Witchcraft runs in my blood. For generations, the Hamilton family has served the Devereauxs, the wealthiest dynasty in the country, performing an annual rite to alter their cursed fate. In this generation, the burden of the craft fell to me, and me alone. The moment my final exam ended on Friday, I was whisked into a waiting Maybach, heading for the old Devereaux estate. But as I stepped out of the car, a hand tangled viciously in my hair, yanking my head back. “You little slut! Isn’t it enough you’re seducing my fiancé at school? You had to chase him all the way to his family home? Don’t you know your place!” “I swear, if I don’t ruin that pretty face of yours today, my name isn’t Victoria Sterling!” A searing pain ripped through my scalp as I was thrown to the ground. Victoria’s friends descended on me, kicking and punching, their threats echoing in my ears. One of them stomped on my wrist. I heard the sickening crack of it breaking. The bone tore through the skin. But if I couldn’t perform the rite today, the entire Devereaux family would be consumed by a torrent of blood and disaster. 1 Both of my hands were shattered, crushed by a brick. The splintered bones of my wrists jutted out from the flesh, the agony so intense it stole my breath. Victoria’s friends stared, their faces pale with shock. They hadn’t expected their little “lesson” to go this far. They had no idea the real consequences had yet to begin. A thousand years ago, a curse was laid upon the Devereaux line. Every child, for generations, has been born with a fatal affliction. Only through my family’s witchcraft, an annual defiance of heaven’s decree, have they managed to survive. The magic was passed down, but I was the only one in my generation to receive its full power. Two years ago, the craft’s backlash claimed my parents, leaving me an orphan. Charles Devereaux, the family patriarch, was a man of modern sensibilities. He’d been skeptical that a young woman like me could rewrite his family’s destiny. During one rite, he deliberately altered the placement of several altars. The next day, his son, Caleb, was in a car accident that shattered both his legs. Doctors across the country were baffled by his condition. Simultaneously, several of his company’s largest projects were flagged for catastrophic errors. The Devereaux empire faced a crisis unlike any before. He had no choice but to hire me again, this time for a fortune. Only after I had completed the ritual did their fortunes begin to turn. From that day on, I became the Devereauxs’ most sacred protector. Barely an adult, I held more power in their house than anyone. To secure my loyalty, Charles had even transferred half of the company’s shares to my name. The lives and fortunes of over a hundred family members rested on my shoulders. And now, with my hands broken, they were all facing ruin. Victoria, oblivious to the gravity of her actions, was still preening over me. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. Seducing Caleb at school is one thing, but following him home? I’m here today as his fiancée to meet the Devereauxs’ special protector. You dare ruin this for me? I’ll make you regret you were ever born!” The pain was so blinding I couldn’t speak. The sheer stupidity of it all left me breathless. Caleb had only been passing messages from his father, showing me financial statements so I could see my own earnings and discussing the placement for tonight’s altars. The celestial alignments changed each year, and the rite had to adapt. How had that become me seducing him? I tried to explain, but just then, the estate’s butler emerged from the villa. The scene before him drained the color from his face. “Miss Hamilton! Who did this to you?” he gasped. “It’s over… it’s all over! What are you all standing there for? Call an ambulance! If anything happens to Miss Hamilton, the Master will have your heads!” Victoria, consumed by rage, ignored him completely. Hands on her hips, she jabbed a finger at me. “Are you blind? I’m Caleb’s fiancée, and I’m teaching a homewrecker a lesson. Who are you to interfere? You’re just a dog kept by the Devereauxs. Don’t you know who your master is?” She scoffed. “Save her? To hell with that. If I don’t tear her face off today, I’ll have wasted twenty years of my life!” I raised a trembling hand, trying to signal the butler for help. But one of Victoria’s friends stomped her heel directly onto my shattered wrist. “Stop the act! We’re not as easy to fool as Caleb! You’re always clinging to him at school, your skin is thicker than a pig’s hide. It’s time you learned a lesson!” “Tori is the one the Devereauxs chose for him! You’re just some charity case dreaming of marrying into a dynasty? You’re not worthy! I spit on you!” Cold sweat drenched my body. I fought through the agony to explain. “You’re mistaken! Caleb was talking to me about the ritual tonight. You’ve broken my hands… the entire Devereaux family will die because of this!” “Let me go! If you get me to a hospital now, there might still be time. If we miss the auspicious hour, the Devereauxs are finished!” Caleb was arrogant and looked down on everyone. If not for my pact with his family, I’d never willingly speak to him. But choosing a harpy like Victoria as his fiancée? The Devereauxs’ centuries-old legacy was about to be destroyed by her sheer ignorance. I thought my explanation might make her pause. Instead, she laughed as if it were the funniest joke she’d ever heard, her face a mask of cold contempt. “A ritual? Honey, what century are you living in? You think anyone still believes that crap? If I hadn’t caught you today, I bet your ‘ritual’ would have ended up in Caleb’s bed!” “You little tramp, don’t you dare play innocent with me. Are you going to say the Devereauxs are only alive today because of you? Who the hell do you think you are?” The butler, frantically making a call, rushed forward to help me, but Victoria slapped him across the face. “I am the future Mrs. Devereaux! I’d like to see anyone here dare to touch me!” she shrieked. “If a single hair on my head is harmed, Caleb will have all of your miserable lives!” The guards flinched, not daring to move. The butler, afraid to offend Caleb’s fiancée, could only pace frantically. One of Victoria’s friends sensed something was wrong. “Tori, they don’t look like they’re faking,” she whispered nervously. “Maybe this bitch really is important to Caleb. He’s on his way here now, shouldn’t we wait?” Victoria shot her a glacial look. “Do I need you to teach me how to handle a slut?” “She’s just a tramp. Even if I beat her to death, Caleb wouldn’t dare say a word to me! He needs my father for that new project. You think he’d protect this bitch over that?” The friend fell silent, retreating back into the fold. A cold rage began to burn through my pain. “Your stupidity is your own problem,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Don’t drag over a hundred members of the Devereaux family down with you.” “Every word I’ve said is true. If you don’t believe me, call Caleb right now and ask him.” “Today is the most important day of the year for the Devereauxs. You’ve made me bleed. They will not spare you. What good is a business deal when you’re dead?” Victoria didn’t believe a word. She swung her hand and struck me across the face, a hard, sharp slap. “To hell with your ritual! Do you think I’m an idiot? Call him? You’re not even worthy. You might fool Caleb, but you can’t fool me!” “Today, I’m going to teach you a lesson. Let’s just see if anything happens to the Devereaux family!” Suppressing my fury, I tried to use voice commands to have my phone call 911. Before I could finish, Victoria crushed it under her heel. “This is illegal! The Devereauxs won’t let you get away with this! Stop now, and you might have a chance. If the police get here, you’re finished!” She was unmoved, lunging at me again. Threats were useless. Using every ounce of strength I had left, I scrambled to my feet and threw myself at her. She tumbled to the ground, her face contorted with rage. I tried to crawl toward the butler, but a heavy blow struck the back of my legs, and I collapsed. “Beat her! Beat her until she can’t move!” Victoria screamed. “Some powerful witch, can’t even handle a single blow from a stick? You’re a fraud, a phony!” “I’ll teach you to act! I’ll teach you to seduce Caleb! If you walk away from this alive, I’ll change my name!” She climbed on top of me, pinning me down, her hands a blur as she rained slaps down on my face until it was a swollen, bloody mess. During a brief pause when her arms grew tired, I used my last bit of energy to scream at her. “Victoria, stop! The time is almost here! If I don’t go in now, people will actually die!” “Then it won’t just be Caleb, you’ll be an enemy to the entire Devereaux family! Do you think you can get away with murdering that many people? The backlash will destroy you!” Victoria’s fury turned to laughter. Another slap landed on my cheek. “A witch, are you? You perform rituals? Fine. Do one now. Let’s see if your magic can save you!” “Aren’t you so powerful? Aren’t you the one who can change fate? How come you couldn’t predict you’d meet with disaster the moment you stepped out your door today?” The pain was too intense for words. She took my silence as guilt. “No more excuses? What’s wrong, great witch? Done with the performance?” “You’re so amazing, I just have to let everyone see this. In this day and age, we still have superstitious trash like you! Performing your ‘rituals’ in other people’s beds!” “If it weren’t for you, Caleb wouldn’t have canceled on me so many times. Bitch, I’m going to tear your face apart!” Blood and tears mingled, blurring my vision. I couldn’t believe that scumbag Caleb was using me as an excuse for his own philandering. I’d run into him at restaurants several times with other women; he’d always paid my bill to buy my silence. I had even warned him not to cheat on his fiancée. And Victoria, completely unaware, saw me as the homewrecker. My body trembled with a powerless rage. “If you don’t believe me, ask the butler! He knows everything!” The butler rushed forward to explain, but Victoria’s friends blocked his path. “Miss Hamilton is truly the family’s benefactor! You can’t touch her!” he pleaded. “The Devereaux family owes its entire existence to her! I’ve already notified the Master, he’s on his way! If you continue, not even God will be able to save you!” Victoria spat in the butler’s direction and looked down at me, her eyes burning. “You’re more resourceful than I thought. You even managed to buy the butler. Is he the one who paved your way into the master bedroom?” “You’re no virgin, so why pretend? You’ve probably used this same act on countless rich men. Today, I’m going to expose you to the world. Let’s see how you seduce anyone after this!” With that, she took out her phone and started a livestream. The camera was pointed directly at my face. “Hey everyone, take a good look! A modern-day witch! So powerful she can dispel your family’s misfortunes just by sleeping with you. Ever seen a whore who does rituals? Well, now you have!” “Today, you’re all in for a real education!” The stream instantly flooded with over a hundred thousand viewers. The comments were a torrent of vitriol. “OMG this girl is insane for money. Is she that desperate for a man? There are homeless guys on the street, why not sleep with them?” “Anyone who resorts to this ‘ritual’ crap must be at their wit’s end. This girl uses her body to climb the ladder and still has the nerve to act all high and mighty? Shameless.” “These homewreckers will come up with any excuse. Nanny, maid, witch… what’s next? Mortician? Sluts like her should be struck by lightning! Girl, you hit her hard, I’m a lawyer, I’ll represent you in court for free!” The support from the viewers emboldened Victoria. She turned to the camera and proceeded to slap me dozens of times. I was fading, barely conscious, tears streaming down my face. Victoria, however, was triumphant. She moved the camera closer. “See, everyone? A few slaps and she’s acting like this. You’d think I was killing her! Is this how you play the victim for men? You’re nothing but a manipulative bitch, and I’m the one who’s going to fix you!” I knew nothing I said would change her mind. I had to save my strength and wait for the Devereauxs to rescue me. My lack of resistance only enraged her further. She grabbed my hair, forcing my head up. “What? Done with the act? Can’t keep it up anymore? Speak!” “Admit you’re a slut who seduces other women’s fiancés. Admit you don’t know any magic, that you just sell your body for money. Do that, and I’ll let you go today!” I bit my lip until it bled, refusing to say a word. Just then, a comment floated across the screen. “I heard roosters can ward off evil spirits. They can probably handle a slutty fox-spirit too. Why not let her get it on with a rooster? That would be an education for all of us!” Victoria’s eyes lit up. Her friends grabbed me and began dragging me towards the old manor. Realizing what they planned to do, I fought with all my might, collapsing to the ground and trying to crawl away. Victoria stomped on my back, and I coughed up a mouthful of blood. “Trying to run? Not a chance!” “You like men so much, don’t you? You’re so lonely, aren’t you? Today, I’ll be the witch. I’ll grant your pathetic wish!” The butler and guards followed from a distance, flinching with every move Victoria made, looking as if they might faint. “Please, stop! I’m begging you on my knees!” the butler cried. “Miss Hamilton is the family’s very soul! You’re destroying the Devereauxs!” He abandoned all decorum and lunged forward to save me, but Victoria’s friends slammed the door and locked it, trapping them outside. “Watch closely,” Victoria’s voice echoed from inside. “This is what happens to homewreckers. If any other shameless bitch tries to get near my man, this is how you handle them!” She dragged my broken body towards the room with the altars. The sounds of the butler’s desperate pleas faded into the distance. My heart turned to ash. There was no escaping this. The Devereaux family was finished. Victoria scanned the room, her eyes finally landing on the black rooster prepared for the ritual. I took the opportunity to break free, but I only made it a few feet before her friends dragged me back. Victoria grabbed a golden ritual bowl from an altar and smashed it over my head. “You bitch! Still fighting! I’ll teach you to run!” “Break her legs, too!” They swarmed me, their feet stomping down on my body relentlessly. Soon, I didn’t even have the strength to scream. I lay there, a heap of broken flesh. The viewers in the livestream cheered, proclaiming how satisfying it was to watch. Victoria then ordered, “Strip all her clothes off! Let everyone get a good look at what a real slut looks like!” Even my underwear was torn away and thrown aside. I was completely naked. Victoria approached, holding the ritual blade from the altar, its yew-wood handle dark in her hand. She tapped the flat of the blade against my chest. “This is what you use to seduce men, isn’t it? These two lumps of flesh? Let me help you get rid of them.” The consecrated blade touched my skin. The pain was a line of white-hot fire. I instinctively twisted away, trying to escape. The blade raked across my body, tearing through skin and muscle, carving a deep gash from my chest down to my stomach. I lay in a pool of my own blood, on the verge of collapse. Victoria aimed the camera at my mutilated body. “See that? This is what happens to sluts! All your witchcraft and rituals are useless against my knife!” As she spoke, she had her friends pin me down. There was no escape. I could only watch as she pressed the blade to my chest again, carving two deep, cruel circles over my breasts, pressing so hard it felt like she was trying to pierce my heart. The livestream was flooded with gifts and donations. Finally, Victoria threw the knife down in frustration. “Too bad the blade is too dull to cut them off. You’re lucky!” “The warm-up is over,” she said with a grin. “Time for the main event.” Her friend threw the rooster onto my body. Its sharp beak instantly dug into my flesh. “Tori’s ideas are the best! This bitch will never dare to go near Caleb again!” “Serves her right for not knowing her place. The Devereauxs? As if she could ever dream of being one of them.” “Forced to mate with a rooster, and broadcast to the whole world… If I were her, I’d kill myself right now.” Still not satisfied, Victoria grabbed the rooster, preparing to force it onto me.

