Chapter 1: The Grand Deception My wife’s business failed, wiping out our life savings. To lessen her burden, I started working three jobs, grinding day and night. As I was dangling from a harness, washing windows on the 30th floor, a birthday party was raging inside. I gazed in with envy, only to see my wife, Eleanor, pushing out a cake shaped like a giant stack of cash toward an elderly woman at the center of the room. Voices drifted through the glass. “A reservation here is nearly impossible to get, but Mrs. Nelson booked the entire floor for her mother-in-law’s birthday!” “Just the cash she was handing out at the door must have been in the millions!” Suspended in mid-air, I froze. No one there knew that Mrs. Nelson’s real mother-in-law had died in a hospital just the day before. When my own mother lay sick in her hospital bed, she gripped my hand, her voice a desperate plea. “Son, stop the treatments. I don’t want to be another burden on you and Nora.” I had frantically called Eleanor, begging her to let me use my own debit card—the one she held—to pay for Mom’s medical bills. In the time it took me to turn away, my mother had thrown herself from the hospital roof. She had folded her jacket neatly, and on top, she’d placed a small, tidy stack of money. I picked it up with trembling hands. It was a mix of crumpled bills and loose change. All told, it was fifty-three dollars. I couldn’t reach Eleanor. After a hasty, bare-bones funeral for my mother, I rushed back to this window-washing job. The pay was three hundred dollars an hour—enough to have fed our family for days, back when we had a family. So seeing Eleanor in this opulent, five-star hotel felt like a surreal nightmare. Was this woman, throwing away millions without a second thought, the same wife who ate plain noodle soup with me yesterday, wearing clothes patched at the elbows? A cold gust of wind whipped around me, and I shuddered. Mechanically, I pulled out my phone and called her again. As always, it went to voicemail. My co-worker saw the phone and gestured frantically, pulling me back up to the roof. The moment my feet hit the solid ground, a hard hat came flying at my face. “Playing on your phone while on the job? You got a death wish? You’re fired!” The helmet grazed my forehead, leaving a stinging, bloody scratch. It hurt. This wasn’t a dream. I stumbled downstairs in a daze, running right into a crowd of jubilant hotel staff. “Mrs. Nelson is handing out cash! Just say a lucky phrase and you get an envelope!” The banquet hall was a sea of glittering decorations and priceless artifacts. People around me were whispering that the decor alone had cost a small fortune. I pulled my face mask up tight and shuffled with the crowd toward the source of the commotion. When it was my turn, I looked at Eleanor, draped in a luxurious silk gown and dripping with jewels, standing next to the old woman. My throat went dry. “Wishing you… a long and happy life. Happy 60th birthday…” If my mother hadn’t died, she would have turned sixty this year, too. Just a few days ago, Eleanor and I had been planning to take her out for a nice birthday dinner. My mom had just smiled, waving her hand dismissively, saying that paying off our debts was the best gift of all. Now, we were worlds apart. Eleanor didn’t recognize my voice. She squinted, handing me a thick red envelope. “Here you go. Take it.” My hand trembled as I took it. It was heavy with cash. A small fortune. The amount of money that could have saved my mother’s life, and here Eleanor was, giving away hundreds of envelopes just like it. Someone in the jostling crowd bumped into me, and in front of everyone, I, in my filthy work clothes, fell to the floor. A sea of judgmental eyes stared down at me. A bitter taste filled my mouth. As I tried to scramble up, a hand reached out to me. “Are you all right?” I looked up. It was the other guest of honor—the old woman’s son. And by a cruel twist of fate, I knew him. It was Adrian, the “good friend” who, according to Eleanor, had led her into the investment that bankrupted us. The man she’d trusted with our entire fortune, only to lose everything. But looking at them now, it was clear that the only ones who had lost everything were my mother and me. A flicker of sly malice crossed his eyes, so fast I almost missed it. I dodged his hand, trying to get up on my own, but a moment later, a foot kicked out from somewhere, and I was sent sprawling onto my back like an overturned beetle, becoming the center of attention. Even Eleanor looked over. As she started walking toward me, her heels clicking on the marble floor, I scrambled to my feet and fled. I couldn’t bear for her to see me like this, so utterly pathetic. As I stepped out of the building, my phone buzzed. A new, unknown number had added me as a contact. I accepted, and a video immediately appeared. I pressed play. It was a grainy clip of Eleanor and Adrian, wrapped in each other’s arms. Chapter 2: The Truth Revealed The man’s deep voice cut through the silence. “How much longer are you going to play this game with that fool?” Eleanor let out a soft, cold laugh, and her words echoed in my ears, again and again. “If you hadn’t dared me, I never would have been able to keep it up this long. Besides, the old hag is sick. If he knew I had money, who knows what he’d do to get it out of me.” I froze. She knew. Eleanor knew my mother was sick. She had seen every single one of my desperate texts begging for money. She had seen them, and she had chosen to ignore them. I stumbled back to our apartment, a cramped basement unit, and laughed a bitter, hollow laugh. Should I praise her for her endurance? She had lived with me in a place like this for three years without complaint. Her act was flawless. Even living under the same roof as my mother, she was always smiling, always doting on her. She claimed her own parents had died, that she hadn’t felt the warmth of a family in years, and that’s why she cherished what we had. When her “business failed,” I sold our house to pay her debts. My mother even sold the jade bracelet her own mother had passed down to her. I’ll never forget the tears of gratitude streaming down Eleanor’s face as she took the money, promising she was done with risky ventures, that she would settle down and build a life with me. Her tear-streaked face was a world away from the woman I saw today, beaming with laughter. Staring at the four walls of our tiny room, I finally broke, sobbing uncontrollably. Before I met Eleanor, I had a life I was proud of. I was the first person from my village to go to college, and once I had a foothold in the city, I brought my mother, my only family, to live with me. I met Eleanor at a company dinner. A senior executive was harassing her. She stood there in a faded, washed-out uniform, too timid to fight back. I used the excuse of a toast to pull the executive away, earning a grateful look from her. Later, my mom came to bring me lunch and saw Eleanor in the breakroom, chewing on a dry bread roll with a cup of cold water. From that day on, my mom always packed an extra meal for me to give to Eleanor. Our relationship bloomed naturally from there. Our wedding was simple, but Eleanor said it was the happiest day of her life. After we were married, she wanted to start her own business. Even when it failed and left us in debt, my mother and I were her staunchest supporters. And it was all a game. A game for the rich, and I was the only one who had played with a real heart. My mother, who loved her like a daughter, paid for it with her life. Before I could wipe my tears, the hospital called. “Mr. Hayes, your mother signed an organ donation agreement before her passing. We’ve found a suitable match. You should come say your final goodbye.” Organ donation? When had my mother signed something like that? I rushed to the hospital, only to see Eleanor and Adrian stepping out of an ambulance at the entrance. She was rushing, her voice laced with panic. “My mother-in-law is type O. She just collapsed. I’ve already put out an alert to every hospital in the city for type O blood. We have to save her, no matter what it takes!” I stood frozen as she brushed past me. If she had only looked up, she would have seen me, a witness to her entire charade. But she didn’t. Even knowing my mother was dying, waiting for the money that could have saved her, Eleanor’s entire world revolved around Adrian’s mother. With heavy steps, I walked to the morgue. The doctor and nurses were waiting. They showed me the donation form my mother had signed. “Mr. Hayes,” the doctor said, patting my shoulder, “your mother was a truly noble woman. She did a wonderful thing. Her organs will save three families.” I traced my mother’s signature, each stroke a testament to her love. My eyes welled up. That little old lady from the countryside couldn’t read or write. It had taken her ages, her hands tracing the characters over and over, just to learn how to write her own name. Now she was gone forever. Her body was so broken from the fall that I couldn’t bear to look at it a second time. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I broke down, crying with everything I had. The doctor’s own eyes grew moist. He didn’t know how to comfort me, so he just squeezed my hand, a silent acknowledgment of my pain. After a long time, I wiped my tears and looked at the medical team. “I’m sorry. I’m holding you all up. Please, don’t waste any more time. I know my mother would be happy, knowing she saved so many people.” They all bowed, a silent, profound gesture of respect for my mother. Just as they were preparing to transport the organs, a man came running up. “Who is the family of the organ donor? Our CEO wants to purchase the donor’s heart as a backup!”

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Lisa left in the middle of our anniversary dinner again, claiming there was a problem at work. I didn’t try to stop her. I just calmly finished my own meal. Later that night, I saw a new post on her childhood friend’s feed. It was a photo of Lisa’s hands, sleeves rolled up, placing a dish on a table. The caption read: Stomach flu is the worst. Huge shoutout to Lisa for saving me and making dinner. Guess that’s the confidence you get knowing you’ll always show up when I need you. This time, I didn’t call her to start a fight. After that, whenever she had to ditch me to take care of him, I stopped protesting. I just smiled and said it was okay. It went on like this, until her friend sent me a photo of them playing the Pocky game, their faces inches apart. I didn’t react at all. That’s when she finally panicked. Her eyes were red, her voice a mix of panic and hurt. “Why aren’t you angry?” 01. Lisa had only taken two bites of her steak when her phone rang. “It’s work,” she said, already grabbing her purse. “I have to go.” “Okay. Go on.” I cut off a piece of my own steak and savored it. Tender, juicy. Perfectly cooked. Lisa seemed surprised by my calm demeanor. She frowned. “I’ll bring you back a gift.” And with that, she was gone. I calmly finished my meal. A small pang of regret hit me—our last anniversary dinner, and we couldn’t even finish it together. Back home, a new post from Joshua, her childhood friend, popped up on my feed. It was a photo of Lisa’s hands, sleeves rolled up, placing a dish on a table. The caption: Stomach flu is the worst. Huge shoutout to Lisa for saving me and making dinner. Guess that’s the confidence you get knowing you’ll always show up when I need you. I shut off my phone, got into bed, and went to sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night, the soft beeps of the keypad lock woke me. I tensed for a moment, then relaxed when I realized it was Lisa. As I drifted back to sleep, I felt a presence by my bed, as if someone was watching me in the dark. The next morning, I showered and made breakfast. Just as I was setting my plate on the table, Lisa walked into the dining room. She glanced at the sandwich and orange juice, a flicker of confusion on her face. “You… you didn’t make breakfast for me?” She hated Western-style breakfasts, and since I was never in the mood to cook two different meals in the morning, I had always made us a traditional breakfast we both liked. “Ah, sorry. I forgot,” I said, taking a bite of my sandwich. “You can just order something or grab a bite on your way to work.” I finished my meal quickly, ready to leave. When I looked up, her face had hardened. “I know you’re mad that I lied to you yesterday,” she began, her voice tight. “But you used to get so dramatic, I was scared to tell you the truth…” “I’m not mad.” “Joshua’s stomach flu was acting up again, and he lives alone. I was worried, so I—” “—I’m really not mad.” “Can you please stop this? I’ve told you a million times, I only see Joshua as a brother. Why can’t you just understand that?” “I’m really, truly not mad at you!” My voice rose, sharper than I intended. I saw the shock on her face and softened my tone. “I get it, I do. But I have to get to work. We can talk when I get back.” Without waiting for a response, I walked out the door, leaving her standing alone in the quiet apartment. 02. At work, my boss, Ms. Evans, called me into her office to talk about the overseas assignment again. “Liam, this is a fantastic opportunity. The location is great, it’s safe… Just give it some more thought, please.” She had tried to convince me for weeks, laying out the salary, the benefits, the career growth. But every time, my feelings for Lisa held me back, leaving me unable to commit. But now… I looked up at Ms. Evans, at her expression that was one part disappointment, one part frustration. “I’ve thought about it, Ms. Evans,” I said, my voice clear. “I’ll take it.” A wide smile spread across her face. Seeing her so pleased, knowing I hadn’t let her down, felt like a weight lifting from my chest. After work, I grabbed dinner by myself before heading home. To my surprise, Lisa was already there. That was a rare sight. “You’re home late,” she said, her expression unreadable. She handed me a small, wrapped box. “Anniversary gift.” “Oh,” I said, taking it. “Thanks. I’m sorry, I completely forgot to get you something. I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Her face seemed to darken. “Liam, can you just listen to me calmly for a second?” she pleaded. “I’ve told you before. Joshua and I grew up together. He moved to this city all by himself, and it hasn’t been easy for him. I promised his parents I’d look after him.” I could feel the anger simmering beneath her words, but I genuinely didn’t understand why. “Don’t get worked up. I know. I understand.” “If you have something to say, just say it! Stop acting like this!” Her voice cracked with frustration. “How many times do I have to tell you we’re just like brother and sister? Why won’t you believe me? If I wanted to be with him, why would I be with you?” I tried to soothe her. “Calm down. I’m not angry. I really do believe you.” “You…” She took a deep, shaky breath, her chest rising and falling. Finally, she said, “I’m hungry.” “Sorry, I already ate on my way home. Why don’t you order some takeout? Or there’s food in the fridge if you want to make something.” The only answer I got was the slam of her bedroom door. 03. I was almost asleep when Lisa came back. She walked in and just stood there, staring at me. “It’s raining outside.” “Hmm? You should probably dry your hair then. Or just take a hot shower.” She was soaked, but I didn’t understand the point she was trying to make. Her voice filled with disbelief. “I didn’t have an umbrella. I was out for five hours! It’s pouring! Weren’t you worried at all?” She took a step closer. “You’re not usually like this. Whenever we fought before, if I stormed out, you’d call me, or you’d call my friends to see if I was okay. At the very least, you’d leave a light on in the living room and wait for me to come back. But today? Five hours, and not a single call from you!” I kept my voice gentle. “I didn’t call because you’re an adult. You know how to take care of yourself. Besides, I didn’t want to embarrass you by calling all your friends to track you down.” Her face froze. She must have remembered her own words from a long time ago. “Can you stop? I’m a grown woman, I know what I’m doing! Do you have to blow up my phone like some psycho? And why are you harassing my friends? Do you have any idea how they make fun of me because of you?!” I remembered that day clearly. I had spent hours frantically searching for her, and the moment I finally found out she was safe, that was the thanks I got. Not relief, not gratitude, but a furious tirade. But I wasn’t interested in digging up the past. The handover for my new assignment was starting, and I was just… tired. “Look, just go take a shower so you don’t catch a cold,” I said, turning away. I went into the master bedroom. My mind was buzzing with work, and it took a long while before I finally drifted off. In the haze of sleep, I thought I felt a hand brush against my cheek, followed by a soft sigh. Then, the mattress dipped beside me. 04. Lisa seemed genuinely angry this time. She started leaving early and coming home late, actively avoiding me. No texts, no calls. I was more than happy for the peace and quiet. The last thing I wanted was more drama. But after five days of silence, a message from her popped up on my phone. [I’m cooking dinner tonight. Come home and eat.] Honestly, I was stunned. Cooking had always been my job. I remember once, I tried to be playful about it, whining about how tired I was of always being the one to cook. She had just hugged me and cooed, “But my cooking is so bad it might put you in the hospital. Besides, I love eating the food my amazing boyfriend makes.” Blinded by love, I never questioned the contradiction in her words. I spent my evenings after work poring over recipes, trying to perfect her favorite dishes, collecting my fair share of cuts and burns along the way. I was so wrapped up in the sweet satisfaction of her enjoying my cooking that I didn’t think twice. Not until Joshua let it slip that Lisa was actually a fantastic cook. That led to one of our biggest fights. Lisa’s reaction, as always, was ice-cold. “Joshua can’t cook, and he’s a picky eater. You don’t expect him to live on takeout, do you? He’s not like you, you’ll eat anything. I’m just taking care of my brother. You’re a grown man, stop expecting people to cook for you. If you think cooking for me is such a chore, then don’t. It’s not like I need you to.” And after that? I think I let her half-hearted apology smooth things over, and I forgave her. What’s that saying? Love doesn’t just make you blind, it makes you an idiot. Never a truer word was spoken. Still, I texted back: [Okay.] We were on the verge of breaking up anyway. If possible, I wanted it to be amicable. The moment I opened the front door, I heard Lisa’s cheerful voice from the kitchen. “Liam! You’re home! Go wash up and relax for a bit, dinner’s almost ready.” I sat at the dining table, a strange mix of emotions washing over me.

