The day I got my driver’s license, my dad bought me an Aetherion Lux 8. The day I went to the dealership to pick it up, my boyfriend asked me to sign the title over to his sister. “Bella’s getting married soon,” Liam said, “and she needs a car for the wedding procession. Wouldn’t it be a great gift? A perfect wedding present?” I just smiled. “$150,000 for a wedding present? Yeah, right. A present for his sister, my ass.” 1 After I passed my driving test, my dad decided to gift me an Aetherion Lux 8. It was a limited-edition domestic model, a high-end electric vehicle worth over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. “Hannah, the money’s in your account,” he’d texted. “Don’t forget to pick up the car this weekend.” Seeing the seven-figure deposit in my bank account, I was so ecstatic I literally spun around in a circle. Liam, my boyfriend, saw how happy I was and asked what was up. I couldn’t help but share the news of my sudden windfall and the incredible car. His eyes widened, his jaw dropping. “$150,000?” he stammered. “Hannah, your dad is… that’s incredibly extravagant!” I tilted my chin up playfully. “A father’s love is just that simple and pure!” I pulled out my phone to start picking out a color online. The man beside me fell silent for a long moment before placing his hands on my shoulders. His voice was serious. “Hannah, listen. Bella is getting married at the end of the month. Why don’t… why don’t we put the car in her name?” He continued, his grip tightening slightly. “You know my family’s situation. She doesn’t have much of a dowry to speak of. This car… it could be her ‘something borrowed, something new.’ A show of strength from her future sister-in-law. It would give her so much standing with her new family. What do you say?” My brain short-circuited. A hundred and fifty grand. Not a hundred and fifty bucks. Was he even hearing himself? And how could he ask so casually? I was his girlfriend, not his personal charity fund. I immediately, if gently, shut him down. “My dad gave this to me. It’s a very personal, very valuable gift. It’s not appropriate for you to ask that, Liam.” His face froze, but the mask of calm slipped back into place almost instantly. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry. I just assumed you felt the same way I do, that you already see Bella as your own sister.” His voice took on a wheedling, manipulative tone. “I was just thinking ahead. We’re going to get married someday, right? This is just a way for you to build some goodwill, to make it easier for you to blend into my family. I meant it as a good thing, nothing else.” My expression had already soured. But Liam either didn’t see it or chose to ignore it, plowing ahead with his monologue. “Your dad is so rich, and you’re an only child. You can’t spend all that money yourself. It’ll be ours to share eventually, so what’s the big deal about giving a little to Bella now? She’s not like you, Hannah. She didn’t grow up with a silver spoon. My mom literally found her in a box next to a dumpster. She’s had a hard life.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “As her future sister-in-law, you wouldn’t want her to be humiliated at her own wedding, would you? Right?” …If I hadn’t seen pictures of his sister on his phone, I might have actually bought it. Pictures of a girl with a flawless, surgically-perfected “influencer” face that screamed “expensive.” I shot to my feet. “The audacity! Are you already counting my father’s money? What does my dad’s money have to do with you? Or your sister? Can you people have some boundaries?” Liam’s face flushed a deep, angry red. His carefully maintained image of a humble, good-natured guy shattered. He pointed a trembling finger at my nose, sputtering, “Hannah, you’re so selfish! And after Bella has been so excited, calling you her sister-in-law already.” “You’re just… ugh, forget it.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “Think about it. This is a golden opportunity to make a good impression on my family, and you’re just throwing it away. You’re nothing but a spoiled rich girl, completely out of touch, reeking of money and selfishness!” With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. I stood there, completely stunned. He asks me for a $150,000 gift and then has the nerve to get angry at me? Is he actually insane? The excitement of getting a new car vanished completely. I threw myself onto my bed and buried my face in my pillow, a sharp, angry pain blooming in my chest. When we first started dating, Liam wasn’t like this. He was gentle, kind, and rarely said anything so outrageous. He was the one who pursued me. He never let his humble background become a source of insecurity; he was hardworking, optimistic, and won every scholarship the university offered. He worked part-time jobs to support himself and even paid for his sister to take makeup classes. I knew he came from nothing, that his family was poor, but I was drawn to his resilience, his refusal to bow to fate. When he was wooing me, he was always busy with work, yet he still found time to check in on me, to run errands, to buy me food. When I was down, he’d drop everything to cheer me up, a bottomless well of emotional support. And, of course, the main reason: he was drop-dead gorgeous, more handsome than any movie star. I’m a sucker for a pretty face. So, in a moment of weakness, I’d let my heart rule my head and became his girlfriend. But right now, I felt less like a girlfriend and more like a fool. In the middle of the night, just as I was drifting off, my phone buzzed incessantly. A string of messages from Liam. I opened them to find a groveling apology. “Hannah, I was out of line today. I didn’t consider your feelings.” “You can casually buy a $150,000 car, while my sister barely makes $500 a month. The disparity just hit me all at once, and I lost my balance. I’m sorry.” “What time are you going to the dealership tomorrow? Let me come with you. I can help make sure they don’t rip you off. It’ll be my way of making it up to you.” Reading his messages, I paused. The wealth gap between us was vast, and it wasn’t his fault. If I hadn’t been so angry, I probably would have been more sensitive to his pride. Since he was offering an olive branch, I decided to take it. By unspoken agreement, we dropped the subject. 2 The next day, at the dealership, I laid my eyes on the sleek, futuristic Aetherion Lux 8. I fell in love instantly and told the saleswoman I wanted it in a stunning, almost-blinding neon green. As the delighted salesperson led me to the VIP lounge to sign the papers, Liam, who had been quiet the whole time, suddenly grabbed my arm. “Neon green is hideous,” he said flatly. “Get the cherry blossom pink. Pink is more feminine, more stylish.” I frowned. Did he forget that I loathe pink? It’s so girly, it doesn’t suit my personality at all. The neon green was vibrant and alive. Seeing my hesitation, the saleswoman just smiled and continued to lead me toward the lounge. Liam’s face hardened. He kept pace with us, muttering under his breath, “Hannah, it’s just… Bella likes pink, too. Even if the car isn’t in her name, you can still let her drive it, right? She’s already signed up for driving lessons. She could practice in your car. It’s a win-win.” I stopped in my tracks and turned to face him, my expression cold. “Why should I accommodate your sister? Your sister is getting married, your sister likes pink, your sister, your sister, your sister. Am I buying this car, or is she?” He finally seemed to realize he’d pushed too far. He glanced nervously at the salesperson and lowered his voice. “Hannah, I know you’re buying the car. Why do you have to be so aggressive about it? If I had the money to buy Bella a car, I wouldn’t be here begging you.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I’m just a poor student right now. I want to give my sister a meaningful wedding gift, something to give her some clout with her in-laws. Is that so wrong? As my girlfriend, shouldn’t you be considerate of my feelings? Is your love all about taking and never giving?” I was incandescent with rage. “What are you trying to say, Liam?” I asked through gritted teeth. He scoffed. “Nothing.” “Look, if you still consider me your boyfriend, you’ll bring the car to the wedding for Bella. Green, pink, whatever. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled either way.” …Bella this, Bella that. Maybe he should just date his sister and leave me out of it. Fuming, I stormed into the VIP lounge. The saleswoman, sensing the tension, brought me a tray of sweets and urged me not to let a little disagreement spoil the mood. If we weren’t in public, I would have torn into him right then and there. But lending the car out for the wedding wasn’t a huge deal. I told myself to let it go and grudgingly agreed. The change in Liam was instantaneous. The dark cloud over his face vanished. He quickly stepped outside the glass door, which was slightly ajar, and I heard him on the phone, his voice bursting with excitement. “Bella, I’ve got your wedding car sorted! The new Aetherion Lux 8, the $150,000 one! Yeah! Don’t you worry, your big brother will make sure you’re the happiest bride in the world. Anything anyone else has, you’ll have it too!” Picking up the car should have been a joyous occasion. But Liam had sucked all the fun out of it. Since we started dating, his never-before-seen sister had been a constant presence between us, stealing the majority of his attention. After the purchase, Liam left for his part-time job, and I drove back to my dorm alone. On the way, an unknown number called me. I ignored it, but they were persistent. Finally, I answered. It was Liam’s sister, Bella. “Hannah? My brother said you bought a car for me, for my wedding. That’s great. But I’m still short on some outfits and jewelry for the big day. I sent you a list. It’s not much, just under fifteen grand. You can just pay for it, okay? You’re so rich, you wouldn’t want to be stingy and embarrass my brother, would you?” I slammed on the brakes, my blood pressure skyrocketing. I took a deep, steadying breath, then forced a sweet smile into my voice. “Is there a royal throne in your family’s future that I’m not aware of?” She paused, then her voice rose in pitch. “What’s that supposed to mean?” What did it mean? “It means that when God was raining down wisdom, he must have given you an umbrella!” 3 I returned to my dorm, fuming. My roommate, Sophie, noticed my mood and handed me a can of soda. “What’s up? Fight with the boyfriend?” At the word “boyfriend,” my eyes welled up. “Sophie, I think I made a huge mistake. Being with Liam is making me miserable.” Sophie patted my back comfortingly. Then her eyes fell on the car key on my desk. “The Aetherion Lux 8! You got the new car?!” she shrieked. “You can afford a $150,000 car and you’re moping? Let’s go! You’re buying me dinner!” She dragged me out for a fiery hot pot that seared my taste buds. With good food and good company, my mood finally started to lift. I told her everything that had happened with Liam and the car. Sophie was my best friend—sharp-tongued and with a fierce sense of justice. She plopped a perfectly cooked duck foot into my bowl and started her pep talk. “Choosing not to be a gold digger doesn’t mean you have to be a charity case for the poor. Love and money are two separate things, Hannah. You don’t have to mix them. You did nothing wrong.” She scoffed. “You’re just dating, and he already expects you to financially support his family? What happens later? You become their personal ATM just because you’re an only child and they’re poor?” Sophie laughed, a mix of anger and disbelief. “It’s absurd! He lost a little bit of pride, but you almost lost $150,000! Do you know how much overtime we’d have to work after graduation to earn that back?” “You’re right!” The cloud of emo hanging over me finally dissipated. After Liam’s tirades, I had started to feel guilty, wondering if I, as the financially secure one, should have been more tolerant. But Sophie’s words gave me back my confidence. Being poor didn’t give him the right to be an entitled jerk. Sophie and I toasted, and a plan began to form in my mind. Our different backgrounds and ways of thinking were a fundamental conflict. It hadn’t been obvious before because he’d never asked about my family’s finances. Now that his scales were unbalanced, and I was feeling suffocated, it was time for damage control. As for the snarky remark I’d made to Bella about the dowry, Liam called me, furious, demanding an explanation. When I confirmed what I’d said, he spat out a venomous, “You’ve got some nerve, Hannah,” and then ghosted me for a month. Fine by me. I figured it was a mutual, unspoken breakup, saving us the awkward conversation. But a few days before Bella’s wedding, Liam suddenly appeared at my dorm with his mother, Mrs. Evans. She grasped my hands warmly. “Liam told me you prepared so many gifts for Bella, and even arranged for a car for her wedding. You really shouldn’t have spent so much,” she said, her face beaming. “Just having you there is enough. Bella is so lucky to have such a thoughtful sister-in-law. What do you like to eat? I’ll cook for you personally.” Mrs. Evans worked menial jobs in the city. She was a simple, hardworking woman, and I’d always had a good impression of her. But her words left me completely baffled. Liam pulled me aside. “You haven’t forgotten about lending the car for the wedding, have you?” he whispered. “If you make Bella happy tomorrow, we can forget all about our fights. I won’t be mad at you anymore, and we can go back to being a couple. I’ve been busy helping with the wedding this past month… I wasn’t deliberately ignoring you.” A muscle in my cheek twitched. So he wasn’t ghosting me to break up, he was giving me the silent treatment as a punishment? The absolute confidence of this man. Fine. If he wanted me at the wedding so badly, I’d go. I was morbidly curious to see what kind of performance he and his precious sister were planning to put on. 4 8:00 AM. The moment I stepped into Liam’s family home, the bride, decked out in a vibrant red dress, rushed to “greet” me. “Hannah, you came empty-handed? On my wedding day? You’ve got some nerve,” Bella announced loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “Bella, who’s this?” one of the bridesmaids asked. “She looks so fashionable. A friend of yours?” My Aetherion Lux 8 was parked right outside the door. From the moment I’d arrived, I’d been the subject of stares and whispers. Meeting Bella’s hostile gaze, I offered a faint smile and pulled out an envelope. A bridesmaid snatched it, and the one who opened it let out a shriek. “Wow! A voucher for a masterclass with that celebrity makeup artist! It costs thousands! I’ve always wanted to go!” “Bella, your friend is so good to you! I’m so jealous!” These were clearly Bella’s classmates from makeup school. They passed the voucher around, gushing over it, but Bella didn’t give it a single glance. She tilted her nose in the air and scoffed. “I thought you’d at least give me ten or twenty thousand in cash. For someone with your money, that’s a pretty cheap gift. I really don’t know what my brother sees in you.” I just smiled, refusing to let her get to me.