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1 After his first love died, Anton hated me for ten years. I tried everything to win his affection, but all I ever got was a cold sneer. “If you really want to make me happy, Grace,” he’d say, “why don’t you just die?” His words were a knife in my heart, yet when the burning rafters of our home came crashing down, he died saving me. He lay in my arms, and with the last of his strength, he pushed my hand away. “Grace,” he whispered, his voice a ghost of a breath. “If only I had never met you…” At his funeral, his mother’s sobs were accusations. “Anton, my boy, it’s all my fault. I never should have forced you to marry her. If I had just let you be with Evelyn, would things have been different today?” His father’s glare was full of venom. “He saved your life three times. Why do you only bring him disaster? Why wasn’t it you who died?” Everyone, including me, regretted our marriage. In the end, I went to the top of Starlight Point, the place where lovers make wishes, and threw myself from the edge. I woke up ten years in the past. This time, I would sever all ties with Anton. This time, I would give everyone the ending they wanted. 2 “You’ve really outdone yourself, Grace. Using your parents’ dying wish to force my family’s hand. Making them pressure me into marrying you. Do you really think this will make you happy?” The voice was deep and cold, a ghost from a past I thought was gone. I blinked, my vision clearing, and stared at Anton. He stood before me, young and defiant in a sharp, tailored suit, a world away from the broken man he would become. This was eighteen-year-old Anton. I had really gone back. Suppressing the knot of grief in my throat, I drank in the sight of him, alive and whole. “You don’t want to marry me because the one you truly love is Evelyn. Isn’t that right?” Anton let out a bitter laugh. “What if it is? Are you going to step aside?” “Yes,” I said, my voice firm. My parents had been national heroes, diplomats who died in a bombing overseas. In recognition of their sacrifice, the government had granted me a special boon—a state-sanctioned marriage contract, blank and waiting for a name. I could marry anyone I chose. Or, I could use it to arrange a marriage for someone else. He stared at me, then a cynical smile twisted his lips. “You used the contract to pressure me. My parents are forcing me. Our marriage is a done deal. How exactly are you going to ‘step aside’ now?” “Grace, I don’t have time to play your games. Go back to the registrar’s office and file the damn contract. I’ll wait for you here.” He turned away, leaning against the cold stone wall of the government building, the disgust in his eyes a physical blow. For two lifetimes, I had loved Anton. He had saved my life twice, acts of reckless bravery that I mistook for secret affection. I had naively used my parents’ legacy to marry him, only to learn too late that his heart belonged to another. My decade of love had been his decade of torment. In my past life, I had spent years performing acts of charity, bartering my own life force in mystical rites, all to earn him a chance at rebirth. Before the end, a spiritual guide had warned me, “Within twelve hours of his second chance, you must resolve his three greatest regrets. Once it is done, you must leave immediately.” “From then on, your paths will diverge. He will no longer be fated to die at thirty. You will both find your own destinies.” “But rebirth always has a price, my child. Be certain you are willing to pay it.” As long as Anton could live, I was willing to pay any price. I went back inside and amended the contract, formally requesting the union of Anton McGaw and Evelyn Lin. I knew his three regrets. He had written them in his private journal. Regret not fighting my parents’ arrangement. Regret marrying Grace. Regret not being able to save Evelyn. Now, his first regret was fulfilled. I walked out with the official document and handed it to him. He looked at me with contempt, as if I were a predator who had finally cornered her prey. He reached to open it. I placed a hand over his. “Wait until tomorrow,” I said, offering a gentle smile. “It’ll be a surprise.” He glanced at me, his voice laced with scorn. “Pathetic. Today, tomorrow—it’s still a marriage to you, isn’t it? What’s wrong with you today? Are you that deliriously happy you finally trapped me?” I was happy. Because I was finally seeing you alive again. I smiled. “I think you’re the best person in the world. Anyone who marries you will be incredibly happy.” “Let’s go,” he snapped, turning away. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was blushing. On the ride back to his family’s estate, the car passed a street bustling with nightlife. I overheard a group of girls talking excitedly. “Tonight’s the Perseid meteor shower! They say if a couple watches it together from Starlight Point, they’ll be soulmates for three lifetimes!” A memory pierced through me. In my past life, I had heard the same thing and eagerly begged Anton to take me. He had looked at me with that chilling, mocking expression. “Isn’t one lifetime of you enough? Now you want to haunt me for three?” “It’s a stupid superstition, a ridiculous fairytale for fools. If you want to believe it, fine, but leave me out of it.” Even now, the memory of his cold eyes made me shiver. I quietly closed the car’s privacy screen. But this time, Anton spoke, his tone unexpectedly neutral. “You want to go?” “I can take you to Starlight Point tonight. It can be my apology for not being able to attend the memorial for your parents after the wedding.” I looked up at him, surprised. It was both unexpected and completely in character. Anton had always been like this—a cruel tongue hiding a soft heart. He didn’t love me, but he had still risked his life for me three times. The first, when I was attacked by muggers, he took a knife to his right arm protecting me. The hand that was once skilled enough to hit a target a hundred yards away could never hold a bow again. The second, when I contracted a deadly virus, he climbed a treacherous cliff face to find a rare herb to save my life, nearly breaking his leg in the process. The third, during a fire at the embassy, he died saving me. Anton was perfect in every way. He just didn’t love me. I knew that after today, we would have no future together. Even if we watched the meteor shower from Starlight Point, the legend wouldn’t apply to us. Still, I suppressed the hot tears welling in my eyes and gave him a smile so bright it felt cheap. “Okay. Let’s go see the meteors together.” 3 Halfway there, our car was stopped. It was Evelyn’s personal assistant. She said Evelyn was suffering from a terrible migraine and wanted to see Anton. He frowned at the news and immediately got out of the car. “Evelyn’s not well. I have to go see her. You go back to the estate. I’ll meet you at Starlight Point tonight.” I nodded. “Okay.” He looked at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You used to hate it when I went to see her. What’s changed?” I opened my mouth, but he cut me off with another sneer. “Right. We’re about to be married. I guess she’s not a threat to you anymore.” He walked away, never seeing the desolate smile on my face. I never tried to stop him from caring for Evelyn. I only intervened once, when I discovered she was having an affair with a married government official. I tried desperately to keep Anton away from her, to protect him from the inevitable scandal. But he never knew. After she died, he grieved her loss for a decade. If I had to choose, I would rather see him with her and happy, than see him tormented and dying for me. My first stop was the passport office to arrange my travel documents. Then, I returned to the McGaw estate. Mrs. McGaw had prepared a feast, a table laden with all my favorite dishes. As I always did, I took off my white fur-trimmed coat and draped it over her shoulders. “It’s cold, Amelia. You need to take care of yourself.” She beamed at me, her face alight with joy. “Grace, you’re always so thoughtful. Quick, let me see the marriage contract! I’ve waited so long to finally call you my daughter.” Mr. McGaw, noticing I was alone, bristled with anger. “That boy didn’t come back with you again? The contract is finalized, and he still doesn’t know how to cherish you? When he gets home, I’ll give him a piece of my mind!” Their genuine affection was a bittersweet ache in my chest. They had raised me after my own parents died, giving me a home, giving me their love. I had always been the dutiful, obedient daughter. But this time, I had to betray their hopes. I looked at them, my voice heavy. “Arthur, Amelia… I’m not marrying Anton.” “I’m leaving for the coast tomorrow. I won’t be here to look after you anymore, so you must promise to take good care of each other.” Amelia stared, her smile faltering. “Your parents died serving this country. You grew up here. This estate is your home. Where would you go?” Her eyes filled with alarm. “Is it because of that Lin girl? Did Anton hurt you? Is that why you’re calling off the wedding?” “Don’t do this, Grace. He has feelings for you, I know he does. He risked his life for you twice! Every year for your birthday, he spends months searching for the perfect gift. I know you love him too. You learned to cook for him, you massage his hand every night to ease the pain. You would be so happy together!” “Besides, that Lin girl is trouble. We can’t let her win. Please, don’t leave out of anger.” In my past life, they had said the same things. In the end, I lost my husband, and they lost their son. We all lived with a lifetime of regret. I gently wiped a tear from her cheek. “Amelia, you can’t force love. Anton’s heart belongs to someone else. It’s wrong of me to force him to marry me.” “Last night, I had a dream. I dreamt that he and I were married. But he wouldn’t see me. He worked himself to the bone, driving his body into the ground. He wouldn’t eat the food I made for him, wouldn’t let me care for him when he was sick. He told me that the pain I brought him was greater than any happiness. He even… he even died at thirty, saving my life.” The words were a physical pain, making it hard to breathe. Amelia was stunned. “But… that’s just a dream, Grace. Anton wouldn’t…” I sniffled, forcing a smile. “Dreams can be warnings, Amelia. I want him to live a long life. It’s better that we’re not husband and wife.” “He’s a man of privilege, but he’s never truly been free to make his own choices. At the very least, he should be able to choose who he marries.” I knelt before them and bowed my head to the floor three times. “My travel papers are ready. Please, grant me this one wish. I will never forget your kindness. I will repay it for the rest of my life.” Arthur’s lips thinned. He helped me to my feet. Amelia, wiping her tears, pressed a thick stack of bills into my hand. “If this is what you’ve decided, then I will respect your choice. But remember, no matter what happens, this will always be your home.” My own tears finally fell, and I hugged her tightly. “Thank you, Amelia.” By cutting my ties with Anton, the tragedy of our past life would never happen. He would live a long life. His parents wouldn’t lose their son and grow to hate me. This time, everyone would have a happy ending. The second of his regrets was fulfilled. Now, only one remained. That evening, I went to Starlight Point. The scenic overlook was crowded with couples, all there to wish for a shared destiny. “Grace.” A familiar voice cut through the crowd. I turned, my heart leaping, only to see Anton’s thunderous expression. He grabbed my wrist, his eyes blazing with a furious, crimson light. “You know how much I despise people who abuse their power. I didn’t escort you home, so you ran to my parents and tattled, making them humiliate Evelyn. She tried to kill herself, Grace. She took poison. Are you satisfied now?”

