The day Leo brought his childhood sweetheart to our home to ask for a divorce, I had just returned from the hospital. The pregnancy report in my purse read, Fetus developing normally. “If she hadn’t tried to save me, Liesl never would have been assaulted by those thugs, never would have gotten pregnant,” he said, his voice heavy with a sense of noble sacrifice. “I have to give her my name. It’s the only way she can move on.” He looked at me, his eyes pleading for understanding. “As soon as Liesl and the baby are settled, I’ll remarry you.” He didn’t know. The thugs, the assault… Liesl had orchestrated the entire thing. I glanced at Liesl’s swelling belly and nodded. “Okay.” Then I went and got an abortion, and I never saw him again. 1. Marrying Leo had always been a step up for me. His father was an executive at Atherton Engineering, the company that was the lifeblood of our town. Leo had followed in his footsteps, becoming one of their top engineers. I was just an orphan. To close the distance between us, I studied relentlessly until I earned a place at the same university. But even then, I ended up in a low-level admin job at the plant, barely even crossing his path. I still remember those early days, how I’d turn beet red and speechless whenever I saw him in the company cafeteria. It was always him who spoke first. “Stella, right? I remember you.” My crush on Leo was an open secret at the plant. He knew it, too. From the day he’d first shown me kindness, there had been no one else for me. When I was ten, my parents died in an accident. It was Leo who found me crying by the side of the road, who comforted me. He introduced me to the couple who would become my adoptive parents, a warm, loving pair who had wanted a child for years. He gave me a home. Three years ago, I was offered a spot in a specialized technical fellowship, a chance to move to another city and build a real career. The opportunity was huge, but it meant leaving, maybe for good. I finally worked up the courage to tell Leo how I felt. The confession hung in the air between us, but the awkwardness I’d feared never came. “Don’t go,” he said simply. “Let’s get married.” With those five words, he brought an end to a decade of my own quiet turmoil. I gave up the fellowship and dedicated myself to taking care of him and our home. His father often reminded me of my place. “You’re lucky to have married into our family,” he’d say. “Leo was supposed to marry the CEO’s daughter.” His words only added to the pressure. I threw myself into being the perfect wife, terrified of making the smallest mistake, of disappointing his father, of making Leo regret choosing me. In three years of marriage, I thought I had done everything right. I’d even cared for my adoptive parents through their final illnesses, burying them with the love and dignity they deserved. My only failing was that Leo and I were still childless. Today was our third anniversary. It was also the day I found out I was two months pregnant. The pure, unadulterated joy of knowing we were finally starting our family was impossible to hide. I carefully tucked the report away and splurged on two pounds of prime steak. But I never got the chance to celebrate. He came home with Liesl. “Stella, we need to get a divorce, just for a while.” He laid it all out. Five months ago, on a work trip to a remote site, he’d been cornered by muggers. Liesl had appeared out of nowhere, creating a diversion that drew them away, saving him. “If she hadn’t done that for me,” he explained, his voice strained, “she wouldn’t have been… assaulted. By the time she realized she was pregnant, it was too late to do anything about it. I have to marry her, give the child a name. Her reputation would be ruined otherwise.” In a small company town like ours, an unwed pregnancy was a scandal, especially for the daughter of a prominent family like Liesl’s. If the truth came out, the gossip would be merciless. And they had grown up together. Childhood sweethearts, a perfect match. Leo was a good, responsible man. It was a tragic love story, and he was playing the hero. I looked at the perfect couple standing before me and replied calmly, “Okay.” 2. My reaction seemed to throw him. His eyes were a mixture of confusion and surprise. “You… you agree to the divorce?” I nodded. “Yes.” “I thought you would fight for me.” I managed a small, tired smile. “What would be the point? You’d already made your decision before you even walked in that door, hadn’t you?” He flinched. “Did you want me to scream and cry? No. I wish you both the best.” Hearing that, Leo seemed to let out a breath he’d been holding. Liesl murmured from the side, “Stella, it’s just a temporary marriage. Please don’t hate us. As soon as the baby is born, I’ll give him back to you.” Leo saw her shivering and immediately shrugged off his coat, draping it over her shoulders. Then he came to my side, his large, warm hand settling on my shoulder. “Stella,” he whispered, his voice close to my ear. “You don’t have to move out. Just take care of yourself. Liesl’s right, this is just for show. Don’t overthink it. Just wait for me to come back.” Once, being held by him felt like holding the entire world. Now, the heat from his palm felt like ice. I took half a step back, slipping out of his embrace. “When do we sign the papers?” “They’re already drawn up. You just need to sign.” I laughed, a hollow sound. He wasn’t here to discuss it; he was here to inform me. I signed my name quickly. He snatched the paper and tucked it into his breast pocket with a swift, careful motion, more precious to him than my pregnancy report had ever been to me. Liesl’s voice cut through the silence. “Leo, my mom’s waiting for us with dinner. Can we hurry up?” Without another glance at me, he rushed to her side. “Right. Let’s go.” I watched them leave, her hands already linked through his arm, holding on tight. If he had cared, even a little, he would have noticed the expensive steak I was still holding. He would have asked what we were celebrating. I would have told him I was carrying his child. But he didn’t care about me. And maybe he wouldn’t have cared about our baby either. Perhaps I had lost the moment Liesl came back to town. Three years ago, I thought my devotion had finally won him over, that he had finally noticed the girl who had adored him from the shadows. The truth was, he had proposed to Liesl first, and she had turned him down. She’d been angling for that fellowship, pulling strings to get the position. But the program supervisors in the other city cared about talent, not connections. I was the other top candidate. By marrying me, Leo ensured I would give up my spot. That was why he’d insisted I quit my job, saying he didn’t want me to struggle in the workplace, that it was too tiring. He broke my wings so his true love could fly. I remember the day Liesl was transferred back to Atherton. Leo spent the whole night in his study, reading a romantic novel, the kind he never touched. It must have been one of her favorites. I cooked the steak for myself, eating what I could. I stored the rest away. I’d need it to recover after the abortion. I was getting ready for bed when the phone rang. It was Leo’s father, summoning me to the main house. I figured Leo had already told him about the divorce. When I arrived, Leo was kneeling in the center of the living room, a fresh bruise blooming on his cheek. Liesl was crouched beside him, sobbing. His father sat on the sofa, his face a mask of thunderous rage, muttering about the disgrace of it all. I knew that while he’d never been fond of me, in his world, divorce was a serious, shameful affair. Especially a divorce in the morning followed by a new marriage in the afternoon. When he saw me, his expression softened slightly. “You’re here. Come into my study.” 3. Leo’s father, for all his bluster, would always side with his son. “Stella, I know Leo was unfaithful, but you bear some of the responsibility,” he began, his tone severe. “Married all this time and not a single child. The Atherton line can’t end with him.” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. It was clear he had no idea the child wasn’t Leo’s. To protect Liesl’s reputation, Leo had shouldered all the blame. What good would it do to tell him now that I was carrying his grandchild? I gave a bitter smile. “It’s all right, sir. I have no complaints. Please don’t be too hard on him.” “That boy… to do something like this, it’s a disgrace to the family. I used to be fond of Liesl, but he’s married to you now! How could he…” He sighed, his anger deflating. “Still, you married into this family, so you’re one of us. Even though you’re divorced now, if you need anything, you can come to me. I’ll arrange a better job for you at the plant.” My heart was a tangle of emotions. In his own way, he was trying to be fair. I forced a smile. “Thank you, sir. But I’ll be fine. As for work, I’d like to rely on myself.” He nodded. “Alright. You should head home. But if you run into any trouble, you know where to find me. In the end, it’s our family that has wronged you.” As I left their house, snow had begun to fall. “Stella!” Leo called out from where he still knelt. “The roads are slick. Let me walk you home.” But just then, Liesl clutched her stomach and cried out in pain. Leo looked at me, his face a canvas of guilt. “I’m sorry, Stella. I have to get Liesl to the hospital. Please be careful on your way home.” “Okay.” I was used to it. Liesl’s needs always came first. Besides, we had no connection anymore. That night, I stayed up late, digging out my old textbooks and study materials. The dreams and the career I had given up—I was going to reclaim them. I also scheduled an appointment for an abortion for the following day. Three years. The memories were a constant, piercing pain. I had wondered, of course, what would happen if Liesl ever decided she wanted him back. But I’d always dismissed it as needless worry. We were married. Marriage was supposed to be unbreakable. Reality had slapped me hard in the face. The procedure went smoothly, but it hurt more than I ever could have imagined. Lying on that cold operating table, I bit back every sound, but silent tears streamed down my face, pooling in my ears, cold and ticklish. By the time it was over, I was drenched in sweat, a bloody crescent moon dug into my palm where I’d clenched my fist. I clung to the wall, trembling, as I stumbled out of the operating room. And ran straight into Leo and Liesl. He was holding her arm gently as she beamed, holding up an ultrasound picture. “Look,” I heard her say. “You can see the baby’s foot. Isn’t it cute?”

