poured into Daniel during our youth, he had taken. He had clumsily studied it, memorized it, and learned how to reflect it back. But now that he finally knew how to love, I was no longer the one receiving it. Halfway through the drive, Maisie fell asleep. Penny whispered to Daniel over the phone, scrolling through her feed until she stumbled upon the viral forum post. She read it aloud, sighing softly when she finished. “Oh, that’s so incredibly sad,” Penny murmured. “If her friend hadn’t interfered, they probably would have been so happy together.” Daniel’s hand, which had been flipping through a file, froze for a fraction of a second before resuming its rhythm. “It was fate,” he said, his voice flat. “It just means they weren’t meant to be. People who don’t belong together will always find a way to fall apart.” A bitter, sour ache rose in my chest. The teenage Daniel I knew had never believed in fate. He used to hold my hand, his eyes burning with determination, telling me we could beat any odds. But that brave, fierce boy had died the day my best friend, Hallie, stripped away his dignity, and he watched me seemingly confess to another man. Even though I had been dead for three years, I still couldn’t forget the shattered, fragile look in his eyes that day. “Donna, was I just a dog to you? Someone you kept on a leash for amusement?” Beside him, his assistant leaned forward to go over tomorrow’s schedule. “We have your keynote speech at your old high school tomorrow morning.” Having spent the last three years as a silent ghost tethered to Daniel’s side, I could read his moods better than anyone. He didn’t say a word, but the slight tightening of his jaw told me everything. He hated the idea. He loathed the thought of going back. The assistant checked his tablet and added, “Going as a distinguished alumnus is excellent PR for the firm. Besides, I personally vetted the guest list. There’s no one on it you’d prefer to avoid.” Daniel leaned back into the leather seat, closing his eyes. “Fine. Let’s just get it over with quickly.” The school’s anniversary celebration was packed, mostly because of Daniel’s arrival. To escape the suffocating crowd of administrators, he slipped away to wander the campus alone. Without his entourage and his billionaire title, he looked remarkably like the boy he used to be. He walked through the old classrooms, the study halls, the library, the indoor pool… Every corner where we once whispered secrets to each other had been renovated and changed. I let out a soft sigh of relief. Thank goodness it looked different. If it had remained the same, Daniel would have felt sick to his stomach and walked away. But when he reached the rose garden in the courtyard, his feet ground to a halt. I had forgotten. This was the place where I had staged my “confession” to my childhood friend, Wyatt. I had spent hours decorating it with fairy lights, white roses, and balloons. And on that day, Daniel had stood in this exact spot, drenched in rain and blood, watching me. “Daniel?” A voice broke the silence. “I’m surprised to see you here.” I turned. It was Hallie. She looked devastatingly tired. She was only in her late twenties, but streaks of silver ran through her hair, and the bright, energetic girl I grew up with was entirely gone. To my surprise, Daniel remained perfectly calm. He addressed her with a polite, cold professionalism. “I’m a businessman. If an event benefits my company, I attend.” Hallie let out a heavy, ragged sigh. “What happened back then… it was a misunderstanding. Please don’t hate Donna.” “She only went to LA because her family forced her to after the bankruptcy. She lost everything overnight. She nearly died in a dingy apartment over there.” “You have everything now, Daniel. Can’t you just let the past go?” Daniel’s lips curled into a mocking, icy smile. “So, you’re here as Donna’s lobbyist now? What’s her price this time? Fifty million? A hundred?” “I assume she’s cheaper than she was four years ago. At least back then she was still a virgin when she tried to sell herself to me. I doubt she has the same market value now.” Four years ago, when my family went bankrupt, my Uncle Richard had tried to sell me to a wealthy investor to clear his own debts. He had drugged me, whispering that my body was worth a hundred million. “A hundred million can save your parents’ company, Donna. You don’t want us to starve, do you? We’re your family!” By some twist of fate, the room they sent me to belonged to Daniel. He had been drugged too, by a business rival, but he still had the strength to push my feverish body away, his voice dripping with venom. “Donna Sinclair, you are even more pathetic than I thought.” “Did you conspire with my competitors to drug me? Do you honestly think I’m still that stupid boy who will crawl at your feet like a dog?” “I’m going to prosecute that fraudulent hundred-million contract, and I will ruin you.” I didn’t know where I found the strength, but I had dragged myself across the floor, weeping and desperately grabbing the hem of his trousers. “Please… please, I beg you. Just sleep with me. If you do, I can save my family.” Instead, Daniel had lifted me and thrown me into a bathtub filled with ice. I shivered violently, freezing to the bone. Before I lost consciousness, I saw him take a pocketknife and slash his own palm twice. He chose to bleed to keep his mind clear rather than touch me. “You disgust me, Donna,” he had rasped, his voice trembling. “You say you’re doing this for your family? What about mine? My mother was killed in a hit-and-run because of your birthday. I will never have a mother again.” In the present, Hallie’s fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms. The veins on her neck strained as she forced herself to breathe. “You don’t have to worry,” Hallie said quietly, her voice trembling. “Donna isn’t coming.” “She got cancer. She fell ill the moment she got back from LA four years ago.” “She died in a hospice in Boston three years ago.” It was the third time during his afternoon meeting that Daniel lost his train of thought. He only realized he was holding his contract upside down when his assistant cleared his throat. He was still the same beneath it all—clumsy when overwhelmed, just like he was at seventeen. Back then, I was a reckless heiress, tossing my parents’ trust fund around to sponsor dozens of underprivileged students. Among the crowd of flatterers who constantly tried to make me laugh, Daniel was the exception. He always wore faded, washed-out shirts and stood at the edge of the crowd with a stony expression. Every time our eyes met, he would look away first, his ears turning a bright, burning crimson. Amused, I decided to make him my personal tutor. He took the job seriously, staying up late to find ways to make me actually study. He accompanied me to amusement parks, riding the rollercoasters until his face turned white, yet always agreeing to go a second time just because I asked. He followed me around like a shadow, filling my lonely life with warmth. One afternoon, as he knelt to tie my shoelace, I looked down at him. “Do you like me?” Daniel looked up, his gaze incredibly earnest. “Yes. I do. I’ve loved you for a very long time.” That was the first night in my life I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned, my heart hammering, deciding I had to confess back to him. I spent days planning the perfect setup, and in my rush, I asked Hallie to hand-deliver my love letter to him. I was too excited to notice the cold, disapproving look in Hallie’s eyes. “Have you ever considered he has an agenda?” she had warned me. “What if he’s just a gold-digger? He’ll bleed you dry and leave you with nothing.” I had sworn to her that Daniel would never do that. But on the day of the confession, the person who showed up in the rose garden wasn’t Daniel. It was Wyatt. He kept talking and talking, but I didn’t hear a single word. My eyes were fixed on the edge of the courtyard, where Daniel stood. He was drenched, covered in blood, staring at me with a hollow, dead look in his eyes. Only later did I find out that Daniel’s mother had spent the entire afternoon cooking a birthday dinner for me. Remembering how much I loved the pastries from a bakery on the other side of town, she had rushed out to buy them and was struck by a speeding car. The blood covering Daniel was his mother’s. When I ran to him, he gently but firmly pushed me away. “I know I’m not good enough for you,” he said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. “I know you never truly saw me as an equal. I never asked you to love me back because I did it willingly. I never regretted it.” “But I regret it now. Because my pathetic, worthless love killed my mother.” “I was your dog for two years, Donna. We’re even.” I had screamed, crying, trying to explain, but he pushed me out of his apartment. Through the window, I watched him pour bleach over the floor where I had stood, scrubbing desperately. Even when I fell to my knees in the dirt outside, begging him, he never looked at me again. A week later, Uncle Richard locked me in my room, revoked my passport, and eventually shipped me off to a plane to LA. The next time I heard Daniel’s name, it was on an international news broadcast. He was speaking eloquently about his rise in the tech industry, a wedding band catching the studio lights. “My wife is incredible,” he told the interviewer. “I love her deeply.” I was washing dishes in the back of a greasy restaurant in LA when I saw it. I dropped a stack of plates, shattering eight of them. That was also the day the doctor handed me my biopsy results. Stage IV. I used every last penny of my savings to buy a one-way ticket back to Boston. I went to my childhood home, only to find bank foreclosure notices taped to the gates. Uncle Richard had embezzled the remaining funds and fled, leaving me with nothing. I walked the streets of my youth, so empty that I couldn’t even squeeze out a tear. Without money, there would be no treatment. And that was fine. At least, in my final days, I would be breathing the same air as him. That felt like enough. When Hallie finally tracked me down, she held me and wept for hours. “I thought he was using you,” she sobbed, her face pressed against my shoulder. “So I gave your letter to Wyatt instead. I went to Daniel and told him he was nothing but trash, that a charity case like him should never dream of reaching for you.” “I was just so afraid you’d ruin your life over a boy. I wanted to protect you… I never meant for this to happen…” Hallie’s family wasn’t wealthy, and she had a half-brother she was putting through school. But she gave me every cent of her savings, dragging me from hospital to hospital. By the end of my chemotherapy, when my hair began falling out in clumps, Hallie shaved her head alongside me. Even when the sun was shining, I could only curl up in my hospital bed, shaking from the pain. Hallie sat beside me, her eyes permanently red, whispered apologies becoming her mantra. Near the end, she asked me if I had any regrets. I wanted to tell her that I wanted to see Daniel one last time. But then I saw his televised wedding on the small hospital screen, and the words died in my throat. “I don’t have any regrets,” I whispered. “I’m happy.” A sharp chime from his phone pulled Daniel back to reality. The atmosphere in his office instantly grew heavy. Tomorrow was the anniversary of his mother’s death. Penny quieted Maisie and slipped out of the room, giving him space. The next morning, under a gray, drizzling sky, Daniel arrived at the cemetery early. He cleaned his mother’s headstone and placed a fresh bouquet of white lilies. He had a board meeting at ten; he couldn’t stay long. Through the curtain of rain, he didn’t recognize the woman standing a few yards away. Hallie was kneeling by a small grave, lighting a single candle and quietly singing a birthday song. “I brought you a slice of vanilla bean cake this year,” she whispered to the headstone. “It’s the trendy kind now. No mangoes, I promise.” I hovered close to her, and even though I couldn’t smell it, the cake looked beautiful. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew the candle out. Hallie frowned softly. “I wasn’t finished talking yet, you impatient girl.” I giggled and stepped back a bit. Miraculously, the candle flickered back to life. Hallie froze, tears immediately spilling over her cheeks. But before she could speak, a pair of immaculate leather shoes stepped into her line of sight. Daniel stared past her, his eyes locking onto the small headstone right next to his mother’s plot. The inscription read: Here lies Donna Sinclair. Daniel’s lips twisted into a cold, mocking smirk. He pulled out his wallet, extracting a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills. “Not bad,” he sneered, tossing the cash onto the wet grass. “You’ve put a lot more effort into this scam than the last one. You even bought a fake headstone.” “What’s the play here, Hallie? Trying to make me feel guilty? Did Wyatt run out of money, so now you’re trying to position her as my mistress?” The crisp green bills fluttered through the rain, landing on my clean grave. Hallie snapped. She lunged forward, violently shoving Daniel back. With trembling, mud-stained hands, she reached into her bag and pulled out a faded, water-damaged envelope. “Donna never loved Wyatt!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “The only person she ever loved was you!” “I was the one who stole her letter. I was the one who kept you apart. If you want to hate someone, hate me! But please, for God’s sake, give Donna some peace!” My heart caught in my throat. I watched Daniel, waiting, hoping for some sign of the boy I once knew. Daniel recognized my handwriting. His eyebrows twitched. He quickly scanned the faded ink, his eyes halting at the final line: Daniel, I love you. I’ve always loved you. A dry, bitter laugh escaped him. He slowly, deliberately tore the paper in half, then into quarters. “You think a forged letter is going to make me write a check? Did the Sinclairs forget what I promised? If anyone gives Donna Sinclair a single dime, I will personally see to it that the family is ruined.” Hallie’s face drained of color. She stared at him in utter horror. “You… you were the one? You forced her uncle to strip her of her inheritance?” Daniel nodded slowly, his tone chillingly conversational. “She set me up. I retaliated. It’s called business.” Hallie broke down. She slapped him—a sharp, ringing crack that echoed through the quiet cemetery. “She was so poor she couldn’t even afford her pain medication!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face. “She knelt on the floor of her apartment, begging me to let her die because she couldn’t take the pain anymore! Daniel, you killed her! You’re the one who killed her!” Hallie’s shoulders shook violently. It took her several long minutes to gather herself. Meeting the rising storm of fury in Daniel’s eyes, she calmly reached into her pocket. “Watch this,” she whispered, her voice dead. “Then do whatever you want to me.”