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I decided to take my father’s offer. I would leave my husband and son behind and go back to being his precious daughter. It was all because, after my surgery, I could suddenly hear my family’s true thoughts. My husband, Leo: 【Such a minor issue, and she’s been in the hospital for days. Now she’s home and still not doing anything. Can’t she see my suit needs ironing?】 My son, Noah: 【The surgery cost so much money, and now she’s drinking my favorite yogurt. Why can’t she be a boss like Aunt Corinne, instead of just sitting at home being a freeloader?】 My mother-in-law: 【Of all the times to come back, she had to show up right when I was making chicken soup. I’ll just add some of the dishwater from washing the pot and tell her I put in too much water.】 My heart turned to ash. I turned around, closed the bedroom door, and dialed my father’s number. “Yes, just me. I’m not bringing anyone.” It wasn’t until the next evening that Leo came home, my mother-in-law and son trailing behind him with bored expressions. The moment the door opened, the sweet, cloying voice of his colleague, Corinne, drifted from his phone. “Oh, Audrey, I’m so sorry! It was my birthday yesterday, and I can’t believe Leo skipped picking you up from the hospital just to celebrate with me. I’ve already given him a piece of my mind.” She was pretending to scold him, but the mockery in her voice was so thick it practically dripped from the phone. I watched Leo silently, about to speak, when my son’s thoughts flashed through my mind. 【Aunt Corinne is so gentle, not like my mom. She’s such a tigress, always nagging me about my homework.】 【Why can’t Aunt Corinne be my mom?】 My son leaned against the doorframe, scowling. I looked at the child I had carried for ten months, and a sharp pain lanced through my heart. Before I could react, Leo sat down on the edge of the bed, his voice a mask of gentle concern. “You should be lying down. You’re a grown woman, you need to take better care of yourself. If you get sick again, I’ll be really angry.” His tone was as warm and caring as ever. If I couldn’t hear his inner thoughts, I would have fallen right back into his tender trap. 【Look at her, so dramatic. Is she going to throw a tantrum?】 【I have to keep her calm. If she gets angry and blurts out that this dump of a house is her prenuptial property, how am I supposed to keep Noah looking up to me?】 I suddenly wanted to laugh, but no sound came out. I had fallen for Leo at first sight, desperate to be with the poor scholarship student. I’d cut ties with my parents, run away from home, and had our son, Noah, out of wedlock. For ten years, on top of my job, I had taken care of this entire family’s every need. Now, after taking a short leave from work for breast surgery, I had discovered their true colors. A nest of vipers. I yanked the covers out from under Leo, my face a mask of displeasure. From the phone, Corinne’s voice was filled with feigned distress. “Leo, is Audrey mad at me because she’s not talking? You have to smooth things over for me!” My mother-in-law, who had just arrived, immediately saw the tension and stepped in to mediate. “Corinne, dear, don’t mind her. She’s just a housewife, not very presentable. Not like you, so young and successful. Audrey, if you’re not feeling well, just get some rest. We’re about to head out to help Corinne pick out furniture for her new house.” As she spoke, her inner voice echoed in my mind. 【Hmph! What a waste of money. A simple cyst, and she had to have it removed. Tens of thousands of dollars, just gone!】 【Thank goodness my son has latched onto a successful businesswoman. A promotion and a raise are practically guaranteed. He’d never get rich staying with this woman.】 I looked at my so-called family, their faces hidden behind masks of false concern, and felt nothing but cold indifference. “Leo,” I said, my voice flat, “since you’re all so busy, why don’t you sign the divorce papers on the dresser? Then I won’t bother you anymore.” My words left them all gaping in shock. “Audrey, that’s enough,” Leo snapped. “So I didn’t pick you up from the hospital. Is that a reason to threaten me with divorce just to make me apologize? Corinne already explained what happened yesterday. I’ve been incredibly busy these last two days, with a mountain of work at the office. You’re out of the hospital, so just rest and recover. Don’t cause trouble for me.” Before he could finish, my son’s face lit up with excitement as he looked at Leo. 【Dad, sign it! Sign it!】 【I can’t stand this old hag for another day!】 【If you divorce her and marry Aunt Corinne, I can get the coolest gaming gear!】 Leo, however, seemed to miss his son’s cues, a different thought running through his mind. 【She was the one who was desperate to marry me. There’s no way she can live without me.】 【This divorce thing is just a tantrum. She’ll be over it in three days.】 It was Corinne on the phone who broke the silence. It was laughable, really. Leo had been clutching that phone like a lifeline since he walked in. “Audrey, please don’t misunderstand. There’s nothing going on between Leo and me. Please don’t let me affect your marriage.” I ignored her completely. “Leo, I’m not throwing a tantrum. I’m informing you.” I was tired. I was done serving this family of ungrateful parasites. Sensing the cold indifference on my face, Leo, who had been halfway out the door, turned back, his tone softening. “Audrey, it was just a ride from the hospital. You’re home safe now, aren’t you? Don’t make a big deal out of nothing. Corinne even called specifically to explain things to you. Don’t be so unforgiving. You used to be so understanding and reasonable. How did one little surgery turn you into such a drama queen? You need to calm down. Don’t do anything impulsive that you’ll regret later.” I couldn’t be bothered to respond. I pulled the covers over my head and turned away. I didn’t sleep all night. Neither Leo nor the others came home. Since I had decided to leave, I planned to move my things to the new villa my father had bought for me. It would be a better place to recover. The villa was his welcome-home gift. All those years ago, I had thrown away my life as a wealthy heiress to run off with Leo. My parents were angry, but they were helpless. In the end, afraid I would suffer, they bought me the house we were living in now as my prenuptial property. But for the sake of Leo’s pathetic pride, I never corrected his lie that he had bought it himself. Because of that, my mother-in-law had never missed an opportunity to make snide remarks, and my son had learned to look down on me too. For ten years, my father had repeatedly asked me to come home and take over the family business. I couldn’t bear to leave Leo, and I couldn’t bear to leave my son. I always refused. But now that they had all found someone new to latch onto, my leaving shouldn’t matter at all. I went to a law firm owned by my father’s company. As I was getting into a taxi, I got a call from the moving company. “Ms. White? Is it convenient for you to come to the delivery address? There seems to be a problem with it!” The driver sounded anxious, and I could hear arguing in the background. I urged the taxi driver to hurry to the villa. When I arrived, I was stunned. The yard of the brand-new villa my father had bought for me was a chaotic mess, and clothes were hanging on the balcony. And Corinne, the “boss” Leo had been talking about, was standing there in her pajamas, hands on her hips, blocking the movers from entering. “Ms. White, are you sure this is the place?” the head mover asked, embarrassed. I remembered what Leo and his mother had said about picking out furniture for Corinne’s new house. I had assumed she had just bought a new place and was decorating. I never imagined her “new house” was the villa my father had given me. I also remembered my father mentioning on the phone that he had been sponsoring a female student. I looked at Corinne and everything clicked. So, the “successful businesswoman” Leo was so proud of was just an imposter, using my house to put on airs. And Leo, my son, and my mother-in-law had all been completely fooled, thinking they had struck gold with a wealthy woman. I was about to expose her when she spoke first. “Ms. White, this house was a gift from my father. What are you doing here? This is a high-end neighborhood. If you break anything, you won’t be able to afford it. As I recall, your family doesn’t have much left, unlike me. My parents would give me the moon if I asked for it.” She lazily ran a hand through her hair, her face glowing with smug satisfaction. I couldn’t be bothered to argue. I pulled out the deed to the house and said flatly, “This is my villa. Please leave immediately.” The words were barely out of my mouth when my son peeked out from behind Corinne, a brand-new gaming console in his hands. “Mom, seriously, you need to know your limits. If you could afford a big villa like this, do you think I’d be begging for a game console? Did the anesthesia from your surgery mess with your brain?” My mother-in-law chimed in. “Audrey, that’s enough. Don’t embarrass yourself in public.” Corinne burst out laughing. “Your villa? That’s hilarious. It’s not that I look down on you, but with your four-thousand-a-month salary, you couldn’t afford this place if you worked your whole life. And now you don’t even have that job.” She turned to the security guard who had hurried over. “Is this how you do your job? Letting any riff-raff in? If something goes missing, are you going to pay for it?” The guard bowed and scraped, apologizing profusely, then turned to me with a threatening glare. “How did you get in here? You have three minutes to leave, or I’m calling the police.” The moving truck was blocking the road, and a crowd of onlookers had gathered. “What’s going on? Didn’t Mr. Sterling give this villa to Miss Corinne? How did another owner suddenly appear?” “Maybe she’s some kind of lunatic. Look at how shabby she’s dressed. She doesn’t look like she has any connection to the Sterling family.” “An illegitimate daughter?” “Don’t be ridiculous! Mr. Sterling adores his wife. There’s no way he has an illegitimate child!” As the crowd buzzed, Corinne basked in their praise, her chin held high. Suddenly, Leo pushed his way through the crowd. The man who was usually impeccably dressed and obsessed with cleanliness was wearing old work clothes, his hands full of cleaning supplies. He was apparently here to help Corinne with the initial deep clean. A chill went through me. In all our years together, even when I was recovering from childbirth, he had never lifted a finger to help with the housework. He didn’t even know how to use the mop. “Corinne, it’s dirty out here. You should go inside. You have allergies, you can’t be breathing in all this dust.” “Yeah, Aunt Corinne! Dad and Grandma are here to help. You should go take a beauty nap. Don’t stress yourself out over unimportant people.” At that, my mother-in-law rolled up her sleeves, ready to get to work. The father and son duo chattered on, completely ignoring me. After years of me serving them, they never once offered to help. I remembered when my allergies were acting up, and I asked my mother-in-law to sweep under the bed. Leo had just yelled at me for acting like a spoiled princess, saying I had the diseases of the rich without the wealth. “Just wear a couple of extra masks! Plenty of people have allergies, do they just stop cleaning their houses and living their lives?” At the time, I had actually felt guilty, apologizing for not adapting to his lifestyle quickly enough. Only now did I understand. It wasn’t that he didn’t know allergies were miserable. It was that my misery didn’t matter. Corinne was clearly delighted by their fawning. Her sharp, spiteful demeanor melted away, replaced by a delicate frown as she covered her nose. “Leo, it’s not that I don’t want to go inside. But with Ms. White here, I have to be a good hostess.” Finally, Leo’s gaze followed Corinne’s and landed on me.

