To save up enough for a down payment on a house we could call our own, I skimped on everything—even the copays for my pain medication. I hoarded my medical issues like overdue bills, waiting until I could pack five different surgical procedures into a single five-day hospital stay to maximize my insurance deductible. For a brief moment, I was a local legend in the surgical ward. But that was also the day I saw Griffith, my supposedly broke boyfriend, deep in conversation in the hospital’s restricted VIP wing. My feet moved on their own, drawing me stealthily behind them. They were talking in the hallway, completely unconcerned about who might hear. “You wealthy heirs love playing the savior to a working-class girl,” a voice drawled, laced with amusement. “Christian did it, and now you’re doing it. When do you plan on telling her the truth?” Griffith shrugged, his shoulders shifting beneath a designer coat I had never seen before. “To be honest, only Christian was actually in love. I only stepped in because I was terrified Christian would crawl back to her and make Haley miserable.” I froze in the shadow of the corridor, my mind going entirely blank. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. Christian was my ex-boyfriend, the man who had vanished from my life five years ago after a brutal, ghosting-style breakup. Back then, his entire social circle had humiliated me, treating me like a street dog trying to sit at a banquet table. A single glass of vintage Merlot poured over my head had been enough to wash me out of his world. Since then, all I wanted was to find a normal, hard-working guy like myself and build a quiet, honest life. But it turned out I had just been a pawn in another rich man’s game. … A physical ache bloomed beneath my ribs, radiating outward. All the post-operative pain I had been trying so hard to breathe through came rushing back at once. Months ago, when the dermatologist found an atypical melanoma on my back and warned me of the malignant risks, urging immediate excision, I chose to wait. My stomach had been acting up too, and I figured I would just wait and handle everything at once. It wasn’t that I didn’t know the risks. It was just… a stubborn, foolish optimism. I had always believed that girls like me, grown from the cracks in the concrete, could survive anywhere. We were resilient. If I bundled the surgeries together, it would save us thousands in hospital facility fees and post-op prescriptions. So I delayed, week after week. When I finally scheduled the five procedures back-to-back, the surgeon had tried to talk me out of it. “Going under anesthesia five times in five days before the previous dose has even cleared your system is brutal on the body,” he had warned, looking at me with pity. “It’s safe enough under our supervision, but you are going to be in absolute agony.” But I had just smiled. At the time, all I could think about was celebrating Griffith’s promotion. He had told me he got a raise—an extra thousand dollars a month. That’s twelve thousand more a year for our house, I had calculated, tears of gratitude in my eyes. Looking back, his performance was flawless. I had been so deeply moved, believing we were finally closing the gap on our dream. After five years together, I thought we were both bleeding and sweating for the same future. To keep him from worrying, I had even scheduled the surgeries during a week he claimed he had to travel out of town for business. And yet, here he was. A slow, hot anger flared in my chest, carrying a heavy weight of humiliation. It felt as though these people could manipulate our lives on a whim, stripping away even our right to a simple, honest love. I could still hear the echoes of their old taunts. Gold digger. Social climber. A parasite trying to latch onto high society. When Christian and I were together, I admit I had a few innocent fantasies. I was eighteen, fresh-faced in college, and when a wealthy classmate pursued me, I naively wondered if I was the heroine of some romance novel. I believed that if I loved someone fiercely enough, the world would eventually bend in our favor. That illusion shattered the night of graduation. He had invited me to a private country club, promising I would finally meet his family. Instead, his mother had emptied a glass of red wine down the front of my cheap dress. Then, she slipped a few hundred-dollar bills into my wet clutch. “For girls like you, this is usually the standard rate,” she whispered. “Take it for the dry cleaning.” Christian had stood just a few feet away, swirling his own glass, silently watching. He never contacted me again. He said nothing, which in itself said everything. I became the joke of the campus. It was Griffith who had appeared in the aftermath, throwing his worn denim jacket over my shivering shoulders and screaming at the crowd, “You think your money makes you gods?” The memory made my chest tighten until it was hard to breathe. I dragged my feet back to the standard ward, my head spinning. The floor nurse saw me and immediately ushered me back into my room. “You need to stop walking around. If your vitals look good tomorrow, we’ll let you go home. Not a second sooner.” I nodded numbly, letting the movie of my last five years play on a loop behind my closed eyelids. That night, Griffith sent me a text. The business trip is going well. Want me to bring you back any local treats? I didn’t reply. Griffith had always been so good to me. He bore none of the cold arrogance of the wealthy elite. He would cook dinner for us after a long shift, knowing the price of every vegetable at the local market. He even knew how to mend a torn hem. He ate at greasy diners with me, and we would argue playfully over which brand of soy sauce was the better value. We fit together perfectly. Because of that, I never suspected a thing. I truly believed we were from the same world, two ordinary people pulling the cart together. I had brought him home to my parents, who treated him like the son they never had. I fully expected him to be my husband. He was my only one. That was why I worked myself to the bone to save for that down payment. I wanted to prove that regular people could build a beautiful, comfortable life. I had given up on fairy tales; I just wanted something real. When I didn’t reply for several hours, my phone rang. I stared at the screen, hesitated, and finally picked it up. Griffith’s voice rushed through the receiver, warm and energetic. He rambled about his day before adding, “Hey, Naomi, since I’m so close to my hometown, I think I’m going to drop by my parents’ place for a few days. You take care of yourself, okay?” “Yeah,” I murmured quietly, hanging up. I opened his social media profile. There were photos of him standing with his “parents” in front of a modest suburban house. But now I knew they were actors. His entire digital life was a curated set piece, likely visible only to me. A wave of bitter sorrow washed over me. During our third year of dating, we had gone to meet his “family.” I had spent weeks agonizing over my outfit. My parents, wanting to show their utmost respect, took a day off work and bought expensive gifts for me to bring. At the time, Griffith had only sighed. “You didn’t need to go through all this trouble. Just having you there is enough.” How hilarious. Of course it wasn’t a trouble for him—they weren’t even his real parents. But it certainly was a hassle to hire actors to play along with our earnest, working-class hopes. I wondered if, on our wedding day, he would have handed me a forged marriage certificate to keep the lie alive for another few decades, all to ensure his precious childhood friend Haley was safe from Christian’s lingering regrets. What a grand sacrifice. The next morning, I discharged myself from the hospital. I went straight back to work. I needed the distraction; work was the only thing that had never lied to me. But during an afternoon run to deliver some legal documents to a partner firm downtown, I ran into Christian. It had been years. The old anger had faded into a dull, cold indifference. I tried to step around him, but he blocked my path. “You and Griffith don’t belong together, Naomi,” he said, his voice tense. I looked up at him, a dry laugh bubbling in my throat. Was this a sudden burst of conscience, or was he just bored and looking to play the good guy? Before I could speak, a hand gripped my wrist with bruising force, pulling me backward. I stumbled, my lower back slamming into the sharp edge of a marble reception desk. The pain from my recent incision flared white-hot. I gasped, looking up to see Griffith standing over me, his eyes locked furiously on Christian. “Stay the hell away from my girlfriend,” Griffith spat. My wrist was already turning red under his grip, but Griffith didn’t notice. His focus was entirely on Christian. He wasn’t trying to protect me from being hurt; he was terrified Christian might still feel something for me, the girl he had abandoned. That was his entire mission. Griffith dragged me toward the exit, muttering under his breath, “He’s not the kind of man you can just climb up to. Why can’t you just…” My mind snapped into sharp focus. I wrenched my wrist from his grasp and walked away without looking back. I didn’t need anyone telling me where I belonged. I had no interest in Christian. And I was officially done with Griffith. That evening, Griffith came back to our apartment. Seeing me applying ointment to my bruised wrist, his expression softened into something resembling guilt. “I’m sorry about earlier. I lost my temper. I was just so worried he would hurt you again.