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I was Ethan’s secret lover for five years, his chief designer for five years, and all I got in the end was: “You think you deserve love?” The day he got engaged, he forced me to design the ring for his fiancée. Then my father came for his debt and put my sister in the hospital. With nowhere left to turn, I made a phone call— Julian. A one-billion-dollar bride price. He was looking for a woman with the right birth chart to marry into his family for a spiritual cure. They said Julian was crippled. Vicious. A devil crawled up from hell. But the moment I signed that agreement, I realized— At the end of hell stood my god. The day Ethan announced his engagement, Los Angeles was hit by a heavy downpour. I stood in a corner of the ballroom, nursing a glass of flat champagne. “Everyone, let me introduce you to Chloe,” Ethan’s voice, unusually gentle, echoed through the microphone. “Our engagement party will be early next month. Please honor us with your presence.” The room erupted in applause. All eyes were on the golden couple beneath the spotlight. Chloe wore a pure white haute couture gown, appearing so innocent and fragile as she leaned shyly into Ethan’s arms. And Ethan, Los Angeles’s youngest and most promising mogul, his usually cold, stern eyes had softened like water. No one looked at me. No one knew that I was Ethan’s secret lover for five years, kept hidden in the shadows. I was also the sharpest blade in his hand, his company’s chief jewelry designer, Jade. “Ms. Jade.” A mocking voice rang in my ear. A few of Ethan’s close friends, champagne glasses in hand, walked over, their eyes full of malicious amusement. “Ethan’s getting engaged. You, the big contributor who’s been with him for five years, why aren’t you going to toast them?” “Exactly, Jade. Weren’t you always sticking to Ethan? Now that his legitimate fiancée is taking over, your heart must be bleeding, right?” They chuckled, making no effort to hide their disdain for me. In their eyes, I, Jade, was nothing more than a shameless gold-digger who clawed her way into Ethan’s bed for money and status. I didn’t say a word, just tilted my head back and gulped down the bitter wine in my glass. Five years ago, my mother fell critically ill, and my father ran off with her medical funds. It was Ethan who descended like a god, handing me a card, buying out five years of my youth and talent. I accompanied him to business dinners, took the brunt of the drinks for him, and in bed, I did everything I could to please him. I thought five years would be enough to warm his heart. But a month ago, Chloe appeared. She was just a new intern at the company, clumsy and even making mistakes with simple photocopying. Yet, Ethan shielded her, and for her sake, he publicly reprimanded me for the first time. He said, “Jade, you’re too cold-blooded, too worldly. Chloe isn’t like you, she’s pure. Don’t scare her.” Pure. I mulled over those words, finding them damn ironic. I collected my thoughts, looking coldly at the rich kids in front of me. “Mr. Ethan’s engagement? Of course, I’ll prepare a grand gift. Don’t you worry about that.” With that, I turned to leave. I hadn’t taken two steps when my wrist was suddenly grabbed with immense force. I was forced to stop, colliding with a pair of deep, cold, dark eyes. Ethan had come down from the stage at some point and now stood before me. Behind him, Chloe remained by his side. “Where are you going?” Ethan stared at me, his voice tinged with displeasure. “Back to the office to work overtime.” I tried to pull my wrist free, but couldn’t. “Do you need something, Mr. Ethan?” Ethan’s eyes narrowed. He seemed utterly displeased by my business-like attitude. His grip tightened, threatening to crush my bones. “Chloe said she really likes your design style,” Ethan said, enunciating each word. “Our engagement rings will be designed by you personally.” I snapped my head up, staring at him in disbelief. He wanted me to design the engagement rings for him and another woman? Ethan, do you even have a heart? “I apologize, Mr. Ethan,” I took a deep breath, suppressing the tremor in my heart. “I’m tied up with next season’s main product line. I simply don’t have the time.” “Jade…” Chloe spoke timidly, her eyes instantly welling up. “Are you angry with me? I know you and Ethan used to… if you don’t want to, I won’t force it. We can just buy a pair.” Her act of aggrieved concession instantly ignited Ethan’s fury. “Jade, what’s with the attitude?” Ethan sneered, his gaze cutting across my face like a knife. “Don’t forget the binding contract you signed. You only have one role in company arrangements: obedience!” “I said you’re designing them, and you will draw out every single line!” The air around us seemed to freeze instantly. Everyone was watching me, enjoying the spectacle. Watching how I, the woman once so favored by Ethan, was being trampled underfoot, my dignity crushed. I looked at Ethan’s face, a face I had loved for five years, and suddenly found it utterly unfamiliar. My chest ached, as if countless needles were pricking me. But I didn’t cry. My tears, Jade’s tears, had long since dried up on that desperate, rainy night five years ago. “Fine,” I forced out a flawless professional smile. “Since Mr. Ethan has spoken, I will comply. It’s just designing a pair of rings. I’m sure Ms. Chloe will be satisfied.” Ethan’s brows furrowed even deeper. He seemed surprised I agreed so readily. In his mind, I should have been mad with jealousy, should have hysterically questioned him, or even humbly begged him not to be so cruel. But I didn’t. I was as still as a dead pond. “You’d better keep your word,” Ethan abruptly flung my hand away, coldly tossing out, “Tomorrow morning, bring your tools to my villa and take Chloe’s measurements.” With that, he wrapped an arm around Chloe’s waist and walked away without looking back. I stood rooted to the spot, rubbing my wrist, which was now marked with a red imprint, and watched their receding figures coldly. Five years. Ethan, it’s time to settle our accounts.

