The front door of my house is a portal through time. One moment, I open it and see my husband as he was seven years ago, newly married and full of reckless passion. The next, he’s the man he is today: mature, composed, a master of his craft. I found myself with both a hot-headed boy-toy and a sophisticated, worldly Daddy. And when you stumble upon something this good, you keep it to yourself. I thought I had my secret perfectly under wraps, until I overheard my husband, Liam, talking to his secretary. “Why haven’t you found him yet? The other man.” “Does she hide him so well because she loves him more?” “Is it because he’s younger?” “Find him,” Liam’s voice commanded, strained with a desperate edge. “I don’t care what it costs, find that bastard.” The secretary had almost reached the door when Liam called him back. His voice was a raw mix of despair and surrender. “And don’t let my wife know.” 1 I stumbled home after a business trip, so exhausted I collapsed onto the sofa the moment I walked through the door. When I woke up, the sky was dark. Liam was curled around me, his arm draped protectively over my waist. I studied his face in the dim light. I didn’t know when it had started, but Liam had become busier, more serious, more… distant. We rarely did silly things like fall asleep together on the sofa anymore. The idea that love deepens with time? Maybe that was always a lie. A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You’re awake. Let’s get some dinner.” I tilted my head back and met his gaze. His eyes were burning with an intensity that was almost… unfamiliar. My hand instinctively went to his hair, smoothing it down. He leaned into my touch like a contented puppy. But wait. I’d only been gone for a week. How could his hair have grown this long? Before I could puzzle it out, his lips were on mine, kissing me with a raw hunger that felt like he wanted to devour me whole. When I finally managed to gasp for breath, I pushed him away and sat up. That’s when I saw it. The room. This was our first apartment. The one we lived in seven years ago. The painting by the door was one we’d hung right after our wedding, and it had only stayed up for a few months. The appliances, the furniture—it was all from that time. I lifted Liam’s shirt. The skin on his right side was smooth, unblemished. The jagged scar he’d gotten saving me from that car accident wasn’t there. I had actually traveled back in time. I turned back to him, and he was already taking off his pants. My first instinct was to run. Liam grabbed my ankle, pulling me back into his arms. “Liam, wait. I need to ask you something.” “Nope,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “You were just touching me, teasing me. Whatever it is, it can wait.” “I just lifted your shirt! How is that teasing?” His mouth was closing in again. I pressed my hand against his lips, my voice firm. “No, you have to answer. How many days have we been married?” A look of delighted surprise lit up his eyes. “Ninety-nine. Is there a reward?” I met his hopeful gaze and swallowed the words I was about to say. “I guess you could say that.” … The next morning, I woke up staring at the ceiling, my body aching in places I’d forgotten could ache. Now I understood the true meaning of “youthful vigor.” It took another nap before I could finally drag myself out of bed. I wandered through the apartment, a wave of nostalgia washing over me. So many of these things were gone in seven years. I wasn’t in a hurry to go back. I was here now. Might as well enjoy it. The twenty-three-year-old Liam was so much easier to handle than his thirty-year-old counterpart. I could get him to agree to almost anything with a little sweet talk and a pout. The older Liam was a fortress of logic and suspicion, his mind a complex honeycomb of defenses. Youth was so much better. Full of energy, and so delightfully gullible. With a young, sweet husband to dote on me, who needed the old man at home? 2 I came home laden with shopping bags, a spring in my step. A young, pliable husband was the perfect subject for a few… experiments. I opened the door and saw him sitting on the sofa. My heart sank. It was the thirty-year-old Liam. The smile froze on my face. “What are you doing here?” I blurted out. Liam’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here’?” I panicked and slammed the door shut. Wrong way to open it. I closed my eyes, picturing the younger Liam. I opened the door again. Still the older one. I tried again. And again. After several failed attempts, I gave up. Liam was already at the door. He pulled me inside, pinning me against the wall. “Explain yourself. What did you mean by that?” I looked down, playing dumb. “Nothing. You misheard me. I meant, ‘what are you doing home so early’.” He didn’t look convinced. I stood on my toes and peppered his face with kisses. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat~” Liam gave me a long, searching look, but decided to let it go. For now. He reached for the bags in my hands. My body moved faster than my brain. I clutched the bags and took a step back. The contents were for the younger Liam. If the older one saw them, I was done for. “I can get it. Just move.” He stood his ground, his eyes fixed on me. My heart hammered against my ribs. Just when I thought I was going to have a heart attack, he stepped aside. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. When I came out of the shower, Liam was on the balcony, reading through some documents. I toweled my hair as I approached. “Why aren’t you working in the study?” He put the documents down, and I saw that his bathrobe was hanging open. A step closer and I could smell that unique, crisp scent of his. He must have showered in the guest bathroom while I was in the master. If the younger Liam was overtly seductive, the older one was a master of subtle temptation. He wanted to conquer not just your body, but your mind as well. And while I was a sucker for it, I was determined not to be so easily swayed this time. Seeing my lack of reaction, Liam slowly took off his gold-rimmed glasses. The simple gesture sent a jolt of electricity through me. He took my wrist and pulled me into his lap. I wasn’t as good at pretending as he was. I couldn’t resist. I grabbed his head and kissed him, a desperate, hungry kiss. He just wrapped his arms around my waist, letting me do as I pleased. When I finally pulled away, breathless, I could have sworn I heard him sigh in relief. He shifted me in his lap so I was facing him directly. I looked at him, confused. He smiled, and from behind his back, he produced two shopping bags. The ones I had brought home. I swallowed hard. “What are you doing with those?” His hand tightened on my waist. There was no escape. He ignored my question and started pulling things out of the bag. He held up a small, lacy piece of fabric. “What’s this? Is it for me?” “If you li—” I caught myself and shook my head violently, grabbing his hand. “That’s not for you.” Are you kidding me? The thirty-year-old Liam in that? I wasn’t suicidal. His face fell. He ground his teeth, forcing out the words. “If it’s not for me, then who is it for?” 3 A chill ran down my spine. “It’s for me. It’s a matching set. The salesclerk must have given me the wrong one.” The lie hung in the air. Liam’s face was still a mask of cold fury. He scrutinized me, his eyes sharp and piercing. In a different context, that look would have been incredibly hot. A real daddy vibe. I couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him. “That’s the look. It’s so hot. I’ve got inspiration. I have to go draw.” The mention of work made him instinctively loosen his grip. But then he caught my waist again. “Tomorrow night, I want to see this ‘mistake’.” I mumbled an agreement and ran to the study. Inspiration was fleeting. Seven hours later, I finally looked up from my drawing. It was a masterpiece, if I did say so myself. I tweaked a few details, pulling an all-nighter without even realizing it. I don’t remember how I got to bed, but when I woke up, it was already afternoon. Liam would be home in three hours. I threw on some clothes and rushed out, finally finding a store that sold a similar women’s version of the lingerie. I got home just before he did. The moment I opened the door, he pulled me into his arms. “Honey, you’re finally back.” The word “honey” told me everything. It was the twenty-three-year-old Liam. I almost cried with relief. Evasion was cowardly, but it was also effective. I hugged him tightly. “Oh, Liam, you’re so much better.” He stiffened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, but I was too relieved to notice. He shifted, and his foot knocked over one of the shopping bags. The contents spilled out. Liam quickly picked it up. He stared at the flimsy piece of fabric, stunned. “Honey, why did you buy this?” A slow smile spread across his face. “Is this my hundred-day anniversary present?” “Yes,” I lied, my heart weeping silently. This was supposed to be my present. I looked at his beautiful, youthful face. The gambler in me took over. I pulled away from him. “I’ll be right back.” “Will you… be back tonight?” “I’ll try,” I said distractedly, my mind already mapping out the quickest route to another store. Behind me, the color drained from Liam’s face. He pulled out his phone. The anniversary counter on his wallpaper had already ticked over to 101 days. I had forgotten I was in the past. It took me hours to find something suitable. When I finally got back, I took a deep breath before opening the door. But it swung open before I could touch it. Liam was there, looking like a wounded puppy. He bent down, burying his face in my shoulder. I sighed in relief. It was the younger Liam. He didn’t say anything, just held me tighter. “What’s wrong? Did I make you wait too long? It’s because…” He cut me off with a kiss. “I don’t want to hear it…” 4 Before Liam went into the bathroom, I handed him the paper bag. “Baby, can you wear this for me?” He peeked inside and agreed without hesitation. “Of course. Anything for you.” I couldn’t help but giggle as I pushed him into the bathroom. Young guys were so easy. When he came out, he was a little shy, fidgeting awkwardly. God, I loved it. I circled him, admiring the view. “It’s perfect,” I breathed. I sometimes drew risqué original characters for my online portfolio. There was always one comment that got a lot of likes: “Hey, draw something dirtier.” I had. More than one. I couldn’t post them, but I could admire them in private. And I had clearly, subconsciously, used Liam as my model. His body was more perfect than any 2D character. After admiring him from every angle, I realized his expression was blank. He seemed to have zoned out. He must have misunderstood. “I mean, you look just like my drawing.” The light returned to his eyes. “Just a drawing? Can I see it?” I refused instantly. There was no way I was showing him those. I barely dared to look at them myself, and only as a reward after a long day of work. “I drew them a long time ago. I deleted them.” His eyelashes fluttered. It took him a moment to find his voice. “Oh. Okay.” I stood on my toes and kissed him. “Baby, shouldn’t we be getting down to business?” He seemed rooted to the spot. “Am I… not mature enough sometimes?” He must have had a bad day at work. I shook my head. “Don’t think like that. Being young has its advantages.” “You might not have the money, the experience, or the social skills yet, but you have youth. And trust me, you’ll grow into all of that. You’ll be amazing. And hey,” I whispered, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Your company is going to go public in five years.” He didn’t look comforted. “And you? Do you prefer the mature type?” My hands wandered to the lace trim on his new outfit. “Not at all. I like you just the way you are. When you’re all mature and serious, you won’t play these little games with me anymore.” A look of understanding dawned on his face. He pressed his forehead against mine. “Okay. I get it. Whatever you want me to be, I can be.” … For a week, I avoided the front door, terrified of being thrown back into the future. On the eighth day, I couldn’t resist ordering a small cake. The moment I opened the door to get the delivery, I was back. Seven years in the future. 5 I ran to the mirror. Thankfully, no marks. Still, a strange sense of guilt washed over me. It was almost time for Liam to get home from work. I changed my clothes and decided to go pick him up. The top floor of his office building was silent, everyone hunched over their desks, trying to be invisible. I walked all the way to his office without anyone noticing me. “Why haven’t you found him yet? The other man.” It was Liam’s voice. My hand froze on the doorknob. I ducked into a nearby alcove and listened. “He’s probably younger than me. My wife has a thing for good-looking men. We can rule out anyone ugly.” His secretary’s voice trembled. “Sir, these are all the people your wife has been in contact with recently. The man you’re describing isn’t on the list. Are you sure you’re not just… under a lot of pressure lately?” Liam’s voice was tight with suppressed rage. “Impossible. I know her. Her eyes used to only be on me. Now, there’s someone else in them.” “Do you think she hides him so well because he’s younger? Am I old?” His voice cracked. “That’s right. I’m thirty. I can’t turn back time.” The secretary, though timid, had a sharp tongue. “Sir, have you seen a doctor? These symptoms sound like… early-onset menopause.” A loud thud. Liam had thrown something. “He exists. Find him. I don’t care what it costs.” The secretary turned to leave, but Liam called him back. He closed his eyes, his voice a mix of despair and surrender. “Don’t let my wife know.” I saw the secretary coming and quickly moved to the door, pretending I had just arrived. He looked surprised to see me, then followed me to open the door, knocking first. “Sir, your wife is here.” He smiled at me and left. Inside, Liam was back to his usual dapper self. If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I would have thought I’d imagined the whole thing. He stood up. “I came to pick you up,” I explained. He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “A sudden burst of concern, born from guilt.” He was too far away for me to read his lips. “What did you say?” He quickly composed himself. “Nothing. I still have work to do. You can wait in the lounge.” I didn’t argue. I needed a moment to process everything. Lying on the lounge sofa, my mind was a mess. Liam thought I was cheating on him. After all these years, he was the only man I had ever loved. If it weren’t for him, I probably would have never gotten married. He had crashed into my life when I was at my lowest point. I was lying on the ground after a car accident, and he appeared, a silhouette against the blinding light. The first thing he said to me was: “I’m in the middle of starting a business, and I’m millions in debt to the bank. If you try to blackmail me, I’ll take you down with me.” Maybe it was the concussion, but I thought I saw stars around him. The image was burned into my memory. As soon as I recovered, I painted the picture that launched my career. From then on, it was like a switch had been flipped. My career took off. You don’t betray your muse. I could never betray him. Of course, falling for the twenty-three-year-old version of him didn’t count. That was just human nature. I replayed some of our recent conversations in my head. I must have said something careless that made him suspicious. I decided to apologize to him tonight. But would he believe me if I told him I had been traveling back in time?

