On our tenth anniversary, my fiancée was on a business trip overseas with her junior assistant. I called her a dozen times. No answer. Almost at that exact moment, the assistant’s social media account lit up with a new post. It was a video. In the background, I could see my fiancée, her back to the camera, slipping off her bra. The smooth, tense lines of her shoulders and back were stark under the dim, moody lighting. The caption he wrote: “Seeing the world with the top lawyer. She teaches me business by day, and… life lessons by night.” I didn’t rage. I didn’t panic. I simply liked the post and left a comment: “Keep up the hard work! Maybe you’ll get a ‘promotion’ out of it.” 1 The phone, silent for so long, finally rang with an incoming call from her. The shrill ring cut through the silence, and then came Babara’s voice, tight with a fury she couldn’t contain. “Robert, what the hell is with the passive-aggressive crap?” “You’ve really pissed Paul off!” “Seriously? The kid was just making a joke, a meme!” “You were young once, too. Why can’t you take a fucking joke?” The accusations came like a volley of gunfire, one after another. She didn’t once stop to wonder why I, who had long stopped chasing after her, would have called over a dozen times in a single hour. I held the phone away from my ear, my own voice unnervingly calm. “Let’s break up.” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. Then, her tone shifted, becoming cool and measured. “Over a joke video?” “Yes.” “Robert, this is the third time you’ve tried to break up with me in less than six months. Aren’t you afraid I’ll actually say yes one of these days?” Babara sighed, a sound heavy with exasperation. “I know you’re insecure. You’re not a kid anymore, and you’re always worried some younger guy is going to steal me away.” “But you need to get this straight. First, he’s not interested in me like that. And second, do you really think I’m that kind of irresponsible person?” “So, tell me. What is it you want this time?” “Fine. When I get back, I’ll propose to you publicly. We’ll get married over the holidays. Will that make you happy?” Without another word, I hung up. We had been together for ten years, from nineteen to twenty-nine. We fell in love in the prime of our youth and clawed our way through the hard times hand-in-hand. Now, she was a success, a partner at a top-tier law firm. Everyone said I was lucky, that I’d picked a winner, a “rising star.” And Babara was absolutely certain that every time I mentioned breaking up, it was just a strategic retreat—a way to get something more from her. I had already tried to end things twice before, each time because she let Paul cross the line. And each time, after a period of cold silence, it was Babara who backed down and made peace. The first time, she took a ten-day vacation to go with me to my hometown and visit my parents. The second time, she bought me a Ferrari and a villa she called our “future marital home.” This time, she thought I was pressuring her into marriage. She had no idea that every single time, I had genuinely wanted to walk away. But this time, I wouldn’t be turning back. The breakup was just the final step. I had already laid the groundwork for a new chapter in my life. A new job, a new city—they were all waiting for me. I was only waiting for her to return because a decade is a long time. Even an ending deserves a proper, resounding close. 2 Babara walked through the door looking utterly exhausted. She dropped her suitcase in the entryway and collapsed onto the sofa, her voice raspy. “Robert, did you make the soothing tea?” “My throat’s been killing me for the last two weeks overseas. It’s been absolute misery.” She suffered from chronic pharyngitis. Over the years, I had experimented endlessly to create a custom herbal blend that worked better for her than any medicine. In the past, I would have been fussing over her, bringing her the freshly brewed tea and watching her drink it down. But now, my eyes didn’t leave my computer screen. I didn’t move a muscle. Babara looked surprised. She pulled a small jewelry box from her pocket, opened it, and held it out to me. “Robert, your tenth-anniversary gift. What do you think? Do you like it?” When I didn’t react, she took the ring out. “Try it on. It’s beautiful!” It wasn’t a wedding band, as I might have once imagined, but a small, delicate, decorative pinky ring. I glanced at it, then went back to clicking my mouse. Babara’s patience wore thin. She tossed the ring onto the table. “Are you still pissed off about that video?” “I took him on the trip for work. It’s not like I forgot our anniversary. I bought you a gift. What more do you want?” I looked at her, my expression calm. “Did you pick it out?” A flicker of guilt crossed her eyes, but her voice rose in defiance. “Paul picked it out. He said a proper engagement ring needs to be custom-made ahead of time, and that for a simple gift, a trendy pinky ring was more stylish.” “I don’t know anything about men’s accessories. The sales associate said it was the latest design from a luxury brand. Is there something wrong with that?” I held out my right hand. “Is that so? Then put it on me.” Babara picked up the ring. The moment she tried to slide it onto my little finger, her face changed. Against my pale, slender hand, the knuckle of my little finger was grotesquely twisted. The ring stopped right there, a mockery. She froze, her lips parting silently. I let out a cold laugh and pulled my hand back. She had forgotten. Babara had forgotten that my pinky finger was permanently damaged because an injury had gone untreated. She’d forgotten I couldn’t wear a pinky ring at all. She forgot so quickly. Even though I got that injury saving her. When the car hit, I had thrown myself into her, shoving her out of the way. My little finger was crushed in the process. We were dirt poor back then, six months behind on rent, on the verge of being thrown out onto the street. I took the eight thousand dollars from the settlement with the driver, paid a year’s rent, and used the rest to buy her a decent suit for her job interviews. It wasn’t until I started crying out in pain at night that Babara realized I’d only had it set in a cheap clinic, a shoddy plaster cast instead of proper medical treatment. That night, we clung to each other and cried in that cramped basement apartment. She told me she would love me, cherish me, for the rest of her life. Turns out, her “forever” didn’t even last a decade. 3 The sound of the keypad lock at the entryway beeped, and the door opened softly. Paul tiptoed inside. He froze when he saw the two of us. “Oh, Robert… you’re home,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He looked instantly uncomfortable, as if suddenly realizing how out of place his entrance was. “Babara left her laptop in the car. I thought she’d be sleeping off her jet lag, so I didn’t want to knock and wake her…” I stared at the boy, who looked on the verge of tears, and my voice was ice. “You seem to know that passcode pretty well. I’m guessing this isn’t the first time you’ve let yourself in?” Paul’s voice trembled, but his face was set in a stubborn, unyielding expression. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Robert. I’ve only been here a few times. Babara gave me the code so I could grab some work files for her.” “I know you don’t like me, but there’s nothing going on between Babara and me. We’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. I’m her assistant. It’s my job to run errands for her.” I couldn’t help but laugh, a harsh, bitter sound. “Her ‘job’? The ‘assistant’ who brings her ginger tea for her cramps at midnight? The one who plays hero when there’s a cockroach in the apartment? The one who ‘coincidentally’ shows up wherever we are on a date? You’re a damn dedicated assistant, I’ll give you that!” “And you have the nerve to talk to me about being ‘ashamed’? You take videos of your boss undressing and then follow her home the second she lands? You’re a real piece of work.” Paul’s eyes welled up with tears, as if he were the victim of some great injustice. He looked pleadingly at Babara. When she remained silent, he finally turned away, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. “Robert, that’s enough,” Babara said. She walked over to Paul, gently patting his back as she frowned at me. “Was it really necessary to be so nasty? He was just being thoughtful and dropping off my laptop. I’ll tell him to be more careful in the future.” She turned to Paul, her voice a soft reprimand. “You, too. Why are you so reckless? Go on, apologize to Robert.” “I did nothing wrong,” Paul sobbed. “I was just worried about you. You’ve been working so hard these past two weeks. I was just afraid of waking you.” I’d had enough. I pulled out my phone. “You entered a private residence without permission, and you think you did nothing wrong? Since your lawyer boss clearly hasn’t taught you the law, maybe the police can.” “Stop it!” Babara strode over and snatched the phone from my hand. “Don’t take it too far, Robert. You’re acting like some irrational brute. If anyone here doesn’t understand the law, it’s you. This house is in my name. He can come if I say so.” The room fell so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Paul straightened his back, shooting me a triumphant look. I stared at Babara, unblinking. We went to the same law school, the same program. The whole reason she started chasing me was that she could never beat me in a debate. And now, in her eyes, I was an “irrational brute who doesn’t understand the law”? Suddenly, the face I had looked at for ten years became foreign, blurry. Meeting my gaze, a flash of panic crossed Babara’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a cool composure. “Robert, all I meant was, let’s not make a big deal out of nothing.” I grabbed my bag and laughed softly. “You’re right. This is your house. I’m the one who should be leaving.” Paul blocked my way. “Robert, don’t be like this. I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” “If you storm out like this, she’s just going to have to chase after you.” “Babara is exhausted. I’ll leave right now. Just… stop fighting. Please, just let her get some rest, okay?” He gripped my arm, his nails digging sharply into my skin. I wrenched my arm free and threw a punch. There was a dull thud as he staggered backward and fell. “Robert!” Behind me, Babara took two steps toward me before Paul’s cry of pain pulled her back. I slammed the door behind me and didn’t look back. 4 In the garage, Babara’s Cullinan was parked next to my Ferrari. The passenger seat of the Cullinan was littered with cartoon accessories. There was even a custom-made plaque stuck to the dash: “Assistant Paul’s Special Seat.” Babara had just made partner when she bought this car. She was on top of the world that day, insisting on putting the car in my name and excitedly taking me for a drive out of the city. My back was acting up, and I’d wanted to put a lumbar pillow in the passenger seat. She’d looked at the cutesy cartoon pillow and laughed helplessly. “Robert, having something like that in here will make clients question my professionalism.” When had her “professionalism” made room for an entire collection of cartoon junk? Principles, it seemed, were made to be broken. An old love is no match for a new flame. I turned and got into the Ferrari. As I pulled onto the street, it hit me that in this entire sprawling city, I had nowhere to go. My hometown was a thousand miles away, a small town nestled in the mountains. For years, my entire life had revolved around the law firm, around Babara. Outside of my colleagues and her, I didn’t have a single close friend to confide in. I had broken my parents’ hearts when I refused to come home after graduation, insisting on staying in the city to help Babara build her dream. Three years ago, an unexpected pregnancy. It was a critical time for the firm; we simply didn’t have the means to get married and have a child. We made the painful decision to terminate. My mom traveled a thousand miles to take care of her during her recovery. Seeing how pale and frail Babara was, my mom had cried. “Robert,” she’d said, “one day, you’re going to regret this.” The miscarriage took a huge toll on her. Her health faltered, and she couldn’t handle the intense demands of both our home and the firm. I quit my job to take care of her full-time and never went back. After leaving the firm, I lost touch with my old colleagues, too. I drove until I was out of the city, pulling over on a deserted roadside, my mind a blank. Should I have regrets? Regret for holding a hand at nineteen and refusing to let go, even as we bled for it? I unconsciously rubbed my deformed little finger, unable to find an answer. A message from Babara popped up on my phone. “I sent Paul home. And I changed the passcode. It won’t happen again.” “I would never cheat on you. And he’s not that kind of person. You’re overreacting. He cried for a long time. He feels terrible.” A notification followed: a bank transfer of $52,000. “You’ve been in a bad mood lately. Go take a trip, clear your head. As soon as I’m past this busy period, we’ll set a wedding date. Now, can you finally relax?” Her arrogance practically leaped off the screen. When did marriage become a gift she was bestowing upon me? A bitter smile touched my lips. I remembered a party not long ago. Coming back from the restroom, I overheard a mutual friend ask her: “Babara, I heard you bought a lakeside villa for your marital home. I’m so jealous. Career, success, and you’ve got your handsome man.” Someone else chimed in, a little flippantly, “Seriously though, with Babara’s status now, she could probably date a movie star. It’s just because she’s so devoted that she’s sticking with the same guy!” Babara’s low laugh. “It’s been ten years. Robert suffered so much with me. If I didn’t marry him, I’d be a monster.” Ten years. Marrying me had become her duty. I was no longer the love of her life, just a heavy burden. I stared at the phone, not accepting the money, not replying. Then, a message came from another number: “Junior, you told me a few days ago you were coming to Australia to help me out. You weren’t just messing with me, were you?” “Babara was just in our old alumni group chat asking about wedding planners. You two are getting married? Are you sure you can handle a long-distance relationship?” I smiled softly and typed back: “We broke up. And besides, when have I ever gone back on my word? My visa is already approved. Get ready to conquer the world.” 5 The next few days were a blur of preparations for my move. Babara sent me only one message during that time: “Come back when you’ve cooled off.” Paul, on the other hand, was living his best life online. His feed was a constant stream of updates, and Babara was in almost every single one. “The top lawyer treated me to a Michelin-star dinner. Fine, I forgive her. ~” “So thoughtful, driving me all the way home in the Cullinan on a rainy day. I really want to just take her home with me, but alas, my cat can’t do backflips!” “The look in her eyes tells me that if she cast everything aside and followed her heart, I would be her one and only choice.” … He was trying to provoke me, but he had no idea that I simply didn’t care anymore. The day before I was due to leave the country, Paul called. His voice was cold, defiant. “Babara was in a car accident. She’s asking for you. I’ve sent you the address. Whether you come or not is up to you.” After a moment’s thought, I decided to go. I pushed open the door to the hospital room and came face-to-face with Paul, who was just walking out of the bathroom, flicking water from his hands. A malicious smile spread across his face as his eyes darted to the floor. Following his gaze, I noticed several used, crumpled tissues tossed on the ground. The air in the room was thick with a cloying, musky scent. Paul shook his wrist and let out a soft “Oops.” From behind the curtain, I heard Babara’s familiar, post-coital rasp. “What’s wrong, Paul?” “Nothing,” Paul replied, his eyes locking with mine, his smile bright and triumphant. “Honey,” he cooed, his voice just loud enough for me to hear. “Wasn’t I amazing? So much better than your fiancé, right?” “Yes…” came the muffled reply. He just stood there, tilting his head slightly in a gesture of pure, taunting defiance. I cracked a small smile and turned to leave. Another second in that room would have felt dirty. Some people don’t deserve a clean break.