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At our ring exchange, the ballroom screen flickered to life—showing me bound and violated, not our smiling faces. Julian dropped my hand like poison, sliding the ring onto my best friend’s finger instead. As I stumbled from the red carpet, Dante—her brother, the syndicate boss—caught me. A gunshot silenced the hall. Then, ten chests of gold arrived as his bride price, and he proposed on the spot. Three years later, IVF succeeded. But overhearing Dante’s conversation shattered me: “Leaking Anya’s video let Peaches marry into the Sterling family. Her womb was just a vessel for Peaches’ heir.” I dialed his rival, voice steel-cold: “A billion-dollar deal. Interested?” 1 The vile banter inside the room continued. “You’re a clever one, Boss. Swapping her prenatal vitamins with abortion pills so she couldn’t conceive naturally… forcing her into IVF. She’d probably die of rage if she knew you’d already switched the embryo with one from Peaches and Julian.” “Whether she lives or dies is none of my concern,” Dante’s voice was casual. “After the birth, I’ll just make up some excuse, say the baby didn’t make it. She’ll just blame herself for not being able to carry it to term. It’s her honor to pave the way for Peaches’ happiness.” He tossed the lighter onto the table and stood up, his voice a low warning to everyone in the room. “Not a single word of what was said today leaves this room. I need her to deliver this baby without any complications.” I heard his man, a brute named Marco, slap his chest and laugh. “Don’t worry, Boss. That woman is dumb as a rock. We call her ‘Mrs. Dante’ and she actually thinks she’s the queen of this castle. She brings us food and drinks every day, completely clueless that I was the one who hand-picked the guys for that video.” Someone else roared with laughter. “Marco, you’re too much! Why didn’t you pick me back then? I would’ve loved a taste…” A fruit knife flew through the air, embedding itself in the floorboards right between the man’s legs. He went pale with terror. “Have I not made myself clear?” Dante’s voice was a low growl. “Anya is my wife now. Anyone who dares to bring that up again, I will personally end him.” A younger subordinate mumbled, “Boss, it seems like you’re not entirely indifferent to her. She’s head over heels in love with you. Aren’t you afraid she’ll leave you when she finds out the truth?” Dante scoffed. “So what? I’ll just knock her up again. Support her for the rest of her life. She’s a tainted, love-sick fool. A few sweet words and she’ll be licking my hand like a dog.” The room erupted in laughter again. I stood frozen in the hallway, feeling as if I’d been struck by lightning. I clamped my hand over my mouth, choking back sobs that threatened to escape. Footsteps approached the door. I spun around and fled downstairs, pouring myself a glass of the strongest whiskey and downing it in one go. The burn was searing, a fire racing to my head, and the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. I clutched my chest, the poison of their words echoing in my mind. A week before my original wedding, I was kidnapped and endured a living hell for a day and a night. My then-fiancé, Julian, had held my hand, swearing he still loved me and wanted to marry me. But at the altar, he’d watched that video play and abandoned me, leaving me to be branded a whore by the world. It was Dante who had stormed in, shooting the screen to pieces, pulling me into his arms, and fiercely shielding me from the jeers and insults. He’d presented me with ten chests of gold, telling me he had loved me for years and would die without regret if he could not have me as his wife. His unwavering gaze had conquered me. And now, he was telling me it was all for Peaches. No wonder Peaches had looked at me with that strange, knowing smile on my wedding day to Dante. I was kidnapped because she had called me, claiming her car broke down and asking me to pick her up. She knew all along. It was all a setup. She was mocking my stupidity, reveling in the fact that she had a man who would do anything for her. And the three years of care and affection from Dante? A charade. A performance to squeeze every last bit of usefulness out of me. I had mistaken my executioner for my savior. How utterly laughable. My nails dug into my palms. I bit down, hard, the pain and hatred churning in my chest, the tears unstoppable. A familiar scent enveloped me. Dante was kissing the corner of my eye, his brow furrowed in what looked like concern. He roared at the room, “Which one of you sons of bitches made my wife cry? I’ll fucking kill him.” The hall fell silent, everyone holding their breath. He pulled a gun from his waistband and pressed it into my hand, wrapping his arms around me and guiding my hand to aim at the crowd. “Baby, you see anyone you don’t like, you just pull the trigger. I’ve got your back.” The men he aimed at trembled like leaves, but none dared to move. In this country, Dante was the king of one of the two largest syndicates. No one crossed him. I stopped when the barrel was pointed at Marco. Marco’s eyes widened, his face white with fear. The words ‘I was the one who hand-picked the guys for that video’ screamed in my ears like a curse. My chest heaved. My eyes were red with fury. I was about to squeeze the trigger when Dante pushed the gun down. 2 “Sweetheart, the doctor said the IVF was a success. Let’s not see any blood. We don’t want to scare the baby.” His voice was a gentle coax, his eyes filled with a concern so convincing I almost applauded his performance. Sensing my mood, Dante noticed the empty glass in front of me. He took my hand. “Honey, how long have you been here? Why didn’t you come upstairs to find me?” His words were laced with a careful, probing caution. I looked down. “You men were talking business upstairs. It was all smoke and noise. I didn’t feel like it.” He let out a breath of relief and stroked my head, ordering a maid to bring me a sobering tea. The moment she handed it over, he raised his gun and shot her in the head. I didn’t even have time to react. Thick, warm blood splattered across my face. The maid’s hand was still outstretched, her eyes wide in disbelief as she collapsed. My lips trembled. My stomach seized violently. Dante acted as if nothing had happened. He holstered his gun, carefully wiped my face with his sleeve, and then held the cup of tea to my lips, feeding me sip by sip. I swallowed mechanically, my entire body shaking. In my peripheral vision, I saw Marco’s men drag the maid’s body away, leaving a long, winding trail of blood on the polished floor. “Couldn’t even watch my wife to make sure she didn’t drink,” Dante muttered, his voice cold. “That’s a threat to my son. She didn’t deserve to live.” I stared at his ruthless face, my stomach churning. He touched my cheek, his voice softening again. “It’s all my fault, baby. I’ve made you suffer so much. Now that we finally have our baby, you can’t touch alcohol again, understand?” He added, “No matter what, this child has to be born healthy. You know that, right?” I took several deep breaths before managing a dry, brittle, “Okay.” My heart was frozen solid. In three years of marriage, I had been pregnant six times. Each time, I miscarried for no apparent reason, eventually leading to recurrent pregnancy loss. Six months ago, the doctors told me I could never conceive again. Dante had held me, heartbroken, telling me he didn’t care about children, that all he wanted was my happiness and health. The guilt of not being able to give him a child had eaten away at me. After extensive research, I chose the arduous path of IVF. My stomach became a pincushion, and I swallowed handfuls of hormone pills. All that suffering, only to be a surrogate for Peaches. Because she was afraid of pain, I was to be stripped of my right to be a mother, reduced to a breeding machine. “What’s wrong? You look so pale. Are you not feeling well? I’ll get the doctor right now.” “I’m fine. Just some morning sickness.” Dante’s eyes reddened with feigned sympathy. He stroked my face. “My poor wife, you’re going through so much. I wish I could bear this for you. We rushed our wedding… I’ve ordered you a custom-made wedding gown, your favorite designer. Let’s go try it on tomorrow before your belly gets too big.” I stared at him, at his deeply affectionate eyes, playing me for a fool, time and time again. If he knew I had no intention of carrying this child to term, my fate would be the same as that maid’s. I forced a smile. “I’m going to go rest. You guys carry on.” The moment I was back in our room, I ran to the bathroom and retched until my stomach was a knot of pure agony. Tears streamed down my face, the physical pain a fraction of the agony in my heart. After a long while, I pulled myself together. That’s when I saw it—Dante’s phone, left forgotten on the coffee table. On impulse, I picked it up. I only had to try once. Peaches’ birthday. It unlocked. The screen lit up with a photo of Peaches, leaning against his shoulder, her smile radiant. I scrolled through his photo gallery. Over five thousand photos, and Peaches was in every single one. He had them organized into four folders, chronicling different periods of her life. Each folder was labeled with a single word. Together, they spelled out: My Only Love. In their chat history, I saw that Dante had once risked his life to steal a royal crown for her. I suddenly remembered that night. He’d come back with two bullet wounds, barely clinging to life. It was I who had traded my mother’s only heirloom, a priceless antique amulet, to the royal family to get him back. And why? Because Peaches had casually mentioned she wanted to feel like a queen for her 25th birthday party. A tear fell onto the screen. My heart felt like it was being shredded. It wasn’t the pain of years of deception. It was that for this monster who had destroyed me, I had given away the only thing my mother had left me. Through blurry eyes, my gaze fell on the crescent-moon-shaped birthmark on Peaches’ right shoulder. My own eyes widened in shock. I have the exact same birthmark, in the exact same spot. I remembered when I first met Peaches, she didn’t have it. It was only after I told her about the time I’d saved a man covered in blood while working as a doctor without borders in a war-torn country that she started to distance herself from me. Soon after, she became Dante’s “adopted sister,” and he began telling everyone that Peaches had saved his life. But Peaches was a coward, terrified of hardship. She had never set foot in that country; in fact, she openly despised it. My cold fingers curled into fists. A wild, horrifying suspicion began to form in my mind. So that’s how it was. I collapsed to the floor, caught between hysterical sobs and bitter laughter. 3 A long time later, I wiped my tears, composed myself, and found the number I was looking for. “I have a business proposition for you,” I said. “Worth a billion dollars. Interested?” “What kind of business?” “In three days, I need you to kidnap me.” I gently stroked my stomach. “It’s a ransom Dante will be more than willing to pay.” Just as I hung up, Dante walked in. He was drunk, stumbling slightly, but his senses were still sharp enough to grab my hand. “What am I willing to pay for?” Without batting an eye, I replied, “I saw a necklace I liked. They said I need to put down a deposit.” He laughed, his head slumping onto my shoulder. “Fine, I’ll pay. I’ll pay for everything, Peaches. Whatever you want, big brother will get it for you. I’m yours too.” My face remained a mask. I helped him to bed, covered him up, and lay beside him, wide awake, for the rest of the night. The next day, on our way to the bridal salon, Dante took a call. His expression turned frantic. “Honey, a shipment got held up. I have to go deal with it.” He squeezed my hand, his voice full of apology. “I’m so sorry. I promise, I’ll take you to try on the dress tomorrow. I also ordered us a set of matching rings, ‘One Life, One Love.’ We can try them on together tomorrow, okay?” I pulled my hand away. “I understand. Go on. I’ll be a good girl and wait for you at home.” He squeezed my hand again, and the moment I stepped out of the car, he sped off. Less than ten minutes later, Marco’s car pulled up. As soon as I got in, a photo popped up on my phone. It was Peaches, wearing a stunning diamond ring and the very custom-made gown I had picked out, kneeling on a man’s lap. The man’s hand was on her thigh, visible through the sheer fabric. His lips were kissing the crescent birthmark on her right shoulder, his eyes smoldering with lust. A voice message followed. “I can only get it up at night if I close my eyes and pretend she’s you, Peaches. My sweet Peaches. Big brother misses you so much. Take care of your big brother, won’t you?” The husky voice was followed by a ragged, suppressed gasp. In the silent car, Marco’s sneer broke the quiet. I was startled, only then realizing the scenery outside wasn’t the way home. “Marco, I’m Dante’s wife! What do you think you’re doing?” The car screeched to a halt. I immediately tried to open the door on the other side, but he was faster. He lunged across the seat, grabbed my ankle, and dragged me out of the car. Pain exploded behind my eyes. I gritted my teeth and glared at him. “I’m carrying Dante’s child. If anything happens to me, you won’t live to see another day.” “You idiot,” a shrill laugh came from behind me. I realized we were in a deserted alley not far from the bridal shop. Peaches was standing there, her heel grinding into my face, her eyes filled with triumphant glee. “Did you really think my brother would let a filthy woman like you carry his child?” Marco came over, wrapped his arm around her waist, and squeezed. To my utter shock, they kissed passionately. After a long moment, Marco slowly spoke, “You overheard us at the club the other day, didn’t you? Too bad for you, the embryo in your belly isn’t Peaches’ either. I just grabbed a random one from some homeless beggar in the slums and had it swapped.” I snapped my head up, my pupils trembling. Peaches laughed until she was breathless. “Oh, look at you now. Filthy inside and out. A bastard’s baby and a whore for a mother. Anya, what’s the difference between you and a prostitute? At least they get paid. You’re actually paying to carry a bastard.” She cackled. “Is one enough? Or should we stuff a whole litter in you? Like a pig, hahaha.” My mind roared. A thick, metallic taste filled my throat. I screamed, grabbing a rock from the ground, wanting nothing more than to smash their faces in. Marco kicked me in the stomach. I fell forward, vomiting a mouthful of blood, my face pale with agony. But just then, Peaches suddenly stumbled backward in mock terror, theatrically falling to the ground. She didn’t even have a scratch on her, but Dante, who came running at that exact moment, stepped right over my hand to rush to her side. He pulled her into his arms, his eyes filled with raw panic. “Peaches, what happened? Are you hurt?”