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“Young goddess, are you certain you wish your thread to be cut from the Moirai’s Tapestry? Once the shears fall, you must enter the cycle of rebirth. There is no turning back.” The Acolyte of the Fates was stunned, but he recorded my plea nonetheless. “In seven days, you will pass through the Chasm of Lethe,” he said without looking up. “After that, the name Elara will cease to exist.” “Wait,” he paused, his eyes widening in shock. “Your name is Elara?” Everyone in the Underworld knew that Hades, the King of Shades, had a wife he had cherished for a thousand years. Her name was Elara. I nodded calmly. Only by having my life-thread rewoven could I ensure that he would never find me again. 1 When I walked out of the Hall of Fates, the realm of Hades was being transformed. In just a few hours, the usual gloomy, damp chill had vanished. The dark halls were draped with garlands of pomegranate blossoms, their deep red a startling blush of life in the land of the dead. A newly arrived shade, looking bewildered, asked another, “Is there some kind of celebration? Is Lord Hades taking a new queen?” A passing Fury shot her a disdainful look and scoffed, “You’re so clueless. Our Lord Hades has been married for an eternity! He and his queen have been devoted for nearly a thousand years. In a few days, it will be Lady Elara’s birth anniversary. Lord Hades has been planning the feast for ages!” I walked past them, a silent sigh escaping my lips. Everyone in the Underworld knew that the current king, Kaelen, valued his wife more than his own immortal life. Once, when I had fallen gravely ill, Kaelen had ventured into the River Lethe itself, sacrificing half his divine power to retrieve a single, frozen bloom from its banks to use in my cure. Even before he became the ruler of this realm, he had died for me in the mortal world. After his death, his soul descended here, but he refused to drink the waters of oblivion. He just stood stubbornly by the Stygian Path, waiting. When others asked him why he wouldn’t move on, he would say, “I’m waiting for Elara. In life, I was her man. In death, I am her shade.” Decades later, when my soul finally arrived, Kaelen had already become the formidable King of the Underworld. He welcomed me with the grandest ceremony the realm had ever seen. From then on, every soul and spirit, from the lonely shades in the Asphodel Meadows to Charon himself, envied our divine romance. During countless nights of intimacy, Kaelen would whisper in my ear, “Elara, we will be together for all eternity, our souls forever entwined.” I never doubted his sincerity. It’s just that sincerity can be so fleeting. A month ago, I discovered that Kaelen was hiding another woman—a nymph—in a secluded corner of his domain. Every time he claimed he had “duties to attend to,” he was actually going to be with her. Unbeknownst to me, that nymph had already begun to occupy most of his time. I gave a bitter smile, tuning out the Fury’s gushing account of my “perfect” life with Kaelen, and walked away. Back in our Asphodel Pavilion, I took out a mortal writ of severance. Stroke by stroke, I wrote down my name. Even though Kaelen, as a god, was not bound by such mortal contracts, I followed the old customs. Since I was the one breaking our vow of eternal companionship, this was my final tribute to the love we once shared. Just as I finished the last stroke, a gust of wind swept through the room. Kaelen was back. He smiled, wrapping his arms around me from behind, his voice laced with fatigue. “Elara, my love, what are you writing?” The hand holding the quill trembled slightly. I feigned composure and quickly covered the writ with a fresh sheet of papyrus. Kaelen sensed something was amiss. “I’m sorry, Elara,” he coaxed gently. “There were some unruly souls causing trouble on the Stygian Path. I had to deal with them, so I’m late.” I didn’t expose his lie. I had just come from the Stygian Path myself; it was perfectly calm. He smiled, pulling out a hairpin carved from obsidian and starlight, and gently combed through my long hair. His voice was so soft it could drown a soul. “Don’t be upset, Elara. Let me do your hair for you, shall I?” I remained silent, feeling him lean in to style my hair. In that instant, a faint scent of jasmine washed over me. I turned my head slightly and saw it—a small, red love bite on his collar. Nothing grew in the barren lands of the Underworld but asphodel. Where would the scent of jasmine come from? Kaelen must have traveled to the mortal realm, gathered a large bouquet, and used it to win another’s favor. He had probably just climbed out of that nymph’s bed. My gaze darkened. The real agony was realizing that the moments I thought were filled with happiness were, for him, moments of betrayal. The line between true and false happiness is so hard to discern. Kaelen, oblivious to my turmoil, gently inserted the hairpin. His eyes were full of adoration as he praised me sincerely, “Elara, your skin is fairer than moonbeams. So beautiful.” I forced a smile, covering his eyes with one hand while folding the writ of severance with the other and handing it to him. “A gift for you,” I said. “Just promise me you’ll wait seven days to open it.” Kaelen smiled, taking my hand and agreeing instantly. “Of course. Anything for you, Elara.” I looked into his smiling eyes, thinking to myself: in seven days, the name Elara will be gone from this world forever. 2 The next day, Kaelen cleared his schedule, eager to take me to see fireworks in the mortal realm. The world of the living was vibrant and bustling. A rare spark of excitement lit up my face. If it hadn’t been for Kaelen, I never would have stayed in such a desolate place… but now, it no longer mattered. Kaelen shielded me as we walked through the crowded streets, frequently turning to adjust the hairpin in my hair. A little girl selling flowers ran up to us, her face bright with a smile. “Mister, buy a bouquet for this pretty lady! May you two be happy together forever!” I froze, about to refuse, but Kaelen was already smiling and picking out flowers. After careful consideration, he decided to buy her entire basket. “Wait.” I snapped out of my daze and stopped him. Kaelen looked at me, his eyes full of warmth. “What is it, Elara? You don’t like them?” I nodded, my voice flat. “I don’t like jasmine.” His expression froze instantly, his pupils contracting. He looked… unnatural. He forced a stiff smile. “Elara, I thought jasmine was your favorite. Why the sudden change…?” A sharp pain pierced my heart. Once, to make me happy, he had commanded an entire mortal courtyard to bloom with jasmine just for me. Now, to please another woman, he traveled to the mortal realm to bring her bouquets of it. In that moment, I desperately wanted to ask him: when he gave her jasmine, did he feel even a flicker of guilt? Before I could speak, a young, handsome acolyte rushed out from behind Kaelen and slammed into me. I had no time to dodge and was knocked to the ground. My ankle twisted, swelling instantly. My hands were scraped. The hairpin tumbled out and landed crookedly on the pavement. The acolyte shot me a triumphant glance before turning to Kaelen. “My lord! There are rogue titans stirring in the deepest pits of Tartarus! You must go at once!” Kaelen frowned, a bolt of dark energy shooting from his hand towards the acolyte. But as he recognized the face, he abruptly withdrew the attack. My gaze faltered. I knew this “acolyte.” It was the nymph, Lyra. She was disguised as a man, but it only accentuated her fair, jade-like skin. Kaelen looked at me with a pained expression as he helped me up. “Elara, you go on ahead. I’ll take care of this…” Hearing his words, I hid my injured hand behind my back and answered flatly, “It’s fine. I can go back by myself.” He tenderly wiped a smudge of dirt from my face, then turned and snapped at Lyra, “Be more careful. If you ever harm Elara again, I will have your immortal soul!” He glanced at me guiltily again, then bent down to retrieve the hairpin. Before he could, a group of laughing children ran past, and the hairpin vanished into the crowd. A flash of annoyance crossed Kaelen’s face. He was about to search for it himself when Lyra tugged on his sleeve, her voice soft and cloying. “My lord, we’ll be too late…!” She wasn’t even bothering to disguise her feminine voice anymore, her expression a blatant provocation. Kaelen frowned and roughly shook her hand off, his tone turning to ice. “If you don’t vanish from my sight, I will unmake you.” He channeled his power, and in an instant, her exposed arm turned red and swollen. A flicker of defiance crossed her face, followed by a pout. She turned and left. Once she was gone, Kaelen’s expression softened. “Elara, you look around. I’ll be right back.” I nodded numbly. He lovingly stroked my hair one last time, then ordered two of his guards to stay and find the hairpin. “This hairpin is a symbol of my vow to Elara,” he said, his voice cold. “It must be found.” Listening to his passionate words, I scoffed inwardly. His heart had already changed. Why pretend to care? As his figure disappeared, I silently followed him. I watched as he caught up to Lyra and pulled her fiercely into his arms. His voice was a low growl. “You should not have appeared in front of Elara.” 3 The nymph, still disguised, her eyes red-rimmed, lightly beat against Kaelen’s chest. “I only went to see you because I missed you so much. How could you be so cruel?” “Look,” she pouted, holding up her swollen arm, “don’t I look… alluring in this uniform?” A sliver of sheer, translucent fabric was visible at her cuff. Kaelen’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes darkening. “Want to see what I’m wearing underneath? I know you’ll like it,” she purred. He grabbed her arm, his eyes now clouded with desire. “Don’t tell me… it’s a mortal’s silken finery.” She giggled, burying her head in his chest, cooing, “You’re so wicked!” Laughing and teasing, they disappeared into a secluded pavilion. Their entangled silhouettes danced on the window screen. I stood outside, listening to the sounds of their passion. I watched Kaelen repeatedly kiss her injured hand. A searing pain shot through my own ankle. I looked down to see it swollen beyond recognition. I had already decided to be reborn, to forget. But at this moment, my heart was filled with a bitter ache. A single tear traced a path down my cheek. The soft moans from inside grew louder. I clamped my hands over my ears, but I couldn’t block out the sound. It seeped into my mind, a sharp knife twisting in my heart. I forced myself to limp away, ignoring the agony. My hair was a mess. The hairpin was gone, my ankle was sprained, and I looked utterly pathetic. I desperately told myself this was the last tear I would ever shed for him. When I stumbled back to the Asphodel Pavilion, Kaelen’s two guards were waiting, holding the hairpin. My eyes fell on it, and I suddenly remembered the day Kaelen had proposed. His face had been flushed, but he had looked at me with such sincerity. “Elara, I will be good to you for all of eternity.” I had looked at him, and my heart had soared. From that day on, he had devotedly fulfilled his promise. In the end, he had even died to protect me. Now, the hairpin was still as beautiful as ever, but the man who had made the vow was a stranger. I shook my head, and when I spoke, my voice was steady again. “I don’t want it anymore.” I didn’t want the hairpin, the symbol of our vow. And I didn’t want Kaelen anymore. I fell into a restless sleep, and it was only then that Kaelen returned. He moved quietly, carefully slipping into bed beside me and pulling me into his arms. I kept my eyes closed. He took my cold hands in his and murmured an incantation, warming the room with the very heat of the Phlegethon, the river of fire. In my drowsy state, I felt him almost reverently tuck my cold hands into his own embrace to warm them. A wave of sleepiness washed over me, and I finally drifted off. When I woke up, the space beside me was empty. A handmaiden approached. “Lord Hades has been very busy,” she explained. I nodded, indifferent. Whether he was truly busy or off with Lyra, it no longer mattered. I spent the next few days clearing out the pavilion. Kaelen had given me many things. A lantern that held a captive star, custom-blended incense that smelled of forgotten memories, a lover’s knot woven from my own hair… I packed them all into a box and cast it into the fires of the Phlegethon. As the flames died down, Kaelen pushed open the door. “Elara, what are you burning?” I smiled. “Nothing. Just some useless old things.” He nodded, glancing around the now-empty room. “I’ll find you some new treasures to entertain you in a few days.” I didn’t answer. In a few days, I would be completely free, no longer waiting for him in this dull, lifeless realm. Time was short. I made sure to burn everything. Coincidentally, my birth anniversary and the day my thread was to be cut from the loom were the same.

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“Freda’s father is a lost cause! Save Lily first!” I never thought the most twisted joke imaginable would play out right before my eyes. The words, spoken by my husband, were a bullet to my reviving heart. I scrambled to my feet, grabbing at Kyle’s shirt with all my strength, only for him to kick me away with brutal force. “You were unconscious for five whole minutes, Freda! Do you have any idea what that means?” he snarled, his face a mask of feigned righteousness. “Your dad was swept further downstream, but Lily is still struggling right here in the water!” His voice dripped with venom. “If you want to blame someone, blame your father! If he hadn’t insisted on coming, would the raft have capsized in the first place?” The way he stood there, so straight and certain, made my stomach churn with nausea. In my last life, I had trusted him completely. And what did it get me? It got me my father’s tragic death. It got me a hospital bed, where I fought for my life after nearly drowning, while he spent the entire night buying flowers to comfort my best friend, Lily. Reborn into this moment, I would not let it happen again. I swore it. 1 “Please, I’m begging you, save my father!” I screamed at the rescue team. “The woman in the water is my best friend, and she’s a strong swimmer!” My desperation only fueled Kyle’s rage. He swung his hand, and a sharp slap sent me sprawling to the ground. “Freda, this is not the time for your tantrums! Do not question my judgment!” he bellowed for all to hear. “Are you all insane? Are you going to ignore the person right in front of you to chase a lost cause? Do you want both of them to die? Who here is willing to take responsibility for that? Go! Save Lily! Save her now!” A ringing filled my ears. I cut through Kyle’s tirade, summoning every last bit of strength to scream over him. “If you don’t go save my father, I will die right here, right now, for all of you to see!” Finally, my threat registered. Two rescuers broke off and swam towards Lily, but the larger part of the team headed downstream, in search of my father. Kyle shot me a look of pure ice before rushing towards Lily’s position. Watching his desperate back, the last flicker of hope I held for him burned to ash. When I next saw my father, he was unconscious from the water he’d inhaled. He looked just as he had in my last life—pale and lifeless on a stretcher, a rescuer tirelessly performing CPR. My heart pounded with panic. I dialed 911 over and over until I heard a crackle from the rescue captain’s radio. “Is the ambulance here yet?” “We’ve got one. The second is stuck in traffic, it’s going to be delayed…” Before I could ask anything else, a shocked and furious voice cut through the air. It was Kyle. “Lily, you’re hurt!” He knelt, gently blowing on a scrape on Lily’s ankle, his eyes filled with a tenderness he never showed me. The way they looked at each other was so thick with intimacy it was almost tangible. I couldn’t believe I had been so blind to it in my past life. This time, I didn’t miss the triumphant glint in Lily’s eyes as she glanced at me. A bone-deep chill washed over me. In my last life, it was for a few pathetic scrapes like this that Kyle had let my father die. The wail of a siren grew closer. The ambulance was here. As a paramedic and I lifted my father’s stretcher, Kyle moved to block our path, his eyes darting around nervously. “Freda, let’s have Dad wait a bit. The second ambulance will be here soon!” he pleaded, trying to keep his voice low. “Lily’s leg is hurt badly. She needs to get to a hospital right away.” He physically blocked the ambulance doors, trying to keep us from being seen. “It’ll be fine! Dad has always been strong. He’s just unconscious!” he insisted. “But Lily, she’s so fragile, and her ankle is still bleeding!” “Get. Out. Of. My. Way!” I broke. The good-natured, patient Freda he knew was gone. I shoved him with a fury that stunned him. In his moment of shock, Lily limped over, her face a mask of theatrical sorrow. “Freda… after all our years as friends, how could you do this to me?” she whimpered, huge tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s not like we’re not going to save your dad. It’s just a small delay. Why are you being so difficult?” Kyle’s hand rose as if to wipe her tears, but catching my eye, he froze. One was the best friend I’d known since childhood. The other, the man I’d loved from high school prom to our wedding day. And right here, in front of me, they were performing a grand, heart-wrenching drama of forbidden love. The double betrayal was a physical pain in my chest. “Lily? What are you doing here?” A round-faced nurse hurried from the ambulance, her eyes lighting up in recognition. My heart leaped into my throat. The paramedic was one of Lily’s colleagues from the hospital. 2 “Jenna, my leg is injured! You have to get me in the ambulance first,” Lily said, her voice urgent. “I can’t do that,” the nurse, Jenna, replied firmly. “Hospital policy is clear. We prioritize critical patients.” I breathed a sigh of relief as the other medic and I loaded my father into the vehicle. Just before the doors closed, I saw Kyle talking to Jenna. He started to take off his watch, but she pushed his hand away. My focus was on my father’s still form. I didn’t think much of it, just urged the driver to go. The next second, the doors were flung open again. In the harsh sunlight, I heard Jenna’s disdainful voice. “If you don’t have money, why did you call an ambulance? The fee for a long-distance mountain call-out is expensive! Get him out of the vehicle, now!” My father’s stretcher was being pulled back out. “I have money! Let my father stay, I can pay!” I screamed, my voice raw. “Then prove you can pay,” Jenna said, her brow furrowed in suspicion. My phone was at the bottom of the river. I searched my pockets—not a single dollar in cash. Without thinking, I ripped the Patek Philippe from my wrist and held it out to her. “Take this watch as collateral! It’s more than enough to cover the fee. Just let my father go!” Jenna let out a derisive snort. “A Patek Philippe? Your husband already tried to fool me with a fake watch just now. You’re pulling the same trick?” A cold dread washed over me. Now I understood what Kyle had been doing. Lily’s voice dripped with scorn. “Pathetic. Acting rich when you’re broke.” Kyle grabbed my hand, playing his part in their little drama. “We didn’t mean to deceive anyone,” he said, his voice laced with false humility. “Please, just have a heart. Do a little charity work and take my father-in-law to the hospital.” I wrenched my hand free. “He’s lying! My watch is real! Give me your phone, I can log into my bank account and show you!” Jenna’s face hardened. “You have money for doctors but not to take care of your own family? Just take him home and let him rest. Stop wasting our time!” The medics continued to unload the stretcher. In the end, I was left on the roadside, watching helplessly as the ambulance sped away with Lily inside. I grabbed Kyle’s sleeve, my voice trembling with rage. “Why did you lie? I don’t even care that you’re sleeping with Lily! But my father needs a doctor!” “If anything happens to my father, I swear I will never let you go.” The rafting rescue team was still there, squatting by the road, watching the show. Seeing them, Kyle’s face flushed with anger. “Stop being so unreasonable! There’s nothing going on between me and Lily, so stop spouting nonsense!” he hissed. “Lily’s leg injury couldn’t wait! There’s another ambulance coming, what’s the big deal about your father waiting a little?” The disappointment was like a thick sludge, filling my lungs, making it hard to breathe. “In seven years of marriage,” I asked, the question that had haunted me for years finally escaping, “have you ever, for one second, considered my father your family?” Kyle’s lips pressed into a thin line, his face a canvas of guilt and discomfort. … Kyle and I were each other’s first love. To marry him, I had given up everything my family offered me. During our poorest years, I ate expired food with him and slept in a storage unit, my body covered in ant bites. One night, he walked for four hours in a downpour just to get me medicine from a pharmacy. As he applied the ointment, he swore with tears in his eyes, “I swear to God, I, Kyle Miller, will make Freda happy for the rest of her life. If I break this vow, may I die a horrible death!” Later, when his startup began to see success, my family finally relented. We walked hand in hand in the snow, dreaming of growing old together. First love was sweet. So sweet, I thought it would last a lifetime. That illusion shattered after we were married, when a media outlet dug up the fact that my father had been the primary investor in his company’s initial stock offering. The news was everywhere. The brilliant young CEO was branded a gold-digger, a man who got ahead by leeching off a woman. He never said a word, acting as considerate as always, but something between us had irrevocably changed. He smoked more, his silence filled with a volatile, brooding anger. One night, drunk and disoriented, he confessed his true feelings. “Do you know what I hate most in this world? Handouts,” he slurred. “Freda… I wish I had never met you.” 3 My thoughts snapped back to the present. I saw the tense line of Kyle’s jaw. “That’s not important,” he answered dismissively. The entire time, his feet were pointed in the direction Lily’s ambulance had disappeared. The irony was suffocating. His body was here, but his heart was long gone. When the second ambulance finally arrived, my father’s pulse was terrifyingly weak. Once we were inside, I ignored Kyle completely, my eyes glued to the heart monitor. Not long after we started moving, my father’s heart rate began to plummet, at one point dropping into the 30s. “Dad, please wake up…” I cried, my voice tearing from my throat. Kyle finished a phone call and stood up, speaking to the driver. “Can you go any faster? Don’t take the detour to the other hospital. Go to the nearest town clinic, now!” A few minutes later, miraculously, my father’s heart rate began to climb back up. I was crying with relief, so much so that even the sight of Kyle beside me wasn’t as repulsive. The ninety-minute drive took the driver less than thirty. We arrived at the clinic and were rushed through for an emergency examination. The CT results were bad. A cerebral hemorrhage, with significant bleeding. The doctor informed me that the local clinic wasn’t equipped to handle it; he needed to be transferred to a more specialized hospital. “Kyle, thank you for arranging for the ambulance to come to our hospital,” Lily said, pouting as she tugged on his arm. “I thought the equipment here would be enough. I had no idea Uncle was so seriously injured…” My body swayed. I stared at Kyle in disbelief. He pushed Lily away and took a step towards me, his face a picture of apology. “Freda, let me explain…” I turned my back on him without a word, following the paramedics as they loaded my father into yet another ambulance. As we drove, a part of my heart crumbled to dust. I knew, with absolute certainty, that there was no going back for us. When we reached the next hospital, the accompanying nurse quickly briefed the on-duty doctor. After a quick call to the relevant department, the doctor looked at me with a flicker of pity in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. Our hospital’s only neurosurgeon is on leave today…” A roar filled my head. A wave of immense despair washed over me. We were at least six hours from the nearest major city hospital. Without a surgeon, who could save my father? The rain was relentless, splashing up from the open courtyard, soaking the cuffs of my pants. A figure slowly emerged from the downpour and stood before me, holding out a hand. “Freda, let’s take Dad home. Let’s be with him for his final moments.” It was Kyle. I recoiled in disgust, my mind racing, desperately trying to think of a solution. Suddenly, I saw Lily in the hospital courtyard, arguing with a strange man. What is she doing here? A sense of unease pricked at me, and I started walking towards them. Kyle caught up to me. “That’s Lily’s ex-boyfriend,” he explained, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “He’s from a poor family and has been harassing her for money since they broke up. Lily has always had a boyfriend, Freda. You need to stop being so suspicious…” The man arguing with Lily was dressed in worn-out clothes, his slippers so old they had holes in them. He looked exactly as Kyle described. I stopped. My father was dying. I couldn’t waste time on idle curiosity. But as I turned to walk back, passing Kyle, a single raindrop hit my forehead, and my mind cleared with shocking clarity. Wrong. Those weren’t worn-out slippers. They were surgical clogs. As Kyle watched in stunned confusion, I bolted through the rain like a madwoman. “Doctor! I’m Freda Sterling! My father has a cerebral hemorrhage and needs surgery…” I cried, grabbing the strange man’s sleeve. The man, Dr. Miller, frowned. “Are you with them? This other woman just told me you had decided against signing the consent form for surgery.” Kyle rushed over, his voice sharp with accusation. “Freda, what do you think you’re doing, grabbing onto another man like that?” He grabbed my arm, trying to pull me away. SLAP! I hit him with all the force I could muster.