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The day our vacation started. I’d been wrestling with my curling iron for a solid hour, and my hair was still a mess of sad, uneven waves. Seeing my struggle, my boyfriend, Ryan, took the hot tool from my hand with the ease of a professional. He sectioned my hair, wrapped each strand around the barrel, and had a perfect cascade of curls finished in under fifteen minutes. He gently combed through the waves with his fingers, then frowned, muttering to himself, “Why does this look… different?” I lifted my head, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “What do you think is different?” I asked softly. He paused, a flicker of memory in his eyes. “The curve… it should be wider, I think.” 1 The air went still. The heat from the curling iron beside my ear seemed to sear its way straight into my heart. My fingers tightened around the comb, my throat suddenly tight. “Have you done this for someone else before?” Ryan’s hand froze in mid-air. “Ding-a-ling-ling, it’s eight o’clock! Time to get a move on, Lucy-Goosey!” The custom alarm he’d set for me shattered the silence. Ryan flinched as if waking from a dream. His hand jerked, and the hot barrel of the curling iron nearly grazed my neck. He fumbled to turn off the alarm, his voice feigning a casual tone. “Oh, yeah. Back in college, I got roped into being a stagehand for the drama club…” “You know, helping the girls with their hair and makeup sometimes.” The explanation was plausible. Ryan was exactly the kind of dependable guy who’d get stuck with grunt work for a club. But for some reason, the unease in my chest crested into a tidal wave. “Oh, right,” I said with a small, tight smile. “You’ve still got the magic touch, even five years after graduation.” He let out a dry laugh and turned to grab the purse I’d laid out for the day. “I’ve pretty much forgotten it all.” “Come on, let’s go. If we don’t leave now, the lines at Disney will be insane.” I took a deep breath, watching him expertly pack my bag with compact powder, sunscreen, and tissues. He even found the exact shade of lipstick I’d mentioned off-handedly last night. I forced my brow to smooth. I had to be overthinking this. Thankfully, traffic was light, and we made it to the park before the massive crowds descended. I had been looking forward to this trip for three months, and the second we were through the gates, I was dragging Ryan around, demanding he take pictures of me. Ryan raised the camera. “Head a little to the left,” he directed. “Chin down, slightly. Don’t slouch.” Strangely, the woman in his photos today was stunning. The composition, the lighting, the angles—everything was perfect. He’d even learned how to use portrait mode to blur out the crowds. In the photos, my smile was radiant, but the hand scrolling through them began to tremble. In the five years we’d been together, Ryan had indulged my every whim except for one: photography. He always complained it was a hassle, and his pictures were consistently lazy and poorly framed. They say the person who loves you takes the best pictures of you. We’d fought about it more times than I could count. The anxiety from this morning, which I had tried so hard to suppress, came rushing back, heavy and suffocating. Could someone’s photography skills improve so drastically overnight? Noticing my darkening expression, Ryan asked softly, “What’s wrong, babe? You don’t like them? It’s my fault. We can try another spot, I can try again.” I shook my head, forcing down the sour knot in my stomach. I manufactured a smile. “No, they’re beautiful. I’m just not used to you making me look this good.” Ryan chuckled, ruffling my hair. “You were always complaining about my terrible photos. I actually took some lessons from a pro. What do you think? Big improvement, right?” I stared into his eyes. “Your teacher must be a miracle worker,” I said, my voice soft. “I tried to teach you for five years and got nowhere, but she gets through to you instantly.” Ryan froze for a second, then shrugged with his hands open. “Babe, she’s a professional. Besides, aren’t you happy? You always said I didn’t love you enough to capture your beauty. I guess this proves I do, right?” I don’t remember how I responded. The rest of the day passed in a numb haze. It wasn’t until we were back in the hotel that night that the one question I’d been avoiding consumed me. Who taught him? Ryan tossed his jacket and phone onto the bed the moment he walked in and headed straight for the shower. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his phone. After a few seconds, my trembling hand reached out and unlocked it. The passcode hadn’t changed. It was still my birthday. I swiped open the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. WhatsApp, call logs, messages… all clean. He’d even cleared his Uber Eats order history. Everything was flawless. Too flawless. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Just as I was about to put the phone back, my eyes caught his weather app. Orlando, FL: Sunny, 82°F Savannah, GA: Cloudy, 79°F Savannah? But we lived in New York. My fingers froze. My chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. Ryan had been to Savannah. Three months ago, for “work.” In that single, gut-wrenching second, I knew. Ryan was cheating on me. The water in the bathroom shut off. Ryan walked out, toweling his hair, and saw me holding his phone. He smiled. “How’s the inspection going? Find anything interesting?” His tone was so light, almost teasing, as if he was certain I’d find nothing. I forced the corners of my mouth up. “Just browsing.” He walked over, leaned down, and kissed my forehead, his damp hair brushing against my cheek. “Send me a few of the pictures from today. I want to post one.” I nodded, selecting a few and sending them over. He looked down at his phone, a smile playing on his lips as his fingers tapped the screen. “This one’s perfect.” I leaned over to look. It was a photo of my back as I stood under the fireworks, my curled hair cascading down. My style was so different from the straight hair I’d worn for years that from a distance, you could barely tell it was me. “I’m posting this one,” he said. I stared at his screen, my throat dry. “But… you can’t even see my face.” He didn’t look up. “It’s all about the vibe. It’s a great shot. Besides, all my friends know you’re my girlfriend.” A few minutes later, his Instagram was updated. The caption: “Showcasing what I’ve learned.” My heart shattered. He wasn’t posting it for me. He was posting it for the person who taught him photography. Later that night, tucked under the covers, I smothered my ragged sobs into the pillow. The tears that soaked the fabric were my only release. Over and over, one word echoed in my mind. Why? I had been betrayed. But why Ryan? Why the man who had pulled me from the depths of my despair? Why the man I had loved for five years? I wanted so desperately to lie to myself again. But it was impossible, not when the video of the two of them was still saved on my phone. 2 I barely slept. As dawn broke, painting the sky in pale shades of grey, Ryan was still fast asleep, his breathing even and deep. I slipped out of bed and walked to the window. The Orlando morning was cool and damp. I opened my phone and went to the single account Ryan followed on TikTok. Sometimes you have to marvel at technology. It knows not just big data, but the secrets of the human heart. I never used the app, yet the first video it ever pushed to my feed was proof of my boyfriend’s affair. I clicked on the girl’s profile. Her username was @CurlsAndClicks. Her profile picture was a backlit silhouette, her long, curly hair caught in the wind. I scrolled down, finding her very first video, posted on March 4th. In it, Ryan was standing under a massive, moss-draped oak tree in what looked like a park in Savannah. Sunlight dappled his shoulders through the leaves. He looked a little awkward, smiling at the camera, as a girl’s bright voice came from off-screen: “Come on, handsome, work with me! Just one shot!” So that’s how they met. She was a street photographer. That’s where Ryan learned his new skills. I stared at the screen. The ends of the girl’s hair, occasionally visible in the frame, were about the same length as mine, with a gentle curl. From a distance, she looked eerily similar to the silhouette in the photo he’d posted to his Instagram. So, when he posted that photo, was he thinking of her? I scrolled mechanically through her feed. There were seven videos featuring him in total. From March 1st to May 31st. I watched them hundreds of times, like a mini-series, witnessing their journey from strangers exchanging pleasantries to the easy intimacy of two people who know each other well. The last video was from the day before Ryan’s “business trip” ended. He was at a train station, looking down at her, his eyes filled with a tenderness that stabbed me in the heart. The girl’s voice was full of laughter. “Next time you see me, you better bring me a cheesecake from New York.” Ryan reached out and gently tucked a curl behind her ear. “I will,” he said softly. “And next time, I’ll style your hair even better for you.” His words from yesterday morning echoed in my ears: The curve… it should be wider, I think. So that was it. All the little details I had deliberately ignored over the past few months now flooded my mind. Ryan and I used to be inseparable. We’d video call on our lunch breaks and stay on the phone until we fell asleep. But ever since his trip to Savannah, my calls had started going unanswered more and more often. I told myself he was busy with work, but it only got worse after he came back. He, who used to hate texting, was now glued to his phone, a small smile constantly playing on his lips. When I asked who he was talking to, he wouldn’t even look up. “Just the project team. We’re finally making progress on the proposal.” I was happy for him at the time. We had started talking about getting married a year ago. I came from a single-parent family, and my mom had passed away, but Ryan’s parents adored me. All that was left was for him to propose. I waited and waited. What I got instead was him pulling away. He had rejected my advances three times since he got back from his trip. Each time, it was, “I’m sorry, Lucy, I’m just so swamped with work. Can we wait a few days?” Eventually, he stopped giving me the chance to even try, either falling asleep early or hiding away in his study. How pathetic. I’d actually booked a Botox consultation, thinking I’d lost my appeal. I even secretly saw a therapist, wondering if I was just being overly sensitive. Now I knew the truth. His heart had been occupied by someone else for a long time. I closed the video, took a deep breath, and opened a travel app. I quickly booked two train tickets to Savannah. Then, I turned, walked back to the bed, and gently shook Ryan’s shoulder. “Wake up. Change of plans.” He blinked his eyes open, his voice raspy. “…What?” “I want to go to Savannah.” His pupils contracted. He was instantly wide awake. “Savannah? Why the sudden change?” “Isn’t that where you were on your business trip for three months?” I tilted my head, my tone light and breezy. “I want to see it.” He shot up in bed, his brow furrowed, a machine-gun spray of objections firing from his lips. “But we’re not done in Orlando! We only spent one day at Disney!” “And you’ve always wanted to stay at the Grand Floridian! We waited a month for this reservation. It would be a shame to cancel.” “And what about that restaurant you’ve been dying to try…” “None of that matters anymore,” I interrupted, waving my phone. “A friend gave me two concert tickets. My favorite artist. It’s in Savannah.” His expression froze for a second, then visibly relaxed. “…A concert?” “Yep. They added a last-minute show. The tickets were impossible to get.” I stared into his eyes. “You don’t want to go with me?” “Of course I do!” he exclaimed, scrambling out of bed so quickly it was as if he was afraid I’d change my mind. “I’ll pack our bags right now.” I watched his hurried retreat, a corner of the wedding veil I’d packed peeking out of his suitcase. A slow smile spread across my face. “I’m looking forward to it, too.” 3 On the train to Savannah, Ryan was unusually busy, taking one call after another. He stepped out into the corridor to talk, away from me. I didn’t have the energy to care. The exhaustion from my sleepless night washed over me. In a drowsy haze, I thought I heard his voice. “Mom, yeah, change of plans… Yes, we’re going to Savannah instead…” The concert was the next day. By the time we checked into our hotel, it was already evening. Ryan put away our luggage and boiled some water, playing the part of the perfect boyfriend. I sat down at the vanity and deliberately pushed the curling iron towards him. “I want curls again tonight.” “My pleasure,” he said with a smile, taking it and expertly sectioning my hair. Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, dancing on his focused expression. As the steam from the hot iron rose between us, he suddenly spoke. “Lucy, after the concert tomorrow night…” “Hm?” “…I have a surprise for you.” The tips of his ears turned a faint red, and he quickly changed the subject. “All done. What do you think? Do you like it?” I examined my reflection from all angles. It was uncanny. It looked more and more like hers. The curve of the waves was identical to the girl’s in the video. I nodded. “Your skills are getting seriously good.” “By the way,” I said casually, applying my lipstick, “I hired a street photographer for tonight. The city is supposed to be beautiful at night. I want to get some couples photos.” “Great idea!” His eyes lit up, and he picked up his camera, mimicking a shot. “Maybe I can steal a few tricks from them.” Seeing the smile on his lips, I mirrored it with my own. “You’d better pay close attention, then.” 4 The riverfront in Savannah was bustling with tourists as evening fell. I clung affectionately to Ryan’s arm. When the familiar, curly-haired figure appeared at our designated meeting spot, I felt the man beside me go completely rigid. “Hi!” I waved enthusiastically. “You must be Kathy, right?” 5 The girl’s smile froze the moment she saw Ryan. The two of them stood as if petrified, the very air around them seeming to stop. “What’s wrong?” I tilted my head, my face a mask of confusion. “You two look like you’ve seen a ghost… Do you know each other?” “No!” Ryan snapped back to reality, his voice an octave too high. “We don’t!” The girl—Kathy—turned deathly pale, her fingers clutching the strap of her camera. I let go of Ryan’s arm and stepped forward to link my arm with hers. “You’re so pretty! And our hair is almost the same! Did you curl it yourself? You’re so talented.” “I’m hopeless at it. My boyfriend always has to do it for me. He’s amazing at it.” One of my sentences must have flipped a switch. Kathy’s eyes instantly welled with tears, but she forced herself to speak. “Really? It looks… beautiful.” “Are you… ready? We can start whenever you are.” Throughout the entire photoshoot, Ryan’s expression grew more and more strained. I, on the other hand, was having the time of my life, pulling him into one pose after another. The more intimate our poses became, the slower her shutter clicked. “Are we done?” she finally asked, her voice choked with emotion. “I’m… I’m not feeling my best today…” “What’s wrong?” I asked with feigned concern. She shot a panicked glance at Ryan, who quickly looked away. “I just… broke up with someone. I’m sorry. There’s no charge for today.” “He’s a dog,” I said, patting her shoulder comfortingly. “They all are.” “Thanks for the free session. I want to post these tonight. Could you send them to me as soon as possible?” Kathy nodded frantically. But Ryan suddenly stepped forward, told Kathy to open her Venmo, and sent her the money. “You earned it,” he said curtly. Then he grabbed my arm and practically dragged me away. I looked back over my shoulder and waved at Kathy. “Don’t forget the photos!~” Ryan walked so fast he didn’t look back once. I watched his retreating back and let a wide, unrestrained smile spread across my face. The show was just getting started. 6 Back at the hotel, Ryan masked his emotions with terrifying speed. He casually put my bag away and thoughtfully turned up the air conditioning. I sat on the bed, scrolling through the photos Kathy had just sent. I zoomed in on one. “This girl is really talented, isn’t she?” Ryan’s hands, which were busy unpacking, paused. He asked, feigning indifference, “Where did you find this photographer?” “A friend recommended her,” I said without looking up. “The same one who gave me the concert tickets.” His breath hitched for a fraction of a second. “Which friend? How come I don’t know them?” “A new contractor from work,” I said, still scrolling nonchalantly through my phone. “I’ll introduce you next time.” Ryan suddenly got up and wrapped his arms around me from behind, his warm lips pressing urgently against my neck. “Babe, it’s been so long. I want you…” His heartbeat was heavy and fast against my back, as if he was seeking some kind of confirmation. “Stop…” I coughed twice and pushed him away. “It’s so windy tonight. I think I’m catching a cold.” He immediately let go, a flicker of genuine panic in his eyes. “I’ll go make you some medicine.” As I watched him hurry away, I opened my Instagram and carefully selected nine of Kathy’s photos. The caption: “Met the most amazing photographer! So much better than some people I know~ ” Less than three minutes after I posted it, Kathy’s account updated with a new text-only post. No picture, just a single line: “I still couldn’t help myself. I needed to see you.” I turned off my screen just as I heard Ryan’s footsteps approaching with a mug. “Drink this while it’s hot,” he said, his voice gentle. “You need to be in top shape for the concert tomorrow.” I took the mug with a smile. “You too.”