Coming out of the ballroom, the rain outside was even heavier. I had no umbrella, letting the cold rain pelt down on me, soaking my expensive gown. It was late when I returned to my tiny, 30-square-meter rental apartment. I rented this place myself. Ethan owned countless mansions, but I never asked to move in. I knew my place: a hidden lover, unworthy of entering his formal world. Just as I pulled out my keys, the door was suddenly yanked open from inside. A strong smell of cheap cigarettes and alcohol wafted out. My heart sank. “Oh no,” I thought. “You little brat, you finally decided to come home!” A scruffy, fleshy-faced middle-aged man grabbed my hair and violently dragged me inside. It was my father, Frank. “Where’s the money? Hand over the money now!” Frank’s eyes were bloodshot, like a madman who had lost everything gambling, as he frantically patted me down. “I don’t have any money!” I struggled desperately, my scalp screaming in pain. “Last month’s salary was already taken by you to pay off gambling debts! Where would I have any money?” “Bullshit!” Frank slapped me hard across the face. With a sharp “smack,” I staggered, falling to the floor, instantly tasting blood in my mouth. “Do you think I’m a fool? You’re with that big boss, Ethan. He wouldn’t give you less money, would he? You unfilial daughter, living it up, enjoying the good life, watching your old man being chased by loan sharks, aren’t you?!” Frank yelled, frantically ransacking the room. My design sketches, brushes, and paints were strewn across the floor, trampled to pieces. “Stop it! Don’t touch my things!” I rushed forward, my eyes red, desperately shielding the scattered designs on the floor. Those were my life’s work, sketched out over countless sleepless nights! “Get lost!” Frank kicked me hard on the shoulder. I gasped in pain, cold sweat breaking out. “I’m telling you, Jade, if you don’t come up with five hundred thousand today, I’ll sell your sister, Stella, who’s still in high school, to a club to settle my debts!” Frank threatened viciously. “You wouldn’t dare!” I snapped my head up, glaring at him. “Frank, are you even human? Stella is your own daughter!” “So what if she’s my daughter? I brought you into this world, you owe me!” Frank sneered. “Three days. I’m only giving you three days. If you don’t come up with the money, just wait to pick your sister out of a club!” With that, he slammed the door and left. The room was a mess, as if ransacked by thieves. I curled up on the cold floor, my shoulder aching as if it would split, and tears finally began to fall. Why? Why, despite my desperate efforts, could I never escape this swamp? Just then, my phone vibrated in my bag. “Ethan” flashed on the screen. I took a deep breath, wiped my face frantically, and answered the call. “Where are you?” Ethan’s voice was cold and commanding. “Home.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Half an hour. Get over here.” “Mr. Ethan, it’s one in the morning,” I bit out. “I’m a person, not your on-call machine.” There was a two-second silence on the other end, followed by a cold scoff. “Jade, your temper’s really grown, hasn’t it? What, still upset about the engagement rings?” “No, I’m not.” “Good,” Ethan’s tone was full of condescending generosity. “Come over. Chloe can’t sleep and wants to look at your old design drafts for inspiration. Bring them over and explain them to her yourself.” My hand, gripping the phone, tightened, my nails digging deeply into my palm. He wanted me to brave the heavy rain in the middle of the night, just to explain design drafts to his fiancée? “I’m sick. I can’t go,” I refused coldly. “Jade, don’t make me angry,” Ethan’s voice darkened. “Your sister, Stella, is taking her college entrance exams next month, isn’t she? I heard she wants to get into NYU? What do you think would happen if I made a call to NYU? Would she still get in?” It was always like this. For five years, he always knew my weaknesses, forcing me to bow, to compromise. He knew Stella was my life. “I’ll be right there.” Hanging up, I numbly got up from the floor, picked up the scattered designs, and put them back in my bag. The rain continued to fall. I stood by the road, waiting half an hour before finally getting a taxi. By the time I reached Ethan’s villa in the hills, I was shivering uncontrollably, my lips blue. The villa was brightly lit, warm as spring. I pushed open the door and saw Ethan lounging on the sofa in loose pajamas. Chloe was nestled in his arms like a lost puppy, wearing a silk slip dress, a warm glass of milk in her hand. Seeing me standing at the door, drenched like a drowned rat, Chloe gasped. “Oh my god, Jade, why are you so soaked? Come in and dry off!” She made to get up, but Ethan held her down. “Don’t worry about her. She’s perfectly fine,” Ethan said, not even lifting an eyelid, his gaze sweeping coldly over me. “Did you bring the designs?” I stood in the entryway, not changing my shoes. Cold rainwater dripped from my hair, spreading a dark stain on the carpet. I took out the stack of designs, slightly soiled by Frank’s footprints, from my bag and walked over to place them on the coffee table. “They’re all here,” my voice was hoarse. Ethan glanced at the footprints on the designs, his brows instantly knitting into a tight knot. “Jade, what kind of attitude is this? Are you trying to fool me with this garbage?” He violently threw the designs at my face. The sharp edges of the paper grazed my cheek, leaving a faint scratch that bled slightly. “Ethan, don’t get angry. Jade didn’t mean it,” Chloe quickly hugged Ethan’s arm, her voice soft and coaxing. Then she turned to me, looking with those innocent eyes, “Jade, are you upset about designing my ring, that you deliberately soiled the drafts? It’s really okay, I can find someone else…” “Shut up,” I cut her off coldly. Chloe flinched, her eyes welling up again. Ethan stood up abruptly, grabbing my throat and pinning me against the cold wall. “Jade, you dare to yell at her?!” His grip was incredibly strong; I instantly struggled to breathe, my face turning crimson. “Ethan…” I choked out, forcing the words from my throat. “Five years… even if you kept a dog… it would have some affection, wouldn’t it?” “Affection?” Ethan laughed, as if he’d heard the biggest joke, his eyes full of mockery. “Jade, do you really think you’re worthy of talking about affection with me? You’re just a tool I paid for, a plaything for my amusement. Did you actually think you were special?” His words were like a blunt knife, slowly cutting open my heart. In the face of such extreme pain, I actually smiled. “Yes, I’m not worthy,” I looked at him, my eyes growing colder by the second. “Mr. Ethan is right. A tool should know its place.” “Let me go. I’ll explain the designs to Ms. Chloe.” Ethan stared at my eyes, so calm they held no ripple of emotion, and a flicker of irritation crossed his face. He suddenly released me. I slid down the wall to the floor, clutching my throat and coughing violently. “Jade, remember your place,” Ethan looked down at me. “Dare to disrespect Chloe again, and I’ll make you regret it.”

For the next two hours, I sat kneeling by the coffee table like a soulless puppet, explaining each design draft, which I once cherished, to Chloe. Chloe listened intently, occasionally offering naive and ridiculous suggestions for modifications. Ethan sat nearby, playing with Chloe’s hair, his eyes fixed on me with an oppressive gaze. He was trying to find a hint of jealousy, grievance, or even collapse on my face. But I disappointed him. My face remained expressionless the entire time, my voice so steady that not a single note wavered. “This ‘Starry Night’ piece, I think the diamond is too small, not sparkly enough. Ethan, don’t you think a ten-carat pink diamond would be better?” Chloe pointed to one of my proudest works, asking sweetly. That was the wedding ring I had designed for myself. I had once fantasized that one day Ethan would hold it, kneeling on one knee to propose to me. Now, it had become a commodity to be picked apart by someone else. “Fine, if you like it, we’ll change it,” Ethan said, dotingly pinching her nose, then turned to me, his eyes instantly turning cold. “Did you hear that? The main diamond will be a ten-carat pink diamond, surrounded by pavé diamonds, the most luxurious possible.” “A ten-carat pink diamond requires extremely high hardness and cutting precision; this setting design cannot support it,” I pointed out the technical issue in a purely business-like tone. “That’s your problem,” Ethan said coldly. “If you can’t do it, get out of the company.” I was silent for two seconds, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll modify it.” At four in the morning, the explanation finally ended. Chloe yawned, leaning softly into Ethan’s arms. “Ethan, I’m sleepy.” “Go to sleep,” Ethan kissed her forehead, then scooped her up and carried her upstairs. He never looked at me again. He didn’t ask how I would get back so late, with the heavy rain still falling outside. I gathered my design drafts alone and walked out of the villa with heavy steps. The cold wind, mixed with rain, blew against me, but I no longer felt the cold. Because my heart had long since died completely. The next morning, I arrived at the villa promptly with my toolbox. Today, I was here to take Chloe’s measurements. As I walked into the living room, I saw Ethan and Chloe eating breakfast on the sofa. The atmosphere was sickeningly cozy. “Jade, have you had breakfast? Would you like to join us?” Chloe greeted me enthusiastically. “No, thank you, I’ve eaten.” I opened my toolbox and took out the measuring tape. “Ms. Chloe, please extend your hand.” Chloe obediently held out her hand. Her hand was fair and delicate, never having done a day of hard work. Unlike my hands, which were calloused from years of drawing and polishing jewelry, and had a bruise on the back from Frank’s kick last night. I lowered my head, carefully measuring her finger and noting down the data. “Hiss—” Chloe suddenly gasped, snatching her hand back. “Jade, you hurt me!” I paused. I was clearly using a soft measuring tape; it was impossible to hurt her. “What’s wrong?” Ethan immediately put down his knife and fork, anxiously grabbing Chloe’s hand to examine it. On the back of Chloe’s hand, a tiny red mark had appeared at some point. “I’m fine, Ethan, don’t blame Jade. She definitely didn’t mean to.” Chloe bit her lip apologetically, tears welling in her eyes. Ethan’s face instantly darkened to an alarming degree. He stood up abruptly and kicked my toolbox, sending it flying. Various precise measuring tools scattered across the floor with a harsh clang. “Jade, are you looking for a death wish?!” Ethan grabbed my collar, lifting me clean off the ground. “I didn’t hurt her.” I met his furious gaze, my voice calm. “That red mark, it wasn’t from me.” “Still trying to argue?!” Ethan was enraged. “Are you taking advantage of Chloe’s kindness to deliberately vent your anger on her? I warned you, put away your petty jealousy!” Jealousy? I looked at Ethan and suddenly found him utterly ridiculous. How could he possibly think I would still be jealous? “Mr. Ethan,” I took a deep breath, fighting the suffocating grip on my neck. “If you believe I’m not suited for this job, you can easily replace me. There’s no need to make false accusations.” “Are you threatening me?” Ethan’s eyes narrowed, staring at me dangerously. “I wouldn’t dare. I’m merely stating facts.” The two of us stood locked in a standoff, the air thick with tension. Just then, my phone rang. It was the hospital. “Is this Stella’s family? Stella was injured in a fight at school and is now in the emergency room. Please come immediately!” My mind buzzed, instantly going blank. Stella! “Let me go!” I struggled violently, with surprising strength, actually prying Ethan’s hand off me. I didn’t even bother picking up my tools; I dashed out like a madwoman. “Jade, where are you going? Stop!” Ethan roared behind me. I ignored him, my mind fixated solely on Stella. When I rushed into the hospital emergency room, Stella was lying on the bed, her face covered in blood, her forehead wrapped in thick bandages, already unconscious. “Doctor, how is my sister?” I grabbed the doctor’s arm, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “You’re the family, right? The patient suffered a severe blow to the head, resulting in a mild concussion, multiple soft tissue contusions on her body, and also…” The doctor paused, his eyes looking complex. “The patient has lacerations in her lower body. We suspect she may have been sexually assaulted, and we’ve already called the police.” Sexually assaulted?! Those words struck me like a lightning bolt, splitting my very being. My legs gave out, and I collapsed directly to the floor. How could this happen? Stella was so well-behaved, so obedient. How could something like this happen to her? “Frank… it must be him!” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my flesh, drawing blood. He had threatened me just yesterday, and today Stella was in trouble. That bastard! How dare he!