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My father watched me from the back of his Maybach as I picked through the trash on the street. He ignored the jeers and insults of my classmates standing beside him, his eyes filled with nothing but approval. A moment later, the luxury car sped away, leaving me in its wake. I was still staring after it when a sudden force shoved me to the grimy pavement. A devilish laugh rang out beside me. “Look at the little stray, dreaming of being a princess?” “That’s what you get for staring at a Maybach you’ll never touch.” 1 My father has always lived by a single, unwavering truth: what comes too easily is never cherished. Especially money. That single sentence defined the first six years of my life. I didn’t truly understand what it meant until my sixth birthday. I stood before a cake so tall I had to crane my neck to see the top, dressed in a designer princess gown that cost thousands. That was when he made his announcement. “From this day forward, you are responsible for yourself. I will no longer cover any of your living expenses.” He knelt, his voice deceptively gentle. “Don’t blame your father, Karen. Only by understanding how hard money is to come by will you have a chance to truly rise above.” I barely understood, blinking as I swallowed a mouthful of sweet cream. Looking back, I think that was the last piece of cake I ever ate. It was so sweet. So sweet that every time I remember it, a bitter taste floods my mouth. From that day on, my world was turned upside down. No more new, beautiful clothes and shoes; I had to cram my growing feet into old pairs that were painfully small. No more car waiting to pick me up from school; I walked the three miles home with our housekeeper every day. I didn’t even get new pencils or erasers, and the shame of wanting to borrow one from someone else always silenced me. I cried. I threw tantrums. I made threats. But in the end, I was forced to accept my new reality—the brilliant, celebrated entrepreneur on the covers of business magazines, my father, had no more money to spend on me. 2 I don’t know how I survived those six years of elementary school. The house provided no lunch, as that fell under the category of my “self-reliance.” My first-grade teacher, Ms. Gable, couldn’t bear to watch me sit in the classroom, stomach growling, day after day. She started giving me her own lunch. She tried to speak to my father privately. “Karen is at a critical age for her development. The school offers a lunch program, it’s not expensive. She can’t keep going hungry like this.” My father gave her a few dismissive platitudes and said nothing more. When I got home from school that day, he turned to me and asked, “How have you been getting lunch these days?” I suspected nothing. I sang my teacher’s praises. “Ms. Gable gives me her food! She’s the best teacher in the whole world!” My father’s face instantly darkened, his expression twisting into a mask of fury. He declared that Ms. Gable was obstructing my development. He claimed that hunger was the very crucible that had forged his success. He would not permit such a “stumbling block” to stand in my way. Not long after, my father, under his personal name, donated a new library wing to the school. The donation came with a subtle, yet unmissable, suggestion: the kind-hearted, soft-spined teacher had to go. The school administration, though baffled, complied. Ms. Gable, hounded and pressured, resigned a few weeks later. I cried until I couldn’t breathe that day, trapped in a vortex of guilt, regretting my innocent words. But the true despair came from the crushing realization that there was nothing I could do. At that age, with wings not yet grown, I was nothing but a pawn, moved by forces I couldn’t fight. My new teacher, having learned a valuable lesson, wouldn’t even give me a second glance. To fill my stomach, I had to find another way. I started secretly packing leftover breakfast to take to school. Our housekeeper discovered my scheme and, in a self-righteous tone, reported my “terrible misdeed” to my father over the phone. He rushed back from a business trip and made me stand in the corner all night. “This is cheating!” he thundered. “Have you resigned yourself to being a spoiled, useless brat?” I sobbed, arguing back. “I’m not! I’m just starving!” I clung to the sleeve of his expensive suit, begging him. “I just don’t want to be hungry anymore. Please, just give me two dollars a day. A dollar, even one dollar would be enough!” He slapped my hand away, his eyes cold steel. “Only those who grow strong in adversity are worthy of success. Stop looking for handouts. Instead of begging me, you should be using your own two hands to earn it.” “I’ve asked! But no one will hire a six-year-old!” He scoffed, a cruel smirk on his face, as if mocking a piece of rotten wood that could never be carved. “If no one will hire you, then collect cans. Sell scrap. You have a healthy body. Do I really need to think of ways for you to make money for you?” 3 I had no other choice. I did as he said. Slowly, a powerful sense of unreality and dissociation began to consume me. I lived in the most luxurious townhouse in the city but couldn’t afford a new workbook for class. I’d overhear my father discussing hundred-million-dollar projects while my mind was calculating whether the recycling center in the South End or the North End paid more per pound for aluminum. At night, I would dream of the enviable life I once had, only to wake up crying into my pillow. The cruelest torture isn’t never having something. It’s having it all, only to have it ripped away. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I used to be the center of attention in kindergarten, about the fleeting fatherly love I’d once felt. I remembered the other kids gathering around, admiring my shimmering dress, my brand-new backpack. I remembered my father lifting me high above his head, promising he would pour all his love into me. Then I’d open my eyes to the brutal present. I had become the withdrawn, sullen girl named Karen Murphy. In third grade, a boy from the class next door, Blake Vance, discovered I was collecting recyclables after school. He seized the opportunity to mock my ill-fitting clothes and the once-prized backpack that was now tattered and worn. In front of everyone, he snatched my bag and threw it down the hallway. “Someone birthed you, but no one’s raising you. You look like you stink,” he sneered. My face flushed with shame. “I have a dad! He raises me!” “Tsk,” Blake said, wiping his hands as if he’d touched something disgusting. “Then your dad must be a total loser.” A fire ignited in my chest. “He’s not a loser! He’s the CEO of a company! He’s a hundred times better than your dad!” Blake laughed, a loud, cruel sound. He loomed over me, pressing a hand on my shoulder. “Oh yeah? What’s his name?” I shrank back, my confidence wavering. “Marcus Murphy.” “You mean the Marcus Murphy? The one on TV?” “Yeah.” His grin turned even more malevolent. “Alright. Next week is the parent-teacher conference. If he shows up, I’ll believe you.” I gritted my teeth. “You’ve got a deal.” 4 Deep down, I knew the chances of my father showing up to a parent-teacher conference were close to zero. But I couldn’t swallow the insult. To my complete astonishment, my father brought it up himself. “I admit, I have been neglecting you,” he said, his voice surprisingly mild. “I’ll be at the conference on time. I want to see if you’ve managed to balance your academics while supporting yourself.” The carefully rehearsed speech I had prepared for hours was suddenly useless. It wasn’t just about some stupid bet; it was about the fact that for three years, my seat at these conferences had always been empty. So I nodded vigorously, my heart soaring with anticipation. On the afternoon of the conference, I scrubbed my desk until it shone, wanting to present my absolute best self. I stood by the classroom door, craning my neck, but the person who finally arrived was a stranger—a disheveled man in tattered, ill-fitting clothes. He pushed past me and bellowed from the doorway, “I’m Karen Murphy’s father. Where do I sit?” The few students who had stayed behind to help the teacher all snapped their heads in my direction. They’d all heard about my bet with Blake. Now, seeing this man, they concluded I had lied, and their faces filled with a mixture of pity and contempt. I was bewildered. “Who are you? You’re not my father.” The teacher, hearing my words, looked over, her expression wary. But then, as if remembering the invisible, powerful hand that loomed over me, she seemed to decide that minding her own business was the path of least resistance. After a moment of internal conflict, she stepped down from the front of the class. “Mr. Murphy, your seat is in the third row.” The man shuffled over, deliberately pulling a hole in his grimy jacket to the front. I was about to protest when Blake and his friends cornered me, pulling me aside. For the entire hour, they peppered me with questions, laughing and taunting, making it impossible for me to escape. Tears of frustration welled in my eyes. “Now you’re getting desperate!” one of them jeered. “Should’ve thought about that before you started lying. Blake’s family is powerful. You’ve really stepped in it now.” When I finally managed to squeeze out of their circle and get back to the classroom, the conference was over. I stood there, crestfallen, searching the emptying room for any sign of my father. I scanned every face, but eventually, I had to admit the crushing truth: he had lied to me. The lights in the classroom went out. I dragged my heavy feet toward the exit. Just as I stepped out of the school gates, the man who had claimed to be my father stopped me. He awkwardly fiddled with the hole in his jacket. “Alright, job’s done. Time to pay up.” I looked up, stunned. “Pay for what?” “My acting fee! Two hundred bucks. The guy who hired me said to get the cash from my ‘daughter.’” Acting fee? So, when my father said he would attend my conference, he meant he would hire a stranger to take his place? The man saw my silence and started patting down my pockets. “Come on, hurry up. I’ve got another gig to get to.” “I don’t have any money!” I backed away from him. “Then why’d you hire me? I had to buy this whole getup special for the part! I need to be reimbursed for that too!” He wouldn’t give up, wrestling with me for a moment before finding a single dime in my pocket. The sidewalk was bustling with people, so he didn’t dare get more aggressive. Finally, he gave up, muttering under his breath, “What a waste of time. I’ll just go find the guy who hired me myself. Seemed like a big shot, telling me to get money from a little kid. What a world.” 5 Even as a child, it didn’t take a genius to understand what he meant. My father had deliberately hired an actor, instructed him to dress in rags, and sent him to my school to pose as my father. He’d even made sure I would be the one to pay the actor’s fee. A firestorm of rage burned in my chest. When my father returned home, I confronted him, my face red with fury. “Don’t you want to be my father anymore? Are you trying to give me away?” He shot me a cool, dismissive glance. “Consider that two hundred dollars a loan. Karen, you need to reflect on your mistakes.” Before he could retreat to his study, I stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “What mistakes? Tell me what I did wrong!” He rubbed his temples, his patience clearly wearing thin. “It’s been three years, and you haven’t shown an ounce of growth. You’re nine years old now. You should be able to understand what I mean by ‘self-reliance.’ “Why were you so eager to broadcast my name at school? What was your motive? It’s simple. You wanted your classmates to treat you differently, to admire you.” I was baffled. How did he know so much about what happened at school? But I had no time to dwell on that. “That wasn’t it at all! Besides, you are my father. Is that something I’m supposed to hide?” He didn’t answer, just stared me down with his usual intimidating presence. It was the judgment of a king, cold and absolute. Finally, he spoke. “I have gone to such lengths to forge your character. And still, you disappoint me. You’re just like your mother—vain, foolish, and utterly superficial.” His eyes narrowed into slits, a clear warning. “I never want to see you trying to use my status to your advantage again. From this day on, outside of this house, you will refer to me as Mr. Murphy. I need a worthy heir, not a shallow girl begging for the spotlight.” 6 I wanted to argue, but the words died in my throat. I knew it would be a waste of breath. Better to save my energy. Worse than my father’s misunderstanding was the ridicule from my classmates. After the parent-teacher conference, my life at school became a living hell. I earned a new nickname: “The Liar.” My classmates, whom I had known for three years, laughed with abandon, their taunts growing more merciless by the day. “Your dad is Marcus Murphy? Nice try, piggybacking on someone famous just because you share a last name.” “If you had even one other shirt to wear, we might have actually believed you for a second.” “Liar, that shirt of yours is so worn it’s shiny. Have you no shame?” Honestly, I never understood where all their malice came from. Maybe it was fear of Blake. Or maybe it was a desperate attempt to fit in with the crowd. Or perhaps, it was their righteous crusade against a “liar.” Blake, of course, led the charge. He had other kids draw humiliating cartoons of me and passed them around. He posted “guards” at the girls’ bathroom to block me from entering, proclaiming that someone with such “low morals” wasn’t allowed to use public school facilities. I was going to tell the teacher. I even made it to the staff room door, but I stopped when I overheard his voice. “You think you have it bad? I’m the one walking on eggshells here,” he sighed to another teacher. “I don’t even dare look at Karen Murphy, terrified I’ll end up like her last teacher. Her father is some kind of lunatic, I swear. I’m constantly worried I’ll lose my job because of her. Why did I have to get stuck with this class…” Someone replied, “But the poor girl… I heard she’s being targeted constantly. You should probably intervene a little.” “Intervene? Are you crazy?” he shot back. “I’m not touching that situation with a ten-foot pole. It’s a lose-lose. Besides, the kid tormenting her isn’t just anybody. His family has connections. I’m not getting dragged into that mess.” I stood silently outside the office for a long moment. I lowered the hand I had raised to knock and turned away. No one was going to hold an umbrella for me. Fine, I thought. I’ll just learn to grow in the rain. 7 I grew up in that suffocating climate of exclusion and isolation, and gradually, I became numb. By the time I started middle school, I was an expert at surviving by collecting cans and bottles, barely staving off hunger with cheap bread. Plastic bottles, aluminum cans, cardboard boxes—I took whatever I could find. But life felt like a cruel cycle, the same hardships replaying themselves over and over. Not long after the first semester of seventh grade began, I was caught in the act. I was at a barbecue stand, stomping an aluminum can flat under my shoe, when my father’s Maybach glided out of the darkness and pulled up to the curb. Before I could even process his presence, Jessica and a few other classmates materialized out of nowhere. She stood behind me, pointing. “See? I told you I wasn’t lying. I’ve never had a garbage-picker for a classmate before. It’s so embarrassing.” My hand, clutching a woven plastic bag, froze. I turned to look at her. A boy next to her smirked. “This isn’t my first time. The Liar was pretty famous back in elementary school. Right, Karen?” I followed the voice and my body went rigid. It was Blake Vance. How could it be him? I had specifically applied to a school as far away as possible to avoid him. My fists clenched, and I instinctively glanced toward the car. My father had to have heard them. A tiny sliver of hope flickered in my chest. Maybe this time, just this once, he would stand up for me. All the past incidents… I could forgive them if I told myself he just hadn’t trusted me. But this was different. The truth was happening right in front of his eyes. He couldn’t possibly turn a blind eye now. But he remained deaf to it all. His gaze fell on the crushed can at my feet and the tattered bag in my hand. A smile of pure approval spread across his face, as if to say, Good. You’re learning to cast aside your pride, to temper your spirit. I’m being bullied! Can’t you see that, Dad? The next second, the tinted window of the backseat began to rise, sealing him away from my view. Then, the luxury car sped off into the night. I was still staring after it, my heart a stone in my chest, when a sudden force shoved me to the grimy pavement. A devilish laugh rang out beside me. “Look at the little liar, dreaming of being a princess?” “Still dreaming your daddy is some rich tycoon? That’s what you get for staring at a Maybach you’ll never touch.” Sharp gravel bit into my palms, drawing blood. “So,” Blake drawled, “what should your punishment be this time?” I looked up at the circle of sneering faces, and a hot rage surged through me. For a split second, I wanted to take them all down with me. I ripped the cans from my bag and started hurling them, one by one. They scrambled to dodge the projectiles. I was like a wild animal, swinging the entire bag, sending a spray of stale beer and soda over their clothes and shoes. “What right do you have to laugh at me?” I screamed, my voice raw. “My life is harder than yours, yes, but my heart is a thousand times cleaner than any of yours! Being poor isn’t a crime, but having a filthy soul and a rotten character is! You’re the disgusting ones, the ones who should be ashamed! You don’t even deserve to be my classmates!” 