After my mother-in-law died, I gave up, letting the hurricane tear me from the ground. I landed at my husband Jake’s feet—the rescue captain on his way to expose my “lies.” His mother was gone, blood pooling near his boots as his face crumbled. “How… how could this be?” He didn’t know the truth. I had been reborn. In my past life, Souad was pinned under an oak. I called for help, but Jake diverted his team to find his ex’s dog. “Stop the act, Tanya!” he snarled. “A woman like you deserves to be crushed!” I watched Souad die, my hands bloody from trying to lift the trunk. Jake blamed me, letting me and our child die in agony—then started a new life with Zoey. When I opened my eyes, I was back. The day the hurricane hit. … The wind sliced at my skin like a thousand tiny knives. I braced my pregnant belly, my hands clawing at the rough bark of the tree, trying to lift it, trying to save Souad pinned beneath. It was useless, like an ant trying to move a mountain. My hands were already slick with blood, but the trunk wouldn’t budge an inch. Souad, her strength failing, lifted a weak hand and tugged at my pant leg, trying to speak. Her voice was a whisper, lost in the howling gale. Then, an eerie calm descended. The eye of the storm was passing over. I leaned down, pressing my ear to her lips. “My sweet girl,” she rasped, her voice trembling. “You have the baby to think of. Go. Run, find somewhere safe, now!” “After I’m gone, my million dollars, the house… it’s all yours. Find your own happiness, you hear me? I’m so sorry, Tanya. I’m so, so sorry…” Her words dissolved into a wet cough as she choked up a mouthful of blood. Souad had treated me like her own daughter. Even now, her only thought was for my safety. A pain so sharp it stole my breath stabbed through my chest. No matter how many times I had to live this life, I would never abandon her. “Mom, hold on,” I pleaded, my voice cracking. “Jake is the captain of the rescue squad! He’ll be here any minute, he’ll save you!” A flicker of hope ignited in her eyes, but as the words left my mouth, my own heart sank like a stone. I knew better. Last time, Jake never even answered my call. Remembering this, I grabbed Souad’s phone from her pocket and dialed his number. He wouldn’t ignore his own mother’s phone, would he? He picked up on the first ring. “Jake! Mom is trapped under a fallen tree! You have to get over here, we’re on—” “Tanya?” His voice was ice. “How dare you drag my mother into your pathetic little drama?” “It’s not a drama!” I stomped my foot in desperation, my eyes locked on Souad’s whimpering, helpless form. “How could I possibly joke about something like this? We’re on City Hall Avenue—” “Don’t even try it! I know some trees are down over there. You think that makes your story believable? A pathological liar like you is the one who deserves to be crushed!” Just as he finished, a cloyingly sweet voice drifted through the phone. “Jakey, honey, come hold me. I’m so scared.” I recognized it instantly. Zoey. His ex. The absurdity of it all ignited a fire in my gut. “You’d rather stay there fooling around with her than save your own mother? Are you even human, Jake?!” “Don’t be ridiculous, Tanya. You’re the one making false emergency calls! I have to help Zoey secure her windows. Stop calling and bothering me!” He hung up. When I tried to call back, I was blocked. Souad, who had heard everything, closed her eyes in utter despair, two silent tears tracing paths through the dirt on her cheeks. “It’s no use. Go, child. This is my punishment for raising such a heartless son.” I bit my lip, refusing to give up. I dialed the rescue squad’s main dispatch. The dispatcher was one of Jake’s subordinates, a young man named Miller. I quickly explained the situation. His voice was grave. “Ma’am, Mrs. Turner? Please, hang in there. I’m dispatching a unit immediately!” I thanked him, my heart pounding as I began to pace. But ten minutes stretched into an eternity, and the empty road remained empty. No flashing lights, no siren. The wind was already picking up again. Once the eye of the storm passed, the hurricane’s fury would return with a vengeance. Souad wouldn’t survive it. Frantic, I was about to call dispatch again when my phone rang. It was Jake. “Are you insane, Tanya?!” he roared. “Just because you’re my wife doesn’t mean you can abuse emergency resources! Your jealousy has to have a limit!” A sickening premonition washed over me, and my eyes filled with tears. “She’s not going to make it, Jake,” I begged, my voice shaking. “Please, just believe me this one time! If I’m lying, may I drop dead right here! Even if you don’t care about me or the baby, she’s your mother!” There was a brief silence on his end, but then the phone was snatched away. It was Zoey, her voice a broken, tear-choked mess. “Tanya, I know you hate me,” she sobbed, “but Dumpling is like a child to me and Jake! He’s missing! How could you call in a fake emergency and stop the rescue team from looking for him? Every minute he’s out there is another minute of danger! If something happens to him, I… I don’t want to live anymore!” Dumpling. The dog he and Zoey had raised together. The dog he still visited in the middle of the night, even after we were married. The irony was suffocating. When that dog had a cold, Jake was a wreck, fussing over it day and night. When I had a raging fever during my pregnancy, I didn’t even get a single word of concern. All the resentment I had buried came surging to the surface. I was done with Zoey’s performance. “You didn’t leash your dog in the middle of a hurricane? Sounds like you let him out on purpose! Why don’t you check the security cameras or look around your own neighborhood instead of wasting the time of a rescue team that has actual human lives to save?!” Zoey’s sobs escalated into hysterical gasps. Jake’s voice exploded with rage. “A dog is a living creature too! God, Tanya, you’re just a cold, heartless, jealous bitch!” “No matter how heartless I am,” I said, my voice dripping with ice, “I’m not the monster who’d let his own mother die.” That was the spark that lit the fuse. “You bitch! How long are you going to keep up this act? You just had my mom send Zoey a string of hateful messages, and now you’re cursing her to death? What is wrong with you!” he screamed. “Tanya, a soulless monster like you should just hurry up and die!” His words grew viler, uglier. My last shred of hope withered and died. I hung up. Just as I was about to try calling Miller again, a text message came through from him. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Turner. The captain just gave a direct order. All units are being redirected to The Willows apartment complex. The truck that was halfway to you had to turn back. The captain was very specific… that we were to ignore your call. I’m sorry. It’s a critical situation, we can’t afford to waste resources. I looked at Souad, who had passed out from the pain. In a fit of desperate agony, I slammed my fists against the tree trunk, a raw, hopeless scream tearing from my throat. The hurricane roared back to life, its power even more terrifying than before. This time, broken in body and spirit, I had no fight left. I collapsed to the ground, limp and defeated, and let the ferocious wind lift me like a rag doll. It threw me through the air, and I slammed hard against an oncoming vehicle. My head shattered the windshield, and a hot, wet gush of blood erupted from between my legs. In the driver’s seat, I saw him. Jake. One arm was wrapped around Zoey, his eyes wide with an expression of pure, uncomprehending horror. His mouth opened, and I could just make out the shape of the words. “How could—”

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At my uncle’s funeral, my little sister addressed the mourners, her voice trembling for all to hear. “Mom was having an affair with Uncle Ben,” she sobbed. “My sister Sharon isn’t Dad’s real daughter. I wanted to keep this secret forever, but Mom, what you’ve done… it’s gone too far.” I’m Sharon. And it’s true; I’ve always been the spitting image of my uncle. My mother, her face a mask of agony, denied everything. But with Uncle Ben dead, there was no way to prove it. My father, in front of everyone, humiliated my mother. He was going to throw us out. I quietly took out my phone and started a live stream. The truth is always so much more brutal, and so much more entertaining, than a lie. 1 My mom stared at my sister, Mandy, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Mandy, why would you say that?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m your mother. How could you do this to me?” If I’m being honest, of the three of us kids, Mom always loved Mandy the most. It was a constant refrain in our house: “She’s the youngest. You’re the big brother and sister, you have to let her have her way.” So Mandy grew up as the family princess, spoiled rotten. Now, she cowered behind our father, tears streaming down her face. “Mom, I know you love me, and I love you, too! But you and Uncle Ben… you shouldn’t have done those things. And then you had Sharon.” She glanced at Dad. “Daddy loves me so much. I just couldn’t lie for you anymore.” “Every time Uncle Ben came over, you two would sneak off together. I was always too scared to say anything. But this time… you got him killed. I have to speak up now.” My aunt, Uncle Ben’s widow, lunged at my mother, screaming, held back by a crowd of relatives. My father’s hand cracked across my mother’s face. “You whore,” he snarled, his face contorted with rage. “How could you do this to me? You’re no better than an animal.” I rushed to shield my mom, and he kicked me so hard I crumpled to the floor. He pointed a shaking finger at my face. “You bastard!” Every eye in the room was on me. My uncle’s funeral portrait was right behind my head. The resemblance was uncanny. We looked like we were cast from the same mold. So no matter how vehemently my mother swore her innocence, no one believed her. Especially when the one accusing her was the daughter she had cherished for twenty years. Everyone believed Mandy. 2 “I wasted my life raising you,” my mother cried, pointing a trembling finger at Mandy. “I wasted all my love on you. I lost my son because of you, and this is how you repay me!” She collapsed onto the floor, shaking uncontrollably. To be betrayed by the child you treasure most… there is no greater pain. Ten years ago, Mandy fell into the river. My older brother, Leo, jumped in to save her. Mom jumped in, too. But Leo couldn’t swim. Soon, both he and Mandy were on the verge of drowning. As Mom hesitated, unsure who to save first, Leo, ever the little hero, sputtered, “Mom, save Mandy first! I’m a big boy, I can hold on.” Mom listened to him. She chose to save Mandy. But by the time she dragged Mandy to the shore, Leo was gone, swallowed by the river. His body surfaced two days later. The guilt nearly destroyed my mother. She’s suffered from insomnia ever since. She was on antidepressants and sleeping pills for eight years, only stopping in the last two. After that, with just the two of us girls left, a heavy cloud settled over our house. My father, busy with work, cried his eyes out for a week after Leo died, and then he threw himself back into his career. I never saw that grief in his eyes again. He even tried to comfort my mom. “It was an accident. Nobody wanted it to happen. But it did, and the living have to go on living. We still have two daughters. You can’t let this destroy your health.” My mom was a small business owner. She ran a chain of ten successful bakeries. After Leo’s death, she shut them all down. On the surface, she seemed to recover, but I knew she was still trapped on that riverbank. Her pillow was always dry at night and soaked by morning. For the last ten years, we’ve bought pillowcases by the dozen. But even in her deepest pain, she never once blamed Mandy. 3 She treated her just as she always had. At dinner, the best piece of chicken always went to Mandy first, and I got the smaller one. Eventually, because Mandy loved chicken wings so much, I didn’t even get the small ones anymore. One time, Mom secretly saved one for me. When Mandy found out, she cried for a day and a night, throwing a tantrum and accusing Mom of playing favorites. That evening, when Dad got home from work, he had to take her, and only her, out for McDonald’s to calm her down. Mom pulled me aside later. “Your sister’s young, she doesn’t know any better,” she whispered. “Just let her have her way. I’ll take you out for McDonald’s tomorrow, just us. I won’t let you feel left out.” Because of how I was raised, I grew up always giving in to her. But I’m only one year older than she is. “Mom, I’ve been a good daughter to you, too!” Mandy wailed now, her voice rising. “How can you blame me for what happened to Leo? You were the one who told us the river was shallow enough to play in! If you hadn’t said that, Leo wouldn’t have died, and I wouldn’t have almost died! You made me the scapegoat when I was little, and I let you. But I’m educated now. I know right from wrong. I have to tell the truth!” She grew more and more agitated, her performance for the crowd becoming more theatrical. “For all these years, I’ve had to walk on eggshells in this house! After what happened, Mom never loved me the same. Whenever her depression got bad, she’d either hit me or scream at me. One time, she even tried to push me down the stairs! I put up with it all. I told myself she still loved me. But there are two daughters in this house.” She shot me a venomous look. “And the way Mom treats Sharon is completely different. Sharon gets the lean meat, I get the fat. Sharon wears designer clothes, and I have to wear stuff from Shein! I don’t want to complain about it, but I’m your daughter, too! Why are you so biased?” And just like that, I understood why Mandy was dressed so… shabbily today. 4 A few days ago, she’d bought a $9.99 t-shirt, $15.99 black pants, and $19.99 canvas sneakers online. I’d asked her, “Why the sudden change in style? Buying such cheap clothes?” She just smiled sweetly. “Oh, I’m doing some volunteer work in a few days, sis. I don’t want to look too flashy.” Normally, nothing she wore cost less than five hundred dollars. Our family was well-off. My dad believed in raising his daughters to have the best, so he gave us each a $5,000 monthly clothing allowance. I usually saved most of mine, but Mandy blew through hers every single month. Last year, she transferred sixty thousand dollars from my account without my permission, all to buy clothes and shoes. That’s when I discovered that my dad was actually giving Mandy ten thousand a month, while I only got five. And that’s when I finally realized, with a sickening lurch, that my father treated us differently, too. My mom was devastated, unable to defend herself. The solution was simple: a DNA test would clear everything up instantly. I suggested it. But my father was resolute. “You’re the spitting image of your uncle. We don’t need a test. Your face is all the proof I need!” Mandy continued her tearful performance. “My aunt can’t have children. Uncle Ben wanted a child of his own, so he targeted Mom.” And because it was true that my uncle was childless, almost everyone believed her story. Under a barrage of dagger-like stares, I asked my father, “Are you sure you want to throw this family away?” 5 Dad’s eyes were practically bulging out of his head with rage. If people hadn’t been holding him back, he would have beaten me to a pulp. “Sharon is not my child. From now on, she has nothing to do with me. The house, the cars, the company—I built all of that myself. You two can get the hell out with nothing but the clothes on your backs.” His decision was final. I tried one last time. “Uncle Ben and Mom are siblings. Genetically, it’s normal for nieces and nephews to resemble their uncles. You can’t just listen to one side of the story and forget that Mom has been by your side through thick and thin. You know better than anyone how devoted she’s been to you and this family.” My mom once told me that when she and Dad were dating, my grandparents were dead set against it. He was an orphan. Marrying him meant no dowry, no big wedding, and no grandparents to help with the kids. I’ve seen pictures of my mom when she was young. She was beautiful. She could have had any man she wanted. When I was little, we were poor. Dad worked odd jobs while Mom woke up before dawn to make and sell tofu and bean sprouts. With her hard work, they saved up their first bit of money, and she gave it all to him to start his business. She said he was a brilliant man who just needed a chance. All these years later, her judgment was both spot-on and dead wrong. She thought she was happy. Her husband was still the same loving man, and they were financially secure. Just yesterday, my dad was washing her feet, calling her his “darling wife.” So this sudden, absolute betrayal from him left her more confused than anything. She just kept staring at him, her eyes blurring with tears that she stubbornly wiped away, again and again. Finally, her voice was a broken whisper. “David… I don’t even know who you are anymore.” My dad’s eyes were red with fury and disgust. “No, you’re the one who’s been fooling me for twenty years! You are the most vile, shameless woman I have ever known! There’s nothing more to say. I never want to see you again!” My grandparents rushed forward, pleading with my dad to calm down, to at least get through the funeral for my uncle’s sake, to not make such an ugly scene. My dad had a great reputation. He was known as an honest, hardworking, doting husband. He was always good to my grandparents. Everyone always said my mom had hit the jackpot. Today was the first time he’d ever lost his temper and hit his wife and child in public. So when this bomb dropped, everyone instinctively sided with him. “Fine,” my dad said magnanimously. “For the sake of the family we once were, I won’t make a scene here. But the divorce is happening.” He took Mandy’s hand and started to leave. I stopped him. “Since we’re airing our dirty laundry, we might as well get it all out.” I looked him straight in the eye. “You’re the one choosing to disown me. So from this moment on, you’re no longer my father. You’ve been waiting a long time for this day, haven’t you?” He glared at me, a look that said he wanted to kill me. I had already contacted a lawyer, hoping to handle this quietly, to minimize the damage. But now? Now I was ready to go to war with my own father. 