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The hospital’s new resident Gloria claimed to see prophetic live comments. During surgery, she announced: “Dr. Reed will slip in one minute, severing the artery. The patient will die.” A minute later, my scalpel slipped. The patient bled out. When grieving relatives arrived, Gloria warned colleagues: “In thirty minutes, the father will stab Dr. Reed – half an inch left of her heart.” Thirty minutes later, the blade pierced my chest at the predicted spot. As my fiancé Mark rushed me to surgery, Gloria sighed: “They’ll find Evie’s pregnant during the operation…and the baby isn’t yours.” The pre-op scan confirmed her words. Mark swore he’d never touched me, breaking our engagement as I hemorrhaged. I died abandoned on the operating table. Gloria became legendary. When I reopened my eyes, it was her first prophetic day again. Gloria’s voice was a shot of panic in the sterile calm of the OR. “Dr. Reed, stop! You have to stop the surgery, you’re going to kill him!” The entire medical team froze. “Gloria, what are you talking about?” the head nurse snapped. “The patient’s life is on the line. This is no time for jokes!” But Gloria’s face was a mask of unnerving confidence. “I’m telling the truth. I can see comments—they predict the future!” She held up a hand as if to read from it. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll read them to you.” “‘In one more minute, Dr. Reed’s hand will slip. She’ll sever the patient’s artery, causing a massive hemorrhage, and the patient will die.’” Every person in the room stopped moving, their eyes snapping to me. In that same instant, a wave of vertigo washed over me. I stared down at the scalpel in my hand, a disbelieving tremor running through me. I was… reborn. But before the reality could fully sink in, a shriek shattered the silence. “His artery is severed!” the head nurse cried, her face pale with panic. “Massive hemorrhage! We’re losing him! Get cross-matched plasma, now! Prep for emergency resuscitation!” Her voice yanked me back to the present. I stared in horror at the blood pooling in the patient’s chest cavity, the crimson tide rising with terrifying speed. “Evelyn, what the hell are you doing?” one of the other surgeons demanded, his voice thick with fury. “You’re the lead surgeon! How could you be so careless? Do you have any regard for this man’s life?” I bowed my head, my hands moving on instinct, suturing the wound with frantic precision. I didn’t have time to argue. But inside, my mind was a raging storm. How? The second I realized I was back, I had gripped the scalpel with all my strength. I made sure it wouldn’t slip. So why did it happen all over again? Why was his artery still cut? The operating room descended into controlled chaos, but Gloria remained perfectly still. She stood to the side, shaking her head with an air of tragic pity. “It’s no use,” she said softly, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “You can’t save him.” “The moment Dr. Reed’s scalpel cut the artery, the prophecy of the comments was fulfilled. This patient was destined to die. No one can change that.” As if on cue, the heart monitor shrieked. A long, piercing beep echoed through the room, signaling what we all knew was coming. His heart rate had dropped to zero. Just as Gloria had predicted, the patient on the table died from blood loss, our resuscitation efforts utterly futile. A heavy silence fell over the room. The other staff stared at the still body, their faces a mixture of disbelief and shock. “But… why?” one of them murmured, re-checking the vitals. “The sutures were immediate, the bleeding was controlled, the plasma was a perfect match… He should have stabilized.” Instinctively, their gazes shifted to Gloria. In that moment, her credibility was forged in the crucible of our failure. They believed her. Gloria let out a somber sigh. “The future shown in the comments is immutable. Once a prediction comes to pass, the entire chain of events is set in stone. There’s no escaping it.” Her eyes, filled with a calculated worry, landed on me. “Dr. Reed, the patient is gone. There’s no point in looking for another reason. The simple fact is, your hand slipped. Instead of trying to find excuses, you should probably be thinking about how you’re going to explain this to his family.” She then addressed the room. “Everyone, let’s not just stand here. We all need to write our incident reports.” Her words were a cold splash of reality. The patient had collapsed from a sudden heart attack at work. His family lived out of state and were on their way, expecting to hear news of a successful surgery. They would be here any minute. The team dispersed, a cloud of grim duty hanging over them as they left to document the tragedy. Gloria cast one last look at me, a subtle shake of her head, before turning to leave as well. I remained rooted to the spot, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I know I held that scalpel steady. So how was his artery still severed? Was Gloria right? Was the future truly unchangeable? While the others wrote their reports, I locked myself in the operating room, replaying the events for hours. Eventually, the family arrived, their faces etched with the fatigue of a long, frantic train journey. The first thing they saw was their son’s body, his face a waxy, lifeless white. A gut-wrenching cry tore from his mother’s throat. “My boy! Oh, my baby boy! You were just on a video call with us last night! You said you were coming home for the holidays… How can you just be… gone?” “Open your eyes, son, please! Look at us! We’re here, Mom and Dad are here to see you…” The parents’ sobs were like a physical blow. Even the most hardened nurses around me were wiping away tears. My own throat felt tight enough to choke me. In all my years as a surgeon, I had snatched countless patients from the jaws of death. I couldn’t have lost one to a simple slip of the hand. It didn’t make sense. As I struggled for an explanation, the father’s grief curdled into rage. He rounded on us, his eyes blazing. “Which one of you was his surgeon? My son was supposed to be fine! You said it was a ninety-percent success rate! You will give me an answer, or so help me, you’ll pay with your lives!” He scanned our faces, a predator seeking his prey. One of the nurses, hoping to placate him, began to recount what had happened in the OR. The moment he heard I was the lead surgeon, that my hand had slipped and caused the fatal hemorrhage, his entire demeanor shifted. He spotted the name tag on my white coat: Dr. Evelyn Reed. His eyes locked onto mine. He shoved through the crowd and stormed towards me, yanking me forward by the collar of my coat. “You’re Dr. Evelyn Reed? You’re the one who killed my son!” His face was a mask of pure hatred, a mirror image of the one I remembered from my past life. And with his rage came Gloria’s perfectly timed, panicked cry. “Oh no! The comments! They’re saying the father is about to pull a knife and stab Dr. Reed! The blade… it’s aimed for the left side of her heart.” Her words hung in the air as the father began to drag me by my collar toward the hospital exit. He was strong, his grip like a vice. I couldn’t break free. The other staff, hearing Gloria’s prediction, started to move forward to intervene. But the father suddenly ripped a sharp paring knife from his pocket. “You doctors… you don’t care about a single life!” he roared, his voice cracking with pain. “My son was healthy! How does he just die during surgery? I don’t care anymore! Today, one of you worthless butchers is going to pay for what you did!” He pressed the cold steel of the knife against my throat, dragging me backward toward the entrance. The chill of the blade was a ghost of a memory, a phantom from my previous death. In my last life, it had played out just like this. He had dragged me outside, and in the ensuing struggle, he had driven the knife straight into my chest. This time, I could have run. I could have left the hospital before he even arrived. But if Gloria was right, if the future was truly unavoidable, then running would be pointless. He hauled me out into the open air of the hospital entrance. The medical staff followed, forming a nervous semi-circle. Gloria stood among them, her voice a placating balm. “Sir, we are all devastated by your son’s death, but he can’t be brought back. You can’t blame us for what happened. Dr. Reed is a wonderful, moral doctor. She’s saved countless lives. Your son’s death was a tragic accident.” Her words were like gasoline on a fire. “Shut up!” the father screamed. “She’s one of you! Of course you’d defend her! It was my son who died, not yours! You talk like it’s nothing!” He was sobbing now, tears streaming down his face. “He was my only child! He just graduated college! He was only twenty-five! Twenty-five years old, and he’s gone!” He brandished the knife, forcing everyone to back away. Once they were at a safe distance, the pressure on my neck eased slightly. But before I could even draw a full breath, his voice dropped to a venomous whisper in my ear. “Evelyn Reed. You incompetent butcher. You killed my son. Now you’re going to pay for it with your life.” In a flash of movement, he whipped the knife away from my throat and lunged, aiming directly for my chest. I saw the glint of the blade coming for the left side of my heart and twisted my body, trying to dodge. For a split second, I thought I’d made it. But it was as if the blade had a mind of its own, correcting its course in mid-air. His other hand shot out, clamping down on my shoulder, and he guided the knife with chilling accuracy into the exact spot Gloria had predicted. Why? I dodged it! Why did it still hit me in the exact same place? The searing pain sent my world blurring at the edges, and I didn’t have time to think. As I staggered back, hospital security, who had been circling around, finally saw their opening. They tackled the father from behind, wrestling him to the ground. “Let me go! Let me go!” he shrieked, struggling against them. “You murderers! You killed my son! I’ll kill you all!” Ignoring his crazed screams, my colleagues swarmed around me. “She’s bleeding! Get her to an OR, now!” “Where’s the gurney? Someone get a gurney!” Within seconds, a stretcher appeared. As they lifted me onto it, I could still hear the father’s curses and threats. While they rushed me back inside, their voices were a low hum of awe and fear, all directed at Gloria. “Gloria, your comments… they’re unbelievable.” “You predicted everything, down to the exact spot. It’s… terrifying.” Gloria basked in their reverence, a flicker of smug pride in her eyes before she masked it with humility. “Of course,” she murmured. We finally reached the surgical ward. Just like last time, my fiancé, Mark, came running, his face a mess of panic and fear. “Evie!” he cried, his eyes red-rimmed. “I heard you were stabbed! How bad is it? Are you okay?” I tried to speak, to tell him something, but Gloria beat me to it. She placed a gentle hand on Mark’s shoulder, her expression dripping with pity. “Mark… there’s something… I don’t know if I should say.” “What is it?” Mark demanded, his voice strained. “If it’s about Evie, just say it!” The surrounding staff fell silent, their attention fixed on Gloria. Under the weight of their gazes, she glanced at me, then shook her head sorrowfully. “Aigh, I really didn’t want to be the one to say this. Evie’s my mentor, she brought me into this hospital… But what she’s done… it’s just… I saw another comment, and I can’t believe it…” “Gloria, spit it out!” Mark snapped. “Yeah, stop drawing it out,” a colleague added. “Dr. Reed needs surgery. We don’t have time for this!” Finally, Gloria spoke. “Alright, but you all forced me. Don’t blame me for being the one to tear them apart.” She turned her pity-filled eyes to Mark. “When they get Evie into surgery,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “don’t be surprised if they find out she’s pregnant. And, Mark… the baby isn’t yours.”

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On the eve of our company’s IPO, my fiancé, Julian Thorne, threw a lavish celebration, instructing his secretary to hand out double year-end bonuses in cash. The secretary, Monica Elwes, moved through the room with a syrupy smile, handing each employee a beautifully packaged stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills. But when she got to me, she shoved me aside. “Move. Don’t block the path.” Confused, I asked her what she meant. She just sneered and slapped a termination letter against my face. “You cheap whore, sleeping your way to the top. What makes you think you deserve a bonus? Get the hell out before you contaminate the rest of us.” As if on cue, the large screen behind her flickered to life, displaying a slideshow of intimate photos of me with various high-profile clients. It ended on a spreadsheet of the bonus distribution. The numbers burned. Everyone had received a bonus of at least six figures. Next to my name, however, was a single, glaring, blood-red zero. My fists clenched. I lifted my head and looked at Julian, standing not far away. “Are you sure you want to fire me? Tonight?” On the screen, the photos kept cycling. Me, walking shoulder to shoulder with one man; me, raising a glass with another; and the final, damning image—me, wrapped in a man’s arm, walking into a hotel. Hearing my question, Julian finally tore his eyes from the screen. He stared at me, his gaze cold and silent. “Are you sure, Julian?” I asked again. Every eye in the room turned to him, their expressions a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. He ignored them and walked slowly toward me, looking down his nose as if I were something he’d scraped off his shoe. His voice was ice. “Ava, what right do you have to be here? Every penny this company has earned was built on the hard work of these people. You are the sole exception.” “Did I not give you enough money? Or not enough love, that you had to humiliate me like this?” he hissed. “Don’t you dare tell me these men are the reason you refused to quit and be a stay-at-home wife for me!” He ripped a stack of printed photos from his pocket and threw them in my face. The sharp edges of the photo paper cut my cheek, and they scattered across the floor. A sharp sting, and when I touched my face, my fingers came away red. “This IPO is a moment of glory for our company,” he declared. “I will not allow a degenerate parasite like you to tarnish it. Not even if you are my fiancée.” Looking at the cold, proud man before me, I assumed this was all a terrible misunderstanding born from those pictures. I tried to explain. “Julian, they might not believe me, but you? You don’t believe me either? My accomplishments, my portfolio—I earned every bit of it myself. It has nothing to do with those photos.” “Earned it yourself?” Monica interjected, her voice dripping with scorn. “What exactly did you earn on your own? Your skills in the bedroom? We’ve all heard about your… in-depth collaborations with clients.” A wave of snickering rippled through the room. Someone muttered, “Yeah, who knows how many clients she had to sleep with for those contracts. And to think we used to admire her, even tried to learn from her.” When the wall starts to fall, everyone gives it a push. I couldn’t believe colleagues I’d considered friends were so eager to kick me when I was down. I gritted my teeth, fighting to stay calm. “Those photos prove nothing. It was all just normal business.” “Normal business? In a hotel bed?” Monica bent down and picked up the photo of me being led into the hotel. “This is a high-definition video still, you know. Should I play the whole thing for everyone?” I stared at the picture, and a sudden, bitter laugh escaped my lips. The man in the photo was my brother. I’d gotten drunk that night. I’d meant to call Julian to pick me up, but I’d misdialed and called my brother instead. He happened to be in town, sent by our parents to try and convince me to end my feud with them. He arrived just in time to rescue me from a group of predatory men. He had taken me to a hotel to sober up, and someone with a camera and a grudge had been waiting. It all made sense now. The way Julian had been so hot and cold ever since that night. He had a lot of patience, I’ll give him that. He waited until I had secured every major client for him, until I had secretly used my family’s influence to push his company toward its IPO, before finally making his move. His lack of trust was a deep disappointment, but he was the first man I had ever truly loved. I didn’t want a misunderstanding to be the end of us. I didn’t want my parents to find out that the great, passionate love I’d run away for had died so miserably. I had fled the capital to escape an arranged marriage. I wanted to choose my own partner, to build something with him, side-by-side, not enter into a loveless corporate merger. I’d never told anyone this, not even Julian. I was afraid that if he knew I was the heiress to one of the city’s most powerful families, he would feel insecure, inferior, crushed by the pressure. All my life, men had been drawn to my status. I hated their calculated flattery. What I loved was the way Julian’s eyes used to shine like a galaxy of stars when he looked at me. The memory of that long-gone sweetness made me laugh again. “What are you laughing at?” Julian scowled, his tone laced with disgust. “How can you possibly laugh at a time like this?” I lifted my head, meeting his eyes directly. “Do you really think I’m the kind of woman who sleeps her way to the top?” “What else am I supposed to think?” he sneered. “You think there’s anything else about you worth a second glance?” It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing my heart, making it hard to breathe. I took a deep breath. “The man in that photo,” I said slowly, “is my brother.” “Your brother?” Monica burst out laughing. “Do you think we’re idiots? You adopt a ‘godbrother’ and call him family? Is that what you call every man you sleep with? ‘Brother’? I have to admit, it has a certain kinky ring to it.” The laughter in the room grew louder, more vicious. Someone whistled. Julian’s eyes were filled with contempt. “Enough. Stop embarrassing yourself. Take your termination letter and get out. From this moment on, you and I are finished.” I clutched the paper, a chill spreading through my chest. For five years, I had hidden my identity, working as a rank-and-file employee to pave his way, to help him build his empire. And now that I had single-handedly pushed him to the summit, he was ready to kill the donkey now that the grinding was done. Fine. I could handle losing. I’d just write off the last five years of my life as a gift to a dog. “Julian,” I whispered, “you’re going to regret this.” He heard me and laughed as if it were the funniest joke in the world. “Regret it? The only thing I regret is ever meeting a treacherous slut like you.” He held out his hand to Monica. They exchanged a triumphant smile and walked, hand in hand, to the center of the ballroom. Only then did I notice that his bespoke suit and her low-cut evening gown were a matching set. He raised their entwined hands high. “Tomorrow,” he announced, his voice booming with confidence, “we will welcome the most important moment in this company’s history—our IPO! This wouldn’t be possible without every one of you. Let’s continue to build a glorious future together!” The room erupted in thunderous applause and cheers. I could clearly hear the fawning comments about what a golden couple he and Monica were. Julian’s gaze swept over me for a fraction of a second before moving on, as if I were a complete stranger. Looking at the man I had loved for five years, I finally understood why my parents always said I had terrible taste in men. They were right. I was completely blind. I never even realized my fiancé was sleeping with his secretary. But being the daughter of the Jiang family, being blind in love didn’t mean I was incompetent. I could raise him to the heavens, and I could just as easily make him fall.