8 But in the end, my strength was no match for theirs. As they closed in, kicking and punching, my homeroom teacher, Ms. Albright, appeared out of nowhere and pulled them off me. She called their parents and explained the situation. Jessica’s mother, without hesitation, slapped her daughter across the face. “Are you tired of the good life I’ve given you? Your grades are terrible, and now your character is turning rotten too! How did I raise a daughter like you? If you were half as responsible as Karen, I’d be content!” Jessica said nothing, just glared at me with pure, unadulterated hatred. Blake’s parents never showed up. They offered a lukewarm apology over the phone. I knew their type. They had connections. If I pushed for a real consequence, I’d probably end up in a worse position. So I swallowed my anger and let it go. After they had all left, Ms. Albright turned to me. “Is this how you get by?” I nodded. She didn’t press further. “Let me see your hands,” she said, gently examining my scrapes. “Okay, it’s not too bad. But let’s get you to a clinic, just to be safe.” I shook my head firmly. A clinic visit cost money, the one thing I never had. In all these years, I’d never once been to a doctor. When I got sick, I just had to fight it off. Seeing my resolve, Ms. Albright sighed. “Alright. Do you have a parent’s contact number? I’ll call them to come pick you up.” I didn’t know what to say. After a long pause, I mumbled, “Thank you, but… please, just pretend I don’t have any.” Ms. Albright’s expression grew serious. “No parents?” I looked down, scrambling to invent a plausible lie to satisfy her. But I never imagined she would find the housekeeper’s number on my school file. My father, in his quest to hide his identity, had listed our housekeeper as my official guardian. Ms. Albright called and proposed a home visit. The housekeeper, terrified of losing her job, immediately refused. That evening, my father did something unprecedented. He canceled his work and was waiting at home when I returned. He confronted me the moment I walked in. “Whose idea was it to have your teacher come for a home visit?” “…It wasn’t my idea. I didn’t know anything about it,” I answered truthfully. He clearly didn’t believe me, his eyes filled with disappointment. “All these years, and you still can’t let go of your petty schemes. Karen, must you always look for the easy way out? Must you always try to parade my status around at school?” For six years, I hadn’t relied on him for a single cent. And still, he insisted on assuming the worst of me. I didn’t understand. I was his only child, his biological daughter. He’d even forgone remarrying for my sake. Why was earning a shred of his fatherly love harder than climbing to the moon? I didn’t back down this time. “What makes you so certain it was my idea? I call you ‘Dad,’ and I admit you’re a successful man, but why is it so damn hard to be your daughter? For years, I’ve survived on stale bread, too poor to even afford a side of pickles. I can’t get sick, I can’t have hobbies, and still, you look down on me! Just like right now—I’m standing here, visibly hurt, and you haven’t asked about it once. Can’t you see?” The words tumbled out, and only then did I realize tears were streaming down my face. A tidal wave of grief crashed over me, filling my entire chest. My father remained motionless, a statue of disapproval. Only when my sobs subsided did he finally speak. “You are injured because you have failed to build positive relationships with your peers. You lack interpersonal skills, and it is only through such setbacks that you will grow. The business world is a treacherous place, filled with sharks. You need to learn how to turn enemies into allies on your own, not rely on my power to clear every obstacle for you. Just like today. You were clearly crying out for my help, but in reality, they hadn’t caused you any serious harm. Karen, you are too soft. I am doing this for your own good. Stop trying to fight me at every turn.” It was like punching a mountain of cotton. I laughed, a bitter, helpless sound. Even a bully like Blake had parents to protect him. I wasn’t even granted the basic right to be cared for by my own father. A thought suddenly struck me. If I had no father at all, my life couldn’t possibly be any worse.

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On the day of my coming-of-age ceremony, Julian Hart, defying his own family, arrived with his true love in tow to break our engagement. “Eva may be of humble birth,” he declared, “but she is the love of my life. Do not cling to this, Seraphina. You’ll only tarnish your own name.” Fearing I would fall into despair, my parents sent me away to the city of Lyria for three years. When I finally returned to the capital, Julian and Eva had been married for two years. And at my own welcome banquet, Julian Hart—the man who had been willing to cast his family aside for Eva—pointed at his wife with a look of utter disgust and snarled. “Who allowed you to come out and embarrass me? Get back to the estate, now!” 1 Upon learning of my return to the capital, my dearest friend, Princess Isabelle, insisted on throwing a grand banquet in my honor. She was a royal princess, and we had been close for many years. When Julian had broken our engagement, she was the first to stand up for me. So, my carriage didn’t even stop at my own family’s estate; it drove straight through the gates of the princess’s manor. Isabelle grasped my hands, turning them over and over, her brow furrowed with concern. “Seraphina, you know Julian is the Marquis of Blackwood’s only son. As audacious as his actions were back then, he was still destined to inherit the title.” I had heard as much in Lyria. The old Marquis had forgiven Julian, and he was once again the celebrated and respected heir. “Are you still…” Isabelle began, her voice trailing off. She was worried I still held a grudge. With tensions rising on the border, the Emperor was relying heavily on the Marquis of Blackwood to maintain peace. For me to remain at odds with Julian was not a wise move. I simply smiled and shook my head. It no longer mattered to me. Besides, I had returned to the capital for a different reason entirely—my own betrothal. Many guests attended the banquet. Among them were the ladies of the court I was friendly with, and of course, those who came only to spectate and gossip. Everyone wore a pleasant smile, and on the surface, the atmosphere was one of harmonious celebration. Halfway through the feast, a servant’s voice rang out from the entrance. Julian Hart, the heir of Blackwood, had arrived. A sudden silence fell over the hall. Every head turned in my direction. I took a slow, deliberate sip of my tea, my face a mask of indifference, and glanced at the man stepping into the hall. He shrugged the snow from his shoulders, and a maidservant immediately scurried forward to remove his heavy cloak. When he looked up, his cool, distant eyes met mine. For a moment, we were both lost in the past. Three years ago, for the sake of the humbly-born Eva, he had caused a terrible scene, demanding our engagement be dissolved. I, a daughter of the most respected house in the capital, was to be cast aside. I remember trying to reason with him, aware of the prying eyes and wagging tongues. “An engagement is an alliance between families, arranged by our parents,” I had counseled him. “This is a matter for them to decide.” But Eva, hiding in Julian’s arms, had interjected, her voice laced with false vulnerability. “Sister, must you use my lack of parents to shame me? It is clear you have no intention of letting us go. You only use your parents as an excuse.” Eva was an orphan, living at the mercy of her brother and his wife. She was a commoner, a girl who could be trampled on by the daughter of a mere county bailiff. Marrying into a marquis’s house was a fantasy beyond her wildest dreams. Julian, of course, believed her. He was convinced I was merely feigning reason to prevent him from pursuing his one true love. “Seraphina de Valois, drop the hypocritical act,” he had sneered, his face a mask of disgust. “You say that only because you know my father will never agree!” His words grew uglier, designed to humiliate. “Even a beaten dog knows when to flee. Seraphina, have you no shame? Must I spell it out for you?” “Eva may be of humble birth, but she is the love of my life. Don’t think your noble status gives you the right to act so high and mighty!” As if that wasn’t enough, he looked me up and down and let out a cold, cruel laugh. “And you call yourself a highborn lady. This desperate, clinging act… you’re no better than a common harlot.” His words sent shockwaves through the assembly. And with them, he shattered the decades-long bond between the House of Blackwood and my own, the House of de Valois. On that day, he destroyed my coming-of-age ceremony and turned me into the laughingstock of the capital. 2 The Marquis of Blackwood himself had seized a ceremonial cane and, in front of everyone, had Julian held down and beaten twenty times to appease my family’s honor. Julian’s back was a bloody mess, but he clenched his teeth and didn’t make a sound. The hatred in his eyes, however, burned hot enough to turn me to ash. As if I were the one he should hate. In the end, it was Eva who fell to her knees at my feet, weeping. “It is my fault, my lady, all my fault! I will leave Lord Julian. From this day forward, I will never appear before you again!” she cried. “I beg you, Lady Seraphina, in your great mercy, please spare him!” She was always skilled at such theatrics. It was how she’d first truly caught his eye. Dressed in a simple white dress, looking fragile and helpless, she had appeared on the main road. Julian’s horse, moving at a gallop, could not stop in time. He had played the hero, leaping down to sweep her small, slender form into his arms. She had gazed up at him, her eyes wide and full of adoration, tears streaming down her face, before fainting. I saw it all. And through her pale, tear-streaked face, I could have sworn I saw a flicker of a smile. She was an expert at using her pitiable act to put me in an impossible position. Swallowing the bitterness in my heart, I maintained the dignity of a highborn lady and bowed to the Marquis. “I understand now that I am not worthy of the House of Blackwood. I am willing to step aside and allow the heir to find his own happiness.” Ultimately, our parents agreed to cancel the engagement. I didn’t want our families to become mortal enemies, and I still held onto some sliver of our past affection. So I brought healing salves to see Julian. He was lying face-down on his bed, a wretched sight, but when he looked at me, his eyes were filled with triumphant satisfaction. “You’re smarter than you look, Seraphina,” he rasped. “If you had dared to harm Eva then, I would have pursued you to the ends of the earth.” With that final, crushing humiliation, the bond of our childhood friendship was torn to shreds. My grace and composure had saved my family’s honor, but my own reputation was still damaged by Julian’s actions. His cronies even placed bets on how long it would be before I swallowed my pride and begged for the engagement to be reinstated. I stopped attending any banquets. I shut myself in my room for days on end, refusing invitations for spring outings and my friends’ birthday feasts. My parents saw my pain, and their hearts broke for me. Fearing I would succumb to melancholy, they sent me to my maternal grandparents’ home in the city of Lyria. I was gone for three years. 3 Looking at Julian now, he had lost the wild arrogance of his youth. The black brocade of his tunic made his handsome face seem almost pale, like carved jade. He didn’t resemble the gruff, burly Marquis; he favored his late mother. There was a time when I, too, had been captivated by his good looks, secretly thrilled by our betrothal. But that was a lifetime ago. Julian faltered for a second under my gaze, then a smile touched his lips. He strode towards me. I turned to Isabelle, whose expression was grim. I knew then that no invitation had been sent to the House of Blackwood. To arrive uninvited was a serious breach of etiquette. Julian first bowed to Isabelle, then turned to me, his tone intimate. “You’ve returned, and didn’t send a word? I would have ridden out to meet you. The snows have been heavy in the capital; the roads are treacherous.” He spoke with a familiar, complaining air, as if we were back in the old days, before a third person had ever come between us. I narrowed my eyes, a flicker of irritation rising within me. Julian knew better than anyone how crucial a lady’s reputation was. A woman whose engagement had been broken, even through no fault of her own, was subject to endless gossip and ridicule. For him to act now as if nothing had happened… I couldn’t help but question his motives. Seeing my prolonged silence, Julian gave a wry smile and cut to the chase. “I was too young then, too reckless. I hurt you, and it was all my fault.” “That is why I have shamelessly come here today. I only wish to beg for your forgiveness.” He waved a hand, and a servant hurried forward with a box containing a pair of magnificent Eastern pearls. They were a special reward from the Emperor to the Marquis for quelling a rebellion. As a gift, their value was immense. Julian held the pearls up, his eyes filled with hope. “Seraphina, we grew up together. All those years of affection… you will forgive me, won’t you?” I glanced around. People were beginning to whisper. A few young nobles, eager to curry favor with the House of Blackwood, stood up. “Lady Seraphina is hardly one to hold a grudge. The young Lord worries for nothing.” “Lord Julian is a man of talent and virtue, unrivaled in the capital. For him to humble himself so… surely Lady Seraphina’s anger has subsided.” “It’s been three years! Let bygones be bygones! Lady Seraphina, be generous and forgive our young lord.” Hearing the chorus of agreement, a smirk played on Julian’s lips. My eyes swept over each person who had spoken up for him. These were the same faces, the same mouths, that had mocked me for being jilted, that had laughed at my family for failing to raise a proper daughter, that had placed bets on when I would break down and storm the Blackwood estate… And now they were telling me to be generous! Why should I be generous? Why should I forgive? I suppressed the rage simmering in my heart and, meeting Julian’s expectant gaze, I bloomed into a radiant smile. “I thank the young Lord for his concern. I have heard that you and Lady Eva have been married for two years now, your greatest wish fulfilled. I was unable to send a gift for your wedding, so please, take these pearls back. Consider them a wedding present from me, by way of your own generosity.” 