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I was married to the city’s mafia heir for ten years. I endured blood and fire with him. My piano hands grew calloused from guns, stained with unforgivable sins. At 28, he became obsessed with a slum girl named Daisy. I discovered them at a prenatal clinic. “Daisy’s Catholic,” he said coldly, handing me divorce papers. “She needs my name. Sign this for 40% shares.” I refused. So he destroyed me—piece by piece. Finally, he strapped my paralyzed brother into a hydraulic press. “Sign,” he threatened, “or watch him crushed.” The machine roared. Blood and bone painted my nightmare. Then darkness swallowed me. I awoke back in that hospital hallway—before discovering them. This time, I vanished silently. But after I disappeared… he was the one who lost his mind. 1 I huddled behind the wall, my hand clamped over my mouth to stifle the tremors that wracked my body. The horrific image of my brother’s final moments was seared onto the inside of my eyelids. I could hear Adrian’s voice, soft and reassuring, as he spoke to Daisy. “Once your pregnancy is stable, we’ll get married.” Hearing those words a second time, I didn’t lose control. In my last life, I had stormed out, demanding answers. He, fearing Daisy would discover she was merely his kept woman, had shattered my jaw with the butt of his gun. The memory made me shrink further into the shadows. Adrian wrapped an arm around Daisy’s shoulders and led her away. Only when I was certain they were gone did I step out, clutching my own medical report, and walk into the doctor’s office. “Ms. Winston,” the doctor said gently, his eyes full of sympathy. “Your uterine wall is dangerously thin. If you terminate this pregnancy, you may never be able to conceive again.” I stared silently at the report in my hands. Two months pregnant. My mind flashed to the look in Adrian’s eyes as he’d pressed his ear to Daisy’s belly—a tenderness so profound it seemed to overflow. Ten years ago, I had drowned in that same gaze, abandoning a scholarship to Juilliard, abandoning my dreams of the concert stage, all for him. Step by step, the hands that once danced over ivory keys learned the cold weight of a gun, becoming accustomed to a life lived on a knife’s edge. But the moment Daisy appeared, all my sacrifices became a bitter joke. The doctor, seeing my silence, continued. “Ms. Winston, given your unique circumstances… does your husband know about this?” I looked up, meeting his gaze, my voice eerily calm. “My husband is dead.” An hour later, I stumbled out of the hospital, my face as white as the sterile walls, one hand braced against them for support. Once the color had returned to my lips, I pulled out my phone and called my brother’s caregiver. “Leo, I need you to arrange a transfer for my brother to a private facility in Switzerland this week. Be discreet. Mr. Winston is not to know anything about this. Absolute secrecy.” Next, I messaged my most trusted subordinate, asking him to draw up a set of divorce papers. Just as I finished, a file containing all of Daisy’s information arrived on my phone. In my past life, I had despised her so much I couldn’t even bear to look at her picture. Reborn, my heart was strangely peaceful. For the first time, I was curious about this woman who had so completely captivated Adrian, a man who had seen and discarded countless others. I opened the compressed file. A video popped up. Inside a dilapidated church, a young woman played “Dreaming of the Wedding” on an old, out-of-tune piano. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, illuminating her faded dress. She looked as pure and fragile as a daisy after a spring rain. Adrian was visible in half-profile, a soft, mesmerized smile on his face. I slammed the pause button. And ran to the bathroom, dry-heaving over the toilet. It was too absurd. The woman he had fallen in love with… was the ghost of me from ten years ago. 2 Dusk was settling as I left the hospital. I drove in a daze, my mind a chaotic whirl. As I rounded a corner, an out-of-control truck suddenly barreled toward me. I wrenched the steering wheel, but it was too late. The world spun violently, and then there was only the screech of metal and shattering glass. I was pinned in the driver’s seat, unable to move. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. This was one of Adrian’s rivals, coming for revenge. My phone was smashed, useless. Just then, a familiar black Maybach glided past the intersection. It was Adrian’s car. “Adrian!” I screamed, my voice raw, struggling against the wreckage to catch his attention. The car slowed for a heart-stopping second. My breath caught in my throat. He saw me. He saw me! But in the next instant, the Maybach accelerated, pulling away from the intersection without a hint of hesitation. Through the window, I saw him raise a hand to shield Daisy’s eyes. The strength to scream again vanished. Daisy was in the car. He wouldn’t stop. The violence, the blood, the mangled steel of a revenge hit… he couldn’t bear for her to see it. The last of my adrenaline faded, and my consciousness began to flicker. When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the stark white ceiling of a hospital room. The door was ajar. I could hear one of Adrian’s men speaking to him. “Sir, what if Mrs. Winston saw Miss Miller in the car? If she starts digging, I don’t think we can keep it from her.” I heard the hiss of a cigarette being extinguished, then crushed. “You don’t need to worry about that,” Adrian’s voice was cold. “Your only job is to protect Daisy.” “She’s too clean for our world. She’s not like us.” “Wendy… she plays dirty. Daisy is too innocent to stand a chance against her. If you have to, use her brother as leverage. The cripple is the only family she has left. She’ll have no choice but to back down.” My fingers clenched the thin hospital sheet, my teeth sinking into the soft flesh of my cheek until I tasted blood. The day he proposed, he had sworn to me, “I will always protect you, Wendy. I’ll never let anyone hurt you.” The same vow of protection, the same words, but now they were for Daisy. And I, the woman he once shielded with his own body, had become the dangerous, dirty schemer in his story. Hearing footsteps approach, I closed my eyes, then slowly opened them as he entered. “You’re awake,” he said, his tone business-like. “I had my men look into it. It was the Wang family’s people.” He placed a document on my bedside table. “This is a settlement agreement. Sign it, and they’ve agreed to hand over the West Side territory.” He stood before me, our eyes meeting. I was speechless. My near-death experience had become a bargaining chip in his business. An icy chill spread through my chest. “Adrian, when did you decide this?” The moment you saw my car crash? Or the moment you knew the Wangs were coming for me? His brow furrowed, annoyed by my probing. I knew better than to press the issue. Forcing the truth would only hurt me. As if to placate me, Adrian worked from my hospital room for the next two days. He was always wearing his earbuds, a small, familiar smile occasionally gracing his lips. He was talking to her. While he was on a call with Daisy, I slid the divorce papers I’d had prepared in front of him. I thought he would notice. It was so obvious. But he didn’t even glance at the header. He flipped to the last page and scrawled his signature, his eyes never leaving his laptop screen. My hand trembled as I took the document back, staring at the still-wet ink of his name. Suddenly, I was back in the moment we first met, ten years ago. He was being hunted by his enemies, lying bloody and broken under a derelict iron bridge. He was only eighteen, but his eyes burned with the ferocious light of a wounded lion cub. I was on my way to piano practice, but one look into those eyes, and my heart broke for him. I turned and walked toward him. One step, and I had plunged into the abyss. Later, he took a bullet to the chest to protect me. He was in surgery for eighteen hours. That was the first time I understood that in his world, kindness and innocence were weaknesses that got you killed. In ten years, I transformed from a girl who trembled at the sight of blood into Mrs. Winston, the woman who handled his dirty work without flinching. I thought we had finally become equals, standing side-by-side. But to him, I had just become one of them. Just as tainted. I rubbed the calluses on my fingers, the ghosts of a thousand trigger pulls. I thought of Daisy at the piano. And suddenly, it all felt so pointless. The burning resentment, the gnawing injustice… it all dissolved into a vast, empty ache. After I was discharged, Adrian used a “business trip” as an excuse to be gone for the entire one-month divorce cooling-off period. But I never expected that I would be the one to see Daisy. 3 To pray for the soul of my lost child, I went to the old cathedral to ask a priest for a requiem mass. I wasn’t religious, but I hoped my baby could find its way to heaven. As I pushed open the heavy doors, I saw Daisy at the piano, accompanying the children’s choir. The final chord rang out, marred by a single, jarringly wrong note. On impulse, I walked over, reached out, and pressed the correct key. “It should be like this.” Our first real meeting was far calmer than I could have ever imagined. Daisy’s eyes lit up. “You know piano? I’ve been practicing for ages, but I always get that part wrong.” I offered a cool, distant smile, but she was unabashedly friendly, striking up a conversation. When she learned I was there for a lost child, she knelt before the statue of the Virgin Mary and prayed with a sincerity that stunned me. “Dear Lord, please welcome this pure soul into your kingdom, and bring comfort to his grieving mother.” I stared, lost in a trance. She was so much like the girl I used to be that it was disorienting. A strange sense of pity washed over me, a desperate urge to save my former self. Leave Adrian, I wanted to scream. Getting close to him is like embracing a curse. But my gaze fell to her swelling abdomen, and I sealed my lips. If Daisy knew about my relationship with Adrian, she would surely break up with him. And then, Adrian would hunt me down with a furious, vengeful rage. The bloody memories of my past life flooded my mind. I made the excuse of needing to confess and slipped into the confessional booth. I pulled up the security feed from my brother’s care facility, my heart only steadying when I saw him sitting peacefully, painting. After our parents died, he was all I had left. This time, I would never let him be dragged into my world with Adrian again. When I had composed myself and stepped out of the booth, the cold, black muzzle of a gun was pressed against my forehead. Every muscle in my body went rigid. I glanced toward Daisy. She was already slumped on the floor, unconscious. I cursed my luck under my breath. The next second, the butt of the gun slammed into my head, and the world went dark. I woke up in a derelict warehouse, tied back-to-back with Daisy. Her voice was choked with sobs. “We already paid you back! What more do you want? Adrian warned you…” A loud slap cut her off. The man leading them, a thick scar bisecting his eyebrow, grabbed her by the hair. “You paid the money, sure. But he broke three of our boss’s ribs for it. In our line of work, you don’t just let that go.” He sneered. “He treasures you, doesn’t he? Well, today, I’m going to enjoy breaking you, piece by piece.” So, they were low-level loan sharks. No wonder they didn’t recognize me. I took a few steadying breaths and popped the tiny blade out of the setting of my ring, beginning to saw at the ropes. I’d been tied up a few times before; I had some experience. Seeing that I was awake, the scar-faced man rifled through my Hermès wallet. “Well, Ms. Winston, looks like it’s your unlucky day. Three million. Call your family and have them wire the money.” Daisy turned her head, tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, this is all my fault. But don’t be scared. My boyfriend is very powerful. He’ll come save us.” Her eyes shone with a blind, heroic worship of Adrian. My hands faltered for a second. I didn’t reply. Suddenly, Scarface cursed, holding up his phone. “That bastard. He doesn’t believe me. Looks like I’ll have to send him a little gift.” He threw a wicked-looking knife onto the floor between us. “Someone get over here. Cut the baby out of her and send it to him.”

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The Scorch had arrived. Surface temperatures soared past 150 degrees Fahrenheit, and the first wave of humanity was preparing to evacuate to the Arctic Citadel. As a leading scientist, my husband, David, was granted a priority ticket that included a spot for his spouse. Everyone assumed he would take me without a second thought. But the name he wrote on the application form wasn’t mine. It was his graduate student’s. “She’s a young girl I’ve mentored,” he’d said, his tone casual, almost dismissive. “She has no family, no one to look after her. I can’t just leave her here to burn.” He submitted the form without a single glance my way, his words a shard of ice in my heart. “June, you’re different,” he continued, his voice devoid of emotion. “You’ve always been tough. I have faith you can survive until the second transport wave.” A bitter smile tightened my lips. I said nothing. That night, as the temperature climbed ever higher on the global feed, I calmly made a phone call. “You once told me you’d grant me one wish, no questions asked,” I said, my voice steady. “Does that offer still stand?” 1 There was no hesitation on the other end. “Always.” I took a breath, my voice barely a whisper. “Can you get me two tickets for the Ark? For my mother and me. On the first transport.” A chance at survival. A ticket was a prayer answered. He couldn’t make a firm promise, but his words were a lifeline. “I’ll do everything I can.” Just as I hung up, David walked in, his eyes still glued to his phone. “Who were you calling?” he asked. I was too tired to even invent a lie. “Someone about tickets,” I said, my voice flat. He didn’t even look up. “There are only a few hundred tickets for the first wave. You won’t get one. If it were possible, I would have already arranged it for you.” My fingers tightened around my phone. Of course, he knew how priceless they were. And still, he had cast me aside for his student without a moment’s hesitation. When I didn’t respond, he finally lifted his head. “June, don’t worry. I’ve already put your name down for the second wave. You’re not going to die.” I listened to the radio announcer’s grim report of the rising heat and let out a silent, scornful laugh. Everyone knew that in the Scorch, every day you waited was another tick down on your chances of survival. The apocalypse loomed, and perhaps it was the suffocating anxiety, but a desperate sliver of hope made me ask, “David, for the sake of my mother—the woman who sponsored your education for six years—can’t you at least take her? She’s old, her health is failing. She won’t last long here.” A heavy, unbearable silence filled the room. We hadn’t turned on the lights, and in the gloom, I couldn’t make out the expression on his face. We had been married for seven years, but we had known each other for far longer. We grew up on the same street, childhood friends who became inseparable. Then, the summer before high school, David’s parents were killed in a car accident. My mother, her heart aching for the lonely boy, took him in. In an era of scarcity, where every grain of rice was counted, she somehow managed to put two of us through college. The summer after we graduated, David, who had always been a man of few words, made me a promise. He swore that if the world ended, he would die by my side. The summer air back then wasn’t nearly as hot as it was now, but the heat of his palm against mine had been enough to set my entire world ablaze. I squeezed my eyes shut, letting the memory dissolve like smoke. David was silent for a long time. Finally, he spoke. “June, Chloe is my most valuable assistant. I need her with me. It’s not up for discussion.” He paused, his voice dropping. “And… don’t take the things we said as kids so seriously.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips, and I swayed, nearly losing my balance. It was the Scorch, the air thick enough to cook a man alive, yet his words chilled me to the bone. Soon, the clouds parted, and a sliver of moonlight illuminated his sharp, detached features. He nudged a file folder toward me. “Here. This is for you.” I opened it. It was a divorce agreement. 2 My head snapped up, my eyes wide with disbelief. David took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea. “The first wave transport requires proof of kinship,” he explained calmly. “Chloe is only my student. That’s not enough.” My hand trembled as I picked up the paper, my teeth clenched. “So?” He adjusted his glasses, a flicker of guilt in his eyes, but his voice remained as clinical and detached as ever. “So, I need you to sign this. To divorce me. You’ll give her your status as Mrs. Blackwood, and then Chloe can board the Ark without any issues.” He finally looked at me, attempting a reassuring tone. “June, it’s just a fake divorce. A temporary marriage for the paperwork. You know you’re the only one for me. It’s just a title, it means nothing.” I lowered my gaze, a hollow laugh catching in my throat. I couldn’t remember when our conversations had shifted from the thrilling frontiers of science to the mundane grind of groceries and bills. Maybe it was a few years into our marriage. Or maybe it was the day Chloe became his graduate student. I couldn’t be sure. This was the most he had said to me in one stretch in years. And it was all to convince me to divorce him. A bitter cocktail of emotions churned in my gut. I sniffled, took the pen, and signed my name without a moment’s hesitation. Seeing my decisiveness, David’s brow furrowed, a hint of irritation in his voice. “June, once the Scorch passes, we’ll remarry.” I turned my head away, waving a dismissive hand. “You said it yourself, David. It’s the end of the world. A piece of paper doesn’t mean anything. Who knows if we’ll even be alive next month?” I met his gaze, my own cold and hard. “Maybe you should focus on saving the continent, Dr. Blackwood.” His voice grew heavy. “That’s not what I meant. Don’t throw a fit over a young girl.” I ignored him, crawling into bed and pulling the covers over my head. Thank God for the darkness. It hid the tears streaming down my face, the utter devastation that was breaking me apart. Soon, David lay down beside me, his back to mine. The familiar distance, the chilling indifference. We were inches apart, yet a universe of cold stretched between us. I silently wiped my eyes. In this heat, air conditioning units were failing everywhere, their circuits fried. No one could guarantee ours wouldn’t be next. The thought of being slowly cooked alive kept me awake for hours. Then, a sudden, jarring ringtone pierced the silence. It was David’s phone. The special tone he’d set just for Chloe. I heard a frantic fumbling as he silenced it. He must have thought I was asleep, but I could feel his tense gaze on me, even through the blanket. He tiptoed out of the room and into the living room, cracking the front door open. His voice was a low whisper. “Chloe? What are you doing here so late?” Chloe’s voice was thick with manufactured tears. “Dr. Blackwood, my AC broke… It’s so hot, I can’t stand it. I had nowhere else to go, I just… I…” I could hear the wheels of her luggage. She sounded so pitiful, so helpless. “Could I… could I please stay here for a few days?” My hand clenched the corner of the sheet. We were both waiting for his answer. Chloe and I. But just like with the Ark ticket, I already knew I would lose. The door creaked open wider. “Come in,” David said. “But be quiet. June’s a light sleeper.” Chloe’s feigned sobs turned into a relieved giggle. “Oh, Dr. Blackwood, you’re the best!” She paused at the threshold, then seemed to reconsider. “But… if you let me stay, won’t your wife mind?” David was silent for a moment, as if contemplating the profound nobility of his actions. “Don’t worry about her. You’re my student. It’s perfectly fine for you to stay for a few days.” Separated by a single door, my heart turned to ice. After settling Chloe on the couch, David started back toward the bedroom. But Chloe stopped him, her voice a soft, careful murmur. “Dr. Blackwood… you gave me the family ticket. Is… is your wife okay with that?” David’s reply was laced with a gentleness I hadn’t heard in years. “Chloe, you’re my most brilliant protégé. I need you for my research. June understands. Everything we do is for the greater good of humanity.” A cold, mirthless laugh escaped me in the dark. Once again, he had elevated his selfish desires to a noble cause I couldn’t argue against. Always so rational, so objective. It was the same way he’d always met my anger and accusations—with a calm silence that made my hysteria feel like a childish tantrum. My pillow was soaked through with tears. Just then, my phone screen lit up. It was a text message, sent silently so as not to disturb me. June, tickets secured. A private transport will pick you and your mother up in three days. 3 A massive weight lifted from my shoulders. But that night, the bedroom door never opened again. David stayed in the living room, talking with Chloe late into the night about the challenges of the Scorch. I could already imagine his excuses if I were to walk out there. Academic discussion. A mentor-mentee exchange. I’d heard it all before. It was his tired, old refrain. I no longer had the energy to push open that door. What was the point? In this heat, every burst of anger felt like it was burning a hole through my chest. I needed to conserve my strength. For my mother. For