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To force me to break off our engagement, my fiancé drove my father’s company into bankruptcy, saddling us with millions in debt. The shock triggered a heart attack, and my father was rushed into intensive care. As I knelt and begged my fiancé for the money to cover the surgery, my childhood friend, Julian, suddenly returned from abroad. He arranged for the best doctors and stayed by my side, day and night, as we kept vigil at my father’s bedside. A week later, my father had another, fatal heart attack. To give my father peace in his final moments, Julian knelt before him and swore he would marry me and take care of me for the rest of his life. After the funeral, my heart a hollowed-out shell, I broke off my engagement. And I married Julian. Five years later, I overheard a conversation between him and my ex-fiancé. “You have to admit, your plan was genius. You got that clingy psycho Simone to give up on me, willingly. But tell me, do you think she’d want to kill you if she knew you were the one who really destroyed her father?” … My hand froze on the handle of the private dining room door. Inside, my ex-fiancé’s mocking voice continued. “You’re a cold bastard, you know that? Simone grew up with you, treated you like a brother. I bet she’d never guess in a million years that you were the one who orchestrated her father’s ruin.” Alex chuckled. “If it wasn’t for Eliza, I never would have taken the fall for you all these years. I may have hated Simone, but I’d never go so far as to drive her old man to his grave.” The sound of a glass slamming onto a table. Julian’s voice, thick with alcohol and fury. “What I did to Simone… I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to her. I only helped you back then because I wanted Eliza to be happy. If you ever make her shed a single tear, I’ll end you.” Alex tutted. “Such devotion. A shame I met her first. You’d better focus on protecting your precious Simone. After all, you killed her father. I’d watch your back at night if I were you.” Crash! A glass shattered against the door. Footsteps approached. I took a sharp breath and fled, my heart hammering against my ribs. I ran down to the bar, grabbed the first drink I saw, and threw it back. The burn of the whiskey was a fire in my throat, and I choked, tears stinging my eyes. The words I’d overheard echoed in my mind, a torturous loop. The man who had ruined my father wasn’t my ex-fiancé. It was Julian, the man who had paid for his surgery. The sudden heart attack a week later… it must have been because of something Julian had said. No wonder my father had stared so intently at Julian as he took his last breath. At the time, I’d thought it was a look of gratitude, of entrusting me to his care. My husband of five years, the man who held me in his arms every night, who treated me like the most precious thing in his world… was the man who had indirectly killed my father. And our marriage, our life together, all his carefully constructed affection… was nothing more than compensation. A payment on a debt of guilt. The absurdity of it was a bitter pill to swallow. Grief and rage churned in my stomach like a violent storm. Just as my gaze fell on the empty glass in my hand, a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind. Julian buried his face in my neck, his voice a warm, drunken murmur. “Simone… where have you been? I missed you… Let’s go home. I love you, Simone… I love you so, so much…” For years, whenever he was drunk, he would whisper these same words. His friends always said it was the truth coming out, that he was utterly devoted to me. Now, it was all a grotesque joke. I gently disentangled myself and helped him into the car, my movements numb and robotic. He collapsed onto my lap, his brow smoothing as his breathing evened out. He seemed to be asleep. “Eliza… Eliza… why didn’t you choose me? Why…” This time, I heard it clearly. The name that had haunted his dreams for years. Eliza. My ex-fiancé’s new wife. Julian’s one true love. He had never forgotten her. He had married me, played the part of a loving husband, all for her. I had underestimated the depth of his devotion. A phone slipped from his pocket and clattered onto the floor mat. I bent to pick it up, and the screen lit up with a new message. From Eliza. Julian, thank you for covering for me tonight. But I can’t accept the necklace. It’s far too valuable. A second later, I saw her new social media post. “Love is priceless.” The accompanying photo was of a stunning diamond necklace—the very one that had made headlines last week when a mysterious billionaire paid a hundred million for it at auction. A one-of-a-kind piece. I knew the post was meant for me. Just last week, Julian had collapsed from overwork and a bleeding ulcer. Yet the moment he was discharged, he’d flown to London. I had been sick with worry, furious that he was sacrificing his health for his work. Now I knew. He had gone to an auction. He had endured excruciating pain to buy the most expensive necklace in the world and lay it at the feet of his true love. My fingers moved on their own, typing in the lock screen password. The final digit. The phone unlocked. The password was Eliza’s birthday. Julian never let me touch his phone, always talking about the importance of personal space. The moment the screen unlocked, Eliza’s radiant smile filled the display. His wallpaper. No wonder his expression always softened when he looked at his phone. I opened his photo gallery. It was a shrine. [Eliza, age 10], [Eliza, age 11]… [Eliza, age 25]. Thousands of photos, documenting every stage of her life. There wasn’t a single picture of me. Not even of himself. Only Eliza. Just like his heart. From beginning to end, there was only ever Eliza. I opened his notes app. It was a diary. October 12, 20XX. Sunny. Eliza scraped her knee on a tree branch today. It’s my fault. I never should have planted those trees in the yard. June 5, 20XX. Sunny. Eliza got married today. As long as she’s happy, everything I do is worth it. I live to make her happy. September 19, 20XX. Rain. I got married today. When I saw Eliza in the audience, I wished so desperately that she was the one standing beside me. The car pulled into our driveway. I looked out at the bare, empty yard and a chill went through me, so deep it felt like it was freezing my bones. There used to be two peach trees in that yard. My father had planted them for me on my tenth birthday, and Julian had transplanted them from my old family home. They were my connection to him, a reminder that he was still with me. One day, the trees, heavy with fruit, had suddenly withered and died. Their roots, the arborist said, had inexplicably rotted. Julian had held me for three days and nights as I cried. And now I knew. It was him. He had destroyed the last piece of my father he had left me. A new message popped up on his phone. It was from his assistant. [Mr. Thorne, as per your instructions, the final draft of your will is complete. All assets are to be left to Ms. Eliza Vance.] [It just needs your signature to be executed.] Through a blur of tears, I saw him again, standing at my father’s funeral, holding me, promising me the world. “Simone, I’ll give you a home. Everything I have will be yours.” I put Julian to bed, but for the first time, I didn’t take off his shoes or tuck him in. I went to the guest room and closed the door. When I woke, sunlight was streaming through the window. I opened my eyes to find Julian watching me, his gaze full of a practiced gentleness. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Were you angry with me last night, Simone? I’m sorry, I had too much to drink. I promise it won’t happen again.” His tenderness was a well-rehearsed charade. I pushed him away and went to the bathroom, scrubbing his kiss from my skin until it was raw. The breakfast table was laden with food. A year ago, this would have filled me with joy. But after reading his diary, I felt nothing but a hollow ache. It was a feast of all of Eliza’s favorite foods. The front door opened. Eliza, dressed in a pristine white dress, walked in as if she owned the place and sat down at the table. She smiled at me. “Sorry to intrude, Simone. Julian and I have a photoshoot this morning, so he invited me for breakfast.” I said nothing, my eyes fixed on the house key in her hand, identical to my own. Julian sensed the shift in my mood. He leaned in and whispered, “Eliza is our best friend, Simone. It’s normal for her to have a key.” His words trailed off. He shot up from his seat, his expression suddenly frantic, and snatched the glass of soy milk from Eliza’s hand. “Eliza, you can’t drink that! How many years has it been, and you still can’t remember?” She smiled, a coy, pleased little expression. “I know. It’s a good thing I’ve had you to look out for me all these years.” They stared at each other, lost in their own world, a perfect picture of two lovers. I had no interest in watching. I was about to leave when Eliza called out to me. “Simone, I remember you studied photography. Would you mind shooting for me today? I don’t really trust the new guy.” I hadn’t touched a camera since my father died. He was the one who taught me everything I knew. The weight of it in my hands was too heavy, a reminder of his frail, defeated form in his final days. I couldn’t bring myself to press the shutter. Julian knew this. He had locked all my camera equipment away, telling me not to force it, that he would help me heal. But now, he didn’t even wait for my reply. He ushered me into the back seat of the car. “Eliza gets carsick, Simone. You’ll have to sit in the back.” He had forgotten that my carsickness was worse. At the studio, he fussed over Eliza, carefully arranging the train of her gown. I leaned against the car, gasping for fresh air, my stomach churning. “The shoot is about to start, Simone,” Julian said, his voice impatient as he pulled me inside. “Don’t be difficult. This is important for Eliza, and for the company.” I stumbled, nearly falling. After five years, the camera felt alien in my hands, heavy with a suffocating dread. My hands trembled as I raised it to my eye. During a break, Eliza and I were alone in the studio. She flipped through the photos on the camera’s screen, a sneer on her lips. “You’re just as useless as your father, Simone. Can’t do anything right.” She looked me up and down. “Like father, like daughter.” My nails dug into my palms. A hot rage began to build inside me. Slap! The sting on my cheek was sharp and immediate. Eliza shook her hand, looking down at me with contempt. “You’re pathetic, Simone. I can’t believe after Alex dumped you, you immediately latched onto Julian. You don’t deserve him. Not Alex, not Julian. They’re both mine.” Her voice dropped to a vicious whisper. “You’re not worthy.” My head was still turned from the force of the blow. Before I could react, she grabbed my hand, slapped herself across the face with it, and then collapsed to the floor in a heap. She clutched her cheek, her eyes welling with tears, a perfect, fragile victim. “Simone, I didn’t say the photos were bad,” she sobbed. “I just wanted you to try a different angle. If you didn’t want to, you could have just said so…” The door opened. Julian stood there, a water bottle dropping from his hand and clattering on the floor. He rushed past me and knelt beside Eliza, his face a mask of frantic concern. “Julian, I’m fine,” she whimpered. “Please don’t blame Simone. She didn’t mean it. It was my fault, I lost my balance.” “You’re too kind, Eliza! You don’t have to cover for her. I saw everything!” He gently helped her to her feet, treating her as if she were made of porcelain. He wrapped his arm around her, then turned to me, his face contorted with a rage I had never seen before in our five years of marriage. “Apologize to Eliza, Simone! I have spoiled you rotten these past five years! I’ve turned you into a monster!” His voice was thunderous. “You know how important her face is to her career!” He glared at me, his eyes completely blind to the red, swelling handprint on my own cheek. I lifted my head, my gaze meeting his, my voice eerily calm. “The one who should be apologizing is Eliza. She brought up my father. Speaking of which, Julian, is there anything you’d like to apologize for regarding what happened to my father?” A flicker of shock crossed his eyes. “If it wasn’t for me back then, your father would have died even sooner. Simone, I promised him I would take care of you, but that was on the condition that you would never, ever hurt Eliza.” A bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped my lips. I shouldn’t have expected anything. The world went black, and I fell.

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Kaspa Astor got a girl pregnant after a night of drunken recklessness. By the time I found out, she was already six months along. He told me, “If we keep the child, we can go back to how things were. We can be happy again.” I just shook my head, my voice unwavering as I asked the question that had been haunting me. “Her and the baby, or me? Choose.” That day, he was silent for a long, long time. He couldn’t give me an answer. But after I disappeared, he was consumed by regret. 1 We had been married for five years. Five years with Kaspa, and I never once imagined it would end like this. I was standing outside the hospital when I saw him, carefully guiding a young, beautiful woman down the steps. I was just far enough away that when he looked up, his face a mask of tender concern, our eyes met. He flinched, his gaze immediately darting away, a portrait of guilt. The pregnant woman beside him looked over at me too, her eyes instantly welling with tears. After settling her safely in the car and whispering a few careful instructions, Kaspa finally walked towards me. His steps were calm, measured, all traces of the panic he’d felt upon being discovered now erased. He reached for my hand, his fingers wrapping around mine, which were cold as ice. “Why are you at the hospital? Are you not feeling well?” he asked, his voice laced with feigned concern as he reached up to touch my forehead. I recoiled from his touch. “Who is she?” He didn’t answer, pulling me into an embrace instead, trying to soothe me with his presence. “She’s no one important. We can talk about this at home, okay? I’ll explain everything.” His soft, gentle words were the final crack in my composure. A tear slid down my cheek. I defiantly tilted my head up, demanding the truth. As long as he told me, I would believe him. Anything. Kaspa sighed, a soft, resigned sound, and gently wiped the tear from the corner of my eye. “The baby is mine.” The words froze the tears on my face. It felt like I’d forgotten how to breathe. I bit my lip until I tasted blood, wrenching myself from his arms and stumbling backwards. For the first time, a flicker of anger crossed his face. He closed the distance between us again, pulling me close, his expression shifting to one of pained concern. “Nora, you can blame me. You can hate me. But you can’t torture yourself like this.” I didn’t understand. How could he do something so monstrous and still stand here, pretending to love me? As we stood locked in our silent standoff, the girl got out of the car. “Get back in the car!” Kaspa snapped, his voice sharp and devoid of any warmth. She looked at him timidly but didn’t move, a new firmness in her eyes. “Ms. Vance,” she said, her voice soft but clear, “It’s not what you think between Mr. Astor and me. The baby… it was an accident.” She gave a bitter smile. “If I had a choice, I would want this baby less than anyone.” My vision blurred. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but I knew him. I could feel the coldness in his demeanor thawing at her words. “That’s enough! Stop talking!” I shrieked, the jealousy and resentment boiling over inside me. The girl flinched, staggering as if she was about to fall. In a flash, Kaspa lunged forward and caught her, pulling her securely into his arms. I stared at the scene, frozen. A single, wild thought sparked in my mind. I lunged towards them. Just as my hand was about to connect with her swollen belly, a powerful force shoved me away. I landed hard on the pavement. I looked down at my scraped palm, a desolate, humorless laugh escaping my lips. Kaspa stared at his outstretched hand, the one that had just pushed me, completely stunned. That day, Kaspa Astor left the woman who was six months pregnant with his child and took me home. But I knew. For him and me, there was no future left. 2 Back home, Kaspa gave me his explanation. I sat on our bed, silent and still for a long time. He stood on the balcony of our bedroom and smoked for the entire night, one cigarette after another. I knew what he was doing. It was a performance of self-punishment, a ritual designed to make my heart ache for him. When it came to me, he always knew how to find my weaknesses. As the first light of dawn broke the darkness, Kaspa finally came back inside, walking over to me. “You must be hungry. What do you want to eat? I’ll make it for you.” My voice was a raw whisper when I stopped him. “Kaspa. We need to talk.” He froze, his back to me. He stood there for a long moment before turning around. He knew my character; this was something I couldn’t just let go. I could never, ever forgive this. Even if he was drunk. Even if it was an unintentional moment of contact with a stranger. It didn’t matter. That’s why he had hidden it from me. But neither of us could have predicted that the girl, a complete stranger to him, would get pregnant. And due to a rare medical condition, she couldn’t terminate the pregnancy. Which led us to this. Kaspa left the room. He couldn’t face what he knew I was about to say. I know he loved me. If he didn’t, we wouldn’t have been together for so many years. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have spoiled me to the point where I was a woman who could throw a tantrum or burst into tears at the slightest provocation, always knowing he’d be there to comfort me. For the next week, Kaspa didn’t come home. But he still called the housekeeper every day, asking after every little detail of my life. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, tried to reason with me. “Ma’am, you and Mr. Astor are the most devoted couple I’ve ever seen. Whatever it is, you should just talk it out. He’s… he’s lost so much weight recently.” She’d been with us for years. She had never seen Kaspa and me argue, not even once. Even his mother, who had disapproved of me in the early years, had gradually come to accept me as her daughter-in-law after seeing how happy we were together. My phone rang. It was one of Kaspa’s friends. “Nora, Kaspa’s really drunk. Can you come pick him up?” “Let him rot there,” I snapped, hanging up. But the anger didn’t fade; it just curdled into a tight knot in my chest. The image of Kaspa’s retreating back, his shoulders slumped in defeat, flashed in my mind. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to leave him there alone. After a moment of internal struggle, I grabbed my car keys and walked out the door. 3 The door to the private room was ajar. I stood outside, hidden in the shadows of the hallway. Kaspa was indeed drunk, sprawled gracelessly across the sofa. And standing before him was the pregnant girl. Kaspa’s friend looked embarrassed. “Sarah, I’m sorry. Nora won’t come, and Kaspa refuses to leave, so I had no choice but to call you.” The girl, Sarah, smiled faintly and tried to help Kaspa up by his arm. He shoved her away without warning. A few gasps of surprise seemed to shock Kaspa out of his drunken stupor. He looked at the woman in front of him, his face twisting into a smile that was more painful than a grimace. “Sarah Vance… it’s all because of you. Nora’s leaving me…” he repeated, his voice slurring as he started looking for another drink. No one could stop him. He grabbed a bottle and began chugging it down as if he were trying to drown himself. Suddenly, Sarah snatched the bottle from his hand and smashed it on the floor. The room fell silent. Even Kaspa, who had been in a drunken rage moments before, just stared at her, stunned. “Kaspa Astor, your drunken shouting is going to scare our child,” she said, her voice firm. “Get up. I’m tired. Take me home.” Kaspa Astor, a man who commanded respect and fear throughout the city, had never been ordered around like that by anyone except me. Everyone held their breath, expecting an explosion. But in the tense silence, Kaspa said nothing. He slowly got to his feet, picked up his jacket, and silently followed Sarah out of the room. I shrank back into the corner, watching the two of them walk away together. A laugh escaped my lips. A bitter, broken sound. I followed their taxi to a high-end apartment complex, watching as Kaspa got out and went upstairs with her. A light flicked on in a window high above. I sat in my car all night, watching that window. Kaspa never came out. At seven in the morning, he reappeared, walked to a nearby café, and went back inside the building carrying a bag of breakfast. I watched that painfully familiar back. Then, alone, I quietly drove away. 4 I called Kaspa and told him to come home, but I didn’t mention a divorce. I looked at him, noting how much thinner he’d become in just a week, then quickly averted my eyes. “I didn’t pick you up last night. Where did you stay?” Kaspa’s fingers twitched. After a moment, he said, “I stayed at the office.” I couldn’t quite name the feeling in my chest. There was a dull ache, but more than that, there was disappointment. When had Kaspa Astor learned to lie to me? The man who once promised a lifetime of honesty had changed. I didn’t expose his lie. It didn’t matter anymore. “How far along… is she?” His voice faltered for a second, as if he couldn’t bear to hurt me further. “Almost seven months.” Then, he dropped to one knee before me, burying his face in my lap. His tears soaked through the fabric of my skirt. “Nora, I was wrong. Please… please don’t leave me.” In all the years I’d known him, I had never seen Kaspa cry. Now, he was sobbing uncontrollably. Seeing him like this, my own heart ached. But I knew, in this moment, I couldn’t afford to be weak. “Arrange a meeting for me. With her.” We met at Sarah’s apartment. Kaspa waited for me outside the door. Sarah gently cradled her belly, her eyes filled with a radiant expectation for her child. “That night,” she began, her voice soft, “the room was dark. I was so, so scared. But the next morning, when I saw Mr. Astor lying next to me… for a second, I actually felt… lucky.” She smiled as she spoke, looking up at me with that same gentle, beautiful expression. “Ms. Vance, my baby with Kaspa is almost here. Why don’t you just… let us be happy together?” Without Kaspa present, she was like a completely different person. Honestly, I wasn’t surprised. The night I went to find Kaspa at the bar, I’d caught her glancing towards the door, right where I was standing. She knew I was there. She slowly stood up and pushed open a closed door, revealing a warm, perfectly decorated nursery. “Kaspa picked out everything in here himself. He set up the whole room. He’s not without his hopes for this child.” I wanted to maintain my last shred of composure in front of this woman who was flaunting Kaspa’s paternal affection, but her words ignited a firestorm of rage within me. So, he was looking forward to this child. He wasn’t indifferent after all. My strength seemed to drain from my body. I braced myself with one hand on the dining table, knocking over a glass of water. It shattered on the floor with a sharp crack that echoed the fractures splintering through my heart. Kaspa heard the noise and burst in. The first thing he saw was me, swaying on my feet, and Sarah, lying on the floor, crying out in pain.

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1 I was gravely ill. My son, Harper, and his wife, Kate, used their entire savings to pay for my treatment, caring for me with every ounce of their being. After I recovered, I signed over all my property to my daughter. To my surprise, my daughter-in-law was not pleased. I told her, “While I was sick, my daughter called to check on me every other day. She’s so devoted. What’s wrong with me giving her the house?” My son and his wife questioned me, their voices shaking with anger. “We cared for you day and night, spent tens of thousands of dollars on your treatment, and that doesn’t even compare to a few phone calls?” My answer was unhesitating. “Of course not.” … My son’s face turned ashen with rage, and my daughter-in-law burst into tears. “We sold our new home—the one we just bought—to pay for your treatment! If you give the house to Ramona, where are Harper and I supposed to live?” Harper stared at me, shocked. “Mom! When you were in the hospital, it was Kate and I who cleaned you, who dealt with your bedpan! Ramona just made a few phone calls! She never even came to see you!” His disappointment was raw and undisguised. “Kate quit her job to take care of you! How can you do something so unfair?” Kate collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. “If I had known what a horribly unreasonable person you were, I would have never married into this family! You’re a twisted old hag who favors her daughter over her son! From now on, let your precious daughter take care of you! I’m done!” Kate had always been a gentle, kind girl. I’d never seen her this hysterical. Seeing his wife so upset, Harper tried to reason with me. “Mom! It’s my duty to care for you, I know that. But Kate isn’t your blood. By rights, my sister should have been the one doing all this. I called her so many times when you were sick, I begged her to come, but she wouldn’t! How can you still believe she’s the devoted one?” Kate glared at me. “When we were short on money for your surgery, Harper and I were so desperate we were talking about selling a kidney! And your daughter? Do you know where she was while you were in the hospital? She was on vacation in Thailand! The price of one of her new handbags could have saved your life!” “You’re Harper’s mother. It’s our duty to care for you, to get you treatment. We never expected anything in return. But you can’t just kick us out of our own home so you can give everything to your daughter!” she cried. “You can hate me, your daughter-in-law, that’s fine! But Harper is your own son! How can you be so cruel to your own flesh and blood?” Harper looked at me, his eyes full of despair. “Mom, I know you dote on Ramona, but you can’t push me to my death just to favor her!” I said coldly, “I dote on my daughter because she would never plot against me! Not like you two, putting on a show of caring for me in the hospital just to get your hands on my property!” Furious, Kate stormed out and went back to her mother’s house. Harper, seething with anger, refused to speak to me. A few days later, my daughter, Ramona, returned from her vacation in Thailand. She even brought me a large Thai mango. My son exploded. “Ramona, don’t you know Mom is allergic to mangoes? She just had surgery! Are you trying to kill her?” I slapped him across the face. “Who said I’m allergic to mangoes? I think you just can’t stand to see your sister being good to me! You ungrateful brat! I’ve raised you all your life and you’ve never given me a single thing. If it weren’t for your sister, you would have worked me to death!” Harper clutched his cheek, his face a mask of disbelief. “Mom! Can you really only see your daughter? Can’t you see anything I’ve done for you? Have you forgotten who paid for your treatment, who stayed by your side day and night in the hospital?” He thought that would make me feel guilty. But what did I have to be guilty about? I took my daughter to have all the property deeds transferred to her name. I also gave her my pension card. I even packed up all the meat and nutritional supplements in the house into her car for her to take home. After seeing her off, I turned around and asked my son for money to buy groceries. His eyes widened in disbelief. “Mom, you gave the house, the money, and the steak and supplements I bought for you to Ramona, and now you’re asking me for grocery money?” His voice trembled. I could tell his anger had been building, and he was about to erupt. I said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Isn’t it a son’s duty to provide for his mother? Whoever heard of parents asking their daughter for grocery money? People would laugh their heads off!” Harper was completely stunned. Two lines of tears streamed down his face, and he looked utterly defeated. But he still gave me fifty dollars for groceries. I took the money, went to a restaurant, and treated myself to a nice meal. Then I bought a few plain bread rolls and went home. When I got back, Harper and Kate had a pot of congee simmering, waiting for vegetables to be added. Seeing the bread rolls in my hand, Kate was shocked. “Mom, didn’t Harper give you fifty dollars? Why did you only buy a few rolls? What are we supposed to eat?” I looked at her calmly. “I already ate out. A forty-eight-dollar steak dinner. The remaining two dollars was only enough for these.” Kate threw down the ladle in a fury. “How could you be so selfish? Don’t you know Harper and I were waiting for you to bring back food so we could cook? You could have at least bought a head of cabbage!” I retorted indignantly, “I’m a patient recovering from a serious illness, and you want me to eat cabbage? I see what this is. You two ungrateful children just want to make my life miserable!” Harper started to scold me, but I glared at him and collapsed onto the floor, wailing. “Oh, my poor husband, you died too soon! You left me with this monster who won’t even let me eat! Why didn’t you just take me with you?” Seeing me like this, Harper, though still angry, didn’t dare say another word. That evening, he came back with a large bag of groceries. Kate was clearly furious with me, but she still placed the best piece of fish in front of me. “Eat up. Once you’re fully recovered, I’m never taking care of you again.” I slammed the plate on the floor. “You dare serve me a fish that costs a few dollars? Do you have any idea that the fish your sister buys for me costs hundreds? Being with you two has been nothing but suffering!” This time, tears of pure rage streamed down Harper’s face. “Mom! Ramona hasn’t cooked a single meal for you all year! The last time you ate fish she made was three years ago! How can you be so biased? If she fed you dynamite, you’d probably still think she was wonderful!” I slammed my hand on the table. “Ah, so your true colors are showing! I knew you had bad intentions! Now that you didn’t get the money and the house, you’re plotting to blow me up, aren’t you?” “Get out! Both of you ungrateful animals, get out of my house!” Harper stared at me, dumbfounded. “But… all our money went to your surgery. We don’t even have enough for a deposit on a rental! Where are we supposed to go?” I shot him a look of disgust. “Oh, so now you’re keeping score on the money you spent to save your mother’s life? You think it was a waste, don’t you? You probably wish you had just let me die!” “I don’t care where you go! Just get out and I hope I never see you again for the rest of my life!” Harper never imagined I could be so heartless. That night, he and Kate moved out. After they left, they had no money for food. He tried to borrow twenty dollars from me to buy rice, but I refused. My son, sobbing, started slapping his own face in despair. “I don’t have a mother as cruel as you! You don’t want to see me? Fine! I’ll go! I’ll go so far away you’ll never see me again!” Not long after, Kate called and cursed me out. It turned out she had been pregnant. But from the exhaustion of caring for me, compounded by the poor nutrition from eating nothing but bread rolls, she had a miscarriage. After that, our relationship deteriorated completely. I heard from a neighbor that Harper and Kate had gone abroad to work, trying to earn money to pay off their debts. In the blink of an eye, five years passed. Harper never came to see me. I never contacted him. But today, I had to send him a message. I was dying. He needed to come back for my funeral. 2 My funeral was a simple, pathetic affair. In the past few years, my daughter had developed a gambling addiction and lost all the property and my pension. She was so destitute she couldn’t even afford a coffin. A dirty sheet served as my shroud, my body laid out unceremoniously in the center of the hall. Despite the grim setting, the scene was lively. My son and daughter-in-law had made a fortune abroad and returned in glory, inviting all our relatives to my funeral. But they weren’t here to mourn me. They were here to expose my wicked deeds to the world. To that end, they had even hired a popular online streamer, known for covering emotional family dramas, to broadcast the event live. My son stood before my body, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I hear my mother died from a relapse of her old illness. I hear she was so poor she couldn’t even afford to go to the hospital, that she died in agony at home and her body was only discovered after it had started to rot and stink.” “That can’t be right,” he continued, a cruel smile on his face. “My mother had so many houses, so much money. She was so sure her daughter was the most devoted child in the world. What happened? Did her devoted daughter not take her to the doctor?” “I remember when Kate and I first got married. We scraped and borrowed from everyone we knew just to make the down payment on our apartment. When my mother got sick and needed surgery, we sold that apartment without a second thought to pay for her treatment!” “To take care of her, Kate even quit her job!” “My mother was bedridden, unable to move. It was Kate and I who cleaned her, who dealt with everything.” “And what did she do? The moment she was out of the hospital, she gave all her houses and money to my sister. Why? Because my sister was so ‘devoted’ she made a few phone calls!” “My mother would pack up all the food in the house for my sister, then turn around and demand money from me. I gave her the last fifty dollars I had. And what did she do with it? She treated herself to a steak dinner and brought back a few stale bread rolls for Kate and me!” “She knew we had sold our home for her, yet she still forced us out! When we were starving and tried to borrow twenty dollars from her, she screamed at us in the middle of the street!” Kate wiped away her tears. “We were deep in debt because of her surgery. We had to go abroad and take on grueling, under-the-table jobs. We worked from dawn till dusk for years, aging decades in the process, just to get back on our feet!” “But I suppose we should thank her,” she added, her voice bitter. “If she hadn’t been so monstrously biased, my husband and I would never have worked so hard. So hard that our bodies are broken, so hard that having another child is now difficult for us.” In front of the camera, my son and daughter-in-law relentlessly recounted my cruelty. The live stream chat exploded with rage against me. 【Is that even a mother? She’s a demon! They should have just let her die in the first place!】 【Look at this pathetic funeral. Seems like the old hag’s favorite daughter didn’t treat her so well in the end.】 【I’m their neighbor, I can confirm! The daughter is a real piece of work. She was always hitting and cursing at the old woman. When her mom got sick again, she didn’t care. She just took her money to the casino!】 【There’s a limit to favoritism! The son and daughter-in-law were so devoted, and the daughter was abusive. The old crone still insisted on giving her everything. I wonder if she ever regretted it.】 “I don’t regret it.”