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I silently reached around to try and dab medicine on the deep bruise near my lower back where I had hit the desk. Griffith’s eyes flickered with remorse, and he reached out to help me. But before his hand could touch my skin, his phone buzzed. His face went instantly rigid. He grabbed his coat and walked out the door. An hour later, Haley posted a sad emoji on her social media, captioned with nothing but a single dot. The punishment for my defiance arrived the very next morning. When I walked into the office, the usual morning chatter died instantly. My supervisor, who had promised me a promotion and a raise just last week, handed me a termination letter without meeting my eyes. My body went cold. I stared at the paper, unable to process the words. “Why?” I whispered. My supervisor didn’t answer directly. He quietly slipped an extra month’s severance into my file and murmured, “Naomi, sometimes it’s not about your performance. Did you happen to offend someone powerful?” A sickening realization began to settle in my chest, but I still fought against believing it. Griffith knew how hard I worked. He knew how difficult it was for a girl from a rural town to secure a decent corporate job in the city. He knew every late night and skipped meal that had gone into building this modest career. The bitterness in my mouth tasted like ashes. When I returned to the apartment, Griffith was in the kitchen. The air was thick with the scent of extra-spicy chili. This was his traditional way of apologizing. He hated spicy food, but whenever he knew he had upset me, he would force himself to cook it to make me smile. Usually, seeing him sweat over a hot stove for my sake would melt my anger instantly. But now, it only made me shudder. Which transgression was he apologizing for today? The bruise on my back, or the fact that I had just been blacklisted from my industry? Probably both. To him, they were one and the same. My throat tightened, raw and dry. “Griffith, we’re done. I want a divorce from whatever this relationship was.” He froze, the spatula hovering over the pan. Then, he quietly finished stirring and turned off the burner. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, his voice incredibly calm. “Once they get this out of their system, things will go back to normal. Just think of it as a setback, a tough lesson learned. You can find an even better job later, somewhere far away from them.” He didn’t even ask why I had been fired. He already knew. A cold dread settled deep in my bones as I stared at him. To people like Griffith and Haley, lives like mine were as fragile and disposable as paper. They couldn’t begin to comprehend the concept of hard work because everything they had ever wanted was handed to them on a silver platter. Haley never had to lift a finger; an army of men stood ready to burn down my life just to keep her smiling. But I had only wanted to live my own life. Why did they have to drag me into their theater, break my spirit, and then tell me I hadn’t learned my lesson? Tears burned the backs of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Haley’s social media feed updated again. It was a photo of a beautifully lit restaurant table. Thank you to my boy for always being there to clean up my messes. There was a single like from an account I recognized instantly. It was Griffith’s real profile. Even after five years of careful deception, some habits are hard to break. He used the same unique handle structure he always used. I clicked through the account and saw his family—prominent, old-money philanthropists who looked nothing like the hired actors he had brought to meet my parents. Griffith hadn’t been on a business trip last week. He had been celebrating Haley’s birthday at an exclusive resort. I spent the next two weeks pounding the pavement, looking for a new job. But at twenty-seven, in a saturated market and with a sudden, unexplained termination on my record, every door remained firmly shut. I wanted to go home. But before I could even pack my bags, my mother called. She didn’t mention anything wrong at first. She just kept her voice light, asking, “Sweetie, how are things going? Is work keeping you busy?” A chill ran down my spine. My mother was caring for my ailing grandmother; she never called in the middle of a workday unless something was wrong. After I pressed her repeatedly, she finally broke down. Both she and my father had been laid off from their municipal jobs on the same day. The small income they relied on was gone, and the shock had caused my grandmother to collapse. She was currently in the ICU. “Don’t worry about us,” my mother wept, trying to sound brave. “You and Griffith are saving for your house. Keep your savings for your future. We’ll find a way to handle things here.” The tears I had held back for weeks finally spilled over. I hung up and immediately tried to wire my savings to my mother’s account. Transaction Declined: Account Frozen. A furious, desperate rage erupted inside me. I opened our shared expense app, tracked Griffith’s location, and ran out the door. I arrived at an exclusive private lounge downtown. Before I could even push the heavy oak doors open, the sound of laughter drifted through the gap. “Man, Griffith, you really went all out,” a male voice laughed. “Getting her fired was one thing, but getting her parents blacklisted from their town jobs? That’s cold. She’s definitely going to learn her place now. She won’t dare show her face near Christian again.” “Griffith’s always been the ruthless one,” another chimed in. “Christian just wanted to date her for a bit back in college. Griffith went ahead and played the fake boyfriend for five whole years just to keep the playing field clear for Haley.” The words felt like physical blows, knocking the wind from my lungs. My parents had treated Griffith like their own flesh and blood. They had cooked for him, bought him gifts, and prayed for our future. And all of it was just a joke to these people. Then, Christian’s voice cut through the laughter, sharp and tense. “Enough. We dated for four years. She never asked me for a dime, and she never took anything from me. I was the one who chased her.” He glared at Griffith. “You’ve gone too far. Stop playing god with her life. Haley and I are fine. We don’t need you running around ruining lives to protect her. Treat people like human beings for once.” Griffith stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “What, you still have feelings for her? I warned you, Christian—stay away from her. She belongs to me now.” The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. The tension was thick enough to choke on. “We should probably get going,” someone muttered, sensing the impending explosion. As they opened the door to leave, they froze. I stood there, my fingers clenched into tight fists, staring directly at them.

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At the foot of the snow-capped mountains in Jackson Hole, Fiona had just slipped the diamond engagement ring onto my ring finger when she spoke in a quiet, steady whisper. “Actually, last night, I slept with Connor.” My breath caught in my throat. I stood there, paralyzed, watching her lips move. “Right in your room. In the bed next to yours while you were asleep.” “He was terrified of waking you. He bit his own lip to keep from making a sound, but he was so intense, Jared.” “Every time the mattress creaked, he gripped my waist and held me down. That look on his face—trying so hard to fight it, only to completely lose control—it was beautiful. I couldn’t help myself.” I forced my stiff face into a smile, my voice trembling violently. “Fiona, it’s the day of our proposal. Don’t play this kind of sick joke.” But Fiona just looked down, gesturing slightly toward Connor in the distance. Her voice remained flat, entirely devoid of remorse. “I’m not joking. Turn around and look at him yourself.” I turned my neck stiffly, looking at Connor, who was standing a few yards away, holding the bouquet of flowers meant for our celebration. His collar was slightly open. His neck and collarbone were covered in raw, unmistakable scratches and red marks. Fiona looked at my pale face and let out a soft, relieved sigh. “I didn’t want to feel guilty every time I touched him, and I didn’t want to keep lying to you.” “Jared, if you regret this, take off the ring. It’s not too late.” … The air around us felt entirely hollow. The warmth she had just pressed into my hands evaporated, leaving me in a freezing, nauseating void. “Why tell me today?” My voice was a dry rasp. The diamond band suddenly felt like a vice crushing my finger. Fiona looked at me and sighed again, a soft sound of pity. “Because Connor was hiding behind the SUV earlier, smoking alone. His eyes were completely bloodshot.” “Everyone was cheering when I proposed to you, but he was just standing in the shadows, eating himself alive with guilt.” “Jared, I can’t bear to see him suffer like this, torn between us.” The raw protectiveness in her voice pierced through me like glass. Just last night, she had been whispering in my ear, breathless, telling me how much she loved me. Telling me I was the only man she ever wanted to marry. And now, she stood there with absolute indifference, telling me she had just slept with the man I called my brother. Sensing the shift in our atmosphere, Connor tossed his cigarette and walked over. “Hey, Jared. Is everything okay?” His eyes darted away, completely unable to meet mine. Fiona sighed, reaching out to pull Connor close to her side. “Connor, stop it. I already told him.” Connor froze. Every drop of color drained from his face. He violently yanked his arm from her grip, his voice cracking with pure panic. “Are you out of your mind, Fiona! We agreed we were taking this to our graves!” “Today is Jared’s day! How could you do this to him now?” He whipped his head toward me, his face a mask of desperate guilt. “Jared, man, I’m so sorry… I had too much to drink. I lost my mind. I swear to god I never wanted to ruin what you guys have…” Watching his face, twisted in a perfect display of remorse and pain, my chest tightened until I could barely breathe. Why did it have to be him? Back in high school, we got cornered in a back alley by a gang of older kids. It was Connor who grabbed a broken beer bottle, stepped in front of me, and took a brick to the skull. He spent two weeks in the hospital for me. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, I begged every relative we had and still couldn’t raise the money for her chemotherapy. It was Connor who, without a second thought, handed over his entire life savings—the money he had spent years scraping together to open his first business. He had looked me in the eyes and said, “Jared, as long as you’ve got me, you don’t have to carry the weight of the world alone.” And now, the brother I would have died for was standing in front of me, admitting he had crawled into bed with the woman I loved. “Too much to drink? Lost your mind?” My eyes burned, my fists clenched so tightly that my fingernails cut deep into my palms. “So, as long as I didn’t find out, you two were just going to carry on behind my back? Clean consciences, no harm done?” Connor went silent, turning his head away, his eyes rimmed with red. “I’m sorry… Jared, it’s all my fault. Everything…” He took a step forward, reaching out to touch my arm, but I violently shoved his hand away. “Don’t touch me!” Fiona’s face darkened instantly. She shoved me back, stepping in front of Connor to shield him, her eyes flashing with pure fury. “Jared, what is wrong with you!” She glared at me as if I were the monster. “He has given you everything over the years! He nearly died for you! Can’t you find it in your heart to be decent enough to forgive him just once?” Stumbling backward from her push, I stared at her protective stance over him. The sheer absurdity of the moment washed over me. Ten years of brotherhood. Seven years of love. In a single second, it had all devolved into an ugly, toxic ledger. I opened my mouth, but no words came. My stomach churned with a deep, hollow sickness. There was only a crushing, freezing exhaustion. “Decent?” I let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Maybe I should buy you guys a wedding gift instead. Give you my blessing.” Fiona looked down at Connor’s split lip, her expression turning completely cold. “Grow up, Jared. We are adults. You need to learn that love and marriage are not the same thing.” “Take some time to clear your head. The engagement party next month is still happening. You are still the only one I am legally marrying.” With that, she took Connor’s arm and led him toward the SUV. The doors slammed shut, the engine roared to life, and the tires kicked up a blinding flurry of snow as they drove away. I pulled out my phone, but the screen only showed a cold ‘No Service.’ Shaking, I pulled my collar tight and began the long walk back. The wind howled, pushing icy air straight down my jacket. My legs grew numb, but the dull ache in my chest only grew sharper. We had walked through blizzards together before. During college, when my stomach ruptured, they both stayed by my hospital bed for days, surviving on cheap coffee, their eyes completely bloodshot. On the day I was discharged, the roads were covered in black ice. They held me by my arms, guiding me step by step. Connor had grinned, shouting through the wind, “Hey, Jared, we’re your personal security detail today. Even if the sky falls, your brother’s got you!” Back then, they fought over who got to take care of me. I remember holding Fiona’s hand, smiling as I told her, “Connor is a great guy, but he’s careless. Look out for him when I’m not around, okay?” I never imagined that “looking out for him” would take them all the way to my bed. It was a ten-mile walk down the winding mountain road, and I moved entirely on survival instinct. When I finally pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the lodge, the blast of indoor heating hit my frozen face. The owner’s wife gasped when she saw me standing shivering in the entryway. “Oh my god, honey, did you walk all the way back? You must be frozen solid!” I couldn’t speak. My eyes were locked onto the Polaroid wall next to the reception desk. Following my gaze, she smiled warmly, sighing. “Oh, you’re looking at that couple? I’m so jealous of them. They’re gorgeous, aren’t they? They come here every winter to watch the snow. Honestly, their love is something out of a movie.” I stared at the fading Polaroid. In the photo, Connor was holding Fiona from behind, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Their faces were pressed together, laughing with a comfortable, intimate warmth. In the bottom right corner, a date was written in neat ink: December 24th, two years ago. That was the night my mother died. I had been alone in the hospital, signing the cremation papers. It was freezing. I sat in that sterile hallway clutching her ashes all night. I had called Fiona. Her voice on the phone had been breathless and distracted before she abruptly hung up, texting me later that she was stuck at a last-minute corporate event. I had called Connor. He told me he was out drinking with clients and couldn’t leave. They weren’t busy. They just had each other. This cabin had been their secret escape long before I ever set foot here. No wonder they booked the tickets and mapped out the trails with such practiced ease. I was the only fool who thought this was a special trip for a proposal. A sharp, burning pain hit my throat. I was the one who didn’t belong here. I was the one who needed to leave. With trembling fingers, I opened my phone and booked the earliest flight out of Wyoming for the next morning. I walked back to the room I shared with Connor. The scent of sex still hung faintly in the air, sending another wave of nausea through me. Dragging my suitcase onto the floor, I began packing my things in silence. But my eyes kept drifting to the other bed. The sheets were heavily wrinkled, marked with damp, telltale stains. A bitter laugh escaped my throat. This morning, Connor had groaned, rubbing his back, complaining that the cabin’s mattress was too stiff. I had teased him, calling him soft and apologizing for not booking a luxury suite. Now I knew. They had spent the entire night tearing each other apart in that bed. I pulled the diamond ring off my finger and set it on the nightstand. What was never mine didn’t deserve to be kept. Just as I was about to walk out to ask the front desk for a different room, the door swung open. Fiona and Connor walked in. Fiona’s eyes immediately fell on the open suitcase and the ring on the table. Her brow furrowed. “Jared, what are you doing? Are you still throwing a tantrum?” “Leaving you on the road was wrong, but I drove back to look for you. You were already gone.” When I didn’t answer, she stepped closer, her voice softening. “Come on, stop acting like this, okay?” “I gave you that ring because you’re the one I want. That hasn’t changed.” “Let’s go. Everyone is downstairs waiting to drink with us. Connor and I were worried sick about you.” I stepped back, evading her touch. My eyes drifted to the messy bed beside us. When I spoke, my voice was shockingly calm. “Worried? Were you worried while you were in that bed, or while you were posing for the photos on the wall downstairs?” Fiona’s hand froze in mid-air. Connor whipped his head up, his face pale with horror, his lips trembling. “Jared… you saw that?” He grabbed his hair in frustration, his eyes red. “I’m sorry… Jared. I know I’m a piece of shit. I shouldn’t have let my urges take over.” “But Jared, I really fell for her. I tried to walk away. I swear I tried…” Fiona pulled Connor behind her again, glaring at me with cold irritation. “Jared, do you have any empathy at all?” “Connor is a victim in this too. He has been suffering in silence for years. As the one who actually gets to have the marriage, can’t you just let this go once?” My hands balled into tight fists, my joints popping. The fragile control I had held onto finally shattered. “Fiona, does any man who wags his tail at you get a turn in your bed?” “My mother’s funeral… when you both disappeared. Were you screwing then too?” “Were you really that desperate for a cheap thrill while my mother was being laid to rest?” Fiona’s face turned white with rage, and she let out a venomous laugh. “Yes! We wanted a thrill! What does your dead mother have to do with me anyway?” “Do you want to know what it felt like in the restroom mirror of the funeral home? Do you want to know how wild it was on the balcony of this very cabin?” “The way Connor held me—the satisfaction he gave me—is something a broken, half-paralyzed man like you could never give me!” The room fell into a suffocating silence. The memory of my mother’s cold urn merged with the muffled noises I had heard over the phone years ago. Every breath felt like my lungs were being torn apart. It hurt so deeply that the tears wouldn’t even come. Connor gasped, grabbing her sleeve in a panic. “Fiona! Don’t…” Fiona looked at my ghost-white face, and a flicker of regret seemed to cross her eyes. But she quickly brushed her hair back, pulling Connor toward the door. “There’s a game night downstairs. Everyone is waiting.” At the threshold, she stopped, her voice hard. “If Connor hadn’t begged me in tears to come get you, I wouldn’t have even bothered.” “Come down or don’t. I don’t care anymore.” The door slammed shut, rattling the frame. I collapsed onto the bed that still smelled of their betrayal, and let the tears flow in silence. All I could see was the ash blowing through the wind on the day of my mother’s funeral. I don’t know how long I lay there before the room went completely dark. I forced my numb legs to stand. I wiped my face and finished packing my bag. My flight was in the morning, but I couldn’t