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1 Eight months pregnant, and my notoriously biased parents finally invited me home for dinner. Then the fire broke out. In an instant, they shoved me aside, grabbing my sister, Chelsea—the one with leukemia—and fled, leaving me to the flames. Just as I thought I was going to die, my husband, Adrian, charged back into the inferno without a second thought and pulled me from the wreckage. He didn’t seem to care about his own burns, his eyes filled with nothing but aching tenderness for me. “You’re pregnant,” he’d murmured, his voice choked with soot and fear. “If anything happened to the baby… what would I do?” I thought I had finally found someone who truly loved me. Until I saw his chat history with my sister. “Chelsea, just wait a little longer. As soon as she has the baby and we get the cord blood, I can save you.” Without hesitation, I pulled out my phone and dialed the clinic. “Hello, I’d like to schedule an abortion.” … I had just picked up the appointment slip when I ran into Adrian, propping up my sister Chelsea as they headed for her own check-up. He froze when he saw me. “Honey, what are you doing at the hospital? I thought your prenatal appointment wasn’t until next week.” His gaze darted anxiously to my stomach. I used to think it was a sign of his love. Now I understood. He saw me as nothing more than an incubator for Chelsea’s cure. “Just feeling a little off, so I came to get it checked out,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. Adrian’s face tightened with worry. “Off how? What did the doctor say? How’s the baby? Did you get the results?” He rushed to my side, steadying me, his hand hovering protectively over my belly, his eyes a performance of pure concern. Chelsea, however, shot me a venomous glare. “You can’t even handle a simple pregnancy. What good are you? If anything, and I mean anything, happens to that baby, I’ll make you pay.” I handed Adrian the ultrasound printout I’d just received. “The results are fine. The baby’s perfectly healthy.” He let out a visible sigh of relief. “That’s good. Then you should go home and rest. Chelsea still has a few tests to get through, so I’ll stay with her and be back later.” His other hand never once left Chelsea’s arm. I used to dismiss his excessive attention to her as him simply trying to get along with my family for my sake. It never occurred to me that this was their plan all along. As they walked away, a cold resolve settled over me. I followed them. I watched them disappear into the office of the Head of Hematology—who also happened to be my father. “Chelsea’s condition can’t wait any longer,” my father’s voice was grim. “We need to do something, fast.” Adrian squeezed Chelsea’s hand tightly. “Just a little longer. Two months, max. Once Amelia gives birth and we get the cord blood, we can save her.” “She might not even last another month,” my father countered, his tone severe. “We have to operate as soon as possible.” “Then let’s do the C-section now. The baby is viable at eight months.” A figure stepped out from a corner of the office. My blood ran cold. It was my mother, an OB-GYN at this very hospital. It felt like a dozen knives plunged into my chest, stealing my breath. They were all in on it. All of them. And I had been naive enough to believe that my pregnancy had finally earned me a sliver of my parents’ love. “But Amelia’s only eight months along,” Adrian’s voice pulled me back from the brink. “If we induce her now, will it harm the baby?” My mother’s face soured, her brow furrowed. “Chelsea’s health is the only thing that matters right now. Nothing else is important.” I stared at the woman who had carried me for nine months, and my heart felt like it was being ripped apart. Chelsea leaned into Adrian’s arms, her voice a saccharine whisper. “Adrian, darling, you seem so worried about her baby. Don’t tell me you’re actually starting to fall for her.” He pulled her tighter, his denial swift and sharp. “Of course not. I only married her to get you the cord blood you need to live. Once the baby is out, she’s worthless to me.” I watched the scene unfold, tears streaming silently down my face, my hand clenched around the abortion pill the doctor had given me earlier. I tilted my head back and, without a single shred of doubt, swallowed it. 2 After taking the pill, I went home. I signed the divorce papers I’d had drawn up months ago and locked them in the safe. Just as I started to pack, the front door burst open. A chill of pure fear shot down my spine. Adrian stormed in and grabbed my arm. “Amelia, the doctor just called me. He took another look at your report. The baby’s not doing well. We have to go to the hospital. Now.” I tried to pull away, but his grip was like a vise, my wrist already turning red. “I’m not going. The doctor told me himself that the baby was fine. And why would the hospital call you and not me?” Adrian’s eyes were bloodshot, a frantic urgency in them. “It was a last-minute call! Your mother contacted me directly. Even if you don’t trust me, you trust your own mother, don’t you?” Right on cue, my parents walked in. My mother’s face was a cold mask. “This is your own fault for not being careful enough. You’ve upset the baby’s stability. You’re coming with us to the hospital.” My father chimed in, “Your mother is an OB-GYN, for God’s sake. You don’t trust her professional opinion?” My free hand shot out, grabbing the bedroom doorknob in a death grip. “I’m not going. It’s late. We can go tomorrow. I feel fine. There’s nothing wrong.” My mother’s eyes narrowed into slits. She strode forward and started prying my fingers from the knob, one by one. “You’ll go when I say you’ll go. Why are you so difficult? I’m your mother. Would I ever do anything to harm you?” From the moment I was born, they had shipped me off to live with my grandparents in the countryside. They only reluctantly brought me back after my grandparents passed away and the village council called them. I had always wanted to ask them: we were both their daughters, why did they love Chelsea and not me? I held on with every ounce of strength I had, and my mother couldn’t break my grip. SLAP. The sound echoed in the room. Her hand struck my face with brutal force. “You are going to the hospital with me, right now. If you delay Chelsea’s treatment, I will make you regret it.” My cheek burned, instantly swelling. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Finally. The masks are off.” My mother was unfazed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I know is that your body is no longer fit to continue this pregnancy. It just so happens that Chelsea needs the cord blood to live.” Seeing that I still wouldn’t let go, my father joined the assault. “Amelia, you’ve always been the sensible one. Your sister needs you. Can’t you do this one thing for your mother and me?” He was trying to play the family card. I spat on the floor at his feet. “Don’t you dare. Stop with the fake sentiment. Chelsea’s life is a life, but mine isn’t? A forced C-section at eight months… I could die.” When he saw that I wouldn’t be swayed, he slapped me too, on the other cheek. “You ungrateful wretch! That’s your sister! What’s wrong with sacrificing one baby to save her? It’s not like you can’t have another one.” Adrian dropped the act completely. His hands closed around my neck. “Amelia, Chelsea collapsed this afternoon. She’s waiting for your cord blood to save her life. You’re going to that hospital whether you like it or not.” “Adrian, the baby in my belly is your child!” I gasped. He sneered. “It’s his honor to be able to save Chelsea. It’s his purpose. Otherwise, a woman like you would never have been worthy of carrying my child in the first place.” I stared into his cold, merciless eyes and felt myself plummeting into a bottomless abyss. 3 “Dad, Mom, let’s stop wasting time with her. Chelsea can’t wait. Let’s just tie her up and drag her to the hospital!” With that, Adrian grabbed a rope. With my parents’ help, they bound my hands behind my back. “Get moving! If you screw up Chelsea’s treatment, I’ll deal with you,” my mother hissed, shoving me forward. I hooked my foot around the doorframe, refusing to budge. Adrian kicked my leg, hard. “Amelia, if Chelsea doesn’t make it, I swear I’ll make you pay with your life.” He used all his strength. I crumpled to the floor with a thud, my knees screaming in protest. A sharp, twisting pain shot through my abdomen. “Be careful with the baby!” my mother snapped at Adrian. “You can hit her face, but don’t you dare harm the baby in her stomach.” Adrian nodded quickly. He and my father hauled me up like a sack of potatoes and started dragging me toward the elevator. Just as the elevator doors opened, a tall, well-built man stepped out. I recognized him. It was Officer Miller from next door. He’d helped me once when my purse was stolen. He was a lifeline. A flicker of hope ignited in my chest. “Help—” Before I could get the word out, my mother clamped her hand over my mouth. “Feeling nauseous again? Don’t worry, sweetheart, Mommy’s taking you to the hospital.” Officer Miller looked at us, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Is everything alright?” “My wife’s not feeling well,” Adrian said smoothly. “Looks like she might be going into labor. We’re rushing her to the hospital.” My hands were still tied behind me, Adrian’s grip like steel, preventing any movement. I could only plead with my eyes, locking them on Officer Miller. “I’m an OB-GYN,” my mother added, pulling out her hospital ID to sell the lie. “My daughter is about to give birth. We can’t waste a second.” “Then you should hurry,” Officer Miller said, stepping aside to let us pass. Adrian let out a small, relieved breath. As they dragged me into the elevator, I watched Officer Miller turn and walk away. The hope in my heart turned to ash. “You little bitch,” my mother hissed as soon as the doors closed, pinching my arm viciously. “You almost tattled to that cop. Do you have any idea that you were about to condemn your own sister to death? How can you be so evil?” The sharp, piercing pain brought fresh tears to my eyes. Just then, my father’s phone rang. “Dr. Evans, your daughter Chelsea has a sudden high fever that won’t break. You need to get back here immediately.” After hanging up, my father’s face grew grim as he stared at my stomach. “Chelsea can’t wait. The second we get to the hospital, we’re prepping for the C-section.” The elevator doors opened, and Adrian and my father practically threw me out. “Stop right there.” A sudden rush of footsteps. I turned my head. It was Officer Miller, his expression serious, standing right behind us. 4 The extinguished embers of hope inside me flared back to life. “You dropped your ID.” Officer Miller jogged over and handed my ID card to my mother. “Oh, thank you, Officer.” My mother gushed with gratitude. I struggled against my bonds, trying to break free. “Officer—” Just as he was about to leave again, I tried to call out, but Adrian clamped his hand over my mouth before I could finish. “Honey, just hold on a little longer. We’re almost at the hospital.” He dragged me toward the car. The moment I was thrown into the back seat, my mother’s fingers dug into my arm again, hard. “If you dare cause any more trouble, I swear I’ll make you wish you were never born.” Adrian sped through three red lights to get to the hospital. I was dragged straight into an operating room. Staring at the cold, sterile room, I was terrified. I tried to run, but my mother was ready with a syringe. She jabbed a sedative into my arm. “We’re just taking the baby out. I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss. We’re family. And you’re saving your own sister!” The sedative began to work, my body feeling strangely light. But to avoid harming the baby, she’d used a small dose. I was still conscious. “Tie her to the operating table. I’ll perform the surgery myself.” Adrian and my father hoisted me onto the table. “This is illegal! Do you know what you’re doing is a crime?” I screamed, my voice filled with desperation. My mother just scoffed. “You’re my daughter. What’s wrong with me operating on you? I’m the one who gave you life.” My father shot me a contemptuous look. “You ungrateful brat. We raised you all these years, and all we’re asking is for you to save your sister. And you’re talking to us about the law?” Adrian tightened the ropes binding me to the table. I could feel them cutting into the flesh of my wrists. “Adrian, sign this quickly. I need to start,” my mother said, handing him a consent form. He didn’t even glance at it before scrawling his name. I looked at the people I was supposed to call my family, and my heart plunged into an icy abyss. “Adrian, maybe you should wait outside. It might get a little bloody,” my mother said, picking up a scalpel. He shook his head. “No. I have to see Chelsea’s medicine being taken out with my own eyes. Only then can I be at ease.” His words were like needles, piercing my heart over and over. In his eyes, I and the baby inside me were nothing more than a dose of medicine. This was a private, illegal surgery. There was no anesthesiologist. My mother pressed the cold blade against my stomach and began to cut. A live C-section. Pain, white-hot and absolute, exploded through me. It felt like my bones were being shattered. I could feel every layer of my flesh being sliced open. The room echoed with my blood-curdling screams, but no one wiped the sweat from my brow, no one even flinched. They didn’t even look at me. “You will all pay for this,” I gritted out through clenched teeth. Adrian was about to curse at me when my mother suddenly shouted. “It’s out! The baby’s out!” But her joy was short-lived. A moment later, her voice was laced with terror. “The baby… why isn’t the baby breathing?”