6 My grandma immediately grabbed my arm. “Sharon, honey, don’t be rash. This isn’t the time or place. Please, no more fighting.” She almost stumbled, leaning on me heavily, her voice a desperate whisper. “Sharon, just apologize. You can’t let this family fall apart.” My grandpa chimed in. “Your father’s furious right now. You’re the child, you can’t be so stubborn.” They both assumed that even if he wasn’t my biological father, after twenty years of calling him Dad, there had to be some bond between us. My dad’s face was a cold, hard mask. “I am not her father! From this moment on, all ties are severed. She was never mine to begin with. I’m done being the fool!” I stared at his merciless face and said, word by word, “You’re right. You have been a fool for twenty years. And you have raised a child that isn’t yours. But that child isn’t me.” My aunt rushed forward to cover my mouth. “Silly girl, stop talking! Isn’t this embarrassing enough? This isn’t the right time. No matter what you’re going through, you need to bury your… your uncle first.” Even she believed my dad and Mandy. Her voice was thin and unconvincing. She tried to pull me away, but I wrenched my arm free. “Someone is going to be embarrassed today, but it’s not going to be me or my mother!” My aunt whispered urgently, “Stop being so stubborn! I know this is hard to accept, but you have to think about your mother! She’s seriously ill, her medical bills are going to be huge! You can’t let her divorce your father!” The relatives were split into two camps, one trying to calm my dad, the other trying to reason with me. But we’re both cut from the same stubborn cloth. Neither of us would back down. This had to be settled, right here, right now. Even my mom, heartbroken, tried to stop me. “Sharon, let it go. It’s no use. Your father won’t believe us. From now on, it will just be the two of us.” My mother is a kind soul. Even after Mandy had stabbed her in the heart, she couldn’t bear for me to expose Mandy’s true identity in front of everyone. 7 But I’m not my mother. I believe in an eye for an eye. I ignored her and pointed directly at Mandy. “You’re the bastard,” I spat. “You’re the one who doesn’t belong in this family. Did you really think I didn’t know?” My father was stunned. He never imagined I could possibly know the truth about Mandy. But he recovered quickly. “Your mother knows about Mandy,” he said, his voice full of self-righteousness. “Even if she’s not my biological child, she’s better than you! Your birth was a product of deceit and filth. Mandy is a victim of circumstance! You are nothing like her!” He was right. I wasn’t like her. She was the product of a love affair. I was the product of a conspiracy. My grandmother was frantic. “What is going on?!” My dad, with an air of noble sacrifice, addressed the crowd. “Mandy… my wife and I found her on the side of the road. We felt sorry for the poor child and took her in. We told everyone she was ours because we didn’t want her to be treated differently by family and friends. My conscience is clear on this matter!” Everyone looked at my mom, who was silent. They took her silence as confirmation. My grandmother stumbled over to my dad, grabbing his arm. “David, my dear boy, please, calm down. All these years, I’ve loved you like my own son. Let’s not even talk about whether this is true or not. You two have been married for so long, you’ve been a father to Sharon… please don’t say things you’ll regret.” My dad, ever the good guy, let his eyes redden. “Mom, I can tolerate anything else. But this… this humiliation, I can’t. She could have cheated with anyone! But with her own family—” He broke off, too ashamed to finish. He wasn’t the broke kid from years ago. He was a successful man with a reputation. Now that the secret was out, he wasn’t about to swallow his pride. His sister, my “aunt,” tried to mediate. “David, you were able to accept Mandy, who has no blood relation to you at all. Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive Sharon, too?” Meanwhile, other relatives were swarming my mom. “Catherine, stop crying! Go apologize to David! You’re family, there’s nothing you can’t get through.” “Catherine, you were in the wrong here. You need to be honest with him, beg for his forgiveness.” “Think about Sharon, if not yourself! You can’t let this family fall apart!” “Exactly! How will Sharon face the world after this? Catherine, don’t be stubborn. You’re not well. Now is the time to be humble.” Just then, the view count on my live stream shot past ten thousand. The comments were a torrent of abuse aimed at my mother. “This is insane. Worse than any soap opera.” “Look at how her own family is siding with the husband. That tells you everything you need to know about his character. What a thankless woman.” “Back in the day, women like her would have been run out of town on a rail.” “That poor girl, Sharon. Having a mother like that is the worst kind of luck.” My mother looked at my father and Mandy, her face a mask of bitter disappointment. “I have never done anything to betray you. The biggest regret of my life was picking Mandy up off the street and bringing her into our home.” Mandy just kept her head down, crying. “I know I shouldn’t have done this. I just didn’t want to see Dad get hurt anymore.” My father’s patience snapped. “Enough of this useless chatter. I’m having my assistant draft the divorce papers right now.”

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After I got pregnant, my husband became obsessed with his young, delicate secretary. On New Year’s Eve, he was in a private suite, “ringing in the new year” with his secretary, who was poured into a slinky red dress. When I burst in, she tilted her head back, displaying a constellation of angry red love bites on her pale neck. “Oh, Mrs. Brolin, don’t misunderstand! A new year is coming. I’m just helping Arthur cleanse all the bad luck for a fresh start.” My husband, irritated at the interruption, just grumbled. “You’re pregnant, you can’t satisfy me. I’m a normal man. I have needs, and Charlotte is just kind enough to help me out.” I was seven months pregnant. The shock sent a jolt through my body, and my water broke. The secretary sneered, accusing me of peeing my pants on purpose just to embarrass my husband. Furious at the humiliation, my husband locked me in the bathroom. He and his little secretary spent the next three days and nights together before he decided my punishment was over. But when he finally came home and saw my now-flat stomach, he lost his mind. 1 It was New Year’s Eve. My husband, Arthur Brolin, was out celebrating with his buddies. I, being pregnant, stayed home. As midnight approached, I received a text from him with an address. Wifey, I have a surprise for you. My heart filled with joy as I hailed a cab, my seven-month belly making the simple act of moving feel like a chore. I rushed to the exclusive club, imagining a sweet, romantic gesture. That bubble of happiness was instantly burst by a bucket of ice-cold reality. The private suite was a haze of expensive cigar smoke and the glittering chaos of a high-roller’s party. Arthur’s little secretary, Charlotte, was perched on his lap, her eyes hazy with desire, the tips of her ears flushed a deep red. She was a vision of pure, yet provocative, innocence. The veins on Arthur’s right hand bulged as he gripped her waist, her dress hiked up to her hips, one shoulder bare and gleaming. That red silk dress… it was a one-of-a-kind custom piece a famous designer had made for our wedding reception. A treasure. Now, he was using it as a prop for his sordid thrills. The sliver of Charlotte’s pale, slender waist was a knife twisting in my gut. “Arthur, darling, be gentle with me… a little slower,” she purred. “You little liar,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “You beg me for it five times a day, so why pretend to be so innocent now?” They kissed, a deep, tangled mess of limbs and lips, completely oblivious to the world around them. The others in the room didn’t even blink. I think I knew, then, who had really sent me that text. Arthur’s friends, each with a girl draped over them, watched the scene with amused, knowing smirks. One of them, Trevor, raised his glass. “Damn, that’s some killer New Year’s Eve battle armor, Charlotte. No wonder Arthur was willing to ditch the missus tonight.” Arthur tightened his grip on Charlotte’s waist, letting out a breathy chuckle. “You marry the respectable one, but you fuck the fun one. There are some things Josie just won’t do, so I have to find an outlet. I know where my priorities lie.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that still carried across the room. “Besides, since she got pregnant, Josie’s ballooned up. Honestly, it kills my appetite just looking at her. She’s got none of the fire that Charlotte has.” Charlotte’s manicured fingers traced circles on Arthur’s chest as she pouted playfully. “Arthur, you’re awful. What do you take me for? I’m a good girl, you know.” “Yes, yes, you are. Happy New Year, my darling girl.” Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a stunningly expensive diamond necklace, slipping it down the front of Charlotte’s messy dress. Her delighted giggles echoed in the suddenly quiet room. Someone joked, “Careful, Arthur. Aren’t you afraid Mrs. Brolin will find out and divorce you?” He just shrugged. “So what if she finds out? She loves me too much. Besides, where’s she gonna go, pregnant with my kid?” Their filthy flirtations resumed, punctuated by the cheers of his friends. “Arthur Brolin, you’re the fucking man!” My stomach churned, a wave of nausea washing over me. My face as pale as a ghost, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. My arrival shattered the laughter. Arthur quickly grabbed a jacket from the sofa and draped it over Charlotte’s shoulders. The irony was so thick I could taste it. I clenched my fists, my voice shaking with rage. “What’s the matter? She’s brave enough to ride you in front of a crowd, but you’re afraid to let her show a little shoulder?” “Don’t talk like that,” he snapped. “She’s a young girl. Have some decency.” Charlotte, now safely shielded by my husband, shot me a defiant look. “We’re just ringing in the new year, Josie. Out with the old, in with the new. You should try to understand.” The others scrambled to smooth things over, shooting me pleading looks, begging me to let Arthur save face. “Josie, we were just playing Truth or Dare! Things got a little wild, we’ve all had a bit too much to drink. We’ll do three shots right now to apologize. Just forgive Arthur, okay?” 2 I didn’t move. I didn’t say a word. Arthur’s face darkened with displeasure, his tone laced with blame. “What are you doing here? I told you to stay home and rest.” It felt like a thousand tiny needles were pricking my heart. I couldn’t believe this was the same man who had joyfully helped me decorate the nursery, who was now shielding another woman while spewing venom at me. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood before I could speak. “Arthur, you’re the one who said it. A cheater deserves to die a horrible death.” His expression turned ugly. “Watch your mouth, Josie. Charlotte and I are just… scratching an itch. You’ve let yourself go since you got pregnant. The fact that I can even stand to sleep next to you is a testament to my patience.” “Besides,” he scoffed, “in our circle, who doesn’t have someone on the side? At least I plan on coming back home to you after the baby’s born.” I cradled my belly, a wave of despair and fury rising within me. Pregnancy had inevitably made me gain weight, my legs swelling until they looked like carrots. I suffered from excruciating leg cramps in the middle of the night and was tormented by morning sickness that kept me awake for hours. My once-smooth skin had become rough and sallow. Arthur’s initial sympathy had curdled into impatience. He started “working late” every night. The disgust in his eyes whenever he glanced at the angry purple stretch marks on my stomach was impossible to miss. For the sake of our child, I pretended not to see it. I kept telling myself, it’ll be better once the baby is born. But how could he use the suffering I endured for him, for our child, as a weapon to belittle me? I shouldn’t have to stay with a monster for the sake of a child. “Arthur,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Let’s get a divorce.” His condescending smirk froze on his face. His voice held a note of absolute certainty. “Divorce? You’re pregnant with my child. Where would you go? As long as you two can get along, the title of Mrs. Brolin will always be yours.” Seeing the shattered look on my face, he softened his tone, as if speaking to a difficult pet. “Be a good girl, Josie. I promise you, the only Brolin heir will come from your belly.” Charlotte squirmed on his lap, feigning discontent. “Arthur, darling, don’t make Josie angry because of me. She’s carrying your child, after all!” He gave her slender waist a sharp squeeze. “That woman doesn’t get to be difficult. She’s the one being overly dramatic.” Watching these two dogs flirt shamelessly in front of me, I couldn’t control the violent spasms in my stomach. “Retch… hork…” The contents of my stomach sprayed outwards, hitting Arthur and Charlotte, who were closest to me. Charlotte, in particular, was covered. The expensive jacket was drenched in foul-smelling vomit. Her eyes turned red. She tore off the jacket and screamed, “You bitch! Did you do that on purpose?!” My own rage erupted. I slapped her hard across the face. “Who are you calling a bitch?” She shrieked and shoved me with all her might. “Arthur, you have to stand up for me! This was my New Year’s dress! She ruined it!” A waiter rushed over with hot towels. Arthur shot me a warning look. “Josie. That’s enough.” The shove had sent me off-balance. My heavy, cumbersome body crashed to the floor. I struggled to get up, my movements clumsy and pathetic, a source of amusement for the onlookers. “Hey Arthur,” one of them snickered. “Doesn’t Josie look like a turtle on its back, trying to get up?” “A fat turtle! Hahaha!” Tears stung my eyes. Before I could even process the humiliation, a sharp, cramping pain shot through my abdomen. A warm gush of fluid flooded out from between my legs. I looked down. A large, dark patch was spreading across the plush carpet beneath me. Oh no… Instinctively, I cried out to Arthur for help. “Arthur! Get me to a hospital, now!” “My water just broke…” 3 The words sobered Arthur up instantly. He scrambled to his feet, a flash of pity and regret in his eyes. “Josie, don’t be scared. I’ll take you to the hospital right now.” But then Charlotte’s voice, dripping with saccharine malice, cut through the air. “I’m so jealous of you, Josie. No matter what lies you tell, Arthur will always believe you without a second thought.” Arthur shook off the pale, slender hands that were wrapped around his waist, his voice like ice. “Get off me. If anything happens to my wife, you’ll be the one I hold responsible.” Shoved aside, Charlotte draped herself dramatically over the sofa. Undeterred, she used her red-stockinged foot to rub against his leg. “Arthur, darling, can’t you see? Josie was just so worked up she peed her pants.” “She’s only seven months along. It’s not her due date. How could her water have broken?” His friends clicked their tongues and shook their heads, their disgust palpable. “I heard pregnant women often lose control of their bladder. I guess it’s true.” “Can’t even control her own piss. No wonder Arthur needed to find a new plaything.” Arthur’s motion to pick me up halted. He let out a long breath, and the momentary concern on his face was replaced by a wave of furious embarrassment. He grabbed a throw pillow and hurled it at my head. “Disgusting! To get my attention, you’d resort to any cheap trick, wouldn’t you?!” “No, it’s not a trick! I’m really in labor! My stomach hurts so much…” He watched me writhe on the floor, his eyes cold, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “A very convincing performance. If Charlotte hadn’t pointed it out, I might have actually fallen for it.” Charlotte’s eyes danced with glee. She threw herself into his arms, cooing, “Hmph. I’m your smartest little secretary, aren’t I?” The pain was so intense my voice trembled. “Help me… the baby… save the baby… Please, someone, call an ambulance.” Trevor let out a derisive snort. “Wow, Josie’s really committed to the bit. Pissing all over the floor and now she wants to waste medical resources.” Charlotte added fuel to the fire. “Imagine if word got out that Mrs. Brolin wet herself in public. What would that do to your reputation, Arthur? Josie, you’re being so thoughtless.” The thick cigarette smoke in the room made my head spin. A chilling realization washed over me. No one was going to help me. Ignoring the searing pain in my belly, I gritted my teeth and began to crawl toward my handbag a few feet away. My phone was in there. I could save myself. The sound of their laughter followed me, a chorus of mockery. “Damn, Arthur, your wife’s acting is top-notch. She deserves an Oscar!” “Maybe you should go comfort her, man! If she keeps pissing, she’s going to ruin the whole party.” Sweat poured down my face, soaking the hair at my temples. I ignored the taunts of the scum around me and finally, my fingers brushed against my purse. I fumbled inside, my hand closing around my phone. Just as my trembling finger was about to press the call button, Arthur’s shoe came down hard on my hand, kicking the phone across the room. “Enough! Are you insane? It’s New Year’s Eve, and you’re trying to harass emergency responders.” The pain was blinding. I curled into a ball on the floor. “I’m really in labor. The baby’s only seven months… it’s dangerous. This is your child, too. Please, let me go to the hospital…” An unnatural, violent pain ripped through my stomach. I wasn’t sure if I’d landed on the baby when I fell. For the sake of the life inside me, I swallowed my pride. I reached out and grabbed the hem of his pants, my voice a pathetic whisper. “Give me my phone. I’ll call the ambulance myself. I’m begging you…” “This is your own flesh and blood.”