I stayed by Stella’s bedside for an entire day and night. When she woke, she saw me and recoiled into the blankets like a frightened animal, trembling violently. “Jade… Jade, I’m scared…” she cried heartbrokenly, her eyes hollow and terrifying. I held her tight, my heart twisting in agony. The police came to take her statement, confirming my suspicions. It was Frank. To pay off his gambling debts, he had actually brought the debt collectors to the school gates and dragged Stella into a van. If not for a kind passerby who called the police, Stella might not have been alive right now. “Where is Frank?” I gritted my teeth, asking the police. “He ran off. We’re actively pursuing him,” the police sighed. “Ms. Jade, your father owes three million to an underground casino. Those people are desperate. You and your sister should be extra careful recently.” Three million. I closed my eyes in despair. Where was I going to get three million? In the past five years, I had only earned a fixed salary at Ethan’s company, most of which went into Frank’s bottomless pit of debt. Ethan, though wealthy, never gave anything for free; he demanded my unconditional obedience and flattery. Now, he was busy getting engaged to Chloe. How could he care about my survival? Besides, I no longer wanted to ask him for anything. I was too tired. After settling Stella, I walked out of the ward, leaning against the cold hallway wall, and pulled out my phone. In my contacts, I couldn’t find a single person I could borrow money from. These past few years, confined by Ethan, I had cut off almost all social connections. Just as I felt I had nowhere left to turn, a news notification popped up. [New York’s Julian family is offering a massive reward for a bride! Rumors say that Julian, the family’s young master, suffers from a hidden illness, is crippled, and has a violent temper. Multiple former fiancées have been driven to madness by his torment. The Julian family is now offering an astronomical ten billion in wedding money, seeking a lucky bride whose presence would bring him healing!] Julian. A man who held immense power in New York. I heard he was a madman, a devil. No woman who fell into his hands ever emerged whole. But that was ten billion. With that money, I could completely escape Frank, take Stella out of Los Angeles, and start over somewhere no one knew us. As for whether Julian was crippled or a devil, I didn’t care. I was already in hell; what difference would another hell make? Without hesitation, I dialed the contact number listed below the news article. “Hello, my name is Jade. My birth chart indicates…” The Julian family moved quickly. Less than two hours later, a black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the hospital entrance. A middle-aged man in a tuxedo, looking like a butler, approached me, his demeanor respectful yet distant. “Ms. Jade, you and Mr. Julian are a perfect match. As soon as you sign this prenuptial agreement, the ten billion in wedding money will be immediately transferred to your account. Furthermore, the Julian family will handle all your troubles, including your father’s gambling debts and your sister’s safety.” He handed me a thick document. I didn’t even look at it, flipping directly to the last page and signing my name. “Okay, I’ll marry him.” A flicker of surprise crossed the butler’s eyes; he hadn’t expected me to agree so readily. “Ms. Jade is a decisive woman,” the butler said, collecting the agreement. “The Julian family still has affairs to settle in Los Angeles for a few days. In three days, I will send someone to pick you up for New York. During these three days, you may attend to your private matters.” “Ding.” My phone chimed with a text message notification. Ten billion, transferred. Looking at that long string of zeros, I suddenly felt incredibly ironic. I had sold myself for five years, gaining nothing but scars. Now, I sold myself to a crippled madman and instantly owned the world. I immediately contacted the best security company to provide Stella with twenty-four-hour protection. Then, I returned to my rental apartment and began to sketch, polish, and set jewelry day and night. Ethan’s engagement rings, I had to finish them before I left. This was what I owed him; once I paid it back, I could leave cleanly. After two consecutive sleepless nights, my eyes were bloodshot, and my fingers were covered in cuts from the engraving tools. Blood seeped into the pink diamond ring setting, but I didn’t even flinch, just wiped it away expressionlessly and continued working. On the evening of the third day, a pair of exquisitely luxurious pink diamond rings were finally completed. I placed them into a beautiful velvet box. Then, from the deepest part under my bed, I pulled out a dusty metal box. Opening it, a black card lay inside. Five years ago, Ethan had casually tossed it to me when he first took me to his house. “Take this. It’s my black card, unlimited credit. If you’re with me, don’t embarrass me.” In these five years, I had never once used it. I placed it with the rings, packed everything up, and dialed Mark, Ethan’s assistant. “Mark, the rings are done. Please come pick them up.” Half an hour later, Mark’s car pulled up downstairs. He looked at my pale, haggard face, a hint of disdain flashing in his eyes. “Ms. Jade, why bother so much?” Mark said, taking the box with a sarcastic tone. “Mr. Ethan’s completely focused on Chloe now. Even if you work yourself to death, he won’t notice. Take my advice, just humble yourself, admit your mistake. If Mr. Ethan softens, he might even keep you around as a lover.” “You misunderstand,” I said, looking at him plainly. “My task is complete once I hand this to you. Also, there’s something else in the box. Please make sure to deliver it to Mr. Ethan personally.” Mark scoffed. “Another love token? Jade, Mr. Ethan is tired of your manipulation tactics.” I ignored his mockery and turned to leave. “Jade!” Mark called out behind me. “Tomorrow night is Mr. Ethan and Ms. Chloe’s engagement party. Mr. Ethan said you must attend. He wants you to see him put the ring on Ms. Chloe’s finger with your own eyes!” My steps paused for a moment, and a mocking smile touched my lips. “Alright,” I said without looking back. “I hope they’re utterly miserable and their line end.”

Back at the hospital, I immediately arranged for Stella to be transferred. The Julian family’s efficiency was remarkable; they not only arranged a private jet but also secured a spot at New York’s top private hospital, complete with a leading medical team. Sitting in the car en route to the airport, watching the Los Angeles nightscape recede outside the window, I let out a long, heavy sigh. This city, which had trapped me for five years, which held all my humiliation and despair, I was finally leaving it. “Jade, are we really going to New York?” Stella leaned on my shoulder, her voice still weak. “That person… Mr. Julian, will he really be a good person?” “No matter who he is, as long as he can protect you, I’m not afraid of anything,” I said, stroking her hair, my eyes firm. I had nothing left to lose. The worst-case scenario was simply death. At the same time, in Los Angeles’s most luxurious five-star hotel, Ethan’s engagement party was being prepared. Ethan sat in the VIP lounge, toying with the velvet box Mark had just delivered. “She really said that?” Ethan’s face was cold, his brows furrowed as he listened to Mark’s report. “Yes, those were Jade’s exact words,” Mark said, cautiously observing Ethan’s expression. “Mr. Ethan, it seems Jade is truly determined this time. She even returned your black card.” Ethan violently opened the box. A pair of dazzling pink diamond rings lay quietly inside, next to the black card he had given her five years ago. The card was spotless, without a single scratch, as if in these five years, she had never once touched his world. A strange irritation inexplicably filled Ethan’s chest. He slammed the box shut, letting out a cold laugh. “Playing hard to get. She thinks by returning the card, I’ll beg her to come back? Dream on!” “She’ll definitely come tomorrow,” Ethan’s tone was assertive. “She loves me so much she’s thrown away her dignity. How could she possibly stand by and watch me get engaged to Chloe? She’s just trying to force me to give in this way.” “You’re right, Mr. Ethan,” Mark quickly agreed. “A woman like Jade, without you, she wouldn’t even be able to eat. How could she truly leave?” Ethan leaned back on the sofa, closing his eyes, trying to suppress the strange panic in his heart. Yes, she couldn’t leave him. With just a flick of his finger, she would crawl back to him, begging, just like before. The next evening, the engagement party officially began. Almost all the prominent figures in Los Angeles were present. Chloe, in a dreamy wedding dress adorned with pavé diamonds, looked like a true princess, walking arm-in-arm with Ethan, accepting everyone’s blessings. Ethan, in a tailored suit, was exceptionally handsome. But his gaze kept sweeping towards the ballroom entrance. Time ticked by. The ballroom was filled with a glamorous atmosphere, clinking glasses, and dazzling lights, yet the familiar figure never appeared. “Ethan, what are you looking for?” A friend walked over with a drink, following Ethan’s gaze, and chuckled knowingly. “Waiting for Jade? Don’t bother. I bet she wouldn’t dare to come today. She’d only humiliate herself.” “Exactly, Ethan has a legitimate fiancée now. How could a hidden mistress have the nerve to show up at an event like this?” The surrounding crowd chimed in, their words full of contempt for Jade. Ethan said nothing, his face growing darker and darker. It was almost time for the ring exchange. Was she really not coming? How dare she not come?! “Ethan, it’s time, we should go up,” Chloe reminded softly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Once he put the ring on her finger, she would be Mrs. Ethan, officially. Ethan took a deep breath, suppressing the anxiety in his heart, and walked onto the stage with Chloe. The emcee delivered an enthusiastic speech, then announced: “Now, please, the groom-to-be will place the engagement ring, symbolizing love, on the bride-to-be’s finger!” Ethan took the velvet box from Mark and slowly opened it. Under the lights, the pink diamonds shimmered dazzlingly. He took out the women’s ring, about to slip it onto Chloe’s finger. Suddenly, his gaze froze on the inside of the ring. There, engraved in tiny letters, were two initials: G.D. Go to Death. Ethan’s pupils contracted sharply, and his face instantly turned ashen. “Ethan? What’s wrong?” Chloe, seeing his hesitation, asked with a hint of confusion. Ethan slammed the ring box shut and roughly pushed Chloe aside. “The engagement party is canceled!” He tossed out the words, then strode off the stage amidst the stunned gazes of the entire room. “Ethan! Where are you going?!” Chloe cried out frantically from the stage, tears instantly streaming down her face. Ethan ignored her. He grabbed Mark by the collar, his eyes bloodshot. “Find out! Find out where Jade is immediately! Bring her back to me!” Mark trembled in fear, quickly pulling out his phone to make calls. A few minutes later, Mark, pale-faced, rushed back to Ethan, his voice shaking. “Mr. Mr. Ethan… Jade… she’s not in Los Angeles anymore.” “What do you mean?” Ethan’s hand clamped around his throat. “She canceled her apartment lease, and the hospital said she transferred her sister… Immigration records show that she… she flew to New York last night!” New York?! Ethan was struck as if by lightning, freezing in place. She was gone. Gone completely, without a trace of lingering affection. She had even slapped him hard at his most anticipated engagement party. “Jade…” Ethan muttered her name, gritting his teeth, and a sharp pain suddenly pierced his chest. He thought everything was under his control. But only at this moment did he realize, with horror, that the string tying Jade to him had broken.