spend another second in this room. Most of our friends were downstairs. I couldn’t avoid them forever. It was time for a clean break. Downstairs, the lounge was brightly lit, filled with roaring laughter. “Fiona! You chose truth! Now spill!” “What’s the best thing that happened to you this year?” I froze in the shadows of the staircase landing. The noise died down as everyone waited for her answer. A moment later, Fiona raised her glass, her voice carrying clearly across the room. “Last month, I found out I’m pregnant. It’s Connor’s.” My heart seized in a violent spasm. Years ago, during her car crash, the vehicle was completely crushed, and fuel was leaking everywhere. I had ignored the flames, using my bare hands to pry open the jammed door to pull her out. Right as I dragged her clear, the car exploded. The blast threw me yards away, shattering my pelvis and spine. The doctors told me my reproductive nerves were destroyed. I would never have children. She had wept at my bedside, swearing she would spend her life making it up to me, promising that a sexless marriage would be enough. And now, she was having another man’s baby. Downstairs, a loud cheer erupted. Tyler, who I had always treated like a brother, stood up and popped a bottle of champagne. “Holy shit, Fiona! Connor, you absolute legend! You kept that quiet!” “But seriously, Connor, bringing a pregnant woman to a ski resort? You’re going to give yourself a heart attack worrying about her.” “I’m going to be the godfather! No one else gets to claim it!” Another close friend, Mason, clapped Connor on the shoulder, laughing. “No wonder you guys had that sudden beach wedding last month. Shotgun wedding of the year!” Fiona raised her glass in a toast, sighing softly. “You all know Jared’s situation. He got hurt saving me, and he can’t have kids.” “Once the baby is born, we’ll put it under Jared’s name so he has an heir. Connor sacrificed a lot for us; giving him a small wedding was the least I could do.” A beach wedding? An heir? The words felt like a physical blow. Last month, Fiona told me she had to go abroad for an urgent business trip. Even when I was running a 104-degree fever, she said she couldn’t fly back. She was marrying Connor. And every single one of these friends, the ones who called me brother, had been there. I was the only blind fool. A wave of pure pain washed over me, making my body shake violently. My grip on my suitcase slipped. The heavy bag tumbled down the stairs. The loud, crashing thuds echoed through the suddenly silent room. Everyone whipped their heads around. As they saw me standing in the shadows, panic washed over their faces. Connor was the first to react, rushing to the bottom of the stairs. “Jared… it’s a blizzard out there. Where are you going?” I stared at him with cold, dead eyes. He took a step up, desperate. “Wherever you’re going, let me drive you. I don’t want you out there alone.” Tyler stepped in front of him, his face twisting with annoyance. “Jared, what is your problem? We all came out to this freezing resort because you wanted to.” “Fiona is pregnant. If you don’t care about your own life, think about her. You’re basically half-crippled anyway. Connor is literally letting you raise his kid to give you a legacy. What more do you want?” Looking at their defensive, self-righteous faces, I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. Years ago, when Connor and these guys had no money and no connections, I was the one who pulled them into my business, giving them clients and funding. And now, they were biting the hand that fed them. I walked down the remaining stairs, kicking aside a piece of broken glass. I looked at Tyler and Mason, my voice chillingly calm. “You’re right. She’s pregnant.” “And she just married my best friend. She’s fragile.” I reached the front door and looked back one last time. “You loyal bridesmaids and groomsmen better take good care of her.” “Make sure she doesn’t catch any bad luck from a useless, sterile man like me.” The room went entirely silent. Their faces turned a sickly shade of gray. Fiona stepped forward, pulling Connor back to her side. Her face was set in a hard mask. “Let him go.” “This dramatic exit routine is getting old, Jared. Stop wasting everyone’s time.” “But let me make this very clear.” “You walk out that door tonight, and the wedding is off.” The air was heavy, dead. I looked at her for a long moment, and a genuine, self-deprecating smile touched my lips. “Fine.” My voice was a quiet whisper. “It’s off, Fiona.” I pushed the heavy door open, stepping out into the roaring wind and snow, and climbed into the waiting black SUV. Inside, the heater blasted comforting warmth. The lodge owner’s wife handed me a steaming travel mug of hot tea. “You made the right choice, kid. Buckle up. Let’s get you to the airport.” “Thanks,” I whispered, taking the tea. I opened my phone and pulled up the pending transfer request for the European branch. Without a second thought, I tapped ‘Accept.’ I had nearly died trying to hold onto a lie. It was time to live my own life.

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My wife handed me the first slice of our daughter’s third birthday cake. “Eat up,” she said, her voice casual, almost pleasant. “And then sign the custody waiver.” The metal fork froze halfway to my mouth. She reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her smile serene and untroubled. “Ryan’s fiancée just found out she’s sterile.” I forced my voice through a throat that felt like it was closing up. “And?” She let out a soft, melodic laugh. “So, his biological child—our daughter—needs to go back to her rightful father. It’s only fair.” Ryan. My best friend since high school. My daughter’s godfather. A cold numbness crept down my spine, making every breath feel like inhaling crushed glass. Rita pulled a tissue from the box on the table and gently wiped a smudge of frosting from my cuff. Her touch was tender, a mocking contrast to her words. “His sperm count was always so much better than yours, Matt. We tried for three years after Ella, and you couldn’t get me pregnant again. But that night before our wedding? He got it right on the first try.” She pointed a manicured finger toward the hallway. “Right there in our bed. On our wedding sheets.” She leaned in, her eyes shining with a cruel amusement. “He was so rough that night. It actually hurt. Remember the next morning, when you thought I was having bad menstrual cramps? You made me hot tea and held a heating pad to my stomach. Have you forgotten?” I looked past her to the living room, where Ella was playing. I looked at her small face, realizing for the first time that she didn’t share a single one of my features. With a hand that wouldn’t stop shaking, I picked up the pen and signed my name. Fine. Take her. Take both of them. I was done. 1. The pen scraped against the paper, leaving a dark, permanent line. Before my mind could fully process the sheer absurdity of the moment, the plate slipped from my fingers. The slice of birthday cake hit the floor with a soft, wet thud. Rita only gave me a look of pure disgust, the kind of look you’d reserve for a stray dog that had ruined a carpet. She didn’t say a word. She simply turned, walked into the nursery, and scooped our sleeping daughter into her arms. “I’m taking Ella to Ryan’s house now,” she said, her voice flat and cold. “She spent her first two birthdays without her real father. She’s three now. It’s time she spent a birthday with her actual dad.” She stood in the doorway, cradling the sleeping child, and looked back at me with absolute indifference. “Pack up the rest of her things. Bring them to Ryan’s penthouse when you’re done.” She didn’t wait for an answer. She walked out, confident that I would do exactly as I was told, leaving me alone in the quiet apartment. The silence in the living room was deafening, broken only by the sight of the ruined cake on the floor. I knelt down and began putting Ella’s toys, her clothes, and her little bottles into a duffel bag. Every single item felt like a physical blow to my chest. How had my life become this? Ryan had been my brother. Rita had been my college sweetheart, the woman I spent eight years loving, the woman I thought I would grow old with. I was the one who had introduced them. When Ryan fell on hard times after graduation, I was the one who begged Rita to use her family’s connections to get him a decent job. I still remembered the night Ryan threw his arm around my shoulder, his face flushed with gratitude. “Man, I’m so lucky to have you. And Rita? She’s an angel. I’m incredibly jealous of you, brother.” And Rita had smiled, slipping her hand into mine. “Any friend of Matt’s is a friend of mine. It’s the least we could do.” I had believed them. I had felt so incredibly fortunate to have them both in my life. Now, those memories felt like a sequence of cruel jokes, each one ending in a violent slap to the face. The two people I trusted most in the world had quietly aligned to destroy me. I took a cab to Ryan’s place. He lived in a luxury penthouse downtown, a sprawling, sunlit space with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. It was a world away from our cramped, drafty apartment. The heavy front door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and walked into the foyer, only to freeze at the scene playing out in the living room. Rita was holding Ella in her lap. Ryan was sitting next to them, laughing as he waved a peanut butter cookie in front of Ella’s face, about to feed it to her. The blood rushed to my ears. “Don’t give her that!” I lunged forward, slapping the cookie out of Ryan’s hand. It crumbled across the polished hardwood floor. Before I could even explain, a sharp sting exploded across my left cheek. The slap echoed through the high-ceilinged room. “Are you insane?” Rita screamed, her face contorted with rage. “Do you have to ruin everything? It’s her birthday!” Ryan immediately stepped between us, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Rita, honey, stop. It’s okay. I’m sure Matt didn’t mean to.” Rita pushed him aside, pointing a finger at my chest. “Don’t defend him, Ryan. I know exactly what kind of bitter, pathetic man he is.” A hollow laugh escaped my throat. She knew what kind of man I was? In college, I was the top of my class, with a bright future ahead of me. But I had poured everything I had into her. I spent half my monthly allowance buying her gifts, making sure she never felt less than her wealthy classmates, while I quietly lived on instant ramen in my dorm room. When her father fell critically ill and his insurance wouldn’t cover the experimental treatments, I was the one who emptied my entire housing fund to pay the hospital bills. I remembered her crying in my arms in that sterile hospital corridor, whispering that I was the best thing that had ever happened to her, promising she would love me forever. And now, in front of another man, she looked at me like I was garbage. My cheek burned, but the pain was nothing compared to the cold ache in my chest. I forced myself to stand tall, looking directly at Rita. “Ella is severely allergic to peanuts,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. 