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On my wedding day, my fiancé left me at the altar, announcing he had already married Stella. As the crowd’s laughter echoed around me, my childhood friend, Oscar, knelt with a diamond ring, his voice thick with emotion as he begged me to marry him instead. Moved to my core, I nodded. Seven months into my pregnancy, I was in a car accident. Oscar, a surgeon, operated on me himself. When I woke up, he told me the baby didn’t make it. And that I could never have children again. I was shattered. Oscar held me, his own tears streaming down his face, blaming himself for not protecting me and vowing to love me forever. But six years later, I accidentally received a recording of a phone call between him and a colleague: “Oscar, you did all that for Stella… faked her pregnancy certificate, staged a car crash just to make Mia go into early labor, and then gave her your own child. Do you have any regrets?” “Stella can’t have children. You expect me to just stand by and watch her future in-laws torment her? My only regret is that the baby was a girl. If it had been a boy, her position in that family would be unshakable.” All this time, I thought I had found true love. It was nothing but a meticulously crafted lie. … The sound of the shower was a steady hum from the bathroom. Oscar was washing away the day. In my ears, the recording played on. “But that was a huge risk. What if the crash hadn’t just induced labor? What if it had killed them both?” “It wouldn’t have. Stella and I spent months testing it. We ran simulations, hired people to stage crashes on junker cars, over and over.” The colleague’s voice was tinged with a strange sort of pity. “But Mia… they had to remove her uterus because of the accident. She can never have a child now. She wanted a baby so badly, and she loves you so much… Couldn’t you have just adopted one for Stella?” “No. It had to be my own. I wouldn’t trust a stranger’s child to love Stella properly.” “Have you ever thought about what you’ll do if Mia finds out?” A long pause from Oscar. Then, a heavy sigh. “She won’t. I’ll make sure of it. But if that day ever comes…I’m prepared to spend the rest of my life making it up to her.” The recording clicked off, plunging the room into silence. I clamped a hand over my mouth, a choked sob escaping my lips. Tears streamed, hot and uncontrolled, down my face as a chill that had nothing to do with the night air seeped into my bones, starting at my scalp and freezing me all the way to my toes. I never could have dreamed it. While I was cherishing the new life growing inside me, the husband I adored was plotting with another woman to steal her away. The profound love I thought he felt for me was just a calculated move to protect the woman he truly loved. He only proposed to me to stop me from going after my ex-fiancé, Julian, and disrupting Stella’s newfound happiness. I remember him placing the tiny, shrouded body of an infant in my arms, his voice breaking as he apologized, telling me our child was gone. I thought his heart was breaking with mine. But all along, he had already given our daughter to Stella, a pawn to secure her status in Julian’s wealthy family. What, then, was all my guilt? All my years of silent, gnawing pain? “Mia?” Oscar’s startled voice came from behind me. He saw the tear tracks on my face and rushed toward me, his knee catching the sharp corner of the bedframe. Blood instantly welled, but he ignored it, scrambling to pull me into his arms. “Mia, what’s wrong? What did I do? Did I upset you?” I carefully, deliberately, extracted myself from his embrace. “It’s nothing. I was just watching a movie. The ending was really sad.” Oscar pulled me back against him, a relieved sigh escaping his lips. A light chuckle followed. “You scared me to death. You really need to stop watching those tragedies. We’re not like them. I’m going to make you happy for the rest of your life.” His words used to feel like the sweetest honey. Now, they were just bitter poison. “Your knee is bleeding. I’ll get the first-aid kit and some milk.” Oscar never slept well. I’d read somewhere that warm milk helps, so no matter how late he worked, I always got up to heat a glass for him. “Okay. You’re the best, Mia. From now on, only comedies, alright? Hearing you laugh is the only thing that makes my life feel meaningful.” As I stood, another tear escaped and traced a cold path down my cheek. So, love could be faked. It could be a performance. And I was the fool who had been applauding in the front row for six years, never once seeing through the act. I quietly dissolved a small piece of a sleeping pill into his milk. After he drank it, Oscar fell into a deep, untroubled sleep. As I began searching for any other evidence, his phone, left on the nightstand, began to vibrate violently, the screen flashing with an insistent light. I’d always known he had special, high-priority alerts set up. He’d always said they were for his colleagues at the hospital, that he couldn’t risk missing an emergency call, a patient in need. But now, a cold certainty settled in my heart. I used his thumb to unlock the phone. Just as I suspected, a new voice message from Stella. I pressed play. It wasn’t her voice, but the high, lilting lisp of a little girl. “Daddy, Mommy wanted me to tell you that she loves the dove’s-egg diamond necklace you gave her!” My hand clenched around the phone, my entire body trembling. That voice… was that my daughter? Forcing myself to remain calm, I started scrolling through their chat history. The more I read, the colder I became. After Stella and Julian humiliated me at my own wedding, I cut off all contact with them. I’d only heard vaguely that after Stella discovered she was pregnant, Julian had sent her to the States to rest and be cared for. He was too busy with work to be with her constantly, but they’d filled social media with their long-distance romance until she returned home after the baby was born. During those same months, while I was wasting away from grief, so thin I looked like a skeleton, so lost in my pain I didn’t want to be a burden on Oscar, he was using “business trips” as an excuse to fly to America. To visit Stella. Oscar was a surgeon. I always believed his hands were for holding scalpels, for healing, for saving lives. I never let him touch a dish or a piece of laundry. But in the photos on his phone, there he was, wearing an apron, clumsily but earnestly simmering soup for Stella, not even flinching when he burned his fingers. He cooked for her. Did her laundry. Walked with her and the baby under the warm glow of a setting sun. In one photo, Stella’s head rested on his shoulder. They looked like a perfect, happy family. There were countless photos and videos like this, an unbroken chain of conversation stretching back six years. Not a single day was missed. And Oscar always, always replied instantly. No wonder he never let his phone out of his sight, even taking it into the shower. It wasn’t just to hide it from me. It was so he’d never miss a message from her. I had dreamed a thousand times of watching my child grow, step by step. I just never imagined I’d be watching as an outsider, a ghost in her life. And then I saw it. The message from Oscar that shattered what was left of my world. “Stella, Mia just delivered the baby. I’ll bring her to you soon. You can be a mother now.” Then what about me? I can never be a mother again. Wiping the tears from my face, I called my friend, a lawyer. “I need a divorce agreement. Get it ready for me by tomorrow.” “And that translator job you mentioned to me a while back? I’ll take it. I’ll be in France in five days to start.” Oscar, since you love Stella so much, I’ll grant you your wish. The next morning, Oscar woke up, mumbling about how quickly he’d fallen asleep. He nuzzled my neck affectionately. “Mia, I’m sorry. I’ve just been so tired lately. I didn’t mean to pass out on you.” “I’m heading to work,” he said, kissing my cheek. “Tonight, we’ll go to Mom’s birthday dinner, and when we get back, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” He used to say things like that, and I’d blush and playfully call him shameless. Now, after seeing the torrent of affection and sweet nothings he poured out for Stella, his words just made me feel sick. After Oscar left, I went to the law firm. As I walked out with the divorce papers in my hand, my friend’s words echoed in my mind. “Getting your daughter back won’t be easy, Mia. She’s legally registered as Julian and Stella’s child. They’re her legal guardians.” “You’ll need a DNA test, either from you or Oscar. And even then, it will come down to whether the child wants to go with you.” I never even saw my baby after the accident. I had nothing of hers to use for a DNA test. My only option was Oscar. When I arrived at the hospital, the nurse at the front desk gave me a dismissive look. “Dr. Chen isn’t here. He’s downstairs on the playground with his wife and daughter.” “His… wife?” “Yeah. We’ve all seen her. She’s gorgeous, and her figure is incredible. They make a perfect couple.” A few other young nurses overheard and swarmed around, their faces alight with gossip. “Totally! His wife is always decked out in designer clothes, the limited-edition stuff. I heard Dr. Chen buys it all for her. The other day, I saw him give her a pink diamond the size of a dove’s egg. He spoils her rotten. I’m so jealous.” “The wife is stunning, and their daughter is adorable, like a little porcelain doll. How is anyone else supposed to compete with a family that perfect?” One of them finally turned to me, her eyes sweeping over my simple clothes with disdain. “And who are you, anyway? Don’t tell me you’ve got ideas about our Dr. Chen. I’ve seen plenty of delusional female patients like you. Do yourself a favor and take a good look in the mirror. He and his wife are deeply in love.” Their contemptuous stares made me feel small. I nervously tugged at the hem of my shirt, a bitter taste rising in my throat. Oscar rarely let me come to his hospital. And when I did, he never introduced me as his wife. He said the nurses were gossips who loved to stir up trouble, and he didn’t want me to be the subject of their talk. He never bought me designer labels or massive diamonds either. He said such things were too flashy, that they didn’t suit the pure, simple image I held in his heart. All excuses. I saw that now. I found him on the ground floor. Stella was standing beside him, her arm linked through his, as they watched the children playing in the hospital’s private playground. “Oscar,” Stella murmured, “are you sure Julian doesn’t suspect anything?” “He doesn’t. Ever since we had Lily, he’s been even more devoted to me. He treats me like a queen, buys me anything I want. He holds me tight when we sleep and calls me his treasure. He kisses me when he leaves for work and when he comes home… He’s nothing like the ruthless CEO everyone thinks he is. Oscar… thank you. For everything.” Oscar was silent for a moment, then a sour, pained smile touched his lips. “As long as you’re happy, I’d do anything.” Just then, a little girl in a frilly princess dress came running toward them, launching herself into Oscar’s arms. “Daddy! Mommy! I’m hungry!” She tilted her head, her bright, curious eyes landing on me. “Huh? Who’s this lady?” Only then did Oscar notice I was there. He quickly handed Lily to Stella, his expression a mask of awkwardness. “Mia! What are you doing here?” “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he stammered. “This is Stella’s daughter. I… I just thought she was so cute, I became her godfather.” Stella offered me a saccharine smile, her eyes gleaming with unconcealed triumph. “That’s right, Mia. Lily’s still little, she doesn’t quite understand the ‘godfather’ thing, so she just calls him Daddy. Please don’t be upset.” It was the same condescending expression, the same false sweetness she’d used at my wedding, all those years ago. She had stood there, clinging to Julian’s arm, saying the exact same thing: “Mia, Julian just loves me so much. Please don’t be upset.” Rage boiled up inside me. I raised my hand to slap her, but two hands shot out and grabbed my wrist. Oscar’s and Julian’s. Both of them, shielding Stella. That was the day Oscar had proposed to me in front of everyone, turning my day of humiliation into a wedding. But he didn’t love me. He just couldn’t stand the thought of me causing a scene and embarrassing Stella. Oscar pulled me away, making sure there was a safe distance between me and Stella and Lily. “Mia, is something wrong?” I tore my gaze away from Lily, my heart aching. “No… I just wanted to ask you what we should get your mom for her birthday tonight.” “Oh, is that all?” He sounded relieved. “Whatever you think is best, Mia. You always have the best taste.” He noticed the folder in my hand. “What’s that?” I took a breath. “Oscar, I need to talk to you. I want to… Can you give me L—” “Oscar, my stomach hurts,” Stella called out, cutting me off. “Can you come hold Lily for me?” Oscar didn’t hesitate. He rushed back to her side. “I told you not to drink that iced tea. It’s your time of the month, why can’t you listen, you big baby?” He glanced back at me over his shoulder. “Mia, you head home first. I’ll take care of Stella, it’s not easy for her with the kid. We’ll see you at the hotel tonight.” Of course. He remembered everything about Stella. That evening, I had just arrived at the hotel when Oscar walked in with Stella and Lily in tow.