The flight to New York landed smoothly. I pushed Stella in her wheelchair out of the VIP channel. At the channel exit, a line of black-suited bodyguards stood ready. Leading them was the butler I had met at the hospital that day. “Ms. Jade, welcome to New York,” the butler bowed slightly, his demeanor more respectful than before. “Mr. Julian is already waiting for you at the manor.” Now, I had suddenly become a stranger’s wife. “Thank you,” I nodded faintly. The motorcade drove out of the airport, heading towards the winding mountain roads on the outskirts of New York. The deeper we went, the more secluded the scenery became, even taking on a hint of eerie silence. Rumor had it that the Julian family manor was built halfway up a mountain, and for miles around, it was all private Julian land; not even a fly could get in. Half an hour later, the cars drove through a massive black iron gate. The castle-like manor stood in the night, like a slumbering beast, exuding a suffocating sense of oppression. I took a deep breath, tightening my grip on Stella’s hand. “Don’t be afraid,” I whispered, reassuring her. The cars stopped in front of the main building. The butler led me through a long corridor to a heavy mahogany door. “Ms. Jade, Mr. Julian is waiting for you inside. I will arrange for someone to look after Ms. Stella; please don’t worry.” I nodded, watched Stella being led away by a maid, and then pushed open the door. The room was dim, with no main lights on; only the flickering fire in the fireplace provided illumination. The air was filled with a faint scent of sandalwood mixed with herbs. I stood at the doorway, trying to adjust to the indoor light. “Come here.” A low, hoarse, yet profoundly penetrating voice came from the depths of the room. I looked towards the sound and, in the shadows by the fireplace, saw a wheelchair. A man sat in the wheelchair. Most of his body was hidden in the darkness, making his face indiscernible. But I could feel an intensely predatory gaze fixed on me. Like a hunter staring at its prey. I suppressed the tension in my heart and stepped forward. I stopped two steps in front of him. By the firelight, I finally saw his face. It was an impossibly pale, yet devilishly handsome face. His features were deep and defined, his jawline sharp as a blade, and his eyes, especially, were as black as a bottomless abyss, exuding a chilling ferocity. This was the rumored cruel and bloodthirsty young master of the Julian family, Julian. “Jade,” he parted his thin lips, slowly enunciating my name, with an indescribable tenderness. “Mr. Julian,” I slightly bowed my head, my tone calm. “Are you afraid of me?” He raised an eyebrow, his gaze falling on my unconsciously clenched hands. “No,” I met his eyes directly. “Since I’ve taken the Julian family’s money and signed the agreement, I am now a member of the Julian family. Whatever Mr. Julian wishes me to do, I will cooperate.” Julian suddenly let out a low laugh. The laughter echoed in the vast room, sending shivers down my spine. “Cooperate?” He abruptly leaned forward, grabbed my wrist, and pulled hard. Caught off guard, I tumbled into his arms. His chest was hard and cold, like a stone without warmth. “Jade, did you think you married me just to be a decoration?” Julian gripped my chin, forcing me to look up, his warm breath fanning my face. “What I want is all of you, from inside out, a complete and utter surrender.” His gaze was terrifying, like a burning black fire, threatening to consume me entirely. I didn’t struggle, just looked at him quietly. “Okay,” I said softly. “As long as you can protect my sister, my life is yours.” Julian’s movements abruptly froze. He stared intensely into my eyes, as if trying to find a trace of fear or hesitation. But in my eyes, there was only dead silence. After a long moment, he released me, coldly uttering a single word: “Get out.” I stood up, straightened my disheveled clothes, and walked out of the room. The moment I closed the door, I felt all the strength drain from my body. Julian was a thousand times more dangerous than Ethan. But I had no way back. Over the next few days, I was settled in a guest room in the manor. Aside from meals delivered by a maid, I didn’t see Julian again. Stella was enrolled in New York’s best private high school, with dedicated transportation, safe and sound. I finally lived the most peaceful days I’d had in five years. No more debt calls from Frank, no more humiliation from Ethan, no more manipulative tricks from Chloe. I spent my days in the room drawing, occasionally taking walks in the garden. Until a week later, the butler suddenly knocked on my door. “Ms. Jade, Mr. Julian would like you to go to the basement.” The basement? My heart skipped a beat. Rumor had it that Julian’s basement was a living hell. But I still obediently followed the butler downstairs. The basement was vast and dimly lit. As soon as I entered, I smelled a strong scent of blood. Julian sat in his wheelchair, his back to me. Before him, a man knelt, beaten to a bloody pulp. “Jade, come see who this is,” Julian turned his wheelchair, revealing the man’s face. My pupils constricted sharply, and all the blood in my body instantly froze. It was Frank!

The man who was once so arrogant, who used to beat and kick me without hesitation, now lay sprawled on the ground like a dead dog. His face was covered in blood, and all ten of his fingers were brutally broken, twisted into grotesque shapes. Hearing footsteps, Frank laboriously lifted his head. Seeing me, an intense survival instinct erupted in his cloudy eyes, and he scrambled towards me, crawling on his hands and knees. “Jade! Jade! Save your dad! Quick, save your dad! This madman is going to kill me!” He hadn’t even touched my clothes before a bodyguard next to him kicked him down. “Stay still!” the bodyguard snapped. I stood rooted, coldly watching Frank’s pained wails on the ground, feeling not a shred of sympathy, only deep disgust. “Mr. Julian, what is the meaning of this?” I turned to Julian. Julian leaned back in his wheelchair, toying with a sharp dagger, and said nonchalantly, “Don’t you hate him? I brought him here for you to deal with. You can torment him however you wish.” He tossed the dagger to my feet, where it landed with a crisp clink. “Kill him, or cripple him, whatever makes you happy,” Julian’s eyes sparkled with bloodlust, as if watching an entertaining play. Frank was terrified, his liver and guts churning, and he desperately knelt down to me. “Jade, I was wrong! I truly know I was wrong! I’m your biological dad, you can’t kill me! When you were little, I even bought you candy, don’t you remember?!” Bought me candy? I only remembered him getting drunk and whipping me with a belt until I was covered in wounds; I only remembered him trying to sell Stella into a fire pit for gambling money. I bent down and picked up the dagger from the floor. The dagger was heavy, its blade gleaming coldly. Frank’s wails instantly ceased. He stared at me in terror, his pants instantly wet. “Jade… you… you wouldn’t dare…” I gripped the dagger and walked step by step towards him. Julian watched me from his wheelchair, a playful smile on his lips. He seemed to be anticipating the insane sight of me personally taking my father’s life. I looked down at Frank, at his face distorted by fear. “Frank, you should have died long ago,” my voice was icy, devoid of any warmth. I raised the dagger and plunged it down forcefully! “Ah—!” Frank let out a pig-like shriek, tightly closing his eyes. “Clink!” The dagger grazed his cheek, embedding itself deeply into the concrete floor beside him, sparks flying. Frank convulsed in fear, passing out cold. I released the dagger, stood up, and turned to Julian. “Mr. Julian, it’s not worth getting my hands dirty,” I said calmly. “The money he owed the underground casino, the Julian family has already repaid. From this day forward, I cut all ties with him. Throw him out. Whether he lives or dies, it has nothing to do with me.” The playfulness in Julian’s eyes gradually faded, replaced by a deep, probing look. He stared at me for a long time, then suddenly chuckled softly. “Jade, you’re even more ruthless than I imagined.” Killing a man is easy, but breaking his spirit is far more terrifying. Throwing a crippled, penniless gambler back onto the streets was a fate far worse than death. “Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Julian,” I bowed slightly. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll return to my room.” “Wait,” Julian called out to me. He maneuvered his wheelchair and slowly glided in front of me. “Over in Los Angeles, Ethan is searching for you everywhere,” Julian stared into my eyes, his voice carrying a hint of danger. “He even put out a word that anyone who dares to hide you is making an enemy of the Ethan family.” Hearing Ethan’s name, my heart skipped a beat, but my face remained impassive. “I’m already married into the Julian family. Los Angeles affairs have nothing to do with me.” “Is that so?” Julian suddenly reached out and pinched the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him. “Jade, you’d better remember what you said today. If you dare betray me, I’ll show you what true living hell feels like.” His hand was cold, wrapping around my neck like a snake. I didn’t flinch, meeting his gaze. “Mr. Julian, don’t worry. I, Jade, never go back on my word.” Los Angeles. Ethan hadn’t slept for three days. He had turned all of Los Angeles upside down, even using all his connections, legitimate and otherwise, but still couldn’t find a trace of Jade. She had vanished into thin air. “Mr. Ethan, still no news…” Mark reported, trembling. “Ms. Jade’s flight information was erased. We can’t trace where she went.” “Useless! All of you are useless!” Ethan roared, smashing the computer on his desk. “A living person can’t just sprout wings and fly away, can they?!” Chloe stood nearby, her eyes red, not daring to speak. For these three days, Ethan had been ice-cold towards her, refusing to even spare her a glance. The man who was once so compliant with her now had only one woman on his mind. “Ethan, don’t be like this…” Chloe bravely walked over, trying to embrace him. “If Jade wants to leave, let her go. You still have me…” “Get out!” Ethan violently shoved her away, his eyes terrifyingly sinister. “Who told you to touch me?” Chloe fell to the floor, staring at him in disbelief. “Ethan, I’m your fiancée! You’re doing this to me for a woman who doesn’t want you?” “Fiancée?” Ethan sneered, looking down at her. “If it weren’t for your face bearing a slight resemblance to her when she first started with me, do you think you’d be standing here?” Chloe was struck as if by lightning, her face instantly turning chalk-white. A stand-in. Her proud love was nothing more than a pathetic stand-in! Ethan no longer paid attention to the distraught Chloe. He turned to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the gray sky. Jade, do you think you can escape? Even if I have to turn this city upside down, I will find you, break your legs with my own hands, and lock you by my side forever!