2. Rita froze. The color drained from her face as the realization hit her. She quickly kicked the remaining cookie crumbs under the sofa. She looked at my swelling cheek, her voice suddenly losing its sharp edge. “I… I thought you were just trying to cause a scene. I reacted without thinking.” A scene. To her, my protectiveness was just a bitter ex-husband throwing a tantrum. It was almost funny. Before anyone could say anything else, Phoebe, Ryan’s fiancée, walked down the stairs. She was wearing a cream-colored silk dress, her movements graceful and elegant. She looked at me with a polite, practiced smile. “Matt,” Phoebe said, her voice soft and full of pity. “Thank you so much for taking such good care of Ella these past three years. We really appreciate it.” She looked me up and down, her eyes lingering for a second on the frayed collar of my faded t-shirt. She reached into her designer purse and pulled out a check. “Please. Take this. It’s the least we can do.” The piece of paper felt like a brand, a physical manifestation of my humiliation. “I don’t want your money,” I said, stepping back. But Rita grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly tight. “Matt, stop being so stubborn,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. “We all know you’re drowning. You’re working three different jobs just to keep your head above water. You look like a ghost. Just take the money.” I stared at her, utterly speechless. Ryan stepped up, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder, playing the part of the benevolent savior. “She’s right, Matt. Don’t let your pride get in the way. Look at your clothes—you’re practically falling apart. We’re family here. If you need help, just ask. Nobody’s going to judge you.” I looked at his hand on my shoulder. I was broke. But why was I broke? Because I had given every penny of my savings to save Rita’s father. And right after that, Ryan had come to me, sobbing on his knees, begging for help because he had gotten mixed up with loan sharks over sports betting. He told me they were going to break his legs. I couldn’t watch my best friend get hurt. I took out a massive personal loan under my own name to clear his debt. I was still paying off the interest every single month. Meanwhile, Ryan used that breathing room to launch his tech startup, buying this penthouse and driving a Porsche, while I worked myself to the bone. And now, he was using my poverty as a stage to perform his charity. The last shred of warmth in my heart died. If they wanted to strip away my dignity, I had no reason to protect theirs. I knocked Ryan’s hand off my shoulder. I looked him dead in the eye, my voice quiet but perfectly clear. “You’re right, Ryan. Things are tight.” I turned to Phoebe, whose smile was beginning to falter. “So, Ryan, since we’re being honest here—when are you going to pay me back the fifty thousand dollars I borrowed from the bank to save your life?” The air in the room instantly turned to ice. Ryan’s face hardened. He hadn’t expected me to bring up the dirty details of his past in front of his wealthy fiancée. Phoebe frowned, looking between us. “What fifty thousand dollars?” She clearly knew nothing about it. I opened my mouth to tell her the whole story—how her perfect fiancé had whimpered like a child on my living room floor—but Rita cut me off, her voice shrill and defensive. “Matt, what are you talking about? Ryan paid you back years ago!” I stared at her, stunned by the sheer shamelessness of her lie. She stepped in front of Ryan, protecting him like a shield. “He paid you back the second his company went public! I saw the transfer myself. I know you’ve got a gambling problem of your own now, Matt, but trying to extort your best friend in his own home? That’s low, even for you.” 3. The pity in Phoebe’s eyes curdled into instant disgust. She instinctively took a step back, pulling Ella closer to her side as if I were a disease she might catch. Ryan recovered his composure quickly, stepping forward with a heavy, performative sigh. “It’s fine, Rita. Don’t get upset,” Ryan said, shaking his head at me. “Matt, I know things are hard for you. People say crazy things when they’re desperate. I don’t hold it against you. Let’s just let it go.” He turned to Phoebe, his voice softening. “Phoebe, why don’t you take Ella upstairs to the playroom? Let us men handle this.” Phoebe gave me one last look of utter revulsion, gathered Ella into her arms, and walked up the stairs. Once they were out of sight, the mask slipped. I looked at the two of them, the anger burning away the last of my restraint. “Do you think you can just lie your way out of this, Ryan?” I whispered. “What if I go up those stairs right now and tell Phoebe exactly what you and Rita did in my bed the night before my wedding?” Ryan didn’t flinch. He actually chuckled, adjusting the collar of his designer shirt. “Go ahead,” he said smoothly. “But who do you think she’s going to believe? A successful entrepreneur, or a broke, bitter construction worker who can barely pay his rent?” He was right. I had no proof. I had trusted them too much to ever keep records. Before I could say anything, a sharp, terrifying scream pierced the air from the second-floor landing. It was Phoebe. “Ella—!” Then came a sickening gasp. “She fell!” My brain stopped working, but my body moved on pure instinct. Even if she wasn’t mine by blood, she was the little girl I had tucked into bed every night for three years. She was the only thing I had ever loved. I sprinted toward the stairs. Looking up, I saw her small body tumbling over the low railing of the mezzanine. I didn’t think about the height. I didn’t think about the hard marble floor beneath me. I threw myself forward, diving onto the cold stone, extending my arms to create a human cushion. Thud. Her weight hit my chest, and the impact sent a white-hot jolt of agony straight down my spine. It felt as though my back had been split open with an axe. The breath was knocked completely out of my lungs, and for a second, the world went black. Ella started screaming in my arms, terrified but completely unharmed. I let out a ragged, painful breath, unable to move a single muscle. Phoebe came rushing down the stairs, her face white as sheet, her hands trembling. “I’m so sorry, I just turned my back for a second…” She didn’t check on me. Her first instinct was to tear Ella out of my grasp. Once she had the sobbing child in her arms, she patted her back, her voice shaking as she whispered, “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. Let’s get you away from him. Uncle Matt is dirty.” Ella snifled, her tiny fingers clutching Phoebe’s silk dress. She looked down at me with wide, fearful eyes, repeating the words she had just heard. “Uncle… dirty.” Those two words felt like a knife twisting in my chest, tearing through the last fragile pieces of my heart. The little girl I had stayed up with through fevers, the girl whose tears I had wiped away, the girl I had just broken my back to save. She called me uncle. And she thought I was dirty. I looked over at Rita, who was standing by the couch. There was no concern in her eyes. No gratitude. No attempt to correct our daughter, to tell her that the “dirty” man on the floor was the only father she had ever known. Rita knew exactly why I was dirty. She knew about the construction sites. She knew about the twelve-hour shifts hauling drywall in the freezing cold, the dust that settled into the pores of my skin, the grime under my fingernails that never quite washed out. I did all of that to pay off her father’s medical bills and Ryan’s debts. And now, she stood there, silently validating the idea that my sacrifice made me filthy. 