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At my son’s one-month celebration, my sister Laura burst in, covered in blood. She collapsed to her knees before me, thrusting a DNA test into my hands as she slammed her head against the floor. “Luna, I promised I’d keep your secret, that I’d protect you and your lover,” she wailed. “But why did you try to kill me? Why did you kill Mom and Dad? Do I have to die for you to finally feel safe?” My husband, Joey, tore the DNA report to shreds. He demanded a divorce on the spot. Our son was sent to an orphanage, and I was sent to a private mental institution by Joey and my four older brothers for “rehabilitation.” For a year, I endured extreme treatments. I was a plaything for the wealthy sons of the elite, a canvas for their cruelty. My body was beaten black and blue, and I was forced to carry and then lose five children. They only let me out when Joey and my sister’s wedding was announced. By then, I just smiled vacantly, clutching a pillow to my chest, rocking it gently as if it were my baby. I walked out of the institution, still holding my pillow. My four brothers and Joey were waiting impatiently, leaning against a gleaming Maybach. The moment I emerged, a swarm of reporters descended, their cameras flashing like a volley of gunfire. The smallest-sized dress hung on my skeletal frame like a shroud. A single, gentle push from the crowd was enough to send me sprawling to the ground. They backed away, but their words closed in, sharp as knives. “Luna Sterling! You murdered your own parents and destroyed your sister’s chance to ever be a mother! Do you think playing the victim will win you any sympathy?” “If your sister wasn’t so forgiving, a cheating, venomous bitch like you would be on death row!” “You killed your own parents for a secret lover!” A piercing pain shot up my leg, mingling with the venom of their words, all of it flooding my heart. But I didn’t dare say a word in my defense. I just clutched my pillow tighter and bowed my head to the ground, slamming it against the pavement again and again. “I was wrong. I’m guilty. I’m a slut. I shouldn’t have killed Mom and Dad. I shouldn’t have hurt my sister…” After a year of torture, I no longer had the strength to fight back. Every denial, every plea of innocence, had only earned me more violent electrocutions, more brutal beatings. When I was finally a limp, broken thing on the floor, unable to make a sound, the rich boys would have their turn with me. They were all delinquents, sent to the institution not for treatment, but to hide from the consequences of their crimes. They loved watching a fresh flower be torn apart until it withered. The only difference between me and the other victims was that they were dead whores, and I was a living one. Because my four brothers and my ex-husband wouldn’t let me die. Their cold, merciless voices were a constant loop in the headphones they forced on me. “Luna, you worthless bitch, you deserve to die a thousand deaths. You killed our parents, you maimed our sister. You will atone.” My forehead hit the concrete. A warm liquid trickled down, blurring my vision with a crimson haze that finally, mercifully, blocked out the five figures I feared most. A polished leather shoe stopped my head from hitting the ground again. Joey used the toe of his shoe to lift my chin, his voice raining down on me from above. “Luna. You brought this on yourself.” The familiar sound sent a violent, uncontrollable tremor through my entire body. “I was wrong, I was really wrong, please don’t hit me, I’ll confess, I’ll be good, please, just let me go…” Joey’s eyes filled with a thick, syrupy disgust. He bent down, snatched the pillow from my arms, and used it to roughly wipe the blood from my forehead, forcing me to look at him. “A year, Luna. And your acting has improved dramatically. Sending you to that institution instead of prison was too lenient, I see.” His voice was laced with scorn. “Everyone knows that place is a safe house for spoiled brats. What new game are you playing now?” The emptiness in my arms sent a wave of panic through me. I crawled toward the blood-soaked pillow, my voice a broken whisper. “It’s okay, baby, don’t be scared… Mommy will protect you…” My four brothers closed in, shielding me from the flashing cameras. “Luna! Are you still obsessed with that bastard child? It seems you’re not too happy about the ‘rehabilitation’ we arranged for you. You ungrateful wretch!” My eldest brother, Ethan, kicked me square in the chest. A metallic tang filled my mouth, and I spat a spray of blood onto the pillow, where it mingled with the blood from my forehead. Ethan paused for a second, then sneered. “You deserve an Oscar for this performance, Luna. You even brought your own blood packet.” “It seems a year wasn’t punishment enough.” The crowd murmured. “I’m dying to know who this mystery lover is. To have the great Luna Sterling still so devoted to him after all this…” All eyes turned to Joey, the cuckolded husband. His face, already dark with disgust, turned black as thunder. I knew that look. It was the storm before the hurricane. Enraging any of them meant more pain. Instinct took over. I swallowed the blood in my mouth and continued my desperate, incoherent pleas. “I was wrong… I shouldn’t have seduced another man… I’m guilty, I deserve to die… Just don’t hit me, you can do whatever you want, just please, let me go…” I mechanically repeated the words, mechanically started to pull at my own clothes, a programmed response to their rage. I didn’t even know who this “other man” was supposed to be. I didn’t know why my parents had died, or why my son was suddenly a “bastard child.” I didn’t know what I had done to make the sister I had adored turn on me with such venom. Joey’s eyes blazed with fury. He stopped my hands as I tried to tear off my dress. “Luna, look what you’ve become in just one year. What a pathetic slut.” “What right do you have to ask us for mercy?” He pulled out a handkerchief, wiped the hand that had touched me, and a cruel smile twisted his lips. My brothers, snapping out of their shock at my bizarre behavior, spoke as one. “Since you still haven’t realized your mistakes, we will be the ones to judge and punish you.” Joey opened the trunk of the car and pulled out a set of items he had prepared in advance. He turned to the cameras, his voice cold. “When the livestream hits one million viewers, the trial will begin.” So this was their plan. They weren’t here to release me. They were here to begin the next phase of my punishment. The news that the powerful Sterling and Thorne families were joining forces to publicly punish me, the disgraced heiress, sent viewership skyrocketing. The comments flooded in, a torrent of demands for the show to begin. To satisfy their curiosity, Ethan spoke first. “Luna, since you can’t remember what you did wrong, allow me to refresh your memory.” As his lips moved, the image of my parents’ fiery car crash flashed through my mind. I had only learned the details after I was institutionalized. On their way to my son’s celebration, their car had somehow spun out of control, slamming into a guardrail. The fuel tank ruptured, and the car was instantly engulfed in flames. The fire had consumed the car, a pillar of black smoke and roaring heat. My parents were trapped inside. Ethan held up his phone and played a recording. It was the sound of my parents’ final, agonizing screams, captured by Laura. The screams pierced my eardrums, my heart. I shut my eyes, but I could see their faces, twisting in the flames, their hands beating desperately against the windows. I had been forced to listen to this recording thousands of times, but it still shattered me. The pain of their death was a wound that would never heal. And what made it unbearable was that everyone believed I was the one who had tampered with their car. The live chat was a waterfall of hate, every comment a dagger in my heart. “Murderer! How dare you still be alive?” “Your parents must have had the worst luck in the world to have a daughter like you.” “A vicious bitch like you should burn in hell!” “You kill your own parents and then play the victim? Disgusting!” I stared at the words, my heart twisting. I wanted to scream that I didn’t do it, but I knew no one would believe me. I was a pariah, a monster in their eyes. I curled into a ball on the ground, hugging the bloody pillow as if it were my only lifeline. Tears streamed silently down my face, mixing with the blood. “I’m sorry, Mom, Dad… I’m so sorry…” I whispered. “I don’t know why this happened…” Ethan’s voice cut through my grief, cold and merciless. “You think playing pathetic will save you, Luna? You killed our parents. You ruined your sister’s life. Did you really think you could escape justice?” I looked up at his merciless face, and my world dissolved into despair. The viewer count was still climbing. They were all hungry for the spectacle. They were all waiting to see me punished. I knew there was no escape. I wanted to die, but if I did, my son in that orphanage would truly be alone. He was just like me, a poor soul abandoned by his own family. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, my body trembling as I waited for the torture to begin. “Let’s start,” Joey announced coldly. My nightmare was only just beginning.