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1 Everyone in Silver Creek whispered the same story: Cecilia Newman, heiress to a fortune, had only settled for me, for this gilded cage of a marriage, because she couldn’t have her first love, Leo. I paid the rumors no mind. I believed that true devotion could move mountains. One afternoon, Cecilia called to say the Alaskan king crab she’d ordered for me had just arrived at the airport, and she was going to pick it up herself. My heart swelled. I pulled out the steamer and the good silverware, happily anticipating her return. But the crab never came. Instead, a call came from St. Jude’s Hospital. “Are you the husband of Cecilia Newman? The car she was in with a male companion crashed into a guardrail on the overpass. They’re both unconscious. Please come to the hospital immediately.” My hands trembled as I logged into her car’s dashcam app. The footage was harrowing. After the airbags deployed, I saw her force her eyes open, her voice a ragged whisper. “If I die,” she breathed, “I voluntarily bequeath all my personal assets to Leo.” I rushed to the hospital. Cecilia was lying in bed, a plaster cast immobilizing her neck, lost in a drugged sleep. The doctor pulled me aside, warning me to be especially careful with the left side of her cervical spine, which had sustained the most severe damage. He theorized that in the instant before the crash, she must have wrenched the wheel hard to the right, instinctively shielding her passenger. I remembered when she’d won a championship racing trophy, she’d boasted to me, “In my car, nothing will ever hurt you.” But I hadn’t been in the passenger seat. “Leo…” The name was a faint sigh on her lips, a ghost from her unconscious mind. Her “last will and testament” echoed in my head, a cold wave of disappointment washing over me. When she finally opened her eyes and saw me, the flicker of worry in them vanished. “I couldn’t bring the crab back for you,” she said flatly. Before I could respond, as if my answer didn’t matter, her voice sharpened with urgency. “Julian, the man who was with me… how is he?” “The doctor said he’s fine. ‘Well-protected,’ thanks to you. Just a few scrapes on his arm.” She caught the ice in my tone. “Julian, don’t overthink this. Leo is my assistant. This was a work-related accident, and it’s my responsibility to make sure he’s okay.” Just then, Leo himself appeared at the door. “Cece!” He rushed to her bedside, grabbing her hand. His voice was thick with emotion. “I thought I’d never see you again… I was so worried.” “Oh, Leo, I’m alright.” A blush crept up her cheeks. “Your arm is hurt, you shouldn’t be walking around. I’ll be fine, and you have to be, too.” She gently guided him to sit on the edge of her bed. Then, she turned to me, her tone shifting from gentle concern to brisk command. “Julian, go talk to the hospital administrator. I want Leo’s bed moved in here. I… I have work to discuss, and it’s more convenient this way.” “This is a private VIP room,” I said, my brow furrowed as I watched them. “The monitoring equipment is set up for one patient. How can they add another bed?” Leo looked up, feigning surprise. “Oh, Mr. Quinn, you’re here…” He shook his head at Cecilia. “Cece, I’ll be fine in my own room. I don’t want to be a bother.” “No, it’s no bother at all!” she insisted, a playful pout on her lips. “They can bring in more equipment. I won’t rest easy unless you’re where I can see you.” She looked back at me. “Julian, go handle Leo’s admission paperwork and pay for it. My phone was smashed in the crash.” “There’s no need to trouble Mr. Quinn,” Leo said, a hint of pride in his eyes. He always believed my family’s business was propped up by the Newmans, and his disdain for me was palpable. “Just transfer me the funds for the hospital bill. I can handle it myself.” He held out his phone. “Mr. Quinn, you can scan my code to add me.” As he extended his hand, the silver cross hanging from a chain around his neck caught the light, and the sight was like a needle in my eye. It was the same design Cecilia had admired on our trip to Bali. She had bought the women’s version right in front of me. I never imagined she had secretly bought the men’s version for him. I transferred him the money. As I did, I noticed a red dot on his social media profile, indicating a new post. I clicked on it. It was a video, taken right after the crash. Cecilia, unconscious, was cradled in his arms. The caption read: “Surviving the crash with the love of my life in my arms. What a blessing to finally have my lost love back.” Beneath it, a flood of likes and comments from our mutual friends, offering their concern and their congratulations. So they all knew. Everyone knew but me. I scrolled down. On every date Cecilia had told me she was on a “business trip,” Leo’s feed was updated with pictures: sprawling ocean-view suites, champagne and candlelight, bathtubs filled with white rose petals, and the unmistakable, angry red love bites on Cecilia’s neck. I closed my eyes, steadying myself against a wave of nausea. I walked out of the room and dialed my assistant. “Marcus,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Start pulling our capital out of Newman Industries. Prepare to sever all ties.” 2 Our families had been intertwined for years, our business empires woven together. It would take time to untangle everything. Once it was done, I would vanish from Cecilia’s world for good. When I returned to the room, Cecilia’s friends had arrived. They were clustered around her and Leo, laughing and teasing. Cecilia was taking small, delicate bites of porridge that Leo was feeding her with his own hand. Someone nudged their friend, smirking. “You’ve gotta hand it to Julian. The man is incredibly magnanimous.” The comment drew a round of snickers. Another chimed in, praising Cecilia. “Honestly, our Cece is an icon. A queen with her king at home and a prince on the side. We should all be taking notes.” Cecilia’s face was flushed, and Leo’s expression was one of pure devotion. They were the perfect picture of a loving couple. Even the nurses at the station were whispering excitedly. “I always heard Mr. and Mrs. Newman’s marriage was the real deal, a true love match. Seeing it in person… it’s so sweet.” “You don’t know the half of it! It was a marriage of giants, sure, but the Quinn family’s business is in downstream materials—not exactly glamorous. But she was crazy about him! She bought him a whole island in the Atlantic, named it ‘Quinn Isle’ after him, and had ships bring in enough white roses to cover the entire thing for their fairytale wedding! It was the most romantic thing ever!” At that wedding, Cecilia had declared to the world that I was the love of her life. The language of white roses is “I am worthy of you.” I always thought she did it to silence the rumors that my family was leeching off hers, that I was some sort of kept husband. I thought it was her way of showing the world her love for me. It wasn’t until I saw the bouquet of fresh white roses by Leo’s bedside—undoubtedly meant for her—that the truth hit me. It was never about me. White roses were simply the flowers Leo loved to give her. Finally, someone shattered the cloying fantasy. “Julian, you’re here,” said Nancy, one of Cecilia’s friends, spotting me by the door. I gave a curt nod. The nurses at the door realized they’d been fawning over the wrong leading man and scattered in embarrassment. Leo paused with the spoon halfway to Cecilia’s mouth. She pouted, her disappointment obvious. “Julian, Cece is just so crazy about you,” Nancy said, trying to smooth things over. “Yesterday, she specifically told me to go pick up the Alaskan king crab you love from the airport.” She shot Cecilia a look, as if expecting praise for her quick thinking. But Cecilia’s expression only grew more rigid. “I… I heard there was a problem at the office on my way, so I asked Nancy to pick it up instead,” she lied. Then, looking at me, she added coolly, “Julian, I trust you can distinguish between what’s important and what isn’t.” Yesterday, I was consumed with guilt, blaming myself for her getting into an accident while fetching crab for me. Today, I learned that her “important business” was a date with Leo. She had lied to my face. “Do you remember the vows we made at our wedding?” I asked her, my voice low. Her brow furrowed in annoyance. “Julian, don’t make a scene. The quarterly settlement is coming up.” It was a veiled threat. The Quinn family operated as a downstream supplier to the Newman conglomerate. On paper, our accounts always showed a loss. Every quarter, my father-in-law would have Cecilia transfer a large sum to us as a “subsidy.” Cecilia always believed she was plugging the leaks in my family’s failing business. She never denied the rumors that the Quinns were parasites, sucking the Newman empire dry. Except it was all a charade. It was only after my father passed away and I took full control of the company that I understood the game my father and hers had been playing. A game, it seemed, that Mr. Newman had never bothered to explain to his own daughter. “Tch, the third wheel who stole another man’s love has some nerve, putting on airs like that. Pathetic.” One of Leo’s friends spoke just loud enough for the whole room to hear. Every head swiveled in my direction. “All I know,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence, “is that the man with a government-stamped marriage certificate to Cecilia Newman is me. So who, exactly, is the third wheel here? Leo?” Leo’s face flushed with humiliation. Cecilia’s heart immediately went out to him. “That’s enough!” she snapped. “Are you all here to visit me or to cause trouble? Get out! All of you!” As the room cleared, I turned to leave as well, unwilling to be part of this farce any longer. “Julian,” Cecilia called out, her lips pursed. “I have an IV drip this afternoon. Aren’t you going to stay with me?” She had a history of allergic reactions. I used to stay by her side through every single infusion, terrified something might happen. “Will you be short on company?” I asked without turning back, and walked out the door. Leo followed me into the hallway, blocking my path. “Julian, you know Cecilia and I have history. Are you really content being my replacement?” Cecilia and I were supposed to have been the perfect match. Childhood friends from families of equal standing. Our parents were always creating opportunities for us to be together. 3 As a child, I was quiet and reserved, while Cecilia was a blazing sun, brimming with a fierce sense of justice. When a bully at school tore up my textbooks, she slapped him clean across the face and then made it her mission to hunt him down and slap him again every day for the rest of the semester. Though she was a girl, she was drawn to high-octane thrills like car racing. For every race, she insisted I wait for her at the finish line. A track without me at the end, she’d say, was meaningless. But then, the Newman family caught a wave of fortune and soared, becoming the most powerful dynasty in Silver Creek. Suddenly, Cecilia and I were no longer a perfect match. Her parents began to subtly steer our paths apart, transferring her to the international division of our school. They wanted a more prestigious fiancé for her, someone from a truly noble lineage. That person was Leo. Cecilia, rebellious to her core, resisted. With fifty pounds of bone in her body, forty-nine were pure defiance. Leo, at the time a spoiled scion himself, had no interest in the girl who fought him at every turn. On the surface, they were like fire and water. But a knot of unease tightened in my chest. I saw it in her eyes—a stubborn, obsessive need to win. It was the beginning of her fascination with him. Then, Leo’s family went bankrupt. His father vanished, and Leo plummeted from grace, hounded by debt collectors on the streets. When Cecilia heard the news, she grabbed a suitcase full of cash and stormed into some back-alley clinic to rescue him. From that day on, the love story of Cecilia Newman and Leo became the stuff of legend in our circle. Girls swooned over the fallen prince who had won the heart of Silver Creek’s wealthiest heiress, proclaiming that his good fortune was destined to return. To be honest, I envied him too. But the chasm between Cecilia’s status and Leo’s destitution was too vast. Their story was doomed from the start. As their romance reached a fever pitch, Cecilia’s mother summoned Leo. She made it clear that she would never allow her daughter to marry a man drowning in debt. But, she offered to pay off the remainder of his liabilities on one condition: he had to disappear from Cecilia’s life forever. Leo took the deal. He vanished, reappearing somewhere across the ocean. Cecilia searched for him like a woman possessed. When she couldn’t find him, she sank into a deep depression and finally acquiesced to a family-arranged marriage. “As long as it’s not Leo,” she told her friends, “it doesn’t matter who I marry.” In the end, she chose me. I knew why. Of all the candidates, she knew me best. She believed I would never vanish, that I could offer her the security she craved. Her family, scarred by the Leo debacle, quickly agreed that the Quinns were a safe, respectable choice. And because I loved her, I had no regrets. In my youthful ignorance, I truly believed that devotion could conquer all. At our fairytale wedding, we took our vows, promising to be honest with each other, to never deceive. But now, Leo was back. And Cecilia had broken her promise. A replacement? For the first few years of our marriage, we were like most couples in arranged unions: polite, respectful, and living separate lives, though we were both faithful. The tabloids were ruthless. Microphones shoved in my face. “Mr. Quinn, your company’s latest financial reports show another year of losses! Is it true that Mrs. Newman has to bail you out every year?” “Mr. Quinn, what’s your response to the rumors that you willingly serve as a stand-in for your wife’s first love, all to leech off the Newman empire?” Cecilia would always rush to my defense, shielding me from the flashing cameras. “Julian is the husband I chose with my own heart,” she would declare. “Anyone who dares to slander us again can expect a letter from my lawyer.” In those moments, I felt safe. One night, she came into my bedroom, dizzy from too much wine. “Do you know who I am?” I asked, catching her wandering hands. “My husband, of course,” she murmured, her eyes shimmering in the dark. “Julian, what a silly question.” Her hand rested on my chest. “You didn’t answer the reporters’ questions today,” I said, my heart hammering. I clenched my fists, deciding to be brave, just this once. “Are you still in love with Leo?” She nuzzled against me like a kitten. “Of course not. That’s all in the past.” I could no longer contain the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface. I claimed her that night, fiercely, desperately. After that, something shifted. We became like any other couple. Cecilia started paying attention to my daily life, my every move. The delayed affection burned all the hotter, as if trying to make up for five years of missed opportunities. She knew I loved crab, so every autumn, she’d fly with me to a five-star Michelin restaurant in Alaska. She promised we’d return every year, no matter how busy we were. She even gave up racing, because I told her I couldn’t bear even the million-to-one chance of losing her. Was all of that just a reward for being a good stand-in? My thoughts snapped back to the present. Leo was still blocking my way in the hospital corridor. I shoved him aside impatiently. “Garbage belongs in the trash.”