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1 The year my career hit its peak was the year my long-lost brother returned to the country. To champion him, my own fiancée, Clarissa, didn’t hesitate to sever every lifeline to my career, diverting every project and every opportunity his way. The day I was framed and subsequently canceled by the entire world, Clarissa stood by, allowing him to publicly announce their rekindled romance. That first year of being blacklisted by Clarissa was the darkest of my life. I was 24, standing on the summit of a mountain I had climbed myself, only to be kicked into the abyss by my own brother, Nathaniel. The world was convinced I was the one who had drugged him, causing his voice to fail him in the middle of the New Year’s Eve live broadcast. I can still see the panic on Clarissa’s face, the first crack I’d ever seen in her icy composure. “You’d better pray to God he’s okay, Jayce!” And just like that, the glory I had spent three years bleeding for was snatched away by her own hands. My stage name, “Zayn,” was trademarked by her company. Without her permission, I couldn’t use it commercially. My songs, the ones I had poured my soul into, were seized by the label. Without her signature, I no longer had the right to sing them. Even our five-year love story was now reframed for the world to see: I was nothing but a placeholder. While I was being torn to shreds by an endless storm of online hate, Nathaniel posted from his hospital bed, the picture of innocence. “Sorry to have worried everyone,” he wrote, looking frail and makeup-free. “The doctor says my voice will be fine after half a month of rest. Also, a little update for you all: we’re back together!” In the photo, the famously private CEO, a woman who had never before appeared in a candid photo, was there by his side, her head bowed as she carefully peeled an apple for him. That woman was my fiancée, Clarissa. My parents rushed to the hospital the moment they heard the news. Over the phone, they refused to listen to a single word of my defense. My mother, blinded by rage, screamed at me, “Jayce, how could I have raised such a monster! If you have a shred of decency left, you’ll get over to that hospital and apologize to your brother!” A paparazzo recorded the call and leaked it online. Now, the world had its “irrefutable proof.” The villain who sabotaged Nathaniel’s New Year’s performance was me, his own brother, Zayn, supposedly terrified of being overshadowed on stage. The homewrecker who broke up Nathaniel and the Clarity Entertainment CEO six years ago was also me, his brother, the five-year stand-in. “Having a brother like that, Nathaniel really drew the short straw.” “I used to like Zayn, but I had no idea he was such a piece of shit.” “He’s a snake who drugged his own brother and stole his girl. Why hasn’t he been kicked out of the industry yet? Everyone, report him!” I was defenseless. The desperate attempts of one man to prove his innocence were a flickering candle against the hurricane of manufactured outrage. Every brand deal I had secured was terminated. Every endorsement I had signed now demanded I pay crippling penalties. Three years of earnings were wiped out in an instant, leaving me buried under a mountain of debt. Perhaps she saw how truly pathetic my situation was, or perhaps she just wanted to cut ties cleanly and completely. In the end, it was Clarissa who stepped in and settled my remaining debts. When Nathaniel found out, he wasn’t angry. On the contrary, he was the picture of magnanimity. He handed Clarissa a bank card loaded with a hundred thousand dollars. “It’s not much, but it’s a gesture,” he’d said, his words dripping with false sincerity. “Clarissa, please tell Jayce for me that I don’t hold a grudge. In fact, I’m grateful to him for bringing you back to me. That’s more important than anything.” He even added, “And tell him to come home soon, after Mom and Dad have cooled off.” The victor, standing alone on his pedestal, basking in the glow of our parents’ favoritism and his lover’s devotion. And me? After years of swallowing my pain, I was still just a stray dog kicked to the curb. A text message lit up my phone. It was from Nathaniel. He’s always been good at this—showing off his perfect life with a subtle, cutting grace. [It’s a shame you can’t be here to share in my joy. Clarissa is throwing me a victory party. Care to come?] His perfect life: the heir to a family fortune, the cherished love of a powerful CEO, the triumphant hero of his own story. Even strangers on the street couldn’t help but sigh, “Nathaniel is living the dream, isn’t he?” 2 And I was a rat, scuttling through the filth of the gutter. Every drop of sweat, every ounce of effort I had ever put in, was now worthless. When I didn’t reply, Nathaniel made a show of it at his party, his face a mask of feigned concern. “Jayce hasn’t texted me back. Do you think he’s still mad at me?” Clarissa’s expression was unreadable. “If he doesn’t want to come, forget him.” Nathaniel and I are fraternal twins. From the day we were born, he was better than me at everything. I used to wonder if my genes were defective. Compared to my ordinary existence, his life was like playing with cheat codes enabled. Our parents groomed him to be the heir. I was the invisible one, a role that, for a time, I was happy to play. The one area where I, the good-for-nothing son, had a flicker of talent was music. It was Clarissa who approached me first, back in my sophomore year of high school. I’d just won the campus singing competition, and as the student council president, she was the one to present my award. Under the spotlights, for the first time, I felt like I had finally stepped out of Nathaniel’s long shadow. I even found a sliver of confidence. As the heiress to Clarity Entertainment, she took a keen interest in me. We started spending more time together. I knew how Nathaniel looked at her, the undisguised adoration in his eyes. So, when he suddenly developed an interest in music—a passion he’d always sneered at—I wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Soon enough, they became the couple everyone on campus envied. After graduation, Clarissa sent me an official invitation to join Clarity Entertainment. That same year, Nathaniel abruptly rejected the gilded path my parents had paved for him and vanished. He spent the next six years abroad, alone. His disappearance threw our family into chaos. Even Clarissa, who was always so composed, was a mess, completely lost. When Nathaniel finally returned six years later, he had a Master’s degree from Berklee College of Music. A single, well-timed tear was all it took. Our relieved parents couldn’t bring themselves to say a single word of reproach. My fiancée, Clarissa, began to waver, her guilt over his absence twisting into something else. That one tear effortlessly stole everything I had. Now, Nathaniel was basking in the admiration of millions on every news headline, while I was holed up in a company-owned apartment, teaching myself to write songs. [They twist your words with malicious intent / They dismiss your struggle with a careless hand.] My official account, with its ten million followers, had long been banned. I started over, using my real name, Jayce, to upload my original work. Within half a day, every track was taken down, buried under a flood of malicious reports. The second year of Clarissa’s blacklist. I had no songs to sing, no shows to book. The company gave me zero resources. My manager and assistant were reassigned. The clauses in my contract were a cage, preventing me from even taking on small commercial gigs. My stage performances were reported and removed, my appearances in variety shows were blurred out. As a “disgraced artist,” all my accounts were silenced. Even my burner account on TikTok was swarmed by haters until it was locked. Meanwhile, Nathaniel, with Clarissa clearing his path, won “Best New Artist” at the Vanguard Music Awards. The third year of Clarissa’s blacklist. Nathaniel competed on Soundwave, the country’s top music reality show, and was crowned “King of Singers.” And my five-year contract with Clarity Entertainment finally expired. I had no intention of renewing. My former manager, Anna, heard the news and rushed over to talk me out of it. “Clarissa’s on a business trip in Paris. Why don’t you wait for her to get back before you decide anything?” Of course, I knew she was in Paris. In the family group chat I had muted, Nathaniel, who was “on vacation,” was posting daily photos of his romantic trip with her. Seeing my resolve, Anna’s voice grew anxious. “Jayce, I heard from the higher-ups… before Clarissa left, she told them to start prepping for your comeback next year. You’ve toughed it out for three years. Don’t throw it all away now when we’re so close, right?” 3 Clarity Entertainment was a titan in the industry, a behemoth of power, connections, and resources. It was the dream destination for countless musicians. But after three years of being crushed under its heel, how could I possibly stay? I continued to pack up my lyric sheets and compositions. Anna pleaded, “Jayce, you need to think this through. Once you leave Clarity, your stage name, your songs… they’re all gone. Are you really willing to give all that up?” My hands froze. It was a question I had asked myself a thousand times during a thousand sleepless nights. I didn’t even dare to hum the melodies of the songs I had sung millions of times during the day. If my fingers so much as brushed against the piano keys and the intro began to play, I would break down completely. The moment they became leverage to be used against me, they were no longer mine. I walked out the door and didn’t look back. Anna ran after me, her voice laced with desperation. “Jayce, if Clarissa doesn’t give the green light, who in this industry will dare to sign you?” I didn’t turn around. There was nothing left there for me to look back on. That night, my phone vibrated. A message from Clarissa: [Have you made up your mind?] I didn’t reply. I became a blur of motion, a frantic spinning top whipping itself into exhaustion, running from one meeting to the next. I knew it would be hard. Even though three years had passed, no company in the country would risk signing an artist with my kind of baggage. Even without the active pressure from Clarity Entertainment, the hashtag #ZaynGetOutOfTheIndustry was still a permanent fixture on Twitter. “Zayn, you’re still singing?” “I’m sorry, Mr. Evans, but this market is all about fan engagement. We’re just not willing to take the risk.” “Jayce, we recognize your talent, but you have to understand, so many of our partners have ties to Clarity…” As I walked out of the last agency, the heavens opened up. A torrential downpour blurred the world in front of me. I opened my umbrella, a lone black boat adrift in a storm, swept along with the tide of commuters at a busy intersection. I knew starting over would be difficult. I just didn’t realize it would be impossible. To scrounge up a gig, I drank glass after glass with a wealthy producer, enduring her cloying hands on my shoulder, her brazen lips on my cheek. I drank until I was heaving over a toilet, the bitter taste of bile burning my throat. “Don’t be an idiot. They’re just messing with you. Who would actually dare to use you now?” The producer’s assistant, her own makeup perfectly intact, glanced at my pathetic, slumped form in the mirror. I hung my head, my hair a tangled mess, the world a blurry wreck. I don’t know what’s been wrong with me these past few years. The tears are always there, right behind my eyes, ready to fall the second I look down. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the hot, stinging tears pooled and overflowed, tracing desperate paths down to the hopeless ground. The assistant, who I’d only just met, hesitated for a long moment before sighing, pinching her nose, and helping me to my feet. “You should go,” she muttered. “If you stay any longer, it won’t just be about drinking.” The next day, my name was a trending topic on Twitter. SHOCKING! Former Pop Star Zayn Sings for His Supper at Private Party to Fund Comeback! The video showed me standing before a crowd of drunk socialites, singing an a cappella version of my breakout hit, “Radiant Days,” at the producer’s request. Everyone else’s face was blurred. Except for mine. I knew what these women were about, their cruel little games. I could even see the sickening desire in some of their eyes. But I still stood up and sang. What if this was a chance? I just hadn’t expected that my leaving early would piss someone off enough to send the video to a gossip blog. “So Zayn has officially become a rich cougar’s plaything?” “Gotta say, though, his three-octave high notes are still unmatched.” “Hate to admit it, but the person above is right.” “Why is this jinx still trying to crawl back? Can’t he just stay buried with his dead career instead of coming out and disgusting everyone?” 4 “Once a homewrecker, always a homewrecker. He’ll do anything for fame.” When the tide of public opinion decides to drown someone, they see your very existence as a mistake. My father’s call was the first in three years. He didn’t waste any time. “Jayce, are you determined to drag the Evans family name through the mud until you’re satisfied?” I hung up. I couldn’t listen to any more of it. I drew the heavy curtains in my rented apartment, blocking out every ray of sunlight that dared to mock me, and buried myself completely under the covers. Five hours after the scandal broke, I got a call from Clarissa. “Jayce, you really know how to piss me off.” Her voice was devoid of any warmth, a blade of ice in the darkness. I heard a rumor that the ever-composed CEO of Clarity Entertainment had been in a foul mood during a financial report meeting today, her face an unprecedented mask of fury. In my room, the only source of light was the name on my screen: [Clarissa]. It was so bright it stung my eyes. “I’m asking you one last time. Are you coming back or not?” Her voice was the same as I remembered—cold, steady, and demanding nothing less than total submission. “Clarissa,” I asked, my voice raspy, “do you still think I was the one who drugged him?” My hand gripping the phone was white-knuckled. “Does it matter?” she countered. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. A profound sense of powerlessness washed over me. She was right. It didn’t matter. To her, nothing I did, nothing I was, mattered more than a single one of his tears. So my efforts, my explanations… none of it mattered. I ended the call, feeling as if I’d been plunged into an icy abyss. Only now did I realize the truth.