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1 The night before the National Robotics Championship, I took a hammer to my masterpiece and quit. The internet exploded—forums flooded with accusations of fraud, cowardice, hacks who couldn’t handle the spotlight. Only Greg Croft, the golden boy hailed as a tech prodigy, offered hollow support to the press: “I have complete faith in Leo’s abilities. He’s the only rival I’ve ever considered my equal. Whatever’s happened, I just hope he finds his way back and proves the genius he truly is.” In my last life, the robot I’d brought to the championship was a bolt-for-bolt replica of his. No matter how I tried to expose his theft, he played the magnanimous victim online: “It’s alright. Leo can have this one. I can always build better.” His fans descended like wolves. Fueled by rage, I rebuilt overnight—until a power failure triggered a catastrophic explosion. I woke in the ICU. The internet cheered my downfall. That same night, Seraphina signed my DNR. My last thought before darkness: How did he steal my data? How did he turn her against me? Then— I opened my eyes. Back to the day before the championship. “Leo, this dynamic humanoid design is absolutely insane! We’re going to crush it this year. First place is in the bag!” My best friend Matt’s excited voice snapped me back to the present. I stared at the six-foot-tall robot before me, a violent shiver running down my spine. “I’m uploading the final specs now! Then all we have to do is wait for the live demonstration tomorrow!” Matt was already at the computer, grinning from ear to ear. “Wait!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “Stop! I have a better idea.” My hands trembled as I took the laptop. I navigated to Greg’s public project feed, my heart pounding in my chest. There it was. A video demonstration and a full spec sheet. It was a perfect copy of my robot. “What the hell?” Matt leaned over my shoulder, his face a mask of disbelief. “How is this possible? I checked his feed this afternoon, and his bot looked nothing like ours! Where did that son of a bitch get our design?” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Last time, I had made the same check in the afternoon. Seeing that his robot was different, I had relaxed, complacent. I only discovered his theft half an hour before the submission deadline. I had frantically reported him to the organizers and posted my entire design process online, but it was useless. They didn’t believe me. Greg’s fans tore me to shreds. “Leo the Leech, at it again. First, he copies Greg’s ideas, now he’s trying to frame him. Shameless!” “Greg posted his data first, you pathetic thief. How dare you claim his work as your own?” The abuse was relentless. I had tried to prove them wrong by building a new robot overnight for the competition floor. And somehow, Greg’s robot had changed again, perfectly matching my new one. I was humiliated in front of everyone. They threw water bottles at me. Desperate, I tried to demonstrate my unique dynamic humanoid system, but the moment I powered it on, the robot exploded. The blast left me critically injured, fighting for my life in the ICU. With me out of the picture, Greg coasted to victory. He won the two-million-dollar prize and was immediately taken under the wing of a titan of the tech industry. His future was secured. And me? I was lying in a hospital bed, hovering between life and death. To make matters worse, the competition officials announced they’d found traces of high explosives in my robot’s wreckage. They concluded I had been planning some kind of attack and had become a victim of my own malice. But I knew. I knew I hadn’t put anything like that in my machine. That announcement was my death sentence. I was expelled from the university. The online mob doxed my parents. They spray-painted “FATHER OF A MONSTER” on their garage door and left funeral wreaths on their lawn. They said my parents deserved to die for bringing someone like me into the world. The night I was admitted to the hospital, Seraphina signed the papers to take me off life support, telling the world I had succumbed to my injuries. The internet rejoiced. My parents, shattered by the news of my “death,” took their own lives. My soul watched it all, a helpless, screaming ghost, refusing to move on. And then, I woke up. Back on the day before it all went wrong. This time, I will uncover the truth. I will clear my name. And I will make Greg Croft pay for every last thing he stole from me. 2 “Leo, we can still modify it! We still have time!” Matt insisted, his face pale but determined. “This competition isn’t just about the two million bucks. The winner gets mentored by Dr. Aris Thorne himself! We can’t give up.” The organizers had already replied to our initial complaint, stating they found no evidence of wrongdoing on Greg’s part. “I’ll handle the modifications myself,” I said, my voice low and steady. “Matt, you keep hounding the event staff. Don’t let them off the hook.” I took a deep breath. A second chance meant I couldn’t trust anyone, not even my closest friend. In my last life, Seraphina had been by my side the entire time I was building and modifying my robots. The memory of seeing her, after my death, tucked into the crook of Greg’s arm… there was no doubt. She was the one who leaked my designs. But she didn’t understand the complex mechanics or the code. Even if she gave him the physical blueprints, she couldn’t have accessed the core operational programming. And Greg and I… we’d been rivals since freshman year. I was his shadow. Every brilliant idea I had, he somehow produced it first, leaving me to be mocked as a copycat. We avoided each other like the plague on campus; there was no way he could have ever gotten a direct look at my work. So how? How did his robot’s programming mirror mine down to the last line of code? Even with the gift of foresight, the question gnawed at me. A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through my chest at the thought of Seraphina. Why would she betray me? We were childhood sweethearts, practically engaged. She was supposed to be my partner, yet at the most critical moment of my life, she’d been the one to push me into the abyss. Shaking my head, I slapped my own cheek, hard. Focus. The robot was all that mattered now. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I began disassembling the code and the machine. I’d already conceptualized an upgraded version of this robot, but I’d held back, opting for a more stable, conservative build for the competition. I was confident even the base model could win. I was always good at this, with a natural intuition for mechanics and programming that felt like a sixth sense. But caution was a luxury I could no longer afford. It was time to go all in. An hour later, I leaned back, letting out a ragged breath as I stared at the upgraded machine. This time, I had worked completely alone. Unless Greg Croft was literally a god, there was no way he could know the new specifications. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I was about to submit the new data to the organizers when Matt burst back into the lab. “Dude, you need to see this! Greg just posted an update!” My blood ran cold. I snatched the laptop from him and stared at the video. I couldn’t breathe. “No… it’s not possible!” The robot in Greg’s new video, the one he was showcasing with a smug grin, was my upgrade. Every last detail, every new line of code, was there on the screen. I scrolled down to see his post. His fans were already lavishing him with praise. Greg had written: “I felt my initial design was a winner, but in a competition of this caliber, you have to be willing to innovate. So, I decided to push the envelope with a significant upgrade. The performance isn’t perfectly stable yet, but if I can get some feedback from the judges, it’ll be worth the risk…” A cold dread washed over me. The core of the upgrade was a piece of programming that had come to me in a dream, a flash of pure inspiration. I treasured it like a divine gift, telling no one. Could he have hired a top-tier hacker? Was my workshop bugged? A terrifying theory began to form in my mind. “Leo, what do we do now?” Matt’s voice was a desperate whisper. “The forums… they’re tearing you apart.” 3 I stared at my phone, the screen a venomous stream of comments from Greg’s fans. “Tsk tsk, looks like the Leech ran out of material to steal.” “He’s been riding Greg’s coattails for years. Greg is a god, and Leo’s just a rat scurrying in his shadow.” … I took a deep, shuddering breath, the words blurring together. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I have another robot. I’ll use that one.” I was about to lock myself in the lab again when my phone buzzed. It was Seraphina. I had specifically told her to give me space before the competition. I stared at her name on the screen, a cold fury rising in my chest. I declined the call and blocked her number. “I don’t believe he can read my mind on this one too,” I said to Matt, my jaw set. “This animal-model robot… he can’t possibly know about it.” With the grim determination of a man on his last hope, I re-entered the workshop. This time, I cut the power to the router, severing all connection to the outside world. No hacker on earth could spy on me now. I carefully retrieved a hidden case from beneath my workbench. Inside was a project I’d poured my soul into for five years—a bio-mimicking drone. It was more powerful and versatile than any humanoid model, designed for reconnaissance in complex terrains. It was only a prototype, and I had never spoken a single word about it to anyone. Three hours later, the assembly and programming were complete. I stood back, my heart a mix of pride and anxiety, and looked at the spider-like machine. Its most unique feature was its adaptive structure; it could shift between eighteen different forms to navigate any environment. Greg could not know. He absolutely could not know. Taking a final, deep breath, I reconnected to the internet to upload the data. But the connection was lagging. The spinning loading icon on the screen felt like a harbinger of doom. My heart hammered against my ribs. The upload finally finished. I frantically pulled up Greg’s project page. His robot had changed again. It was my spider bot. My exact design. I scanned the parameters, my vision going blurry. They were identical to mine. And the timestamp on his upload was exactly one minute before mine. His latest post read: 【Hey everyone, I felt like the competition was getting crowded with humanoid bots. So, I thought I’d switch things up with this new arachnid-inspired model! If you guys like it, maybe I’ll do a giveaway of some miniatures…】 I looked at his smarmy, self-satisfied post and roared, sweeping everything off my workbench in a blind rage. “HOW? HOW IS THIS HAPPENING? WHY!” The raw, primal scream tore from my throat. Matt rushed in, saw the spider bot on my screen, and understood everything. “Could it be the organizers?” he stammered. “Are they feeding him your data?” It was the only logical explanation he could find for two identical, last-minute designs. I stood frozen in the center of the room, a dark, suffocating aura clinging to me. We had less than two hours until the final submission deadline. There was no time to build another new robot. “I’m calling them. Right now,” I snarled, pulling out my phone. As I did, I saw a text message notification. Seraphina had used someone else’s phone after finding she was blocked. 【Leo, I am in love with you. My love for you is like your shadow.】 【Where you are, I am. When you are gone, I cease to exist.】 The words flashed in my mind, sparking something, a fleeting connection I couldn’t quite grasp. I shook it off and dialed the organizers, my voice tight with fury as I laid out my accusation. 4 The official on the other end was cold and dismissive. “Mr. Vance, this championship is sponsored by the National Science Institute and overseen by two of its most distinguished fellows.” “It involves universities from across the country. We would never compromise our integrity for a single student. Besides…” His voice took on a mocking edge. “Your university isn’t exactly an Ivy League powerhouse with the pull to bribe a panel of national experts.” “Instead of making baseless accusations, maybe you should focus on improving your own skills.” He hung up. They wouldn’t take any more of my calls. “Leo! It’s getting worse online,” Matt said, his face ashen as he handed me his phone. The screen was filled with hate. 【So shameless. A blatant, last-minute copy. Get out of the competition!】 【Someone on Greg’s team must have been bribed. How else could this leech copy the newest design so fast?】 Greg himself had posted a reply, oozing false magnanimity. “It seems great minds think alike. Perhaps Leo and I just had a similar flash of inspiration. It’s no problem. Leo, you can have the design. I’ll compete with something else.” Beneath his comment, his fans praised his generosity. 【A true class act! So gracious, even to a thief!】 【LMAO, even if he’s given the stolen design, can he even operate it?】 【This is disgusting. Someone should report this parasite before he gets any more ambitious.】 I stared at the words, feeling the blood freeze in my veins. Why? Why was this happening? Was I doomed to repeat the past? To just give up? No. I refuse. There has to be something I’m missing. In the grip of that extreme, helpless rage, my mind suddenly became preternaturally clear. Memories of Greg flashed through my mind like a chaotic film reel. Before I met him, people called me a genius. But ever since he appeared, my light had been dimmed by his brighter star. He was always one step ahead, as if he could pluck my very thoughts from the air. A spark ignited in the darkness of my mind. “Matt,” I asked, my voice eerily calm. “Do you believe it’s possible for two people to have the exact same brainwaves?” He looked at me, bewildered. “What? No way. Not even identical twins are that in-sync.” “Okay,” I pressed on. “A robot you know inside and out. If you had all the parts, what’s the absolute fastest you could assemble a new one from scratch?” Matt considered it seriously. “Leo, I’m not on your level, but I’m no slouch either. With all the components ready, assembly and full diagnostics… minimum, half a day. These are precision instruments, not LEGOs. You can’t just snap them together.” His words were like a key turning in a lock. My eyes widened, and a slow, strange smile spread across my face. It grew into a laugh, wild and unrestrained. “You’re right,” I said, the sound echoing in the silent lab. “To build a machine like this from the ground up takes at least half a day. So how could two of them appear within a minute of each other?” “It’s not scientifically possible!” I stared at the two robots before me, my eyes gleaming with a terrifying, feverish light. I dragged the spider bot over to the industrial gravity press in the corner of the lab. My hand hovered over the activation button. “I’ve found it,” I whispered, a manic grin stretching across my face. “Your fatal flaw.”