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The third month of my marriage to Kevin McQuarrie, I slit my wrists. As my soul drifted in the air, I imagined what would come next. I expected to see him weeping, tearing the world apart to find me. At the very least, he should have been clutching my body, kneeling at my grave day and night, drowning in repentance. It would be just like something out of a gothic romance: the billionaire tycoon, chasing after her ghost, his hair turning white overnight, his empire crumbling to dust, left with nothing before taking his own life to join her. But none of that happened. When Kevin McQuarrie looked down at my corpse, all he said was, “What a mess.” There was no regret. No desperate, grief-stricken chase. Instead, my death cleared the way for his darling orphan, Sylvia McQuarrie. In a flash, she became the new Mrs. McQuarrie. I glanced down at the blade in my hand, time snapping back to the moment before I made the cut. Why the hell should I be the one to die? I was never the one who deserved it. I dropped the blade and walked out of the bathroom. This time, before Kevin could move Sylvia into our marital home, I signed my name on the divorce papers. 1 The searing pain in my wrist was the first thing I felt, a brutal confirmation that I was back. The memories of my death replayed in my mind on a relentless loop. I’d been driven to suicide by a single text message I received half an hour ago from Sylvia. It was a photo. Her, straddling Kevin. The pose was intimate, almost obscene, made all the more so by the suffocatingly close confines of his car. Rage consumed me. I called Kevin, again and again. He didn’t pick up. After the fourth frantic call, he simply declined it. All of New York high society knew I loved Kevin McQuarrie to the point of madness. They had a nickname for me: Rebecca Shaw, the Beautiful and Broken. Without him, I couldn’t live. Back then, the thought of Kevin with another woman, doing that… it shattered me. I quickly created a group chat, adding all our mutual friends, and declared I was going to kill myself. Everyone in the group pleaded with me to calm down. Everyone except Kevin. His response was two ice-cold words: “Go ahead.” Those words were a razor to my already frayed nerves. I was so desperate for a scrap of his affection, any proof that he cared, that I actually did it. I started a video call and streamed my suicide. On the screen, my friends’ faces were masks of horror. Finally, Kevin reacted. I heard him mutter, “You crazy bitch,” before the sound of a car engine roared to life. He was coming back for me. He was leaving that other woman to rush to my side. He’s mine, I thought, a triumphant, final flicker of obsession. He can only be mine. But I had cut too deep. I actually died. As a disembodied soul, I had eagerly watched, waiting for the moment his love for me would finally awaken. I waited for him to cradle my body and break down. But he did nothing. He just had me cremated. A month later, he married Sylvia, and she took my place as if I had never existed. That little suicide attempt taught me one thing: to hell with loving a man. It was time to love myself. Kevin McQuarrie, I’m done loving you. Sylvia’s text was still on my phone. I didn’t hesitate to reply. “Kevin prefers to be on top. He’s not into your kind of trashy performance.” Silence from her end. I stepped out of the bathroom and threw everything—the blade, the blood-soaked towels, the despair—into the trash. To think I’d spent ten years trailing after Kevin, begging for crumbs of his affection, only to trap myself in a cage of my own making. What a waste. I sent one last text to Kevin. “The divorce agreement is on your desk. All it needs is your signature.” 2 Kevin returned quickly. The first words out of his mouth were, “Not dead yet? So this is your new tactic, a divorce?” The sneer in his voice was thick, but he wasn’t wrong. The only reason I had managed to marry him in the first place was because of a merger between our families. At the time, the McQuarrie empire was on the verge of bankruptcy, their legacy in ashes. My marriage was the lifeline; my family’s money was the blood transfusion keeping his family’s dying company alive. That was my leverage. Every time I threatened divorce, Kevin would back down, making some small concession. In my delusion, I saw his compromises as proof of his love—the only love he had to give. Now I see it for what it was: not love, but business. He was yielding for the sake of the McQuarrie name, not for me. I schooled my features into a calm mask just as I saw Sylvia standing behind him. Sylvia McQuarrie. Two years my junior, adopted by the McQuarries from an orphanage. She and Kevin had grown up together, the picture of childhood sweethearts. How could I have ever been foolish enough to believe that the fiery new love could ever conquer the tender history of a first love? Besides, I was never the fiery new love. I was just Rebecca Shaw, the unhinged wife. I held the divorce papers out to him. “Sign it.” Kevin let out a sharp, derisive laugh. He snatched the papers and tore them in half, not even glancing at my face. “Sylvia is moving in,” he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument. “She’ll be taking the master bedroom. You have a problem with that?” A problem? How could I dare? In my past life, this was the exact moment things had spiraled. Sylvia had demanded the master bedroom, our bedroom. I had refused, and she’d been relegated to a guest room. The next thing I knew, she had fallen from the window of that room. She claimed the bed was too close to the floor-to-ceiling window and she’d “accidentally” tumbled out. A likely story. Who sleeps with a massive window wide open? Kevin had blamed me entirely. To “teach me a lesson,” he locked me in a dark room, without food or water. By the time he remembered I existed, I was barely breathing. My best friend had pleaded with me. “Divorce him, Rebecca! That bastard is going to kill you if you keep this up!” And I, in my infinite wisdom, had shot back, “But why is he only a bastard to me? Why does he only want to destroy me and not anyone else? It’s because he loves me! He’s obsessed with me!” My friends, hearing that twisted logic, slowly backed away until no one was left. Thinking about it now… what a special brand of idiot I was. Since Sylvia was so keen on stealing my nest, she could have it. “Fine,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. 3 A flicker of surprise crossed Sylvia’s face. Whatever manipulative drama she had prepared was now useless. Her eyes darted over me, trying to figure out my angle, before she tugged on Kevin’s arm. “Kevin,” she began, her voice a soft murmur, “about that other thing…” She let the sentence hang in the air. Kevin adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, a gesture so refined and elegant it used to make my heart ache. A wolf in scholar’s clothing. Now I realize if a stray dog had made the same motion, I’d probably have fallen in love with it, too. I was just that sick. “Sylvia’s health is delicate,” Kevin said, his voice smooth as silk. “And we need to prepare for the pregnancy. You’ll look after her for the next two weeks. You studied nursing, didn’t you?” Yes, I had. For him. Years ago, when the McQuarrie company was on the brink of collapse, Kevin had been forced to attend endless dinners, drinking himself into a stomach ulcer that landed him in the hospital for weeks. They couldn’t afford a private nurse, so I taught myself the basics and cared for him night and day for half a month. I never even closed my eyes, it seemed. If he reached, I was there with water. If he shifted, I was there to massage his back. I was more diligent than a paid servant. I thought he would remember my devotion. He did—he remembered he had a free caregiver on call. Still, I agreed without a fight. But this time, I would reclaim what was mine. “Kevin, give me back the three corporate seals my family gave you,” I said coolly. “Do that, and I’ll do whatever you want.” Those three seals were the lynchpin that had saved McQuarrie Industries from utter ruin. I had married into the McQuarrie family from another city, against my parents’ fierce opposition. As a last resort, they had given me those three seals, explaining that with them, every major corporation and enterprise in the city would have to give the McQuarrie family face and do business with them. They told me that the day I took back those seals, they would come for me, no matter how far away they were. When I gave them to Kevin, I made him promise to carry them with him at all times, for the good of his career. In my past life, I had asked for them back once. He had pointed a finger in my face and screamed, “Rebecca, who the hell do you and your family think you are? You think these worthless trinkets matter? McQuarrie Industries doesn’t need the Shaws to rise again!” It was then I learned you can’t tame a viper. You can’t warm a heart of stone. If I’d given those seals to a dog, at least it would have wagged its tail for me. Kevin scoffed, pulling one of the seals from his coat pocket and tossing it to me. “Here. You’ll get the other two, one per week, over the next two weeks.” I understood. I had to serve Sylvia well for fifteen days. In exchange, I’d get my freedom. By the time I had all three, my parents would handle the divorce proceedings. I snuffed out the last embers of my love for Kevin. All I wanted now was to see his face when he was no longer a McQuarrie scion, but a pathetic, debt-ridden nobody. I wanted to see if Sylvia would still love him then. 4 And so, for the days that followed, Sylvia lived in my house. The news of her “preparations for pregnancy” had sent me to the hospital with an anxiety attack in my last life. It nearly drove me insane. Because the baby Sylvia was preparing for was Kevin’s. She had spun a tale about her deep spiritual beliefs, claiming that since the McQuarries had adopted her, she was duty-bound to repay their kindness. Since Kevin was married to me and I had remained childless for three years, she couldn’t bear to see the McQuarrie lineage end. She would “sacrifice” herself to provide an heir. She proposed IVF to Kevin. She called it IVF, but it was clear she was just planting his seed the old-fashioned way. She’d sent me photos and videos, one by one, until the torment made me physically ill, coughing up blood. I remember storming into Kevin’s office, my hair a mess, my face pale and gaunt, looking utterly pathetic. He was in the middle of an international conference call. I burst in, ruining the deal, and threw myself on the floor, clinging to his legs, begging him to love me, to have a child with me. I even shrieked, “I promise! Our baby will be smarter than hers! More blessed!” The scene torpedoed Kevin’s public image. He had his security drag me out and lock me away. When my hysterics didn’t stop, he had me committed to a psychiatric hospital. I was only released when I had been “cured”—broken into docile submission. The memory still makes my chest tighten. Why did I debase myself like that? What Sylvia didn’t know was that the reason Kevin and I were childless for three years was because my parents had investigated his family. They had a hereditary genetic disorder. Any child born would be either disabled or suffer from severe cognitive impairments. So now, in this life, with my eyes set on reclaiming my family’s three seals, I was more anxious about Sylvia’s womb than a midwife on call. At 8 a.m., I had the kitchen prepare the finest bird’s nest soup and presented it to her myself. Sylvia took one sip and threw the bowl at me, the hot liquid splashing across my clothes. “What is this garbage? I’m telling Kevin on you.” I endured. During her midday rest, I hired a professional aesthetician to apply firming oils to her body. Sylvia dismissed the woman and pointed a finger at me. “I want you to do it. Are your precious hands too good to serve me, Rebecca?” I endured. At 10 p.m., Kevin came home and disappeared into the master bedroom with Sylvia. He had the gall to look at me with feigned sympathy. “Rebecca, this is all for my sake,” he said, his voice a low whisper. “You love me so much. I know you’ll understand, won’t you?” I stood by the door, listening to the sounds of their passion within, as my phone vibrated. It was my parents. “Rebecca, your mother and I received the seal.” My father’s voice was heavy with relief. “Does this mean you’re finally coming home?” One more to go. Once I had the last one, every project under the McQuarrie corporate umbrella would grind to a halt. Because for the past three years, every contract had been stamped with a Shaw family seal. All of their partners recognized our family’s authority, not theirs. I stood in the hallway, peering through the crack in the door at the two bodies entwined on my bed, and smiled. “Dad, Mom,” I whispered into the phone. “Come get me in a week.” 5 I barely slept or ate during those two weeks of servitude to Sylvia. I lost a dangerous amount of weight, but funnily enough, Kevin’s opinion of me seemed to improve. He would often stare at me, a strange look in his eyes, and occasionally, something resembling a human sentiment would escape his lips. “Rebecca, if only you were always this quiet, this obedient. Life would be so much better.” I would just smile faintly, saying nothing. Oh, I wouldn’t be causing any more scenes. But I wondered just how many scenes he would cause when McQuarrie Industries finally collapsed. The day came. Kevin placed the last seal in my hand. Fearing he might change his mind, I immediately put the signed divorce agreement back on the table, adding a pointed reminder. “Remember to sign this when you get back tonight.” The familiar sneer returned to his face. “What now? You found out Sylvia’s pregnant, so you’re going to pull that live-streamed suicide stunt again?” He leaned in, his voice a low threat. “Go on, Rebecca. If you die this time, I’ll even handle the funeral.” I lowered my gaze. I knew he meant it. That’s why I wouldn’t be so foolish this time. I had planned to pack a few things, but as I looked around the house, I realized there was nothing here that was truly mine. The moment Kevin’s car pulled out of the driveway, I was in a taxi heading in the opposite direction. Phone off, SIM card tossed. From now on, the world was my oyster. Kevin McQuarrie, I’ll be waiting for you in LA. Waiting for your downfall.