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Married to a man who seemed to have the libido of a houseplant, I satisfied my cravings by scrolling through videos of hot guys online. The comments were all variations of the same theme: “It’s so hot out today. Speaking of hot…” I laughed and typed a reply: “Hot or not? ” Suddenly, a private message popped up. “Hey, wanna see mine?” I yelped and threw my phone across the bed. Just then, a knock came at my door. A man stood there, his eyes glassy with drink and glistening with unshed tears. He stumbled into my arms, his voice a broken whisper. “What are you looking at?” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “Baby, I’m so much better than them. You don’t have to look elsewhere…” 1 It was late, and I was in bed, mesmerized by a video of a guy with washboard abs dancing. That’s when the message popped up: “Hey, wanna see mine?” I shrieked, my skin crawling. But curiosity, that treacherous beast, got the better of me. I clicked on his profile. Oh my. A chiseled, boy-next-door type, dancing shirtless. I spent the next hour happily lost in a sea of rippling muscles and smoldering gazes. Then, a knock shattered the silence. At this hour, it could only be my husband, Brent—all looks, no action. The man who treated his stomach with more care than his wife. “Ava,” he slurred as I opened the door. “My head hurts. Do you have any painkillers?” He was a tall man, but right now, he was all dead weight. The moment the door was open, he collapsed into my arms. “Brent! Hey! Are you completely wasted? You’re so heavy, I can’t hold you.” You wouldn’t believe it, but in two years of marriage, this was the closest we’d ever been. “Ava, my head… it hurts so much. Can you blow on it for me? Please?” Was he possessed? Was this the same robotic man whose entire vocabulary seemed to consist of “Okay,” “Thank you,” and “Good night”? His warm breath tickled my ear as he nuzzled against me. “Ava, it hurts.” He was being so clingy, refusing to move until I did as he asked. I blew a quick puff of air onto his forehead. “There, all better? Let me get you to your room.” With a grunt, I managed to heave him onto my bed, shoes and all. I landed beside him with a thud, stars exploding behind my eyes. He murmured into my ear, his voice thick with sleep. “Stay here.” I looked at the man passed out on my bed and sighed, rubbing my temples. What a handful. Two years ago, to fend off my parents’ relentless nagging about my single status, I had posted a ridiculous, half-joking message online: “Someone, anyone, please marry me.” That night, Brent, a man who had been a silent ghost in my contacts list since college, actually messaged me. “Ava, hello. I believe we might be in need of the same thing.” He then proceeded to send me a ten-page PowerPoint presentation outlining the pros and cons of marrying him. 1. My parents are open-minded and will not interfere. 2. I have a demanding job, but I will ensure your daily needs are met. 3. I’m an excellent cook… His face, I had to admit, was devastatingly handsome. So, in a moment of weakness, I made the same mistake countless women have made before me. And now, I was regretting it. Who knew that at twenty-five, Brent would be living the life of a monk? I went to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. When I came back, he was sprawled out on the bed… and my mind started to wander. It wasn’t that he was unattractive. Far from it. He was probably just not interested in me. Otherwise, what man could resist a 34D? “Here, drink this.” As he reached for the glass, his fingers brushed against mine, and he held my hand as he drank. Water dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt. “Brent, are you doing this on purpose? Are you faking being drunk?” I had seen him turn off my phone before he collapsed. His brow furrowed, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. 2 I scoffed. If he was trying to seduce me, he was doing a terrible job. I tried to pull my hand away. “I’m going to sleep in your room.” Thump. His arm shot out, wrapping around my waist. “Don’t go.” “Brent, what’s gotten into you? Are you having some kind of drunken fever dream?” The smell of alcohol was strong. Could it be that when my robotic husband got drunk, he turned into a clingy mess? His face was flushed as he mumbled, “Why were you watching those sleazy guys dance? Am I not good enough?” Well, well. The robot could get jealous. So where was this jealousy when I’d tried to seduce him in a slinky nightgown, only to be pushed out the door with a cold, “Ava, please have some self-respect”? The absurdity of it all was staggering. “Baby,” he whispered, his voice a low thrum against my skin. “I’m so much better than them. You don’t have to look elsewhere…” He leaned closer. “Do you want to see mine?” My face was on fire. I scrambled out of his grip and fled the room. If he was this good at flirting, was it possible his whole “robot” persona was just an act? If so, this marriage was definitely over. 3 The next morning, I found Brent in the kitchen, already making breakfast as if nothing had happened. Hmph. So innocent. “Hey, Brent. Can we talk?” The morning air was cool, but a wave of warmth radiated from him as he turned, carrying the scent of his cologne and something else, something intoxicatingly masculine. “Morning. What’s got you up so early? Hungry for breakfast?” he asked, his voice back to its usual calm cadence. “I was drunk last night. Thanks for taking care of me.” What a fossil. “Breakfast will be ready in a minute.” “Brent,” I said, cutting to the chase. “Let’s get a divorce.” His hand, which was pouring milk, froze. His eyebrows shot up, then furrowed. “I know you don’t like milk. I made juice.” His voice was low, betraying no emotion. He was pretending he hadn’t heard me. “I said, let’s get a divorce.” This time, he didn’t stop. He continued to meticulously arrange a picture-perfect breakfast, completely ignoring my words. “We’re not a good match. You’re a night owl, I’m an early bird. There are no feelings between us. It doesn’t make sense, right?” He stiffened for a second, his eyes downcast. No response. The silence was infuriating. I marched over and punched him lightly on the arm. The cute, frilly apron he was wearing seemed so out of place. “I never knew you had such a… flamboyant side, Professor Osmond.” He didn’t reply, just stood there rigidly, his eyes darting to mine for a fleeting moment. “Eat. I don’t want to repeat myself.” “Just think about it. I’ll have the divorce papers drawn up soon.” He walked into the bathroom, still wearing the apron. His steps were unsteady, his back slightly hunched. At the door, he finally responded, a hint of anger in his voice. “Fine. I’ll consider it and give you an answer.” My gaze fell on the balcony. For the umpteenth time, some of my lingerie had gone missing from the clothesline. Brent always said the wind must have blown it away. Today, I was going to get to the bottom of it. Where exactly was he hanging this stuff that a gale-force wind strong enough to blow away a dozen pairs of underwear kept showing up? I knocked on his bedroom door for a long time. All I could hear was the sound of running water from inside. No answer. I pushed the door open and tiptoed in. The glass door of the shower was fogged up, revealing the tantalizing silhouette of a well-built physique. And then I heard it—a few deep, ragged breaths, followed by a whispered word that made me freeze in my tracks. “Ava.” 4 My eyes dropped to the floor, and my heart stopped. Strewn across the carpet were all my missing undergarments. A flash of red lace was peeking out from under the bathroom door. A moment later, the man in the shower moved. I was about to dive for cover when I saw the corner of red fabric being pulled into the bathroom, as if clutched in a hand. The color was stark against the frosted glass. I fled in a panic. If Brent was this… passionate, why had he been avoiding me? My brain felt like a bowl of mush. That sneaky, repressed man. No, I had to confront him. I needed evidence. That night, I crept into the living room, ready to sneak into his bedroom. “Are you looking for me?” a voice from the sofa stopped me cold. Brent was sitting there, wearing his gold-rimmed glasses, a book in his hand. He didn’t even look up. The cold, robotic persona was back in full force. The memory of what I’d seen in his room made my courage evaporate. “Are you hiding something from me?” I asked, deciding to be direct. “And what’s your decision on the divorce?” Brent pushed his glasses up his nose and raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? I bought you that necklace you wanted.” I followed his gaze to a jewelry box on the coffee table. I gasped. Overjoyed, I momentarily forgot my mission. He cleared his throat. “Let’s eat. I’ve been waiting for you. Are you hungry?” Looking at the table full of my favorite dishes, a strange feeling washed over me. Setting aside his… condition, Brent was a very thoughtful husband. A little bland, maybe, but meticulous and considerate. And what if the robot was just an act? A sudden urge to see Brent beg, to see his face flush with embarrassment, seized me. He came up behind me, his voice a cool murmur. “Is your headache back? Let me rub your temples. I learned a technique from a traditional medicine expert.” His slender fingers, coated in a soothing oil, gently massaged my temples. The tension in my body melted away. His hand moved to the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. His warm breath fanned my ear as he deliberately lowered his voice, a husky whisper that made my whole body go limp. “How’s that, Ava? Is the pressure to your liking?” I smirked. “Not bad. But, Professor Osmond, what about the divorce?” His hands stilled. I could feel the tension in his touch. I fought to keep the smile off my face. Would he beg me not to leave him this time? Oh, the anticipation…

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After the psychologist hypnotized my husband, a single keyword would switch him into a mode of relentless seduction. One day, while I was out, my sister snuck into our house and started a video call. Through the screen, she smiled, a taunt in her eyes. “Sis, what do you think will happen if I say the keyword? Will he listen to me, too?” Just then, the study door opened, and my husband, Julian, walked out. With chilling confidence, my sister spoke the word. And I could only watch, paralyzed, as my husband began to walk slowly, deliberately, toward her. 1 After Julian’s therapy session concluded, a message from his psychologist, Dr. Sharma, lit up my phone. 【The hypnotic suggestion has been successfully implanted.】 【Activation Phrase: Начинать】 【Deactivation Phrase: Конец】 【Upon activation, he will perceive the speaker as his beloved wife and embody the role of a perfect, attentive lover. Afterward, the memory of this period will not exist in his conscious mind.】 【WARNING: Do not reveal the keywords to anyone.】 I sent a quick “Understood” and slipped the phone away, my heart thumping as I approached the study. Inside, Julian sat behind his large oak desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, the weight of his corporate world etched onto his brow. “How are you feeling?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended. He looked up, his eyes holding their usual, frustrating distance. “Better. Thank you.” A relieved smile touched my lips. “Good. You’ve been under so much pressure with the company. I thought a little professional guidance might help.” The psychologist was my idea, framed as stress relief. The truth was far more selfish. It was a desperate gambit to bridge the chasm between us. After a year of marriage, we were little more than polite roommates, our relationship a masterpiece of respectful distance. But I yearned for him. All of him. He noticed me lingering. “Is there something else?” Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside and clicked the door shut behind me. The keywords were set. It was time to see if this audacious plan would work. Could the cool, aloof Julian really transform into the devoted husband of my dreams? I walked to his desk, met his gaze, and let the first word slip from my lips, a tentative whisper. “Начинать.” We had chosen the Russian words for “begin” and “end” to avoid any accidental triggers in daily conversation. Slowly, a change began to ripple through his eyes. The calm, bottomless pools I knew so well started to churn. And in their depths, something new and feral sparked to life. Desire. 2 Julian’s gaze softened, now molten with an affection I’d only ever dreamed of. He rose from his chair, his movements fluid and purposeful. Taking my hand, he pressed a lingering kiss to the back of it, his eyes never leaving mine. “My love,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through me. “It’s time for bed.” His lips began a slow, torturous ascent, a fiery path from my hand, over my wrist, along the sensitive skin of my forearm, until they reached the curve of my shoulder. A year of touch-starved longing erupted in a full-body shiver at every point of contact. Panic flared, sudden and sharp. I snatched my arm back. “Wait, just—just a second.” He stopped instantly, his tenderness unwavering. His fingers gently toyed with a lock of hair at my neck. “What is it?” I bit my lip, my skin still burning where he’d touched me. “The… the bedroom.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him, a willing captive, toward our room. He followed without protest, a gentle, knowing smile playing on his lips. It was like looking at a stranger—a warm, passionate stranger wearing my husband’s face. The ice mountain I had married had melted into a volcano. In the bedroom, I sat on the edge of the mattress, my nerves a tangled mess. Julian knelt before me, his voice a husky whisper. “Tell me what you want, my love.” The heat in my face intensified. But then I remembered: he wouldn’t recall any of this. A fresh wave of boldness washed over me. I unlocked my tablet, pulled up a video I’d carefully selected, and held it out to him. “Like… like this.” His eyes flickered to the screen, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “As you wish.” He was a perfect student. He replicated every move from the video with a precision and passion that left me breathless. But as we neared the point of no return, my courage evaporated. This was my first time, and I wasn’t as ready as I’d thought. I gently pushed him away. He paused, his body coiled with tension, yet his voice was laced with nothing but concern. “Is something wrong? Did I hurt you?” I sat up, pulling my clothes back into place, feeling foolish. “No… it’s just… not tonight. Could you go back to the study for now?” “Of course,” he rasped, his voice thick with unspent passion. He dressed quickly and left without another word. I followed him back to the study, my own heart a confused, racing drum. As he settled behind his desk, I spoke the deactivation word. “Конец.” 3 The haze in Julian’s eyes slowly cleared, the familiar, cool detachment returning like a mask being lowered. After a moment, he looked at me as if seeing me for the first time since I’d entered. “Is there something else?” he asked again. I shook my head, feigning nonchalance. As I turned to leave, he stopped me. “Don’t forget the Dalton’s gala tomorrow night.” He paused, adding, “You can go to bed. I have more work to do.” “I know,” I nodded, my voice as flat as his. “You should get some rest, too.” I retreated, the door clicking shut on the polite stranger who was my husband. The intimacy we had just shared might as well have been a dream, a fantasy played out by two other people. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest. Halfway to the bedroom, I remembered a question I’d forgotten to ask and turned back. This time, I didn’t knock. I just pushed the door open. “By the way, should I wait for you to come home before we head to the gala tomorrow?” Behind the desk, Julian straightened up abruptly, a flash of something like panic in his eyes. His shirt was unbuttoned by two buttons, and a faint flush colored his cheeks. I frowned. “Are you hot?” It was already autumn, and the evenings were cool. “A little,” he said, his voice deeper, thicker than usual. “And no, don’t wait for me. Just have Arthur drive you. And from now on,” he added, his tone firm, “knock before you enter.” The sting of his words was sharp. His wife, treated like an intruder. “Got it.” I spun on my heel and marched back to my room, a new resolve hardening inside me. One day, I vowed, I would make him pay for this on my own terms. In our bed. 4 That day came sooner than I expected. At the Dalton’s gala, my sister, Rachel, “accidentally” smeared a slice of cake down the front of my gown. “Oh my gosh, Danielle, I am so sorry!” she cooed, her apology dripping with false sincerity. “My hand just slipped.” Rachel and I weren’t related by blood. I was the adopted daughter, she was the biological one they found years later. If the Daltons weren’t such a crucial business partner for Julian, I would have avoided this party entirely. I knew she would pull something; she’d always believed she was the one who deserved to be Mrs. Julian Vance. But the triumphant smirk on her face curdled a moment later. Julian appeared at my side, took my arm, and steered me away without giving Rachel so much as a glance. He led me to a private suite on the second floor to change, waiting patiently outside the door. But as I peeled off the ruined dress, a bitter resentment began to brew. I pictured him downstairs, the center of attention, a king in his court. I’d seen the way other women flocked to him, offering him drinks, their eyes hungry. A married man, acting like he was still on the market. A wicked idea sparked in my mind. “Julian,” I called through the door, my voice deliberately helpless. “Could you come in and help me? I can’t reach the zipper on this dress.” “Of course.” The door opened, and he stepped inside. His fingers, cool and professional, brushed against my spine as he worked the zipper. The light, fleeting touches were electric. As he pulled the zipper up, I whispered the word. “Начинать.” The movement on my back stopped. A beat of silence, and then strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind. His warm breath ghosted across my ear. “Tell me what you want this time, my love.” A shiver traced its way down my spine. I turned my head, capturing his lips with mine. It was like a starving beast finally tasting blood. He responded with a ferocious hunger that stole my breath. In the heated space between kisses, I breathed my command. “I want you on your knees.” A dangerous light flashed in his eyes, but he obeyed without question, sinking to the floor before me. I untied the silk tie from his neck and used it to bind his hands behind his back. Then, with deliberate slowness, I began to unbutton his shirt. With each button, I let my fingertips trail over his skin, a soft, taunting caress. After a few agonizing moments, his breathing grew ragged. A dark flush crept up his neck and stained his ears. He looked up at me, his eyes pleading, desperate. “My love…” I stroked his cheek, leaning in close, my lips hovering just above his. “First, you have to please me. Understand?” 