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My husband’s childhood sweetheart got blackout drunk one night and ended up with a stranger. When she resurfaced, she was pregnant, just like me. On the day I gave birth, my husband, Sebastian, handed me divorce papers. “Amanda is planning her comeback,” he said. “I have to give her and the child a proper family. If this scandal gets out, the public will destroy her.” Dragging my weakened body, I calmly signed the papers. In my past life, I had refused to step aside. I went live on social media, holding our infant daughter, and accused the award-winning actress Amanda Shaw of knowingly being the other woman. The public crucified her. She lost every endorsement, and the crushing weight of the breach-of-contract penalties drove her to suicide. Sebastian handled her funeral with a quiet composure. But afterward, he allowed her fans to harass me on the street, to throw things at me, and eventually, to set fire to our home, trying to burn me and our child alive. It was only when I saw him lock the door from the outside that I finally understood: he wanted me dead. I open my eyes again, and I’m back on the day he hands me the divorce papers. 1. Because she was premature, my daughter, Annie, was taken to the NICU incubator the moment she was born. And that’s when Sebastian handed me the divorce papers. “You know Amanda was a top-tier actress before… all this,” he said, his voice flat. “These ten months off have already killed her career momentum. If a scandal about her having a child out of wedlock breaks now, the online mob will tear her apart.” I had just clawed my way back from death’s door; the slightest movement sent searing pain through my stitches. To be reborn on this day… it meant fate was giving me a second chance. “Fine, I’ll sign,” I said, my voice raspy. “But first, you get our daughter a birth certificate. And I want a settlement.” Sebastian had clearly rehearsed a speech to counter the hysterics he’d been expecting. Hearing my calm acceptance, he let out a visible sigh of relief. “Of course. A hundred thousand dollars. Is that enough?” Sebastian was a billionaire, yet he was offering me a pittance. I gripped the bedsheet. I knew asking for more was pointless; he wouldn’t give it. I could only nod. He took care of the certificate. I verified it and signed the papers. With the agreement in hand, Sebastian left without a second glance at our child, eager to run to Amanda’s side. The room next door was filled with laughter and celebration. But I had no parents, and now, no husband. I was utterly alone. Two days later, Annie was out of the incubator. I bundled both of us up, preparing to go home. On the way, I got a call from his secretary. “Miss Quinn, please remember to share the company’s official press release.” The divorce wasn’t even finalized, yet I was no longer worthy of being called “Mrs. Hayes.” To give Amanda a graceful entrance, Sebastian had instructed me to state that our marriage ended due to “irreconcilable differences.” I agreed without hesitation, but my phone was dying. I decided to post it when I got home. When I walked into the villa, I called for the maids to close the windows, but no one answered. As I carried Annie to the nursery, I overheard them whispering in the kitchen. “The nerve of her, bringing another man’s bastard back to this house.” “Mr. Hayes is too soft on her. He doesn’t even press charges, and instead of being grateful, she’s trying to use that brat to get his money!” I froze, a cold sweat breaking out on my back despite the thick layers of clothing. Irreconcilable differences? Why were they saying I cheated? “What are you talking about?” I demanded, pushing open the kitchen door. The maids, who had always respectfully called me “Ma’am,” looked up at me with open contempt. The head maid, Mrs. Gable, was bold enough to spit in my direction. “What are we talking about? The company put out a statement. You cheated on your husband, and now we can’t even say a word about it?” I rushed back to my room, plugged in my phone, and opened social media. The top trending topic was: Sebastian Hayes Announces Divorce. The official statement read: “Due to Ms. Lara Quinn’s marital infidelity, Mr. Sebastian Hayes has terminated their marriage. This serves as public notice.” My head exploded with pain. To pave a smooth path for Amanda, Sebastian was willing to destroy my reputation. I was about to write a clarification under the trending post when my phone buzzed, nearly waking the sleeping Annie. I answered. It was a police officer, his voice jubilant. “Miss Quinn, the human trafficker confessed! You were abducted from Lakeside City!” “We’ve already contacted the Lakeside police to cross-reference families with missing children. You’ll need to come here for a DNA test within the next three days!” My heart, so thoroughly broken by Sebastian, soared. Tears streamed down my face. Ever since I was abducted and brought to this city at the age of five, I hadn’t known a single day of peace. I thought marrying Sebastian was a new beginning, but it was just another hell. But now… now I had a chance to find my real parents. My daughter would have a family who loved her! I hung up, quickly packed a few things for myself, and turned to the nursery to grab some baby supplies. Just as my hand touched the doorknob, the front door of the villa was thrown open. “Lara, who said you could go in there?” Sebastian stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed in displeasure. 2. “I just need to get a few things for the baby.” “Everything in that room is for Amanda’s child. If you want something, buy it yourself.” Every single item in that nursery had been chosen by me, with love and care, for my daughter. And now he was giving it all to Amanda’s child. A child that wasn’t even his. I swallowed my disappointment and didn’t argue. But Mrs. Gable suddenly grabbed my arm, her face a hard mask, and began dragging me toward the door. “Mr. Hayes wants us to go to the postnatal care center to look after Miss Shaw.” The movement pulled at my stitches. “I just gave birth too!” I cried out to him. “I need to recover!” Sebastian didn’t even turn around. “Exactly. You have experience.” His voice was dismissive. “Stop whining. You’ve done manual labor your whole life. You’re tough. You don’t need a formal recovery period.” He got into his Maybach. I was shoved into a minivan and taken to the postnatal center. When we arrived, Amanda was lying in bed, surrounded by a dozen nurses and caregivers. Seeing me, she struggled to sit up. “Sister-in-law, you’re here! Please, sit. Giving birth is so exhausting…” Sebastian gently pushed her back down, then shot me a look. “She could run a marathon on a broken leg. This is nothing to her.” He turned his attention back to me. “Lara, if you take good care of Amanda, I’ll give you another hundred thousand. A pretty good deal, right?” Another hundred thousand. It was tempting. I bit my lip. “No. My baby is at home with no one to look after her.” A flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes, but Amanda grabbed his hand. “Sebastian, if she doesn’t want to take care of me, just let her go back. I don’t want to make things difficult for you.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly, but his gaze on me was filled with disgust. “Letting you take care of Amanda is a privilege. You’re an orphan with no money and no connections. Marrying me brought me no value, and you can’t even keep up appearances. Serving Amanda well is the most useful thing you can do right now.” He was used to belittling me, completely ignoring my pale, drawn face. He ordered Mrs. Gable to go back to the villa. But I knew she despised me for “marrying up.” There was no way she would take proper care of Annie. Sebastian waved away my protests and told me to feed Amanda her meal. I looked at the closed door, realizing I was trapped. Exhausted and hungry, I had no choice but to start feeding her. Just as a spoonful of soup reached her lips, she jerked back, crying out in mock pain. “Ah, it’s hot!” Sebastian snatched the bowl and threw it at me. The greasy chicken soup splattered all over my clothes. “What is your problem? You could have burned Amanda! You’re not eating today!” Amanda leaned against him, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “Sebastian, don’t be angry, she didn’t mean to…” “Don’t call her sister-in-law. I’m taking her to finalize the divorce tomorrow!” I stood there, ignored, smelling of stale soup, with no one to offer a single word of comfort. The next day, Sebastian took me from the center to the courthouse. We got the divorce certificate. Afterward, he got into his car alone. “I’m going to buy Amanda the latest designer bag. You can find your own way back.” His face was grim. “Lara, if you’re not back at the center in half an hour, you know the consequences.” The Maybach sped off. I turned and immediately hailed a cab back to the villa. The moment I stepped through the gate, I heard a baby crying from the small room in the yard. That was the security guard’s quarters! I burst through the door and saw my Annie, lying on a filthy single bed. My carefully packed diaper bag and formula were right next to her, yet her face was pale, her cries weak and listless. She probably hadn’t been fed or changed since yesterday. Forgetting all about confronting Mrs. Gable, I scooped her up, changed her, and fed her. After burping her, Annie gave me a sweet, gummy smile. My eyes welled up, a tear splashing onto her blanket. Amanda’s child had a team of nannies, while mine was forgotten, deprived of even a drop of milk. “Don’t be afraid, Annie,” I whispered. “Mommy’s going to take you away from here.” Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the door. I opened it, and Sebastian’s hand swung, slapping me hard across the face. “Lara! How dare you bring all these lowlifes into my house!” 3. Clutching Annie, I was shoved into the villa by Sebastian. Amanda, bundled up like a precious doll, followed behind, surrounded by her entourage of nannies. Inside, the villa was in chaos. Several thuggish-looking men were passed out on the floor, their faces flushed from a night of heavy drinking. The place looked like it had just hosted a wild party. There were more people sleeping in the bedrooms and the study. The master bed was occupied by five people, one of them completely naked. Panic seized me. “It wasn’t me! I haven’t even been inside!” Mrs. Gable emerged, her voice choked with fake sorrow. “Mr. Hayes, last night, dozens of thugs broke in. They said Miss Quinn gave them a key and told them to come have some fun…” “They said the baby was in the way, so they threw her in the security shed…” I was trembling, shaking my head violently. “I don’t know them! I was at the postnatal center all day yesterday, how could I have given them a key?” “That’s right…” Amanda tugged on Sebastian’s sleeve. “Sister-in-law was taking such good care of me yesterday. Sebastian, maybe we should wake one of them up and ask?” The storm clouds on Sebastian’s face cleared instantly. He ordered one of his men to wake the nearest drunk. “Who let you in here?” he snarled. The man blinked blearily. “Some lady… Lara Quinn… gave us a key. Said the house was empty, invited us over to party… Hey! Another ten bottles!” He was holding a set of keys. My keys. With my little teddy bear keychain still attached. I instinctively checked my pocket. It was empty. “No, my keys were stolen! It wasn’t me!” “Still lying? It’s a good thing Amanda was worried about you and insisted on coming home. Otherwise, I would never have known you had such disgusting habits!” His voice dripped with contempt. “You wanted to have an orgy in my house!” Sebastian’s patience wore thin. He ordered Mrs. Gable to lock me in the security shed. Behind him, Amanda was cooing sweetly. “Sebastian, she was just having a little fun. Why are you so angry?” “She needs to be taught a lesson. This house is filthy now. We’ll go to one of my other villas.” The shed door was locked. Through the small glass pane, I watched them leave in a grand procession. Amanda, at the center of it all, shot me a triumphant smile. Late that night, after finally soothing a crying Annie to sleep, the lights went out. The wiring in the shed was probably faulty. I took out my phone to buy a train ticket. Suddenly, I heard the sound of a key in the lock. The door creaked open, and Amanda appeared, silhouetted against the moonlight. Without Sebastian, her eyes were cold and vicious. “A hundred thousand dollars for a divorce? Lara, I really underestimated your shamelessness!” I clutched Annie and scrambled backward, but the tiny room offered no escape. “Amanda, I’ve done nothing to you. Why do you keep trying to destroy me?” “Nothing? If it weren’t for you, I would be the one married to Sebastian!” I frowned. It was true. An orphan like me had no right to marry him. Last year, I had saved his grandfather from a sudden heart attack. Out of gratitude, his grandfather had threatened to take his own life if Sebastian didn’t marry me. Sebastian had no choice but to comply. We had no wedding, just a one-sentence announcement from the company. After the marriage, he treated me like an object for his release, exhausting me night after night. I was pregnant within a month. I thought I would finally have a stable life, a family. But his grandfather passed away a week before I gave birth, leaving me completely without support. So she believed I had stolen her place as Mrs. Hayes? “But you have what you wanted now. Why won’t you just leave me alone?” “No! If you hadn’t married him, I wouldn’t have gone to that bar to drown my sorrows! I wouldn’t have this bastard child!” she shrieked. “It’s all your fault! Lara, I want you dead!” She grabbed a police baton from the table and lunged at me. I dodged, and in the next second, she let out a piercing scream, throwing herself against the corner of the bed and collapsing to the floor. Sebastian burst in. “Lara! Are you insane?”