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1 It was the seventh day since I’d faked my own death to escape the gilded cage of The Silk Sparrow pleasure house. To save my dying parents, I’d taken on a piece of dirty work: a Corpse-Right, a deathbed union with a fallen soldier to claim a widow’s stipend. The battlefield was a charnel house, the air thick with the iron tang of blood. I was shoved before a knight who had just breathed his last. “Get on with it,” the procurer, a grim man named Gris, snarled. “We need to consummate the union before he’s cold and stiff. If we can’t get his seed, we get nothing. And neither of us can afford that.” With that, he forced my head down toward the dead man’s groin. … The corpse reeked of stale sweat and old wounds, his armor and skin caked in a shell of dried blood. Gris was in a frenzy, pushing me into the dead man’s embrace. He clawed at my dress. “The union, now! You paid a pittance for this chance; be glad I found you a fresh one. Don’t you dare ruin this for me!” I felt the fabric of my bodice rip, exposing the curve of my shoulder as his hands fumbled to pull it lower. Panic seized me. “Wait! Please, wait! Let me do it myself!” I cried out, my voice thin and desperate. “Even on a battlefield… a union between a man and a woman deserves a moment of privacy, doesn’t it?” I scrambled for a better excuse. “Besides, at the Sparrow… I learned a certain art. A way to bring a man pleasure, even after death.” The brutal force on my dress lessened. Gris squinted at me, his eyes filled with suspicion. “What kind of art can please a dead man? Don’t play games with me, girl. Or have you forgotten about the Crown’s stipend? You’re no virtuous maiden to be hesitating now. Just a whore from a pleasure house.” His words branded me with shame. A hot, bitter tide of humiliation and rage swelled in my chest. But he wasn’t wrong. I had escaped a pleasure house. But I was not some wanton woman who reveled in being used. I had done it for money, to save my parents. When the matron tried to force me into the bed of a depraved lord—a true monster in the sheets—I chose to die. Or at least, to pretend to. The night I fled and returned home, my parents had wept as they held me. “Jenny, my child, forgive us,” my father had choked out, his body frail. “To have let you suffer so. I would rather die than see you debase yourself like this.” Four years ago, a plague had settled in my father’s lungs. We didn’t have a single coin for an apothecary, let alone the herbs he needed. So I went to the city, intending to sell myself into service at a lord’s manor. But on the way, a recruiter for the pleasure houses found me. A girl like me, he said, was worth ten silver pieces. More than I could earn in a year as a scullery maid. When I returned with the money, the apothecary and his tinctures in tow, my parents finally understood what I had done. They held me and cried until their eyes were raw and swollen. “Jenny, my life is not worth your future,” my father had pleaded then, just as he did the night I came home from the dead. “Run. Live for yourself.” I thought it was worth it. In those dark, suffocating moments at the Sparrow, when I had to force a smile for some fat, greasy merchant, the thought that my parents were out there, waiting for me, was the only warmth I had. When they took my hands and led me home, I accepted that my life would be lived in the shadows. It didn’t matter, as long as I could be with them. But the lord I had spurned would not let it go. My refusal was a stain on his pride. He sent his men to our small cottage. They burned it to the ground and stole the few coins my parents had saved over the years. I fell to my knees in the ashes and wept. It was the first time I truly understood: for people like us, there is no justice against the powerful. 2 Homeless and starving, my parents’ health failed again. Desperate, I was wandering the muddy streets of the war camp when a girl approached me. “Become a Corpse-Bride,” she’d told me. “Follow the army. When the soldiers fall, you perform the rite. Pleasing a dead man is no different than pleasing a living one, and you get the Crown’s stipend. Your parents will be safe for the rest of their days.” “Many women do it,” she’d added. “You’ll see.” And so I came. But I hadn’t expected this. I’d barely arrived when Gris dragged me onto the battlefield. After a brutal clash, the ground was littered with the gruesome, broken bodies of men. Some were still warm. Others were already cold, stiff, barely recognizable. This was my first union. My stomach churned with fear. I didn’t know any secret arts to please the dead; it was a lie to buy myself a few more seconds. Gris was the broker for these rites. He took a cut from us and a fee from the army command, who saw it as a tidy way to manage the affairs of their fallen men and distribute the Crown’s stipend. If a union was sealed, he got paid. That’s why he was so impatient. Seeing my hesitation, his face hardened. “If you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will!” Panic flared. I grabbed his sleeve, forcing a placating smile. “No, no, please, don’t be angry. I’ll undress. I’ll do it now.” But as I moved closer to the body, the metallic smell of blood filled my lungs. I pictured maggots, rot… and I gagged, bile rising in my throat. Gris exploded. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. “You useless bitch!” he roared. “You dare waste time? The moment for the rite is passing! He’s getting cold, don’t you understand? You’re costing me my coin, damn you!” His hand cracked across my face. The taste of my own blood filled my mouth, my head ringing from the blow. I stumbled, my hand falling against the corpse. The flesh was no longer warm. It was cold, firming into the unyielding hardness of a true corpse. A fresh wave of terror washed over me. Gris kicked me hard in the chest and spat on the ground beside me. “Bad luck charm.” He left me there, a lone figure on a battlefield of the dead. As darkness bled into the sky, I clutched my bruised ribs and began the slow walk back to the camp. Suddenly, a sound drifted from nearby—a strange, rhythmic noise. The sound of a woman in the throes of something that was both pleasure and pain. I froze, turning my head in disbelief. Not far away, by the side of the dirt track, lay the body of a soldier, his torso wrapped in fresh linen bandages. A woman was on top of him, her skirts hitched up, her body rising and falling in a steady, practiced motion. Her face was a blank mask, her eyes empty and distant. From my angle, I could see the pale flash of her naked thighs. If I were any closer, I knew I would see everything, the point where living flesh met dead. A hot blush flooded my cheeks. I had serviced many men at the Sparrow, but always behind closed doors. Never like this, out in the open, under the dying light of the sky. The sight sent a shockwave through me.

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My fingers clawed desperately at the car door as he drove off, dragging me over ten meters across the pavement. Watching the exhaust fumes fade into the distance, my heart turned to ashes. I thought I would die on that frozen mountain, but fate intervened—a passing stranger saved me and, in doing so, restored eight years of lost memories. The first thing I did upon waking was erase my current identity. 1 “Ma’am, are you certain? Once the identity of ‘Jenna Hayden’ is legally dissolved, that person will, for all intents and purposes, cease to exist.” I nodded, my voice steady. “I’m certain.” My name was never Jenna, anyway. I am Elara Vaughn. Eight years ago, a plane crash stole my memories and left me stranded in Port Sterling. The Hayden family took me in, and eventually, I became their daughter-in-law. George and I… we were in love once. The golden couple, the one everyone in our circle envied. That all changed two years ago, when she came back. I glanced up at the massive screen dominating the city’s central square. It was broadcasting the final moments of the national piano championship. Unsurprisingly, with me out of the way, Lila Sinclair had clinched first place. In the post-win interview, George was beaming, his smile radiating a warmth I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. “Lila has always been number one in my heart. No one can touch her talent. As her agent, I couldn’t be prouder.” “Oh?” the host chimed in, a little flustered. “My apologies, I just assumed the number one spot in your heart belonged to your wife.” George let out a smooth laugh. “When it comes to my heart, of course, Jenna is my number one. But when it comes to pure talent? That has always been Lila.” Hearing that, a bitter, ironic smile touched my lips. I turned away and dialed a number. “Pierce. I need a pickup in Port Sterling. Seven days.” Leaving the noise of the city square behind me, I slipped into a tattoo parlor on a quiet side street. “Hey, looking for some ink? What did you have in mind?” the artist asked, gesturing to a chair. “I need something removed,” I said, pointing to my chest, just over my heart. “This name.” He leaned in. “G-E-O? Those letters must have meant something special.” I looked down, a sad, hollow laugh escaping me. “They used to.” Four hours later, I walked back into our house carrying a small, custom-ordered cake. George was already home, lounging on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as I entered. “What’s the occasion? You bought me a cake?” The last embers of warmth in my heart flickered and died. It was my birthday. “It’s nothing important,” I said, my voice flat. “Just felt like it.” “Perfect timing,” he said, tossing his phone aside. The mention of Lila brought an unconscious, genuine smile to his face. “Lila won today. We’re having a celebration dinner later. I’ll take this along.” I was silent for a moment, then just nodded. I went to our room to change. George followed me in. “Elara, you should come to the party. You were the five-time champion before her. It would be good for you to show your support.” As he spoke, his eyes caught on something. “What happened to your chest? Why is it bandaged?” 2 “I got hurt when you dragged me with the car.” A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was fleeting. “Well, at least it’s just an injury. That tattoo is the proof of our love. Make sure it doesn’t get damaged.” “Right,” I said, the word tasting like ash. “I know.” His expression softened, satisfied. “Good. Get ready. We’re leaving soon.” The moment I settled into the passenger seat, a small bear-shaped air freshener on the dash chirped in Lila’s sultry, sweet voice. “Kissy kissy, handsome. Have a beautiful day!” George’s face tensed. “It’s just a stupid gag gift she recorded. Don’t read into it.” “I’m not,” I said, my voice a monotone as I turned to stare out the window, remaining perfectly still. I had to. Because my foot had just brushed against a tube of lipstick wedged under the seat. Lila’s favorite brand. Her signature shade of crimson. But I wasn’t going to say a word. I just wanted to pretend I hadn’t seen it. I was leaving soon; there was no point in starting another pointless fight. Halfway there, George started texting. He’d forgotten his messaging app was synced to the car’s display. LilaTheCat: When are you getting here, handsome? I’m starving. George: Again? I thought I fed you in the car just now, you greedy little thing. I stared at the screen, my mind numbly trying to picture them feeding each other snacks in the car. Then, like a switch flipping, another image burned into my mind. The lipstick under the seat… Fed you in the car… Oh god. They hadn’t been talking about food. They’d done it. Here. In this very seat. A wave of revulsion, deep and visceral, churned in my stomach. I, a notorious germaphobe, felt utterly defiled. “Stop the car,” I choked out. The moment it slowed, I shoved the door open and threw up on the side of the road. 3 “Can you hurry up?” George called out, his voice laced with impatience. “I’m on a schedule.” There was no way in hell I was getting back in that car. Seeing me dawdle, he slammed the passenger door shut. “Fine! Get in or don’t! I’m not your chauffeur!” By the time I arrived at the restaurant, the party was in full swing. George gestured for me to take the seat beside him. As I approached, I saw Lila’s leg draped casually over his, her hand pulling his own up, guiding it deep beneath the fabric of her skirt. George froze for a second, his eyes darting towards me. But Lila held his hand fast. He watched my face, and when he saw only a mask of indifference, he relaxed, a faint, flushed heat rising in his cheeks, mirroring the one on hers. Later, when the party moved on to drinks and games, George couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Elara,” he whispered, “could you run out and get me some ibuprofen? My stomach is killing me.” It was the perfect excuse to escape. I nodded and left the private room. Just as the elevator doors were closing, I realized I’d left my phone. As I walked back, I heard the muffled sounds of their friends talking through the door. “…the balcony? Damn, George and Lila are getting riskier.” “What choice do they have? There’s a pharmacy right downstairs. Elara will be back any minute. They have to be quick.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms to stop my hands from shaking. So everyone knew. Everyone was in on their little secret, and I was the fool left in the dark. Then, I heard George’s voice, strained and breathless. “Hey… keep it down. If my wife hears you, you’ll all answer to me.” A round of mocking laughter followed. They knew I wasn’t there. They knew I wouldn’t hear. I couldn’t listen anymore. I turned and fled, my retreat a clumsy, humiliating escape. When I returned with the medicine, they were all composed, sitting on the couches, playing a party game as if nothing had happened. Someone noticed me. “Hey, Elara was the last one here! You still haven’t given Lila a gift. Let’s all guess what our five-time champion is going to give the new winner!” In all my years as a Hayden, the finances were controlled entirely by George and his parents. I had almost no money to my name. Sensing my predicament, George leaned in and whispered, “Just give her some cash in an envelope. Put it on my tab.” I set the box of ibuprofen on the table. “The grand piano I’ve used for the last five years,” I announced, my voice clear and steady. “If you wouldn’t mind taking it.” A collective gasp filled the room. That piano was a one-of-a-kind instrument, handcrafted by the legendary Maestro Valerius himself. George had spent half a year convincing the Maestro to part with it. It had been his second-anniversary gift to me. Suddenly, the way everyone looked at me shifted, their gazes filled with a strange, calculating curiosity. After arranging for the movers, I was about to head to my room to rest when the door was thrown open. George stood there, his face a thundercloud. “What the hell was that?” he seethed. “Giving away the piano I gave you. What are you trying to say?” 4 I met his furious gaze. “You said it yourself. When it comes to talent, Lila is better. An instrument like that deserves a true artist.” His anger faltered. “How did you…?” “The broadcast was everywhere. I saw it on the screens in the city square.” They were his own words, thrown back in his face. He had no comeback. “But that doesn’t mean you just give it away! It was our anniversary gift!” I offered a thin, empty smile. “And?” He froze. “Jenna… what are you saying? Are you trying to leave me?” “I told you from the beginning,” I said softly. “If you ever fell in love with someone else, I would leave you forever.” He suddenly laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Go on, try it. Everything you are in this world, I gave you. Where could you possibly go without me? Don’t forget, Jenna. This marriage ends when I say it ends. You can’t divorce me without my consent.” But he was wrong. Because my name isn’t Jenna Hayden. My name is Elara Vaughn. And my marriage to him was never legally valid. “Don’t even think about leaving me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, menacing command. “You stay here, in this house, and be a good little wife. I’ll give you everything you could ever want. Remember that.” I smiled. A real smile this time. We’ll see about that. For the next four days, I systematically erased every trace of myself from that house. The clothes in good condition were donated to charity. The old ones, I burned in a small, contained fire in the backyard. I closed every social media account associated with Jenna Hayden. I went to the records office and officially relinquished the identity. And George would never notice. He and Lila were gone, jetting off to Singapore to celebrate her victory. Singapore was like their second home; they flew there at the drop of a hat. Three days until my departure. Lila sent me a picture. It was of a little girl, happily eating a snack. Her daddy made her the biggest candy apple today, just because his little princess asked for it~ This wasn’t the first time she’d sent things like this, but I’d never understood the context. The girl… what was her connection to them? This time, however, the photo was a clear close-up. And my blood ran cold. The little girl was a perfect, miniature blend of George and Lila. She was their daughter. So that’s why he never wanted to have children with me. How utterly, pathetically laughable. Two days until my departure. George threw an eight-million-dollar fireworks show for Lila. Eight million dollars, just to see me smile, her message read. He said it was worth it. The display was beautiful, I’m sure. He’d once promised to watch fireworks with me, a promise he never kept. And now, he never would. One day left. This time, there was no picture, no text. Just an audio file. I pressed play. The sounds of their lovemaking filled the silence of the room—his low, sensual groans, her high, breathy moans. I listened to the whole thing, then just smiled faintly. I placed the phone on his desk, next to a sealed envelope. Slinging my only backpack over my shoulder, I walked out of the ‘home’ I had lived in for eight years, and I didn’t look back. My ride was already waiting, a line of men in sharp suits standing discreetly at the private terminal. Just as I was about to board the jet, my burner phone rang. It was George. Hey, honey. I’m back from my trip. I’m on my way to pick you up for dinner. He was back, all right. Standing not fifty feet from me, with Lila and their daughter in tow. I kept my voice even. Dinner isn’t for another hour. Can you make it? He was laughing, bending down to tie the little girl’s shoelaces. As he opened his mouth to reply, I saw Lila lean in and press a lingering kiss to his lips. “Honey,” she purred, “you promised you’d take Nina and me to the amusement park first. And we have to get her back to Singapore tonight. We’re running out of time.” “Daddy, please?” the little girl pleaded. “I wanna go to the park!” A moment later, a text from George came through. Elara, something came up at work. Let’s reschedule dinner for three days from now. A genuine, liberating smile spread across my face. I switched the phone off for good. Sliding on a pair of dark sunglasses, I walked towards the jet, my security detail flanking me. We brushed right past George. He paused, a flicker of confusion on his face as he turned to look at my retreating back. “That’s weird,” he murmured. “That woman… she looked a little like Elara.” Lila laughed, pulling at his arm. “Don’t be silly. Someone that important, with bodyguards? Since when is Jenna Hayden a VIP?” George chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, you’re right.” He scooped up his daughter. “Alright, Nina, let’s go! To the amusement park!” As my plane taxied onto the runway, a calm, professional voice came over the cabin speakers, a sound I hadn’t heard in eight years but recognized instantly. Vaughn Jet-1, this is the tower. You are cleared for takeoff. Welcome home, Ms. Vaughn. Have a safe flight. 