5 I don’t know how much time passed, but the air in the suite grew thick and heavy with unspoken promises. Later, Julian was zipping up my dress again. But as the zipper reached the top, his warm hand didn’t retreat. It slid around to my stomach, pulling me back against him. He leaned in, nipping gently at my earlobe. “Do you want more, my love?” he whispered, his voice a low growl. My body trembled, but I gently removed his hand. “Not right now. Next time.” “As you wish.” He obediently stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. After a quick touch-up in the mirror, I ushered him out of the room, restoring the scene to how it was before. Then, I opened the door and spoke the deactivation phrase. “Конец.” The haze in his eyes flickered and then cleared. “All changed?” he asked, his voice back to its usual cool tenor. “Mhm. Let’s go.” I nodded and headed downstairs ahead of him. At the bottom of the staircase, we ran into Julian’s secretary. “Mr. Vance, Mr. Albright has been waiting for you for quite some time.” “It’s only been a few minutes,” Julian said dismissively. “What’s the rush?” The secretary shot a nervous glance in my direction. “Sir, with all due respect… it’s been over half an hour.” Julian froze. “Half an hour?” Sensing disaster, I quickly interjected. “I’m so sorry, that’s my fault. I must have taken longer than I thought. I have to go, I’ll see you at home.” With that, I hurried away, finding a quiet corner to call Dr. Sharma. After I explained the situation, she confirmed my fears. This kind of “fragmented time” was an unavoidable side effect. She advised me to control the setting and duration, suggesting that right before bed was the most suitable time. “Okay, I’ll stick to using it at night from now on,” I said, my voice low. Just as I finished the sentence, a cold voice spoke from directly behind me. “Using what at night?” I nearly dropped my phone. I spun around to find Julian standing there, one hand in his pocket, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. I swallowed hard. “Oh, uh, nothing. My doctor… she prescribed some therapeutic heat packs for my bad sleep. She said nighttime is the best time to use them.” Julian’s brow furrowed, a thoughtful, calculating look on his face. “Is that so? In that case, we should sleep in separate rooms for a while. I wouldn’t want to disturb you.” I stared at him, dumbfounded. If I didn’t know for a fact that he had no memory of what happened, I would have sworn he was doing it on purpose. 6 For the next few nights, I tossed and turned, sleep-deprived and frustrated. Once you’ve tasted sweetness, the bitter days are unbearable. And Julian, in his “attentive lover” mode, had been intoxicatingly sweet. I was… hooked. But my pride wouldn’t let me be the one to suggest we share a bed again. To make matters worse, it seemed Julian had suddenly discovered the art of seduction. He started parading around the house after his showers wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips, a stark contrast to his usual modest pajamas. He’d leave the top buttons of his shirts undone, offering tantalizing glimpses of the hard muscle beneath. And all I could do was watch, my frustration mounting with every casual, calculated display. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I started packing for a tour with my old dance company. Julian leaned against the doorframe, sipping a coffee, watching me. “I thought you only accepted private invitations or television gigs now. What’s with the sudden urge to go on tour?” It’s because of you, you damn siren, I screamed internally. “I just miss dancing with my old troupe,” I said aloud. “It’s been too long.” “When will you be back?” “A week, maybe.” A week was long enough to get myself under control. “Good,” he said, taking a slow sip. “Getting more exercise should help with your sleep. When you get back, we won’t need separate rooms anymore.” My hands stilled over a silk blouse. I suddenly had a feeling a week wouldn’t be nearly enough. There was a smug, teasing quality to him lately that I couldn’t place. He couldn’t possibly remember, could he? I glanced up, studying his face. He met my gaze over the rim of his cup, his expression unreadable. “What is it?” “Nothing. I learned a new dance. I’ll perform it for you when I get back.” I looked away, focusing on my packing, and completely missed the way his hand trembled, nearly sloshing hot coffee over the floor. 7 The tour was a whirlwind of motion and music, a welcome distraction that almost made me forget the complicated man I’d left at home. Almost. On the final day, as I was in the wings doing my final stretches before the closing performance, a video call from Rachel popped up on my screen. She never contacted me unless she wanted something. Worried it might be about our parents, I hesitantly answered. She was walking, the camera jostling, a wild, gloating look on her face. The background was unnervingly familiar—the garden of my own home. “Danielle,” she purred. “Guess where I am?” A cold knot of dread formed in my stomach. “What are you doing at my house, Rachel?” She laughed, a low, venomous sound. “I overheard your phone call at the gala, sis. The one about your little ‘keyword’. What do you think will happen if I say it? Will Julian listen to me, too?” As she spoke, she pushed open the front door of my villa. My blood ran cold. The command would make him see the speaker as his wife. Any speaker. This was exactly what Dr. Sharma had warned me about. As my mind raced for a solution, the screen went black. But I could hear Julian’s confused voice through the speaker. “Rachel?” The screen flickered back on, showing me a strange, skewed view of the living room. I saw Julian step out of his study. Rachel shot a final, triumphant look at the camera, then, with chilling confidence, she spoke the word. “Начинать.” I watched, frozen in horror, as Julian’s posture shifted. He turned his head and began to walk slowly, deliberately, toward her. I immediately ended the call and tried to dial Julian’s number. It rang and rang, unanswered. Panic seized me. “Danielle, it’s time!” A fellow dancer grabbed my arm. “We’re on!” Before I could protest, she plucked the phone from my trembling hand and pulled me onto the stage.

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The moment my best friend swooped in and bought the foreclosed property I’d been eyeing, right under my nose at the real estate office, I knew for certain: she was back, too. In my last life, my best friend, Tiffany, and I both had a little bit of savings. She threw all of hers into the stock market. I decided to buy a place to live. My funds were limited, so I settled on a house with a dark past—a place where a murder had occurred. It was cheap. But inside, hidden in the space above the ceiling, I found a safe. It was filled with ten million in cash and over a dozen gold bars. Meanwhile, Tiffany’s money got trapped in a market downturn. She lost everything and ended up deep in debt. Watching me move into a mansion, drive luxury cars, and spend money like it was water, she snapped. She lured me onto the highway and watched as a speeding truck mowed me down. After I died, my soul lingered. I watched as she and my boyfriend, Kyle, lied to the police, telling them I’d been drinking, that I’d ignored traffic rules and stumbled into the road. A tragic suicide. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the day I was supposed to buy the murder house. 1 “I’ll take this one!” Tiffany’s voice detonated next to my ear. I stood frozen, staring at the scene unfolding before me. The real estate agent shot me an apologetic look before turning to Tiffany. “I’m sorry, miss, but this lady was looking at it first.” “So what? She hasn’t paid. I’m paying now. That makes it mine.” The look of absolute certainty on her face told me everything I needed to know. She had been reborn, too. “Jessica,” she said, her tone suddenly wheedling, a hint of probing in her eyes. “I really want this house. Why don’t you look at some of the others? There are plenty like it in this development.” She was testing me, trying to see if the Jessica from the last life was looking back at her. I snapped out of my daze and frowned, playing my part. “Alright, fine. If you like it that much, it’s yours. I’ll see what else is available.” A wave of relief washed over Tiffany’s face. She turned back to the agent, ready to seal the deal. “Miss Hayes,” the agent said, a note of caution in his voice, “I must remind you, a homicide took place in this house. That’s why the price is so low. Are you sure you want to buy it?” “Positive. They caught the killer, so what’s there to be afraid of? Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be living there…” She cut herself off, but it was too late. I smiled. I knew exactly what she meant. In my past life, I’d been tired of renting. With a small nest egg, I’d decided to put down roots. But my options were slim. The agent finally showed me the murder house. A couple had lived there; a domestic dispute ended with the husband killing the wife. He was serving a life sentence now, and the house, tainted by the crime, was a hard sell. I’d bought it without a second thought. After all, what ghost is scarier than the ghost of being broke? But then I found the fortune, just as Tiffany’s life hit rock bottom. This time, she was determined to steal the fate that was meant for me. She shot me a mocking smile. “You should just put your money in stocks. You might get lucky, and then you could afford a real mansion.” I pretended not to understand her dig. “But this place has a mortgage of several thousand a month. Are you sure you can handle that? You don’t have much saved up. It might be a struggle. If you need help, I could always lend you some.” Tiffany only had enough for the down payment. My words, combined with the vision of the treasure she was about to claim, pushed her over the edge. “Who says I can’t?” she snapped. “I’m paying in full. All cash. Don’t even think about competing with me. This is mine!” The agent, stunned by her fanaticism but delighted by the prospect of a cash sale, immediately forgot I existed and turned all his attention to her. “Excellent, Miss Hayes! How will you be paying?” Having made her boast, she couldn’t back down now. She pulled out a card. “I’ll put down a deposit now, and I’ll have the rest for you in three days. That should be fine, right?” The agent took the card, beaming. “Of course! No problem at all. Let’s go sign the contracts.” My work here was done. I turned and walked out, heading back to my rented apartment. 2 That night, just as I was getting into bed, my boyfriend, Kyle, called. His voice was cold, devoid of any emotion. “Let’s break up, Jessica. I’m sick of you. Don’t bother me again.” I listened, my face a blank mask. As his words faded, I heard the faint, triumphant giggle of a woman in the background. I knew exactly who it was, but I feigned shock. “Are you cheating on me? Who are you with right now? Kyle, you can’t do this to me!” The more furious I sounded, the more pleased they became. “Honestly? I was only with you so you’d get me a job at your company,” he sneered. “Now that I’m in, I don’t have to pretend to be into you anymore. It was making me sick.” So that was it. My resume was strong, and I’d landed a position at a top corporation right out of college. Once I was established, I’d gotten both Kyle and Tiffany internal referrals. “Just let it go, Jessica,” Tiffany’s voice purred as she took the phone. “We’re going to be rich now. We’re not in the same league anymore. Don’t try to force your way into a world where you don’t belong. This is goodbye.” “The two of you?” I gasped, playing the part of the betrayed lover to perfection. “You stabbed me in the back!” They both erupted in cruel laughter. I seized the opportunity. “Hmph. Let’s see how well you do without me. So you bought some crappy old house? What’s so great about that?” “Oh, you’ll see,” Tiffany sang. “You’re just a pathetic little wage slave. How could you ever compare to me?” After they hung up, I let out a cold laugh. Utterly, breathtakingly stupid. In a society governed by laws, did they really think a massive, untraceable fortune could just fall into their laps without the authorities noticing? The next day at work, I watched as Tiffany and Kyle marched into our boss’s office and resigned. The sudden request was strange, and our manager tried to persuade them to stay, but Tiffany shut him down with staggering arrogance. “Sorry, boss, but I’ve had a bit of a windfall. Nothing major, just a few easy million. Working just isn’t really necessary for me anymore.” The manager looked like he’d misheard. Colleagues nearby swarmed her desk. “Tiffany, are you still asleep? A few million? Did you rob a bank?” “Did you win the lottery? How’d you do it? Any tips? You gotta teach me!” “You’re kidding, right? You’re all talk. That’s hilarious.” Basking in the mix of flattery and disbelief, Tiffany decided it was time to show them all. “Tell you what,” she announced, “come to my new house in three days. You’ll see for yourselves.” She then dropped the address into the company group chat. Seeing she was resolute, the manager gave up and approved their resignations. As she was packing her things, Tiffany’s eyes landed on the Chanel bag sitting on my desk. She froze. “How can you afford that?” she shrieked. A second later, she seemed to figure it out. “Oh, I get it. You bought a knockoff to keep up appearances, didn’t you? Trying to one-up me.” Her voice dripped with condescending pity. “Give it up, Jessica. There’s no need to pretend. A ten-dollar canvas tote is more your style.” I rolled my eyes and shoved the bag in her face. “Open your damn eyes and look. Does a fake have stitching this perfect? I bought it at the boutique yesterday. You want to see the receipt?” 3 Tiffany stared at the bag, her eyes darting back and forth, trying to find a flaw. After a moment, she regained her composure. “So what? It’s just one bag. I could buy a hundred. As for you,” she sneered, “I bet that took a huge chunk out of your salary. Don’t let me find your nudes on some payday loan website a month from now.” I fired back, “Tch. All talk, aren’t you? Go on, buy one and show me. I think you’re just bluffing.” “Hmph. I’m going right now. You just wait.” Tiffany shot me a hateful glare, stormed out of the office, and went straight to the mall, where she proceeded to buy several luxury handbags. She immediately posted them on all her social media, then sent them to me privately, making sure I wouldn’t miss it. I did some quick mental math. Those bags weren’t cheap. At least twenty thousand dollars, all told. It was obvious where the money had come from. In the days that followed, it became a game. I’d post a picture of a new bag, and she’d immediately post a better, more expensive one to counter me. What she didn’t know was that my posts were all set to “Visible to Tiffany Only.” She took the bait, just as I’d planned. That weekend, I took a trip to the mall. I had a gala coming up and needed some jewelry to complete my look. A sales associate was showing me several sets, explaining each one. Suddenly, a commotion erupted at the entrance. “Show me your most expensive diamond ring!” a voice boomed. Everyone in the store turned to look. It was Tiffany and Kyle. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world… A sales associate approached them, giving their outfits a quick, dismissive once-over. “Ma’am,” she said diplomatically, “our most expensive pieces are in the seven-figure range. Are you certain that’s what you’re looking for?” Tiffany, new to money and its realities, was stunned. “Seven figures? Why so expensive? Isn’t a diamond just carbon?” A ripple of laughter went through the store. I chuckled, too. Her eyes found me. She and Kyle marched over. “What are you doing here? This isn’t a place for poor people like you. Did you follow us?” Kyle asked, convinced I was still hopelessly in love with him. “Are you insane? I was here first. If anything, you followed me.” The sales associate backed me up. “It’s true, this young lady was here first.” Unable to win the argument, Tiffany changed tactics, her eyes falling on the jewelry I was considering. “Can you even afford that? You’re just wasting their time.” “What’s it to you? It’s not like you can afford it either.” Thinking she had me cornered, Tiffany’s confidence surged. “Of course I can! How much for all these sets? I’ll take them all.” The associate smiled politely. “That would be five hundred thousand per set, ma’am. Two million in total.” They both went silent for a beat, then started picking faults. “Actually, I think these are a bit… average. Besides, what would I do with so many?” I cut her off, my voice sharp with impatience. “Are you buying them or not? If not, I will.” I turned to the associate. “Please wrap all of them up for me.” 4 Her plan to flaunt her wealth had backfired spectacularly. Tiffany looked like she was about to grind her teeth to dust. She slapped her hand down on the counter, stopping the associate. She pointed to a ruby set. “I’ll take that one!” Kyle looked worried. He tugged at her sleeve and whispered, “Five hundred thousand? Isn’t that a little steep?” But Tiffany was too consumed by rage to listen. She demanded the associate wrap it up. They swiped card after card, each one declined for insufficient funds. In the end, they had to pool every cent they had, completely emptying their accounts, to barely cover the cost. Three days passed. Tiffany scraped together the money for the house, met the agent, completed the transfer, and got the keys. The time had come. I made my way to the housing development. My old colleagues were already there, buzzing with anticipation, eager to see how Tiffany was going to strike it rich. Soon, Tiffany and Kyle arrived. She scanned the crowd, and upon confirming I was present, nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Let’s all go up together.” As we walked, one of the colleagues looked around at the run-down environment. “Tiffany, this complex is really old. It can’t be worth much.” “Yeah, there’s no landscaping, and it’s all senior citizens.” “No schools or anything nearby, either. The only good thing is that it’s close to the office, but since you quit, that’s useless.” Tiffany looked at them like they were idiots. “The house itself is cheap, you’re right. It’s worthless. But what’s inside is valuable. And now that the house is mine, everything inside belongs to me, too.” One colleague gasped, remembering a news story he’d seen online about people finding millions in cash in foreclosed properties. The crowd murmured in shock, though some remained skeptical. “You’ve never even been inside the house,” one of the more rational ones asked. “How can you be so sure there’s something good in there?” Even Tiffany wasn’t stupid enough to say she was reincarnated. “The heavens work in mysterious ways,” she said cryptically. Her air of mystery actually worked on some of them. “Tiffany, when you make it big, don’t forget about us!” one gushed. Her ego swelled to its absolute peak, her face beaming. When we reached the apartment door, Tiffany inserted the key. It wouldn’t turn. Her smile froze. She jiggled the key, twisted it back and forth, but the door remained stubbornly locked. The others noticed. “What’s wrong?” Tiffany forced a laugh. “The key’s probably just a little rusty. Hard to open.” She put more force into it, grunting with effort. And at that exact moment, the door swung open from the inside. “Who in the hell is trying to pick my lock! You got a death wish?”