our escape. Besides, in the face of survival, love and betrayal suddenly seemed so trivial. With that thought, I finally drifted into a deep sleep. To my surprise, however, Chloe was still there the next morning. She sat at our dining table, brazenly using my plate for her breakfast. When she saw me, she gave a timid little bow, her manners impeccable. “Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood. My AC is still out… I hope you don’t mind me being here. I apologize for the intrusion.” I gave her a sarcastic smile. The blanket on the sofa was still unfolded. They weren’t even going to bother with an explanation. Or rather, they were too lazy to invent one for me. “June, come eat,” David said. He had actually cooked, playing the part of the perfect, caring husband for Chloe’s benefit. As Chloe picked up her knife and fork, my eyes locked onto the plate in front of her. We had made it ourselves at a pottery class, five years ago, for our anniversary. Etched into the bottom, almost invisible, was the promise of a lifetime he had sworn to me when we were young. That plate was a symbol of our love. And now, it was being used by another woman. Noticing my stare, David said casually, “Oh, the girl likes it. Just let her use it.” My appetite vanished. I grabbed my car keys, intending to go pick up my mother. David shot up and grabbed my arm, his voice sharp. “Where are you going? It’s 150 degrees out there. If you want to throw a tantrum, don’t risk your life to do it.” Chloe’s eyes welled up with tears. “She’s right, Mrs. Blackwood. The asphalt is melting. It’s dangerous even in a car…” I let out a heavy breath. “I’m getting my mother. Let go of me!” In the scuffle, my arm knocked against the table. The plate in front of Chloe slid to the floor. It shattered into a thousand pieces, taking the vow etched into its surface with it. David froze, a strange tightness seizing his chest. I shoved him away and walked out into the oppressive, searing heat. The streets were dead. The stray cats and dogs that once roamed the neighborhood were long gone. A blanket of silence hung over the world. I rushed to my mother’s small house in the countryside. Any later, and her old air conditioner would surely fail. But when we returned home, I was met with a scrutinizing glare. David quickly masked his expression, taking my mother’s luggage with a respectful nod. “Mrs. Lane.” My mother smiled warmly at him. After she was settled, David pulled me aside. His face was a thundercloud. “June, I need to remind you of something. This is an apocalypse. Resources are scarce. Our food supply won’t last forever with an extra person.” His voice was low, but every word was a blow. “Four mouths to feed is… a lot.” I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. He… how could he? He was complaining that my mother was a burden. Disappointment twisted into a sharp pain in my chest. “David, she’s my MOTHER! She’s the woman who sponsored you for six years, who treated you like a son!” My voice cracked. “How could you say something so heartless?” He adjusted his glasses, his face a mask of cold logic. “June, I’ve calculated every single ration. I’m just stating a fact.” There it was again. That infuriatingly calm, rational expression. My anger felt like punching a pillow. But I couldn’t take it anymore. “David! Then tell Chloe to leave! Why is my mother the ‘extra’ one? Have you lost your conscience?!” At the mention of Chloe, his voice suddenly rose. “THAT’S WHY I’M TRYING TO DISCUSS IT WITH YOU!” He thrust a piece of paper at me—a schedule. “Smaller meals, stretched out over the next three days. After Chloe and I leave, you and your mother can figure out the rest on your own.” I didn’t even look at it. I snatched the paper from his hand and ripped it to shreds. In the other room, my mother was looking at Chloe with a puzzled expression. “Honey,” she asked me, her voice laced with uncertainty. “Who is this young lady?” David’s posture tensed. He instinctively moved to stand slightly in front of Chloe, a silent, protective gesture. I watched them, a profound weariness settling over me. To me, David had always been a distant star—cold, remote, and untouchable. But now I saw the truth. His light just wasn’t meant to shine on me. Not wanting to worry my mother, I forced a smile. “Mom, she’s one of David’s students.” My mother visibly relaxed, her face breaking into a relieved grin. “Oh, what a lovely girl.” She looked from me to David. “So, in three days, we’re all leaving together, right?” Her question, so innocent, hung in the air. I saw David’s expression freeze for a fraction of a second. I answered for him. “Mom, go pack your things. Don’t bring too much. Ten kilograms per person is the limit.” My mother beamed, patting my hand. “Alright, alright. You should get packing too, dear. I’m so glad we can all go together. That’s just wonderful.” “Yeah,” I mumbled, turning toward my bedroom. David followed me in, closing the door heavily behind us. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Did you tell your mother she’s coming with us? How am I supposed to solve that, June? Where do you expect me to get two more tickets?” His voice rose. “You’re lying to her, you know that.” I just smiled. It wasn’t a lie. We were leaving. And after that, we would have nothing more to do with him. 4 David’s brow furrowed. “What are you smiling about, June?” His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Are you doing this on purpose? Trying to back me into a corner, to force my hand into taking your mother?” I opened my suitcase on the bed, not sparing him a single glance. “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice flat. “My mother and I won’t interfere with your two spots on the Ark.” I began dumping my belongings into the suitcase, then went to the closet and started pulling out old keepsakes—anniversary gifts, photo albums—and tossing them into the trash. In the apocalypse, they were just junk. Including all the sentiments attached to them. David picked up a small, stuffed bear from the trash—our third-anniversary gift. His face darkened. I didn’t want to talk to him anymore. I packed my things and moved them into the guest room with my mother. The next three days were tense. Resources were tight, and each meal was just a small cup of water and a protein bar. But on the last night before our departure, I woke up thirsty and saw Chloe in the kitchen, using precious ice cubes from the freezer to soothe her face. I said nothing, but the moment she saw me, her eyes filled with tears. “Mrs. Blackwood… my skin was just so dry… I just wanted a little hydration… I’m sorry, I won’t do it again…” David, drawn by the noise, came out and shot a cool look in my direction. “June, she’s just a kid. Don’t be so hard on her.” I was stunned. Just yesterday, he was complaining that my mother was a burden, and now it was clear he was saving our rations for his “kid.” My eyes met Chloe’s over his shoulder. The feigned vulnerability on her face slowly hardened into a triumphant, knowing smirk. I was too exhausted to fight. I simply collected my and my mother’s rations and returned to my room. David started to reach for me, but then let his hand fall, that strange, suffocating feeling returning to his chest. The third day arrived. I hauled our luggage to the designated pickup point, my mother leaning on my arm. When David saw me, he immediately pulled me aside, his voice tight with agitation. “June, do you really have to follow me? Are you this desperate?” “I already told you, you and your mother are on the second transport! Can’t you understand plain English?” “Besides,” he added, his voice rising in a crescendo of self-righteousness, “even if I didn’t take Chloe, and I took you instead, would you really abandon your own mother? I’m doing this for your own good!” Once again, he was launching into a tirade on behalf of Chloe. A bitter, self-mocking smile touched my lips. “Who’s following you? I told you, you don’t have to worry about our tickets. I have my own way.” David’s brow tightened. He grabbed my arm. “June, you haven’t worked in years. What ‘way’ could you possibly have? Can you stop being so stubborn?” His words almost made me laugh. The single research fellowship at the Institute all those years ago… it was mine. I gave it up so David could have his career. I wrenched my arm from his grasp. “David, please don’t make me regret every single moment I spent believing I wasn’t blind.” He stared at his empty hand, his face twisting in anger as he shouted, “June, everything I’ve done is the result of careful consideration! Why can’t you just trust me one more time!” Not wanting my mother to hear, I pulled my luggage away from him. “You don’t need to worry about me.” David opened his mouth to say more, but just then, a sleek, armored vehicle rolled to a stop in front of us. The Noah’s Ark. I helped my mother toward the ramp. David panicked. “June, are you insane? You don’t have a spot! Are you planning to storm the vehicle?” He shot a look at Chloe. “Get on, quickly, before someone takes your seat.” Chloe flashed a smug smile and hurried forward. But as she stepped onto the ramp, an official in a crisp uniform blocked her path, checking a datapad. “Apologies, ma’am. This transport was chartered by Director Quinn to collect Ms. June Vance and her mother. Please do not interfere with our duties.” In an instant, the color drained from David’s face. He looked like he’d been struck by lightning.

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My freshman year of college, I started dating a rich man. He was perfect in every way, except for one thing: he would never let me into his world. I asked him once, “Can we get married after I graduate?” He just lit a cigarette and smiled without answering. Then, one day after class, a gentle-looking woman stopped me at the school gate. She rested a hand on her slightly swollen belly and spoke to me softly. “Are you the girl who wants to marry Julian Bright after graduation?” 1 My fingers tightened around the handle of my suitcase. I bit my lip and said nothing. A cold dread was already coiling in my stomach. “Don’t be nervous, Anna.” The woman offered a faint smile. “My name is Ophelia Kim. I’m Julian Bright’s legal wife.” “I know you’ve been together for two years. And I know you had no idea I existed.” “Today is our third wedding anniversary. He told me he was working late at the office, but the truth is, he’s supposed to meet you at eight-thirty for a movie. After that, he’ll take you to his condo in the suburbs so you can have a place to stay for winter break. Am I right?” Yes. She was right about every single detail. The movie ticket was in my pocket. I’d spent half the lecture just looking at it, my mind spinning with fantasies of snuggling against his arm in the dark theater, lost in some romantic blockbuster. Ophelia’s gaze drifted to the ring on my left ring finger. “Did he give you that?” “The Cartier ‘Starry Night’ ring. It’s beautiful. I used to like styles like that, when I was younger.” Her eyes suddenly reddened, a bitter smile twisting her lips. “As I recall, that’s part of a matching set. He has one too, doesn’t he?” A wave of shame so hot it felt like it would incinerate me washed over my body. I instinctively hid my left hand in my sleeve, my voice a barely-audible whisper. “Yes.” Last Valentine’s Day. My birthday. Julian had booked an entire restaurant. Over a candlelight dinner, he’d slid that very ring onto my finger. My family was poor. When I found out the ring cost over five thousand dollars, I cried with joy. I felt like I would do anything for him, give him my entire world. In my bliss, I never stopped to wonder why he only wore his matching ring that one single night. Now I knew. He was afraid Ophelia would see it. I was furious, ashamed, and wanted to cry all at once. I couldn’t accept it. The man I loved, the man I worshipped, was a monster who was cheating on his pregnant wife. So that’s why he never let me into his world. It wasn’t his world to let me into. I was just the other woman. “Anna.” Ophelia braced a hand on her back, taking a slow, slightly labored breath. “Would you mind joining me for a coffee across the street? Just for a little while.” I looked at her swollen belly and realized a pregnant woman couldn’t stand for long. She must have been waiting for me at the gate for a while. She was at her limit. … We chose a quiet booth in the corner of the cafe. I took off the ring and tried to give it back to her. Ophelia glanced at it but didn’t take it. “Julian never gave me a ring when we got married. He doesn’t love me. I know that.” “You keep it. Even if you don’t want to wear it someday, you can sell it for some money.” Just then, the waiter approached our table. He looked at me. “Ms. Nelson, the usual three? A matcha latte, a classic tiramisu, and a platter of fried snacks.” Before I could answer, he turned to Ophelia. “And for you, miss?” “Just a glass of water, room temperature, no sugar. Thank you.” “Of course. Ms. Nelson, that’ll be $129. It’s already been charged to Mr. Bright’s account.” My stomach dropped. I couldn’t look up. In the shock of it all, I’d completely forgotten that Julian had set up a pre-paid membership for me at this cafe. Ophelia’s expression remained gentle. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.” “You, on the other hand,” she continued, her voice soft, “you still can’t quite believe he’d do something like this, can you?” She was right. I saw Julian through a thick, rosy filter. To me, he was the handsome, older provider boyfriend from a romance novel. We’d met online. The first time we met in person, he pulled up to the school gates in a Maybach. He was a perfect gentleman, well-spoken and cultured. He was nothing like the crude, sloppy boys at school. The first time I saw him, I fell for him completely. What girl doesn’t dream of a rich, handsome CEO falling in love with her? It was a fantasy come to life. I never once considered it could be a trap. Under the envious stares of my classmates, Julian took me to this very cafe for afternoon tea. Before him, my monthly living allowance was fifty dollars. I would never have dared to step foot in a place like this. When he told me I was too thin and needed to eat more, then waved his hand and bought me a pre-paid card for unlimited use, I truly believed he was the kindest person in the world. My own mother would only ever say things like, “Why does a girl need to eat so much? No man will want you if you get fat. Eat less. It’s good for you.” But then she’d turn to my younger brother, Leo, and ask, “Leo, did you eat enough at school today? Is fifty dollars a day enough? Tell Mommy if you need more.” Ophelia stared out the window, her gaze distant. Her eyes were a beautiful, pale amber. “Do you know how I found out about you?” I shook my head. “One day, Julian came home and remarked at the dinner table, ‘It’s so much easier with kids who haven’t been out in the real world. You give them a little spending money, and they’re eternally grateful. Not like those sharks in the business world; you can never give them enough.’” “I saw your chat history. I was up all night.” “I wondered why he didn’t delete it. What if I accidentally saw it? Then I understood. He didn’t care if I found out or not.” “My family is indebted to his. My parents would never agree to a divorce. And he’s a powerful man in this city. Even if I tried to sue him, it would be useless.” She smiled, as if talking about someone else entirely. “I also saw that in the beginning, he sent you a lot of money through transfers, but you never accepted any of it.” “I was curious. Why didn’t you take his money?” My eyelids fluttered. My throat was dry. I couldn’t speak. The truth was, I had a very naive, childish idea. I would only ever feel comfortable accepting money from a man if I was certain I wanted to spend my life with him. Ophelia nodded thoughtfully. “But that’s exactly it. He knew that about you, and that’s how he got you. He knew you were naive and easy to fool, so he figured he could just play with you for a while and it wouldn’t matter.” “All he had to do was spend a little money, and you’d be willing to give him everything in return. From then on, no matter what unreasonable thing he asked of you, you wouldn’t refuse.” “Anna, can you guess how much he spent to marry me?” I pursed my lips. “Fifty thousand?” “Five hundred thousand,” she said, her lips twisting in a self-deprecating smile. “See? When you put it like that, everything he’s given you seems rather insignificant, doesn’t it?” “He was willing to spend that much to marry me then, and now he treats me like something he’d scrape off his shoe.” “I’m not telling you this to be cruel. I just want you to know, he’s not the man you think he is.” “You’re still young. You shouldn’t end up like me, with your whole life already decided for you.” “Oh, and one more thing.” Ophelia took out her phone and showed me a photo. My blood ran cold. She had taken a picture of Julian’s photo gallery. And in Julian’s gallery were hundreds of explicit photos. A grid of my body, some with my face, some without. And the subject of every single one was me. She asked, “Did you send these to him willingly? Or did he secretly take screenshots without you knowing?” My face drained of color. My hands trembled so badly I knocked over my latte. Not long after Julian gave me the ring, he went on a business trip for a whole month. One night, after we hadn’t seen each other for over a week, he video-called me. On the call, the usually serious man acted coquettish for the first time. “Anna, baby, turn on your camera. Let me see you, please?” I knew I should have said no. But I couldn’t resist his pleading. Following his instructions, I turned on the camera. I posed for him in ways that made me burn with shame. I even listened when he told me to use lipstick to write his name on my collarbone. His breathing hitched. “My girl is so beautiful,” he’d rasped. “Be good. When I get back, I have a present for you.” When I’d calmed down, I asked him, my voice filled with fear, “Julian, you didn’t… did you?” He knew what I was asking. He offered to let me use a remote-control app to check his phone’s photo gallery myself. I did. There were no screenshots. “I’m sorry,” I’d said. “I shouldn’t have doubted you.” Julian had laughed. “Silly girl. It’s good to be cautious.” He transferred me five hundred dollars. “Okay, I have to get back to work. Go have fun with your friends.” Just like always. After nine p.m., Julian would start “working.” He rarely replied to my messages after that. That five hundred dollars let me show off in front of my roommates. They used to call me a poor charity case. Ever since they found out about my “boyfriend,” they treated me differently. “Anna, how did you land such a great guy? I want a perfect husband who buys me Cartier and just throws money at me.” “I’m so jealous of you, Anna. Your boyfriend is rich, successful, and he’s not a player. Even when he’s busy, he always makes time to check in with you.” Their praise made me feel like I was floating on air. I was so proud to have a boyfriend like Julian. After that, whenever he asked to “see” me, I always agreed without hesitation. Ophelia’s hand shot out and steadied the cup before the drink could spill on me. I fumbled with napkins, wiping at the table, tears welling in my eyes. “That was the only time he didn’t save your photos.” “Every time after that, he did.” “I see now,” Ophelia stated, her voice calm and even. “He tricked you, Anna.” I covered my mouth, choking back a sob. I couldn’t even bear to think about what Julian might have done with those photos. I didn’t dare imagine if he’d shared them with anyone. “But it’s okay now.” Ophelia deleted the photo from her own phone, then cleared her deleted items folder. “I’ve already deleted all of them from his phone, just like this.” “I also managed to check his flash drives and his cloud storage. There shouldn’t be any other backups.” “Thank you…” I whispered. My mind was a chaotic mess. I felt like all the strength had been drained from my body. I couldn’t understand why Julian would do this to me. Buzz. Buzz. My phone rang. It was him. He’d sent a dozen messages that I hadn’t answered. I glanced at Ophelia. She nodded for me to answer. “Sweetheart, what are you doing? I just got off work. Are you heading to the theater? Do you need me to pick you up?” Listening to his voice felt like a dream. Just this morning, I’d thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world. Now, it just made my skin crawl. I forced back a sob, keeping my voice as steady as I could. “No, it’s okay. I’m suddenly not feeling well. Maybe we can go another time.” “Is it serious? Let me take you to the hospital.” Julian’s voice was so tender, as if he truly loved me. For a moment, I was lost. I remembered a time when I had a bad flu. I wanted to leave campus to see a doctor, but the student advisor wouldn’t let me unless a parent called. But my parents never cared about my health. They thought doctors were expensive and would overcharge. They’d just tell me I was young, that I’d get over it, that not taking medicine would make my immune system stronger. I told Julian about it. He immediately dropped everything at work, drove to the school, and pretended to be my uncle to sign me out. I couldn’t stop the tears from coming. Before a sob could escape, I frantically hung up the phone. Julian didn’t call back. Instead, Ophelia’s phone rang. His contact name was just “Julian Bright.” She answered and put it on speaker. Julian’s voice was stripped of its earlier affection. It was cold and sharp. “You went to see her, didn’t you.” Ophelia stirred her water, not even looking up. “See who?” “Don’t play dumb, Ophelia. I know you know everything. If you have a problem, you take it up with me. Don’t you dare bother Anna. She’s just a kid. She doesn’t know any better.”