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Flames devoured our old family home. My sister, Marie, was trapped inside, severely burned. For some reason, there was an ambulance shortage. Taxis couldn’t get past the roadblocks into the neighborhood. I couldn’t drive. In a blind panic, I called my wife for help. She hung up on me, again and again. Finally, she just turned her phone off. I was left screaming, grabbing at neighbors, begging anyone for a ride. A kind soul finally drove us to the hospital, but it was too late. Marie had missed the golden hour for treatment. She died on a gurney in the emergency room. I was on my knees outside the morgue, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe, when the news report flashed across the hospital’s hallway monitor. “Kathy Delaney, CEO of the Delaney Conglomerate, spares no expense for love. After her childhood sweetheart, Adrian, suffers a minor cut, Ms. Delaney diverts every available ambulance in the city to his aid.” I stared at the screen, my tears turning to ice. In that moment, I made my decision. I was leaving the woman who had killed my sister.

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When I took my fiancé, Marcin, to pick out our marital home, we ran into the most two-faced real estate agent I’d ever met. First, she fawned over him, gushing about how young and successful he must be to drive a Rolls-Royce. Then, she implied I was a fraud, a wannabe socialite with a knockoff handbag who could sweet-talk her way into a free house. When she found out we were buying a home together, she announced to the entire showroom, loud enough for everyone to hear, “You know, I thought that sugar daddy who bought you two condos last time was perfectly nice.” Then she added, with a sickeningly sweet smile, “Oh, but I seem to recall you have more than one, Miss Sterling. Do they all know about each other?” I just laughed. My “sugar daddies” are just my godfathers, and my socialite status is very, very real. The real twist? My fiancé is just a scholarship kid my family sponsored. … After Marcin finally met my grandfather, our engagement was officially set. We left dinner in the Rolls-Royce my grandpa had gifted us, heading to a new luxury development nearby to choose our first home together. As soon as we arrived, I slipped off to the restroom. In my haste, I bumped into a sales agent coming out. “Watch where you’re going!” she snapped. I glanced at her name tag: Brooke, Senior Sales Executive. She saw me looking and scoffed, her voice a low, mocking whisper. “Some people carry one fake bag and think they’re real society.” She looked me up and down. “Not spending a dime, just here for photo ops and to use the restroom. Pathetic.” I took a deep breath, about to retort, but she just shoved past me and strutted away. When I came out, however, the arrogant Brooke was gone. In her place was a fawning, flirtatious woman practically draped over Marcin, her body language a masterclass in feigned delicacy. She was giving him the grand tour, pressing her chest against his arm at every opportunity. I took one look at Marcin and understood. My grandfather had just returned from abroad, and this was Marcin’s first time meeting him. He had dressed to impress: a bespoke suit, a luxury watch. For someone like Brooke, sizing up a customer’s wallet was second nature. In a neighborhood where a single commission could set her up for years, it was all part of the game. The moment Marcin saw me, he instinctively recoiled from Brooke, putting a respectable distance between them. “Scarlett, there you are,” he said, his voice warm and welcoming. Brooke turned, and her smile faltered. “Oh, Miss… Sterling. I didn’t realize you were with Mr. Hayes.” She quickly pasted on an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry. I saw your handbag and thought it was a replica. I just assumed you were here to use the facilities.” Her voice dripped with false sincerity. “We get a lot of wannabes with knockoffs trying to get pictures for their social media. I hope you’re not offended.” A replica? Marcin had given me this bag. And whether I was a “wannabe” or not, he knew the truth better than anyone. Marcin, looking mortified, quickly changed the subject. “Scarlett, I like this location. It’s close to your family’s estate. Should we take a look?” Still fuming from our earlier encounter, I had no desire to deal with Brooke. I walked past her to Marcin’s side. “I’ve heard enough sales pitches. Let’s just see the model unit.” Marcin wrapped an arm around my shoulder, playfully tapping my nose. “Alright, you’re the boss.” While we waited for the elevator, Brooke’s shimmering, eyeshadow-laden eyes were glued to Marcin. “Mr. Hayes, you’re so accomplished for your age! You must be the CEO of a major company.” Marcin offered a polite, noncommittal smile. “Not exactly a CEO.” Taking his smile as an invitation, Brooke simpered, “You’re too modest, Mr. Hayes. Anyone who can afford a Rolls-Royce at your age must be exceptional.” The elevator doors opened. Brooke shot me a disdainful glance, then subtly tugged her collar down, revealing a generous amount of cleavage. She squeezed between us, pressing herself against Marcin as she followed him in. As she pushed past, her stiletto heel ground into the top of my foot. The pain was sharp and sudden. “What the hell are you doing?” I cried out. Brooke turned, her face a mask of innocence. “Miss Sterling, I’m so sorry! I was just trying to press the button for you.” Her voice trembled. “Please don’t report me. I’m just a sales agent. I’m not like you—you can just bat your eyelashes and get a house. You can yell at me all you want later…” Seeing the red mark on my foot, Marcin knelt down, his expression full of concern. He gently rubbed the spot. “Scarlett, it’s okay. She didn’t mean it.” He looked up at me. “I’ll carry you later.” My chest tightened with anger, but I reminded myself we were here to buy our home. I forced myself to calm down. My grandfather had finally approved of our marriage; I was supposed to be happy. I gave a stiff nod and let it go. But as soon as we entered the model unit, my foot throbbed. I needed to sit down. As I moved toward the sofa, Brooke blocked my path. “Miss Sterling! One moment!” She hurried into the bedroom and returned with several towels, which she carefully spread across the sofa. “This is luxury furniture, Miss Sterling. We have to be careful, don’t we?” She added, with a saccharine smile, “Don’t misunderstand. I do this for all my clients. It’s policy.” She paused, her tone shifting. “Though, usually, ladies from wealthy families are more… considerate. I guess your etiquette lessons didn’t quite stick.” That was it. I shot to my feet. “What is that supposed to mean?” Marcin glanced over, frowning. Brooke’s face instantly changed. She beamed at me. “Miss Sterling! You misunderstood! I’m just so envious that you found such a wonderful fiancé! It’s not easy to marry into a family like this. I’m truly jealous.” Marcin came over and knelt by my feet, patting my hand. “After this, I’ll take you for ice cream, okay?” he murmured. “Don’t be angry. You’re not as pretty when you’re angry.” Brooke, clutching her towels, looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Miss Sterling, did I say something wrong? If I did, I sincerely apologize… I really didn’t mean to…” I looked at Marcin, biting my lip to keep from screaming. It was just one sales agent. “Forget it,” I muttered. Marcin gave me a fond nod and helped me up to continue the tour. The penthouse was a duplex, nearly 5,000 square feet of opulent design. Even the tableware displayed on the dining table was a designer set worth thousands. I was admiring the details when Brooke bumped into me from behind, sending me stumbling into the table. With a loud crash, the glass plates and goblets shattered on the floor. A shard sliced my leg. I spun around, ready to unleash my fury, but Brooke was already crying. “Miss Sterling… why were you so careless… I…” Marcin rushed over at the sound. I pointed at Brooke. “You pushed me,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. Brooke looked up at Marcin, her eyes brimming with tears. “Mr. Hayes, I swear I didn’t… I can’t even afford to replace one of those plates. Why would I dare push her?” I pointed to the security camera on the ceiling and grabbed her wrist. “You think you can just deny it? Let’s go. Let’s watch the footage.” Brooke shook her head frantically, trying to pull away. “Ow… Miss Sterling, you’re hurting me… Maybe you were standing behind me, and I didn’t see you. You shouldn’t have been standing there!” She bent down to pick up the broken glass, tears streaming down her face. Her ridiculously short skirt made her look both seductive and pathetic. I kicked at the shards in frustration. “What kind of people do they hire here?” Seeing my genuine anger, Marcin wrapped his arms around me. “Scarlett, it’s okay. I believe you.” He held me tight. “It’s just some broken glass. We can afford it. Besides,” he added, changing the subject, “I’ve looked around, and I really like this duplex. It’s perfect for our first home.” At the words “first home,” Brooke, still on the floor, flinched. Her eyes were red, her voice choked with emotion. “But, Miss Sterling… I thought… that sugar daddy who bought you two other condos seemed to treat you so well…” She sniffled. “Oh, dear. I remember now. Miss Sterling, you have more than one, don’t you? Do they know about each other?” The way she said “sugar daddy” was loaded with insinuation. Marcin and I both stared at her. She feigned a sudden realization that she’d misspoken. “Miss Sterling… I didn’t mean… I just remembered that I’ve seen you here before…” Marcin turned to me, completely bewildered. “Scarlett, what ‘sugar daddy’?” Before I could answer, Brooke jumped in. “Mr. Hayes, don’t misunderstand…” She hesitated, for dramatic effect. “Last month, I saw Miss Sterling here with an older man. I’m pretty sure I heard her call him ‘daddy’… And then I overheard her on the phone, calling someone else ‘daddy’ too…” She gave me a nervous little smile. “But, I could have misheard.” I drew out a long, slow “Mmm-hmm,” a smirk playing on my lips. “You didn’t mishear. I did buy two units in this building. Is there a problem?” I paused. “And as for the ‘daddy’ you mentioned…” It took Marcin a few moments to process. When he did, he rounded on Brooke. “How dare you spread such rumors? Scarlett would never be that kind of person.” Brooke shook her head vigorously. “But we have security cameras and facial recognition all over the building, Mr. Hayes. You can check the footage if you don’t believe me…” I was done with her. I grabbed my bag and started for the door. “The agent who helped me last time was named Claire. She was far more professional. I’ll ask for her.” At the threat of losing the commission, Brooke panicked. “Miss Sterling! No! I was wrong!” Marcin hurried after me. “Scarlett, I believe you. We’ll get a different agent.” Back in the main sales gallery, a woman rushed towards me. “Miss Sterling! I didn’t expect to see you again so soon!” Marcin looked from Claire to me. I met his gaze. “Marcin, it’s true. I bought two condos here a while ago.” My father had made his fortune in real estate. Even though he lived abroad now, he loved to buy property everywhere. Marcin knew this. He didn’t question it, just patted my shoulder reassuringly. “I never doubted you. But this time, we’re buying our home.” Claire beamed. “Oh, you’re buying a home with your fiancé! Congratulations, Miss Sterling!” Just then, Brooke ran up, pushing Claire aside. “Claire, you know the rules about client poaching!” she shrieked. “I was helping Mr. Hayes first! You can’t steal my client!” Her outburst drew a crowd. The sales manager hurried over. Claire looked baffled. “Mr. Hayes and Miss Sterling are buying a home together. Naturally, both their names will be on the deed. But Miss Sterling is my client. It’s been less than 45 days since her last purchase. According to the rules, she’s still my client!” The manager quickly grasped the situation. “That’s correct. By the rules, this commission belongs to Claire.” Brooke glared at me. “Then why didn’t you say so earlier, Miss Sterling?!” I put on my most innocent expression. “First, if you recognized me, how could you not know? Second, you were the one clinging to my fiancé from the moment he walked in. We never asked for you. Third, I’m the customer. How am I supposed to know your internal rules?” Brooke’s face went pale. She grabbed Marcin’s arm, pleading. “Mr. Hayes, it’s my fault I offended Miss Sterling. But… maybe you could just put the house in your name? I mean… you’re not married yet…” I scoffed. My parents were paying the down payment. As if Marcin would dare agree to that. He took a deep breath and shook her off. “Whatever my fiancée wants.”