My days at the Julian family manor were surprisingly peaceful. Although Julian’s temper was unpredictable, he never inflicted any substantial harm on me, aside from occasionally staring at me with that intensely predatory gaze. He spent most of his days in the study or the basement. As for me, I poured all my energy into new design sketches. I needed money. Although the Julian family had given me ten billion in wedding money, that was money to buy out my entire life. I didn’t want to depend on Julian forever; I needed my own career and my own foundation. That afternoon, I was sketching in the glass conservatory in the garden when the butler suddenly entered. “Ms. Jade, Mr. Julian would like you to go to the front hall.” “Guests?” I put down my paintbrush, a little puzzled. Julian was reclusive; hardly any outsiders ever came to the manor. “Guests from Los Angeles,” the butler said, his eyes lowered, his tone respectful yet with a hint of something unusual. Los Angeles. Those two words felt like a thorn, sharply piercing my nerves. I took a deep breath and stood up. “I understand.” When I reached the front hall, the air pressure was suffocatingly low. Julian sat in his wheelchair at the head of the table, toying with an antique signet ring, his expression inscrutable. Across from him stood a man with bloodshot eyes and a scruffy beard. Ethan. He had lost a lot of weight, his once tailored suit now looking somewhat baggy, and his entire being exuded a sense of decadent and madness. The moment he saw me, Ethan’s eyes instantly lit up. “Jade!” He rushed forward, trying to grab my hand. “Bang!” A gunshot. A bullet grazed Ethan’s foot and embedded itself in the expensive carpet, releasing a wisp of blue smoke. Julian calmly blew the smoke from the gun barrel, his eyes coldly fixed on Ethan. “Mr. Ethan, on my Julian family’s territory, touching my wife—are you tired of living?” Ethan’s steps abruptly halted. He stared intensely at me, his eyes bloodshot, his voice hoarse and broken. “Jade, come here. Come home with me.” Home. Those words, coming from his mouth, were utterly ironic. I stood by Julian’s side, looking at him coldly. “Mr. Ethan, please show some respect. This is the Julian family residence, and I am Julian’s wife.” “Wife?” Ethan laughed, as if he’d heard the biggest joke, his voice rising sharply. “You’d rather marry a cripple, a madman, than stay by my side?!” “Ethan!” I sharply cut him off. “Shut your mouth!” I would not allow him to insult Julian. At least, Julian, in my most desperate moment, had given Stella and me a way out. While Ethan had only pushed me towards death. “You’re defending him?” Ethan looked at me in disbelief, his eyes filled with hurt and rage. “Jade, you were with me for five years! Our five years of affection mean less than this cripple’s dirty money?!” “Affection?” I let out a cold laugh, my eyes full of mockery. “Ethan, do you really think you’re worthy of talking about affection with me? When you forced me to design engagement rings for your fiancée, did you think about our affection? When you allowed Frank to almost destroy my sister, did you think about our affection?!” “I didn’t!” Ethan quickly explained. “I didn’t know Frank would do such a thing! If I had known, I would have…” “Would have what?” I cut him off coldly. “Would have acted just like before, condescendingly bestowing a little pity, and then using that as leverage to force me to continue being your obedient dog?” Ethan was left speechless, his face ashen. “Ethan, we’re long past due on settling our accounts,” I looked at him, my voice as calm as still water. “Those rings were the last thing I owed you. From now on, whether you live or die, it has nothing to do with me, Jade. Get out. Don’t ever appear before me again. You disgust me.” “I’m not leaving!” Ethan suddenly pulled out a gun and pointed it directly at Julian. “Jade, you’re coming with me today! Otherwise, I’ll kill him!” He was insane. He actually dared to point a gun at Julian on Julian family territory. The bodyguards around us instantly drew their guns; dozens of black barrels were pointed at Ethan. With a single command from Julian, Ethan would be riddled with bullets. But Julian merely smiled. He casually tossed his gun onto the table, then maneuvered his wheelchair and slowly glided right in front of Ethan’s gun barrel. “Shoot,” Julian tilted his head slightly, his eyes filled with contempt and provocation. “Ethan, let me see how much guts you have, daring to steal a woman from me, Julian.” Ethan’s hand, holding the gun, trembled violently. His veins bulged on his forehead as he stared intensely at Julian, yet he hesitated to pull the trigger. He didn’t dare. Because he knew that if he fired, the Ethan family would face devastating retaliation from the Julian family. “Useless,” Julian scoffed, then suddenly reached out and grabbed the hot gun barrel. “Crack!” A sickening crunch of bone echoed. Julian had actually broken Ethan’s wrist with his bare hand! “Ah—!” Ethan shrieked, the gun falling to the floor. Bodyguards swarmed him, pinning him to the ground. “Throw him back to Los Angeles,” Julian took out a pristine white handkerchief and calmly wiped his fingers. “Tell the Ethan family patriarch that if he can’t control his grandson, I don’t mind teaching him a lesson. But next time, it won’t just be a broken wrist.” Ethan was dragged out by the bodyguards like a dead dog. He struggled desperately, his eyes fixed on me, still desperately screaming my name. “Jade! Jade—!” His voice grew fainter, until it completely disappeared. The front hall returned to a deathly silence. I stood rooted, looking at the spot where Ethan had stood, my heart utterly calm, feeling only the satisfaction of avenging a great wrong. “Did that hurt you?” Julian’s voice suddenly sounded by my ear. I turned my head, meeting his deep, dark eyes. “No,” I said calmly. “I just found him pathetic.” Julian stared at me for a long time, then suddenly reached out and pulled me into his arms. I fell into his lap, my nostrils filled with the cool, sandalwood scent of him. “Jade,” he gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Remember what you said today. You are mine. This life, next life, you’ll never escape.” He lowered his head and kissed my lips fiercely. A kiss filled with punishment, possession, and reckless abandon. I closed my eyes, offering no resistance, submitting to his plunder. I knew that from this moment on, my life, Jade’s life, was completely bound to this man named Julian.

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Seven years of marriage. Ethan saw me as dirty, as old. He turned around and got involved with a younger college student. His reason? “You threw yourself at me when you were sixteen, like some cheap escort. Who knows how many men a manipulative woman like you has slept with since?” He held Lily Sterling close, his eyes tender. “Lily is pure and untouched. She was twenty when she lost her virginity to me. I’m her only man.” He forgot. When he was sixteen, he was the one begging me to get into his bed. Someone had drugged him with an aphrodisiac, and I gave myself to him to save his life. He’d pulled a blanket over my kiss-marked body back then and soothed, “My darling, I’ll be good to you my whole life.” Seven years together. I took blades for him, my hands stained with blood and dirtied by schemes. All I got in return was him turning to embrace his “pure” new love. This time, I didn’t make a scene. I took off my wedding ring and walked away. Ethan’s friends all bet on when I’d come back. But day after day, I remained silent. No word from me. Ethan couldn’t sit still anymore. He called me. “Amelia, you’ve caused enough trouble. Come back.” But a low chuckle came. A man’s voice. “Mr. Hayes, you take too long chasing your girl. Someone else might beat you to it.”

Amelia’s POV The New York rainy season was damp, cold, and sticky. The briny wind from New York Harbor lashed relentlessly against the floor-to-ceiling windows of our hillside mansion. I sat alone at the dining table. The Wellington steak on my plate was long cold, the fat congealed. The candles had burned out, their last embers extinguished by the wind. The dining room plunged into total darkness. Today marked seven years since Ethan Hayes and I first met. Seven years ago today, amidst the bloody turf wars of Brooklyn, I took a fatal knife wound for him. A hideous, indelible scar still marred my back. It was also that day that a penniless Ethan, kneeling in the mud, cradled my bloody face and swore that one day, he’d make me the most respected woman in all of New York. Now, Hayes Enterprises had expanded its reach to an unimaginable scale. He had become Ethan Hayes, a name whispered with fear in the business world. And I was his sharpest blade, hidden in the shadows. Amelia, the ruthless force behind Hayes Enterprises. My phone screen suddenly lit up in the darkness, stinging my eyes. It was Mark, Ethan’s assistant, his voice tinged with guilt. “Amelia… Mr. Hayes might not be able to make it back tonight. There’s an issue at the South Precinct, and Mr. Hayes is handling it.” My breath hitched, my heart seized. I hung up the phone, grabbed my car keys, and rushed out into the pouring rain. In the corridor of the South Precinct, the harsh white fluorescent lights made my head spin. I strode in on three-inch heels, dressed in a sharply tailored black business suit, trailing icy rainwater. However, the scene before me shattered all my pride and all my worry. Ethan sat on a bench in the corridor. The man who was cold and ruthless at the negotiation table, who never even furrowed a brow, was now taking off his warm, tailored suit. With gentle, almost careful movements, he draped it over a young girl. The girl wore a faded cotton dress, her blonde hair disheveled, her eyes swollen and red. She huddled in Ethan’s arms, her hands clutching the hem of his shirt as if he were her only hope in the world. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. No one can touch you.” Ethan’s voice was deep and gentle, a tone I hadn’t heard in three whole years. I stood in the shadows a few steps away, watching the scene with cold eyes. I knew the girl. Her name was Lily Sterling. Ethan had ‘rescued’ her, a college student, from his enemies three months ago during a corporate turf war. “Ethan.” I spoke, my voice surprisingly calm, so calm that even I found it unbelievable. Ethan looked up at the sound of my voice. The moment he saw me, a flicker of irritation crossed his eyes, but he didn’t release his arm from around Lily’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?” “Have you forgotten what day it is?” I took a step forward, my gaze falling on Lily’s hands, which were desperately gripping Ethan’s clothes. The sight was so jarring it felt like it was burning my retina. “Lily was being tracked by my enemies and almost got hurt. I had to come deal with it.” Ethan’s tone was matter-of-fact, even carrying a hint of annoyance at being disturbed. “It’s just an anniversary. Tomorrow, I’ll have accounting transfer you some money. You can pick out any gift you like.” Lily timidly peeked out from Ethan’s embrace, her voice trembling, thick with tears. “I’m so sorry… it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have called Mr. Hayes for help while he was in a meeting, ruining your anniversary…” “If you knew it would ruin it, why did you call?” My gaze, sharp as a blade, pierced Lily with not a hint of warmth. “Amelia!” Ethan’s voice suddenly rose, pulling Lily tightly behind him. His eyes, when he looked at me, were full of reproach and disappointment. “She’s just an innocent college student. What does she know of corporate schemes? Don’t look at her with that calculating gaze you cast on everyone!” Innocent? Calculating? Like a poison-tipped dagger, his words plunged into my heart, twisting cruelly. Seven years ago, I was also an innocent New York beauty pageant queen, with a promising future. Who drank herself sick, to the point of a stomach hemorrhage, at a dinner party, just to help him secure his first startup capital? Who walked alone into a negotiation room in the heart of Brooklyn’s underworld to appease his enemies? All my grit, all the blood on my hands, all the schemes in my mind, were for the sole purpose of keeping him pure and untouched on his throne. But now, he found me dirty. My hands, hanging by my sides, slowly clenched. My neatly manicured nails dug deep into my palms, breaking the skin, bringing a sharp pang of pain. I fought back the coppery taste of blood in my throat, forcing a smile that was both utterly cold and strikingly beautiful. “Fine. If Mr. Hayes intends to play the hero, I won’t intrude.” I turned and walked back into the rain, my spine ramrod straight, without looking back. The cold rain lashed mercilessly against my face. I closed my eyes, letting the icy water wash over my eyelids. Seven years of companionship, ultimately no match for the pristine face of a newcomer. I should have known. Birds and fish, after all, were never meant to cross paths.