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The day my birth parents found me, my best friend adopted a stray dog—then stole my life. After joining my wealthy family, Jessica—who was deathly allergic to dogs—bought the mutt king crab, permed its fur to match my hairstyle, and called it by my nickname, “Star.” “I just can’t lose you,” she’d say, face swollen with hives. Moved, I paid for everything. I was a fool. Eighty-one days later, I woke up as the dog. Jessica, now in my body, screamed as my parents’ guards beat me bloody. She dumped me at a kill shelter while my family feasted, oblivious. As my soul faded, I heard her tell my fiancé: “Matthew, that soul-swap ritual worked. Now Laura’s life is mine.” I opened my eyes—back to the day she first asked me to feed the dog. … “Hey, sweetie,” her voice, a syrupy confection, dripped through the phone. “I’m out of town for a few days, could you do me a huge favor and feed my dog?” When I didn’t answer immediately, Jessica pressed on, her tone turning pleading. “You wouldn’t just let an innocent little creature starve to death, would you?” A cold sweat drenched my back, my hand shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone. In my last life, I became that dog. I remember the agony of the club striking my bones, the reek of the kill shelter she sent me to. The cold, dull blade slicing through my flesh. No one knows the taste of death better than I do. I forced my voice to remain steady as I agreed. A bottomless hatred bloomed in my chest. Reborn, I had one chance to escape the fate of having my soul stolen. The dog. The problem had to be the dog. The stench of ammonia and filth hit me the moment I opened Jessica’s door. A matted, trembling ball of fur was crammed into a tiny cage, forced to live in its own waste. Its fur was a tangled mess, its eyes red and swollen, crusted with a foul-smelling discharge. It was just like last time. Jessica never cared for it like a pet. Back then, I couldn’t stand to see it suffer. I’d taken it to a premium pet spa, to the vet, and bought it the best food. My compassion had been my death sentence. This time, I pulled out the folding knife I’d brought with me. My plan was simple: kill the dog while Jessica was gone and eliminate the threat. But as it whimpered and cowered in the corner, a pitiful, broken thing, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The dog was innocent. The real monsters were Jessica and Matthew. After a moment’s thought, I called the local animal rescue league. They would find the dog a proper home, a safe place where it could live out its life in peace. I took a step closer and offered it a piece of jerky. As it looked up at me with wide, teary eyes, I felt a sense of relief. No one would interfere with its fate this time. But in the next second, my world tilted on its axis. Behind the dog’s right ear, a faint black spot was beginning to form. At the exact same moment, the jerky fell from my numb fingers. The spot was in the precise location of my own birthmark. It hadn’t been there a second ago. My heart hammered against my ribs. Had I been reborn only to fall into their trap all over again? I backed away toward the door, forcing myself to think. In my previous life, Jessica was so allergic she practically lived on antihistamines, her face constantly puffy. Yet she insisted on holding that dog every day when she visited me. The conditions for the soul-swap had to be more complex than just the dog’s existence. Watching the rescue workers take the dog away, a fragile sense of calm settled over me. As long as the dog was gone, I had time to find a way to break the curse. I was wrong. The next day, a furious pounding rattled my front door. It was Jessica, holding the very same dog, her voice sharp with accusation. “Laura! I asked you to feed him, not get rid of him! How could you be so cruel?” She shoved the dog into my arms and breezed past me, flopping onto my bed as if she owned the place. I froze, my skin crawling where it made contact with the dog’s fur. I practically threw it to the floor, struggling to keep my expression neutral. “…Aren’t you allergic? I sent him away for your own good.” She ran her hand over my silk sheets, her voice turning sinister. “Who gave you the right to decide for me? I only got a pet so I could always have a piece of you with me!” I had no energy to argue. I simply called for the butler to take the dog outside. Jessica shot up, blocking the doorway. “Are you kicking out the dog, or are you kicking me out? Laura, now that you’re rich, have you forgotten all our years of friendship?” Just as the standoff reached its peak, a call came from Matthew, who was supposedly overseas. He didn’t even say hello. “Don’t you know those so-called ‘rescue leagues’ are just glorified kill shelters?” he demanded. “Laura, you apologize to Jessica right now!” I had been so focused on the dog, I’d forgotten about the other snake in the grass. Ever since I’d returned to my family, Jessica had been a constant presence, and everyone thought we were the picture of perfect friendship. Last time, I was so blind I didn’t realize she and Matthew were having an affair until it was too late. With a sudden burst of strength, I shoved Jessica out of my room and slammed the door in her face. “I’m your fiancée,” I spat into the phone, “and you’re telling me to apologize to her?” I hung up and blocked his number. It took a long moment for the reality to sink in. Jessica had the dog back, and I was still completely in the dark. I wracked my brain, trying to recall every detail from my past life, but my head throbbed with a blinding pain. The next morning, the text messages from Jessica began, a relentless bombardment. 【Laura, can we please meet? I really miss you.】 【Are you mad at me? I was just so worried the other day. I’m sorry.】 【Please don’t ignore me. You’re the only friend I have.】 I could almost see the smug, fake expression on her face as she typed those words. A wave of nausea rolled through me. I gripped my phone, my knuckles white. 【Busy lately. Maybe some other time.】 I breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t reply immediately. But then I saw she’d posted on social media. 【Friends are the family you choose.】 The post had two pictures. One was of us at the orphanage, two small girls with hopeful smiles. The other was a drawing we’d made together, two stick figures holding hands, the paper yellowed with age. It was a gift I’d given her when we were children. In the comments, all our mutual friends and old teachers were gushing about our decade-long friendship. But I couldn’t smile. Because in the reflection of an inconspicuous nightstand in the photo, I could see the bare arm of a man wearing a Patek Philippe watch. The watch I had given Matthew. A moment later, Jessica commented on her own post, tagging me: We should go back and visit the orphanage soon! She was using our past to guilt-trip me, to trap me in a web of public expectation. Ten minutes later, the orphanage director called. “Laura, dear, Jessica told me you’ve been avoiding her because you think she’s poor now. Is that true?” I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted the metallic tang of blood. I was trapped, unable to explain the horrific truth to anyone. I heard my own voice, cold and distant, reply, “Of course not. We’re actually going shopping together tomorrow afternoon.” The mall lights were blinding. Jessica held the dog, sticking to me like a shadow. “Laura, look at that bag!” she exclaimed, pulling me toward a window display featuring a classic Louis Vuitton monogram—identical to the one I was carrying. “And look! They have a matching accessory for a dog! It’s so cute!” I watched her feigned excitement with cold eyes. Last time, at this exact moment, I had pulled out my black card without a second thought. This time, I just laughed softly. “It’s alright, I guess.” Jessica’s expression froze. She bit her lip, her voice suddenly soft and vulnerable. “I want to buy it for Star, but… I don’t have enough money.” She looked up at me, and even the sales associate’s gaze turned expectant. The air grew thick with unspoken pressure. “If you don’t have enough,” I said, slowly stroking the strap of my own bag, “then you should save up.” “Or maybe find a cheaper one at a discount store? It’s just a dog. It won’t know the difference.” Jessica’s face twisted into a mask of fury. “If you look down on me, Laura, just say it. Do you really think I only deserve cheap trash?” She was about to continue her tirade when she caught sight of something over my shoulder. Her eyes instantly filled with tears. “Laura, you’re still mad at me for losing my temper that day, aren’t you?” She reached for my hand, her voice choked with sobs. “I was just so scared for Star, I wasn’t thinking…” A sharp voice cut through her performance from behind me. “I’ll pay for it.” Matthew. He strode over, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, but his eyes were glued to Jessica’s face. Jessica’s eyes immediately reddened as she ducked behind him like a startled deer. As Matthew gave his membership code to the associate, I heard Jessica whisper to the dog, a triumphant little caress in her voice. “Good boy, Star. You’re getting a new bag.” My nickname, rolling off her tongue, was like a piece of candy coated in blood. While the associate was wrapping the purchase, Matthew turned to me, his voice dripping with scorn. “Really, Laura? You won’t even buy your best friend a handbag? You can take the girl out of the gutter, but…” I stared at the faint red mark on his collar, the exact shade of Jessica’s lipstick today. “You’re quite the generous one, Matthew,” I said coolly. “You know, you two are quite alike,” he continued, a cruel smirk on his face. “Both of you were strays, lost and alone until someone took you in.” His words hit me like a physical blow, throwing me back to the horror of my last life. A ringing filled my ears as his lips kept moving. “I suggest you start treating your friend—and her dog—with a little more respect. The Thorne family has no place for someone as cold and heartless as you.” His smug, self-righteous act made me want to vomit. Last time, he’d always used the threat of calling off our engagement to control me. And every time, I had folded, because I truly, desperately wanted to spend my life with him. If only I had seen their treachery sooner. Suddenly, the dog in Jessica’s arms started barking wildly. It had been forced into the new accessory, a tiny replica of my own, and was struggling uncomfortably. And the black spot behind its ear was now dark and impossible to miss. I don’t remember much of what happened after that. I stumbled home in a daze. A short while later, my mother called me down for dinner. At the table, my parents watched me with loving eyes, constantly putting food on my plate. “Darling, you suffered so much out there,” my father said gently. “But now your mother and I are here, and we’ll take care of you.” “We never gave up looking for you,” my mother added. “We were so lucky Master Silas was able to pinpoint your location. It was truly a miracle!” I felt a pang of emotion. Since I’d come home, they had wanted to give me the world. But soon, Jessica would take my place. The food in my mouth turned to ash. I couldn’t swallow. “It’s a shame Master Silas refused our donation,” my father continued. “A man of his talent is truly rare.” Talent? An idea sparked in my mind, a desperate lifeline. This Master Silas… he might be the one person who could save me. “Mom! Dad! I want to go thank him in person.” On Saturday, I set out at dawn. It was two in the afternoon by the time I finally reached the remote sanctuary perched on the mountaintop. When I stepped inside and saw “Master Silas,” I froze. I had pictured an old, wizened man, not a handsome young man with a serene, otherworldly air. He was dressed in simple, elegant robes, his eyes as deep and dark as a forest pool. He nodded at me in greeting. “Hello, Miss Laura.” I snapped out of my daze and quickly bowed. “Please, no need for formality. Call me Silas.” I told him everything, omitting the part about being reborn and framing it as a vivid, recurring nightmare. As he listened, his calm expression hardened. “A soul-swap,” he murmured, his face grim. “I never thought someone would actually dare to use such a dark and forbidden art.” “I will need to research a counter-ritual. In the meantime,” he said, his eyes meeting mine, “avoid all contact with that dog. Wait for my return.” I thanked him, my eyes welling with tears of relief. Before I left, he handed me a small, ornate box. Inside was a protective talisman. “Keep this with you. Place it under your pillow. It will temporarily shield your soul from any external influence.” After returning from the mountain, I immediately feigned illness and confined myself to my room. Jessica, of course, messaged me daily. One moment she was asking what I ate, the next what clothes I was wearing. If I didn’t reply, she’d video call me. “Star misses you so much, Laura! When can we come visit?” I didn’t dare show my true revulsion, so I gave her vague, noncommittal answers. Matthew started visiting frequently, too. He claimed he was checking on me, but I knew he was there to monitor the situation. To my horror, my parents welcomed him with open arms, believing our relationship was as strong as ever. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled him into a private sitting room.