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To manufacture a meet-cute, she planned to rear-end the heir to the Hawthorne fortune, Adam Hawthorne. She was driving my new car. I slammed on the brakes in time, telling her the Hawthornes weren’t fools. That car was a bespoke hypercar, something we couldn’t afford to replace even if we sold our souls. Later, Adam Hawthorne threw a wedding so lavish it became national news. My sister was consumed with a venomous jealousy, insisting that if I hadn’t stopped her that day, she would have been the bride. Fueled by that resentment, she ran me down with her car. I open my eyes again, and I’m back in the passenger seat. A confident smirk plays on my sister’s lips, her eyes locked on the hypercar ahead. “The second he sees me, Adam will be completely captivated,” she says, her voice dreamy. “And when that happens, I won’t be caught dead in a piece of junk like this.” This time, I don’t stop her. She stomps on the accelerator. With a gut-wrenching crunch, our car slams into the back of the eight-million-dollar machine. 1. The force of the impact sent the hypercar sliding several feet before it shuddered to a halt. The deafening noise drew a crowd of onlookers, their phones already out. The damage was catastrophic. The rear wing had snapped off, clattering onto the asphalt, and the carbon-fiber body was grotesquely buckled. My sister, June, paid it no mind. She recovered from the jolt with practiced ease, immediately checking her reflection in the rearview mirror. She artfully tousled her bangs, rubbed her eyes to induce a tearful sheen, and ensured her lipstick was smudged just so. If I hadn’t witnessed the whole thing, I’d have mistaken her for a frightened little rabbit. Her primping complete, June glanced at me. She seemed surprised to find me sitting perfectly still, my expression unreadable. She had cushioned her side with two thick pillows and had floored it when I wasn’t looking. If I hadn’t been prepared, my hand already gripping the overhead handle, my face would have been smashed against the dashboard. She’s been like this since we were kids, always engineering situations to make me look flustered and foolish, to better highlight her own poised beauty. “Adam rarely makes public appearances,” she muttered, dipping a finger into a compact. “Just play along and don’t ruin this for me.” She smeared the pale powder onto my lips without asking. “When I’m Mrs. Hawthorne, I’ll let you be a maid at the estate. The pay’s better than what you make now.” With a final tug to lower the neckline of her tight-knit sweater, June pushed open the door and stepped out. In my last life, June blamed me for ruining her shot at a fairytale ending. She held me responsible for the train wreck her life became. This time, I’m curious to see if her own machinations will change her fate. June’s appearance caused a stir. A few men on the sidewalk were already snapping pictures. She’d always been proud of her figure, and the form-fitting dress she wore did its job, drawing every eye. Adam didn’t get out of the car. Only a chauffeur in a crisp suit emerged, circling the damaged vehicle before leaning in to speak with his employer. June bypassed the driver, walking straight to the passenger-side window and rapping on it with her knuckles. She spoke in a trembling voice, wiping away imaginary tears as the wind whipped her long, dark hair around her face, creating a perfect picture of broken fragility. After a moment, the hypercar’s gull-wing door swung upward. Adam Hawthorne emerged, his gaze sweeping past his car before landing on me. Then, his eyes settled on June. The legendary Hawthorne heir was notoriously private, a phantom pursued by countless starlets who could never find a way into his orbit. June lowered her head, her perfectly manicured hands twisting together nervously. Then, as if making a momentous decision, she pulled out her phone to call the police. I saw Adam raise a hand, a silent command for her to stop. He strode toward our car. Thanks to the deathly-white powder June had smeared on my mouth and a week of sleepless nights from overtime, I must have looked ghastly, my lips bloodless against my pale skin. Through the windshield, I saw Adam Hawthorne up close for the first time. It was the middle of August, yet a silk scarf was wrapped around his neck. From beneath it, a scar snaked its way up to his left cheekbone. Even with what was clearly expensive scar revision treatment, the skin was ridged and uneven, a testament to the severity of the original wound. June hurried over, her voice laced with concern. “My sister suddenly doubled over with stomach pains. I was rushing her to the hospital, and I must have mixed up the gas and the brake…” “But it doesn’t matter,” she added quickly. “It’s all my fault. I’ll cover all the damages, I promise.” The scene seemed to move him. The icy mask on Adam’s face thawed slightly. “Don’t worry about it for now,” he said, his tone flat. “Get your sister to the hospital first.” “My driver, Alex, will handle the rest.” As Adam turned to leave, June stepped in front of him, holding out a business card. “This is my contact information. I won’t run from my responsibility.” Adam’s eyes dropped to the pristine white card in her hand. It listed her as a partner at a veterinary hospital and a guest lecturer at a local college. He looked her up and down, a slow, deliberate appraisal. Then, he took out his phone. “Let’s not make it complicated. Just add me on WhatsApp.” 2. A Maybach arrived to collect Adam, and a flatbed truck hauled away the mangled hypercar. The hood of my own car was crumpled, one of the headlights shattered. “I just picked this car up yesterday,” I said flatly. “What are you going to do about this?” June ignored me the entire ride home. The moment we walked through the door, she ran to our father, Stephen, clinging to his arm and complaining that I was giving her a hard time. Dad patted her arm indulgently before turning to me. “You can handle it yourself. Why are you fighting with your sister over something so trivial? You’re supposed to be the older one.” June had insisted on driving that morning. She didn’t have a license, having failed the driving test five times. Dad, worried for her safety, had made me go with her. My stepmother, Brenda, emerged from the kitchen with a platter of fruit. It held only three forks. They sat there, happily eating watermelon and mango, as if I didn’t exist. “He couldn’t take his eyes off me,” June bragged, pulling out her phone to flash Adam’s contact information. “I thought the Hawthorne heir would be a tough nut to crack, but he’s just like any other man.” “When June marries Adam, we’ll be family with the Hawthornes!” Brenda clapped her hands, and Dad was instantly lost in the same beautiful daydream. June’s tone shifted. She speared a piece of durian and held it to Dad’s mouth. “Dad, I still owe $50,000 for my tuition.” Dad’s brow furrowed. He didn’t agree immediately. Our family lived off the income from a small shop on the old town road, but business had been dismal ever since the city’s new development plans bypassed our street. The so-called “Finishing School” June attended charged each student $75,000, guaranteeing they would cross class barriers and marry into wealth. June, a community college graduate, hadn’t worked a day in three years, too busy with cosmetic procedures and curating a “socialite” persona online. The initial $25,000 payment had already drained Dad’s savings. “Stephen, June is only taking these classes so you can have a better life,” Brenda said, pushing at the heavy gold bracelet on her wrist. “If you won’t even pay for this, don’t expect to ride her coattails later.” Her eyes flicked to me. “Besides, someone in this house has a job. A family should help each other out.” The implication was clear: I was to foot the bill. In my past life, the Kimo family had drowned in debt funding June’s high-society ambitions. Debt collectors had even shown up at my office, causing such a scene that I lost my job. And right now, they seemed utterly oblivious to the gravity of the situation with Adam’s car, blithely assuming he wouldn’t make June pay. I wasn’t about to pin my hopes on their delusional fantasy. Before they could ask me for money, I made my own announcement. “I’m moving out. I’ve already found a place, and I’ll be transferring my residency records as well.” Brenda scoffed. “You’re just jealous. You can’t stand to see June become a lady of luxury.” She looked me up and down with contempt. “A pretty face is a woman’s greatest asset. Marry a rich man. You can be as jealous as you want, Stella, but it won’t change a thing. Moving out on your salary? Don’t make me laugh.” My phone vibrated. A colleague was messaging me about a last-minute meeting. I went to my room to grab my files. “She’s wasting her time,” June said loudly, making sure I could hear. “Killing herself for a pittance. She’ll never make in a lifetime what I’ll have on one finger.” Dad’s tone was condescending. “Stella, you need to start sucking up to June now. If you make her happy, she might throw a condo your way. Then you wouldn’t have to rent.” June smiled magnanimously, waiting for me to bow and scrape. I tightened my grip on my portfolio, my gaze sweeping over the three of them. “The Hawthorne money isn’t June’s. But the money I earn will always be mine,” I said, my voice level. “Beauty is an advantage, yes. But when it’s all you have, it’s a catastrophe. You all should probably start by finding out what kind of car Adam Hawthorne actually drives.” 3. The emergency meeting was about a new joint venture with the Hawthorne Group: the Clearwater Creek tourism project. The Hawthornes were handling development; my company, Alpha Media, was in charge of marketing and publicity. I had joined Alpha Media five years ago through their graduate recruitment program. As a top-tier global media firm, the work was demanding, but the compensation was excellent. I had, however, told my family I was a low-level gofer there, making minimum wage. Given that Brenda and June already looked down on me, they believed it without question. After briefing us on the project’s progress, my director made a solemn announcement. “The lead on this project has been changed to Adam Hawthorne himself. This is the first major project he’s managing as the official heir.” He continued, “Mr. Hawthorne is not satisfied with our current proposal. We need to prepare two alternative strategies for a review session with him in two weeks. The heir is extremely detail-oriented and has already slashed the budget. Everyone needs to be on their A-game.” After the meeting, my colleagues gathered in the breakroom, gossiping about the Hawthornes. “I heard Adam’s face was disfigured when he was a kid. That’s why he’s so reclusive.” “Disfigured? Who would dare?” “No idea. My mom was a reporter back then. She managed to get a covert photo of him at the hospital, but her editor forced her to delete everything.” “You have no idea what goes on in those old-money families. The death of his older sister was suspicious, too. A little girl, going to the beach alone in the middle of the night?” “Old man Hawthorne has three ex-wives and four sons. Adam is the youngest, yet he’s the heir. He must be ruthless.” “Let’s just focus on our work. You heard the director; the guy’s a perfectionist.” I recalled the face I’d seen through the car window. Even with the scar, he was handsome. But there was a profound darkness about him, an inscrutable depth like a whirlpool. He was nothing like the easily manipulated, lust-driven man June imagined him to be. Sipping my coffee, I idly opened Instagram. June had posted a new set of photos. She was in a Chanel suit, sipping red wine on a hotel balcony, surrounded by massive bouquets of flowers. Two distinguished-looking foreign men were artfully included in the shot. The caption read: Another delivery of the ’82 vintage from the Italian vineyard. The aroma fills the palate, a truly romantic experience. Girls, you should really start collecting high-end wines. Out of frame, there were probably a dozen other girls in meticulous makeup, waiting their turn. The finishing school provided its students with a shared collection of props for their photoshoots: luxury cars, designer goods, jewelry, ocean-view penthouses. The goal was to cultivate an image of good breeding and refined taste. It was an effective lure for wealthy men who didn’t know any better. To complete the illusion, they also pretended to be career-driven. June’s “partnership” and “professorship” were all fabricated by the agency. My realtor sent over two more listings for me to consider. I had saved enough over the years to buy a two-bedroom apartment near the office. I needed to cut ties with my family as soon as possible, before their drama dragged me down with them. Three days later, the video of June’s “accident” was trending online. The comments hailed her as a “once-in-a-generation natural beauty,” even comparing her favorably to A-list celebrities and claiming half of Hollywood would be out of a job if she ever decided to become an actress. Soon after, people started reposting her Instagram photos, gushing about her family background and exquisite taste. It was a brilliant PR move. It made it impossible for Adam not to notice her, and a positive public image was the best stepping stone into a family like the Hawthornes. I had to admit, the finishing school was ruthlessly efficient. After signing the purchase agreement for my new apartment, I went back to the family home to pack my things. Brenda opened the door, her eyes sweeping over me with disdain. “So, did you find a place to rent in the slums?” Dad didn’t even look at me. He was huddled excitedly around June, looking like he’d just won the lottery. “It’s Adam! Adam messaged me first!” “Kat said that once you get the man to make the first move, you’re halfway there!” June closed her eyes, clutching her phone to her chest for a few dramatic seconds before finally opening the message. The three of them stared at the screen, silent for a long time. I put down my suitcase and walked over to look. The message from Adam read: The car is being sent back to the headquarters in Sweden for repairs. The estimated cost is $1.2 million.