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My adoptive brother framed me for breaking his jade pendant. As punishment, my sister sent me to be a lab test subject—despite the 95% risk. “Your sacrifice will help River join the lab,” they said. Unknown to them, River had secretly signed to have me converted into a robot permanently. I called our parents. “Stop being difficult,” they chided, while buying River a Patek Philippe in the background. So I told the lab: “Begin the simulation. The android is ready.” Three months later, I returned—perfectly obedient, emotionless. Everyone was satisfied… Until River’s consent form surfaced. That day, both my sisters lost their minds. 1 The day I was released from the lab was also my birthday. Of course, everyone forgot. They had promised me that if I participated in the experiment, they would give me a birthday present, that they would finally accept me. But when the day came, they were too busy showering River with flowers and gifts, holding car doors open for him. I was left in the corner, forgotten, like a true machine. They had doted on River for eighteen years. Everyone in the city knew him as the young master of the powerful Shaw family. And me? I was just the long-lost son, found after eighteen years, an outsider who never truly belonged. I shouldn’t have hoped for a love that was never meant for me. But when I saw my second sister, Celine, I mechanically reached out my hand. The chip in my brain reminded me of her promise. “Celine,” I said, my voice flat. “It’s my birthday. You promised me.” She was startled for a moment, then let out a short, sharp laugh. “I was just saying that. You actually took it seriously? You never learn, do you?” My eldest sister, Nora, frowned and pulled out a diamond-encrusted watch. “Celine, if he wants it, just give it to him. The Shaw family isn’t short on cash.” But River whined from the side, “Nora, you said you’d only celebrate one brother’s birthday.” At that, Celine snatched the watch and dangled it in front of my face. “You want this?” she taunted, a smirk playing on her lips as her eyes fell to my wrist. “Have you looked in a mirror? With hands that ugly, even the finest watch would just make people laugh at you.” A grotesque black tattoo snaked around my wrist like a crawling insect. Celine had told me it was a protective charm she’d gotten specially for me, that I had to have it tattooed on to ensure my safety. I was so happy, so desperate for her affection, that I endured the searing pain of the needle as it etched the design into my skin. Later, at a family banquet, she grabbed my hand and showed it off to everyone, laughing hysterically. “This illiterate doesn’t even recognize Spanish. Look, everyone.” “He tattooed ‘River’s Dog’ on himself. What an idiot.” Only then did I understand. It wasn’t a blessing. It was a brand. I tried to get it removed, but she threatened me. If I dared to touch it, she would disown me. So I swallowed my pride and endured, right up until she sent me to the lab, right up until River secretly had me converted into a robot. Now, my face was a mask. I picked up a sharp piece of gravel from the roadside and began to scrape at the tattoo on my wrist. A robot doesn’t need a sister. This brand served no purpose. The stone tore at my flesh, drawing blood. Celine’s expression changed. “What are you doing?” she hissed, grabbing my hand. “Did you forget what I said? If you get rid of this, I’m done with you.” I curved my lips into a perfectly calibrated smile. “You said it was ugly, Celine. So I’m removing it.” She was stunned. She threw the watch on the ground. “Fine, take it, you psycho.” I ignored her, continuing to scrape away at the ink until my wrist was a bloody mess, all traces of the black letters gone. Nora stood by, watching coldly. Only when I was finished did she toss a tissue at me. “Celine will never accept you,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “It’s good that you finally see that.” “River is our real family. Even though Mom and Dad brought you back, in our hearts, we only have one brother, and that’s River.” “Letting you stay with the Shaw family is already a great tolerance on our part. Don’t expect anything more. Do you understand?” I stood up, grinding the tissue and the diamond watch under my heel. “I understand.” She smiled, satisfied. “As long as you remain as obedient as you are now, I won’t make things difficult for you.” She had no idea that the obedient brother she was so pleased with was an emotionless robot. No matter how they humiliated me now, I would feel nothing. 2 I was a world-class scientist. To find my family, I had concealed my identity and returned to my home country. But after my biological parents found me, I discovered they already had an adopted son, River, whom they had cherished for years. My two sisters looked down on my humble background and my non-existent academic record. “You didn’t even finish elementary school?” “How could we have a brother this stupid?” “If word gets out, we’ll be the laughingstock of the city’s elite.” I was about to explain that I had been scouted for a special program abroad at a young age and had been involved in classified research ever since, which was why my records were blank. But before I could speak, River ran down the stairs with a suitcase, his eyes downcast, feigning heartbreak. “Celine,” he said sadly, “you have your real brother now. I guess this imposter should leave.” She snorted. “Who dares call you an imposter? I, Celine Shaw, have only one brother, and that’s River.” She tossed my file aside. “This waste of space who didn’t even finish grade school could never be my brother.” I wisely kept my mouth shut. No one in this house wanted me. But I had been alone for over a decade. I craved the warmth of a family. At first, when my parents brought me back, they were kind. My mother held me and cried until her eyes were swollen. My father swore he would make up for the twenty years I was lost. It was only my sisters, afraid of hurting River’s feelings, who were cold to me. I’d spent my life calculating numbers, solving complex problems in a laboratory. I was used to succeeding. I thought family was just another equation to be solved. I wracked my brain trying to please them. When Celine told me to get the tattoo, I didn’t hesitate, despite my fear of pain. I burned my fingers blistering them while making hangover soup for my father and sister when they came home late from business dinners. But I didn’t know that nothing I did could ever compete with a few simple words from River, who had been in this family for twenty years. Fueled by his manipulations, their attitude toward me soured. Then came the day River smashed the family heirloom—a jade pendant his mother had given him—on the floor and burst into tears. “Brother,” he cried, “if you wanted it, I would have given it to you. I would give you anything. Why did you have to destroy it?” Just like that, my sisters sent me to the AI lab. When I came out, I was a robot, incapable of feeling. River had a chip implanted in my brain, forcing me to obey his commands. Just like now. He was lounging lazily on the sofa. “Brother,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension, “go fetch me a basin of water to wash my feet.” Celine was touching up her makeup nearby. She smiled, her red lips curving. “You heard him. Go on. If you don’t listen to River, don’t blame me for kicking you out of this house.” River gave a mysterious smile. “Don’t worry, Celine. My brother’s all better now. He’ll be a good boy. Won’t you? Watch.” I silently fetched a basin of water and placed it before him. Celine looked surprised, then her expression softened into a smug grin. “Shameless. You’d do anything to stay in the Shaw family, wouldn’t you?” River smiled and dipped his feet into the water. The next second, he kicked the basin over. “It’s scalding! Are you trying to burn me alive?” The basin of hot water drenched me. River pouted. “Turned into a robot…” he muttered, then glanced at Celine and quickly cut himself off. Celine put down her lipstick, her brow furrowed. “River, what did you just say? What robot?” He laughed it off. “Oh, Celine, I just meant he’s dumber than a robot.” He thought for a moment. “You think if we actually turned him into a robot, he’d be any smarter than he is now?” Celine’s expression turned serious. “River, he’s still Mom and Dad’s biological son. You can prank him all you want, but you have to let him live.” “And don’t you ever talk about turning him into a robot again. If Nora heard you, she’d lecture you for days.” River’s face darkened, but he forced a smile. “Of course not. I was just joking. With you and Nora spoiling me, I’m more than satisfied. Why would I need to mess with him?” Celine smiled and patted his head. “My sweet brother is the best. No need to waste your time on an idiot.” She tossed a hand towel from the sofa toward me. “Wipe yourself off.” But River hooked his foot around the towel and kicked it away. “Sister, that’s your towel. I won’t let you give it to him.” He smirked. “Besides, the floor is still wet.” “Brother,” he said, his voice sickly sweet, “since you’re already soaked, why don’t you just roll around on the floor and dry it up?” Celine stood up and checked her watch. “Do as River says. I have to go out.” She gently straightened River’s collar. “I know you’re upset, but remember, for Mom and Dad’s sake, do not turn him into a robot. This is not something you can be impulsive about. I’m only saying this for your own good.” River looked up, blinking innocently. “Okay, I’ll listen to you, sister.” I lay silently on the floor. The water seeped through my synthetic skin, trickling through the tiny pores of my circuit boards and into my central processing unit. Celine didn’t know. The little brother she trusted so completely had already turned me into a robot. And a robot, when severely water-damaged, will break down. 3 Perhaps Celine’s warning only served to ignite River’s cruelty. His abuse at home escalated. “Brother, you were lost for so many years. You don’t know how to do anything. How did you even survive?” he taunted. “Did you eat out of garbage cans like a homeless person?” I scanned my robotic database and replied calmly, “I know how to cook for myself.” My placid demeanor seemed to enrage him. His face twisted, and he slapped me hard across the face. “You worthless dog!” “I am your master. You should say that you like eating from garbage cans. Understand?” He forgot. I was a robot now. I only gave a cold, mechanical reply. “I’m sorry, I do not understand your command.” This made him even angrier. He kicked me hard. “Robots are so stupid. Artificial intelligence? More like artificial idiot. The guys at the lab promised me a human-based model would be more responsive, but you’re still so dumb.” He smirked. “Robot brother, go get your little brother a glass of water. Make sure it’s over 195 degrees Fahrenheit.” He pressed my hand down on the table. “Now say it. ‘I like to eat garbage.’” I looked him in the eye. “You like to eat garbage.” His face contorted with rage. He poured the scalding water from the glass all over my hand. The synthetic skin immediately turned red and blistered. “Say it! Say you like to eat garbage!” he shrieked. “Say it, or I’ll burn you to death.” He seemed to have forgotten I was a robot. I curved my lips into a slight smile. “You like to eat garbage.” He screamed and smashed the glass against my head. Then he grabbed a nearby glass kettle full of boiling water and poured it over my head. “Stupid, worthless dog! You defy me even as a robot!” Just then, the door opened, and Nora walked in. She took in the chaotic scene, her brow furrowing. “River, what are you doing? Why are you so angry?” River froze, then his expression immediately shifted to one of pitiful innocence, tears welling in his eyes. “Nora, he insulted me. I… I just lost control. You know I can’t control my temper. I didn’t mean it.” Nora looked at me, lying on the floor, my body covered in burns, and her expression soured. “You’ve made such a mess of him. Now we’ll have to take him to the hospital. It’s so much trouble.” But I pushed myself up from the floor with my raw, bloody hands. “It’s alright, Nora,” I said. “There’s no need to go to the hospital.” She was annoyed. “What are you trying to prove, Caleb? You think you can just walk around looking like a monster? You’ll become the laughingstock of the family.” I was confused. I was a robot. I shouldn’t go to a hospital. Before I could process her words, the steam had seeped deep into my central processor. BEEP. I collapsed. A red light started flashing on my forehead. “System failure. Please initiate repairs immediately.” I saw Nora’s face change, her composure cracking. “Caleb!” She shook my arm, shouting my name. “Caleb, what are you doing? What system failure?” Her voice rose to a hysterical shriek. “Someone call an ambulance!”

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For years, I sold down jackets in a forgotten corner of this country. Twenty bucks a pop. Then one day, an influencer waltzed in, camera rolling, ready to “expose” me. “This material is garbage, folks, the down fill is pathetic, and the style is just plain ugly! This is trash!” Then, smooth as a snake, she launched her own brand of jackets, even getting the locals to try them on. Feeling the difference, and egged on by the influencer, the townspeople turned on me. They called me a con artist, trashed my shop, and swore they’d only buy her jackets from now on. What they didn’t know was that a single one of her jackets cost four hundred dollars. 1 Winter was creeping in again, and my little shop was open for business, racks lined with down jackets. But today was different. Just as I was setting up, a woman walked in, phone held high, live-streaming her every move. She was a splash of polished city glam against the faded backdrop of my humble store, her meticulous makeup and trendy clothes a world away from the dusty streets outside. She pulled me into the frame of her phone. “Hi, ma’am,” she said, her voice sugary sweet for her audience. “My name is Lexi, I’m a content creator with over a million followers. I was hoping I could review one of your jackets today?” I had no idea what that really meant. I figured she just wanted to have a look, so I nodded. “Sure.” That was my first mistake. She plucked a jacket from the rack, her brow furrowing in theatrical disgust. “Okay, guys, you can see right away this is just cheap polyester. No one uses this stuff anymore for quality outerwear. It’s worthless.” After trashing the fabric, Lexi pulled a small, wicked-looking knife from her purse. With a sickening shh-rripp, she sliced the jacket open. The stuffing, a cloud of grayish down, drifted out. Her eyes went wide, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ of feigned shock. “Oh my God, you guys! Look at this! There’s barely any fill in here, and it’s the absolute worst quality duck down. This jacket is pure garbage.” Watching her performance, a hot spike of anger shot through me. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just come in here and destroy my merchandise!” She ignored me completely, grabbing several more jackets and slashing them open one by one. “Let’s just see about the others,” she narrated to her phone. “Wow. Unbelievable. They’re all the same. All of them are trash.” The sight of my inventory being gutted on the floor sent rage boiling up in my chest. “Are you out of your mind?” I yelled. “You’ve ruined half my stock! How am I supposed to run a business? You’re paying for all of that!” Lexi just laughed, a triumphant, mocking sound. “Did you hear that, everyone? I’m doing a public service, exposing this scammer, and she wants me to pay her.” Just as I was about to let loose a string of curses, one of my regulars, Caleb, walked in. He was a familiar face, a man who’d bought a jacket from me every other winter. “Hey, Ava!” he called out. “Got one in my size?” I turned to help him, but Lexi stepped between us, blocking him. “Sir, please, don’t buy anything from this woman. Her jackets are a complete rip-off.” Caleb just stood there, scratching his head awkwardly, caught in the middle. That was it. I was done being polite. “If you’re not buying, get the hell out of my store,” I snarled at Lexi. “Stop scaring off my customers. I don’t care if you’re some big-shot influencer.” “You’re selling fake, shoddy goods and you don’t want people to talk about it?” she shot back, her voice dripping with self-righteousness. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stand up for these good people.” And she did. She plopped herself down on a stool right by the door, pulling out a megaphone and announcing to everyone who passed by that my jackets were trash and that I was a cheat. A crowd started to form, drawn by the commotion. I risked a glance at her phone screen, at the live-stream chat. It was a waterfall of hate, all directed at me. “OMG that jacket is so ugly. My grandpa wouldn’t be caught dead in that. Who even buys stuff like this anymore?” “Go Lexi! Expose her! The quality is so bad I’d rather freeze than wear that thing.” As her viewer count soared and the crowd outside grew, Lexi seized her moment. She pulled a sleek, stylish jacket from a suitcase and held it up for everyone to see. “Now, everyone,” she announced, her voice booming. “This is from my own brand. Let me show you what a real down jacket looks like.” 2 The jacket in Lexi’s hands was a thing of beauty, modern and expertly crafted. “This,” she declared, her voice resonating with passion, “is made with premium goose down, a high fill power, and a high-tech, water-resistant fabric. It practically heats itself the moment you put it on.” She beckoned to Caleb. “Sir, why don’t you come and try it on? Feel the difference for yourself.” A little shyly, Caleb shuffled forward and slipped on the jacket. His eyes widened. He gave a huge thumbs-up. “Wow,” he said, his voice full of awe. “This… this is way better than Ava’s stuff.” A triumphant smile spread across Lexi’s face. “You see? That’s what quality feels like. Anyone else want to try it on?” One by one, people from the crowd stepped forward, each trying on the jacket and agreeing: it was infinitely better than mine. Flushed with victory, Lexi urged them all to buy her brand instead. But then Caleb, ever practical, asked the million-dollar question. “It’s a great jacket, no doubt. But… how much does it cost? It looks expensive.” Lexi chuckled. “Folks, do I look like the kind of person who would rip you off?” she asked her audience, both online and in-person. “Tell you what. This weekend, in my live stream, I’m going to give you all an insane discount. And for everyone watching right now, I’m dropping a fifty-dollar coupon into the stream. A little gift from me to you.” Caleb’s face lit up. “A fifty-dollar coupon? That’s practically a steal!” I rolled my eyes, unable to stay silent any longer. “It’s a classic sales tactic, Caleb. Even with fifty dollars off, I guarantee that jacket is still going to cost a fortune.” Lexi shot me a venomous look. “At least it’s not counterfeit garbage like yours.” That did it. The word “counterfeit” lit a fuse. “Counterfeit?” I spat, grabbing a metal clothing rod from the back room and pointing it at her. “Did I slap a designer label on it? Did I make false claims about what it is? No! Now pay me for the jackets you destroyed and get out of my store!” Lexi didn’t even flinch. She glanced at the eager faces in the crowd and fanned the flames. “Everyone, tell me, does this junk even compare to the real deal?” A resounding “NO!” came from the crowd. “A shop that sells fake goods like this has no right to exist!” Lexi pointed a dramatic finger at my storefront. “Tell you what. If you all help me tear down this sham of a shop, I’ll do a buy-one-get-one-free deal for everyone here on my jackets!” The crowd roared. Panic seized me. I lunged forward and slapped Lexi hard across the face. “Are you insane? I’m just trying to run my business! What is your problem? You want a fight? Is that it?” She didn’t back down. She met my gaze with a defiant smirk. “Bring it on.” So I did. I slapped her again, the force of it leaving a bright red mark on her cheek, and started shoving her toward the door. I saw Caleb hesitate for just a moment, his eyes darting between me and the influencer. Then, his face hardened. “Buy one, get one free!” he yelled to the crowd. “Let’s go, people! Her jackets are way better than Ava’s! We can’t let her keep ripping us off after all these years!” And with that, Caleb, my loyal customer, shoved over my main display rack. It was like a dam breaking. The crowd surged into my little shop, a wave of angry, greedy people. They tore at the shelves, ripped jackets from their hangers, and smashed everything in sight. And through it all, Lexi stood to the side, live-streaming the destruction, a tiny, almost invisible smile playing on her lips. 3 My heart splintered with every crash and shatter. “Stop it!” I screamed into my own megaphone, my voice cracking. “Please, stop! We’re neighbors! Why are you doing this?” “I’m calling the police!” But the lure of a BOGO deal was stronger than any sense of community. They didn’t listen. Left with no choice, I dialed 911. By the time the officers arrived, the shop was a complete wreck. After taking my statement, the lead officer addressed the crowd, his voice heavy with disapproval. “What on earth possessed you all to destroy this woman’s store? A whole mob of you…” Caleb, his face flushed with righteous indignation, stepped forward. “She’s a cheat! She’s been selling us fake, worthless junk for years! We’re lucky we didn’t do worse to her.” Hearing those words from a man I’d always considered a friend, a man whose family I’d helped keep warm for years, felt like a knife in the gut. The officer frowned. “Whether her goods are fake or not doesn’t give you the right to destroy her property. You’re all liable for the damages.” The mention of money instantly doused the crowd’s fiery mob mentality. They grew quiet, a sea of downcast eyes and shuffling feet. That’s when Lexi stepped forward, her voice clear and confident. “How much is it? I’ll pay for everything.” A wave of admiration rippled through the crowd. In their eyes, Lexi was a hero. My jackets were cheap, the shop had no fancy decorations, and the racks were flimsy. The total damage only added up to a few thousand dollars. Lexi paid it without flinching, a small price for the image she was building. After everyone had left, I stood alone in the wreckage and let out a long, shuddering sigh before locking the door for good. Four years ago, I’d seen a story online about an old man in a cold region, too poor to afford a proper coat, stuffing his clothes with straw just to stay warm. The image broke my heart. So I came here, to this struggling town, and opened my jacket shop. My whole reason for being here was to make sure everyone could afford a warm coat for the winter. That’s why I was only open for one season; the rest of the year, I ran my own online fashion boutique to make a living. To keep costs down, the designs were basic and the fabric was inexpensive. But I made damn sure every single jacket was filled with real down. For four years, I sold them for twenty dollars a piece. I wasn’t really making a profit. Most of the time, I was losing money. At first, the townspeople were so grateful. They told me they could finally afford a real winter coat, that their kids wouldn’t be cold anymore. Their smiles were what kept me going. I never imagined that one influencer’s words could turn them against me so completely, that they would look at me with such hatred and call me a fraud. My jackets weren’t stylish, and they weren’t a fancy brand, but they were warm, and they cost twenty dollars. Wasn’t that enough? My heart felt like a block of ice. I closed the shop and decided I was done. That night, I found Lexi’s social media account. She had already edited and uploaded a dramatic video of her “exposing” me and then heroically paying for the damages. The stunt had earned her two million new followers overnight. The few thousand she’d paid for damages was nothing compared to the traffic she’d gained. She played it perfectly. When the weekend came, Caleb and a few others huddled around a single smartphone, ready to jump on Lexi’s big sale, dreaming of the high-quality, affordable jackets they were about to score. Thanks to the drama, her live stream was packed. Virtual gifts and effects flooded the screen. Lexi, looking flawless, spent an eternity hyping up her jacket, spinning tales of its miraculous quality, but she skillfully avoided mentioning the price. Finally, after people in the chat started getting restless, she got to the point. “Alright, everyone, for my top-of-the-line, premium goose-down jacket… we’re not asking for eight hundred, not five hundred… but for you, my family, it’s just $399! Three… two… one… the link is live!” Caleb and the others just stared, their faces frozen. A four-hundred-dollar jacket might as well have been a million. There was no way they could ever afford it.

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I’m a seismic technician. The day a major earthquake was set to strike Layla’s hometown, she was adamant about going on a trip with her college crush. I didn’t drag her back to save her family. Instead, I drove there myself, got on my knees before the mayor, and begged him to evacuate the town. In my last life, I forced Layla to come with me. We saved her parents, but she missed the birthday trip with Sean. While on a cruise, Sean fell overboard. They searched for three days, but his body was never found. On the third anniversary of his death, Layla pushed me into the deep sea. “Sean would still be alive if it weren’t for you! Go and keep him company in hell!” She watched as I drowned. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the day of the earthquake. This time, Layla got her wish. She went on that birthday trip with Sean. And later, she would spend two days and two nights kneeling before a grave. 1 Even reborn, the phantom sensation of drowning was suffocatingly real. “Ryan, are you listening to me? I’m going on a trip with Sean, and we’re leaving for the airport now!” Layla stood before me, her voice sharp with impatience. Looking at her beautiful face, I found it hard to believe that in three years, she would be the one to kill me. We worked together at the Seismic Monitoring Center. She started asking me out for dinner, one thing led to another, and we got together. But on our wedding day, Layla confessed that she’d never gotten over her college crush. She told me she couldn’t be fully committed to our relationship and hoped I would understand. The ceremony was about to start. I was a fool. I actually believed I could win her heart with sheer devotion. Who would have thought that right after we got married, her crush, Sean, would reappear? They became inseparable. She even brought him into our home, banished me to the guest room, and spent the entire night laughing with him in our master bedroom. I was so deeply in love with this woman that I forced myself to endure it all. Until the day of the earthquake. I dragged her home, we saved her parents, but Sean died at sea. Layla began to hate me, a resentment that festered until the day she pushed me to my death. Now, fate has given me a second chance. I will not make the same mistakes. “Are you deaf? Why aren’t you saying anything?” Layla demanded, seeing my silence. I looked at her, a long, deep look, then pulled a stack of technical drawings from my briefcase and pushed them into her hands. “Your hometown, Stone Creek, is going to be hit by a magnitude 7.0 earthquake at ten o’clock tonight.” In my past life, my prediction wasn’t nearly this precise. But having lived through it, I knew the exact time and intensity. Layla glanced at the papers and then ripped them to shreds. She threw the pieces in my face, a cold sneer on her lips. “Ryan, have you lost your mind? Joking about an earthquake? And predicting it in my hometown? Are you cursing my family?” “You’d really stoop this low just to stop me from going on a trip with Sean? I never knew you were so malicious!” Compared to her murdering me, this felt mild. I felt nothing. I looked at her and said, my voice even, “I’m not joking. Three years ago, the neighboring state had a similar event. The seismic data from the day before is nearly identical to what we’re seeing now…” Before I could finish, she slapped me across the face. Her expression was twisted with a new level of hatred. “Shut up! No one can predict an earthquake on the same day. You’re just a technician. Do you think you’re some kind of expert professor?” “I’m going on this trip with Sean, and nothing you say will change that. If you can’t handle it, we can get a divorce when I get back.” Without another glance, she grabbed her suitcase and stormed out. 2 Last time, she hadn’t believed me either. But I had torn up her plane ticket, smashed things, and physically stopped her from leaving. I drove her to her hometown, and we not only convinced her parents to evacuate but saved the entire town. Not long after, the news came: Sean was lost at sea. Layla had seemed utterly calm, showing no reaction at all. Who knew she was already plotting my death? After she left, I started packing. Half an hour ago, I had filed a formal report on the situation in Stone Creek with my superiors. Now, I just needed to drive there and get Layla’s parents. They were my in-laws; I couldn’t just leave them to die. I hadn’t even pulled out of the parking lot when my phone rang. It was Director Miller, the head of our center. “Ryan, I hear you just submitted a predictive report?” “Yes, Director. Is there a problem?” His tone turned grave. “Is there a problem? Ryan, you’ve been with the center for years. How have you not learned anything?” “How could you fabricate a seismic event just to interfere with Layla’s social life? Do you have any idea how illegal that is?” I understood immediately. Layla was Miller’s protégé. They must have spoken. They both thought I was lying, putting on a show. “Director, I’m serious,” I said urgently. “There is a one hundred percent chance of a magnitude 7.0 earthquake in Stone Creek at ten tonight! You have to—” He cut me off, his tone unyielding. “That’s enough. I’ve already retracted your report. Ryan, your professional conduct is seriously in question. Don’t bother coming in for the next few days. Stay home and think about what you’ve done.” “I can’t believe how unreliable you are. If I had known, I never would have set the two of you up!” His righteous indignation was so powerful that if I hadn’t lived through the event myself, I might have doubted my own data. I hesitated, then hung up and called his superior. To my shock, the man didn’t even let me speak. “You’re Ryan, correct? Director Miller just briefed me on your situation.” “I used to think you were a solid, hardworking young man. What you did today is astounding. I don’t think you’re suited for this line of work anymore. You should look for opportunities elsewhere.” He hung up. I sat there, stunned. I couldn’t believe it. In this new life, I’d already lost my job. But there was no time to dwell on that. It was 6:00 PM. The earthquake was in four hours. I had work to do. I called Layla’s parents. Her father answered. “What? An earthquake? Ryan, are you kidding me? This town hasn’t had a quake in eight hundred years!” “Where’s Layla? Let me talk to Layla.” I took a deep breath. “Layla went on a trip with her college friend. Dad, I’m not kidding. There is going to be an earthquake in Stone Creek at ten tonight. You have to listen to me. Tell the mayor, get everyone to evacuate now!” “Don’t you worry,” he said immediately. “A matter of life and death, I’ll get it done!” Two hours later, I arrived in Stone Creek. There were still two hours until the quake, but the streets were bustling. No one seemed to have a shred of urgency. What was going on? I told my father-in-law to inform the mayor. Why hadn’t an evacuation been ordered? Time was running out. I called him again as I rushed toward the mayor’s house. It turned out my father-in-law was there, drinking with the mayor. “Dad, what are you doing? The earthquake is coming! Why haven’t you evacuated?!” I demanded. The mayor gave me a slow, lazy look, then turned to my father-in-law. “So this is your son-in-law? He looks presentable enough, but his character seems questionable. Lying to people about something like this.” My father-in-law walked over and kicked me hard in the shin. “Ryan! You’re a grown man! How can you make up such lies?” “If I hadn’t called Layla, I might have actually believed your nonsense and made the whole town run around for nothing! Can you imagine the gossip?” 