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1 My daughter, Michelle, won first place at her school’s sports day. A moment later, she was pushed from the winner’s podium, and I heard the sickening crack of bone. Her leg was broken. I demanded an apology from the boy who did it. His father slapped me across the face. “What the hell? It’s an honor for your kid to be pushed by my Cody! Let me tell you something, my wife is the CEO of Valerius Corp. How about that? Scared now, huh?” When I didn’t respond, he took my silence for fear. “Get your daughter on her knees to apologize to Cody right now, and maybe I’ll have my wife go easy on you.” I almost laughed. Instead, I pulled out my phone and called my wife. “I’ve been away on business for a year,” I said into the phone. “I hear you’ve started a new family?” … The man, Chad, saw me end the call without moving and started spewing venom. “Are you fucking deaf? Didn’t you hear me?” he snarled. “In Newport City, nobody with a brain dares to disrespect the Valerius name. Even the mayor smiles and shakes my hand when he sees me. Who the hell do you think you are?” His son, Cody, sneered, his eyes glinting as he looked at the fresh cast on Michelle’s leg. “So what if I pushed her? For her to be pushed by me? It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her family. One word from my mom, and your whole pathetic family will be thrown out of this city!” Thrown out of Newport City? A cold smirk touched my lips. Since the day I, Adrian Vance, was born, no one had ever dared to utter those words to me. I was about to speak when Cody lunged toward my daughter again, yelling, “I told you to kneel!” I moved in a flash, blocking his path. He stumbled, lost his balance, and fell flat on his backside, immediately erupting into theatrical, wailing sobs. “You dare touch my son?!” Chad’s face contorted with rage, his voice escalating into a torrent of abuse aimed at me and Michelle. “You worthless piece of trash, and the little bitch you spawned! Just wait. I’ll have my wife break both your legs, and we’ll see how tough you are then.” I’d heard enough of his barking. I raised my hand and brought it down across his face. A sharp crack echoed across the field, silencing the area. Chad clutched his cheek, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You… you hit me?!” He whipped out his phone and barked, “Get over here, now!” Less than three minutes later, two men in black suits stormed onto the school grounds and slammed me to the pavement. A sharp pain shot through my knees as they hit the concrete, but looking at Chad’s triumphant, smug face, I could only find it pathetic. He stalked over, planting his foot on the back of my hand and grinding it into the ground with a vicious twist. “Trash will always be trash,” he sneered. “I tried to be nice.” He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back to force my gaze to meet his. “Let me tell you something. In this city, if I want to make someone’s life a living hell, they won’t survive the night.” He glanced at my daughter, who stood frozen with a pale, terrified face. “Your daughter thinks she belongs in the same school as my son? She wins one stupid race with a bit of luck and thinks she’s hot shit. Just like her father. Rotten to the core.” A searing pain shot up my arm from my crushed hand. In all my years in the business world, I, Adrian Vance, had seen it all. But never, not once in Newport City, had anyone dared to treat me this way. The man was practically begging for a death wish. “Who do you think you are?” My silence only fueled his arrogance. He kicked me hard in the ribs. “Wait and see. I’ll get your daughter expelled, get you fired, and your whole family will be begging on the streets!” Seeing me being beaten, Michelle, her eyes red with tears, rushed forward. “Don’t you hurt my daddy!” She dragged her casted leg, limping desperately toward me, only for Chad to swing a vicious backhand across her face. The sickening smack of the blow sent her small, fragile body stumbling backward. She fell heavily to the ground, and five crimson finger marks instantly bloomed on her cheek. “Michelle!” Rage exploded in my chest. I fought against the bodyguards’ grip, but they held my wrists in a vice. Chad looked down at my daughter on the ground, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Little bitch. Just as clueless as her old man. Trying to protect him? You should have learned your place.” At that, Cody rushed over and started kicking her, again and again. “That’s for stealing first place from me! That trophy was mine! My mom said a gutter-trash kid like you doesn’t deserve to even stand on the podium!” I watched my daughter curl into a ball on the ground, my voice raw as I roared, “Vivian Vance is my legally wedded wife! Didn’t she ever tell you? She’s my daughter’s mother! Do you have any idea the consequences you’ll face for touching us?” Chad froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “Vivian’s husband? Are you fucking kidding me? Did I knock you stupid? A lowlife like you isn’t fit to shine her shoes!” He spat on the ground. “You must be dreaming if you think that pathetic lie is going to scare me. It’s not working!” He took a step toward my daughter. “Today, I’m going to teach this little bitch a lesson she’ll never forget…” 2 “You touch her again, and I’ll kill you!” Adrenaline flooded my veins. With a savage roar, I broke free from the bodyguards, tackling Chad to the ground and landing a solid punch on his face. I raised my fist for a second blow. Just then, the sound of frantic footsteps approached, followed by a teacher’s panicked voice: “Mr. Thompson, over here!” I turned to see the school principal, his face a mask of grim concern, hurrying over with several teachers in tow. When he saw the chaotic scene, his brow furrowed. “What is going on here? Someone separate them, now!” The principal’s eyes fell on Michelle, crumpled on the ground, then on Cody, who was still crying and kicking. His face hardened as he addressed Chad. “Mr. Miller, whatever the circumstances, Cody pushed Michelle off the podium, causing a fracture, and then assaulted her. This is entirely his fault.” He stated firmly, “According to school policy, he must apologize to Michelle, and you, as his parent, are responsible for her medical expenses.” Chad just scoffed. “Principal Thompson, have you forgotten who Cody’s mother is? Do I need to remind you? Vivian Vance, CEO of Valerius Corp. I guess those two buildings she donated to this school were for nothing!” I frowned. Vivian had indeed donated the buildings, but she’d told me it was for Michelle’s benefit. Chad took a threatening step forward. “You’re asking her son to apologize? Do you want Valerius Corp to pull all future funding? Or maybe you want us to tear those two buildings down? Think very carefully before you speak again.” The principal’s face went white. He wrung his hands, forcing a placating smile. “Mr. Miller, please, let’s not be hasty. I didn’t mean it like that… Kids will be kids, they play rough. We can’t take it all so seriously, can we?” He turned to me, his tone instantly becoming harsh. “And you, sir! This is a matter between children. There’s no need to blow it out of proportion.” Principal Thompson cleared his throat, his bias now painfully obvious. “Besides, for Michelle to win first place in this competition… are we sure there weren’t some… underhanded means involved? After all, Cody trains so diligently. How could he suddenly lose to her?” He paused, his voice gaining a self-righteous conviction. “I believe it’s possible Michelle cheated to get her result, and Cody, unable to stand such injustice, acted out of a sense of righteousness. A strong sense of justice in a child is a good thing, you know.” His words set my blood on fire. Before I could retort, the principal fixed me with a stern, lecturing gaze. “Sir, I think you need to focus on your own daughter. Good grades are important, but character is paramount! For a child so young to learn deceit and antagonism… it reflects very poorly on the school’s reputation.” I hugged Michelle tighter, a sense of absurdity washing over me as I stared at the principal’s two-faced-grin. When Vivian had donated those buildings, I had explicitly told her to ensure the school never gave Michelle special treatment. I never imagined it would lead to this. In my arms, my daughter trembled with rage, her voice choked with sobs. “I didn’t cheat! I won the race myself!” The principal’s face darkened. “Still talking back?” he snapped at her. “So young and already so defiant. Have you no shame?” What a spineless, sycophantic worm. I was a fool to ever send Michelle to this school. My eyes darted to a security camera in the corner of the field. “There’s a camera right there. Pull the footage, and let’s see who’s really lying.” The principal’s eyes flickered with panic before he bellowed for security. “Seize him! He’s causing a disturbance and slandering a student! This is outrageous!” Two security guards immediately grabbed my arms. The principal leaned in close, his voice a low, threatening hiss in my ear. “Do you have any idea who you’ve provoked? That is the son of the CEO of Valerius Corp! They’re a titan of industry in this city! Do you really think a nobody like you can afford to fight them? Apologize to them right now, and don’t drag our school down with you!” He pulled back and announced to the surrounding teachers and students, “Given Michelle’s deplorable character and her parent’s disruptive behavior, she is hereby expelled, effective immediately! We will not tolerate such conduct!” I struggled wildly, but the guards and Chad’s bodyguards held me fast. Chad strutted over, his face a mask of triumph, and slapped me twice. The stinging pain was nothing compared to the humiliation. “Not so tough now, are you?” The principal actually nodded in approval. “He deserved that! Someone needs to teach people like him a lesson about their place in the world.” He glared at me. “Are you going to kneel and apologize to Cody or not? Look how you’ve terrified the boy. If this affects his mental well-being, can you bear that responsibility?” I looked at the crowd of liars and cowards, then at my daughter’s tear-filled eyes. Vivian, this bastard you’ve brought into our lives, this spineless principal you’ve bought with your donations… you’ve given me one hell of a surprise. “Kneel?” I let out a cold, humorless laugh. “You just wait. None of you are walking away from this today.” My laugh enraged Chad. He kicked me squarely in the stomach. “Still talking tough? Kneel!” A grunt escaped my lips as the air was forced from my lungs. Seizing the moment of distraction, I threw my weight to the side, knocking the guards off balance. As Chad aimed another kick, I twisted and caught his ankle, sending him tumbling to the ground. “You’re dead!” My vision tunneled red. I lunged forward to finish it, but the bodyguards and security tackled me again, pinning me to the concrete with brutal force. This time, they were merciless, a knee digging into my spine, my arms wrenched behind my back. “Make him kneel!” Chad screamed, his face twisted in pain and fury. One of the bodyguards understood. He released his grip on my head only to slam it down with all his might. My forehead hit the ground with a sickening thud. Darkness swarmed the edges of my vision. They didn’t stop. Once, twice, a third time… Warm blood trickled down from my brow, blurring my sight. “Daddy!” Michelle cried, trying to scramble toward me, but Chad kicked her aside like she was a stray dog. I bit down on my lip, the metallic taste of my own blood filling my mouth. As my consciousness faded, a single, crystal-clear thought burned through the haze. These people… for what they owe me, for what they owe Michelle… they will repay it a hundred times over. 3 Just as the world was spinning into darkness, a sleek sports car screeched onto the field, pulling to a halt nearby. It was Vivian. I was about to call out her name when I realized she hadn’t even glanced in my direction, or Michelle’s. In that moment of distraction, I managed to pull out my phone and send a quick text to my father. She ran straight to Chad, kneeling beside him and taking his arm. “Chad, Cody, are you two alright?” Seeing her, Cody immediately threw himself into her arms, wailing dramatically. “Mommy, they were bullying me! I won first place, but that girl Michelle got mad and tried to push me! She fell down herself, and then her dad attacked us and hurt my daddy so bad!” Chad, clutching his ankle, sighed with practiced weariness. “Vivian, honey, I didn’t want to bother you with this, but they were just… awful. It was an accident when Michelle fell, and we were willing to pay for her medical bills, but her father just came out of nowhere and started hitting me…” Vivian’s expression grew darker with every word. She finally turned her head, her gaze landing on me and Michelle for the first time. A flicker of shock crossed her face when she saw the blood on my forehead, the red marks on Michelle’s cheek, and the cast on her leg. But it was instantly replaced by disgust.