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1 The day I requested transfer to desk duty, the precinct practically sighed in relief. Approval was unanimous—almost celebratory. Only Ivy Hayes objected. The new M.E., my boyfriend’s childhood friend, and self-proclaimed “Corpse Whisperer.” She burst into my office, red-eyed, clutching my sleeve. “Dr. Kearns, please stay. Keep fighting for the victims!” I shook her off and left without a word. In my last life, she was the real deal—a medium who recited autopsy reports after one glance. Families worshipped her. Me? The ghoul who desecrated the dead. I worked tirelessly, but she always unveiled the truth first. One family, mad with grief, abducted me. They did to me what they believed I’d done to their son. Dismembered. Scattered. Then I woke up—back to the day she first declared herself the Corpse Whisperer. … “Hey, Luke, the M.E. report’s in,” a voice cut through the haze. I snapped my head up, my eyes struggling to focus on the familiar faces around me. “Dr. Kearns, how many pages this time?” one of the detectives quipped, his tone dripping with a casual sort of contempt. But I wasn’t listening. I shot up from my chair, my eyes wide with disbelief. The sterile white tiles, the glint of stainless steel, the faint, cloying scent of antiseptic—I was back in the morgue. I had been reborn. “Clara? You okay?” a colleague asked, startled by my sudden movement. I ignored him. I shoved the door open and scrambled to my desk, snatching the freshly printed report. The pages were dense with my own handwriting, a testament to hours of careful, exhausting work. I had to get to the briefing room. I had to report my findings before she could. But just as I burst into the room, ready to speak, Ivy’s voice cut through the air, clear and confident. “Livor mortis is a deep, dark red. Bloody foam in the oral and nasal cavities. The victim was strangled. The perpetrator is approximately five-foot-seven. Time of death was between midnight and one in the morning.” I whipped my head around. Ivy stood at the doorway, her expression a mask of serene certainty. My face went pale. “How… how did you know that?” a detective asked, his voice a mixture of awe and confusion. Ivy offered a small, knowing smile. “I haven’t had the chance to mention it before,” she said softly. “I’m what you might call a Corpse Whisperer. I can hear them. The dead. They whisper their stories to me.” The world tilted on its axis, and for a moment, my vision went black. It was happening all over again, exactly as it had before. This was the day it all began. The day the legend of Ivy Hayes, the Corpse Whisperer, was born. The story spread like wildfire: she was a guide for the departed, sent to our world to give them a voice, to spare their bodies the final indignity of the scalpel. Families, already terrified by the cold reality of an autopsy, clung to her. They saw her as a savior. “What’s the point of a Chief M.E. who just cuts people up when Dr. Hayes can get the truth with a single touch?” “You have no respect for the dead. You’ll get what’s coming to you.” Their curses rained down on me, but I never believed in ghosts or magic. I am a scientist. Driven by a desperate need to prove myself, I threw my entire being into every subsequent case. I refined my techniques, I documented every microscopic fiber, I cross-referenced every last detail. But it was never enough. Each and every time, Ivy would swoop in just moments before I could present my findings, revealing the complete truth to a stunned audience. To the families, I became a monster. The butcher who violated their loved ones for sport. They hated me for it. They hated me so much they kidnapped me, carved me up, and left me for the carrion birds. My parents were destroyed. They fought, they screamed, they demanded justice. But Ivy, the celebrated Corpse Whisperer, simply told the world I’d had a tragic accident—a fall from a cliff, my body ravaged by wild animals. When my parents refused to believe her, when they demanded she be investigated, they were silenced. Ostracized and persecuted by the very families who once lauded them, they died of broken hearts. And now, here I was. Back on the day it all started. This time, I would not let it end the same way. This time, I would uncover the truth. “For real? A ‘Corpse Whisperer’? That sounds like something out of a movie,” someone muttered. “Who knows? Maybe she’s just making it up.” The detectives exchanged skeptical glances, their whispers filling the room. Just then, my boyfriend, Detective Luke Garrison, took the report from my trembling hands. He scanned the pages, then looked up at Ivy, a slow, impressed nod breaking across his face. “She’s right,” he announced to the room. “It matches Clara’s report. Word for word.” The room erupted. Gasps of shock and murmurs of amazement rippled through the crowd. The same colleagues who had been whispering doubts just seconds before now turned to me, their expressions a strange cocktail of pity and disdain. “Guess all that time you spend writing those long reports doesn’t mean much if Ivy can do it in a minute,” one of them whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. “Seriously. She nails it in a sentence, and we have to read a novel from Dr. Kearns. Gives me a headache.” Their mockery was a familiar sting, a cold poison seeping back into my veins. I forced myself to breathe. It’s just beginning. You can change it. I knew, with every fiber of my being, that Ivy wasn’t a medium. There was no magic. She had a method, a trick. She had to be getting my results beforehand. The next day, for a new case, I laid down the law. “I’m performing this autopsy alone,” I declared. “No one enters the morgue until I’m finished.” Ivy stood at the door, her face a perfect portrait of wounded innocence. “Clara… I don’t understand what I did wrong. Why are you being like this?” The others shot me accusatory looks, but I ignored them. My theory was simple: someone was leaking my reports to her. By locking the door, I was cutting off her source. Let’s see what tricks she could pull now. I sealed the autopsy suite and got to work. An hour later, I emerged with the completed report, ready to present my findings. But as I laid the papers on the briefing table, a wave of confusion washed over the room. Everyone was frowning. A cold dread began to creep up my spine. It was Ivy who broke the silence. “Dr. Kearns,” she said, her voice laced with feigned sympathy, “we’ve already been over all this. I told them everything an hour ago. Is there a reason you’re just joining us?” I stared at her, then at my colleagues. A few of them, people I’d considered friends, gave me small, apologetic nods. I was frozen. It was impossible. The door was locked. No one saw the body but me. No one touched the report but me. How? How did she know? I spent the night replaying every autopsy, every interaction, searching for a crack in her story. Then, it hit me. A detail I’d dismissed as irrelevant. Before every single case, Ivy would spend a long time in the cold storage, where the bodies were kept pre-autopsy. An idea began to form. A risky, desperate plan. That night, I swapped the body scheduled for the next day’s autopsy with a different one. Then, I installed a tiny, hidden camera in the corner of the cold storage room. Sure enough, not long after the precinct had emptied out for the night, the footage showed a shadowy figure slipping into the room. It was Ivy. She carefully examined the corpse on the gurney, taking notes, before meticulously putting everything back in its place and disappearing into the night. A triumphant smile touched my lips. The trap was set. The next morning, I announced I’d be performing the autopsy in the main observation theater, in front of everyone. No more closed doors. This time, they would hear the results directly from me, as soon as I found them. Ivy saw my setup and chuckled. “Decided to stop hiding, Dr. Kearns? I know you’re afraid of me stealing your spotlight, but you can’t fight a natural gift. Jealousy won’t change that.” I ignored her, my focus entirely on the task at hand. Once the detectives and senior officers had assembled, I began, narrating my findings as I worked. But something was terribly wrong. For every observation I made, every conclusion I drew, Ivy would speak it a fraction of a second before I could. The same words, the same details. My heart hammered against my ribs. A chill snaked its way up my spine. She had examined the wrong body. She shouldn’t know any of this. But she did. How? How? I stared at her, searching her smug face for any sign of deception, but found only a cool, confident smile. My mind was a maelstrom of confusion and panic. I faltered, my words catching in my throat. Luke’s voice cut through my haze, sharp and impatient. “Clara, what is wrong with you? Your inefficiency is embarrassing. Honestly, Ivy’s more reliable at this point.” A cold numbness spread through my chest. “I… I don’t understand,” I stammered. He cut me off. “Just stop. You’re clearly not up to this. Take a break. Ivy’s abilities are proven. She can take it from here.” The assembled crowd dispersed, leaving me standing alone in the sterile, silent theater. I was completely and utterly lost. No matter how I spun it, how I analyzed it, I couldn’t figure it out. How was Ivy Hayes doing it? From that day on, I was living in her shadow. The precinct’s faith in her grew exponentially, while I was treated like a relic, an inconvenient and obsolete part of the process. My colleagues’ eyes were filled with scorn. “Did you hear? Other precincts are asking for consultations with Ivy. She’s making a real name for the department.” “Yeah, unlike some people. ‘Chief Medical Examiner.’ What a joke. She’s an embarrassment.” I tried to fight back, to prove my worth, but every effort was effortlessly crushed by Ivy. It was all useless. Soon, her fame spread beyond the precinct walls. The families of victims started refusing autopsies. “You have a woman who can talk to the dead!” one father screamed at me in the hallway. “So why are you insisting on cutting up my son? Why are you torturing him even in death?” “You’re not a doctor, you’re a ghoul! A heartless ghoul!” a mother shrieked, her face contorted with grief and fury. It took the Chief of Police himself to calm them down. Ivy’s reputation soared. She was invited to give guest lectures at the city’s top universities. The day she left for one such lecture, a horrific new case came in. A young female student, her face mutilated beyond recognition, her head severed and grotesquely mounted on her neck with a steel rod. The brutality of the crime sent shockwaves through the city. The state command issued a direct order: solve this case, and solve it now. But we hit an immediate wall. The victim’s family flatly refused an autopsy. “Get the Corpse Whisperer!” they demanded. “Let her talk to our daughter!” With Ivy out of town, the precinct had no choice but to try and reason with them. The Chief spent hours gently, painstakingly explaining the necessity of a proper examination. Finally, they relented. He pulled me aside. “Clara,” he said, his voice low and serious. “This is your chance. I know what’s been said, but a break in this case… that would be a major victory. It would silence the critics.” I threw myself into the work, fueled by a desperate hope. I worked through the night, pushing past exhaustion, determined to reclaim a shred of my dignity. But just as I was about to present my comprehensive report to the family and the command staff, Ivy appeared. She walked to the front of the room and, without a single glance at my report, began to speak. “Time of death was approximately 3 a.m. The lacerations on the neck are irregular, with one blunt and one sharp angle at the wound corners. Tissue bridging is visible within the wound cavity, indicating it was caused by a heavy, sharp weapon, like a cleaver.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “There are multiple lacerations on her face, varying in depth. This suggests a crime of passion, an extreme hatred for the victim. The killer was likely someone she knew.” Then, she turned to the grieving parents, her voice softening with theatrical sorrow. “I am so, so sorry. If only I had gotten here sooner, we could have spared her this… and she could have rested whole.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I stood frozen, a bone-deep chill washing over me. Every single word she had just uttered… was identical to what I had written in my report. The victim’s father snatched the papers from my hand and scanned them, his eyes darting between the page and Ivy. A moment later, his face purpled with rage. “You bitch!” he roared, pointing a trembling finger at me. “What’s the point of you? She knows everything without even looking! You just wanted to butcher my daughter for fun!” “You mutilated her!” the mother screamed, her voice cracking. “She couldn’t even have a proper burial because of you! Don’t you have a soul? Don’t you fear retribution?” “Get out of this precinct! Get out of our sight!” Like a pack of wolves, they surged forward. The father grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my head against the wall. A few of my colleagues rushed in to pull them off me. “Everyone, calm down,” someone pleaded. “Dr. Kearns was just trying to find the truth…” “Calm down?” the mother shrieked. “Our baby is dead and desecrated, and you want us to be calm?” Then, Ivy stepped forward, the picture of magnanimity. “Please, everyone, don’t be upset,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “Dr. Kearns is still our city’s Chief Medical Examiner. Her professional skills are… undeniable.” She drew out the last word, her eyes flicking towards me with a look of pure, unadulterated contempt. “We simply use different methods,” she continued, turning her gaze back to the crowd. “For me, the most respectful way to honor the dead is to listen to them. To give them a voice. And I, Ivy Hayes, swear that I will do so for every single soul who needs me.” Nausea churned in my stomach. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Stop it, Ivy!” I shouted, my voice raw. “Stop this charade! What did you do? What dirty trick did you use to steal my work?” I advanced on her, my eyes locked on hers. “You claim to know everything? Fine. Tell me this: what were the residual contents of the victim’s stomach?” I had deliberately left one crucial detail out of the written report. A final, desperate gambit. Let’s see her talk her way out of this. Suddenly, Luke pushed through the crowd and stood in front of me. His face was a mask of fury. He raised his hand and slapped me, hard, across the face. The sound echoed in the silent room. “If you have no talent, then have the decency to shut up and stop embarrassing yourself!” he hissed. “Now get out.” I clutched my stinging cheek, staring at the man I thought I loved. He was a stranger. In that moment, I knew. He wasn’t just a bystander. He was in on it. He knew the truth, and he had chosen her side. A triumphant smirk played on Ivy’s lips. She spoke slowly, savoring each word. “The stomach contents,” she announced, “contained traces of cyanide. A lethal dose, enough to cause death in minutes. That was the true cause of death.” I froze, my eyes wide with horror. How? How could she know that too? The Chief’s face had turned to stone. “Clara Kearns,” he boomed, his voice shaking with rage. “Look at yourself. What have you become? You are a disgrace to this department!” I looked at the ring of accusing faces, at Luke’s cold fury, at Ivy’s victorious smile. A profound, soul-crushing cold enveloped me. It felt like being trapped in a dense fog, unable to see the truth that was right in front of me. And then, as if a switch had been flipped, a brilliant flash of light cut through the fog in my mind. It all made sense. The truth… it was so simple. So horrifyingly simple. I took a deep breath, my gaze meeting the Chief’s. My voice was steady, devoid of all emotion. “Chief,” I said, “I am requesting a transfer. I want to be reassigned to clerical work. Effective immediately. I am no longer a medical examiner.”