5 Upon landing on our family’s private island, I was met by a line of security staff, their stoic professionalism cracking as they saw me, their eyes red with emotion. “Welcome home, Miss Elara.” Eight years ago, after the crash, I was declared missing, presumed dead. My sudden return was a miracle they’d given up hoping for. My parents stood together, tears streaming down their faces as they watched me walk down the steps. My younger brother, Liam, broke from their side and ran to me, crushing me in a hug. “Elara,” he choked out. “I missed you so damn much.” I patted his back, my own eyes stinging. “It’s okay, Liam. I’m back now.” My parents hugged me next, their touch a mixture of relief and sorrow. To break the heavy mood, they immediately started teasing Liam. “Thank god you’re back. He’s been running the company into the ground while you were gone.” I knew it wasn’t true. Liam was more than capable, brilliant even. This was just my family’s way—now that I was home, they’d tear him down to build me up. It was a twisted tradition, but it was born from love. We all knew that. Back in the familiar comfort of our home, they asked where I had been, why I hadn’t contacted them. I’d intended to keep the details vague, but Pierce, the man who’d picked me up, had the subtlety of a sledgehammer. He’d spent the last week digging up every sordid detail of my life as ‘Jenna Hayden’ and now recited it all to my horrified family. Liam slammed his fist on the table. “That son of a bitch! You pay for a hooker, for god’s sake! My sister was his indentured servant—giving him her heart, her body, and her goddamn talent for free, just to be thrown out in a snowstorm!” “Liam, what a way to describe your sister,” my father grumbled, though his face was tight with fury. “A ‘free hooker’?” “But Elara,” he said, his voice softening as he turned to me. “You’re home now. Let’s forget all that ugliness. This is a fresh start.” I nodded, my heart swelling with a gratitude so profound it hurt. “A fresh start.” 6 Meanwhile, back in Port Sterling, after dropping Nina off in Singapore, George tried calling me. The line was dead. A knot of anxiety began to form in his stomach. “She’s probably just pouting,” Lila said, trying to soothe him. “You know how dramatic she can be.” But George couldn’t shake a deep, creeping sense of dread. Three days later, they finally returned to Port Sterling. As they drove past a music store, George instinctively pulled over. He went inside and carefully selected a new grand piano. Lila, assuming it was for her, confidently gave the owner an address. “Please have it delivered to Apartment 102 at the Cypress Towers.” “No,” George corrected the owner. “Send it to the villa at Blackwood Manor.” Lila’s smile froze on her face. George looked away, a flash of shame in his eyes. “It’s for Elara. I know she’s mad about the competition… she didn’t say anything, but giving away her old piano like that… she’s hurt. I need to make it up to her.” But when he arrived at the house with the delivery crew, he found it silent and empty. He frowned, calling out her name. “Elara? Jenna?” Strange. She should be home at this time. He told the movers to bring the piano inside. But as they opened the door and he saw the interior, the hopeful smile on his face vanished, replaced by a look of stark horror. The house was terrifyingly empty. The potted plants she doted on were gone from the balcony. The elegant vase she always kept filled with fresh flowers was gone from the dining table. Her favorite set of fine china was missing from the cabinet. George’s face paled. He stormed through the house, throwing open the doors to the bedroom, the study… everything that was hers, every single trace of Jenna Hayden, was gone. All that remained was a single envelope on his desk. Inside was a note with two short, brutal sentences. I know about you and Lila. Thank you for taking care of me all these years. I’m gone. Don’t look for me. There was no signature. Because in Elara Vaughn’s world, George Hayden didn’t exist. He immediately tried her phone, only to hear it vibrate from inside the desk drawer. She’d left it behind. A wave of panic seized him, and he gripped the edge of the desk to steady himself. “No… it’s not possible,” he muttered, his voice shaking. “Where could she go? Elara! ELARA!” He started calling their mutual friends, only to realize with a sickening jolt that Jenna had no friends of her own. In their circle, she was only ever seen as an extension of him, his quiet, unassuming wife. No one had any idea where she was. He was completely lost, his panic quickly curdling into rage. “You think you can just run away from me, Jenna Hayden?” he snarled at the empty room. “You think you can escape my grasp? If I want to find you, I will find you!” After twenty-four hours, he filed a missing person’s report with the police. 7 The result left him utterly dumbfounded. “Sir, we’ve run the name through every database. There is no legal record of a ‘Jenna Hayden’ ever existing.” He shoved their wedding certificate across the desk, but the officer was firm. No birth certificate, no social security number, no driver’s license. The woman he was married to did not exist. It was a sick joke. The woman he had shared a bed with for eight years, and they were telling him she was a ghost? George mobilized all his resources. Even his parents, sensing the gravity of the situation, pulled their strings. But it was no use. He discovered her social media had been wiped, too. It was as if the last eight years had been nothing but a dream. After two weeks of hitting nothing but dead ends, George finally broke. An all-consuming terror, the fear of losing control, washed over him. He paced her empty room, pulling at his hair, his mind racing. Finally, his eyes landed on her phone, the one she’d left behind. He picked it up. The lock screen was still the same picture she’d always used: her hand making a peace sign against a backdrop of a brilliant blue sky. It had always seemed so serene. Now it felt like a mockery. He opened her contacts. As always, it was empty save for his number and those of his family. Not even a contact for a pizza place. He checked her photo gallery. She had deleted every picture of them together. It was a barren wasteland of digital white space. With a trembling hand, he opened her private messages. And the world fell out from under him. The most recent chat was from Lila. The messages went back two years. Why don’t you just die already, Jenna? George and I have a child together. Don’t you feel any shame, still taking up his wife’s space? And Jenna’s only reply, sent just days ago: The space is yours. Just as you wished. He scrolled up, his heart pounding in his chest. Two years of vitriol. Two years of Lila sending her vulgar, taunting messages. Explicit descriptions of her trysts with George, intimate photos, even audio clips that made his stomach turn. And in all that time, Jenna had never once replied. Not until that final, devastating message. The space is yours. It was the only thing she had ever said to Lila. Staring at the screen, George’s hands began to shake violently. He sank to the floor, clutching his head. “No,” he whispered, the denial a raw, ragged sound. “No, it’s not possible.” “She loves me… She can’t live without me! She wouldn’t leave!” He repeated the words over and over, a desperate mantra to ward off the horrifying truth.

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The boy who promised to marry me the day we graduated from college proposed to someone else at my graduation ceremony: the family changeling, Annabel Lee. And then Adrian Thorne—known in our circle as the Saint of Manhattan’s elite for his quiet, contemplative nature—made a spectacle of declaring his love for me right after her engagement party. For five years of marriage, he was the perfect husband: gentle, attentive, doting on my every whim. Until I overheard a conversation between him and a friend. “Adrian, Annabel is a famous artist now. Are you going to keep up this act with Kaia?” “It doesn’t matter anymore. I can’t have Annabel anyway. Besides, as long as I’m with her, Kaia can’t interfere with Annabel’s happiness.” Then I found his private book of meditations. Every single page was a prayer for Annabel Lee. May Annabel be freed from her obsessions. May she find peace in mind and body. May Annabel achieve all she desires, and may her heart know no sorrow. … Annabel, we were not meant for each other in this life. I only pray that in the next, I can hold your hand. A five-year fantasy, shattered in an instant. I arranged for a new identity and staged a drowning. From now on, for all of eternity, we would never have to see each other again. 1 After confirming the final arrangements for my “death,” I hung up the phone. In two days, I would grant them their wish and disappear forever. A faint scent of sandalwood, the same scent as his prayer beads, drifted in from the doorway. I looked up instinctively. It was Adrian. He wrapped his arms around me, his voice a soft murmur against my hair. “Who was on the phone?” “No one important, just some business with the gallery,” I said, forcing a smile, trying to keep my voice from trembling. He pressed a kiss to the crown of my head. “You’ve been so busy lately. I’ll make you something light for dinner tonight, something easy on your stomach.” For five years, Adrian had been the epitome of a devoted husband. Everyone said that when a man like him, a man seen as above worldly desires, finally falls in love, it’s for an eternity. I used to believe I had found that kind of happiness. But now I understood. This marriage wasn’t my salvation; it was his way of protecting Annabel. Adrian’s hand gently massaged my shoulder. “By the way,” he said, “the Lees are throwing a party tomorrow. Annabel is pregnant, and they’re also celebrating her acceptance into the International Art Exhibition. You don’t have to go. I’ll drop off a gift and come right back to be with you.” “What about the exhibition? I was also going to—” He cut me off, his tone gentle but firm. “You should sit this one out. You’ve been saying you want a child, haven’t you? This is the perfect time to rest and take care of yourself.” I lowered my gaze, hiding the storm of emotions swirling within me. We’d been married for years with no children. I’d thought it was just a matter of timing, but now I suspected he never wanted one with me at all. He wasn’t telling me to rest for my sake; he was clearing the path for Annabel. He leaned in and kissed my forehead, seemingly oblivious to the fact that my heart had just plunged into a bottomless abyss. “Your birthday is the day after tomorrow. I’ve already prepared a surprise for you. Wishing you a year of peace and joy.” A year of peace and joy for Annabel. The name echoed in his blessing. I repeated the words under my breath, the sound suddenly grating. For years, every blessing, every good wish he’d ever offered me, had contained some subtle, hidden nod to her name. Only now did I understand. None of those blessings were ever meant for me. “That sounds wonderful,” I said, looking up and forcing another bright smile. “I’ve planned a little something for my birthday, too. Make sure you clear your schedule to be with me.” He nodded. “Of course. Whatever my Kaia wants.” My Kaia. The hypocrisy was suffocating. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I carefully slid Adrian’s arm off my waist, but in doing so, I knocked the sandalwood prayer beads he always kept with him off the nightstand. As I picked them up, I felt a strange texture on the surface of the beads. Leaning into the sliver of moonlight from the window, I looked closer. Tiny letters were intricately carved into each and every bead. ANNA. In that moment, the last flickering ember of hope in my heart went out. 2 The next morning, I told Adrian, “Let’s go to the Lees’ together.” His expression stiffened for a fraction of a second before smoothing back into his usual calm. “Alright,” he said lightly. “But we’ll leave right after we drop off the gift.” I knew he didn’t want me there. He was afraid I’d upset Annabel. But I just wanted one last look at my family. After all, by the next day, I’d be gone for good. The Lee manor was packed. Guests swarmed around Annabel, celebrating her pregnancy and her spot in the prestigious exhibition. They fawned over her, predicting her entry would surely win the grand prize. They mentioned that the piece even featured an inscription by the mysterious, sought-after artist known only as ‘A.N.N.’, calling it a perfect marriage of painting and prose. When Annabel saw me walk in, her face fell, but she quickly composed herself. Her smile was polite, but her voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Well, look who it is. Don’t you have anything better to do, sister?” I ignored her, my eyes fixing on the painting displayed prominently in the center of the room. It was a piece so familiar it felt like a knife twisting in my gut. It was one of my own paintings, a deeply personal work I had finished years ago and kept hidden away in my private collection, never shown to anyone. How was my painting here? How had it become her competition entry? Annabel watched me, a smirk playing on her lips. She leaned in close, her voice a soft, venomous whisper. “You like it, sister?” I shot her a cold look. Just as I was about to speak, she let out a sharp cry. “No—!” Before I could even process what was happening, she threw herself backward, stumbling and clutching her stomach, her face contorted in a mask of pain. The room erupted. “What happened?!” “Annabel’s pregnant! Who pushed her?” “Someone call a doctor!” Through the chaos, one voice cut through the noise, sharp with a panic that was all too real. “Annabel!” Others might not have recognized it, but I did. It was Adrian. The raw, unguarded anguish in his eyes shattered my last illusion. He saw me looking, and his expression instantly reverted to one of calm control. He turned to me, his voice gentle but laced with reproach. “Kaia, regardless of anything else, she’s carrying a child. You shouldn’t have pushed her.” Just then, someone rushed in with news. The painting had not only been accepted but was now a finalist, with a strong chance of winning the gold medal. A wave of undisguised joy washed over his face, a look I hadn’t seen in five long years. “That painting,” I asked in a low voice, “why does it look exactly like mine?” He tensed but quickly feigned ignorance. “Perhaps it’s just a coincidence. Her style has always been similar to yours…” I let out a cold, bitter laugh and said no more. That painting was stored in my private gallery. Only a handful of people had a key. And the inscription… though signed with a pseudonym, the elegant script was identical to the handwriting in the countless meditations Adrian had copied out by hand. It was painfully obvious how the painting got here, and who was behind it. I had painted it as a gift for him, for our fifth anniversary. Now, I realized, even the anniversary itself was a lie. The painting was meaningless. I smiled, my voice so flat it was impossible to read any emotion in it. Adrian seemed to sense something was wrong. “Why don’t we leave now?” he offered, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “We can go somewhere to relax.” I looked up at him, the corners of my lips turning up in a slight, chilling curve. “Let’s take the yacht out. A night cruise. We can watch the sunrise tomorrow.” 3 Once we were in the car, he started talking about my birthday. “I have everything planned. And once things settle down, we can start seriously planning for a baby, okay?” I listened in silence, my gaze fixed on the city lights blurring past the window. The car had barely pulled away from the curb when his phone rang. He answered, his brow furrowing with a familiar, troubled expression. I turned to him, my voice calm. “If you have something to do, you should go.” He hesitated. “Kaia, I—” “It’s fine. I’ll wait for you on the yacht.” I didn’t see the caller ID, but I knew. There was only one person who could make him look like that. After boarding the yacht alone, I pulled out my phone and opened Annabel’s social media. A new photo had just been posted. The caption read: So wonderful to have someone by my side to celebrate my success. He brought me a late-night snack and stayed just to talk. Thank you for always taking care of me. The comments were a flood of praise. “Your husband is the best!” “Now that’s a man who worships his wife!” My eyes, however, were glued to the hand in the photo, the one resting near the takeout container. On the wrist was a string of sandalwood prayer beads. Adrian’s prayer beads.