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Senior year, my parents cut off all my living expenses, trying to force me to drop out of high school. With nowhere else to go, I walked through the gilded gates of Sterling Crest Academy, a boarding school teeming with the children of the one percent. My grades were my golden ticket; the school had waived my tuition. But I still needed to eat. After two weeks of gnawing hunger, dressed in my most threadbare clothes, I finally worked up the nerve. I turned to the classroom of trust-fund kids who treated school like a social club. “Does… does anyone need homework done? It’s… it’s just five bucks a page.” The boisterous chatter of princes and princesses, busy comparing their summer yachts and winter chalets, died down. Every eye in the room swiveled to me, a mix of shock and morbid curiosity on their faces. A moment of stunned silence, and then, an eruption. “Five bucks? Who do you think you’re insulting? I’ll give you five hundred. Do mine first!” “Five thousand! I’m first in line!” “Fifty thousand! In cash!” “Forget bidding. A hundred grand. I dare any of you to try and take my spot!” 1 The day I was kicked out of my home, I had just started my senior year. My father’s face was a mask of fury, his finger jabbing at my nose. “Other girls your age are already bringing value to their families, getting married! But you? All you do is bleed me dry. You’re a worthless money pit.” My mother chimed in, her tone dripping with faux sympathy. “Aria, if you don’t find a husband, how is your brother Kyle supposed to have a future? Where will the money for his life come from?” I clutched a stack of academic awards, my voice raw as I argued with them, but it was useless. I fled the house, his voice chasing me down the street. “Let’s see how long you last before you come crawling back! How are you going to even think about college without my money?” With my transcript in hand, I went from one high school to another. The answer was always the same. “Your grades are impressive, Aria, but who’s to say they won’t slip in your final year?” “The best we can offer is to waive your tuition.” It wasn’t enough. Clutching my last shred of hope, I found myself standing before Sterling Crest Academy. This was a playground for the rich and famous, a sea of trust-fund babies. Their days were a blur of petty fights and ostentatious displays of wealth. No one cared about academics. For them, college entrance exams were just a formality before they were all shipped off to study abroad. When I stood in the admissions office, my worn-out clothes a stark contrast to the polished mahogany, the Dean of Students gave me a once-over, her gaze dripping with disdain. “Are you certain you want to be here? Aren’t you afraid you’ll be eaten alive?” I shook my head, my jaw set. “As long as you can waive my tuition… and maybe offer a small scholarship…” My voice dropped to a whisper. “Just a little… maybe a hundred, no, fifty dollars a month would be enough. I promise I’ll work harder than anyone. I’ll bring honor to this school when I get into the Ivy League.” The dean nodded, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. She agreed. I clutched the ten thousand dollars they advanced me from a special “hardship fund,” a torrent of thank-you tumbling from my lips as I backed out of her office. The moment the heavy door clicked shut, I heard her scoff to someone in the room. “Fifty bucks a month? Who does she think she’s kidding?” 2 I made it. I was standing in a Sterling Crest classroom. The usual cacophony of the rich and bored paused as they took me in, their eyes wide with a mix of confusion and amusement. “What is she wearing? Are those… holes? Is that Louis Vuitton’s new war-torn Baghdad collection?” “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s obviously Chanel’s dystopian couture.” “The fabric is incredible, though. It’s so worn, but it hasn’t completely disintegrated. Can’t be designer. Only cheap knock-offs are built to last like that.” “Oh, you’d know all about cheap, wouldn’t you?” “Are you calling me cheap? You’re dead! I’m telling my father to pull all his investments from your family’s company tomorrow!” Two of the boys were now wrestling on the floor between desks. I calmly navigated around them, my face a mask of neutrality, and found my assigned seat in the corner, right next to the trash can. I tuned out the whispers and jeers. After the things I’d heard from my own parents, the taunts of these spoiled brats were like background noise. I had a place to study. I had a shot at a real future. That’s all that mattered. To my surprise, no one actively bullied me. During a break, a girl with bright, curious eyes and a genuinely sweet smile bounced over to my desk. Her name was Willow Fairchild. “Aria,” she said, her head tilted. “Why are your clothes so… vintage? Didn’t you like any of the new season’s collections?” “Is it possible,” I said dryly, “that I simply can’t afford them?” “Why not? Did your parents cut off your allowance? You can just draw from your trust fund, can’t you?” I sighed. A trust fund. What was that? Willow propped her chin on her hand. “So, how’d you get here this morning?” “I walked. Woke up before dawn.” “Why didn’t you just have your driver bring you?” “I don’t have a car. Or a driver.” “Oh. Well, why not take your motorcycle?” “Don’t have one of those either.” “Oh! I get it,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “You only fly. Your helicopter must be in for repairs this morning, right?” I hid my face behind my textbook. Forget it. We were speaking different languages. 3 Two weeks into the semester, I was a ghost, a shadow in the corner of the classroom, devouring textbooks and practice exams. The teachers started to notice me, to appreciate me. I was the only student who actually listened, the only one who would raise a hand to answer a question, saving them from the awkward silence of a room full of disinterest. But my focus was starting to fray. I was hungry. So hungry my stomach felt like a hollow, aching pit. I felt like I could gnaw on the corner of my desk. My tuition was covered, but I still needed a place to live. The dean had flatly refused my request to stay in the dorms, claiming my “socio-economic background” would make the other students uncomfortable. So, I had to rent a room off-campus. And in New York City, that was a nightmare. After haggling until my throat was raw, a landlord finally agreed to let me pay six months’ rent upfront for a tiny attic room in a crumbling building miles away in the outer boroughs. My ten-thousand-dollar scholarship advance evaporated, leaving me with just five hundred dollars. After paying for utilities and a metro card, I had nothing left. My grades weren’t good enough yet to guarantee an Ivy League acceptance, so I didn’t dare ask the dean for more money. My life was a frantic balancing act, and despite studying every waking moment, my last exam score was only good enough for a decent state school, not Harvard or Yale. I wasn’t some protagonist from a fantasy novel who could ace every test while juggling a dramatic love life. I was just Aria, and I was starving. It had been over eight hours since my last meal—a half-eaten steak and a mostly intact tuna sandwich I’d salvaged from the cafeteria trash can yesterday. It was delicious, but it wasn’t nearly enough. I bit my lip, watching my classmates pack up for the day. They were chattering about a golf trip to the Hamptons, or maybe a party on someone’s yacht. I squeezed my hand into a fist, my nails digging into my palm. Steeling myself, I stood up and spoke, my voice barely a whisper. “Excuse me… does anyone need homework done? I’m… I’m only charging five bucks a page.” 4 I’d never seen any of these kids do a single piece of homework. Every assignment the teachers gave was dutifully noted by me and me alone, completed under the dim light of a salvaged desk lamp in my sweltering attic room. My question hung in the air. The boisterous chatter of princes and princesses, busy planning their evening’s extravagances, died down. Every eye in the room swiveled to me, their expressions a perfect tableau of disbelief. Willow’s voice, laced with genuine confusion, was the first to break the silence. “Aria, our class president… you actually do the homework?” Ever since I’d become the teachers’ pet, I’d been “promoted” to class president. The title mostly meant I was responsible for all the classroom chores. My voice was as small as a mosquito’s buzz. “Yes. I’m fast, and I’m good. My work is almost always a hundred percent correct. If you ever need someone… you could consider me.” I swallowed hard, trying to sound business-like. “And I’m not expensive. Five dollars per worksheet. Buy four, get one free.” Remembering that their families were all business magnates, I quickly added, “The price is, of course, negotiable.” The shock on their faces cracked, replaced by something wild and competitive. A wave of shouts crashed over me. “Five bucks? Are you kidding me? Who do you think you’re insulting? Five hundred! I want you to do mine first! I want my dad to see that his son is finally hitting the books.” “Five hundred? That’s pathetic. I’ll pay five thousand for the top spot!” “Fifty thousand! In U.S. dollars! Money is the one thing I’m not short on!” “To hell with bidding! I’m putting a hundred grand on the table. Let’s see who’s got the deepest pockets tonight. First one’s mine, and I dare anyone to challenge me!” 5 The classroom descended into chaos. The numbers they were throwing around were getting more and more absurd, as if my scribbled calculus solutions were lost Shakespearean folios. “No, no, please!” I waved my hands frantically. “It’s just five dollars. I can’t take more. If you’re serious, I’ll just take you in the order you asked.” I tried to explain. “It’s just math and science. It won’t take me that long.” This had to be a long-term business. A steady stream of income. I was terrified that if I took too much, one of their parents would notice and shut the whole thing down. I’d learned my lesson back in middle school when I took a six-dollar rush job and the kid’s mom called my house, screaming at me for an hour. The shouting continued, but Willow, with surprising swiftness, claimed the first spot. She triumphantly transferred twenty dollars to my phone. My second-hand phone lagged for a full minute before the transaction confirmed. Staring at the balance—$20.00—a jolt of pure joy shot through me. “You can count on me, Willow,” I promised, my voice filled with genuine gratitude. “I’ll make sure your homework is a work of art.” That day, I made one hundred dollars. Five assignments. I stayed up until one in the morning, meticulously completing each one. I never took on more than I could handle perfectly. Quality was my brand. The next day, as the final bell rang, I watched another hundred dollars appear in my account. I was about to grab the tattered—but authentic—Chanel backpack I’d fished from a dumpster and head home when a figure blocked my path. It was Seraphina Covington, the undisputed queen of the school, the richest and most volatile of them all. She examined her diamond-encrusted nails, then flicked her chin towards her two loyal followers. “Drag her to the girls’ bathroom.” 6 Even the bathrooms at Sterling Crest were more spacious and opulent than my entire attic apartment. But that was cold comfort as sweat beaded on my forehead. School was out. The halls were empty. No one would hear me scream. Was this it? Was she going to beat me up? But why? What had I done? Since the day I’d arrived, I had made myself as small and invisible as possible. I was a ghost, a non-entity. When they flaunted their new toys in my face, I would stare at the dizzying logos and quickly say, “Wow, that’s beautiful. It must have been incredibly expensive.” That always seemed to satisfy them. “Expensive?” they’d scoff. “Only a pauper like you would think so. This little thing was barely a million.” The five dollars I’d earned from her last night wouldn’t even buy a single thread on one of her handbags. Seraphina smiled, a slow, menacing curl of her lips. She reached out and tipped my chin up with a perfectly manicured finger. “You’re our class president…” She drew the words out, each syllable a drop of ice water on my skin. My heart hammered against my ribs. I frantically replayed the last month in my head. I’d never crossed Seraphina. I praised her wealth. I did her homework on time. Her fiancé, Julian, was also in our class, and the only thing I’d ever said to him was, “Julian, Seraphina’s waiting for you downstairs. Something about taking the yacht out.” I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d done to offend her. Her two friends gripped my arms, their fingers digging in like talons. I couldn’t move. Okay, Aria, I thought, my mind racing. If it comes to it, drink some toilet water, beg for mercy. Whatever it takes to appease the queen. Just let me stay in this school. Seraphina leisurely pulled out her phone. The sharp tap-tap-tap of her nails on the screen was the only sound in the cavernous room. Her voice, crisp and clear, echoed from above me. “In a moment, you’re going to talk. Make sure you know what to say… and what not to say.” 7 My heart pounding in my throat, I watched as she dialed a number. A deep, authoritative man’s voice answered on the other end. “Seraphina, sweetheart, what is it?” “Daddy,” she cooed, her voice all sugar and honey. “You won’t believe it, but I did all my homework myself last night. My fingers are still aching! If you don’t believe me, ask my class president. She’s the one who’s on track for a full ride to Yale, you know.” She held the phone out to me, her eyes flashing a silent, deadly warning. I swallowed, my mouth completely dry. “Hello, Mr. Covington. My name is Aria Thorne. I’m… I’m the class president. And, uh… Seraphina really did do her own homework.” “Is that so? When did she find the time?” My brain kicked into overdrive. Seraphina had been out on her yacht all evening. There were no witnesses at sea. “Right after school, sir. She said she wanted to focus on her studies, so she stayed late in the library to finish her assignments.” A satisfied smile bloomed on Seraphina’s face. She nodded. “You hear that, Daddy? I really did it.” “Haha! That’s my girl! Finally taking your studies seriously. You know what? I’m adding an extra million to your monthly allowance as a reward!” Seraphina hung up, looking smug. “You’re smarter than you look,” she said, her voice back to its usual icy tone. “I’m the sole heir to the Covington Corporation. My father doesn’t have any other children, no bastards hiding in the woodwork. The entire empire will be mine.” She leaned in close. “From now on, you do my homework every day. And don’t worry,” she added with a smirk, “I’ll make it worth your while. But if you even think about crossing me… you’ll find out that there are fates worse than being poor.” I nodded frantically, like a bobblehead doll. The hands on my arms released their grip. Seraphina sauntered out, her heels clicking on the marble floor. Only when she was gone did I dare to breathe again. I snatched my bag from the floor and bolted, my heart still hammering as I ran for home. The detour had cost me time. By the time my long journey back to my attic was over, the sky was already turning a dusky gray. All I could think about was the mountain of homework waiting for me. I hurried my steps. As I turned into the dilapidated alley leading to my building, two figures stepped out of the shadows. They had been waiting. My father’s voice, cold and chilling, cut through the evening air. “You’ve been hiding for a month. Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”

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Our honeymoon road trip started with my husband, Liam, driving to a crematorium to pick up his apprentice. Her name was Christine, and she was holding an urn. “I’m sorry to intrude, Nora,” Christine said, climbing into the back seat. “But Liam said you were heading south, and it’s on the way to my hometown. I need to take my father’s ashes home.” I stared at Liam, my voice shaking with rage. “So, our honeymoon is going to be the three of us… plus an urn?” Liam’s face was a mask of sincerity. “It’s on the way. We’ll drop her off at the cemetery, and then our honeymoon can officially start. It’ll only be a few hours’ delay.” I got out of the car and made a call. “Mr. Wright? Prepare the divorce papers. Immediately.” 1 I’d been to the South Coast plenty of times, but Liam hadn’t. I tried to console myself with the thought that as long as it was just the two of us, anywhere could be a honeymoon. But Liam didn’t get on the freeway. We were heading in the wrong direction. That’s when I noticed the GPS. The destination was starkly displayed: “Hillside Crematorium.” Liam had insisted on planning the entire honeymoon himself. “You don’t have to worry about a thing,” he’d promised. “Just enjoy the surprise I have planned for you.” He even shot down my suggestion of planning it together, saying the mystery was part of the romance. I guess this was his “surprise.” I stayed silent, staring out the window, steeling myself. Soon, Liam’s phone rang. His voice was gentle. “We’re almost there. Just wait for us at the gate.” Every fantasy I had about our honeymoon shattered the moment the car stopped. Our honeymoon chariot was parked before the solemn gates of a crematorium. My blood ran cold. “Liam,” I said, my voice hoarse, “what are we doing here?” There, not far away, stood Christine, dressed in black, clutching a wooden box wrapped in red cloth. Liam waved her over. She got in, placing the box on the back seat. When she saw me, she managed a weak smile. “Nora, I wanted to take my father’s ashes back to our family plot. Coach Liam said you were heading that way and that it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” My suitcase in the trunk was filled with new swimsuits and elegant dresses, each one a symbol of my anticipation for our time alone. Now, it all felt like a cruel joke. The most ridiculous part? The new, sultry lingerie I’d bought was in a bag on the back seat, currently crushed under her father’s urn. Who goes on a honeymoon with a third person and an urn? A hot rage surged in my chest. “This is our honeymoon, Christine,” I snapped. “You’re not just ‘trouble,’ you’re deliberately ruining this for me!” “And you, Liam!” I turned on him. “On the first day of our honeymoon, you expect me to travel with an urn? Doesn’t that creep you out?” Liam’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “She’s just catching a ride. She’ll be gone once we get there. Can you stop being so cold? Have a little compassion.” 