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1 In my past life, when I got into Yale, my grandfather gave me a priceless locket engraved with our family crest, a piece worth millions. I never once dared to wear it. But the scholarship student my family sponsored stole it from me. When I confronted her, she stared at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Was it really that expensive? It looked like a cheap trinket from the dollar store. You never even wore it, so I just gave it to a homeless man on the street.” I was furious and threatened to call the police, but I was stopped. Dorien, my childhood best friend who had sworn to protect me forever, called me a spoiled brat for bullying someone less fortunate. My own brother, who had always doted on me, said my arrogance and selfishness made me unworthy of being his sister. To appease the scholarship girl, they forced me into a car and sent me deep into the rural backwoods to “experience poverty.” There, her grandmother tried to break me, to marry me off to her slovenly, cruel grandson. When I fought back with everything I had, she fed me a bowl of soup laced with rat poison. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day she stole my locket. “I’m so sorry, Avery. I had no idea your locket was so valuable. I really thought it was just a costume piece from the dollar store, so I gave it to a homeless man I saw on the street.” The sound of that voice, so familiar it made me sick to my stomach, hit me like a physical blow. I stared at her, my eyes wide with the horrifying realization. I had been reborn. The girl in front of me, looking so fragile and small, was Sarah, the student my mother had sponsored for years. Right now, she was nestled pitifully in Dorien’s arms, her voice trembling with manufactured distress. “What do I do, Dorien? Avery is so upset with me. It’s all my fault, I’m so sorry…” she sobbed. Dorien’s face softened with adoration. He hugged her tighter. “It’s okay, Sarah. It’s not a big deal. It was just a locket. What’s given is given.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. A family heirloom worth millions. Was it really theirs to just give away? Hearing me, Dorien’s face hardened, and he pointed an accusatory finger at me. “Avery, what’s so funny? Why can’t you be more like Sarah, so kind and generous? You just kept that locket locked away in your room like a decoration. It’s better off being given to someone who needs a little joy!” I remembered my last life. I had argued, pleaded, explained that it was a birthday gift from my grandfather. But Dorien hadn’t helped me. He had sided with Sarah, berating me for my selfishness. “Dorien, what right do you have to take my things? And taking without asking is stealing! I could have you both arrested!” I shot back, the words tasting like ash. Hearing the word “arrested,” Sarah panicked, clinging to Dorien and bursting into a fresh storm of tears. “I’m so, so sorry! I really didn’t know it was worth so much! I just saw that poor man, and he looked so miserable. I thought… I thought giving him a gift might cheer him up, you know? I was just trying to help someone. Why is Avery so angry with me for trying to do a good deed, Dorien?” Her words ignited Dorien’s righteous indignation. He turned on me, his voice sharp with condemnation. “Avery, don’t you dare go too far! Sarah was being charitable, and you’re attacking her for it! Besides, if it was so precious, why didn’t you keep it locked up in a safe? When you think about it, this is really your fault!” I was speechless. Even if I hadn’t kept it in a bank vault, was that an excuse for her to steal it? I remembered how, in my last life, I had run to my brother, Miles, hoping for support. But he hadn’t helped me either. He had defended Sarah. “Avery, I’ve spoiled you rotten. How did you become so petty and materialistic? Why can’t you be more like Sarah and give me some peace of mind?” Later, when I refused to apologize, my brother had personally driven me to Sarah’s family home. “You need to have your attitude adjusted,” he’d said coldly. “Go see what Sarah’s life was like. Maybe then you’ll develop some empathy.” And just like that, I was abandoned in the middle of nowhere. Sarah’s family included a grandmother who was clearly unhinged. Surrounded by dense forest and mountains, there was no escape. I was forced to do back-breaking farm work from dawn till dusk and endure the grandmother’s constant abuse. Finally, she put rat poison in my food and killed me. After my death, my murderer was never caught. Instead, my brother officially adopted Sarah as his god-sister. He moved her entire family into the city. They took my place, living a life of luxury that should have been mine. 2. Knowing my brother would be no help, I called my mother. But when she heard the story, she just sighed and chided me for being immature. “Avery, what have I taught you? Don’t use your status to bully people. I know Sarah. She’s a kind, considerate girl. She would never do something like that.” She paused, her disappointment palpable even over the phone. “I wish you were as sensible as your brother.” I stood there, phone in hand, stunned by her response. She was siding with a stranger over her own daughter. I hung up, my hands shaking with rage, and immediately dialed my grandfather. When he heard what had happened, his voice boomed with fury. “And I thought he was a decent young man! I was even considering him for you! How dare he treat you this way!” His tone softened. “Avery, I’m sending the car for you right now. You’ll come and stay with me for a while. And don’t you worry, this business with the locket is far from over.” Hearing his voice, a sense of calm finally settled over me. The butler arrived quickly. But no sooner had I stepped into my grandfather’s house than my brother, Miles, showed up. “Avery, is this how I raised you? What kind of person picks on those weaker than them? I’ve spoiled you, that’s the problem. It just so happens that Sarah’s family is in the middle of their harvest season. I’m sending you to her home in a couple of days. It’s time you learned how hard life can be!” Hearing the exact same words from my past life, I blinked slowly. “It’s not that I don’t want to go, Miles,” I said sweetly. “It’s just that Grandpa missed me. My hands are tied.” My brother’s face contorted with anger. “Avery, how can you be so selfish! Sarah has so little, yet she works so hard. Why are you so lazy?” “She looks up to you as a sister! What’s wrong with helping her out a little?” I snorted internally. Sister? I didn’t have a sister. Sarah’s parents had four daughters before finally having a son. Her family was pathologically obsessed with having a male heir. Her three older sisters had been married off for a bride price the moment they graduated high school to support their younger brother. Sarah was latching onto my family to avoid the same fate. Her plan was to get my brother to send me to her home, where she hoped I would be forced to marry her brother. In my past life, my refusal to do so was what led to my murder. I looked at my brother with cold eyes and stepped behind my grandfather, who had just come downstairs. “Miles, if you have something to say, you can say it to Grandpa.” My brother feared my grandfather more than anyone. At my words, he shot me a glare but fell silent. I went upstairs and watched from the balcony as Dorien and Sarah waited below. Dorien was comforting her, and in a moment of passion, he pulled her into a hug, promising he would always have her back. Sarah, crying prettily in his arms, whimpered, “Dorien, what if Avery is so angry she stops sponsoring my education? I just want to go to school… maybe I should get on my knees and beg for her forgiveness?” Dorien’s face darkened. “Kneel for what? Don’t worry. Not only am I going to teach her a lesson, I’m going to make her give you her spot on the university’s new research project.” The research project Dorien mentioned was a prestigious fellowship I had just been accepted into. It was a huge opportunity, something that would be a cornerstone of my resume. Sarah wanted in on it, too. Hearing Dorien’s promise, her face lit up. “Really, Dorien? Oh, I love you so much.” She stood on her toes and kissed him. I raised my phone and took a picture. Flushed from the kiss, Dorien immediately called me. “Avery, I’m willing to overlook how you’ve been bullying Sarah. Give her your spot on the research team, and I’ll forgive you. Otherwise, I never want to see you again. Got it?” I don’t know if I got it. I just knew he sounded like a complete and utter idiot. So, I followed my heart and told him so. “Fine!” he sputtered, so angry I thought he’d smash his phone. “You just wait!” 3. The next day was the university’s annual autumn gala. It was a major event, and all the school’s top administrators and donors were in attendance. Halfway through the program, Dorien pulled Sarah onto the stage. He held the teary-eyed, trembling Sarah protectively in his arms and spoke into the microphone. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m here tonight because I have to expose a disgusting truth.” “Avery Thorne, a senior in the pre-med program, is not who she seems. She has a history of academic dishonesty, forcing my friend, Sarah, to help her cheat on multiple major exams. The spot she secured on the new research fellowship was also obtained through fraudulent means. I hope she will do the right thing and return this opportunity to the person who truly deserves it.” After his speech, Sarah began to sob. “I’m so sorry, everyone. I didn’t want to cover for a cheater, but Avery threatened me. She said if I didn’t help her, her family would cut off my scholarship. I just want to finish my education.” “It took all my courage to stand up here tonight… I’m so, so sorry.” Her words sent a shockwave through the audience. Murmurs erupted from the crowd. “No way. I’m in her class. I always thought she was so hardworking. I can’t believe she’s that kind of person.” “That’s disgusting. Cheating your way into a research fellowship?” “Someone like that has no right to be on the team.” “Hold on, let’s not jump to conclusions. What if it’s not true?” “How could it not be true? Look at how heartbroken Sarah is!” “Wait, wasn’t Dorien best friends with Avery? For him to turn on her like this… wow, rich people drama.” Opinions were flying, but a significant portion of the crowd remained skeptical. But then, my brother, Miles, suddenly appeared on stage. “I’m Avery’s older brother,” he announced, his voice heavy with disappointment. “Our father passed away when we were young, and I’m afraid I’ve failed in raising her properly. I want to apologize to all of you for the mistakes my sister has made. Rest assured, she will be returning the spot on the research team to its rightful owner.” The moment my brother finished speaking, the auditorium exploded.

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I was reborn as the wicked stepmother in a novel, and my only goal was to meet the KPIs set by my “System.” To do that, I ordered the son, Matt, to do the laundry and mop the floors, while the daughter, Monica, had to wipe the windows and weed the garden. A year later, the male lead—my husband—finally returned, bringing his one true love with him. I had my bags packed, ready to be kicked to the curb and jet off to the Maldives to find a hot young model. But his true love pointed a manicured finger at my suitcase, demanding I leave all my gold and jewels behind. That’s when my stepson, Matt, stepped forward. “Don’t worry, Mom. You go on ahead. I’ll be right behind you.” My stepdaughter, Monica, nodded in agreement. “We don’t need this junk anyway. Dad has a safe. As soon as I crack the lock, I’ll wire all the money to you.” The male lead: … Me: ? 01. “Host, all you have to do is maintain your ‘wicked stepmother’ persona and torment them!” the System’s voice echoed in my head. “Make them suffer! Make them despair! When the male lead returns with his beloved, the two little ones will be so moved by her maternal grace that they’ll flock to her. Then, your mission will be complete!” “Your reward? Forty years of ageless youth!” I practically burst into tears of gratitude. This System got me. Because a woman’s heart stays young forever! That was a prize more tempting than any amount of money. And speaking of money, I wasn’t worried. In this mansion, a single vase was worth a fortune. On the day I was thrown out, I’d just secretly pocket a few trinkets—enough to live lavishly for the rest of my life. Once this gig was over, I was going to chase after college boys! I immediately snapped to attention. “Yes, sir! Mission accepted!” The System, pleased, sweetened the deal by offering me three lifelines. If I ever ran into trouble, I could call on it for help three times. I glanced at the two pudgy little things standing before me, barely reaching my knees. I scoffed. Handling them? It would be as easy as playing with a pair of puppies. 02. “You,” I pointed at the older one, Matt. “Go get the watermelon.” In the future, he was destined to be a ruthless, decisive tycoon. Besides his own sister, the only person he would ever care for was his “true” mother, the woman my husband was about to bring home. But right now, he was just a freshly hatched chick, all fluff and indignation. He plopped down on the Persian rug, his expression one of pure humiliation, and watched as I lounged on the sofa with my legs crossed. “Feed me,” I commanded. His eyes widened in disbelief, his little mouth trembling with indignation. But in the end, he resigned himself to his fate, stabbing a piece of watermelon with a fork and lifting it to my lips. “Matt, was it?” I said between bites. “From now on, all your snacks are mine.” “Butler,” I called out, “have all these chips, gelatin cups, and beef jerky sent to my room.” Matt’s chubby chin quivered. As the prized heirs of the Sterling family, these two had more money than they could ever spend. Everything in their lives was top-tier. I’d heard their drinking water was freshly melted snow from the Alps, rich in minerals, and their vegetables were grown by a specialist with a Master’s in agriculture to ensure they were organic and pollution-free. In short, they were well-fed, with a high percentage of prime-grade chub. My plan was to start with all that baby fat. Mission #1: Get them in shape. “You’re breaking your promise!” Matt cried, his eyes welling up with tears. He puffed out his chest, trying to be the protective older brother as he shielded Monica behind him. “You said if we gave you our allowance, you wouldn’t torment us!” At his words, Monica burst into a full-blown wail. Hmm? There was an allowance, too? My eyes lit up. I suppressed my inner glee and added slowly, “The allowance is still due.” I paused for effect. “And the snacks are mine, too.” The color drained from their faces. I could practically see them clenching their tiny fists in helpless fury. I laughed, a triumphant sound filling the room. I knew it. Snacks were the key to every child’s soul. Matt wasn’t giving up. “This is abuse! I’m telling Dad!” (Oh, really?) I thought. You said it, kid. Don’t back down now. Abuse was exactly what I was aiming for. Hahaha… Go on, tell him. The louder, the better! 03. Day three of being a wicked stepmother. The defiant Matt hadn’t given up, calling his father eighteen times a day. His father, of course, never answered. If my calculations were correct, he was currently in France, having a fateful encounter with his one true love. He was far too busy with his whirlwind romance to bother with the son born from a loveless business marriage. Undeterred, Matt called his maternal grandfather. The old man had a softer heart. He sent someone to give me a gentle warning, along with a black card, asking me to go easy on his grandsons for the sake of the money. (Holding the unlimited black card): Well, that puts me in a tight spot, doesn’t it? On one hand, eternal youth. On the other, an infinite line of credit. Oh, fuck it. For the money, I decided to be a little nicer to Matt. I personally prepared him a gourmet “light” meal. Tomatoes, lettuce, and crystalline ice plants. Drizzled with a magnificent salad dressing, it was a feast for the eyes. Matt stared at the plate of what looked like lawn clippings, his face a mask of silent rage. I glanced at the soft, plump little girl beside him and had a moment of magnanimous inspiration. “Starting today, we’ll have a competitive eating contest. Whoever finishes their ‘grass’ first gets a reward: one piece of grilled chicken breast.” At my words, the two of them bowed their heads and began shoveling the greens into their mouths. Heh, heh, heh… Being a stepmom was a blast. 04. But being a wicked stepmother had its own set of headaches. When one of the little tykes failed a class, I was the first person the teacher called. I was in the middle of a delightful manicure when my phone rang. “Hello, is this Monica Sterling’s guardian?” “Your daughter came in last in her piano assessment. I need you to come in.” Piano? Last place? My mind went blank. I ran through the plot of the novel again and realized something was off. In the future, Monica was set to become the nation’s youngest and most celebrated cellist. If not for her delayed start, she could have been an international sensation. Even with a late start, she was a bona fide genius. So what did failing piano have to do with her destiny as a cellist? I rushed to the music academy. As I walked in, I could hear the teacher laying into Monica. “The piano keys, from left to right, the notes get higher. It’s the most basic concept, and you can’t even remember that?” “I don’t know why your family wastes so much money on piano lessons for you. It’s all going to that pig-headed brain of yours!” Monica was sobbing, her little shoulders shaking with misery. A fire ignited inside me. Taking my money and bullying my kid? Who gave her the nerve? The teacher caught sight of me and tilted her head arrogantly. “I can’t teach your child. You should find someone else.” The male lead’s true love was a piano virtuoso. Naturally, he believed all proper young ladies should learn the piano and had spared no expense enrolling Monica with a renowned instructor. The original “wicked stepmother” from the novel, trying to curry favor with him, had forced Monica to practice relentlessly. Any mistake was met with a brutal punishment, which had nearly given the poor girl a complex. I smirked. I knew this trick. It was all about manufacturing anxiety in parents to pressure them into paying more for extra lessons. But I was the wicked stepmother! More money? Not a chance. A refund? Now we’re talking. I sat down on the plush sofa and crossed my legs. “If you can’t teach, then don’t.” I leaned forward. “My husband paid for a block of 300 lessons at $5,000 each. Including today, you’ve taught 53. That leaves 247 lessons.” I pulled out my phone. “That comes to $1,235,000. I’ll take a refund. Venmo or direct deposit?” 05. I helpfully pulled up my payment QR code. The teacher trembled with rage. She pointed a shaking finger at me. “You… you are utterly uncivilized!” I chuckled. So, asking for my money back made me “uncivilized.” The teacher, full of pride, tried to manipulate me further. “I know it’s not easy for you parents. How about this? I’ll extend each lesson by an hour, and we’ll just adjust the fee. Say, a modest $7,500 per session?” Oh, please. Just $7,500. Don’t strain yourself on my account. I waved my hand dismissively, declaring that I was a simple person who hated to inconvenience others or take advantage of their generosity. A direct refund would be just fine. The teacher, grinding her teeth in frustration, finally scanned the code and processed the refund. She spat that with an unreasonable parent like me, no respectable instructor would ever agree to teach my child. “Hold on. Did I say you could leave?” I flicked my finger, and my bodyguard, who had been waiting outside, shut the door. The teacher was livid. “What do you think you’re doing? This is a society of laws! You could go to jail for this!” Her voice was so shrill it could have shattered glass. I casually cleaned out my ear. “The only one going to jail here is you.” I pulled up a video file on my phone—crystal-clear surveillance footage of her verbally abusing Monica. The teacher froze. “You were spying on me?” I rolled my eyes. “Please. This is the Sterling family’s private music room. A single one of these pianos is worth more than your entire life. You think we wouldn’t have cameras?” “I was motivating her,” the teacher said, her tone sharp and defensive. I let out a cold laugh. As a professional wicked stepmother, dealing with societal scum was my specialty. If that’s how she wanted to play it, I wouldn’t hold back. I opened my mouth and let loose a torrent of insults, a verbal storm that started with her mother and worked its way through her entire family tree. She turned beet red, gasping for air. “That’s character assassination! I’ll sue you!” I tossed a flash drive onto the table. “Go ahead and sue,” I said, my voice dripping with contempt. “But before you do, I’ll make sure every parent in this school sees a highlight reel of you ‘motivating’ your students. Let’s see how they feel about your methods then.” The teacher’s face went green. Monica attended an exclusive private academy. The teachers’ base salaries were low; their real income came from private tutoring fees from the wealthy students. If I released those videos, her reputation would be destroyed. Under my unwavering glare, the teacher finally broke down, tearfully apologizing to Monica and telling her what a wonderful, talented child she was. 06. Monica’s eyes were shining like little stars. On the way home, she kept calling me “Good Mommy.” God help me, I groaned internally. I shot her a glare. “Quiet. Call me ‘Bad Mommy’.” “No,” she said, her voice filled with grievance. “Mommy fought the bad lady for me. You’re the best mommy in the world.” I made a fist and threatened her. “Say it again and I’ll sew your little mouth shut.” The little girl let out a squeak and quickly clamped her hands over her mouth. After a moment, she whispered, “Aren’t you mad?” After all, I used to force her to practice piano relentlessly so I could film a perfect performance, send it to my husband overseas, and get a “red packet” of cash from him. Now that source of income was gone. It was definitely strange that I wasn’t punishing her. “Of course I’m mad,” I said fiercely. “As punishment, you’ll eat a double portion of steak and eggs tonight.” A look of pure agony crossed Monica’s face. But just because one thing stopped didn’t mean everything did. The piano lessons were over, but other lessons would take their place. Hmph. One a day. That was the new rule. I gave Monica’s chubby cheek a vicious pinch. “Starting tomorrow, you’re learning the cello. One lesson every day.” Monica’s eyes were wide with confusion. She had no idea what a cello was. Heh, heh, heh… The cello is an incredibly heavy instrument. Just you wait, little girl. Your suffering has only just begun. Mwahahaha.