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1 The day my wife, Isabelle, went to the airport to pick up her childhood friend, Ross, on his return to the country, our lives shattered. It started with something so small. Our two boys fell, and I helped my own son, Ryan, to his feet first. I didn’t get to Ross’s son, David, in that first instant. For that, she banished us. She sent my son and me to the Sanctuary of Mount Sorrow, a remote monastery, so I could, in her words, “learn the meaning of compassion.” In the gnawing hunger and bitter cold of that place, three years passed. And then, my son froze to death. On the day of his burial, Isabelle arrived at the Sanctuary. Ross was with her. She had come to take my son’s bone marrow. David had leukemia, and she needed to see if Ryan was a match. I told her our son was dead. She scoffed. “Three years, and you haven’t changed a bit. You’d go so far as to curse your own son just to avoid saving David.” Her voice was like ice. “Let me tell you something, Ross. I don’t care if you say he’s dead. Even if he is dead, I’ll dig up his coffin myself to see if his marrow is still viable.” … I was forced to stand at the monastery gates to welcome the distinguished guests. I never imagined that guest would be the very woman who had condemned my son and me to this suffering: my wife, Isabelle. I hadn’t seen her in three years. Her first words to me were, “So, have you learned your lesson?” I stared at her cold, beautiful face, the memory of that day flooding back. It was because two children had fallen, and I had helped Ryan first. She had just returned from the airport with Ross and saw the whole thing. She watched Ross rush to comfort David, and her brow furrowed in anger as she rounded on me, accusing me of being petty. “David is only staying with us for a few days until Ross gets settled. I can’t believe you can’t even tolerate that much,” she had said, her face a mask of disappointment. “Take your son and go to the Sanctuary. Meditate on your failings. You can come back when you’ve changed.” And so, Ryan and I were sent to this desolate place. We were starved of food, of warmth, and sometimes, we were attacked by wild animals from the surrounding forest. In all that time, Isabelle never visited. Not once. Pulled from my thoughts, I gave a numb, noncommittal, “Hn.” Her expression softened slightly, and she finally stated her purpose. “David has leukemia. I need Ryan to get tested as a bone marrow donor. For David’s sake, I’m willing to forgive you and personally take you both home.” My eyelashes trembled. I swallowed the bitter acid rising in my throat. “You can’t take him,” I said softly. “As for me…” A bitter smile twisted my lips. “I’m staying here. To be with my son.” Isabelle’s face instantly darkened. “What do you mean? You know David is dying, and this is how you act? Selfish and narrow-minded! This is a life, Ross! A life we can save!” She didn’t know that every word she spoke was another knife twisting in my heart. Ross, seeing the tension, stepped forward, his voice dripping with false humility. “Ross, I know you’re upset. That Isabelle sent you and Ryan here three years ago because of us. I’m… I’m so sorry.” He bowed his head. “If you’ll just let Ryan get tested, I’ll do anything for you. Anything.” Isabelle immediately grabbed Ross’s hand, her voice softening as she spoke to him. “You don’t have to beg him. He was the one in the wrong. I carried Ryan for ten months. I gave birth to him. Ross has no right to deny me this.” Her gaze, when it returned to me, was burning with fire. I simply stared back. After a moment, Isabelle took a deep breath and barked an order at the men she’d brought with her. “Find Ryan. Tear this place apart if you have to, but you will find him.” She glared at me, her jaw set. The monks who had gathered to watch exchanged uneasy glances. The abbot, Father Michael, finally stepped forward. “Blessings upon you, madam,” he said to Isabelle. “It is not that Ross is unwilling, it is simply that…” Isabelle cut him off with a cold laugh, her eyes still locked on me. “That what?” Father Michael sighed, a deep, mournful sound. “The young boy, Ryan… he passed away from the cold seven days ago.” Isabelle froze for a beat, and then her face contorted with rage. “Ross,” she hissed, her eyes black holes of fury, “is Ryan dead?” I said nothing, my silence a confirmation. She swept her arm across a nearby table, sending a jar of pickled vegetables crashing to the floor. “Ross! I can’t believe it! After three whole years, you’re still the same pathetic man! You’d curse your own son, claim he’s dead, just to keep him from saving David!” “I’m telling you, I don’t care if he’s dead or alive! Even if he’s in a coffin, I’ll have it dug up and pry his bones apart myself to see if his marrow can be used!” 2 A resolve as hard as steel shone in Isabelle’s eyes. She couldn’t fathom how the gentle, kind Ross she knew could have become this unrecognizable stranger. On the drive up to the monastery, she had been filled with hopeful visions of their future together. She had planned to tell him that sending him and Ryan away had been a necessary evil. Three years ago, her company, Fourier Corp, had been on the verge of collapse. To stabilize it, she’d had to enter into a sham marriage with Ross. Sending Ross and Ryan to a remote, safe place under a flimsy pretext had been the only way. She had always intended to bring them back. But the work at Fourier had been relentless, and she’d put it off, day after day. She had assumed that Ross, with his soft, forgiving nature, would melt with a few apologies and a little sweet talk. He always had. He had always spoiled her. As for Ryan… she resented him for stealing Ross’s affection after he was born, but he was still the product of their love. She was willing to win him over, too. Ryan loved to eat and play; she had already commissioned a private amusement park to be built for him. She was certain the little rascal wouldn’t be able to resist such a bribe. She would make up for the hardships they had endured. Then David was diagnosed with leukemia. The thought that Ryan’s marrow could be a match had kept her awake for nights, giddy with excitement. It was the perfect, public reason to finally bring her family home. But Ross had changed. He was lying. He said Ryan was dead. Frozen to death. What a joke. While she hadn’t visited in person, she had sent a truckload of supplies every single month. She’d made sure they wanted for nothing. It was this blatant, clumsy lie that enraged her so deeply. The more she thought, the angrier she became. She strode forward and grabbed my wrist, her grip like a vise. She stared at me, her thoughts a silent scream: Give me back my gentle, kind Ross. He’s not like you. After a long moment, her eyes grew red. She loosened her grip slightly, still afraid of hurting me. Just admit it now, Ross, she thought, her heart pounding. Just apologize, and I’ll forgive everything. She watched my face, her own lips trembling with tension. Then, I opened my mouth. “Isabelle,” I said, my voice hollow. “Our son is really dead.” “You killed him.” “If you hadn’t been so blind, so stubborn, if you hadn’t sent us to this hellhole, he would still be alive.” Every word was a spike driving through her heart. He wasn’t just lying; he was trying to blame her. This man was no longer the Ross she knew. She dropped my hand completely, her head slumping in defeat. When she looked up again, her face was a mask of cold determination. She was about to speak when one of her men ran up to her, breathless. “Ma’am, we’ve found the young master!” I didn’t understand the expression on Isabelle’s face. It was as if I was the one in the wrong. “Ross, I’ve found him,” she said, her voice dripping with disappointment. “Are you still going to stand there and lie to my face with such conviction?” I stared at her for two seconds, and then I began to laugh. A wild, broken sound. Isabelle’s brow furrowed. I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. “Isabelle, why don’t you ask them what they found?” A flicker of doubt crossed her face. She looked at her man, but he quickly avoided her gaze, his own face pale and frightened. A sliver of panic pierced through her composure as she looked back at my dead-eyed expression. She steadied herself. “Bring Ryan to me.” The seconds stretched into an eternity. Finally, her men returned, carefully carrying a small, crude wooden coffin. It was deep winter, and the monastery was high in the mountains. Even after seven days, my son’s body was perfectly preserved. He lay there with his eyes closed, looking so peaceful, as if he were only sleeping. The color drained from Isabelle’s face. She staggered back. “How… how can this be?” Ross, who had been standing silently by her side, grabbed her arm to steady her. He gave her what he must have thought was a reassuring look, then turned to me. “Ross, I know you hate us, but you shouldn’t have gone this far. To make your own son lie in a coffin just to sell a lie…” He shook his head disapprovingly. “I know we’re all modern people, but this is… it’s a bad omen. Please, have Ryan get up.” I stared at him, my eyes wide with disbelief. Then, I smiled. I couldn’t imagine how a person could twist reality so completely. But Isabelle… she believed him. She peered into the coffin again, at our son’s serene, sleeping face. She wrenched her arm from Ross’s grasp. The next thing I knew, a searing pain exploded across my cheek. I looked at her, stunned. Her face was stone. “Ross, you’ve truly lost your mind.” Her voice was a low snarl. “I don’t know how you found out I was coming today, how you managed to stage this entire drama for me. Is this your revenge for what I did three years ago?” “Fine! You want the truth? I’ll give you the truth! It was for the company! Do you have any idea who Ross is, his status? Our ‘marriage’ allowed me to save the company. And you? What good are you? And you dare to orchestrate this elaborate play to guilt me?” she spat. “And our marriage was fake anyway!” “I don’t care if Ryan is dead or alive. He will donate his marrow to David. And if he is dead, I’ll crack open every bone in his body until I find some that’s still usable!” I just stared at the venomous creature in front of me. A morbid curiosity rose within me, and I asked the question aloud. “Isabelle, why are you so sure Ryan and David will be a match?” I expected her to falter, to show some sign of guilt. She didn’t even blink. “Don’t play games with me, Ross. I’ll tell you the truth. David is my biological son. And so is Ross’s.” “Ross’s family demanded he produce an heir before they would hand over the family business. He didn’t have anyone he truly loved, so to help him, I agreed to have his child.” “But I’m not as sordid as you think. I didn’t want to hurt you, so the child was conceived via IVF. I lied and said I was going overseas for a project for a few months. I was protecting your feelings.” I stared at her, my voice cold as the grave. “So you did all this… for me?” Isabelle’s face twisted in a look of pain. “Because I truly love you, Ross.” “As long as you repent, as long as you let Ryan save David, our family can go back to how it was before.” I closed my eyes, fighting back a wave of pure rage. When I opened them, my voice was flat. “Isabelle, our son is dead. Why can’t you accept that?” “Our family? The moment Ryan died, this family shattered into a million pieces. Isabelle, I want a divorce.” The words hung in the silent air. No one dared to breathe. Isabelle looked at me in disbelief. “A divorce?!” Her eyes darted around the courtyard, and her gaze fell on a young woman in the corner, a local herbalist, who was staring at me with open concern. Understanding seemed to dawn on Isabelle’s face. She turned back to me, her voice laced with arctic cold. “It’s because of her, isn’t it? You made up this entire story to trick me, all so you could divorce me and be with her.” “You’re insane,” I gritted out. She studied my face for a few seconds, and then a slow, chilling smile spread across her lips. “Fine,” she said coldly. “If Ryan is truly dead, then I’ll grant you a divorce.” She paused, her eyes glittering. “But if he’s not, you will never be free of me. Even in death, you will be buried in my family’s ancestral plot!” “Now,” she mused, her voice dangerously soft, “how shall I expose your lie?” Just then, a faint meow came from the corner. Everyone turned. Ross’s eyes lit up. He leaned in and whispered in Isabelle’s ear, “Isabelle, that’s the cat Ryan was always taking care of. He loved that thing more than anything. He wouldn’t be able to stand seeing it hurt.” Isabelle’s gaze fell on the scrawny Ragdoll cat, and her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Seeing her hesitation, Ross pulled back, his head bowed. “You don’t think I’m being cruel, do you? Using a little cat as a bargaining chip…” He sounded ashamed. Isabelle looked from him to me, and a bitter smile touched her lips. “Ross was willing to curse his own son. What you’re suggesting is nothing.” I heard the sneer in her voice but could barely react. My heart gave a slow, heavy thud. It was becoming difficult to breathe. Suddenly, the cat let out a piercing shriek. I looked up.