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On the day of the birthing, I watched through half-closed lids as my cousin, Pom, swapped my egg with hers. I feigned sleep, letting it happen. I let her take my child to be broken. And I continued to nourish her egg with my own heart’s blood, day after day, night after night. In the end, her egg hatched a Celestial Phoenix, a prodigy of immense power, cherished by my husband and me. Mine hatched a common sparrow, dull grey and devoid of magic, its tongue clipped short by Pom’s own hand, its body defiled. When the day of the selection for the new Phoenix Ascendant arrived, my cousin fell to her knees in tears, claiming the children were switched at birth. A slow smile touched my lips. “I’ve been waiting for this day, too.” I was in the courtyard, guiding Niamh through her morning practice, when Pom arrived with her retinue. “Dearest cousin,” she chirped, her voice dripping with false concern. “You work the poor girl so hard. She’s only a child.” She rushed to Niamh’s side, dabbing sweat from her brow, fussing over whether she was thirsty, or hungry, or tired. I offered a noncommittal smile. It had been this way for a century, ever since she’d stolen my child. She seized every opportunity to be near her true daughter, masquerading as a doting aunt, whispering that I was too stern, too demanding, that I didn’t know how to raise a fledgling. My gaze drifted to the girl trailing behind her. My own daughter. Her clothes were rags. She flinched from my gaze, her body a roadmap of blue and purple bruises. There wasn’t a spark of magic in her. I am a Phoenix. My husband is a Phoenix. Yet my daughter was a flightless, grey sparrow. She tried to smile at me, revealing a dark, empty mouth. Her tongue had been severed, leaving her to speak in a wet, slurring whisper. “Greetings to my lady aunt.” Ash. That’s the name Pom had given my daughter. Ash. Pom paused, seeing my lack of reaction. A flicker of secret, cruel delight danced in her eyes before she turned back to Niamh, her hands clutching her daughter’s. “Is your training going well, my sweet Niamh? My family has a Heart-Lotus that can help you withstand the coming trials. I’ll have it sent to you tomorrow.” Her voice was a coo. “Don’t you ever be a stranger to your auntie. In my heart, you are my own dear daughter.” Niamh, her chin high with a practiced, gentle pride, answered, “Thank you, Aunt Pom. I will strive to be worthy of our name. I have already ascended to the rank of a Celestial Phoenix.” At this, Pom’s face bloomed with triumph. Of course, it did. I had fed Niamh with my own life force for a decade while she was still in the egg. Since she’d hatched, she’d been nurtured with the rarest of artifacts and elixirs. Her innate talent was undeniable, a rising star among our kind. Perhaps buoyed by the thought that she was the true mother of such a prodigy, Pom puffed out her chest, then turned. With a vicious tug, she dragged my daughter forward by her hair. “Look at your cousin Niamh,” she spat. “Now look at yourself. If I’d known you’d turn out like this, I would have smashed your egg and been done with it.” My daughter, Ash, whimpered, her voice a choked gasp of “It hurts.” The sound only made Pom pull harder. “Don’t you dare shrink from me.” She yanked until a clump of dark hair came away in her fist, the roots glistening with blood. She held it out for me to see, dangling it in the air between us. “Let this be a lesson, cousin,” Pom said, her eyes boring into mine. “This is how you handle vermin.” Niamh frowned slightly at the display. Pom immediately noticed, rushing to soothe her. “Don’t worry, my sweet. The little wretch deserves it. You two are nothing alike.” She shot another venomous glare at Ash. My daughter scrambled to her feet, quickly wiping the blood from her scalp and bowing her head. “Lady Niamh,” she mumbled, “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” That was her first instinct. Apologize to Niamh. She had learned long ago that her own suffering would only end when Niamh was no longer upset. The apology earned her a savage kick to the stomach. “Who gave you permission to call her ‘Lady Niamh’?” Pom snarled. “You are not worthy. You will call her ‘Your Grace.’” That evening, when I asked where Ash was, Pom was peeling grapes for Niamh, her head bowed in concentration. “My greatest mercy was not strangling her at birth,” she said without looking up. Her gaze flickered to me, heavy with meaning. “A common sparrow has no right to live among the Phoenix. As her mother, I live in constant shame. I should have offered my own life to atone for the disgrace.” I pretended not to understand the barb, letting her savor her petty victory. At the banquet that night, Pom was a whirlwind of devotion around Niamh, arranging her cushions and serving her the choicest morsels. Niamh loved the shimmering river-sprites, but their bones were notoriously fine. Pom forwent her own meal to painstakingly debone the fish for her. Meanwhile, my own daughter was chained to the leg of the table. She licked her lips, her eyes fixed on the platters, and whispered, “Mother… may I have a piece of bread?” Pom’s face contorted in rage. She shot up and struck Ash across the face, twice, the sound cracking through the hall. Then she scraped the leftovers from everyone’s plates into a wooden trough and shoved Ash’s head into the slop. “Eat!” she shrieked. “Go on, eat! Have you never seen food before?” My daughter’s face was smeared with filth, tears and snot streaking through the grime. Her eyes, wide and desperate, found mine, pleading for help. I took a slow, deliberate sip of the golden Emberwine. Exquisite. The scene had turned Niamh pale. Noticing her daughter’s discomfort, Pom immediately yanked Ash up by her chain. “You’ve upset your cousin, you little beast. You’ll pay for this.” Ash’s face was a mask of numb resignation. She knew what awaited her at home. New torments, new instruments of pain. The next day, Pom arrived as promised with the Heart-Lotus. My daughter was not with her. As if terrified I might miss the point, she stared directly into my eyes as she spoke. “Last night, I had three brutes ‘discipline’ that unruly thing for her lack of manners.” Her lips curled into a smirk. “She’s just a mongrel bird. It doesn’t matter. What matters is our Niamh.” She leaned in closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Isn’t that right, cousin?” I nodded. Beside me, my husband, Kaelan, shot me a look of deep disapproval. He had always been a man of rigid, tiresome morality. My assent seemed to thrill Pom. The thought of us—mother and daughter, both twisted around her finger—was her sweetest nectar. She presented the Heart-Lotus to Niamh like a holy relic. “Niamh, my love, this is the greatest treasure of my lineage. Consume it, and the trials will be as nothing to you.” Niamh hesitated, her eyes flicking to me. The gift was extravagantly precious. Pom, panicked that Niamh might offer the treasure to us, her parents, grabbed her hand. “This is for your own good. Don’t you mind anyone else. Anyone who would deny you this has a heart as black as pitch.” With that, she urged Niamh to shift into her Phoenix form to begin the ritual of absorption. Pom’s gaze was feverish as she admired the magnificent creature, but then her eyes narrowed. She had spotted a single, missing feather from the tip of Niamh’s tail. Her finger shot out, pointing at my face, her voice sharp with accusation. “How could you be so careless? A feather is missing, and you didn’t even notice! What kind of mother are you?” I raised an eyebrow. “Your own daughter is nearly plucked bald by your hand, and you’re having a meltdown because Niamh shed a single feather? Perhaps you should save your hysterics for your own child.” She trembled with fury at my dismissive tone, but she was powerless. Then, a new, venomous thought seemed to occur to her. A cruel smile spread across her face as she activated a communication crystal. “Scar the little wretch’s face,” she commanded the voice on the other end. “Niamh has been injured. The worthless creature’s bad luck must have tainted her.” A moment later, a thin, piercing scream echoed from the crystal. Ash’s fledgling voice, crying out in agony. “Help me… I’m sorry, please, save me…” Pom listened, her expression one of pure ecstasy, as if hearing a celestial symphony. Niamh, as always, remained silent on such matters, and I remained impassive. After severing the connection, Pom’s mood was visibly improved. My daughter’s screams were her favorite medicine. “Niamh is destined to be the Phoenix Ascendant, cousin,” she said sweetly. “You really should be more careful.” Niamh gave her aunt a reproving look. “Aunt Pom, the feather fell out by accident. It will not affect my power. There is no need for such alarm.” Tears of frustration welled in Pom’s eyes. “How can it not matter! You must cherish your body! Cousin, Kaelan, quickly! You must give Niamh more of your heart’s blood to restore her!” I narrowed my eyes, and she shifted uncomfortably under my gaze, forcing a dry laugh. “I am only concerned for Niamh’s well-being.” She quickly ushered Niamh into the house. “Come, my dear. Let your auntie help you absorb the Heart-Lotus. Then you will be unstoppable. And on the day you become the Ascendant, I have a great secret to share with you.” As the Heart-Lotus began to merge with Niamh’s essence, I quietly closed the door for them, a chilling coldness settling deep within my eyes. Yes, I thought. Some secrets were long overdue for a reckoning. The closer we came to the great selection ceremony, the more frequent Pom’s visits became. But I never saw my daughter again. Kaelan asked after her once, and Pom replied with a saccharine, venomous tone. “Why, brother-in-law, do you miss the little stray? Shall I send her to you? She could warm your bed as a concubine.” Kaelan, silenced and disgusted, could only sigh in frustration. Finally, the day of the ceremony arrived. Beings from every corner of the realm gathered. Niamh, radiant in a gown of iridescent feathers, descended from the sky like a living rainbow. My daughter was dragged behind her, a chain hooked through her collarbones, led like a dog. A long, dark trail of blood marked her path. Just as the proclamation of the new Ascendant was about to be made, Pom fell to her knees, holding aloft a glowing Stone of Lineage, her face a mask of anguish. “A mistake!” she wailed. “It was all a terrible mistake! Cousin, Ash’s blood… it does not resonate with the stone! It proves she is not my child!” She choked on a sob. “Under duress, the old healer confessed! She switched the eggs at birth, too terrified of your wrath to admit her crime!” “Cousin!” she cried, clutching at the hem of my gown. “I am returning your daughter to you! Niamh… Niamh is mine!” Her performance was spectacular, a portrait of heartbroken motherhood. But the assembled elders were not convinced. “Niamh is a Celestial Phoenix. She is without a doubt the child of Lord Kaelan and Lady Yennis,” one declared. “You are a common nightingale. How could you possibly birth a Phoenix?” “Niamh has been raised in grace and power to become the Ascendant,” another added. “This… Ash… we hear she has been utterly defiled. How can there be an exchange?” “Everyone knows Niamh is the apple of Lady Yennis’s eye.” But a few dissenting whispers rose from the crowd. “You know… the wretch does resemble Lady Yennis more…” Ash lifted her scarred face, her eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second before she dropped her head again. My husband, Kaelan, looked back and forth between the two girls, his expression a storm of confusion. I raised a hand, calling for silence. A faint smile played on my lips. “If that is the case,” I said, my voice clear and calm, “then let us switch them back. Niamh is, indeed, your daughter.” Pom’s sobs caught in her throat. She had an entire arsenal of pleas and arguments she hadn’t even needed to use. Kaelan rushed to my side. “Yennis, how can you make such a decision alone? Think of all the love, the power we have poured into Niamh! I will not allow you to be so reckless!” The flicker of hope in Ash’s eyes died, turning to grey despair. Tears silently tracked paths through the grime on her face and fell to the dusty ground. But my voice was firm as I addressed the assembly. “It is true. Everything my cousin says is true. Ash is my child, and Kaelan’s.” I paused, letting the weight of my next words settle over the stunned silence. “After all, I was the one who watched her switch the eggs.” Ash’s eyes shot up, blazing with a renewed, desperate light. She took a tiny, shuffling step toward me, her mouth opening, the word Mother forming on her ruined tongue. Kaelan broke out in a cold sweat. “Yennis, we prayed to the ancestors for a hundred days to be blessed with our precious daughter. How could you possibly have watched her be stolen and done nothing?” He spun, his eyes wild and furious, scanning the crowd. “Who did this to you? Who is controlling you?” I pushed his hand away. “There is a simple way to settle this,” I said softly. “Bring the Stone of Lineage.” Ash eagerly held out her scarred arm, her eyes fixed on me. Kaelan winced at the sight of her wounds. A new cut was made, deep and red. Before the eyes of all, Ash’s blood merged perfectly with mine and Kaelan’s on the stone’s surface. The truth crashed down upon him. Kaelan stared at Ash’s mangled form, and a raw, guttural cry tore from his throat. His eyes turned blood-red with fury. He drew his sword and, in a flash of silver, ran it through my shoulder. “Yennis, why?” he roared, his voice cracking with agony. “Our daughter was tortured, right before your eyes, and you just watched? What is your heart made of? Stone?” I clutched my bleeding shoulder, saying nothing. When Ash heard that I had known all along, she finally broke. A terrible, ragged sobbing shook her thin frame. She dragged her broken body across the ground, crawling to my feet. Her voice was like sandpaper. “Mother… why?” she rasped. “Why didn’t you claim me? Was I not good enough? I can be better, Mother, I can change. Please… don’t throw me away.” Silence was my only answer. Her tears stopped. Her grief curdled into a century of pure, undiluted rage. With a snarl, she sank her teeth into my leg, biting down with all her might, as if she could drain all her pain and betrayal into me. Blood seeped through my gown, but no one moved to help me. They stared at me as if I were a monster, a creature of unnatural cold. A mother who would allow her own child to be tortured for a hundred years deserved no sympathy. Fine. If no one would help me, I would solve this myself. I looked down at the creature latched onto my leg, my expression turning from impassive ice to a cruel, chilling smile. I grabbed her by the hair and hauled her up from the ground. My hand closed around the fragile column of her throat.