3 So, they didn’t believe me either. I opened my mouth to argue, but my phone rang. It was Layla. I answered, my voice urgent. “Layla, you have to tell your dad, Stone Creek is really going to have an earthquake, you need to—” She cut me off. “Ryan, are you out of your mind? I’m just on a trip with Sean. Why are you being so dramatic?” I heard Sean in the background. “Yeah, man, Layla’s just going to hate you more if you keep this up.” “Just stop,” Layla’s voice was cold. “Or I’ll actually divorce you, and you can get ready to walk away with nothing.” She hung up. I had put the call on speaker so her dad could hear. Every word from her and Sean had been crystal clear. My father-in-law shot me a venomous glare. “Can’t even control your own wife. What kind of man are you?” A bitter taste filled my mouth. I wanted to defend myself, but there was no time. I turned to the mayor. “Mayor, I am a technician from the Seismic Monitoring Center. The seismic profile for Stone Creek is identical to the one from the event in the neighboring state three years ago. I have accurately predicted it will begin tonight at ten o’clock, with a magnitude of 7.0. There will be severe collapses. Please, you have to believe me!” The mayor hesitated, seeming to weigh the truth of my words. But my father-in-law scoffed. “Technician? What technician! My daughter already told me the center is firing him! Mayor, don’t you listen to his nonsense!” The mayor’s face hardened. He pointed to the door. “Son, this is not the place for your jokes. Please leave.” He was kicking me out. But I knew I couldn’t leave. Convincing this man was the only way to save the people of this town. In a moment of pure desperation, I dropped to my knees. “I, Ryan, am not joking. If there is no earthquake at ten tonight, then you can call the police and have me arrested. I’ll go to prison!” “Mayor, there’s not much time left! Please, order the evacuation!” “Have you no shame?!” my father-in-law roared, kicking me squarely in the chest. I crumpled to the ground, the pain so intense I could barely breathe. I locked eyes with the mayor. “The earthquake is coming. A thousand lives are on your head. Can you live with that?!” He stared at me for a long moment, then finally relented. “Fine. I’ll trust you this one time.” My father-in-law was dumbfounded. “What? You actually believe him? He’s just having a spat with my daughter, this is all an act to get back at her…” “If there’s no earthquake, he goes to jail,” the mayor said, striding out the door. I pushed through the pain and followed him. “The quake’s impact radius is five kilometers,” I reminded him. “To be safe, everyone should evacuate at least ten kilometers away…” The mayor listened and began organizing the evacuation. I went back to find my father-in-law. “Dad, I drove here. You and Mom can come with me.” He slapped me across the face. “The hell I will! The moment my daughter gets back, you two are getting a divorce! Then you can be as crazy as you want! Goddammit, you’ve made me lose all my face!” The town evacuated quickly. Within an hour, most people were gone. But Layla’s parents had locked me out of their house. No matter how much I pleaded, they wouldn’t leave. My only option was to call Layla. She was the only one who could convince them now. The phone rang a dozen times before she picked up. “Just trust me this one time, please?” I begged. “Everyone in town has left, but your parents won’t go. You have to talk to them! The earthquake is in twenty minutes, we’re running out of time!” A condescending laugh came from the other end. It was Sean. “Where’s Layla?” I demanded. “She’s in the shower,” he said smugly. “She already told me she doesn’t want to waste her breath on you.” I fought to control my rage. “Put her on the phone. Her parents’ lives are at stake!” Sean just mocked me. “Ryan, is there something wrong with you? Still using the earthquake lie? Do you have any idea what Layla and I are going to do tonight? We’ve got plans you can’t even imagine…”

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The night my mother jumped into the Silverveil, I finally understood her mortal madness. Some loves are worth drowning for. Others deserve to die. Everyone said my mother, Isolde, was blessed by fate. A mere mortal, yet she had won the eternal devotion of my father, Valerius, the Celestial God of War*. (*Note: The highest-ranking general in the Celestial Realm.) But my mother once told me, “A woman must never debase herself. It doesn’t matter who your father is. If the day comes that he betrays me, I will return to my mortal world, and we will never meet again.” Mother taught me mortal women bleed red, not gold like goddesses—but our pride weighs more than celestial jade. Because of her teachings, when I married the Celestial Emperor, Orion, we carved our names together into the Fate-Mirror Stone, vowing to grow old as one. But in the end, my father still betrayed her, moving the celestial, Lyra, into his sacred hall. And the Emperor, my husband, betrayed me too, bringing home a fragile Jade Hare, a shape-shifting spirit who dwells in moonbeams. On the day my father remarried, my mother leaped into the Silverveil River and vanished from the Celestial Realm. And as I watched the Emperor clasp the hand of his new love, I knew it was time for me to leave as well. 1 My mother was once the most beautiful woman in the Celestial Realm, but recently, a shadow had fallen over her. When we met, her face was gaunt, her eyes clouded with an exhaustion she couldn’t hide. “Seraphina,” she said, her voice a whisper, “your father has fallen in love with someone else.” I was stunned. “Mother, you and Father are the celestial couple everyone admires. How could this be? He has always cherished you. Are you sure you’re not mistaken?” A bitter smile touched her lips. “I was a fool. How can a mortal’s fleeting beauty ever compete with the ageless immortality of a goddess?” My mother, a mortal, had married a god. Though his divine essence protected her, slowing the decay of time, she was not of the celestial race. In recent years, fine lines had begun to trace their way across her face. I learned the truth then. After giving birth to me, her body had weakened. My father took a long retreat to the Argent Peaks, where he met Lyra. No one knew that they had fallen in love at first sight, spending a century of bliss together and secretly having a child. Though I was my father’s daughter, half of my blood was mortal. My celestial power was inherently flawed, destined never to reach its full potential. My father was the God of War. How could he tolerate having only one child with an incomplete spiritual root? He treated us well, my mother and me, but his pride was a stubborn, unyielding thing. He craved an heir worthy of his title, one with pure, noble blood. “I thought he was in seclusion, meditating,” my mother said, her voice trembling with the memory of her pain. “All that time, I was alone, enduring the whispers and scorn of the heavens. They mocked me for being mortal, unworthy of being the God of War’s wife.” Her voice broke. “A mortal woman, raising a child, tormented by the Empress herself, who claimed I had seduced a god who had dedicated his life to discipline! I fought for years to win their respect, and just when I had, your father brought home another child, claiming he and Lyra had pledged their lives to each other long ago in the mountains!” “Seraphina, I told you, if he ever betrayed me, I would return to my world. That time has come. I hope you won’t try to stop me.” I squeezed her hand, my voice firm. “Mother, I am your flesh and blood, raised by your teachings. Whatever you decide, I will support you.” A relieved smile touched her lips. “And you?” she asked softly. “How are things between you and the Emperor?” I sighed, sinking to my knees. “I have failed you, Mother. I have failed the marriage you so carefully chose for me. The Emperor has brought home a Jade Hare. He dotes on her. I have already decided to leave him.” A flicker of pain crossed her eyes. The Emperor, Orion, had been her handpicked choice for me. As the daughter of the God of War, I had been a prized bride, sought after by the finest men from all the realms. The Dragon Prince of the Eastern Sea, the Empress’s own nephew, gods from every corner of the heavens—they had all vied for my hand. But my mother had only one condition: whoever married me must have no other woman for all of eternity. She had been a princess in the mortal realm, she said, and had seen too many men discard their wives for concubines, their hearts fickle and cruel. “A woman’s life is bound to a man’s. When he changes his heart, it is a tragedy for both women.” I was her beloved daughter. She wanted nothing more than a life of peace and happiness for me. The Dragon Prince was handsome but notoriously promiscuous. The Empress’s nephew had returned from his mortal trial with a secret lover already hidden in his palace. The high gods of the Celestial Realm were free spirits, unwilling to be tied down by marriage. Only Orion, the Celestial Emperor, was different. He had slumbered for a century on the Adamant Spire, and in the first moment of his awakening, he had asked my mother for my hand. “Seraphina,” he’d said, his voice filled with a thousand years of longing, “for a millennium, you are all I have dreamed of.” He claimed to have fallen in love with me after a single, fleeting glance a hundred years ago. He treated me with unparalleled tenderness. He was a being of pure, cold light, and in his presence, I too fell in love. On our wedding day, a river of crimson silk stretched across the heavens. He promised to love me for all eternity. We carved our names together on the Fate-Mirror Stone. But that was only the first century. Now, he had found a new love. 2 Orion returned from a three-day trip to the Adamant Spire with a Jade Hare. She was a pitiful creature, her body covered in wounds. “I found her at the foot of the mountain,” Orion explained. “She was being attacked by a spirit beast. She wouldn’t have survived. I saved her out of pity, and now the grateful thing insists on following me.” As he spoke, the hare transformed into a beautiful young woman. I saw no harm in it and suggested she could stay in our palace, Seraphina Hall, as an attendant. Orion’s smile froze. He looked at me in disbelief. “Seraphina, you have always been the kindest of heart. The Jade Hare has such a humble background, and you would make her a servant? If she becomes an attendant, with her weak spiritual power, she will surely be bullied.” The Jade Hare leaned weakly against him, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “I have been bullied my whole life. The Emperor promised me a safe place, but is it to be your servant?” I was confused. “There are tens of thousands of attendants in the Celestial Realm. Do you consider them all servants? Besides, you saved her. She can’t just stay in Seraphina Hall with no title or purpose.” Tears streamed down the Jade Hare’s face as she knelt at my feet. “Lady Seraphina, I know my status is low, but I understand that a single drop of kindness must be repaid with a flood of devotion. The Emperor saved my life. I am willing to serve him, asking for no title, only the chance to repay his grace!” I finally understood. I smiled thinly. “Orion, what is it you want?” He turned away, his tone unnatural. “Seraphina, she has nowhere else to go. Just let her stay…” “When did I say she couldn’t stay? I said if she wants to remain, she can be an attendant in Seraphina Hall. Or,” my voice turned to ice, “are you planning to take her as your consort?” He missed the frost in my eyes completely, his face lighting up with joy. “You would really be willing? I knew you were the most reasonable one. If your mother can accept Lyra, surely you and the Jade Hare can live in harmony.” “Seraphina, you know my heart belongs only to you. This is just a title, to give her a place in the Celestial Realm so she can live safely. You wouldn’t mind, would you?” You think he loves you? A God of War needs heirs with divine blood, not half-breed weaklings! The Jade Hare looked up, overjoyed. “Lady Seraphina, they say you are the daughter of the God of War, who protects all the realms. His daughter is truly as broad-minded as he is!” I said nothing. They had already made their decision and painted me as the magnanimous, benevolent wife. Orion wrapped an arm around the Jade Hare’s waist, lifting her tenderly. “Your leg is still injured. You shouldn’t be kneeling for so long.” She gazed at him through her tears, a radiant smile breaking through. “For you, my Lord, I would die a thousand deaths.” I watched this play of profound love, my heart growing cold and barren. So, this was how a life debt was repaid. With one’s body. Before I could even process it, Orion spoke again. “The night air is cold. I’ll take her to her room now. You should rest early too, Seraphina.” He carried her into the palace, striding past me without a single glance. I stood frozen, waiting, hoping he would remember. Tonight was the full moon. The night my mixed blood, celestial and mortal, warred within me, causing excruciating pain. Every full moon, it was Orion who transferred his spiritual energy to me, who stayed by my side. But tonight, he was worried about a wounded leg, about the cold night air. He had forgotten my pain. I looked up at the palace name, “Seraphina Hall,” and laughed a hollow laugh. “Once, the bright moon shone upon the iridescent cloud returning home,” I whispered. He had named this palace for me, his “iridescent cloud.” Now, another lived within its walls. The moon was still there, but the heart had changed. If that was the case, why should I stay? 3 Orion and my father held their wedding ceremonies on the same day. The procession of bridal litters stretched from my father’s hall all the way to mine. The night before, my father visited my mother’s chambers for the first time in a long while. He had shed his elaborate robes and wore a simple white tunic, just as he had on the day they first met. My mother was painting her lips in the mirror. “My lord,” she said coolly, “shouldn’t you be with your new love? Why have you come to me?” My father was silent for a long time. Then he took a jade pendant from his robes. In the lamplight, it glowed with a soft, ethereal light. My mother froze. “Do you remember?” he asked. “On our wedding day, you gave this to me as a token.” “I want to use it now to ask you to give Lyra a place. She was with me in the Argent Peaks for so long, she bore my son. I cannot let her live her life without a proper title.” He was speaking of their promise in the mortal realm. During his mortal trial, my father had saved my mother from enemy soldiers. In gratitude, she had given him the jade pendant. “If ever you have need of me, show me this, and I will do everything in my power to help you.” My mother laughed, but a tear traced its way to the corner of her mouth. “Valerius, I thought this was a token of our love.” My father frowned, quickly wiping the tear away. “Isolde, I love you very much, but you cannot expect me to be faithful to you alone. Even mortal men have multiple wives. I am the God of War! Can I not have a soulmate, a child who can inherit my title?” He took her hand, his voice softening. “Don’t worry. Lyra is a gentle soul, she doesn’t like to compete. She and the child will live in the side palace. She will get along with you.” My mother said nothing, her eyes just shimmering with unshed tears. My father’s patience wore thin. “Isolde, it has been thousands of years! When will you stop being so willful?” I watched it all unfold in my water mirror, a deep sorrow settling in my heart. My mother was right. When a man loves a woman, he will say the most beautiful things in the world to prove his devotion. Once he stops loving her, the world will offer a million justifications for his betrayal. When he had loved her, she was pure and admirable. Now, she was willful and unreasonable. I turned away. Orion was sleeping peacefully beside me, his features as serene as ever. He stirred, murmuring my name in his sleep. “Seraphina… don’t go.” He had been good to me, in his way. He and the Jade Hare had never crossed a definitive line; he never stayed the night with her. But I knew him better than anyone, and I saw the affection he himself hadn’t yet recognized. The way his brow furrowed when she cried, the slight upturn of his lips when she was near, the way his hand would reach out, as if in longing, when her dress brushed past him. I didn’t understand. How could years of shared love be worth less than a chance encounter? Less than the scenery of a mountain, less than a new infatuation, less than three days at the foot of a mountain? He and my father—one had betrayed with his body, the other with his heart. My mother and I were done waiting. I smiled and pushed his hand away. My silhouette in the mirror merged with my mother’s. We spoke the same words. “In a place without love, why linger?”