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1 It was Family Day at the kindergarten. My wife, Carol, claimed she had urgent business at the office and told me that Lily and I should skip it, too. My heart ached seeing the disappointment wash over my daughter’s small face. I couldn’t stand it. I decided to take her myself. We had barely stepped through the gates when I saw her. Carol. She was holding a little boy’s hand with one hand, and with the other, she was holding the hand of Andrew, her childhood friend. They looked like a real family of three, laughing and chatting, a perfect picture of domestic bliss. It was only when she saw Lily and me that a slight frown creased her brow, and she finally let go of Andrew’s hand. “Mark, don’t get the wrong idea,” she said, her voice a little too quick. “Andrew’s a single dad, it’s not easy for him. Today is his son’s fifth birthday, and he just wanted to feel what it’s like to have a mother around.” I gave her a long, meaningful look, then crouched down to take my daughter’s tiny hand in mine. “Honey, say hello to the nice lady.” … Andrew, seeing the tension, quickly pulled his son closer, an apologetic look plastered on his face. “Mark, please don’t be angry. Carol was just being kind. This boy… he’s never had a mother. It’s his fifth birthday today. Carol was just helping him fulfill a dream, just for a day.” A humorless smile touched my lips as I stared him down. “Is that so? Well, now that Lily and I are here, I suppose you can give Carol back to us? After all, we’re the real family of three.” Andrew froze for a second. It was his son, Max, who broke the silence. “Mommy, you promised you’d spend today with me and Daddy!” The five-year-old’s eyes, fierce and possessive, glared at me. I raised an eyebrow. Mommy? They were already at that stage? Before I could say another word, Carol stepped in front of them, shielding them as if they were her own. Her voice was laced with impatience. “Mark, you have a child too. Don’t you have any empathy?” she snapped. “Andrew and I grew up together. I’m just spending one day with them. Just one day! Are you really going to make a scene about this?” I almost laughed out loud. Was Andrew’s misfortune somehow my fault? Just then, other parents began to stream into the kindergarten, leading their own children by the hand. A woman waved as she approached. “Max’s mom, Max’s dad, good morning! You three always look so perfect at these Family Day events. Not like my old man, always using work as an excuse. He doesn’t care about our kid’s development at all.” Andrew managed an awkward hello, and I saw a flash of panic in Carol’s eyes. I couldn’t hold back anymore. “Carol, is this what you call ‘just one day’?!” Her face flushed with anger. She grabbed my arm, her grip tight. “Mark, there are people everywhere! Don’t make a scene!” Then, glancing down at our daughter, she lowered her voice to a hiss. “It won’t be good for Lily if this gets ugly, you understand?” Lily, hearing her name, looked around, confused. She didn’t grasp what was happening, only that something was wrong. She pressed her small body against my leg, her hand, now slick with sweat, clutching mine tightly. I felt her fear. I knelt, gently stroking the little ponytail perched on top of her head. “Daddy’s here,” I whispered. “Nothing to be afraid of.” I watched as Carol led Andrew and Max away, their backs turned to me. Within moments, they were surrounded by a crowd of admirers. I could hear their fawning compliments. They praised her for her business acumen, calling her one of the city’s top female executives, the CEO of a billion-dollar company before she’d even hit her mid-thirties. Carol, naturally, basked in the glory, her pride practically radiating off her. Andrew stood beside her, his gaze fixed on her, glowing with a vicarious sense of achievement. Then, Max, held in Carol’s arms, glanced back at me over her shoulder and pulled a defiant, mocking face. A cold smirk crept onto my face. It seemed Carol had let the success get to her head. Yes, I had been spending less time at the office lately to care for Lily, but I still owned 75% of Apex Holdings. I was the one who truly steered the ship. She was just a manager, a title I’d given her out of a sense of spousal duty after she’d latched onto me. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to HR. “Ms. Roberts, remove Carol from her managerial position. Internal announcement Monday.” Then, another to my legal team. “Mr. Davis, draft my divorce papers.” Carol, oh, Carol. If you want to play me for a fool, you’d better be sure I’m not the one holding all the cards. 2 Soon, the Family Day activities officially began. Each family sat at a pre-assigned table. Lily gazed at Carol, who was sitting in the row ahead of us with Andrew and Max, and asked with a quavering voice, “Daddy, why isn’t Mommy sitting with us?” I squeezed my daughter’s soft cheek. She was too young, too innocent to be dragged into this filth. “Because Daddy is a superhero,” I said, forcing a smile. “To make it fair, Mommy is helping the other kids today.” Just then, the teacher announced the first activity—a block-building contest. “And there’s a prize for first place!” she chirped. “A brand-new spaceship Lego set!” Lily’s eyes lit up. She pointed at the box on display. “Daddy, I want that!” “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s do our best!” As the last grains of sand were about to fall through the hourglass, Lily shot her hand into the air, her voice filled with excitement. “Teacher, we’re finished!” The teacher walked over, nodded in approval, and was just about to announce our victory when a small figure darted over from the front row. It was Max. He shoved our carefully constructed masterpiece, sending the blocks crashing to the floor. “Now I’m number one!” he declared, his chin held high in triumph. Lily stared at the ruins of our work, her eyes instantly welling with tears. In a fit of rage, she grabbed a large wooden block and threw it at Max. The first thing Carol said when she rushed over was, “Lily, how could you hit him?! Apologize to Max right now.” A stubborn fire ignited in Lily’s eyes. “No! He pushed my blocks over first! He’s a mean bad guy!” I stood firm behind my daughter. “Carol, anyone with eyes can see who started this. Max owes Lily an apology.” Andrew hurried over and tugged on Carol’s arm. “Carol, let it go. Let’s not stoop to their level. We can be the bigger people here.” The teacher tried to mediate, but just then, Lily’s voice, thick with tears and betrayal, cut through the air. “Mommy, why aren’t you protecting me? Why are you yelling at me?” That one word—Mommy—froze everyone in place. All eyes darted between Carol, Andrew, and me. Color drained from Carol’s face, then flooded back in a crimson tide. Andrew looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Max planted his hands on his hips and glared at Lily. “Who’s your mommy? What are you talking about? She’s my mommy!” My daughter hiccuped, a fresh wave of tears streaming down her face. Her small, milky voice cracked as she cried out, “Mommy, say something!” My heart shattered. I shot Carol a furious glare, my own voice turning harsh. “Carol, are you not going to explain? Are you just going to stand there and let them misunderstand our daughter?” Carol’s eyes flashed. She swept Max up into her arms. “Explain what? For today, I am Max’s mom!” As if to punctuate the statement, she stroked the back of his head. Instantly, the whispers started. The other parents began pointing at me and Lily. “What’s with that kid, calling anyone Mommy?” “I don’t think Lily’s family ever comes to these things. This time it’s just the dad… you don’t think he’s… you know… someone’s side piece?” “I heard that Carol woman is a big-shot CEO, super rich. Maybe Lily’s dad is some gold-digger who tried to hit on her and got caught by his own daughter.” As the venomous rumors swirled around us, Carol said nothing. She just cooed at Max, while Andrew shot me a look of barely concealed amusement. I pulled my sobbing daughter into my arms, gently patting her back. I wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug looks off their faces with my fists, but this wasn’t the time. I couldn’t let Lily be hurt any more. One of the parents, hoping to curry favor with Carol, chimed in with a sycophantic smile. “The young master and Ms. Carol look so much alike! You could be mother and son.” I glanced up at Carol. I saw a flicker of guilt in her eyes before she laughed it off. Andrew, however, was beaming. I’d seen Andrew and his son before, but how had I never noticed? The resemblance between Carol and Max, around the eyes… it was undeniably there. Lily was still crying, unable to stop. I had no choice but to ask the teacher to show me to a quiet room so I could calm her down. In the staff lounge, I held her, whispering reassurances until her sobs quieted and she finally drifted off to sleep. Looking at her swollen, red-rimmed eyelids, my heart twisted into a painful knot. I gently laid her down and slipped out of the room. As I reached the turn in the hallway, I pulled out my phone and dialed my team. “Mr. Davis, Ms. Roberts, I need you both at the Rockwell Kindergarten now. Bring my marriage certificate, the divorce papers you’re drafting, and Carol’s termination letter. And be quick about it.” I was still on the line, hashing out the details, when a piercing scream ripped through the air. It was my daughter’s voice. My heart plummeted into an icy abyss. 3 At the end of the hall, by the bathroom doors, Lily was on the ground, pushed down and sobbing uncontrollably. The ringleader standing over her was Max, his face twisted with malice. “I told you not to call her your mommy! I’m gonna beat the crap out of you!” He punctuated the threat with a vicious kick to Lily’s stomach. She cried out in pain, trying to scramble away, but two other boys grabbed her arms and held her down. “Little homewrecker’s kid deserves a beating!” “My mom says bastards like you should’ve been drowned at birth!” Lily flailed, her small hands batting uselessly at the air, her cries choked and breathless. “You’re lying! She is my mommy! Daddy… Mommy… help me!” “It hurts so much!” “Daddy… Mommy… where are you!” The sight sent a roaring thunderclap through my head. Blood surged, and I felt as if every vein in my body was about to burst. When the boys saw me, their eyes widened in fear at the look on my face. They exchanged panicked glances and scattered like rats. I swept Lily up into my arms and felt her whole body trembling violently. I immediately called 911. “It’s okay, baby, Daddy’s here. Daddy’s here.” By the time the ambulance arrived, a crowd of curious parents had gathered. I sprinted toward the flashing lights, my daughter cradled against my chest. As I passed the activity area, I saw Carol, smiling as she helped Max with his block tower while Andrew stood by, tenderly wiping sweat from her brow. She heard the commotion and looked up, a flicker of confusion on her face. She started to get up, asking, “What’s going on? What’s wrong with Lily?” But Andrew grabbed her hand, stopping her. “Carol, you promised you’d spend today with Max. You have no idea how happy he was last night when I told him he’d have you all day.” Carol hesitated. In that moment of hesitation, I was already in the ambulance with Lily. My daughter had passed out. The paramedics began working on her immediately. When a female medic lifted Lily’s shirt to examine her, she gasped. “She’s so little… who could do something like this?!” My eyes burned with tears, my body shaking with a fear so profound it was paralyzing. On my little girl’s pale skin, angry purple and blue bruises were already forming, with a massive, fist-sized hematoma blooming on her side. Her small body was still shuddering from the shock. The medic’s voice became urgent. “Get the monitor on her, now!” Two hours passed before Lily was stable. Two hours that felt like an eternity. A toxic storm of regret and hatred churned inside me, growing wild and uncontrollable. My own mother was there, weeping with heartbreak and anger. “How could you let this happen? How could you let her suffer so much!” On the hospital bed, with an IV drip in her arm, Lily’s eyes fluttered open. She looked at me, her gaze clouded with confusion. “Daddy, why does everyone say Mommy doesn’t want me?” she whispered. “But I have a mommy. Why didn’t she protect me?” I leaned down and pressed a long, gentle kiss to her forehead. “Daddy will always, always protect you, Lily. You are my most precious treasure in the whole world,” I told her, my voice thick with emotion. “As for your mother… we’re the ones who don’t want her anymore.” When I returned to the kindergarten, the final Family Day activity was underway: drawing a family portrait together. Carol was patiently coloring in a drawing, with Max nestled quietly in her lap. Andrew stood beside them, a look of pure contentment on his face as he snapped pictures of his perfect little family. A scene of tranquil, domestic joy. But why should they get to enjoy this bliss while my daughter was lying in a hospital bed? I stormed over to them and, without a word, swung my hand across Andrew’s face. The force of the blow sent him stumbling backward, and he crashed into the corner of a table with a sickening thud. The sharp crack of the slap stunned everyone into silence. “Mark, what the hell are you doing?!” Carol shrieked. She rushed to Andrew’s side, her eyes filled with concern as she checked his injuries. “Andrew, are you okay? Does it hurt?” Andrew shook his head, playing the victim. “Mark, you must have misunderstood something. I… I apologize to you.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “A verbal apology? Don’t you think that’s a little… insincere?” I moved to punch him again, but Carol lunged to block me. I pivoted, and the full force of my swing landed squarely on her face. A bright red handprint, five fingers starkly visible, blossomed on her cheek. She stood there, stunned for a second, clutching her face. Then, she exploded. “Mark, are you fucking insane? Who do you think you are?!” The kindergarten teachers rushed over, trying to break up the fight, asking what had happened. I pointed a trembling finger at Max. “That little bastard,” I snarled, my voice shaking with rage, “took a group of boys and ganged up on my daughter while I was gone!” Before the words were even fully out of my mouth, Andrew blurted out, “That’s impossible! Max is a good boy. Carol, you have to believe me!” I took a step closer. “Impossible? Then why do you think a 911 ambulance was just here?!” Once again, Carol positioned herself in front of Andrew and Max, a human shield. “They’re just children! What kind of evil could they possibly have in their hearts? Kids roughhouse, it happens! But you… you overreact, you come in here swinging like a maniac!” Seeing my unyielding fury, she saw her chance. In a swift movement, she shoved me with all her strength. I lost my balance and fell, my palm scraping hard against the concrete, drawing blood. The sycophants who had been fawning over her moments before now gathered around, looking down on me, their voices dripping with scorn. “Is this guy for real? Trying to shake down the CEO for money?” “He has no idea who he’s messing with. He’ll be crying when Apex Holdings’ legal team is done with him.” “You think maybe he tried to seduce Ms. Carol before and got shot down? Now he’s back to cause trouble. Look at him, he’s nothing compared to her husband!” “Typical homewrecker behavior!” Just then, the sound of powerful engines grew louder, and three sleek, black executive cars screeched to a halt outside the kindergarten gates. A parent with a sharp eye gasped. “Those cars have the Apex Holdings logo! That’s the executive fleet!” Someone else chimed in, still sucking up. “See? Ms. Carol is no joke. She’s already called in the corporate lawyers.” He then spat in my direction, his face a mask of smug satisfaction. “You’re finished, buddy. Everyone knows the Apex legal team is the best in Rockwell. They never lose. Get ready to pay up and go to jail!” One of the parents, a social media influencer, was already giddy with excitement, her phone held high. “I can’t believe I’m seeing this! Guys, you are not going to believe the drama! Follow me now, and I’ll live-stream the downfall of this male gold-digger!” Andrew’s face lit up with a mixture of surprise and adoration as he gazed at Carol. Beside him, Max puffed out his chest, looking more arrogant than ever.