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The morning of my wedding, just as we were about to leave for the church, my mother decided to add a last-minute condition to the marriage. My fiancée, Mindy, furious and humiliated, called the whole thing off and married my cousin instead. In the awkward, painful aftermath, my childhood friend, Isabella, suddenly reappeared. She agreed to marry me, and my mother, miraculously, waived any financial demands. I was married. Three years later, my cousin James and his wife Mindy topped the local rich list. I became a stay-at-home dad. During the annual holiday feast at my mother’s house, I overheard a conversation that shattered my world. It was my mother and my wife, Isabella. “You were brilliant, Mom, thinking up that last-minute demand for money. It was the perfect way to make Mindy’s family back out. Now Leo could finally marry the woman he truly loved.” A pause. “But if James ever finds out you manipulated him into marrying me just so Leo could have you… will he ever forgive you?” … I had just gotten back from the market with groceries, and I froze outside the patio door, listening. My mother’s voice was nonchalant as she spit out a sunflower seed shell. “I’m his mother. I gave birth to him, I raised him. What’s there to forgive? I could tell him to stay single his whole life and he wouldn’t dare say a word.” She sighed, a theatrical sound. “The one I feel for is you, dear. You were in love with Leo too, but you gave up your own happiness for his, willing to marry James just to clear the way.” My wife, Isabella, sighed back. “It was a worthy sacrifice for Leo’s happiness. He’s so pure and kind-hearted; I couldn’t bear to see him struggle through life.” Her voice was laced with a dreamy satisfaction. “Knowing he could marry his true love, into a family of immense wealth and live a life without a single worry… that was all I ever wanted.” My mother patted Isabella’s shoulder. “And now, everything has come full circle. Leo and Mindy have a beautiful son, so handsome and bright. Mindy’s family was so thrilled with the good genes they gave him a ten-million-dollar bonus. They have three nannies. He’s set for life.” Isabella’s smile was audible in her voice. “I know. Did you see how happy he looked today? Even though Mindy was busy, she drove him and the baby over herself. It just proves we made the right decision.” A wave of nausea washed over me. I leaned against the wall, my legs threatening to give out. So that was the truth. My mother had always loved my cousin more than me. And my own wife… her heart belonged to him, too. So what was I? A placeholder? A complete and utter fool? These were the two people I loved most in the world, the people I trusted implicitly, and they had both betrayed me for someone else. Suddenly, the weight on my back shifted. My daughter, asleep in her carrier, woke up and began to cry. I had gone grocery shopping alone, with my one-year-old strapped to my back. I did it because I felt sorry for my mother, living alone all these years, and I didn’t want to burden her. But clearly, her heart ached for a different child entirely. “You’re back?” My mother and Isabella peered out from the living room. “Did you get the crab? It’s Leo’s favorite.” “And the organic yogurt for little Alex?” Neither of them moved to take the heavy bags from my hands. I carried the groceries into the kitchen and quickly unstrapped my daughter, setting her down to mix her a bottle. In the living room, I could hear my mother and Isabella cooing and laughing, all three of them doting on James’s son. The sound was a knife in my gut. I pressed a hand to my chest. It hadn’t been long since my surgery. And here I was, looking after my daughter, and now expected to cook a feast for them all. A familiar burn started behind my eyes. I’d always known my mother favored my cousin, but I never imagined the depths of it. Isabella noticed me in the kitchen and called out, a perfunctory kindness in her tone. “Take your time, James. No rush. We can eat later.” My mother beamed. “See? Bella takes such good care of you! You chose the right wife.” This was her idea of being cared for? Empty words, followed by absolutely no action. My daughter finished her bottle and started tugging at my pants, her arms raised. “Up, Dada, up.” “Go to Mommy, sweetheart. Daddy has to cook.” She shook her head, her little face crumpling as she clung to my leg. She and Isabella weren’t close. Isabella rarely spent any time with her. My mother frowned from the doorway, her face a mask of annoyance. “Bella’s not feeling well. Don’t tire her out. Just carry the baby yourself.” Not feeling well? I glanced into the living room, where Isabella was bouncing James’s son on her lap, dangling a brand-new toy in front of his face. She looked perfectly fine. If she’d given even half that energy to our own daughter, maybe my little girl wouldn’t be so clingy with me. With a sigh, I strapped my daughter back onto my chest and started prepping the vegetables. My back screamed in protest. My stamina had been shot ever since the surgery. Now, with this new, crushing weight on my heart, the physical pain felt a thousand times worse. This house, this family… there wasn’t a single person here who loved me, who protected me, who even saw me. I washed the vegetables, my tears silently mingling with the water. Was this it? Was this my life? I was only twenty-eight. Was I supposed to endure this for another fifty, sixty years? A bitter resentment churned in my stomach. I refused. After a few minutes, my daughter started crying again. What toddler wants to be tied down? I had no choice but to take her into the bedroom and try to rock her back to sleep. As she gradually quieted in my arms, memories flooded back. When I was a kid, only my dad would comfort me. My mom was always over at my uncle’s house, fawning over James. “James is just so handsome, a little prince. Not like Leo, so scruffy and messy.” I was messy because I never had clothes that fit. James and I were the same age, but my mother always bought new clothes for him first. I only got them after he’d worn them out or grown tired of them. They were always too short, too tight. But she only saw me as sloppy, lacking class. My grades were better than James’s, but that never earned me any praise. “For a man, what matters is earning potential. Good grades don’t mean anything.” Later, when I started dating and brought Mindy home, the first thing my mother did was drag James over to meet her. I knew James asked Mindy out a few times behind my back, but she’d turned him down. When I mentioned it to my mother, she accused me of being petty. “James likes her, Leo. Just let him have her.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was the first time I ever defied her. Mindy and I were getting married. But on the wedding day, my mother got her way after all. She made her move, demanding an exorbitant sum of money from Mindy’s family. They could have afforded it, but Mindy saw my mother for what she was: a bottomless pit of greed. Refusing to be taken for a fool, she walked away in a rage. I begged her to stay, but it was useless. The invitations were sent, the reception was booked. And then James stepped forward, offering to marry Mindy with no financial demands, even increasing the customary gifts. Just like that, he stole my bride. And it was all my mother’s design. Her phone, charging on the nightstand, lit up with a text from my uncle. “Sis, thanks for having James over for the holiday. Appreciate you looking after him.” My eyes welled up. That was how a parent showed love for their son. Whenever I went to my uncle’s house, my mother’s only instruction was, “Make yourself useful. Don’t just sit around. You look after them, you hear me? Don’t embarrass me.” I thought of her Facebook profile. It was a shrine to James. “James, 18: My boy got into college! So proud! Got him a new MacBook!” I got into college too. My mother did nothing. I was the only kid in my dorm without a computer until I worked enough part-time jobs to buy my own. “James, 22: Graduated! The sky’s the limit for my brilliant boy! Here’s a $20,000 graduation present!” I had a job lined up before I even graduated. My mother said since I was earning money now, she didn’t need to give me an allowance anymore. Later, when James married Mindy, my mother posted again. “James, 25: A match made in heaven! So happy these two soulmates found each other!” When I married Isabella, my mother claimed she was too sick to attend the ceremony. All these years… it was like James was her real son, and I was nothing. The more I thought, the more the grief choked me, and tears streamed down my face. The silence from the kitchen finally registered. They realized no one was cooking. My mother stormed into the bedroom and saw me still holding my daughter. “What are you doing? Get out there and cook! It’s late! Do you want James and the others to starve?” “Shh,” I hissed. I had just gotten the baby to sleep. I didn’t want her to wake up. “Don’t you ‘shh’ me! Who does she think she is, a princess? I can’t even talk in my own house?” My mother deliberately raised her voice an octave. Startled by the sudden noise, my daughter woke up and started wailing again. Something inside me snapped. “Mom, this is your house. If you’re hungry, you can cook.” Her eyes widened in disbelief. She swung her hand and slapped my arm hard. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, ordering your own mother around. Everyone knows you’re the best cook. We were all counting on you!” Her voice was shrill. “Now put that child down and get to the kitchen.” I kept trying to soothe my daughter, but she wouldn’t stop crying. My mother tried to take her, but my daughter clung to my neck, refusing to let go. Of course she did. My mother never showed her any affection. She’d just plop her on the floor and ignore her, not even blinking if she fell and hit her head. Isabella came in. “Honey, give her to me. You need to get dinner started. James just said he’s getting hungry.” That sent my mother into a panic. The thought of her precious nephew being hungry was a catastrophe. “Oh, no, we can’t have that! He’s so thin, he’ll waste away if he gets too hungry. I’ll get him some snacks to tide him over. Oh, my poor boy.” I passed my daughter to Isabella, ignoring her protests. I went back into the kitchen. The moment the smell of cooking oil hit me, a wave of nausea rose in my throat, and I started to dry heave. It had been less than two months since my lung surgery. The doctor’s orders were explicit: stay out of kitchens, avoid dust and fumes, and rest. But clearly, rest was not on the menu today. My mother saw me clutching my mouth, not moving, and smacked me on the back of the head. “What’s wrong with you? Are you doing this on purpose? You barely visit all year, and now you’re too good to lift a finger?” I clutched my mouth, the pain making it hard to speak. “My lungs… they haven’t healed. It hurts.” My mother’s eyes bulged. “So what? When I was sick, I still had to work!” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “So because you suffered, I have to suffer too? Because you didn’t marry a rich man, you can’t stand to see me have a good life? When you were sick, Grandma didn’t help you, so now you want me to live through your misery? Does my pain make you feel better?” She flew into a rage, her arm a blur as she slapped me across the face, again and again, until I stumbled and fell to the floor. “You ungrateful brat! How dare you lecture me! I’ll beat the disrespect out of you!” Isabella and James rushed in and pulled her off me. “Auntie, it’s okay,” James said smoothly. “If Leo doesn’t want to cook, I can help.” My mother and Isabella both leaped to stop him. “No! You’re too delicate for this kind of work.” “He’s right, the fumes in here are terrible for your lungs. You should go back outside.” So they knew. They knew the risks. It just didn’t matter if it was me. James smiled his sweet, innocent smile. “Well, then I guess we’re counting on you, Leo. Thanks.” They went back to the living room, laughing and chatting as if nothing had happened. My mother shot one last venomous look at me on the floor. “Get up and cook. Stop playing dead.” Her voice was cold. “You can’t compare yourself to James. He was born for great things. You were born to struggle. A man has to know his place.” I bit my lip until I tasted blood and pushed myself up. A sharp pain shot through my chest. The doctor said to avoid stress and strong emotions. Was the surgery failing? I glanced into the living room. Isabella’s eyes were locked on James. They looked at each other as if the rest of the world had melted away. Fine. This house, this woman… I was done. Let this be our last meal together. After tonight, we go our separate ways. After I finally got a few dishes on the table, I went to wash my hands. James followed me into the kitchen, crossing his arms. “You know, cousin, you’re only two months older than me. Funny how different our fates are.” I knew where this was going. I ignored him. “Mindy loves me. Your wife, Isabella, loves me. You’ve really made a failure of your life, haven’t you?” he continued, his voice dripping with condescending pity. “And your daughter… I bet she’ll inherit your pathetic luck. Destined to serve my family, just like you.” My head snapped up. Now he was talking about my daughter. I glared at him. “What the hell do you want, James?” His eyes slid over to where my daughter was playing on the floor. A strange, predatory smile twisted his lips. “My little Alex has some trouble with his eyes. We’re looking for a cornea donor. Your daughter’s look perfect.” He leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Auntie already agreed. And so did Bella, of course.” A white-hot rage, pure and blinding, exploded in my chest. They were monsters. My daughter was barely a year old. I lunged toward the living room to confront them, but James blocked my path. He shoved me, hard. I lost my balance and crashed forward, my chest slamming into the sharp corner of a table. The spot where they had operated erupted in excruciating pain. Suddenly, James threw himself to the ground and started shouting. “Ow! Leo, why did you hit me? Just because I didn’t help you cook, you had to attack me?”