4. Something inside me died permanently in that moment. The desire to fight, to argue, to demand justice—it all evaporated, leaving only a hollow, heavy emptiness. I dragged myself up from the floor, every inch of my spine screaming in protest. I had to use the banister to keep from collapsing. “Her things are in the bag,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m leaving.” “Wait.” It was Ryan. He walked over to me, a thin, patronizing smile on his face. “I hear you’re in a lot of debt, Matt. How about we make a deal?” I wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much to breathe. Why was I in debt? He knew the answer better than anyone. I ignored him and turned toward the door. The moment my back was turned, Ryan’s polite facade vanished. He kicked me hard in the lower back, right where the impact of the fall had settled. My legs gave out, and I hit the marble floor again, gasping for air. “Don’t turn your back on me, you pathetic piece of trash,” Ryan spat. Rita stood by, watching me sprawl on the floor as if I were nothing more than an annoying stray dog blocking her path. She walked over, looking down at me with a cold, lofty superiority. “Ryan is trying to help you, Matt. If you cooperate, you won’t have to break your back on a construction site for the next ten years.” I lay there, cheek pressed against the cold stone, listening. She knelt down beside me, her voice dropping to a casual whisper, as if we were discussing the weekend weather. “Ryan had a medical checkup last week. His kidneys are failing. He needs a transplant.” My stomach dropped. A dark, horrific realization began to take shape in my mind. And Rita, with her polished nails and calm demeanor, confirmed my worst fear without a single trace of hesitation. “You have two healthy kidneys. You’re going to give him one.” She looked at me, her eyes completely devoid of human warmth. “It’s not like you can have any more kids anyway. What do you need two kidneys for?” I stared at her, my throat tight, unable to form a single word. “What are you hesitating for?” she asked, her voice tinged with irritation. “Ryan’s going to pay you. He’ll cover the medical bills, give you a lump sum, and get you the best doctors. It’s a win-win.” She was talking about a part of my body, my health, my very survival. But to her, it was just a transaction. A piece of meat to be traded to settle a debt. I slowly shook my head. Ryan lost his patience. He waved his hand, and two large security guards stepped out from the hallway. Before I could move, they dragged me up and threw a heavy punch into my stomach. The air exploded from my lungs. I collapsed into a fetal position as they dragged me toward the back exit, throwing me onto the cold concrete of the service alley. The punches and kicks came in a relentless, brutal rhythm. I curled up, trying to protect my head, my vision swimming in and out of focus. Through the haze of pain, I heard a high, childish giggle from the doorway. “Look, Daddy! The dirty uncle looks like a little dog on the ground.” Rita’s voice followed, soft and doting. “Yes, sweetie. He does, doesn’t he?” Ella clapped her hands, laughing. “Stupid dog!” A wave of absolute despair washed over me, deeper and more painful than any physical blow. The child I had loved, the woman I had sworn to protect, the friend I had saved—they had all conspired to reduce me to this. It was enough. It was finally enough. 5. I stopped trying to shield myself. I let the blows land. “Stop,” I croaked, using the last of my strength. The guards paused, looking to Ryan for instructions. I lay in the dirt of the alley, gasping for breath, my eyes fixed on the gray sky above. “I’ll do it.” A bright, satisfied smile broke across Rita’s face. She stepped out into the alley, holding a clipboard with a voluntary donor agreement already attached to it, a pen in her hand. “See? If you had just cooperated from the start, we could have avoided all this drama.” I reached out with a trembling hand and signed my name. They didn’t know. Years ago, during my second year working construction, a stack of heavy steel rebar had collapsed, crushing my lower left side. I had never told anyone, not even Rita, because I didn’t want her to worry about the medical bills. But the truth was, my left kidney had been entirely destroyed in that accident. It had shriveled into a useless, dead piece of tissue. I only had one functioning kidney left. My right one. Giving it to Ryan didn’t mean losing a spare. It meant death. But as I looked at the woman I had once loved, I realized that dying on an operating table was far better than living another day in this world. They took me to a private, high-end clinic that Ryan had invested in. Everything was fast-tracked. No waiting lists, no questions asked. I was prepped for surgery, dressed in a standard blue gown, and wheeled into the sterile, freezing operating room. The bright surgical lamps above made my eyes ache. As the anesthesiologist prepared the IV, Rita walked in. She sat on the edge of the table, actually taking my hand in hers. Her palm was warm, and her voice carried a rare, gentle sweetness. “Matt, once this is over, Ryan’s transfer will clear,” she whispered, painting a beautiful picture of a future that didn’t exist. “We can pay off the rest of the debt, buy a bigger place in a better school district, and start over. We can be a real family again.” I slowly pulled my hand out of her grasp. Her touch made my skin crawl. Our future had died years ago; she had just finally buried it today. I closed my eyes, refusing to look at her. She had no idea that there was no “after” for us. The cold anesthesia began to flow into my veins, and the world faded into black. Outside the operating room, Rita waited, sipping a cup of coffee, expecting everything to go according to plan. But less than thirty minutes after the surgery began, the double doors swung open. The lead surgeon stepped out, ripping his mask off, his face pale and severe. Rita immediately stood up, a bright smile on her face. “Doctor! Is it done? Is Ryan okay?” The surgeon looked at her with a mixture of disbelief and utter disgust. “Are you the patient’s wife? Did you have any idea what his medical history was?” Rita’s smile faltered. “What do you mean?” The surgeon’s voice shook with suppressed anger. “The patient only has one functioning kidney! His left kidney is completely atrophied from an old trauma. If we take his right kidney, he will die on the table. What you are asking us to do is murder!” Rita felt as if the ground had opened up beneath her feet. She stared at the doctor, her mind spinning. “No… that’s impossible. He has two. He’s always been healthy…” Before she could finish, a nurse burst through the double doors, her face white, her voice filled with panic. “Doctor! We have a crisis!” Everyone in the hallway froze. “The patient’s old internal scar tissue has ruptured under the pressure of the anesthesia. He’s hemorrhaging internally! His heart has stopped!”

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On Mother’s Day, a woman who claimed to be my mother from three years in the future pushed open my front door. I looked at her, a faint, desperate hope fluttering in my chest, and whispered, “Mom… Wright and I… are we happy after the wedding?” Her face was deathly pale. She grabbed my arm, her grip bruising and desperate. “Ruth, you have to break up with Wright. Right now.” “He’s using you, sweetheart. You’re nothing but a placeholder to him. The only woman he’s ever loved is your stepsister, Hailey.” “He tricks you into a fake marriage. You end up severely depressed, and Hailey spends years rubbing it in your face, mocking you at every turn.” The words hit me like a physical blow. I froze, the breath trapped in my throat. With trembling hands, my mother pulled out her phone and played an audio recording. Wright’s voice came through the speaker. It was that lazy, slow drawl of his—casual, effortless, and utterly devastating. “She’s just a stand-in,” he said, his tone dripping with indifference. “Being with her is just something to pass the time when I’m bored. So what if the marriage license is fake? She doesn’t need to know, and she’s more than willing anyway. Sure, there’s someone else in my heart, but I’ve given Ruth respect, money, everything she could want. It’s not like I’m cheating her out of anything.” That voice. The familiar cadence that used to make me feel safe now made my knees buckle. I had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing. “Don’t hesitate, Ruth,” my mother whispered, her voice shaking. “He’s going to propose to you on May eleventh. If you wait until then, it will be too late to escape.” I glanced at the calendar on the wall. A bitter, cold ache spread through my chest. Today was May eleventh. 1 A knock rattled the door. My mother slipped quickly into the shadows of the hallway, her voice a hushed, urgent warning. “That recording… you’re the one who sent it to me, three years from now. But by then, you were already pregnant. It was too late to untangle yourself. Remember, Ruth—do not say yes to him!” A profound sense of absurdity washed over me, tight and suffocating. Wright and I had been together for five years. Five years of what I thought was pure devotion. He catered to my every whim. He called me whenever he went out, wired me money without a second thought, and had even declared publicly that I was the only woman he ever wanted to marry. But now, hearing those words from his own mouth… I was just a surrogate. I wanted so badly for this to be a nightmare. The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time. I opened the door. A delivery courier stood there, holding a massive arrangement of nine hundred and ninety-nine red roses. Perched precariously on top was a velvet ring box. My body felt entirely numb as I took the flowers and brought them inside. A second later, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was Wright. His voice was flat, practical. “Ruth, things are crazy at the office right now, and I can’t slip away. Just put the ring on yourself, okay?” The words washed over me like a bucket of ice water. I went cold all over. A proposal—a once-in-a-lifetime moment—and he couldn’t even bother to show up? He sent it via courier? “No,” I said, my voice tight. “You need to come here. Otherwise, I’m not saying yes.” A heavy, impatient sigh came through the receiver. “Stop being difficult, Ruth. I told you, I’m busy. I got you the ring and the flowers. You’ve always been the sensible one. Don’t start disappointing me now.” The call was on speaker. My mother rushed out of the shadows and violently tapped