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1 Hooves pounded across the Royal Hunt grounds when Crown Prince Alaric’s arrow struck an orphan—Seraphina Moss, his disgraced mother’s niece. No one predicted he’d fall instantly in love. “She’ll be my princess,” he declared. Problem: he was engaged to me, Lady Evelyn of House Ashbourne. Alaric came to my estate, jaw set. “I bound her wounds. We touched. She’s ruined—she must marry me.” His gaze flicked to me. “You’re the Queen’s niece. You have options. Must you steal from a helpless girl?” As if a Ashbourne would fight for a man. Absurd. Before the scandal spread, a royal decree arrived: I’d keep the title of Crown Princess—but the role would go to another. … Prince Alaric stood in the grand hall of my family’s estate, his posture straight and proud. But his gaze never left the delicate figure of Seraphina Moss beside him. “Seraphina is fragile,” he announced to the assembled guests. “She has only just arrived in the capital, and she has already met with such a disaster. I injured her. If I do not marry her, how can she possibly go on?” “Lady Evelyn, you must understand. For a woman, honor is everything. Seraphina now has no other path but to marry me.” “If you have any compassion at all, you will agree to end our engagement.” So this was it. He had been smitten with her since that first glance at the hunt. For two months, he had kept it hidden, only to choose my birthday—of all days—to publicly humiliate me and my family. My father’s hands trembled, rattling the teacup he held. He cast aside all decorum. “Your Highness,” he demanded, “do you have any idea what this will do to Evelyn’s future? What of her honor?” “You begged the Emperor for this match yourself! The entire capital knows of your betrothal to my daughter. To come here now and break it… what does that make of House Ashbourne?” Seraphina, her face a mask of fear, tugged gently on Alaric’s sleeve. “Cousin, please, don’t argue with Lord Ashbourne on my account. I am not afraid of whispers and rumors. At worst, I shall take my own life. I could never bear to be a burden to you.” Alaric wrapped a protective arm around her. “Do not be afraid,” he murmured. “I will not let you face them alone.” Then, he looked at me, his expression a mixture of arrogance and disdain. “Lady Evelyn, you come from a noble house. Surely you would not deign to compete with Seraphina for a man. You have your pick of worthy suitors. To cling to this engagement would only make you appear desperate.” “Or perhaps,” he sneered, “you are just like all the other women in this city, greedy for the title of Crown Princess.” “Since our betrothal, you have refused every invitation to ride, every poetry gathering I have hosted. You’ve been cold and distant. It’s clear you were never happy with this match. Annuling it should be a relief for you.” The House of Ashbourne had never endured such an insult. I was speechless with rage. All I could do was retrieve the betrothal contract. “Your Highness. Here is the contract. From this day forward, our paths diverge. You are free to marry whom you please.” My gaze fell on Seraphina. “And Miss Moss, there is no need for such a sorrowful performance in my home. You have found a wonderful match. Soon you will hold the most coveted position in the empire. Shouldn’t you be happy?” Seraphina swayed, her face turning deathly pale. “Lady Evelyn, I know my station is low. I would never dare compare myself to you, nor did I intend to steal your fiancé. Why must you mock me so?” Alaric let out a scornful laugh. “You were very quick to end things, Lady Evelyn. Could it be you already have another man in your heart? Perhaps my actions have done you a favor?” He swept his gaze across the guests. “Today is your birthday. Why not choose a new suitor right now? I will even provide a lavish wedding gift myself.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Seraphina and left, a smug smile on his face. The hall erupted in whispers. “Has the Crown Prince lost his mind? Breaking his engagement for some unknown cousin!” “But Lady Evelyn is the Queen’s niece! She’s his cousin too!” “You haven’t heard? He shot this Seraphina girl during the hunt and fell for her on the spot. Now he insists on marrying her.” “I’ve never even heard of this woman. The security at the royal hunting grounds is impenetrable. How did she even get in? There’s more to this story.” “I heard she’s related to the Prince’s birth mother…” “Hush! Don’t speak of that. The Prince’s origins are a forbidden topic. His mother was nothing but a lowly palace maid.” My birthday celebration was ruined, ending in chaos and humiliation. And overnight, the news that Crown Prince Alaric had jilted a daughter of House Ashbourne for an orphan girl became the scandal of the capital. 2 The next day, I was summoned to the palace by the Queen. She is my father’s sister, my true aunt, and has always doted on me. Though she has reigned as Queen for many years, she remains childless—a constant, hidden sorrow. Alaric’s birth mother was a scullery maid the Emperor happened upon at a country palace. She was so low-born that even after catching the Emperor’s eye, she was never granted a title. She died shortly after Alaric was born. Because of his mother’s status, Alaric was bullied by everyone, even the palace eunuchs. He nearly didn’t survive his childhood. But my aunt, the Queen, was the Emperor’s cherished favorite. Her power in the palace was absolute. Seeing the boy’s pitiful state, she took him in, raised him as her own, and educated him with the utmost care. And so, although he was only the fourth-born prince, his adoption by the Queen made him the natural choice for Crown Prince. She held my hand, her voice filled with pain. “My dear child, I know you have been wronged. Alaric is a fool who doesn’t appreciate his blessings. I taught him for years, I promised him the most beloved daughter of our house, and he casts you aside for a pretty face he’s only just met!” “With such judgment, how can he ever hope to rule? All my years of guidance have been wasted.” Her voice cracked. “The blood that flows in his veins is not of House Ashbourne, after all. He is not my own. I see now that he can never truly be.” I leaned against her knee, clutching her sleeve. “Aunt, it is not a bad thing that the Prince has shown his true character before our marriage. It is better than me suffering after I have entered the palace.” “A daughter of House Ashbourne will not lack for suitors.” The Queen smiled, stroking my cheek. “Our Evelyn is the finest woman in the empire. Rest assured, the position of Crown Princess is yours and yours alone. No one can take it from you.” The Emperor and Queen were childhood sweethearts. Their bond was deep. Even without an heir of her own, she remained the woman he loved and trusted most. Because she raised Alaric, the Emperor’s affection extended to him as well. He had made the son of a palace maid the Crown Prince. Now, the Emperor had heard of the broken betrothal and was furious. “Fool! The greatest houses in the land would move heaven and earth for a daughter of House Ashbourne, and you cast her aside for some nobody?” “The Queen arranged this marriage to give you the backing of a great house! You have no maternal clan to support you. This was your foundation, and you have destroyed it with your own hands! You are as witless as a pig!” The Emperor stormed out, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. Despite the Emperor’s fury, Alaric remained defiant. He brought Seraphina with him to pay his respects to the Queen. He knelt before her. “Mother, you have always cherished me. All I wish is to marry a woman I love. I am the Crown Prince. Surely I can marry someone of my own choosing?” The Queen looked at him with profound disappointment. “You and Evelyn grew up together. You once knelt before me and begged for this marriage, claiming you adored her, that you would support each other as equals for a lifetime. And now you say she is not the woman you love?” “It seems to me that this Seraphina has blinded you.” Alaric held his head high, his hand clutching Seraphina’s. “Mother, Evelyn is just like all the other dull noblewomen—bound by rules, stiff, and utterly lifeless. But Seraphina is different! She laughs, she jests, she dances dances never before seen at court, and sings all manner of rustic folk songs. She is vibrant and captivating! Mother, if you only got to know her, I am certain you would love her too!” 3 From behind the screen, a scornful smile touched my lips. Singing folk songs, performing vulgar dances, and being “captivating”? You could find a girl like that in any tavern. The Queen’s voice was ice. “Alaric, do you have any idea what you will lose without the support of House Ashbourne?” The Prince laughed. “I know you speak of the backing of the great houses. But Mother, I am the Crown Prince, the future ruler of this empire. The entire world is my domain. What have I to fear?” His face brightened. “I know you are fond of Evelyn. Why not let her be my consort? When I ascend the throne, I will make her a Noble Consort. Surely House Ashbourne would not dare to object?” Behind the screen, I clenched my fists. The insolence of this boy. The Queen’s voice was chilling. “A daughter of House Ashbourne will never be a secondary wife. Alaric, you are my adopted son, but you are not the Emperor’s only son. Do you truly believe you can hold your position on your own?” “Of course,” he replied, his voice firm. “I am the future Emperor, Mother.” Seraphina spoke in a soft, weak voice. “Your Majesty, I know my station is low. If Lady Evelyn joins the palace, I will never compete with her. I will treat her as a sister, and we will serve His Highness together.” The Queen let out a short, sharp laugh. “Hmph. Alaric, you had best be certain. Once you marry Seraphina, there is no turning back.” His voice rang with conviction. “Yes. I will have no regrets.” The Queen waved a dismissive hand. “Very well. You may leave. I will issue the decree in a few days.” The Prince’s arrogance was boundless; he clearly held no respect for the Queen’s family. I knew my aunt had made her decision. I said no more and slipped away. As I was leaving the Queen’s palace, Alaric cornered me at the gate. “Evelyn, I was impulsive yesterday. After some thought, I admit I was wrong.” “My father, the Emperor, reprimanded me today. I realize now that I should not have damaged your reputation.” “I have already requested that my mother, the Queen, decree Seraphina as my official Crown Princess. But the position of Royal Consort is not a slight to you. This way, we can still be together, and I will not have broken my promise. What do you say?” He looked at me with such tenderness, as if expecting me to nod in grateful acceptance. He was disappointed. I took a step back. “Your Highness, our betrothal is over. There is nothing more to discuss.” He reached for me. “Evelyn, I know I was wrong. Please, forgive me this once. I can apologize to you in front of everyone, restore your honor. How about that?” I snatched my hand away. “Your Highness, please conduct yourself with dignity. You declared with your own lips that our betrothal was void. Have you forgotten?” Alaric advanced, trapping me against a pillar. “Evelyn, a woman must be sweet and obedient to be loved. We were betrothed. A woman rejected by the Crown Prince… who in the empire would dare marry you? If word gets out, your life will be ruined.” I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze. “You need not concern yourself with my affairs, Your Highness. A daughter of House Ashbourne will never lack for suitors. Even if you scream yourself hoarse, the nobles of this land will still line up at my family’s door.” His face darkened. “Evelyn, a little temper is charming. Too much, and a man loses all interest.” “I will inform the Emperor that the wedding will proceed as planned. When you are my consort, I will take the time to properly teach you how to behave.” From that day on, the Prince paraded Seraphina all over the capital. Because his future bride had no family of means, he commissioned the city’s most luxurious jewelers and silk houses to craft a dowry for her, working day and night. Seraphina had never seen such finery in her life. She stroked the silks, her eyes wide with wonder. Alaric held her close, spending gold like water. “I want everyone to bow to you. One day, you will be the most revered woman in the world.” He showered her with gifts, and a cloud of sycophants followed them everywhere, praising him as a man of true passion, a man who would defy the Emperor and Queen for love, who would cast aside the powerful House of Ashbourne for a humble girl. It was, they said, deeply moving. The more he heard it, the more pleased he became. “I love only you,” he told Seraphina, taking her hand. “One day, you will be my Empress, and rule by my side. Who will dare to speak ill of you then? They will all kneel at your feet. As for that girl from House Ashbourne, she will be fit only to serve you.” Seraphina leaned weakly against his chest. “Cousin, are you truly giving up Lady Evelyn for me? She is the daughter of a great house, the Queen’s own niece. She is far more suited to be Crown Princess. As long as you have me in your heart, I am willing to give up the position. Just seeing you every day is enough…” “Besides, the Queen does not seem to like me. I don’t want to make things difficult for you.” Alaric hugged her tightly. “Do not worry. I am the Crown Prince. Can I not give the woman I love the title of princess? House Ashbourne, for all its power, is still a house of subjects. Offering her the position of consort is the greatest honor I can bestow upon them.” “My mother has no children of her own. She raised me. Who else can she rely on? She will yield, you’ll see.” “As for Evelyn Ashbourne… When a king gives an order, his subjects must obey. I want her as my consort, and House Ashbourne will have no choice but to deliver her to my palace!”

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1 The darling of New York’s elite social circles developed psychosomatic mutism after being dumped by a scholarship student. Her mother, the matriarch of the Reeves family, made an announcement: anyone who could get her daughter to speak again would receive a million dollars. I pushed past a crowd of suitors all trying to coax her with gentle words. “This is a far cry from last night, isn’t it?” I drawled. “When you were screaming ‘Daddy’ in my bed.” “I did not!” The words flew out of Isabelle Reeves’s mouth before she could stop them. Her mother instantly wired a million dollars to my account. I was over the moon. I started following Isabelle around every day, teasing her, raking in a fortune. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t hit me, and in her frustration, she found another way to shut me up—with her own mouth. Overnight, my job title went from “Princess’s Companion” to “Heiress’s Official Boyfriend.” Every time I’d drop a risqué comment, she’d demand a physical rebuttal until I didn’t dare say another word. Then, just before our wedding, her first love—the one who’d been beaten down by the real world—came back. That night, Isabelle didn’t come home. I took the half-empty box of Durex and the savings I’d amassed over ten years, and I walked out of our penthouse. The condoms, I had delivered to them. The savings, I used to buy a one-way ticket back home. … Isabelle Reeves had never met a man with grit. Jimmy Croft, who had worked his way through an elite university abroad on a scholarship, never bowed to the rich and powerful. For Isabelle, a woman who had everything, that kind of defiance was devastatingly attractive. I considered trying to win her over myself, to make her fall for me instead. But Isabelle had seen too many silver-spoon princes. There was no substitute for the rugged, resilient scholarship student. I was poor too, but my unabashed love for money was a turn-off for her. As the princess’s official companion, my high-paying job was on the line now that she had retreated into silence on the other side of the world. So, I took the initiative and sought out Jimmy, hoping to befriend him. As the only two “have-nots” in a sea of “haves” at our university, he was warmer to me than to the trust-fund kids. But the moment I asked, “Could you go see Isabelle?” he threw a glass of wine in my face. “I can’t believe you’re one of her lapdogs too! Leo, have you no integrity? Can’t you see that wealth can’t corrupt the virtuous, and poverty can’t shake the determined? Will you die if you don’t grovel at that princess’s feet?” I wiped my face, unfazed. He wasn’t wrong. I didn’t have his backbone. My entire reason for getting close to him was the money. I’d endured far worse than a splash of wine in my pursuit of a paycheck. But Jimmy refused to see me again. That was a problem. Isabelle had no interest in the wealthy princes trying to “heal her with love.” And she had even less interest in a money-grubber like me. But her mother’s offer only said she’d pay a million to anyone who could make her talk. It didn’t specify the method. So I dropped my bombshell in public. “This is a far cry from last night, isn’t it? When you were screaming ‘Daddy’ in my bed.” “You’re lying!” Everyone froze. Isabelle stared, her face flushing crimson as she lowered her head in shame. But I had it all on video. Her mother called me immediately. “Leo, I knew I wasn’t wrong about you. Sending you to America with her was the right call. Keep it up. For every additional word she says, I’ll give you another million. If you can cure her completely, I’ll give you a hundred million.” My eyes lit up. I hugged my phone, kissing the screen as I stared at the new million-dollar balance in my account. My unorthodox methods made me famous in our circles. Families with children suffering from depression or anxiety started seeking me out. My shock-jock approach was surprisingly effective. The moment I’d drop a risqué line, even the most withdrawn heiress would flush and snap, “I did not!” And so, under the stunned gazes of onlookers, the blushing faces of parents, and the mortified expressions of the young ladies, I would graciously accept my payment. None of them paid as well as Isabelle’s mother, though. After that public humiliation, however, Isabelle clammed up again. I followed her around with my phone, replaying the video, teasing her from every angle, but she wouldn’t say another word. Her eyes would turn red with frustration, but her lips remained sealed. I sighed dramatically. “You really don’t want me to earn a single cent, do you? Good thing I have other clients…” I answered a call from a new prospect. She stopped in her tracks. This new client was in a hurry and offered me a twenty percent bonus. With no sign of Isabelle speaking anytime soon, I turned to leave. A voice came from behind me. I spun around. “What did you say?” She bit her lip, her eyes red as she glared at me. But no matter how much I prodded, she stayed silent. Just as I was about to turn off the recording, she spoke again. It was a whisper, but perfectly clear. “Don’t go…” I immediately sent the video to her mother with a two-word message: “Pay up.” Isabelle turned to walk away. I pressed my advantage, rushing after her. “What was that, sweetheart? I didn’t quite hear you. Could you say it again? Just like you did last night, when you were choking me and begging me to say it…” Passersby stared in shock. Isabelle picked up her pace. “Sweetheart, don’t walk so fast! Or I won’t let you cry in my arms tonight!” She nearly stumbled. The princess had never been subjected to such public scrutiny. Seeing me still recording, still spouting nonsense, she desperately came up with a solution— She shut me up with her mouth. 