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I sat at the table, watching the dinner I’d cooked grow cold. My heart felt the same. Today was my birthday. It was also the birthday of Sarah’s childhood best friend, Leo. I opened Leo’s social media feed, and sure enough, there was a new post. “So grateful to have you with me every birthday! Here’s to many, many more!” The photo was of two hands forming a heart over a birthday cake. One of them was Sarah’s. The necklace she was wearing was a gift from me. I liked the post. Then I put down my phone, scraped the dinner—all of Sarah’s favorite dishes—into the trash, and went to a restaurant to order my own favorites for my birthday. From now on, I would celebrate my own damn birthday. 1 Halfway through my meal, Sarah called, her voice edged with impatience. “Alex, you saw Leo’s post, right?” “I saw it.” “I’ll be home as soon as his party’s over. I’ll celebrate with you next year. Just be a grown-up about this, Alex. Don’t start a fight.” I used to. I used to scream and rage. Not anymore. “Okay,” I said, my voice flat. The next morning at seven, my phone rang. It rang three times, then stopped. I glanced at the screen. It was Sarah. That was her signal. She was too lazy to use her key, so she’d call three times and hang up. No matter what I was doing, I was expected to rush to the door and let her in. Today, I didn’t move. I tossed the phone aside, pulled the covers over my head, and went back to sleep. She knew there was a spare key under the shoe rack by the door. I’d been up until three in the morning packing, and my head was still throbbing. The phone rang a few more times. I didn’t even bother to look. Sometime later, I vaguely heard the front door open, slamming against the wall. A moment after that, my bedroom door was thrown open, followed by Sarah’s furious voice. “Alex, why didn’t you open the door? I called you a dozen times! You know I hate using my key!” I opened my eyes and looked at her, feeling nothing. “I was exhausted. Didn’t hear it.” Sarah opened her mouth, then seemed to think better of it. “I’m hungry,” she said instead. “Get up and make me some porridge. I was up all night, I need to eat and get some sleep.” The old me would have been scrambling to the kitchen already. The new me just said, “I’m tired too. You can buy breakfast downstairs.” Her face tightened with anger, but she forced it down. “Are you still mad that I wasn’t here for your birthday?” “No. You’re overthinking it.” She didn’t believe me. “He’s like a brother to me, Alex. His parents died when he was young. If I don’t celebrate with him, who will? Don’t be so petty. You’re going to make me angry if you keep this up.” “You’re right,” I said. “You should be with him. I’m not angry.” Sleep was impossible now. I got up and went to the bathroom. Sarah grabbed my arm, reluctantly pulling a cheap red string bracelet from her pocket. “Here. Stop sulking. It’s your birthday present. I remembered it was your zodiac year.” I looked at the flimsy bracelet, at the cheap-looking metal charm dangling from it. It was the definition of an afterthought. I thought about the expensive watch Leo had flaunted in his post, and a bitter laugh escaped me. All those months I’d seen Sarah pinching pennies, I’d thought she was saving up for my gift. How pathetic. I held up my own wrist, showing her the watch my mother had sent me a few days ago. “Thanks, but I’ve got a watch. This wouldn’t really work with it. You can keep it.” “You say you’re not angry?” she snapped. “You used to love everything I gave you. Now you’re too good for my gifts?” Sarah didn’t earn much. Her birthday gifts to me were always cheap—a few dollars here, a few dollars there. Sometimes she forgot entirely. I never minded. For her birthday last week, I’d bought her a solid gold necklace. I was so tired. I didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. I took the red string and put it in my pocket. “Thank you.” I changed my clothes and opened the door to leave. “Where are you going?” Sarah called out sharply. “To play basketball with some friends.” Ever since I’d gotten together with Sarah, all my free time had been her time. I chauffeured her, shopped with her, cooked for her. I had no time for myself. Not anymore. It was time to live for myself. 2 After a great game, we sat on the sidelines, chugging water. My friends complained, half-joking, half-serious. “We were starting to think you’d ghosted us for your girlfriend, man. We were about to take you off the group chat.” “I’m sorry, guys,” I said, and I meant it. “It won’t happen again. Anything you’re doing, just let me know.” “That’s more like it! C’mon, let’s go hit the arcade for a few rounds.” Her circle never accepted me, and to be with her, I’d slowly distanced myself from my own friends. My entire world had revolved around her. Looking back, I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. It was almost midnight when I got home. I opened the bedroom door to find Sarah sitting up in bed, frowning. “Alex, why are you so late? I had to order takeout for lunch and dinner. It was disgusting.” I opened the closet for a change of clothes. “I ate out too. It was pretty good. You should get used to the taste of takeout if you can’t cook for yourself.” Her eyes widened. “You used to say you’d cook for me every day! That I should never eat takeout because it’s unhealthy!” “I was wrong. If you’re going to live in this world without knowing how to cook, you have to adapt.” A flicker of rage crossed her face. “You’re still angry. You were gone all day, not a single call, not a single text, and you didn’t even come home to cook for me!” “I’m not angry,” I said calmly. “I was out with friends. My phone died.” My detachment seemed to infuriate her more. She threw back the covers, jumped out of bed, and grabbed my arm as I tried to leave. Her voice was shrill. “Can’t you be less insecure for one second? I told you, we’re like brother and sister! Why are you still making a scene? My patience has limits, Alex!” I pulled my arm free. “I’m not making a scene. I’m tired. I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.” I took my clothes into the main bathroom and showered, ignoring her calls from the bedroom. For the first time in a long time, I slept through the night. Sarah was a restless sleeper. She’d kick the blankets off several times a night. When we shared a bed, I never got a full night’s sleep, always waking up to cover her again. The next morning, I found her sitting in the living room, arms crossed, her face a thundercloud. I knew the routine. She was waiting for me to apologize, to grovel and beg and make her happy again. It didn’t matter if I’d done anything wrong. That was always the pattern. She’d make a list of demands, and only after I’d completed them would she magnanimously forgive me. I was done with that routine. I ignored her, got ready, and left. I had important things to do today. 3 I went to my office and submitted my resignation. My manager was surprised and tried to talk me out of it, but I was firm. I’d taken this job to be with Sarah, to take care of her. I didn’t need to anymore. Last night, I’d video-called my parents and told them I was resigning and moving back home. I saw the tears of joy in my mother’s eyes. My dad’s health hadn’t been great lately, and running his small grocery store alone was becoming too much for him. It wasn’t some backwater town. It was a pleasant, mid-sized city on the coast. Sarah was from an inland state and loved spicy food. She had always refused to visit my hometown, complaining about the food and the different culture. So, I had left my parents and moved here with her. That evening, I took my friends out to dinner to tell them the news. They all agreed it was the right move. Parents were more important. After a few beers, someone asked, “So what about Sarah? Is she going back with you?” I was silent for a moment, then gave a bitter smile. “No. I think we’re going to break up.” I used to think Sarah and I would build a home here, and then bring my parents to live with us. But that home was gone now. I was going back to the one I’d left behind, the one with my parents, the one that would never abandon me. When I got back to the apartment, Sarah was wearing a white sundress, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her makeup perfect. She was on a video call with Leo. I could hear his voice from the phone. “Sarah, you look incredible. You could wear a simple white dress and still look like an angel.” Sarah giggled, covering her blushing face with her hand. “Really? You always know just what to say.” I stood there silently. That dress wasn’t simple. It had cost me a month’s salary. When Sarah turned and saw me, her smile vanished. “Gotta go,” she said quickly to Leo. “I’m heading out now. I’ll be there soon. Grab a snack if you’re hungry.” She could be so warm and caring with Leo, but couldn’t spare a single smile for me. She shot me a disgusted look, walked past me, and put on her shoes to leave. She was giving me the silent treatment again. Over the years we’d been together, she’d done this countless times, always over something to do with Leo. Each time, I’d panicked, desperately trying to win back her affection. This time, I wasn’t worried. I just took the groceries I’d bought into the kitchen and made myself a late-night snack. I’d been so busy drinking with my friends that I hadn’t eaten much. For the next few days, I was busy with work handover and packing. The apartment was slowly emptying of my things. Sarah didn’t notice. 4 Today, Sarah went out with Leo again. I sat at the dining table, eating and scrolling through my phone. Leo had a new post up: “Whenever I feel lonely, you’re always there. It’s the best feeling. So grateful!” The photo was of him and Sarah, their heads pressed together, smiling and making peace signs for the camera. Sarah’s friends flooded the comments with likes and messages about how envious they were of their bond. They had always believed Sarah should be with Leo. The childhood-sweethearts trope was too perfect to resist. I was just the third wheel who’d gotten in the way. Looking at the picture, I suddenly thought her friends were right. They did look more like a couple. I used to suffer in silence for a long time before gently asking Sarah to keep a little distance from Leo, just for appearance’s sake. Her friends would mock me, calling me controlling, saying I was suffocating her and denying her the right to have friends. Sarah never defended me. She’d join in, telling me not to be so possessive, to give her more freedom. Sarah had commented on the post, too: “You’re always there for me, too!” I closed the app, my heart a placid lake, and cleared the table. Thunder rumbled outside. It was about to rain. I went to the balcony and brought the laundry in just as fat raindrops began to splatter against the windows. I used to panic on rainy days, calling Sarah frantically to see where she was, rushing to bring her an umbrella so she wouldn’t get a single drop on her. She and her friends would laugh at me, calling me a mother hen, saying I worried too much and ruined their fun. I showered early, got into bed, and fell asleep scrolling through videos. I was woken by the sound of my bedroom door being thrown open. Seeing me asleep, Sarah’s voice was filled with righteous anger. “Alex, it’s pouring rain outside, and your girlfriend isn’t home this late, and you’re not worried at all? If you were my friends’ boyfriends, they’d be calling nonstop, asking where they were, showing up with an umbrella! And you?!”

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