2 “We’re teammates in the cycling club. Shouldn’t we help each other out? We’re taking her home, and it’s not even out of our way. It’s a win-win,” he argued. “Besides, if I get bored on the long drive, Christine can keep me company.” “And Christine’s a young woman, all alone, carrying her father’s ashes. She can’t get a cab out here. If I don’t help her, who will? You’re usually so understanding. What’s wrong with you today?” My eyes burned with unshed tears. I grabbed at my hair in frustration. “Who gave you the right to change our plans without asking me? Who do you think you are?” Christine leaned forward, trying to soothe me. “Nora, please don’t be angry. This is a big day for my father. Please, let the old man rest in peace.” I shoved her hand away. “Don’t touch me.” Christine flinched back, hitting her head on the roof of the car. Liam immediately jumped out and opened her door to check on her. “This is our first honeymoon, and you want me to spend it with someone else? Do you even want to be married to me?” Before Liam could answer, Christine stopped him. “Coach, it’s my fault. I was so caught up in my own grief that I didn’t consider Nora’s feelings. The honeymoon is more important. I’ll figure something out on my own.” Her tears started to fall. “I have no one here. My dad was my only family. I’m sorry, I just wanted to lay him to rest.” “I can ride my bike. I can even walk home if I have to.” She made a show of getting out of the car, looking at me with a mournful expression. “I’m sorry, Nora. You two should get going.” Liam immediately got into the back seat, blocking her way. “You’re not going anywhere. I told you I’d take you. Have you forgotten? I promised I’d always be your pacemaker.” The word “pacemaker” hit me like a ton of bricks. I’d seen it somewhere… Christine’s social media. A picture of a cyclist’s back. The caption read: “You are my pacemaker for life, shielding me from the wind and rain. I am your devoted follower, forever wrapped around you.” So that’s how it was. Christine and Liam met in the cycling club. He always said she was delicate but tough, with incredible perseverance. He put her in charge of organizing many of the club’s events. I’d even heard other members joke that they were the “official couple,” but this was Liam. The man I’d been with since college, who loved me more than life itself. I trusted him more than I trusted myself. But the evidence of his betrayal was right in front of me. Christine was more than just a teammate, and Liam was no longer just the college athlete I fell in love with. A sharp pain lanced through my heart. This was supposed to be the start of our new life together, and it had turned into this. Liam turned back to face me. “Are you going to keep making a scene? Do you have any idea how far we are from the nearest station? How is she supposed to get anywhere, alone, with an urn?” “You know she can’t get a cab here. Are you really going to pick a fight over something so small when she needs help the most?” He got back into the driver’s seat. I caught a whiff of sweat and something else, something acrid. It was the smell of a serious cyclist, the kind who rides without underwear. A wave of nausea washed over me. It was the scent Christine had left on him when she leaned against him. I turned away in disgust. He turned to Christine. “Sit tight. I said I’d get you there today, and I will.” 3 Blinded by fury, I got out of the car. I yanked open the back door. “Christine, this is my honeymoon. Please get out. I do not consent to you being in this car.” “I can call a car from my company to take you anywhere you need to go.” “Liam, get her out of the car right now, or this trip is over.” He stared at me from the driver’s seat, his patience worn thin. “Just get in the car. I’ll drop you off at the first resort on our itinerary. You can start enjoying yourself. As soon as I get Christine to the cemetery and her father is buried, I’ll come right back.” Christine looked at me, tears streaming down her face. She defiantly wiped them away. “Fine. I won’t ruin your trip. I hope you have a wonderful honeymoon.” Then she looked at Liam, her eyes wet. “You should go. I told you we weren’t heading in the same direction. Why make Nora upset? Just let me figure it out myself.” She lowered her head, clutching the wooden box. “Dad, I’m taking you home.” All talk, no action. She hadn’t moved an inch. Liam, however, exploded. He leaped out of the car, stormed over to me, shoved me aside, and slammed the back door shut. I tried to open it again. He pushed me to the ground. “Enough! How long are you going to drag this out? It’s just a short ride! We’re married now, what are you so afraid of?” “You’re my wife now. You have everything. Why are you making things so hard for Christine? She just wants to honor her father. Are you really going to abandon her here?” “If I had known you’d become this cold and heartless, I never would have proposed.” His every word was an icicle stabbing into my heart. Liam and I met in college. He was an athlete, full of life and energy, but his family was modest, and he was held back by finances. I was the one who bought him his expensive equipment. I scrimped and saved, using the money my parents gave me to buy him three different high-end bicycles, costing a small fortune. After graduation, to support his dream, I begged my father to use his connections to secure the first and most crucial sponsorship for his fledgling cycling club. Finally, his career took off. He went from a small club founder to a nationally recognized event planner. And finally, he gave me a grand, public proposal. I invited all our friends and family to witness our happiness. I thought our future would be as straight and bright as a well-planned race route. But now, watching him defend another woman, watching our honeymoon turn into a funeral procession, I finally understood. Everything had gone off track long ago. I was just the last to know. Liam looked down at me coldly. “I’m giving you two options. One, get in the car, and we stick to the plan. Two, if you insist on making a scene, you can stay here. After all, you’re the one who doesn’t want to be with us, right?” In the reflection of the rearview mirror, I saw a flash of triumph in Christine’s eyes. “Nora, don’t be angry,” Christine said from the car. “Let me talk to him.” Then she turned to Liam. “Coach, don’t be like that. Nora just doesn’t understand the team spirit of us cyclists. You can’t blame her. She’s always been so supportive of the club. You can’t yell at her just because she’s throwing a little tantrum.” Liam snorted. “I’ve spoiled her. That’s why she’s so entitled.” “Get out! Both of you, just get out!” Hearing Christine’s fake peacemaking, her subtle instigation, I lost it. Liam got back in the car. I stared at him in disbelief. He said, word by word, “Fine. If you choose not to get in, you can figure it out yourself.” He rolled up the window, started the engine, and the car sped away without a moment’s hesitation, leaving me alone in front of the crematorium. The honeymoon itinerary slipped from my hand, falling to the ground where it was run over by his tires, left stained and ruined. I stood there, motionless, as my phone buzzed. It was a text from Liam. Since you’re being so immature, I guess you weren’t that excited about this trip after all. Calm down and look at the itinerary. Meet me at the next resort. I’ll come find you after I drop Christine off. I expect my wife to be reasonable and considerate, not selfish and narrow-minded like you. 4 My heart went cold. I let the tears dry on my face, then wiped away the tracks they left. I stood up straight and made a call. “Mr. Wright? Prepare the divorce papers. Yes, immediately.” “And file to freeze all joint assets between myself and Liam.” I hung up and dialed another number. A calm voice answered. “Happy honeymoon, Nora.” I stared at the horizon. “Sheldon, I need a pilot. Now.” “Bring your private helicopter and pick me up. I want to go somewhere I can actually have a honeymoon.” “Send me your location,” he said. “I’ll be there in thirty.” With my arrangements made, I waited. Sheldon Vance. The son of my father’s business partner, and Liam’s biggest rival in the industry. My parents had always preferred him, but for Liam’s sake, I had shut down every possibility. They had warned me that Liam’s ego was fragile. He enjoyed the path I paved for him but resented the powerful family behind me. That was why he always insisted I stay out of his “professional domain” and be the supportive woman behind the man. I never listened, convinced he was just trying to protect me from stress. Now I understood. He was afraid my light would outshine his. Afraid people would know his success was built on my family’s support. Less than thirty minutes later, a thunderous roar grew closer. A helicopter hovered steadily over a nearby clearing. Sheldon leaned out of the cockpit and extended a hand. “Nora, your new journey starts now.” I took a deep breath and his hand. “First stop, the Maldives.” Meanwhile, Liam and Christine were on the road to her hometown. Christine rested her head on his shoulder. “Coach, will she ever understand us?” Liam stroked her hair. “It doesn’t matter. As long as I understand you, that’s enough.” Christine’s eyes were red. “But you’re married now. I know I have no right to say anything. Just being able to see you is enough. But it still hurts. I admit I’m jealous. I don’t want to see you with her.” “Am I being selfish? I don’t want to come between you. I know you have a responsibility to Nora. But I can’t control my heart. I just want to ride with you until the very end.” Seeing her tear-streaked face, Liam pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead. “Silly girl, don’t overthink it. Besides marriage, everything I can give you, I will.” “But I am married. I can’t betray Nora. I’ll take care of you, but we have to keep our distance.” Christine buried her face in his chest, sobbing harder, but a flicker of triumph crossed her face. Liam’s phone vibrated violently. First, a text from the bank: all joint accounts had been frozen. Then, an email popped up. The subject line: “Divorce Agreement, sent on behalf of Ms. Nora Vance.” His heart sank. His financial manager called immediately, his voice frantic. “Liam, are you insane? You left Nora on the side of the road?” “Do you have any idea what she’s done? Check the news! Sheldon Vance sent his helicopter for her!” “Are you kidding me? Her family’s lawyers have already contacted me. She’s divorcing you and wants me to liquidate the company’s assets.”

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1 When the city’s richest man came to the orphanage to find his long-lost daughter, I threw myself at his feet. My best friend—the real heiress—silently pressed the family locket into my hand. She knew the truth: in our last life, she’d died mysteriously within a month of joining that family. I’d later discovered why. The fake heiress, Vivi, had a Pain Transference System—every “injury” she suffered was diverted to my friend. To avenge her, I’d jumped from a tower, dragging Vivi with me. Now, reborn, I faced Vivi’s smirk as she whispered, “Sister, welcome home.” I smiled back. “Good to be back, little sister.” What she didn’t know? I feel no pain—and I brought a Hundred-Fold Rebound System. This time, I’d be the one facing her. … “Sister, you’re finally back.” The moment Vivi Blackwell looked at me, her eyes filled with tears and her voice trembled. “Dad talks about you all the time. I… I’ve been so eager to meet you.” Arthur Blackwell, now my father in name, stood by, a mixture of awkwardness and pity for Vivi on his face. He patted my shoulder, his tone gentle. “You two are sisters now. You must get along.” I nodded, saying nothing. Get along with an enemy who wanted me dead at every turn? Sure. I’d be happy to dance on her grave. The atmosphere at dinner was… delicate. Mr. Blackwell tried his best to liven things up, constantly piling food onto my plate and asking about my life at the orphanage. I answered concisely, my attention fixed on Vivi, who sat opposite me. She didn’t disappoint. A tureen of steaming hot consommé had just been served. As soon as the maid placed it beside her, Vivi’s arm “slipped,” her elbow knocking precisely against the edge of the bowl. “Ah!” With a delicate cry, the scalding soup splashed across the back of her hand. In the instant Mr. Blackwell and the staff shot up in alarm, I saw a fleeting, triumphant sneer flash across Vivi’s lips. Her eyes were locked on me, gleaming with venomous anticipation. Here we go. In our last life, a bowl of soup just like this one was the beginning of my friend’s nightmare, the first wave of transferred agony. I knew she was waiting, expecting me to scream from the searing pain she was now channeling my way. But she was about to be disappointed. One second. Two. Three. Nothing. I was born without a sense of pain. Her system was useless against me. Instead, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind. [Malicious attack detected.] [Hundred-Fold Rebound System activated.] The scene she’d envisioned—me screaming in agony—never happened. Instead, it was Vivi whose triumphant face twisted into a mask of pure horror, her delicate features contorting in pain. A shriek, so shrill it barely sounded human, ripped from her throat. “AAAAAAH—” This scream was a hundred times more genuine than her first theatrical cry. Everyone froze, stunned by her sudden outburst. The hand that had been splashed with soup was turning a furious, angry red before our eyes. Blisters, shiny and taut, erupted across her skin as if she’d been branded with a hot iron. “Vivi! What’s wrong?” Mr. Blackwell, horrified, reached for her hand but recoiled from the astonishing heat. “It hurts! It hurts so much! Dad! My hand feels like it’s going to fall off!” Vivi wailed, tears and snot streaming down her face as she slid from her chair. She thrashed on the floor, all traces of her prim and proper heiress persona gone. I immediately stood up, my face a perfect picture of confusion and panic, and rushed to her side. “Vivi, what’s happening? It was just a little splash of soup! Why does it hurt so much?” As I spoke, I looked at Mr. Blackwell with feigned helplessness. “Dad, call a doctor!” Mr. Blackwell stared at his wailing daughter on the floor, then at me. For the first time, a flicker of doubt and scrutiny entered his eyes. He was right to be confused. It was just a splash of soup. Even if it stung, who would react by writhing in agony on the ground? I knelt beside her, a cold smile hidden behind my worried expression as I watched her pain-twisted face. This is only the beginning. Vivi, in this life, every “gift” you try to give me, I will return a hundred times over. The show has just begun. 2 The family doctor was called for Vivi’s hand. After hours of examination, he could only conclude that she was “overly sensitive” or having an “extreme allergic reaction.” After all, besides the frightening patch of red, swollen blisters, there was no sign of any deeper tissue damage. He prescribed some burn cream, offered a few words of advice, and left with his medical bag. For the first time, Mr. Blackwell looked at his daughter with a gaze full of incomprehension and exhaustion. Vivi, however, lay in her bed and glared at me with eyes full of poison. She didn’t believe it. She refused to believe her system had failed. In her mind, last night was a fluke. A one-time accident. The next morning, I came downstairs feeling refreshed and ready for breakfast. As I reached the top of the grand staircase, I saw Vivi waiting for me. She wore a silk nightgown, her face pale. She leaned against the banister, the very picture of frail beauty. When she saw me, a flash of hatred and certainty flickered in her wide eyes. “Good morning, sister.” She offered me a weak smile. I smiled back. “Morning.” Just as I moved to walk past her, she timed it perfectly. Her foot “accidentally” twisted. With a short, sharp gasp, she threw herself headfirst down the stairs. She even made sure to nudge me with her elbow, ensuring I had a clear view of her “accidental” fall. In that instant, I felt a wave of malicious energy, far stronger than the soup incident, surge toward me. It was an invisible net, woven with the projected agony of falling, of impact, of breaking bones, and it was meant to engulf me. In Vivi’s script, I should have been the one screaming as I tumbled down the stairs, ending in a bloody heap at the bottom while she stood safely at the top. However, the moment that energy touched my body, it hit an invisible wall. It was instantly absorbed, compressed, and then, with even greater ferocity, reflected. The cold, mechanical voice in my head spoke again. [Lethal physical attack detected.] [Hundred-Fold Rebound System activated.] I stood perfectly still at the top of the stairs, not a single thread of my clothing disturbed. But Vivi, who had already “fallen” halfway down, seemed to hang suspended in mid-air for a bizarre, unnatural moment. Then, a scream a hundred times more piercing than the night before—a sound that could shatter eardrums—erupted from the depths of her throat. “AAAAAAAHHH!!!” It was a sound of pure, unadulterated agony and utter disbelief, as if, in that one second, she had truly experienced the sensation of rolling down a dozen stairs, of every single bone in her body snapping. Her body went limp like a marionette with its strings cut, and she crashed heavily onto the carpet at the bottom of the staircase. She lay twisted in a horribly unnatural position, convulsed violently a few times, and then her head lolled to the side. She was out cold. The maids downstairs, terrified by the sudden chaos, screamed and rushed over. Startled by the commotion, Mr. Blackwell burst out of his study. When he saw Vivi lying motionless on the floor and me standing unharmed at the top of the stairs, he froze. I immediately adopted a look of sheer panic and scrambled down the steps. “Vivi! Vivi, what happened! Wake up!” I shook her, my voice thick with tears. “Dad! Call an ambulance! Vivi fell down the stairs!” Mr. Blackwell rushed over. He first checked Vivi’s breathing and, confirming she was only unconscious, let out a small sigh of relief. But he didn’t immediately call for an ambulance. Instead, he slowly stood up, lifted his head, and looked at me with an incredibly complex expression. The confusion from last night was gone. In its place was a deep, undisguised suspicion. He was silent for a full ten seconds, the entire hall deathly quiet. Then, in a voice as cold as ice, he asked me, word by word: “She fell. Why were you still standing at the top?” 3 Mr. Blackwell’s voice was like a block of ice crashing against my heart. But my face couldn’t show a single crack. I let out a violent shiver, tears instantly welling in my eyes. My body began to tremble uncontrollably, as if his accusation had shattered my courage. “I… I was scared stiff, Dad.” My voice, thick with sobs, was a complete wreck. “She… she just fell, straight down. I tried to grab her, but I couldn’t reach… It was too fast, everything happened too fast…” As I spoke, I crawled the rest of the way down the stairs on my hands and knees. I threw myself next to Vivi, crying my heart out. “Vivi, don’t scare me! Wake up!” My acting skills, honed over a lifetime of needing to pretend in my past life, were flawless. Mr. Blackwell looked at me, the suspicion in his eyes not lessening, but he didn’t press further. He was a businessman; he wouldn’t jump to conclusions without concrete evidence. He simply scowled and had the butler call an ambulance. Vivi was still unconscious when they carried her away. A heavy gloom settled over the Blackwell estate. That afternoon, the hospital called. Mr. Blackwell put it on speakerphone, and I sat opposite him, listening quietly. “Mr. Blackwell, we’ve conducted a full-body examination on Miss Vivi, including a CT scan and an MRI. Her bones, internal organs, brain… there’s absolutely no damage.” The doctor’s voice was filled with bewilderment. “No damage? Then why did she pass out from the pain?” Mr. Blackwell’s brow was furrowed into a deep knot. “Well… physiologically, we can’t find a cause. After she woke up, she was extremely agitated, insisting that her entire body was in agony, but even a pain pump had minimal effect. After a consultation with a neurologist, the preliminary diagnosis is… it might be a psychosomatic episode.” “Meaning… the pain is psychological. A powerful delusion.” Psychosomatic. I almost laughed out loud. The diagnosis was the perfect cover story, tailor-made for me. Mr. Blackwell hung up the phone and was silent for a long time. He stared out the window, his expression dark and terrifying. A perfectly healthy daughter, repeatedly experiencing exaggerated, dramatic pain from “accidents,” now diagnosed with a psychological condition. The strangeness of it all was enough to make any sane person deeply suspicious. And I seized this golden opportunity. I had to find the system’s conduit. The torment my friend, Valerie, had endured in our past life couldn’t have been created from thin air. Such power, defying all scientific reason, had to have a physical object at its core. My mind raced, replaying every detail I could remember about Vivi. What was it that she almost never took off? A piece of clothing? Jewelry? Or… It hit me like a lightning bolt. 4 A necklace. A platinum necklace, seemingly simple, that I had never once seen her remove. Whether she was at a gala, lounging at home, or even bathing, that necklace was always clasped around her neck. In my past life, I’d dismissed it as a favorite piece of jewelry. Now, I realized it was very likely the source of all her evil. I had to be sure. I walked over to Mr. Blackwell, my face a mask of carefully crafted worry and guilt. “Dad, I want to go to the hospital to see my sister. No matter what, this happened right in front of me. I… I just can’t feel at ease.” Mr. Blackwell gave me a complicated look but eventually nodded. “Go. Have the driver take you.” In the VIP suite, Vivi was lying in bed. She’d probably been given a sedative and was sleeping soundly. The pristine white sheets made her small face look even more pale and pitiful. I told the maid to wait outside and went in alone. First, I checked her handbag on the nightstand. Just cosmetics and a phone. Nothing unusual. I looked through the clothes she’d changed out of. Nothing there, either. Finally, my gaze fell upon her neck. The platinum chain rested quietly against her collarbone. The pendant was a unique, small teardrop, glinting coldly in the soft hospital light. That was it. I took a deep breath and slowly reached out, pretending to adjust the corner of her blanket. My fingertips crept cautiously toward the teardrop pendant. I had to know what its secret was. Just as my finger was about to touch the cold metal, something happened.

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