4 The smile froze on Julian’s face. At the mention of Eva’s name, he instinctively turned his head away, his breathing suddenly heavy. This reluctance to speak of her surprised me. She was supposed to be the woman he cherished above all else. For her, he had ruined his reputation, lost a powerful alliance, and even defied his own family. Why was he now so unwilling to even mention her name? I glanced at the group who had spoken up for him. They had all sunk back into their seats, their faces showing awkward, half-formed smiles. Isabelle gestured for a servant to lead Julian to an empty seat. He sat in silence, then raised his cup and drained it in one go. Isabelle snorted. “A little late for regrets.” I didn’t reply. Julian was a faded memory, no longer worthy of my attention. I turned to my friends and began talking about my time in Lyria. While not as grand as the capital, it possessed a freedom and vibrancy all its own. There was no nightly curfew; the markets remained open and alive all night, illuminated by thousands of lanterns. As I spoke with a smile, I noticed Julian listening intently. Suddenly, he cut in. “The southern air certainly suits you, Seraphina. You’re far more radiant and lively than before.” “In all those years we were together, you always maintained that prim and proper facade. It made a man want to tease you.” The undisguised intimacy in his tone brought the lively atmosphere to a halt once again. Under the weight of everyone’s speculative gazes, Julian seemed oblivious to his impropriety and continued reminiscing. “One year, on a spring outing, your kite got caught in a tree in my family’s garden. You could have reached it on your tiptoes, but instead you came running to me in tears…” Everyone’s eyes darted between Julian and me. I looked up and met his smiling gaze. A cold smirk touched my lips. I had no time for his sentimental recollections. “These are old stories, my lord. I’m afraid I don’t recall them. If you enjoy flying kites so much, perhaps you and your wife could go on an outing together. You could fly kites and whisper sweet nothings to each other.” I paused, letting the sting hang in the air. “Oh? Why didn’t you bring your lady wife today? You insisted on bringing her to my coming-of-age ceremony, yet now that you’re married, you hide her away? Are you afraid someone might steal her from you?” With that, I covered my mouth with my hand in a gesture of light laughter and turned to Isabelle. “What has the Lady of Blackwood become like? After captivating the young lord so completely three years ago, I imagine she must be even more beautiful and charming now.” Julian’s once-gentle expression instantly turned to ice. A chill fell over the room. But Isabelle, a royal princess, had no reason to fear him. She was clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Oh, she is quite a vision!” Isabelle declared. “It’s as if she’s tried to wear every last piece of gold and silver from the Blackwood vaults all at once.” A few of the ladies, remembering something, couldn’t help but let out a snicker. 5 At the mention of Eva, the gazes directed at Julian were no longer filled with envy and flattery, but with mockery and a hint of schadenfreude. Julian’s face darkened further. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain a nonchalant expression. “She… dislikes crowds. She is at the estate, practicing her embroidery…” He clearly wanted to change the subject, but he did so by once again aiming his words at me. “Speaking of embroidery, Seraphina, do you remember the sachet you gave me?” “‘A maiden’s hands weave threads of love, a fragrant pouch for her heart’s desire…’” he quoted, a meaningful smile playing on his lips, designed to spark imaginations. “I remember the depth of our feelings back then.” This time, he had truly infuriated me. A sachet was not a casual gift. After our engagement was set, he had pestered me relentlessly, begging me to embroider one for him so he could wear it every day. I had thought, since we were to be married, that making a sachet for my fiancé was only proper. When the engagement was broken, that sachet became a symbol of a promise that never was. What I couldn’t understand was why Julian was now so desperately trying to re-establish a connection with me. Naturally, I wouldn’t be foolish enough to admit to it in public. I slammed my teacup down on the table with a sharp crack. “Has the young Lord misremembered? The only one who would embroider a sachet for you is your wife. Or do you think my family is so easily bullied that you can provoke me time and time again?” The threat in my voice was unmistakable. Even a fool could see I was angry. But Julian seemed oblivious. He shot to his feet, pulled the sachet from his belt, and displayed it for all to see. “Look, Seraphina! Surely you recognize this? I’ve carried it with me always! The bamboo on it, you stitched it needle by needle. You said you hoped I would rise high and remain resilient—” Just as I was about to lose my temper completely, a wave of laughter erupted from the crowd. I looked closely at the sachet, and even I couldn’t suppress a smirk. There, stitched in fine red thread, were two crooked, clumsy characters spelling out the word: “Eva.” It was obvious who the artist was. Eva had spent her life under the thumb of her brother and his wife, doing hard, rough labor from dawn till dusk. She would have had no time for delicate work like embroidery. She must have learned those two characters after entering the Blackwood estate. Julian, still unaware of the mocking stares, was stroking the sachet, his gaze fixed on me with deep and focused affection. “Seraphina, now that you’re back, you won’t leave again, will you? All those years we had together… the truth is…” To prevent him from saying something even more compromising, I quickly cut him off. “The young Lord is mistaken. While I was taught needlework by my mother from a young age, in the face of such a masterpiece, I must concede defeat.” Isabelle was the first to clap, letting out a peal of laughter. Many others quickly joined in, creating a chorus of amusement. Even those who relied on the Blackwood’s patronage let out short, choked chuckles. Julian’s intimate words died in his throat. He looked around at the laughing crowd in confusion. Isabelle’s voice was just loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear. “The young Lord of Blackwood certainly has… unique taste. A sachet like that is truly not something an ordinary person could create. No wonder he is so devoted to his wife. It must be her particular… talent!” Someone immediately chimed in. “They say Lord Julian dotes on his wife. It seems the rumors are true.” “The stitchwork is certainly one-of-a-kind. Not something we common folk can appreciate.” “He must adore it, otherwise why would he wear it so proudly? My own wife’s embroidery is merely average, and I certainly don’t have the courage to display it for all to see. I am not as devoted a husband as the young lord, it seems.” The realization finally dawned on Julian. He brought the sachet up to his eyes. In an instant, his face went from red to ashen, then to a deep, dark fury. The hand holding the sachet began to tremble. “No, not this one. The one I always wore… it was clearly…” Clutching the sachet, Julian’s mouth opened, as if to explain. But before he could speak, another servant announced a new arrival. “The Lady of Blackwood has arrived—” The laughter died instantly. All eyes turned to the doorway. Even I felt a flicker of curiosity. A few moments later, a woman dripping in jewels and pearls, supported by a maidservant, walked in. 6 Eva’s head was a thicket of gold hairpins and gemstone ornaments. They flashed so brightly under the light that it was hard to keep one’s eyes open. It was as if a golden idol from the royal temple had come to life and walked into the room. I turned to Isabelle, finally understanding the strange amusement in her earlier smile. Eva was from a humble background, and having suddenly come into immense wealth, she seemed determined to wear every single piece of it on her body at once. She took a few steps forward, the ornaments on her head chiming with every move. The sheer weight of them made her shoulders tremble. Isabelle leaned in and whispered, “She made a fool of herself just like this at the Queen’s birthday banquet. And she’s wearing even more today than she did then. She must have done it specifically to show off for you!” I curled my lips into a slight smile, my gaze shifting to Julian. He was crushing the sachet in his fist, his eyes fixed on Eva with a look of pure loathing and fury. Eva didn’t dare meet his gaze. She gave her clanking gold and jade ornaments a little shake, offered Isabelle a stiff curtsy, and then turned to me with a forced smile. “Sister, you’ve returned! It’s been so long. You must come visit me at the Blackwood estate sometime.” At the mention of her new home, a flash of pride crossed her wide eyes. Looking at her now, the last vestiges of my own resentment melted away. This garish, insecure woman was not worth a moment of my anguish. I smiled and nodded at her, but my tone was anything but friendly. “The House of de Valois has but one daughter. I was not aware I had gained a sister.” “Has the etiquette tutor at the marquis’s estate been slacking? How could she allow the lady of the house to appear in public dressed in such a fashion?” A wave of muffled laughter rippled through the room. Eva bit her lip, retorting defensively, “The young lord favored me and caused you to lose face, sister. It is only right that you hold it against me now…” Before she could finish, Julian stormed over and seized her by the wrist. Eva cried out in pain, but instead of letting go, he squeezed harder. Veins bulged on his forehead as he fought to control his rage, a stark contrast to the calm composure he had shown upon entering. “What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to stay at the estate?” Eva was in too much pain to speak, tears welling in her eyes. I cut in, my voice cold. “This is a banquet hosted by the princess in my honor. If Lord Julian wishes to display his authority or discipline his wife, he should do so in the privacy of his own home.” Julian immediately released Eva and muttered an apology in my direction. But Eva was not grateful. She shot me a glare, then gently tugged on Julian’s sleeve, her voice placating. “I heard sister Seraphina had returned, and you were all here to welcome her. As it happens, the hot spring villa sent over some fresh pomegranates this morning. I thought I would bring some for everyone to try.” She held up a small, simple basket as if presenting a great treasure, a jarring contrast to her own opulent attire. “My brother said that pomegranates symbolize fertility and good fortune. He said we should hurry and have a little heir!” 7 At the mention of an “heir,” Eva shot another glance at me, her chin held high. But her triumph was short-lived. Julian snatched the basket from her hand and slammed it to the floor. The pomegranates rolled across the marble, and a few guests couldn’t contain their laughter. The heir to the Marquis of Blackwood, one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, and his wife was parading around with a basket of fruit as if it were a rare delicacy. It was clear from the reactions that this kind of social blunder had happened many times in the three years I was gone. Julian, no longer caring about his image, finally exploded. “I told you not to leave the estate today! Are you deaf? Why must you always come out and embarrass me?” Eva looked utterly bewildered, as if she couldn’t understand what she had done wrong. She clutched at her dress, trying to defend herself. “I… I heard that husbands and wives could attend banquets together…” I remembered that after the marquis’s wife passed away, the estate had been managed by her former head lady-in-waiting. The lack of a new marchioness and the well-ordered household was one of the reasons my parents had approved of my match with Julian. But from the looks of it, Eva was now in charge. Had no one taught her how to manage such a responsibility? Listening to the open disdain and mockery directed at Eva, I glanced at Julian. He was completely unmoved by her distress and fear, as if the woman being ridiculed wasn’t the one he had fought so hard to marry. His eyes were filled with nothing but impatience and disgust. His face a thundercloud, Julian shoved Eva’s hand away and strode towards the door. After a few steps, he turned back, holding up the misshapen sachet, and demanded, “Where is my old sachet? Where did you hide it? Give it back to me!” Eva began to sob quietly. “I… I’ve been practicing my embroidery. If you don’t like this one, I can make you a better one.” A storm was brewing in Julian’s eyes. “I’m asking you about the old one!” Eva’s voice became a whisper. “It was so old… I… I burned it…” The sachet flew through the air and hit Eva in the face. Without another word, Julian turned and stormed out of the banquet hall. 8 After the banquet, I returned to my family’s estate. My parents were overjoyed to see me. Watching them secretly wipe away tears, my own animosity toward Julian resurfaced. If not for him, I would not have been separated from them for three years, causing them so much worry. After asking about my life with my grandparents, my mother dismissed my father and pulled me aside, her voice low and cautious. “My dearest, do you still think of that boy from the Blackwood estate?” I was so shocked my head nearly shook off my shoulders. “Mother, how could you ask such a thing? After the humiliation he put me through? My heart is not so vast as to forgive such an insult.” My mother hesitated, then finally told me what had happened after I left. After our engagement was broken, the Marquis had refused to allow Eva into the family. He had even threatened to disown Julian if he married her. But Julian, blinded by love, not only moved out of the estate but also swore he would never return until he could marry Eva. The rift between father and son was deep. Less than a month later, the Marquis was dispatched to the northern frontier. Although he won the battle, he was gravely injured. Upon his return to the capital, he and Julian finally sat down for a long talk. In the end, the Marquis relented and allowed Eva to marry into the family, on one condition: they must produce an heir as soon as possible. Julian thought his dream had come true, but he never imagined his wedding day would become the biggest joke in the capital. As she recounted this, even my impeccably mannered mother couldn’t hide a smirk of satisfaction. “Eva’s brother and sister-in-law, knowing their little sister had married into high society, brought their children and a whole horde of other relatives to the wedding feast.” Before the ceremony could even begin, they started demanding a larger betrothal gift. Julian had been generous, even giving Eva a priceless jade bracelet that had belonged to his late mother. The Marquis promised them a large three-courtyard house and a thousand silver pieces after the ceremony. But Eva’s greedy family wanted more, and they feared the Marquis would go back on his word. So, in front of all the guests, they threw themselves on the floor, wailing and rolling around. The wedding of the Blackwood heir was attended by the highest nobility in the land. None of them had ever witnessed such a spectacle. The Minister of Revenue’s youngest daughter was so frightened she fainted on the spot. The scene was utter chaos. And it didn’t end there.