2 This time, I was the one left speechless. Even after she pulled away, I was dumbstruck. But she was talking. Her words were still a bit shaky. “Do you… do you say those… things to… to them, too?” I slowly raised my phone. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” “Stop filming!” She slapped my phone down. “How… how much are they paying you?” I hesitated, unsure if I should reveal my trade secrets. She shoved a black card into my hand. “I… I have money.” She hadn’t spoken in so long that her words came out slower than they used to. But her mother was ecstatic. A ten-million-dollar wire transfer hit my account instantly. “Keep it up, Leo. Get her back to her old debate-team form, and I’ll add a bonus.” I was thrilled. But Isabelle quickly threw a bucket of cold water on my plans. After giving me the black card, she stopped speaking again. Her final instruction to me was, “You… you’re only allowed to say those things… to me.” So, she’d bought exclusive rights to my dirty jokes. It seemed I wouldn’t be earning that hundred million after all. But, on the bright side, Isabelle’s black card had no limit. And after her mother saw the video of her kissing me, my monthly “allowance” of five hundred thousand dollars was raised to a million. Long-term, it wasn’t a bad deal. 3 On graduation day, I ran into Jimmy again. He was wandering through job fairs, résumé in hand. The other princes and princesses from our elite university had family businesses waiting for them. Only he had to pound the pavement, hustling for a high-paying job. He glanced at the luxury shopping bags in my hands and sneered. “I hear you’ve stooped to serving that little princess.” I didn’t bother answering and turned to leave. “Leo!” he called out, his voice laced with a strange, bitter anger. “Do you really think a girl from a family like that sees you as a person? To put it nicely, you’re her ‘boyfriend.’ To put it bluntly, you went from being the princess’s companion to being her boy toy!” I turned back. “I know.” “You—!” “Are you looking for a job?” I asked brightly. “Want me to put in a good word for you? Great pay, easy work, three-day weekends, full benefits~” “I don’t need your help!” he spat, shooting me a look of utter disappointment. “I’m not like you, content to debase myself! I’ll find my own way!” He stormed off, leaving me standing there. I touched my own face. Where else was I going to find a job that paid a million dollars a month to sleep with a stunningly beautiful woman with killer curves and a passionate nature? I wanted to earn a respectable living too. But not everyone gets to be respectable. All the talk about being cheap or a social climber meant nothing compared to the simple comfort of knowing where my next meal was coming from. If Isabelle ever got tired of me, at least I’d have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life. In a way, wasn’t that its own kind of success? I just never expected her to “play” with me all the way to the altar. When the engagement ring slipped onto her finger, I thought I was dreaming. Isabelle still didn’t talk much. The doctors said her stress-induced speech trauma might be permanent. The few sentences I’d managed to squeeze out of her were already a miracle. It turned out she had channeled all her unspoken words into an insatiable desire in the bedroom every night. It turned out she had been confessing her love through her actions for ten years. I held the bouquet of roses. I thought, Maybe I’ve stumbled into the real thing. A blind squirrel finding a nut. But at a party after our engagement, I saw Jimmy for the first time in years. 4 The seams on Jimmy’s suit were frayed, making him stick out like a sore thumb among the expensive couture of the city’s elite. I’d heard the company he’d finally landed a job at was on the verge of bankruptcy. He’d had a few girlfriends over the past decade, but they all ended for the same reason: money. He had pulled a lot of strings just to get an invitation to this business summit with the Reeves Corporation. His eyes twitched when he saw the engagement ring on my finger. “You and Isabelle?” I nodded. His companion nudged him. “You know him?” “Know him?” Jimmy smirked, uncorking a bottle of wine. “He’s the one who stole my girlfriend.” A cascade of cold wine drenched me, sending a shiver through my body. His friends were shocked. “Jimmy! What the hell is going on?” Jimmy lifted his chin. “My girlfriend was Isabelle Reeves.” “What?!” He savored my humiliation. “Leo, you’re cheaper than a ten-dollar whore.” I wiped my face. And picked up a bottle of wine. Unopened. I smashed it over his head. Glass shards and red wine rained down from his hair. He clutched his bleeding head and screamed, “Are you insane?!” I looked down on him. “That day you threw wine on me, I didn’t retaliate, because that was between us. But now, Isabelle is my fiancée. You’re spreading rumors about the man she’s going to marry. I’m not going to be so nice this time.” His face went pale. The memory of that first wine-throwing incident had given him an unearned confidence, making him walk around like he owned me for the rest of our university days. “You think you can do whatever you want now that you’ve latched onto my ex-girlfriend?” Jimmy gritted out. “If I hadn’t left her, do you think you would have had a chance? A boy toy, played with by a rich girl for ten years. You really think you’re some kind of tycoon now?” His face was a mask of pure mockery. The guests had stopped to watch. Isabelle’s mysterious boyfriend had always been a hot topic of gossip. But she never revealed any information about me. Some speculated I was the scion of a mysterious foreign dynasty; others guessed I was the long-lost heir of a powerful family. Jimmy’s single word—”boy toy”—shattered all their illusions. Just as the humiliation was becoming unbearable, Isabelle appeared. She took my hand, the matching diamond on her ring finger glittering brightly. With that one gesture, everyone knew whose side she was on. Jimmy’s face went white. At this crucial moment, just as everyone was about to dig into my background, Isabelle, who cherished every word, spoke. “He… is my… fiancé.” Her speech was slightly halting, but her tone was firm. The crowd immediately turned their disdainful gazes on Jimmy. “I know him. He’s some low-level manager at a small firm. Couldn’t keep a girlfriend to save his life. I think he’s the one who wants to be Ms. Reeves’s boy toy.” “Hah. Her fiancé of ten years is just a ‘boy toy’ in his eyes? The nerve of some people.” Jimmy wanted to argue, but his face just turned a deeper shade of red. Isabelle took me home. To reward her, I cooked a feast. But Isabelle didn’t touch her food. She was glued to her phone. When I urged her to eat, she showed me an urgent company document and left. She didn’t know her laptop was still open. And on the screen, I saw that she had just accepted Jimmy’s friend request.

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1 I was mindlessly scrolling online when a post caught my eye. 【I accidentally broke my boss’s fiancée’s bracelet. How do I get away with it?】 In the comments, the original poster was relentlessly showing off how special her boss treated her. 【The bracelet broke while he and I were… you know, getting intimate. I wanted to try something new.】 【He told me the beads on this thing are supposed to be a lucky charm, so he wanted me to carry it with me always.】 【He said I don’t have to pay for it, but I feel bad. Does anyone know where I can buy another one?】 Attached was a photo of a faded Kynam agarwood bracelet. It looked familiar. Trying to be helpful, I commented: 【Bracelets like that go for at least a million on the market. You should probably just apologize.】 A second later, she replied with disdain: 【A million? Honey, even if it were ten million, he would never let me apologize for anything.】 【He doesn’t even like his fiancée. I’m his true love.】 I clicked on her profile, only to find that the “boss” she was talking about was my fiancé. Her reply just struck me as bizarre. Zero people cared who her boss was in love with. My focus was on the bracelet. The Kynam bracelet my grandfather gave me was a near-perfect match to the one in the photo, in both size and quality. It was just clear the poster hadn’t taken care of it; the rich color had faded significantly. In the time it took for my silence to register, a mountain of comments had already piled up beneath hers. 【OP, you must not be from Brookhaven. Her company is the biggest player in the city.】 【Fumbling intern and the top-of-the-food-chain CEO? I ship it.】 【Who should apologize to whom is still up in the air. President Blackwood is known for spoiling his favorites.】 A few of those words sent a shiver down my spine. Because I happened to know a “President Blackwood” in Brookhaven. My fiancé, Vincent Blackwood. I navigated to the poster’s homepage. The background image was, unmistakably, my family’s corporate headquarters. My father, impressed by Vincent’s ambition, had sent him to manage the Brookhaven branch, putting him under my nominal command in the hopes that we’d grow closer. I just had no idea that in a few short months, my own company had apparently changed hands. If Vincent was her secret lover, then it was painfully obvious whose bracelet it was. Seeing my property desecrated like this, and the culprit showing not a shred of remorse, was infuriating. I suppressed the fire rising in my chest and clicked back into the thread. 【Since when does Vincent Blackwood call all the shots? That’s news to me.】 【Forget you apologizing—Vincent himself is going to have to make a personal apology for this.】 【Is this the new trend? Homewreckers being this proud and loud about it?】 My comments clearly struck a nerve. She was instantly incensed, firing back with a volley of photos and a tone dripping with arrogance. 【It’s just a million. My boss’s car is worth over ten million.】 【See this diamond? He just won it at an auction a few days ago. He said he’s having it made into our wedding ring.】 【How can some no-name nobody even compare to my boss?】 I clicked open the images. They were all my things, items I’d left behind in Brookhaven. I’d been in a rush to go abroad a few months ago, and bringing everything was too much of a hassle. Before I left, I’d asked Vincent to keep an eye on them for me. I never imagined he’d use them all to woo someone else. As her posts grew more and more heated, a cold smile touched my lips. I pulled out my phone and dialed Vincent’s number. It rang for nearly a minute before he picked up. His voice was clipped. “I’m in a meeting. Whatever it is, we can talk later.” Before I could say a word, the dial tone buzzed in my ear. But in the next second, I refreshed the thread and saw a new reply from her. It was a screenshot of a voice call, the timer already at thirty minutes. 【The boss has been on the phone calming me down this whole time. He even hung up on his fiancée for me~】 Seeing her provocation, I didn’t reply again. Not because I was hurt, but because I had already arrived at the foot of the office building. He still hadn’t read the message I sent him yesterday. Compared to the attentive, cautious man he used to be, Vincent had certainly changed these past few months. I’d chalked it up to the pressures of his promotion, never guessing he was just busy doting on his little mistress. With another cold smile, I called him again. The moment he answered, I spoke first. “I’m at the front door. I don’t care what you’re doing, but I’m giving you two choices.” “You can either come down now and personally escort me in.” “Or, I, as the Chairwoman, can have the front desk inform you that you’ve been summoned.” 2 I didn’t get Vincent. I got Corinne. She sashayed out of the president’s private elevator, her eyes raking over me from head to toe with undisguised contempt. “Ms. Heffner, is it? President Blackwood is in a meeting. You can just come with me.” As she spoke, Corinne’s gaze landed on my dress. The receptionist nearby, quick on the uptake, chimed in, “Corinne, is that a new dress? I bet the President just bought it for you. It’s different from the one you wore this morning.” A delighted grin spread across Corinne’s face. “I only mentioned it offhandedly yesterday. I can’t believe he actually bought it for me today.” The two of them went on, a perfect duet of sycophantic praise, quickly forgetting I was even there. I finally looked up from my phone, my gaze slowly drifting over to Corinne. The tell-tale marks on her neck were vivid, and she made no effort to conceal them. Connecting that to the “getting intimate” she’d mentioned in her post, I knew exactly what had been going on. “I believe I asked for Vincent to come down personally. Is he—” Before I could finish, Corinne cut me off. “President Blackwood is a very busy man. He doesn’t have time for unimportant people.” Her tone was dismissive. “Whatever you have to say, you can just tell me. I’ll pass it along.” The moment the words left her mouth, the crowd of gossiping onlookers murmured in agreement. “Yeah, even though Corinne’s just an intern, her full-time position is a sure thing. The President himself transferred her to be his personal secretary.” “President Blackwood said that what Corinne wants, he wants. We’re all supposed to listen to her.” “If just anyone could demand to see the President, he’d work himself to death.” One by one, they painted me as the one who was being unreasonable. I just arched an eyebrow, my expression unreadable. President Blackwood? Since when was Vincent the president of anything? Corinne, however, mistook my silence for fear. Her eyes darted around before she whipped out her phone. “I’ve been looking after that bracelet of yours. I’ve been spritzing it with my best perfume every day to keep it nice. You can just reimburse me for the cost.” “I’m sorry?” I frowned, not quite catching what she said. She took my expression as a refusal and her voice sharpened into a threat. “That’s the perfume President Blackwood bought me. It’s a four-figure bottle. I barely use it on myself.” When her words finally registered, I was stunned. Not because the perfume was expensive, but because she’d been spraying it on the bracelet. Agarwood is porous; it absorbs scents. Spraying it with perfume is like using a fine wine to clean your floors. It ruins it. Especially since the fragrance Vincent had chosen was one I personally despised; the bottle was still sitting in my room, collecting dust. As Corinne spoke, she leaned closer, and the cloying scent of cheap fragrance immediately assaulted my senses, making me feel sick. I took an imperceptible step back, but she thought I was trying to flee. “Stop right there!” she barked. “You’re not trying to skip out on the bill, are you?” I straightened up, composing myself. Just as I raised my hand, a cold voice cut through the lobby from behind me. “Aurora, even if you are my fiancée, you can’t just bully my secretary in public.” Vincent, having rushed down after my call, stood there, pulling Corinne protectively behind him. He looked at me, his brow furrowed in a tight, disapproving knot. Never mind that our “engagement” was just a casual suggestion from my father that was never even finalized. And never mind that I wouldn’t be caught dead with a piece of trash like Vincent. “Your secretary?” I let out a short, sharp laugh, my eyes sliding to him. “Since when did I approve Corinne’s promotion?” “You damage my property, and now you want me to pay for it?” “I had no idea my company was hiring morons of this caliber.” 3 My words made Vincent’s face flash through several shades of anger and embarrassment. He clearly didn’t want to make a bigger scene, so he reined in his aggressive tone. “I’ll pay for whatever she broke. Corinne is a very diligent worker, she—” Before Vincent could finish his defense, Corinne had had enough. She snatched the bracelet from her purse and hurled it onto the marble floor. “Here, take it back! I wouldn’t want this cheap piece of junk anyway.” Her action made my pupils constrict. My expression turned to ice. “Pick it up.” Corinne froze, about to retort, but a glance at Vincent’s stony silence made her reconsider. Her eyes reddened as she reluctantly bent down. The moment I saw her hands touch the bracelet, I remembered her post—about how it was broken while they were “getting intimate.” A wave of nausea washed over me. “That Kynam agarwood bracelet cost me three million. You can figure out how you’re going to compensate me.” I had barely finished speaking when Corinne’s little sycophant friend, who was helping her up, let out a snort of derision. “Three million? I thought it was something expensive. Corinne is wearing single pieces that are worth dozens of your cheap bracelet.” Even Corinne herself seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. She pulled out her phone again, her voice full of arrogance. Before she could speak, I tilted my head and held out a hand. “My apologies. I forgot we operate on different scales.” “I meant three million dollars. I wonder how Ms. Corinne intends to pay.” At the mention of the price, I saw the hand holding her phone tremble slightly. She stared at the beads in her palm in disbelief, her voice a shriek. “How could it possibly be worth three million? It’s just a string of wooden beads!” Corinne examined the bracelet over and over, then forced herself to look calm. I watched as she exited the payment app and opened a shopping app instead. After a moment, she let out a breath and brandished her phone screen for everyone to see. On the screen of some bargain-bin shopping app, an identical-looking bracelet was listed for $9.99. I gave Corinne a look that was hard to put into words. This person must have dropped on her head as a child. Who didn’t know these platforms were flooded with fakes? Noticing her search history, I offered a helpful tip. “It’s Kynam agarwood. Not ‘wooden bead bracelet.’” Vincent’s bravado had vanished the moment I said “three million.” Everything he had bought for Corinne had been charged to my supplementary card. Though we had the title of an engaged couple, I had always kept our finances strictly separate. Every expense was tallied, and every personal purchase was deducted from his salary. On the surface, Vincent was the “top-of-the-food-chain CEO.” In reality, he was just an employee. I was the one making the real decisions; he was just the messenger. Seeing Vincent’s silence, Corinne started to panic. She tried to maintain her composure and shut off her phone. “I don’t care if it’s three hundred or three million, President Blackwood will pay for me,” she declared. “He’s a rising star in this industry. You think he’s short on a little cash like that?” Corinne’s arrogance was clearly a well-practiced routine. She pointed a finger at the company name emblazoned across the lobby wall. “The ground you’re standing on belongs to President Blackwood’s company. And this is just Brookhaven.” “He already told me he has no feelings for you. He’s going to end the engagement soon and be with me.”

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