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For six years, I secretly loved Robert Reid. The night I confessed, someone drugged my drink. I thought I’d spent that passionate night with him. Two months pregnant, Robert agreed to “do the right thing”—until our wedding day, when he flashed a marriage certificate with his childhood sweetheart Isabelle. His twin Ian pulled me aside. “It was me that night,” he admitted, proposing immediately. After four failed pregnancies, doctors said I’d never carry to term. Ian lit candles in every church, begging God for our miracle. Now pregnant again, I overheard them plotting: “Trick her into a hysterectomy,” Robert suggested. “She’ll never bear a healthy heir,” Ian agreed. “The fortune belongs to Isabelle’s child.” Then— “Let’s fetch her firstborn from the orphanage. Isabelle needs entertainment.” “Fine. Just don’t kill him… though his life’s worthless anyway.” I finally understood: We were just toys for Isabelle’s amusement. 1 Ian tossed a photograph of a three-year-old boy onto the table, his eyes flashing with disgust. “This is the one. I couldn’t be bothered to name him. The director at the orphanage calls him Ben. I saw him last year—all skin and bones, completely malnourished.” Ian sneered. “To be honest, though, he has your eyes.” Robert, lounging in his chair, picked up the photo with a look of pure contempt. “He’s just a bastard, the result of a one-night mistake. I’ll never acknowledge him.” He then carefully unlocked his phone, his expression softening as he gazed at the screen saver—a radiant Isabelle in a maternity dress. “My children will only come from Isabelle.” His voice hardened again. “If that scheming bitch Leah hadn’t deliberately drunk Isabelle’s wine that night four years ago, she never would have had the chance to crawl into my bed.” A tremor ran through me, a chill so deep it felt like my heart had turned to ice. That’s not what happened. Four years ago, I had planned to confess my feelings to Robert. I was so nervous at the gala that I had a few too many drinks. My eyes followed him all night, but I never noticed someone swapping my glass. Later, I learned the drugged drink had been meant for Isabelle. But she was too busy flirting with some rich heir, and by a cruel twist of fate, I was the one who drank it. Dizzy and disoriented, I was helped to a room upstairs. A moment later, Robert burst in, his body radiating heat, and pulled me into a rough embrace. He thought I was Isabelle. One passionate, mistaken night. When I woke up the next morning, the warmth was gone. Robert’s face was a mask of cold fury when he saw it was me. He spat out that he would “take responsibility,” but at our wedding, he announced he’d already married Isabelle. It was Ian who stopped me from making a scene. Ian who told me the truth—or what I thought was the truth. That it was him. That the child was his. After we married, I was eight months pregnant when a glass of orange juice sent me into premature labor. I woke up in the hospital to Ian, his eyes red and swollen, telling me our baby had died just moments after birth. The grief was a physical blow; I nearly fainted from the pain. Ian stayed with me all night, holding me, his kisses a tender, heartbreaking comfort on my forehead. “It’s okay, Leah,” he whispered. “It’s okay.” “We’ll have another. And another. We’re still young…” He never left my side, gently guiding me out of the darkness of my grief. In the three years that followed, I had three more miscarriages. The doctors all said the same thing: my body was simply too fragile. Ian even hired a top-tier private physician from overseas to help me, to create special supplements and treatments. I never imagined they were all in on it together. “Leah, are you home?” Ian’s familiar footsteps echoed up the stairs, growing closer. The door swung open. His gaze, as always, was tender as it landed on me. “The driver said you just got back from the clinic?” he asked, his voice soft with concern. “What did the doctor say…” His eyes fell on the table, where the positive pregnancy report I’d forgotten to hide lay in plain sight. Before I could move, he had snatched it up. His brow furrowed as he read the results. I forced myself to breathe, to push down the wave of sorrow and rage. “I’m pregnant,” I said, my voice steady. “Aren’t you happy?” A smile stretched across Ian’s face, a brilliant, practiced performance of joy. “Not happy? Leah, this is wonderful! All our efforts… they finally paid off. We’re finally going to have our baby.” He pulled me into a hug, but his body was stiff, his embrace a cage of lies. I could feel the cold distance between us. “I have to call Dr. Evans right away,” he said, already pulling back. “We need to make sure he takes the best care of you.” He turned and walked quickly toward his study, phone in hand. I heard his voice, muffled but sharp, through the half-closed door. “Dr. Evans, what the hell are you doing? I told you to up the dosage on her ‘supplements.’ I told you to make sure she could never get pregnant again. How did this happen?” A pause. “Fix it. Get something to induce a miscarriage. And just like before, make it look like part of her prenatal care. Be discreet.” I leaned against the wall, a laugh tearing from my throat, sharp and brittle as glass. My tears were silent. This was my husband. The man I had loved and trusted for three years. The man I shared my bed with. Ian returned a few minutes later, his performance flawless. He guided me to the sofa, then knelt before me, placing a gentle hand on my stomach as if to listen. “I need to say hello to our little one,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Tell them to be good in there, not to give their mommy any trouble.” His tenderness was so convincing it was terrifying. He was a true master of his craft. Later, after spending half the afternoon in his study meticulously drafting a “prenatal plan,” he looked up at me. “Leah, since you’re pregnant, you should take a year off from the university. Just stay home and rest.” I was a professor with only two classes a day; my schedule was hardly strenuous. I knew his suggestion wasn’t about my health. It was about keeping me under his control. Before, I would have melted, thrilled to have such a caring husband. Now, I just shook my head, my face a blank mask. “No, thank you. There’s no guarantee I’ll be able to keep this one, either.” Seeing my resolve, Ian didn’t push. He simply said he’d have Dr. Evans make a house call the next day. That night, claiming I had to prepare for my classes, I locked myself in the study. While Ian was out, I began a frantic search. The photo of the boy… it had to be here. He’d hidden it in a bookshelf. Finally, tucked inside a thick volume on the bottom shelf, I found it. My eyes instantly blurred with tears. The little boy in the picture had my nose, my mouth. It was like looking at a childhood photo of myself. But his eyes… his eyes were Robert’s. From their conversation, I knew he was in an orphanage, but they hadn’t said which one. The next day, I announced I was hosting a family dinner at our villa. An impromptu celebration, I called it, mainly to get Robert and Isabelle to come. Ian was surprised. “Why the sudden party? I thought Dr. Evans was coming to check on you.” I managed a small smile. “Isabelle is pregnant, too. It’s a double blessing for the family. We should celebrate together.” In reality, I just needed to find out the name of that orphanage. “Alright,” Ian agreed, his voice instantly lighter at the prospect of seeing Isabelle. “Whatever you want.” The next morning, he spent an eternity in front of the mirror, trying on his most expensive custom-tailored suit, fussing with his hair. It reminded me of something I’d discovered shortly after we were married—a secret room in the basement. It was filled with photo albums, stacks of them, and journals detailing a long, obsessive crush on another girl. When I’d stumbled upon it and asked him who she was, he’d become flustered, mumbling that she was just his first love. I respected his past and never brought it up again. I never dreamed that girl was Isabelle. When I stepped out onto the lawn for the party, Robert and Isabelle were already there. She was six months pregnant, reclining in a lawn chair and screaming at a small, three-year-old boy. “You worthless little gutter rat! Are you blind?” she shrieked. “Do you have any idea how much this dress costs? I could sell you for parts and it wouldn’t be enough! I ought to chop off your hand!” I saw the boy’s face, and my breath caught. It was the face from the photograph. It was Ben. He had been bringing her a cup of coffee and had accidentally spilled some on her skirt. Now he was on the ground, rolling and flinching as she lashed out, begging for mercy. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” “Please, please forgive me…” My eyes fixed on the marks covering his small body. Angry red welts from a whip, and thin, silver lines that looked like they’d been made with a knife. Some were fresh, others were old scars. Robert, who knew this was his own son, watched with a cold, detached amusement. “Get on your knees and apologize to Aunt Isabelle,” he said, his voice laced with scorn. “If you make her happy, maybe she’ll let you get up. Don’t forget, the only reason you’re out of that hellhole orphanage is because she was feeling generous. If you’re smart, you’ll be a good little dog.” As he spoke, he casually popped a grape into Isabelle’s mouth. They looked like a perfectly loving couple. Ben, who was only three, had an unnerving maturity and resilience in his eyes. He did as he was told, getting to his knees without a word. “I’m sorry!” Isabelle preened, a smug look on her face. She stuck out her foot. “Since you’re such an obedient dog, why don’t you lick my shoe clean?” “Stop it!” My voice was a roar. I rushed forward, blocking Ben just as he was about to lower his head, and pulled him into my arms. “Isabelle, he’s a child! Have you lost your mind?” I was shaking with fury. To think this monster was the woman I once called a friend. Isabelle just laughed when she saw it was me. “Well, well, if it isn’t my dear sister-in-law. He’s just some nameless orphan, a stray we picked up. The way you’re protecting him, anyone would think he was your own son.” Her words were dripping with insinuation. Robert chimed in with a sneer. “And who the hell are you, Leah? Don’t think that just because you married my brother, you can tell us what to do. Ian may have taken our mother’s name, but I am the true heir. Only a child born from me and Isabelle will be a real Reid, the future head of the corporation. Who are you to interfere with what Isabelle wants to do?” He ordered me to let the boy go. In my arms, Ben looked up at me with a flash of gratitude, but then he deliberately stepped back, putting distance between us. “It’s okay, ma’am,” he whispered. “Thank you, but you don’t have to.” His small voice broke my heart. “I’m used to it.” That was it. My composure shattered. With a cry of rage, I swept my arm across the nearby table, sending food and drinks crashing to the ground. “Isabelle, you should try to do one decent thing in your life! If not for yourself, then for the child you’re carrying!” So much for the damn family dinner. I was done playing their games. I grabbed Ben’s hand and turned to leave. But before we could reach the gate, Ian blocked our path, his face a cold mask. “Leah, what do you think you’re doing?” I’d almost forgotten. He was Isabelle’s most loyal knight. In the next second, Isabelle was at his side, her face streaked with tears, clutching his arm. “Ian, I know you and Leah are close, but… we just adopted this boy. It has nothing to do with her. She flew into a rage and knocked over the table… she scared my baby!” She dabbed at her eyes, a perfect portrait of a fragile, wronged victim. It worked. Ian’s heart melted. His cold glare returned to me. “You’re the one who wanted this party, Leah. Isabelle did nothing wrong. She was just trying to discipline the boy. What right do you have to throw a tantrum? Now put him down and give him back to her.” I held Ben tighter, my voice dripping with ice. “I’ve taken a liking to him. I want to adopt him.” All three of them refused, their voices rising, pressuring me to release the child. But a cold calm had settled over me. I smiled, my gaze landing on Isabelle. “Isabelle, dear. There’s something I need to talk to you about. In private.” I led her up to the second-floor terrace. I deliberately started an argument, provoking her until she was red-faced with anger. Just as I’d planned, she shoved me, hard. Everyone below, and the security cameras, saw it happen. I tumbled over the railing. I landed on the soft grass of the lawn. The fall didn’t kill me, but a warm, sticky wetness began to spread beneath me. I was bleeding. Ian’s face went white. He scrambled toward me. “Leah! Are you okay?”

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