Amelia’s POV New York media has always been sharper than a vulture’s eye. Overnight, the headlines of all major entertainment and financial sections had shifted direction. Hayes Heir Plays Hero! Mysterious Pure College Student Rises, Ex-Beauty Queen Amelia’s Seven-Year High-Society Dream Shattered! The accompanying photo was from the previous night at the precinct entrance: Ethan carefully shielding Lily as she got into the car. The photo was beautifully composed. In the pouring rain, the man’s tall frame created a shelter from the wind and rain for the girl. I sat in the Vice President’s office on the top floor of Hayes Enterprises, expressionlessly tossing the newspaper into the shredder. Accompanied by the machine’s dull grinding sound, the jarring headlines turned into a pile of meaningless waste paper. The frosted glass door of my office opened, and Ethan walked in, carrying the lingering chill of the outside. He glanced at the shredder, his brow slightly furrowed. “The media is writing nonsense. I’ll have the PR department suppress the buzz. Don’t go making trouble for Lily.” My hand, as I flipped through documents, froze. I looked up, meeting the eyes of the man I had lived with for seven years, my gaze filled with absurd mockery. “Ethan, you came to my office this early just to warn me not to touch your mistress?” “Amelia, do we really have to speak to each other with such sarcastic tones?” Ethan walked to my desk, leaning his hands on the surface, looking down at me with a hint of pressure in his voice. “Lily is very sensitive. She can’t handle the dirty tactics of your circles. Last night’s incident scared her badly, so I plan to have her move into the hillside mansion for a while. It has the most robust security system.” The hillside mansion. It felt like someone had punched me hard in the chest. That was the first home Ethan and I had chosen together, furnished ourselves, after he made his first fortune. Every piece of furniture in it, even every white rose in the garden, I had personally tended to. He once held me by the mansion’s floor-to-ceiling windows, promising me that it was a safe haven meant only for the two of us, where no one else could intrude. “You’re moving her into the hillside mansion?” “She’s just staying temporarily.” Ethan avoided my overly clear gaze, turning to look out the window. “You own many properties; you can move into the spacious apartment in Long Island for a while. Lily is timid. She’ll feel uncomfortable if you’re there.” To make another woman comfortable, he was kicking me, the actual mistress of the house, out? I felt as though my body was submerged in ice water, so cold I almost trembled. I stared at the man before me. His features were still deep and handsome, but his eyes, which once held only me, were now filled with a blatant favoritism and protectiveness for another woman. “What if I don’t move?” Ethan’s face instantly darkened, his voice taking on the coldness of a superior. “Amelia, stop being childish. You weren’t this unreasonable before. Lily isn’t like you; you’re strong enough. What storms haven’t you weathered in the business world? But she can’t. She’s a blank slate; even a slight gust of wind could tear her apart. I have to protect her.” Because she was strong, I should concede; because I had weathered storms, I deserved to be stripped of my sanctuary. My heart, at that moment, was crushed into dust, inch by agonizing inch. I suddenly felt that these seven years of my youth were a colossal joke. I molded myself into a strong woman to protect him, only for that strength to become his reason to discard me. “Fine, I’ll move.” I lowered my eyelids, concealing the desolate emptiness in my eyes. “Ethan, I’ll leave the keys to the hillside mansion at the door tonight. I hope you both enjoy your stay.” That evening, I packed all my personal belongings in just an hour. There wasn’t much, actually. Over the years, I had poured all my energy into expanding Hayes Enterprises. The personal items belonging to me in the mansion were pathetically few. As I dragged my suitcase to the door, the code lock chimed. Ethan walked in with Lily. Lily wore a new pair of pink bunny slippers. Seeing my suitcase, her eyes instantly reddened. “Are you really leaving? Or maybe I should leave instead. I don’t want to ruin your relationship because of me…” “If you didn’t want to ruin it, you shouldn’t have stepped through this door in the first place.” I cut her off coldly, not bothering to spare her an extra glance. “Amelia!” Ethan roared, pulling Lily into his embrace, glaring at me. “Why are you yelling at her? I’m the one who asked her to come!” I didn’t look at them again. I placed the keys, which had absorbed my warmth for seven years, on the shoe cabinet by the door. “Ethan, I don’t want this house anymore.” I pushed open the door and walked into the dense New York night without a backward glance. It was stormy, but I didn’t carry an umbrella. Because no one would shelter me from the rain anymore.

Amelia’s POV After moving out of the hillside mansion, I threw all my energy into endless work. I tried to numb myself with hectic international meetings and high-intensity negotiations. The moment my brain stopped functioning for a second, a dull, sharp ache would throb in my heart, reminding me how ridiculous those seven years of sacrifice had been. A week later, New York’s annual top-tier charity gala was held at the Waldorf Astoria. As one of the owners of Hayes Enterprises, I walked the red carpet alone, dressed in a black velvet haute couture gown. I was still stunningly beautiful. The cool detachment in my eyes added an aura of untouchable regality. The media and socialites who had come to witness my downfall instinctively silenced themselves the moment they met my icy gaze. However, as the gala was halfway through and a graceful waltz had just begun, a hushed stir suddenly rippled through the crowd. The heavy doors of the ballroom were pushed open by a waiter. Ethan, in a tailored tuxedo, entered with a figure draped in pure white: Lily Sterling. Lily was clearly attending such a high-society event for the first time. She clung nervously to Ethan, like an ugly duckling who had stumbled into a flock of swans. But what truly made all the socialites gasp in awe, and even green with envy, was the diamond necklace around Lily’s neck. The Tears of Victoria! Three years ago, Ethan had acquired that peerless pink diamond at Sotheby’s auction house for an exorbitant price. At the time, all of New York’s media had widely reported that it was Ethan’s chosen accessory for my wedding gown. My hand, holding the champagne flute, trembled violently, nearly spilling the golden liquid. Ethan had once personally placed that necklace around my neck. It was on the eve of Hayes Enterprises’ greatest crisis. He had wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressing the cold diamonds against my collarbone, his voice hoarse as he promised: “Amelia, once we overcome this hurdle, once Hayes Enterprises rings the bell for its IPO, I’ll marry you with this necklace.” Now, Hayes Enterprises had long gone public. The grand bell-ringing ceremony was still vivid in my memory. Yet, that necklace, laden with his promise, now adorned another woman’s neck. “Amelia, Mr. Hayes is really playing favorites, isn’t he?” A rival, who had always been at odds with me, chuckled lightly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “He spent so much money on you back then, and now he’s given it to some nobody with no background. Men, you know, they still prefer innocent, pure, and easy-to-control women.” I ignored the cold taunts of others. My gaze cut through the bustling crowd, fixing directly on Ethan. Ethan seemed to sense my stare. He turned, and our eyes met across the room. A flicker of awkwardness crossed Ethan’s eyes, but he didn’t walk over. Instead, he leaned down and whispered something to Lily. Lily followed Ethan’s gaze and saw me. She bit her lip, then surprisingly, took Ethan’s hand and, weaving through the crowd, walked towards me. “Amelia.” Lily lowered her head slightly, but her hand unconsciously caressed the pink diamond around her neck, her posture timid yet radiating a hidden smug satisfaction. “This necklace… Ethan said my dress was too plain tonight, so he lent it to me. Please don’t misunderstand, I don’t mean anything by it.” Her words perfectly balanced feigned innocence with blatant showing off. Looking at her pitiful act, a wave of visceral disgust churned in my stomach. I looked at Ethan coldly, my eyes full of derision. “Mr. Hayes’ taste is certainly unique. Pairing a priceless heirloom worth millions with a simple white dress doesn’t that seem like a waste?” “Amelia, watch your tone!” Ethan’s face darkened, and he instinctively shielded Lily behind him. “Lily doesn’t understand these luxury items. I insisted she wear it. Don’t be so aggressive here just because of a necklace.” “I’m aggressive?” I let out a bitter laugh, but my eyes stung. “Ethan, do you have any idea what this necklace means to me?” “That’s all in the past.” Ethan cut me off coldly, his eyes cold and rational. “You have everything now. Shares in Hayes Enterprises, status, wealth, reputation. Why do you insist on fighting Lily over a necklace? She has nothing. She only has me.” His words struck me like a lightning bolt. I had everything? I gave up my own life, stained my hands with corporate schemes and dirt, earned myself a bad reputation, only to be dismissed with a casual “she has everything”? I looked at the man before me, the man I had cultivated with seven years of my youth, and suddenly felt utterly alienated, so much so that it terrified me. “Fine, very well.” I nodded slowly, draining the champagne in my hand. The cold liquid slid down my throat, burning like a knife. “Since Mr. Hayes is so generous, consider this necklace my welcome gift to Ms. Sterling. After all, I find things used by others… dirty.” With that, I placed the empty glass heavily on a waiter’s tray and turned, walking out of the ballroom with resolute pride. I didn’t cry. My tears had long since run dry in the countless dark nights I spent taking bullets for him.