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1 “The patient is bleeding out. She’s dying. Where the hell is her husband? Didn’t I tell you to keep him on standby?” I was about to make an excuse for Mark, to tell them he was a doctor, that he’d been called into the hospital for an emergency. Then my phone lit up with a notification. It was a wedding photo, sent by Anna, Mark’s closest friend. “Thanks for lending me Mark, sis ;)” “Best 30th birthday ever! Don’t worry, we won’t actually consummate the marriage, lol.” In the picture, Mark was kissing Anna’s cheek. Their entire tight-knit group of friends surrounded them, all of them beaming with pure joy. Meanwhile, I was hemorrhaging, in desperate need of a signature for emergency surgery, and Mark was unreachable. When I finally, miraculously, got through to his phone, his voice was a cold slap. “The baby’s born, can’t you just leave me alone for a second?” “It’s Anna’s 30th birthday. It’s important. Everyone is here. I can’t just leave.” “I promised her I’d be with her for her 30th.” “God, why do you have to be such a buzzkill!” Just before I lost consciousness, another picture came through from Anna. It was a king-sized bed in a lavish hotel room. Mark and Anna were on it, laughing, as their friends playfully tried to shove them under the covers, whooping and hollering. …“Blood oxygen is dropping. Patient is in shock. Get more blood from the central bank, now! I want every available specialist in this OR, stat!” A Code Blue alert blared through the hospital, the frantic, piercing sound echoing down the halls. Doctors and nurses flooded my room. I could feel my own life slipping away, my body growing so light it felt like it was about to float right off the bed. Through the haze, a nurse’s voice, gentle but urgent, kept calling to me. “You have to fight. Your baby was just born. He’s in the NICU. You haven’t even had a chance to hold him yet.” “Don’t give up. Please, don’t give up on yourself. We are doing everything we can to save you.” Her voice was thick with desperation, cracking with unshed tears. I had no strength to respond, but a single thought looped in my fading mind. That’s right. My baby. I have my baby. I can’t die. I can’t… The hospital was pulling out all the stops, assembling the city’s top OB/GYN specialists for an emergency consultation. They were scrambling to get every unit of my rare blood type from every hospital in the region. “Still can’t reach the patient’s family?” “What is her husband doing? His phone is off?” “The patient’s parents passed away a few years ago. The husband is all she has… We have no choice. We have to operate. The patient’s life is the priority.” The voices around me faded in and out. The moments of silence were terrifying. Were they giving up on me? Was I going to die on this table? Would I ever see my baby? No. I couldn’t die. Mark would never take proper care of our child. If I died, my baby’s life would be ruined. I willed my body to heal, to just be okay. But the only thing I heard was a nurse’s panicked cry. “Where is that blood? We’re losing her!” “Have you reached Dr. Hunter at Central General? He’s the authority in this field. If we had him here, her chances would be so much higher.” Dr. Hunter? Mark Hunter? I wanted so desperately to speak. To tell them that the unreachable Dr. Hunter was my husband. But I had no voice. Someone sighed in frustration. “Dr. Hunter’s not coming. He took a special seven-day leave. Said it was his honeymoon. He married his childhood best friend.” “I thought he was going to be a bachelor forever,” another voice chimed in. “Whenever anyone asked if he was married or dating, he’d always say he wasn’t interested. Turns out he was in love with his best friend all along.” So. He had never even told his colleagues he was married. No wonder he’d insisted I never go to his hospital for my prenatal check-ups. He’d said it was to avoid troubling his coworkers. The truth was, he was afraid they’d find out about his wife of seven years. “Forget Dr. Hunter. He’s busy with his new bride. Let’s focus on keeping this woman alive!” Their words were so clear, but the anesthesia kept me pinned down, a prisoner in my own body. It dulled the pain but didn’t grant me the mercy of unconsciousness. It was a special kind of torture. I could feel the cold steel of their instruments, sense their rising panic, and feel the profound, chilling cold seep into my very bones. Just as I felt myself slipping away for good, the head nurse shouted, “Dr. Hunter’s on the phone!” 2 But the voice on the other end wasn’t Mark’s. It was Anna’s. The sound of her voice was like a jolt of electricity to my brain, burning through the thin veil of anesthesia. A wave of agony pulsed through my chest. “Mark, you’d better thank me,” she chirped. “If I hadn’t told you to keep your work phone on, you would have missed this call.” “Quick, someone from your hospital needs you.” I heard Mark’s voice, thick with adoration. “Yes, yes, you’re the best. The smartest girl in the world.” When he took the phone, his tone became clipped and professional. “I’ve seen the patient’s chart you sent over. With her rare blood type and history of preeclampsia, the procedure is extremely high-risk. You need to contact her family immediately and inform them of the situation.” “Dr. Hunter, we can’t reach her family. His phone is off.” Mark’s voice was sharp with indignation. “His wife is giving birth and he won’t even answer the phone? What kind of monster is he?” “Dr. Hunter, can you come over right now?” Then, Anna’s whining voice in the background. “Go ahead, then… just leave me here to celebrate my birthday all alone.” “No, no, I’m not going,” Mark soothed her, then spoke back into the phone. “I’m sorry, I can’t make it. We’re about to board a flight for a little getaway. Here, let me give you the number of someone who can help.” He rattled off a name and hung up before they could protest further. It was only then that I realized he had a separate work phone, a whole other device I’d never even seen. A nurse standing beside me, monitoring my vitals, murmured to herself, “That’s strange. When Dr. Hunter was speaking, for a second I thought it was this patient’s husband. Their voices are identical.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” another nurse chided. “You heard his wife in the background.” At that moment, the blood units from the other hospitals finally arrived. And with them came another doctor. I heard a collective sigh of relief as a group of younger residents excitedly called him “Dr. Cole.” The first thing he did was have the anesthesiologist check my dosage and increase it. I slipped into a deep, dreamless state and survived the marathon surgery. When I woke up, a nursing intern was sitting by my bed, recording data. Seeing my eyes open, she immediately called for the doctors. “Are you feeling any discomfort?” I shook my head. The lead doctor, after checking my incision and vitals, looked at me with a stern expression. “Sienna, how long has it been since you graduated? Have you forgotten everything you learned?” I looked up, really looking at his face for the first time. It was Dr. Evan Cole, my mentor from my residency days. He seemed even more serious now than I remembered. He studied my chart for a long moment. “Your husband just sent a message to your phone. Do you want me to read it to you?” I managed a weak nod. He used my face to unlock the phone, and a notification immediately popped up. It was a credit card charge. For nearly two thousand dollars. The vendor was the “Seaside Hotel & Resort: Honeymoon Package.” Then, a text from Mark. “Hey babe, got called away on a work trip. I’ll be back in a week. Sorry, things are just so crazy right now.” He must have sent it just moments ago, because right after it came a message from Anna. 【Hey sis, this ocean view is just too beautiful not to share.】 The picture was of her and Mark, tangled together in a large bathtub overlooking the ocean. I could see the dark marks of his kisses on her skin. 【Isn’t it gorgeous? Mark said he’s going to bring you here for your anniversary. Same room, same bed.】 3 Everyone in the room saw the message. A heavy, awkward silence fell over us. Dr. Cole didn’t say a word. He just turned off my phone, handed it back, and quietly instructed the intern to keep a close eye on me. The intern nodded and said something I couldn’t quite hear. A few of the other staff chuckled, and Dr. Cole’s ears turned a little red before he quickly turned and left. My private room was a lonely place. The intern would pop in periodically, but for the most part, my only companions were the beeping machines. That’s how I spent my birthday. On my birthday, my condition took a turn for the worse. I was rushed back into surgery. The only contact from Mark was a ten-dollar Venmo transfer that morning with the message “hbd.” Then, silence. His social media profile was a blank line—he’d blocked me again. I spent the entire day in the ICU. Dr. Cole checked on me constantly, his face growing more weary with each visit. Later, when I was a little more lucid, I saw him standing outside the glass wall of my room. He was holding up a small cupcake with a single candle. I watched him mouth the words slowly, carefully, so I could understand. “Happy. Birthday. Sienna. When you’re better, you can have this.” I managed a faint smile and a determined nod. Finally, just before midnight, my condition stabilized and they moved me back to my room. Dr. Cole was there waiting, the candle on the cupcake lit. He asked me to make a wish. Without a moment’s hesitation, I mouthed the word. “Divorce.” He paused, then gently blew out the candle for me. “The universe says: wish granted,” he said softly. I never ate the cake, but the fact that he remembered was more than enough. The next day, feeling a bit stronger, I reached for my phone to call my office and arrange for my maternity leave. But there was another birthday message waiting for me. From Anna. It was a video. A spectacular fireworks display over the ocean, with drones spelling out “Happy Birthday To You” in the night sky. The caption read: “Oops, wrong person, sis! This was from when Mark threw me a birthday party. Isn’t it pretty?” She followed it up with a series of photos. They were from a private maternity photoshoot Mark had arranged for me. He had convinced me it was a beautiful way to commemorate my pregnancy, that the body was something to be celebrated. So I had agreed. Now, Anna had submitted those photos to a photography competition. And she hadn’t chosen the tasteful, discreet shots. She had chosen the most revealing ones, the ones where my face was clearly visible. “Sis, your photos won an award! A lot of people were saying your stretch marks are disgusting, though. They just don’t have an eye for art, I guess.” Then, as if by “accident,” she sent a voice message. It was Mark’s voice. “To be honest, the comments aren’t wrong. Sometimes I look at that belly full of stretch marks and I feel sick, too.” Anna not only won an award with my photos but also a hefty cash prize. Mark’s social media, which had been dark for days, was suddenly active again. His entire circle of friends was congratulating Anna, sharing the uncensored photos of me without a second thought. The moment I “liked” one of the posts, Mark finally contacted me. He said he was coming back soon to see me and the baby. Then he gave me an order: “It’s about time you were discharged anyway. You can go home and look after Anna’s cat for a few days.” I simply replied, “Ok.” A few days later, I contacted a divorce lawyer, had the papers drawn up, and sold the condo that was in my name, along with every single thing Mark had ever given me. I started a new social media account. My bio was simple: “The woman from the award-winning maternity photos.” I began posting old videos of Mark and me, telling my side of the story. It gained traction fast. The photography association even contacted me, inviting me to be a special guest at Anna’s award ceremony. As for Mark, he never even showed up for my discharge. The excuse was that he was too busy at the hospital. But Anna had already let it slip to their friends—he was helping her prepare for the ceremony. The day of the awards was a grand affair. My photos were projected on a massive screen, cycling on a loop. Mark sat in the front row, reserved for family, beaming at Anna with adoration. He was even wearing the tie I had given him. Anna held her trophy high. “I want to thank my dearest, most beloved friend, Mark Hunter,” she gushed. “Without his constant care and support, I wouldn’t be where I am today.” Mark walked onto the stage with a bouquet of flowers. They embraced, a deep, meaningful hug. And just as Mark leaned in to kiss the corner of her lips, the doors to the auditorium burst open. “Mr. Hunter, Ms. Vance,” a police officer said calmly. “Please come with us.”

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After the miscarriage, I walked down the sterile hospital corridor and accidentally overheard my husband, Toby, speaking to the doctor. “Find an opportunity to drug my wife,” he said, his voice a low, cold command. “Then I want her uterus removed. I want to make sure she can never get pregnant again.” A moment later, he placed a gentle hand on another woman’s stomach. “Design the best possible prenatal care plan for her. I want her child to be the heir to Lockwood Industries.” I recognized the woman. Skylar. A popular streamer from Toby’s company. Then he added a final, chilling instruction to the doctor. “And one more thing. Make sure my wife has a perfect recovery. If she suffers any long-term complications from this surgery, none of you will have a job.” My heart stuttered in my chest. I couldn’t believe it. Toby, the man who had always worshipped the ground I walked on, was cheating on me. And so, I left a signed divorce agreement on the table and walked away, leaving them to their perfect love story… 1 The walk back to my room was a blur. My mind was a broken record, playing that horrifying scene on a loop. My husband, the man who treated me like a precious jewel, who loved me to the bone, was having an affair and had just ordered a surgeon to mutilate my body. And he knew. He knew that more than anything in this world, I wanted a child. A young nurse passing by gave me an envious smile. “Your husband is just the best,” she gushed. “He booked this entire floor just so you could rest without being disturbed. He hired a private nursing staff to look after you around the clock. And even with all that, he refuses to leave your side for a second. Talk about being head over heels in love.” Another nurse chimed in. “His eyes were swollen shut from crying when you were brought in. I’ve never seen a man care so much. I heard they were college sweethearts, and he moved his entire family’s business empire to this city just to marry her. He even put his fortune in her name.” If I had heard this yesterday, I would have felt like the luckiest woman alive. Now, it felt like I’d swallowed ash. Just then, Toby’s furious voice erupted from my room down the hall. “A bunch of useless idiots! You can’t even watch one person! If anything happens to Christy, I’ll kill every single one of you!” Toby rarely lost his temper. The last time was when I was diagnosed with a rare illness that no hospital seemed able to cure. He’d been so frantic he’d nearly torn the hospital apart, even vowing he’d die with me if they couldn’t save me. I watched the veins bulge on his forehead, but this time, his rage didn’t touch my heart. “Toby,” I said calmly. “I’m right here.” His head snapped toward me, and his eyes lit up. He rushed over, pulling me into his arms. “Christy, where did you go? You didn’t tell anyone. I thought something had happened to you.” His voice trembled with what sounded like genuine fear. There was no trace of falsehood in it. I subtly pushed him away. “It was stuffy in the room. I just went out for some air.” He breathed a sigh of relief, though his grip on my hand remained tight. He then took a bowl of dark, bitter-smelling liquid from a nurse and brought it to my lips with a tender smile. “Darling, it’s time for your medicine.” I stared at the brown concoction, a chill running down my spine as the scene I’d just witnessed flashed through my mind. “It’s too bitter. I don’t want to drink it.” Toby had never, ever denied me anything. But this time, he was strangely insistent. “You won’t get better if you don’t take it. And you won’t be able to have our baby. Don’t you want to give me a child?” He knew the baby was my weak spot. He was certain that dangling it in front of me would make me obey. But I didn’t trust him anymore. I slapped the bowl out of his hand. “I said, I’m not drinking it.” Toby’s gentle expression froze, and a flicker of annoyance crossed his eyes. I thought I had won, that I had escaped. But in the next second, the world went black. When I woke up, it was morning. A terrible premonition washed over me. I threw back the covers. There it was. A fresh surgical scar sliced across my lower abdomen. My world came crashing down. I wanted to scream at him, to demand an explanation, but he was already speaking, his voice full of concern. “Darling, you fainted last night. The doctors ran some tests and… they found cancerous cells in your uterus. I had them remove it immediately.” As if anticipating my disbelief, he produced a pathology report. And there it was, in black and white: uterine cancer. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would have fallen for his lie. I stared at the hideous scar, my heart feeling like it had been ripped in two. There was nothing left but a vast, empty despair. Toby pulled me into a hug, his voice soft with sympathy. “Christy, I know how much you wanted a child, but your health is what matters most. I can’t lose you. We can always adopt, darling. It’ll be okay.” 2 I opened my mouth to speak, but the door swung open and Skylar walked in, carrying a basket of fruit. “So sorry to interrupt,” she said with a bright, professional smile. “I’m here on behalf of the company to wish Mrs. Lockwood a speedy recovery.” Skylar was the new star streamer for Lockwood Entertainment. She was gorgeous, with a perfect figure and a captivating personality that earned the company millions with every broadcast. No wonder Toby was taken with her. Toby’s expression didn’t change. He gave Skylar a curt nod before turning his full attention back to me. But I knew that beneath the calm surface, a storm was raging. I turned my back to them, burying my face in the pillow. “I’m tired,” I mumbled. “I want to rest.” I expected Skylar to leave, but she stayed, taking a seat and keeping a silent vigil with Toby. He sat on the edge of the bed, gently massaging my legs, the picture of a doting husband. Skylar sat quietly nearby, a model of decorum. It was a scene of perfect domestic harmony. But no one could see what was happening beneath the sheets. No one could see Skylar’s leg, slyly, rhythmically, brushing against Toby’s. He didn’t pull away. He let her, his face a mask of placid concern. Only when her movements became more brazen did he reach down and place a firm hand on her thigh, a silent command to stop. But Skylar wasn’t deterred. She moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling against his back like a cat. Toby’s eyes flicked to me. He checked my breathing, saw my closed eyes, and assumed I was asleep. Emboldened, he spun around, pushed Skylar against the nearby table, and kissed her, his hand gripping her throat. He broke away quickly, his eyes cold, a warning for her to behave. She met his gaze without fear and wound herself around him again. Toby’s resolve crumbled. After one last glance at me, he took her hand and led her out of the room. The moment the door clicked shut, I opened my eyes. Toby would never know that every single one of their sordid movements was perfectly reflected in the glass partition, playing out for me like a silent, horrifying movie. I slipped out of bed and followed them to a secluded corner of the hallway. Hiding behind a pillar, I peeked out. Toby had Skylar pinned against the wall, his hand once again at her throat. “I warned you to behave in front of Christy,” he hissed, his voice laced with fury. Skylar wasn’t afraid. She rubbed against his arm coquettishly. “That’s only because you’ve been spending all your time with her. The baby misses you.” She hooked her arms around his neck, her voice a seductive purr. “Toby, darling, haven’t you always wanted to try it somewhere… adventurous? Let’s do it here. There are no cameras on this floor, and your wife is fast asleep. No one will ever find out.” Before he could answer, she stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his. Toby froze for a second, then his hands went to the back of her head, deepening the kiss with a raw hunger. “Toby, be gentle,” she whispered against his lips. “I’m worried about the baby…” “Shut up,” he growled. “I know what I’m doing.” I couldn’t watch anymore. I fled, their moans and whispers chasing me down the hall. My heart felt like it was being physically torn apart, a pain so sharp it stole my breath. The man who swore he would only ever love me, who promised to cherish me for a lifetime, was having a secret, sordid affair. A wave of shame so powerful it threatened to drown me washed over me. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor in a pathetic, laughable heap. 3 A passing nurse saw me and rushed over to help. Seeing the tears streaming down my face, she assumed I’d hurt myself in the fall. “Oh, Mrs. Lockwood, please don’t cry,” she said, her voice full of sympathy. “Mr. Lockwood would be devastated if he saw you like this.” Looking at her concerned face, I could no longer contain my grief. The sobs wracked my body until I was empty and exhausted. I finally managed to drag myself back to my room and fall into a fitful sleep. When I woke up, Toby wasn’t back yet, but Skylar was standing at the foot of my bed, her face a mask of contempt. The polite deference was gone. “You saw everything, didn’t you?” she sneered. “He loves me. And I’m carrying his child.” My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “How long?” I whispered, my voice trembling. Skylar held up three fingers, her smile triumphant. “Three years. He met me at a business dinner and fell for me instantly. We spent the whole first night together. When he went home, he felt so guilty that he transferred his entire fortune into your name. All of that was supposed to be for me and my baby. You’re the one who stole it from us.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, fighting the urge to lunge at her. Seeing my restraint, she grew bolder. “You think he really loves you? Every single night, after you fall asleep, he comes to me. Even now that I’m pregnant, he can’t get enough. And just so you know, the day you had your miscarriage? He wasn’t at a ‘business dinner.’ He was in my bed. He can’t live without me now. If you have any sense, you’ll divorce him and get out of the way.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I remembered that day. The pain had been so intense I’d passed out multiple times. I was losing so much blood. The doctor had called Toby ten times, but he never answered. Eventually, his phone was just off. When he finally came back the next day, he knelt by my bed for hours, telling me he was at a crucial meeting, hating himself for not being there, slapping his own face in punishment. While I was dying, he was with her. The last flicker of hope I had cherished died in that moment, leaving only cold, dead ash in its place. Skylar saw the defeat in my eyes and her smile widened. “He’s throwing me a wedding tomorrow,” she declared, her hands on her hips. “It’s going to be even grander than yours was. Make sure you come.” With that, she strutted out of the room like a victorious hen. A sharp pain shot through my chest, and the world went dark again. When I came to, it was the next morning. Toby was by my side, his eyes red and swollen. He pulled me into a fierce hug, his voice choked with emotion. “Christy, you’re finally awake. You scared the hell out of me.” The image of him with Skylar in the hallway flashed in my mind. A wave of nausea rolled over me, and I pushed him away. “I’m fine.” Toby froze, a look of hurt in his eyes. I looked at his tear-filled face and finally asked the question that had been weighing on my heart for days. “Do you remember what I told you before we got married?” I had told him that if he ever fell in love with someone else, he had to tell me. I would step aside. But if he lied, if he deceived me, I would disappear from his life forever. He nodded without hesitation. “Of course I do. Why are you suddenly asking about this? Did I do something to upset you?” He stood up, his expression serious, and turned to the nurses behind him. “Get me a list of every woman I’ve had contact with recently. Bring them all here. Now.” A short while later, my room was filled with more than a dozen women—nurses, maids, and among them, Skylar. She stood with one hand on her belly, her eyes full of triumphant mockery. Toby stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “Tell my wife,” he commanded, his voice sharp, “exactly what contact you’ve had with me. Be specific.” One by one, they reported. “Ma’am, the last time I spoke with Mr. Lockwood was to submit your new dietary plan.” “Ma’am, he only called me to bring your aromatherapy diffuser from the house.” “Ma’am, he saw your IV was running low and called me to change it.” Everything was about me. The women looked at me with open envy. When it was Skylar’s turn, she spoke calmly. “After I delivered the fruit basket yesterday, I had no further contact with Mr. Lockwood. You have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Lockwood. You’re the only one in his heart.” 4 Her words were meant to be reassuring, but they dripped with sarcasm. I let out a small, self-deprecating laugh and waved them all away. With his name seemingly cleared, Toby relaxed and sat on the edge of the bed, taking my hand. “Christy,” he said, his voice earnest. “You know I only love you. I would never be interested in another woman.” “Mm-hmm,” I said, pulling my hand from his, ignoring the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He seemed to remember something. “Oh, Christy, I have a business trip tomorrow, so I won’t be here. But my phone will be on for you 24/7. Call me if you miss me.” His declaration of love was flawless. Not a hint of deception. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and nodded. “Be safe.” I saw the guilt flash in his eyes before he put on a pout. “But I’ll miss you so much. It’s only for a day, but I don’t want to be away from you for a single second.” He sighed dramatically. “When we adopt our child, I’ll just hand the company over to him. Then I won’t have to travel so much and be away from you.” If I didn’t know he was actually leaving to marry Skylar, I might have been moved by his performance. Finally, with one last, lingering kiss on my forehead, Toby left the room. The moment he was gone, I checked myself out of the hospital. I went home, packed a single bag, placed the signed divorce agreement on the living room table, and took a taxi to the airport. Before boarding the plane to Switzerland, I blocked his number and deleted him from every app. It was a final goodbye. As the plane took off, I watched through the window as the city I had called home for thirty years shrank below me. And for the first time in weeks, the crushing weight on my chest began to lift. Toby, goodbye forever.

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I hadn’t been living with my biological parents for long when their mansion went up in flames. The servants and I scrambled out, choking on the thick, acrid smoke that clawed at our lungs. The heat was a physical presence, pressing in on us from all sides. Our maid, Anna, her face smeared with soot, grabbed my arm. Her voice was a panicked squeak. “Miss Sophie! Quick, call your father! He can send people to put it out!” But the housekeeper, Martha, a stern woman who had been with the family for decades, pulled me in the opposite direction. “His Lordship is celebrating Miss Kaley’s birthday tonight. He is not to be disturbed!” she snapped, her voice firm despite the chaos. “The young miss and I will handle the fire.” Anna shook her head, her coughing fits wracking her small frame. “What can you two possibly do? You have to call him!” The searing heat on my skin was a brutal reminder. I was back. I had been reborn. 1 In my last life, it had played out just like this. I’d been recently brought back from the foster system, a stranger in my own home. The mansion caught fire on the same day as the birthday of Kaley, the daughter my parents had raised by mistake. Anna and Martha had the exact same argument in front of me. Last time, I listened to Anna. I called my father. This time, I was dialing 911. This time, my fate was in my own hands. I covered my mouth and nose, ready to bolt outside to make the call, but Martha lunged, blocking my path. “And where do you think you’re going, Miss Sophie?” I ignored her, pulling my phone from my pocket and tapping the three digits. The call connected instantly. “911, what’s your emergency—” In the next second, Martha’s hand shot out and slapped the phone from my grasp. It clattered to the marble floor, the call abruptly ending. “What are you doing, calling 911?” she hissed, her face contorted with a strange fury. “Mr. Cooper is a man in the public eye. What would this do to his reputation? Having a house fire splashed all over the news?” She loomed over me. “And what if he comes back to deal with this? What about Kaley’s birthday? We will handle this ourselves. Come, we’ll use buckets.” Before I could react, her fingers dug into my arm like a vise, and she started dragging me back toward the inferno. I struggled, but Martha was a large, strong woman. The crackling roar of the fire grew louder, the smoke thicker. I was forced into a violent coughing fit, tears streaming from my stinging eyes. Martha shoved a metal bucket into my hands, her gaze sharp and cold. “Today is Miss Kaley’s eighteenth birthday, young lady. Nothing is more important than that.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t think a little drama like this will help you win their favor. Miss Kaley has been raised by Mr. and Mrs. Cooper for eighteen years. You can’t compete with that.” Even in the short time I’d been here, I’d noticed Martha’s fierce, almost fanatical devotion to Kaley. She saw me, the true daughter, as nothing more than an intruder, a threat to Kaley’s happiness. But I never imagined she’d take it this far, accusing me of vying for attention while the house burned down around us. The bucket was already warm in my hands, the metal growing hot from the ambient heat. I couldn’t stay here. This fire was beyond our control. If I didn’t get out now, I would die. 2 The moment she sensed my intention to flee, Martha’s grip on my arm tightened, and she yanked me deeper into the smoke-filled corridor. A chilling realization washed over me: Martha had started this fire. If I died here, I would be the perfect scapegoat, and Kaley’s only rival would be permanently removed. Was I doomed to repeat my fate, to die in a fire no matter what? In my past life, I had escaped this first fire, only to perish in another. I had listened to Anna and called my father. He had rushed back with a team, and they had managed to extinguish the blaze. But Kaley, waiting for her parents at The Pinnacle, the city’s most exclusive rooftop restaurant, had jumped from the 82nd floor when they didn’t show up. She was shattered beyond recognition. My parents, Richard and Eleanor, were unnervingly calm during her lavish funeral. But that night, as they performed the ritual of burning her belongings, my father suddenly set the entire memorial hall ablaze. As guests screamed and ran for the exits, they found my mother had locked the doors from the outside. Amidst the spreading flames, my father’s laughter was demonic. “I want every single one of you to join my Kaley in death!” he shrieked. He seized me, his grip like iron, and dragged me toward the pyre, forcing my face closer and closer to the flames. “It was just a fire!” he roared, his face a mask of grief-stricken madness. “Why did you have to call me? You knew it was Kaley’s birthday! You knew I was in the middle of a live-streamed keynote speech! Calling me forced my hand—I had to come back!” His voice broke. “If it weren’t for you, how could my precious daughter have died on her eighteenth birthday? You should have been the one to die!” My skin sizzled, an agony so intense it made my entire body tremble. I could barely force the words out. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know you were giving a speech. I was just scared.” “And I didn’t know a birthday was so important…” I had grown up in the system; birthdays were just another day. How could I have known she valued it more than her own life? How could I have known my father would want us all to burn with her? He shoved me toward the roaring fire. My hair and clothes caught instantly, the pain all-consuming. “You lying bitch!” he spat, his voice thick with hate. “Still making excuses! Kaley is dead, and you will pay for it!” He grabbed a can of gasoline and doused me with it. The fire exploded around me, silencing my screams forever. All their apologies when they first found me, all their promises that they loved both me and Kaley as their daughters—they were all lies. I had been a fool to believe that blood meant love. Back in the present, I forced myself to be calm. The fire was intensifying, and the heat was becoming unbearable for both of us. As Martha coughed, distracted for a split second, I wrenched my arm free and ran. Adrenaline surged through me, a primal need to survive overriding everything else. I burst out of the mansion’s front doors and collapsed onto the manicured lawn. As I gasped for the cool, fresh air, tears of relief and terror streamed down my face. This time, I would live. No matter what. I scrambled to my feet and spotted my phone lying on the flagstones where it had fallen. I snatched it up, ready to dial again. But in the next instant, a hand clamped around my ankle, and I was dragged back down to the ground. 3 Martha was pulling me back toward the burning house. The other servants, huddled at a safe distance on the lawn, stared in shock. “Miss Sophie! Why are you still in there? Did you call 911?” one of them shouted. “Martha, what are you doing?” The servants weren’t allowed to carry phones during their shifts. I was the only one who could call for help. With all my remaining strength, I hurled my phone toward them. It landed in the soft grass. “Martha’s trying to kill me!” I screamed. “Help me! Call 911! She has explosives on her! We’ll all die if you don’t call now!” The part about explosives was a lie, a desperate gamble to sow panic. It worked. One of the maids snatched up my phone while others started to scatter. “Explosives? I’m calling the police!” “Run! Everybody run!” “Martha, have you gone mad? What have Mr. and Mrs. Cooper ever done to you but be kind?” Seeing her plan unravel, Martha finally let go of my ankle. “What explosives? Don’t listen to her lies!” she yelled, her voice frantic. “She’s just jealous of Miss Kaley! She’s trying to make a scene so Mr. Cooper will come back for her instead of celebrating with his real daughter!” She tried to sound convincing. “Don’t you dare call the police! The fire isn’t even that bad! If I had explosives, would I be standing right here?” Her words hit their mark. The maid holding my phone hesitated, her hand lowering. “So it’s just a rivalry.” “Maybe Miss Sophie started the fire herself!” “Why would she even try to compete with Miss Kaley? She’s been part of this family for eighteen years.” “If I were Mr. Cooper, I’d prefer Kaley too. She’s so much prettier, more elegant—more like a true heiress than Sophie ever will be.” I watched them, a wave of despair washing over me. Our mansion was in the hills, isolated from our neighbors. If no one called for help, no one would know until it was too late. Just then, a loud BOOM erupted from inside the house. 4 Something had exploded. It wasn’t massive, but it was enough to send another wave of fear through me. I tried to crawl further away, but Martha lunged and grabbed me again. I locked eyes with the servants on the lawn. “The house is exploding!” I cried out. “It’s a smart home, full of electronics and batteries! If you don’t call for help now, the whole place could go up like a bomb!” My voice cracked with desperation. “I’m not trying to compete with Kaley! Please, just call 911! The fire is what matters!” Martha tightened her grip, dragging me again. “So a battery exploded? Big deal! Get back in there with me, Miss Sophie. You don’t want your father to come home and find you did nothing, do you?” The other servants just watched us, their faces blank. My heart sank. They wouldn’t help. Not when it meant choosing a side. And Martha was dead set on me dying in this fire. Suddenly, a high-pitched buzzing sound cut through the roar of the flames. A drone! Someone flying it for landscape shots must have seen the smoke! I threw my hand up, waving frantically at the small machine hovering in the sky. “HELP ME!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “PLEASE, CALL THE POLICE! SHE’S TRYING TO KILL ME!” I prayed it had a microphone, prayed its owner could hear me. Before I could say more, Martha clamped a hand over my mouth and swatted at the drone with her other hand. It nimbly ascended, just out of her reach. The owner had to have seen that. Would they help? Martha released my mouth, her hand pressing into the small of my back as she whispered menacingly in my ear. “What nonsense are you spouting, young lady?” A sick, triumphant smile spread across her face. “No one is trying to kill you. You’ll simply die a hero, trying to save the house. They might even give you a medal for it.” Her voice was pure venom. “It doesn’t matter what you say now. Those fools on the lawn will believe anything. You’re going to die, and when you do, Miss Kaley will be the one and only daughter of this house. You’ll never compete with her again.” She admitted it. A tremor ran through my body. She was doing this for Kaley. But why? She was a well-paid housekeeper. My father had helped her son get a job, even bought him a house. Why would she risk everything for Kaley? Just then, my phone, still lying on the grass, began to ring. The maid who had it shouted, “Miss Sophie, it’s your father!” He must have finished his speech. I didn’t care anymore if Kaley jumped off a building. I couldn’t die like this. “Answer it!” I yelled. Martha forgot about me, lunging for the phone. I scrambled to my feet and ran for it too, finally free. In the struggle, the phone tumbled to the ground, and somehow, the call connected. “Hello?” My father’s voice crackled through the speaker. It was a voice I now recognized as being laced with a faint, but permanent, thread of annoyance. “Sophie. We’re celebrating your sister’s eighteenth birthday tonight. You’ll have to eat dinner by yourself.” I was about to scream for help, but Martha beat me to it, snatching the phone. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Cooper. We’re taking good care of the young miss.” “Good,” he said dismissively, ready to hang up. Suddenly, a massive explosion rocked the mansion behind us. “What was that?” my father’s voice shot back, sharp with alarm.

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