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1 I deleted my million-follower account. Followers were baffled—was I hacked? Osprey, a rival influencer, DM’d me: “Why quit? Are you insane?” I ignored the noise and disappeared into the world’s quiet beauty. In my past life, our content was identical. The internet branded me a knockoff. Hate flooded my DMs, spilled into real life. I posted timestamps proving my originality—they called me a liar The bullying crushed me. One day, alone in my apartment, I ended it all. Yet I woke up—rebirth on the day of my first “coincidental” video clash with Osprey. My finger hovered over “Publish,” one click from ruining my life. I recoiled like touching flame. Saved to drafts. Checked Osprey’s page—her latest post, a radical departure from her usual bland style, already had tens of thousands of likes in 30 minutes. Comments raged: “Holy crap—dark fantasy final boss vibes!” “Small creator doing million-follower work? Unreal.” “MY WIFE. WHO STOLE MY FUTURE WIFE?!” … The dark background, the audacious styling, even the camera angles, the background music, and the caption—every single detail was a perfect mirror of the video sitting in my drafts. If I didn’t know for a fact that the concept was sparked by a British drama I’d been bingeing, that I had pulled all-nighters scripting it, I would have doubted my own originality. But the reality was cold and hard: Osprey had beaten me to it. And she had gone viral because of it. Last time, that single video had unleashed a firestorm of hate on me. I’d posted it, my heart full of hope, expecting praise and validation. Instead, the comments accused me of plagiarism, with users helpfully linking to the “original.” I clicked the link. And there it was. Osprey’s video, posted just before mine. The similarity was a staggering 99.9%. But I knew I hadn’t copied anyone. Fury burned through me. To prove my innocence, I released my creation timestamps and BTS footage. It was useless. Osprey produced her own “proof,” with timestamps that were even earlier than mine. The attacks intensified. “Guess she had this ‘proof’ ready from the start, just to slander Osprey.” “Support original creators! Down with copycats!” “Ava needs to get out of the beauty space. The internet isn’t for you, honey.” “LMAO, she asked for it and she got it.” Osprey’s management team and agency issued formal statements, swearing their work was the product of team collaboration and that they had never plagiarized anyone. I was just an independent creator. Everything, from start to finish, was done by me, and me alone. I had no one to vouch for me. And then, my boyfriend, Liam, posted a video unilaterally announcing our breakup. He claimed my previous content was all just a patchwork of ideas stitched together from other creators. He called me a serial plagiarist. His words were the final nail in the coffin. I was plunged into a bottomless abyss. My comment sections were overrun by self-righteous crusaders. The abuse in my DMs was unspeakable. The constant pressure snuffed out my creative spark. No brands would work with me. My finances dwindled. After my self-harm spiraled, I finally saw a therapist and was diagnosed with severe depression. On a bright, sunny afternoon, in a cramped little apartment, I chose to end my life. And then I woke up, back where it all began. Nothing has happened yet. This time, I will find out the truth. 2 Clinging to a sliver of hope, I switched to my burner account and started digging through Osprey’s other social media profiles. It was a long shot; she wasn’t the type to share her day-to-day life. I was about to give up when I saw it. A familiar figure in the background of a group photo. I zoomed in on the live photo. The motion captured the person’s left hand. On it was a ring I knew all too well. It was Liam’s hand. The ring had been my first-anniversary gift to him. I had personally selected the design and had it custom-made. There was no other like it in the world. So, at some point, Liam had gotten involved with Osprey behind my back. No wonder he’d been so quick to abandon me, so eager to throw his support behind her. I didn’t have time to mourn the scumbag. My mind was racing. I often vented to Liam about my work, sharing my half-formed ideas and flashes of inspiration with him. Had he leaked my concepts to her? It was highly likely. But he’d been on a “business trip” for a while now, and there was no way he’d let me look at his phone. I had no concrete proof. Still, it was a lead. A place to start. I took out my phone, sent Liam the photo with a brief explanation, and told him we were done. Then I blocked him. Next, I changed the passcode on my front door. With that settled, I forced myself to focus on a new video concept. There could be no mistakes this time. To be completely safe, I decided to pivot again. My last video was my first attempt at breaking out of my comfort zone, ditching my usual sweet, girl-next-door style for something bold and glamorous. Since that aesthetic had resonated so powerfully, I was confident my next creation would be even more popular. After a long bout of brainstorming, I finally finished the script. Looking at the concept on my computer, I let out a satisfied laugh. Let’s see her steal this one. To prevent any possible leaks, I shot the entire video inside my apartment, then edited it myself. Staring at the finished product, I felt a surge of pride. I was born for this. To be absolutely certain, I did one more thing. I went to Osprey’s viral video and left a comment from my burner. “Can’t wait for your next video, queen! Drop it soon!” She replied not long after. “This last concept took a lot out of me, so I probably won’t be posting for a little while. ” I replied with a crying cat emoji and breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed she had no plans to post anytime soon. It confirmed my theory: she must have gotten the last idea from Liam and rushed to produce it. But could two people’s ideas really be that identical? For now, I had to chalk it up to a bizarre coincidence, a freak alignment of creative vision. I uploaded my new video to the platform’s backend, polished the caption, and prepared to publish. Suddenly, a notification popped up on my phone from my burner account. I tapped on it. My blood ran cold.

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As I rose from the A-lister’s bed, he held out a pair of torn silk stockings, his voice a low purr. “Put them on. So exquisite.” The moment my fingers brushed against the ruined silk, a series of messages flared in front of my eyes, sharp and clear as text on a screen. 【Heiress, throw them away! That bastard thinks torn stockings are trashy. He’d never let his angel wear them, so he’s conning you into it.】 【Tomorrow, at your mother’s funeral, he’s going to publicly announce he’s with her.】 【He’s a dog who only wants your money, Willow! For God’s sake, kick him to the curb!】 … Aidan Thorne knelt at my feet, a look of confusion on his perfect face. “What is it? Did I not rip them beautifully enough for you?” A slow smile spread across my lips. In one fluid motion, I wrapped the stocking tight around his neck. “Looking for a death wish?” 1 The face that had graced a thousand movie screens, the face that could withstand the unforgiving lens of a camera, instantly flushed a deep, desperate crimson. I held on, watching the life drain from his eyes until he was on the verge of blacking out. Only then did I release him. He stared at me, gasping, disbelief warring with fear in his eyes. I patted his cheek, my touch deceptively gentle. “You love only me?” Gulping down air, he looked up at me with an expression of pure, desperate devotion—the kind of look a man gives his savior. “Of course.” For a heartbeat, I was lost in a memory. I was ten, and my mother had taken me to an orphanage to sponsor children in need. I’d chosen ten of them, all little boys with faces as perfect as porcelain dolls. Aidan had been one of them. Two years ago, a leaked audition tape of him playing a young, ruthless king went viral. I was captivated. I sought him out, spent a fortune to make him mine, and mine alone. He always played the part of the obedient pet so well. I never imagined… Just as I was about to demand who his “angel” was, the phone rang. It was Benson, our butler. “Miss Sterling! The Mistress… she’s fading.” I dropped Aidan without a second thought, threw on my clothes, and floored it all the way home. I made it. Just in time to see my mother for the last time. My biological father, however, was nowhere to be seen. As the night deepened, I turned to Benson, my voice ice. “Is Alan Pierce dead in a ditch somewhere?” Benson bowed his head respectfully. “He is with a Miss Locke, ma’am. His usual haunt.” I gritted my teeth. “He can die, then.” “Miss Sterling,” Benson cautioned gently, “remember your mother’s final instructions.” I took a deep, shuddering breath. “…Fine.” 2 After the funeral, I knelt before my mother’s casket in my mourning clothes, preparing for one last, private farewell. The doors burst open. Alan Pierce strode in, dragging a young woman with him. He looked down his nose at me. “Willow, this is your sister, Mariela. She’s a year older than you. From now on, she is the eldest daughter of this family. Do you understand?” My face was a mask of indifference. “A kept man should really learn to—” “Shut your mouth!” Alan yelped, cutting me off, his face panicked. He was terrified of his pathetic status being revealed in front of Mariela. A cold, sharp smile touched my lips. “Then take your bastard daughter and get out. Don’t disturb my mother’s peace.” “You insolent girl!” His words were sharp, but his actions were weak. He scurried out of the memorial hall with Mariela in tow. I returned to my vigil. Half an hour later, Benson appeared at my side, his voice a low murmur. “Miss Sterling, he’s hosting a party to introduce Miss Mariela to society. He couldn’t secure any prominent guests, of course, but he did manage to invite a few tabloid journalists with no scruples.” “Let him,” I said, my voice flat. Alan seemed to believe my mother was the great tree that sheltered me. With her gone, he thought he could finally control me, devour everything the Sterlings owned. He was so, so wrong. My mother wasn’t my shield. She was the rosary that restrained the devil in me. 3 Alan’s grand announcement that Mariela was his daughter did little more than create some fleeting gossip. No one in our circle acknowledged her. Thanks to Benson’s unyielding authority in the house, Mariela was relegated to the staff quarters. Frustrated, she took to bothering me at the memorial hall every single day. On the forty-ninth day, I decided I’d had enough of her buzzing. I let her in. She put on a mask of practiced sympathy. “Willow, I know you’re grieving, but it’s been forty-nine days. Your mother is gone. You need to move on. Come out, I want to talk to you.” Her foolishness was so transparent it was almost painful to watch. This was the illegitimate child Alan cherished so deeply? I walked past her, out of the hall. Mariela scrambled to follow. By the edge of the pool, I stopped and turned, standing on the top step of the patio, looking down at her. “Speak.” Mariela nervously clutched the hem of her dress, then stepped up onto the stair to meet my gaze. “Willow, Daddy only ever loved my mother. Now that he’s brought me into this house, it’s to replace you as the Sterling heiress. You’ve had the title for twenty-three years. You should be satisfied. Now, be a good girl and tell the butler and the staff to acknowledge me. Don’t make a scene, understand?” I laughed. Did she truly not know that Alan Pierce was nothing more than a man who’d married into money? That he’d taken my mother’s name? And with that pathetic level of awareness, she thought she could usurp my position? The reality of her incompetence was so profound, it was just… boring. I couldn’t be bothered to entertain her any longer. I shoved her. Splash! Mariela flailed in the water, a storm of shrieks and clumsy struggles. “Willow, how dare you! Daddy will make you pay for this! Pull me up… ugh! Pull me up right now, and I… I might just forgive you!” I walked away without a backward glance. While waiting at a red light, I made a quick international call, then continued on my way to find Aidan. He hadn’t contacted me in forty-nine days. It was time for him to die. 4 At seven o’clock that evening, I made my entrance at a lavish, bustling wrap party. It didn’t take me long to spot her. Mariela, dressed to the nines. She wore a Chanel 2025 Spring/Summer haute couture gown, Christian Louboutin custom heels, and a full set of the latest Tiffany & Co. jewels. Not a trace of the drenched rat I’d left in the pool earlier. And there was Aidan. Kneeling on one knee before her, he was gently massaging her ankle, which was faintly red. Mariela looked down at him, her cheeks flushed with a shy, pleased blush. So, Aidan’s precious angel was my dear, cheap half-sister. Two crew members nearby were whispering. “I always thought Aidan Thorne was so cold, so uninterested in women. I never knew he could be this tender with his girlfriend.” “Are you kidding? That’s the Sterling heiress. You see that couture? That’s probably more than our yearly salary, and she’ll likely wear it once and toss it.” … As I started towards them, one of the crew members stepped in my way. “This is a private wrap party for the film Femme Fatale. You’re not cast or crew. How did you get in?” My eyes locked on Aidan. “I’m here for him.” The other crew member immediately recoiled in disgust. “Oh, God, are you one of his stalkers? A stan? Get lost, you’re not welcome here.” “Aidan Thorne.” My voice cut through the noise of the party, clear and resonant. The entire room fell silent. Aidan looked up, his hand dropping from Mariela’s foot as if it were on fire. He stared at me, his face a canvas of pure shock. Mariela quickly slipped her shoe back on, looped her arm through his, and practically dragged him to stand before me. Aidan, so accustomed to groveling at my feet, couldn’t even meet my eyes. But Mariela, emboldened, flashed a pair of matching rings at me, a blatant declaration of war. “Little sister, I forgot to tell you. Aidan and I have been together for years. He was mine long before he was yours. I’m taking him to meet Daddy in a few days. We’re getting married.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. During the years I’d poured my resources into making him a star, I had asked him to marry me. He’d told me to wait. Wait until he was an international superstar, and he would propose to me on a global live broadcast. And I, like a fool, had actually believed him. Mariela leaned in close, her voice a triumphant, vicious whisper. “Does that hurt? Oh, Willow, this is just the beginning. I’m going to make everyone remember that I am the true Sterling heiress. And you? You won’t even be worthy of shining my shoes.” RIIIP! I grabbed the front of her gown and tore it open. She shrieked, clutching the fabric to her chest. “Willow, what are you doing! Why would you tear my dress? This is the latest collection, it’s priceless!” I smiled faintly. “I’m just tearing up the dress the brand sent me. What’s the problem?” Terrified I would expose her for stealing my clothes and jewelry in front of everyone, she squeezed out a few tears, playing the victim. “Willow… first you push me in the pool, and now you humiliate me like this… We’re sisters, not enemies…” Her tear-streaked face was a picture of pitiful innocence. It did nothing for me, but it broke Aidan’s heart. He shrugged off his blazer and wrapped it around Mariela’s shoulders, his brow furrowed as he turned on me. “Willow, must you do this? Are you trying to kill her?” My eyebrow arched in amusement. “I’m simply reclaiming what belongs to me from a common thief. How is that trying to kill her? Or did you find some cheap tramp to entertain you because I was too busy mourning my mother to grant you my favors?” Aidan’s face hardened. “Mariela is not a thief, she is not a tramp, and she is certainly not a toy. She is the woman I have loved for ten years, and my girlfriend of three.” “And what was I?” I asked, my voice dangerously soft. Mariela tightened her grip on his hand. He squeezed back, finding his courage, and finally met my gaze. “You were a mistake. Willow, we’re over.”

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