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On the day of my difficult labor, my sister threw herself against a wall to induce a miscarriage—just to lure our mother, a renowned physician, away from my side. I begged my mother to stay, pleading that my child was the Duke’s heir. But my sister, bleeding and petulant, refused any other doctor and died crying for our mother. After her death, my family acted as if nothing happened. No blame, no resentment. Until the Duke became King. His first act was declaring my sister his ‘First Queen’—his one true love. I was cast aside, my marriage annulled, banished in disgrace. At my family’s estate, my mother forced poison down my throat. I writhed for seven days before dying. My father drowned my infant son in the fountain, snarling, “The spawn of Isadora’s killer doesn’t deserve to live.” They scattered my ashes over her grave, whispering, “We’ve avenged you.” Then—I woke back in the birthing bed. My mother stood over me, hands bloody. “Isadora is hemorrhaging. Your labor can wait.” 1 A sharp, violent pain tore through my abdomen. I instinctively grabbed my mother’s sleeve, the old, familiar plea rising in my throat. She shook me off, her face a mask of fury. “Isadora’s life is in danger! If you have a shred of decency, you will let me go right now.” Hearing those words, I knew. I had been reborn. I was back on the day my world had ended. In my last life, my baby was in a breech position, a dangerous and difficult birth. I had summoned my mother, the most celebrated physician in the capital, to ensure my safety. But my sister, Isadora, hearing of this, took her five-month pregnancy and hurled it against a stone wall, all to pull our mother away from me. I had begged my mother to stay, reminding her that my child was the Duke’s heir, whose birth would secure our family’s future. After a moment of hesitation, she had agreed. I delivered my son safely, but moments later, word came that Isadora, in a fit of pique, had refused all other medical aid and bled to death. My parents had collapsed from grief. But when they awoke, they never spoke of Isadora’s death again, treating me with the same cool affection as always. It was a lie, a long and patient performance of forgiveness. Until Duke Alistair became King. He named my dead sister his ‘First Queen,’ while I, the mother of his heir, received no title. I was nothing. Alistair himself had the royal guard hold me down while he personally severed the tendons in my wrists. “If it weren’t for you,” he’d spat, his voice thick with hatred, “Isadora and I would have been together forever.” He cast me out, sending me back to my parents for the final judgment. My mother brewed the poison herself, a special concoction designed not for a quick death, but for maximum suffering. As I lay convulsing on the stone floor, I watched my father drown my son, my beautiful boy. He threw the small, lifeless body at my feet. “This monster who killed my Isadora should never have been born! We let him live in luxury for years. That was mercy enough.” Trapped in a prison of agony and boundless hatred, I suffered for seven days and seven nights before I finally died. My last memory was of them at her grave, their voices mingling in a triumphant whisper. “She and the monster are dead, Isadora. You can rest now.” Remembering it all, this time, I let go of my mother’s sleeve. I let her go. As she rushed from the room, I forced my mind to focus, recalling the techniques my mother had used in my previous life to turn the baby. I called for the midwives. “Help me,” I gasped. “We have to turn him. Now.” Hours of excruciating effort followed. Finally, through a haze of pain, I gave birth to a son. The sound of his first cry was the sweetest I had ever heard. The breath I had been holding for two lifetimes finally escaped my lips. But my relief was short-lived. My father burst into the room, his face contorted with rage. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. “This is all your fault! If you hadn’t insisted your mother attend you, Isadora would never have hurt herself!” He started pulling me from the bed. “Her child is gone, and she won’t stop crying! You’re coming with me to her house. You will let her vent her anger on you until she is calm.” 2 Five months prior, Isadora had been married off to a minor court official and moved into a lavish new villa our mother had prepared for her. It was a half-hour’s ride from the ducal palace. It was early winter now. I had just given birth. To be dragged out into the cold would be a death sentence. The royal physician stepped forward. “My Lord, you mustn’t! Her Grace just endured a perilous birth. This could kill her!” he pleaded. “If she catches a chill now, she may never recover.” My father hesitated, but the thought of Isadora’s tears hardened his heart. “She has always been strong. A little cold won’t kill her. She can recover later. But Isadora is fragile. If she keeps crying, she’ll do herself a permanent injury.” The icy wind bit at my skin as he dragged me out the door. I shivered violently. “Go!” I hissed to my handmaiden. “Get the Duke! Now!” Her face was streaked with tears. “His Grace left with your mother for Lady Isadora’s villa hours ago! He hasn’t returned!” My father shoved me into a carriage. I was wearing nothing but a thin bed robe. When we arrived at Isadora’s villa, her room was warmed by underfloor heating. She was wrapped in a thick fox-fur blanket, nestled in the arms of Duke Alistair. My mother was patiently coaxing her to drink a tonic. “There’s a good girl. It’s not bitter. Just a few sips.” Isadora took two small sips and pushed the bowl away, burying her face in Alistair’s chest. “My love,” she sobbed, “our baby is gone. It’s not fair! Why does she get to have your son, when our child never even had a chance to be born?” In that single, devastating moment, I understood everything. The child in Isadora’s womb was Alistair’s. My father, my mother, Alistair—they all knew. I was the only one in the dark. The marriage to the official was a sham, a cover to legitimize the birth of the Duke’s bastard. Of course. Alistair had always preferred her. If the old Queen hadn’t forced his hand, insisted he marry me for political alliance, he would have chosen Isadora in a heartbeat. It was no surprise she had secretly conceived his child. A wave of profound desolation washed over me. A gust of wind made me cough, a small, weak sound. It was only then that my mother seemed to notice me standing in the doorway. “What are you doing just standing there?” she snapped. “This is your fault!” She rose, pulled a long, stiff peacock feather from a vase, and pressed it into Isadora’s hand. “Here, my love. Your sister is here. If you are angry, take it out on her. It is not good to hold in such feelings.” She turned back to me, her voice cold. “A woman’s recovery is paramount. We cannot have you falling ill from grief.” She tried to force me to my knees to apologize. I stood rigid, my neck stiff with defiance. “She threw herself against a wall. How is that my fault?” My words sent Isadora into a fresh paroxysm of tears. “How could I dare to be angry with my sister?” she wailed. “She is the Duchess, and I… I am nothing!” Her performance was flawless. My father, my mother, and Alistair all looked at her with heartbroken pity. My mother fell to her knees before the Duke. “Your Grace, Isadora has sacrificed so much for you! Will you let her suffer this indignity without a name, without honor? Even her own sister dares to bully her now!” Alistair’s voice was thick with self-reproach. “It is my fault. I was too cowardly to defy my mother. I have made you suffer for years.” He gathered Isadora into his arms, wrapping the furs tighter around her. “Come. We are returning to the palace. Tomorrow, I will go to the Queen. I will demand she grant you the title of Royal Consort!” 3 I was forced into the carriage with them. Isadora, cradled in Alistair’s arms, met my gaze. A triumphant smirk played on her lips. I turned away, staring out the window, my mind racing. I had to get to the Queen. Isadora let out a delicate cough. “It’s so stuffy in here,” she murmured weakly. “The air is… heavy. I feel I might faint.” Her words sent them into a panic. Alistair’s eyes scanned the carriage, landing on me. “You. Get out. I’ll send someone to fetch you later.” We were on the busiest thoroughfare in the capital. I was in my bedclothes, my hair a mess, and he was going to throw me out onto the street. I refused, clinging to the carriage door. My father saw my defiance. He heard Isadora’s coughing grow more frequent, and his face twisted with worry. Without another word, he kicked me. Hard. I tumbled out of the carriage and landed in a heap on the cobblestones, in full view of the entire city. The carriage sped away. A murmur went through the crowd. Who was this woman? Some nobleman’s discarded mistress? I was freezing. I huddled in a darkened alleyway, trying to block out the whispers, praying Alistair would remember me and send someone. I waited for what felt like an eternity. Finally, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Helena? What are you doing here?” I looked up into a face that was almost a perfect mirror of Alistair’s. It was his twin brother, Prince Brigham. He stared at me, then his gaze dropped to my flat stomach. “When did you give birth? Why did my mother not say anything?” He took in my disheveled state. “And why are you here, dressed like this?” He saw me shivering and, without hesitation, removed his own heavy cloak and wrapped it around me. It was the first act of simple human kindness I had received in so long that I burst into tears. Sobbing, I told him everything. As he listened, a vein pulsed in his temple. He helped me onto his horse. “I’m taking you to the palace. We will have justice for this.” But a sudden, chilling thought struck me. My son. He was still at the palace. If my father was willing to drown my child to avenge Isadora in one life, he would surely do it again in this one. “No,” I begged Brigham, “take me back to the ducal palace. And please, go to the Queen. She is the only one who can help me now.” I rushed into the palace grounds, my heart pounding. I found them in the inner courtyard. My father’s hands were wrapped around my infant son’s neck. He was hesitating, his hands trembling. Isadora was weeping. “When I look at him, I think of my own lost child. If only my baby had lived, I wouldn’t feel this torment every time I see my sister’s son.” My mother’s voice was a venomous hiss. “If you cannot bring yourself to do it, then take him to the lake. We will say Helena’s labor was too difficult, that the child was stillborn. The Queen will have no reason to doubt us.” My father, weak and suggestible, agreed. They started walking towards the ornamental lake, my baby in their arms. I stumbled after them, my legs weak, my body screaming in protest. I caught up to them just as they reached the water’s edge. “He is my son!” I screamed, clawing at them, trying to snatch my baby back. “I am your daughter! This child is your grandson! Why are you so determined to destroy us? Isadora is human, but am I not? Is this child not?” My mother tried to wrestle the baby from me. We struggled, a frantic, desperate tangle of limbs. My father kicked me in the stomach, sending both me and my son tumbling into the icy water. The cold was a shock, a brutal embrace that stole my breath. But I could swim. Despite the weakness from childbirth, I fought my way to the surface, holding my son’s head above the water, and swam towards the small pavilion in the center of the lake. I prayed with every fiber of my being. Please, let the Queen come quickly. My mother saw where I was headed. “Fools!” she shrieked at the guards. “Get a boat! Bring the Duchess back here! She has clearly sent for the Queen. If her majesty hears her lies, who knows what will happen to us. We must kill them both before she arrives! We’ll say they both died from the difficult birth!” “With her gone,” she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “the way is clear for Isadora to become the Duchess.” They found a boat and began to pole their way towards me. Just as they were closing in, a proclamation echoed from the palace gates. “Her Majesty, the Queen, has arrived!”

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