Amelia’s POV My origins in the New York business world had always been a mystery no one dared to pry into. The media only knew that I grew up in an orphanage, won a beauty pageant with my stunning looks, and then plunged into Ethan’s business empire. But only I knew that for over two decades, I had never given up searching for my birth parents. The day after the charity gala, my long-term private investigator finally delivered a thick DNA test report and background check to my desk. The report showed that I wasn’t an abandoned orphan at all, but the daughter of the prominent Boston Sterling family, lost for twenty-two years. Yet, fate seemed to have a cruel sense of humor. Attached to the last page of the investigation report was a recent family photo of the Sterling household. In the photo, my parents were celebrating a girl’s birthday, their faces beaming with loving smiles. The girl, wearing a crown and smiling with innocent joy, was Lily Sterling. Lily Sterling, the replacement child adopted from an orphanage by the Sterling family, who were heartbroken after losing their daughter. The woman who stole my man had also brazenly occupied my rightful life. I stared at the report, my fingers trembling slightly. An indescribable sense of absurdity enveloped me. I didn’t contact the Sterling family immediately. Instead, clutching the report, I drove to Ethan’s exclusive club. Deep down, I still held a faint, fragile glimmer of hope. I wanted to tell him that I had found my family, that I was no longer the destitute orphan. I wanted to see if, upon learning the truth, he would show even a trace of emotion. The club’s corridors were thickly carpeted, my footsteps barely audible. As I reached the door of Ethan’s private VIP suite, it was slightly ajar, and Lily’s suppressed, tearful sobs drifted out. “Ethan, I’m so scared… The Sterling family is looking for their biological daughter from years ago. I heard they already have a lead. If that girl comes back, Mom and Dad won’t love me anymore. I’m just a replacement; I’ll lose everything…” I stopped, my hand frozen on the doorknob. Then came Ethan’s deep, gentle, and utterly doting voice, filled with boundless indulgence. “Don’t be afraid, Lily. With me, no one can take what’s yours.” “But what if their biological daughter tries to kick me out? What if she hates me?” Lily cried piteously. “Then I’ll make sure she can’t survive in the entire business world.” Ethan’s voice suddenly turned cold, laced with a chilling cruelty. “I don’t care whether the Sterlings agree to let their biological daughter come home. But on my turf, as long as I’m here, you are the Sterling family’s only heiress. Anyone who dares to make you suffer will pay the price. Even the Sterling’s biological daughter.” Outside the door, I felt as if plunged into an ice bath. A chill shot from the soles of my feet to the top of my head, freezing my entire body. I looked down at the crumpled DNA report in my hand, suddenly finding it incredibly laughable. I had foolishly hoped to share the joy of finding my family with him, yet he had already preemptively warned me off, his own biological daughter, for his mistress’s sake. It turned out the boundary between love and no love could be so stark. For Lily Sterling, he could relentlessly destroy anyone, including Amelia, the woman who had helped him build his career and taken a knife for him. I didn’t push the door open. I stood quietly outside, listening to the man’s tender words to another woman within. Then, slowly, I tore the DNA test report in my hand into shreds. White paper flakes drifted from my fingers, like a silent snowfall, burying my last shred of hope and weakness. I turned to leave, my spine still straight. But the heart that had loved Ethan for seven years had, at that moment, completely stopped beating. From now on, I needed no love, no family.

Amelia’s POV Two weeks later, the Sterling family officially entered the New York market, hosting a grand celebration gala at The Plaza Hotel. The Sterlings grandly announced that they had found their long-lost daughter, but to protect her privacy, her identity would remain undisclosed for now. At the same time, Daniel Sterling emphatically stated to the media that their adopted daughter, Lily Sterling, remained the Sterling family’s most beloved daughter, her status unshakeable. As an indispensable figure in the New York business world, I received an invitation. Dressed in a fiery red gown, I appeared at the gala, coolly stunning. No one knew that I was the true protagonist of this evening, the daughter deliberately hidden, even guarded against, by my own birth parents. In the hotel’s garden, the massive outdoor pool shimmered, reflecting New York’s dazzling neon lights. I stood by the poolside, holding a wine glass, trying to suppress the churning turmoil in my chest. Faint footsteps approached from behind, accompanied by a cloyingly sweet perfume. “Amelia, what a coincidence.” Lily, in a custom-made princess dress, walked up to me like a triumphant swan. The Lily of this moment no longer exhibited the timidity and innocence she showed Ethan. Her eyes held an undisguised malice and smug satisfaction. “Do you need something?” I couldn’t even bother to spare her a glance, my eyes still fixed on the distant night skyline. Lily leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper meant only for us. “Amelia, I actually saw the Sterling family’s investigation report a long time ago. I know you’re the real Sterling daughter who was lost.” My hand, holding the wine glass, paused slightly. I turned, looking at her coldly. “But so what?” Lily’s smile was vicious and unrestrained. “Mom and Dad chose not to reveal you to spare my feelings. And Ethan… he even personally warned the Sterling family that if you dared to come back and bully me, he would cut off all cooperation with them.” “Amelia, so what if you’re high-born? The man you loved for seven years is now my protector. You’re destined to be a pitiful soul no one wants.” Looking at Lily’s arrogant face, I felt no anger, only a bleak desolation in my heart. “Are you done?” My tone was indifferent, as if I were watching a clown. “If you’re finished, leave.” Lily’s eyes flashed, and a strange smile curved her lips. She suddenly lunged backward. “Ah!” With a piercing scream, Lily fell into the deep pool, splashing a huge amount of water. “Lily!” A furious roar erupted from nearby. Ethan rushed over like a madman, not even taking off his suit jacket, and unhesitatingly leaped into the pool, pulling the flailing Lily to the surface. The commotion drew all the guests, including my parents, who rushed over upon hearing the news. Ethan carried a soaking wet, shivering Lily ashore. Lily immediately clung to his neck, sobbing uncontrollably. “Ethan, I’m so scared… I just wanted to say hello to Amelia, why did she push me down…” Ethan’s head snapped up, his dark eyes burning with fury. He stared at me like an enemy. “Amelia! You’re utterly insane!” Ethan gritted his teeth. “Are you using those dirty tricks from the business world on Lily now? What did she ever do to you to deserve such malice?” “I didn’t push her.” I stood ramrod straight, my voice clear and cold, without a trace of panic. Slap! A sharp slap cracked through the night air, interrupting my defense. It wasn’t Ethan who slapped me, but a furious Mrs. Sterling, my birth mother. Mrs. Sterling trembled with rage, pointing a finger at my nose and cursing. “You evil woman! Lily is so kind, how dare you push her! I’m warning you, if anything happens to Lily, our Sterling family will not let you get away with it!” I turned my head. Five red marks rapidly appeared on my fair cheek, bringing an unbearable pang of pain. I looked at my birth mother, glaring at me, then at Ethan, who was tightly embracing Lily, his eyes filled with disgust for me. Everyone present was condemning me, insulting me. I stood alone, like a monster abandoned by the world. “Ethan,” I suddenly smiled, a beautiful, heartbreaking smile, my eyes filled with shattered despair. “In your eyes, I’m such a monster, capable of murder out of jealousy, aren’t I?” Ethan looked at my smile, then coldly turned his gaze away. “You disappoint me greatly.” “Understood, then.” I nodded, making no further attempt to defend myself. I turned, my three-inch heels clicking, walking out of the Sterling family’s gala step by step, proud and resolute. The night wind blew, and my slender silhouette seemed as if it could be swallowed whole by this cold world at any moment.

Amelia’s POV After returning from the Sterling family gala, I fell seriously ill. The high fever plunged me into nightmares night after night, filled with Ethan’s cold, disgusted gaze and my own mother’s sharp, decisive slap. The first thing I did after the fever broke was drive back to the hillside mansion. I had left something there. It was an old wooden box containing a pocket watch my foster mother had left me before she passed away. It was the only keepsake proving my identity, and for over twenty years, it had been my sole source of comfort during countless unbearable nights. Pushing open the mansion door, I saw that the interior furnishings had completely changed. The minimalist, dark-toned furniture I had carefully chosen was all replaced with a pink, French country style. My presence had been completely erased from here. Even the air was filled with an unfamiliar, sweet scent. I walked straight to the master bedroom on the second floor. Pushing open the door, I saw Lily sitting at the dressing table, toying with that very pocket watch. “Who allowed you to touch my things?” I strode over, my eyes as cold and sharp as daggers. Lily jumped in fright. Seeing me, a flicker of panic crossed her eyes, but she quickly composed herself. “Amelia, you’ve already moved out. Naturally, everything here belongs to Ethan. I thought this pocket watch was quite distinctive, so I took it out to look at it.” “Give it back to me!” I reached out, my voice chillingly cold. Just then, steady footsteps echoed from outside the door. Ethan walked in. Seeing me, his brows immediately furrowed, his voice filled with impatience. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you leave the keys?” “I came for my mother’s keepsake.” I pointed at the pocket watch in Lily’s hand, my gaze fixed on it. Ethan glanced at the worn-out watch, irritably pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s just an old watch. If Lily likes it, let her keep it. Name your price, and I’ll compensate you double.” An old watch? Compensate? My heart felt like it was being fed into a meat grinder, the pain so intense that even my breaths tasted of blood. “Ethan, that’s the only keepsake my foster mother left me! It’s something I’ve worn since childhood!” My voice finally cracked, imbued with an undeniable sorrow and despair. “In your eyes, everything can be measured by money, everything can be given to her, is that right?!” Ethan’s tone softened slightly. “Lily has been frightened recently. She feels the pocket watch brings her peace. You have so many top-tier jewels; why bother fighting her over this?” “Ethan, since Amelia is so reluctant to part with this watch, I’ll just give it back to her.” Lily put on a wronged expression, stood up, and extended the pocket watch towards me. However, just as my fingers were about to touch the watch, Lily’s fingers suddenly loosened. A sharp clink rang out. A crisp shattering sound echoed in the quiet bedroom. The pocket watch, which had been with me for over twenty years, hit the marble floor. Its glass face shattered completely. The atmosphere instantly turned tense. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! It slipped!” Lily cried out, then turned and hid in Ethan’s arms. I stood frozen, staring down at the watch on the floor. It was my only connection to the past, my only source of solace during those difficult years. Now, the watch was broken… Just like my feelings for Ethan, it was shattered into a million pieces. I slowly knelt, reaching out a trembling hand, picking up the watch fragments one by one. The sharp glass edges cut my fingers, and blood dripped onto the white floor. “Amelia…” Ethan looked at my bleeding hand, trying to reach for me. “Don’t touch me!” I fiercely swatted his hand away. I looked up. My eyes, once full of love, now held nothing but cold emptiness. “Ethan, in seven years, even if I raised a dog, I would have developed feelings for it.” I tightly clutched the blood-stained watch fragments, slowly rising to my feet. “You’re not just blind, you’re heartless. What we had, it ends here.” I didn’t spare him another glance, walking past him and out of this mansion that had buried all my youth and love.

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