the screen, cutting off the call. “Do you see it now?” she cried, her eyes wide with pain. “Do you see him for what he really is?” My heart shattered. Suddenly, a flood of memories rushed back, but they were different now—stripped of the romantic veneer I had painted over them. I remembered waking up early to brew his favorite coffee, only for him to sip it and frown, saying it was too weak, that Hailey made it better. I remembered trying to learn how to ride a bicycle, falling repeatedly until my knees were black and blue. He had laughed at me, calling me clumsy and uncoordinated, pointing out how graceful Hailey had always been. I remembered spending half the night baking a birthday cake from scratch, only for him to take one bite, call it too sweet, and complain that I didn’t even know his basic preferences. In five years of being together, he had done nothing but criticize and chip away at my self-esteem. The only praise he ever offered me—the only label he deemed fit to give me—was “sensible.” My mother saw the raw, quiet grief in my eyes. She grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the door. “Don’t waste another tear on him. Come on, I’m taking you out.” She tried to give me a watery, encouraging smile. “What is it you kids say these days? Out with the old, in with the new? No room for sad, only room for bad. I’m paying. Today, we leave all this misery behind and let you actually have some fun.” As we reached the door, she whispered, “I’ll follow you, but I can’t let him see me. Wright is paranoid. If he catches on to me, the timeline might forcibly drag me back.” We went to a high-end lounge downtown. The lighting was low and hazy, the bass humming through the floorboards. As soon as we sat down in our private booth, a line of handsome young men filed in. One gently massaged my shoulders; another poured me a drink with practiced grace. I sat there like a statue, stiff and painfully out of place. It was awkward, overwhelming, and utterly bizarre. The young man beside me stood up to hand me a glass of champagne, but his foot caught on the edge of the rug. He stumbled, losing his balance. My instincts kicked in, and I reached out to steady him. But the moment my fingers brushed his arm, the heavy oak door of the VIP suite was slammed open with a deafening crash. 2 Wright stood in the doorway, his face twisted in a dark, terrifying scowl. Without a word, he marched over, grabbed my wrist in a crushing grip, and dragged me out of the room. He slammed me against the corridor wall, his chest heaving with a volatile mix of fury and wounded pride. “Ruth Collins, I really underestimated you.” “You hang up on me, and then you come to a place like this? What is this, some kind of hard-to-get game? You think you’re being clever?” My eyes burned, hot tears threatening to spill. “Let go of me!” I spat. “How did you even know I was here? Have you been tracking me?” A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a harsh glare. “Yeah, I was! You’re my fiancée, Ruth. I have every right to know where you are.” I let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Fiancée? What kind of man proposes through a delivery guy?” Wright’s eyes filled with dismissive arrogance. “Give it a rest. I’m offering to marry you. Isn’t that enough?” That sentence punctured the very last of my illusions. How had the man I once shared everything with become this stranger? Back in college, we used to sneak out past curfew, sitting on the curb of some quiet street all night. We talked about everything—the stars, the future, our smallest fears, our grandest dreams. It felt like we had a lifetime of words to share. But now, even with him standing inches away, it felt like we were separated by a thick, bulletproof glass wall. The warmth of our relationship had died a long time ago, washed away by the exhaustion of his work and the daily grind of his dismissive apathy. People were staring at us in the busy hallway, whispering. I struggled against his grip, but he only tightened his fingers, refusing to let go. Five years of swallowed pride and quiet humiliation boiled over. I raised my free hand and slapped him, hard, across the face. The slap echoed. His head snapped to the side. He stayed like that for a few seconds, silent, before turning back to me. This time, there was a patronizing, indulgent look in his eyes. “Fine,” he muttered, adjusting his collar. “That slap is your free pass for tonight. Are we even now? If you’ve got it out of your system, come home with me. I’ll make it up to you.” I turned to walk away, but out of the corner of my eye, I spotted my mother ducking behind a pillar at the end of the hall. I knew Wright. If I pushed him too hard right now, he would make a scene, cause a public spectacle, and refuse to let me go. But my mother’s presence was too risky. If he noticed her, or if anyone realized what she was, the consequences could be disastrous. I clenched my jaw, swallowing my rage. I stopped running and quietly followed him to his car. During the silent drive, I surreptitiously texted my mother. Mom, are you okay? Where are you? She replied almost instantly. I’m fine, sweetie. Play along for now. Don’t escalate things with him. Don’t worry about me—I have a safe place to stay. A second later, she sent a photo. In the image, my future mother and my present mother stood side-by-side, smiling warmly at the camera. Two identical versions of the woman who loved me, both fighting with everything they had to save me. A lump formed in my throat, and a soft, bittersweet smile touched my lips. Wright leaned over, trying to peer at my screen. “What’s so funny? What are you looking at?” I clicked the power button, locking the screen instantly, and turned my face to the dark window. “Nothing.” 3 The moment we got back to the penthouse, Wright went into the master bathroom to take a shower. I waited until the water started running, then quietly began searching through the drawers in the study. My fingers shook as I pulled open the very bottom drawer. Tucked deep beneath a stack of documents was a small, red booklet. A marriage certificate. I opened it. There was a photo of Wright and me against a red background, stamped with an official-looking seal. But when I touched the paper, I realized it was a cheap, fabricated replica. Just as my future mother had said. He had prepared this long ago. He never had any intention of giving me a real, legal marriage. I took a deep breath, slipped the fake certificate back exactly where I found it, and closed the drawer. Next, I picked up Wright’s phone from the nightstand. He hadn’t changed his passcode. I unlocked it and opened his social media feed. My heart plummeted into a cold, dark abyss. It was a post from Hailey, my stepsister. She had posted a photo just over an hour before my flowers arrived. It showed a stunning diamond ring nestled in a luxurious velvet box, surrounded by a sea of fresh roses. Her caption read: Someone popped the question today! I told him the flowers and the ring weren’t quite my style, and guess what? He immediately ran out to buy me the latest designer diamond ring just to show his commitment. Should I say yes? I stared at the photo. The wrapping of the bouquet, the velvet box… they were identical to the ones the courier had dropped off at my door. Except mine was the rejected draft. He had spent his afternoon running from mall to mall, desperately trying to find the perfect ring for Hailey. And the one he sent me? Just an afterthought. A leftover from his failed attempt to please her. A wave of profound nausea washed over me. I remembered when I first met Wright. Hailey had just secured a scholarship to study abroad and had left the country. Back then, he used to stare at me for hours, lost in thought. When I asked him why, he would smile and say, “Because you’re beautiful.” Now, the sickening truth was clear. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking through me, searching for the ghost of Hailey. I was a substitute. A warm body to keep his bed comfortable until the girl he actually wanted came back. The night was pitch black outside, but my mind had never been clearer. The last lingering ember of my love for him died right then. I wanted nothing more than to pack my things and disappear. The bathroom door opened, and Wright stepped out, towel-drying his damp hair. Seeing me standing in the middle of the room, he smiled and walked over, reaching out to wrap his arms around my waist. I took a deliberate step backward, out of his reach. My voice was quiet, steady, and entirely devoid of emotion. “Wright, we’re done. I’m leaving you.” The smile on his face faltered for a fraction of a second, but then he chuckled, stepping closer again. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his voice dropping into that soft, coaxing tone he always used when he wanted to smooth things over. “Still mad, babe? Look, I’m sorry. I messed up today.” “I promise I’ll make it up to you this weekend. Just you and me, okay?” I closed my eyes, a heavy numbness settling over my chest. It was always the same. Every time he crossed a line, his apologies were swift and effortless. He knew exactly how to play the sweet, regretful boyfriend—soft words, sweet promises, endless charm. But he never actually changed. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he didn’t care. Because he was absolutely certain that I would never leave him. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a flurry of urgent texts from my mother. Ruth, please don’t let him sweet-talk you! If you stay, you’ll end up broken. The depression will consume you. I’ve already booked our train tickets. We leave in two days. We’re going to get out of this city and never look back. I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I typed a single word: Okay. 4 Wright didn’t take my breakup seriously. To him, it was just another tantrum. The very next morning, he announced that we were going to a luxury furniture outlet to pick out pieces for our new house. I was exhausted, drained of any desire to play along, and wanted nothing more than to stay in bed and count down the hours until my departure. But he practically dragged me out of the apartment and into his car. When I opened the passenger door, my stomach dropped. Hailey was already sitting in the front seat. She was perfectly made up, offering me a sweet, victorious smile. “Hey, Ruth. I wanted to look at some furniture for my new place too. You don’t mind if I tag along, do you?” Wright immediately shot me a tense, warning look, silently pleading with me not to make a scene and ruin the mood. When I climbed into the back seat without a word, I saw him visibly relax. “See? I knew my Ruth would be cool with it,” he said smoothly, starting the engine. “That’s my sensible girl. Exactly the kind of grace a future Mrs. Campbell should have.” He offered a casual explanation as he drove. “Hailey is family, Ruth. She’s going to be visiting our place a lot, so I figured we should get her input.” Family. The daughter of the woman my father had cheated on my mother with. I had to admire their acting skills. If I hadn’t heard that recording, I would still be the blind fool playing my part in their little drama. I kept my mouth shut and stared out the window. At the massive showroom, Wright was bursting with enthusiasm, painting a picture of our future home. He ran his fingers over a plush velvet sofa, his voice dropping into that gentle cadence. “We should get a soft couch like this. You love curling up to watch your shows. This will keep your back from aching.” “And we’ll do solid oak flooring in the study. It feels much warmer underfoot.” “We’ll install heated floors throughout the whole house, too. You hate the cold.” He spoke with such apparent tenderness, as if he had spent nights thinking about my comfort. But I noticed where his eyes went. Every single thing he described—the binge-watching, the preference for oak flooring, the poor circulation and hatred of winter—belonged to Hailey. When we reached the mattress section, his bias became impossible to hide. He turned directly to Hailey, ignoring me entirely. “What do you think of this one? Is it soft enough? Could you sleep comfortably on this?” The sales associate smiled, her eyes darting between Wright and Hailey. “You two make such a gorgeous couple, and your taste is impeccable. This mattress is top-tier; it won’t sag even after years of use.” Wright stiffened slightly, casting a brief, guilty glance in my direction, but he didn’t offer a single word of correction. A cold, mocking smile touched my lips. My heart was a frozen wasteland. Suddenly, a massive wooden display shelf nearby groaned. The heavy brackets holding it together snapped, and the entire structure began to tilt, collapsing directly toward Hailey and me. We both screamed, pinned by the shadow of the falling timber. Without a single second of hesitation, Wright lunged forward. He threw his entire body over Hailey, pulling her into his chest and shielding her with his back as the heavy shelves came crashing down. He didn’t look at me. Not even once. The sharp edge of a wooden plank scraped violently down my forearm, leaving a raw, stinging red gash. The sales staff rushed over, frantically lifting the debris. Only then did Wright let go of Hailey, his hands shaking as he checked her face and shoulders for injuries. “Are you okay? Did it hit you?” he gasped. He never looked at my arm. Not once did he check to see if I was bleeding. And Hailey, tucked safely under his arm, looked over his shoulder and flashed me a cold, triumphant smirk. On the drive back, the silence inside the car was suffocating. I quietly pulled out my phone and sent a text to my future mother. Everything is packed. We leave tomorrow. Back at the penthouse, I began quietly putting my clothes into a suitcase. Wright leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom, watching me. It was only then that his eyes fell on the red scrape on my arm. “Ruth… about today. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” “It was just reflex. Hailey was in a worse spot, and she’s always been fragile. She can’t handle getting hurt.” I zipped the suitcase shut, my voice completely flat. “You don’t need to explain.” I stood the suitcase up and pushed it into the corner of the closet. Wright frowned slightly. “Maybe a trip is a good idea. Go clear your head for a few days. I’ll wire you some money so you can treat yourself.” I didn’t answer. I suppose in his mind, I was still the sensible, easily mollified Ruth who would always come crawling back. He was so utterly confident in my devotion that he didn’t even bother to ask where I was going. He assumed this was just another short vacation to cool my temper. He would never know. This time, there was no coming back.

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Eighteen years ago, my mother was scheduled for the emergency surgery that was supposed to save her life. But on the morning of the procedure, someone else took her place. I fell to my knees in front of the surgeon, begging, weeping. My desperation bought me nothing but cold, unblinking rejection. Another patient’s relative pulled me up from the linoleum floor. “Stop begging,” she whispered, her voice heavy with pity. “The person who just went in has status. The doctor is always going to prioritize someone like that.” I could only watch in a daze as the double doors swung shut and the surgeon went to work on someone else. I watched, helpless, as my mother’s life slipped away in a sterile hallway. Years later, I fought my way into medical school. After graduating, I stayed on as faculty, eventually joining the admissions committee to help select the next generation of doctors. Three months before the high school seniors were set to graduate, I represented our school, the prestigious St. Jude’s School of Medicine, at Oakridge Academy. We were there for early admissions—handpicking the brightest minds before the spring rush. A young girl named Daisy Wilbert sat across from me, radiating quiet confidence. “I come from a family of doctors,” she said, her smile polished. “Both of my parents are senior attending physicians at Ridgeview Memorial. I’ve grown up around medicine, and I’ve already published five research papers.” I looked down at her resume. My eyes locked onto her father’s name. My fingernail dug into the paper, tearing a jagged line through the thick stock. I took a slow, deep breath, burying the ghost of my grief, and looked up at her. “I’m sorry,” I said, keeping my voice entirely flat. “You have not been accepted for early admission.” The other admissions officers at the table turned to me, their eyes wide with shock. Daisy’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “Why?” she gasped. I didn’t answer her. “Next, please,” I said, calling out to the hallway. One of my colleagues quickly tried to soften the blow. “It’s alright, dear. This is only early admission. If your final grades are exceptional, you’ll still have a chance in the general pool.” Daisy stood up, her shoulders slumped. But before she could reach the door, I called out to her. “Wait.” She spun around, a sudden spark of hope in her eyes. I looked her dead in the eye and shattered it. “Don’t bother applying during the regular cycle either,” I said. “Even if you get a perfect score, St. Jude’s will not admit you.” 1 At my words, Daisy’s eyes stretched wide in sheer disbelief. She fiercely wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. “Professor Bishop,” she demanded, her voice trembling but defiant. “Did I do something to offend you?” I shook my head. “No. You haven’t offended me.” “But you are not fit for this profession.” She refused to back down, her indignation rising. “I rank in the top ten of my class. I’ve published five academic papers at eighteen. If I may ask, when you were eighteen—” I cut her off. “I look at more than just test scores and publications.” “Next.” The proctor gently but firmly escorted Daisy out of the room. As soon as the door closed, my colleagues turned on me, their frustration palpable. “Lena, what was that?” one of them asked. “That girl is clearly an exceptional candidate. Why on earth would you reject her so harshly?” I quietly wrote a few notes on Daisy’s file. “Not only are we rejecting her, but I’m also going to recommend that every other major medical program in the country do the same.” “Why?” Why… Because eighteen years ago, my mother suffered a massive cerebral hemorrhage. She needed immediate surgery to survive. Yet, she was left to die outside the operating room. I remember kneeling at the feet of Dr. Rodney Wilbert, the chief neurosurgeon, clutching the hem of his white coat, begging for mercy. “Dr. Wilbert, please. My mother’s name was on the board. She was scheduled for this slot. Why are they taking someone else in?” “I beg you, save her. She doesn’t have time!” But Rodney merely pushed me aside, his face devoid of warmth, and walked through the sterile doors. It was then that a kind bystander pulled me away. “Stop begging, sweetie. It’s useless,” she whispered. “The woman they just wheeled in is some big shot on the state medical board. She’s the one who can greenlight his promotion to Chief of Medicine.” “I heard them talking right outside his office. She slipped him a massive envelope, too.” I remember trembling, my voice barely a whisper. “Is… is her condition critical, too?” The woman let out a bitter scoff. “Critical? She’s got some tiny lipoma on her scalp. Wants it cut out because she says it looks ugly. It’s basically a glorified pimple. It’s completely harmless.” “Any resident could have done it next week, but she insisted on cutting the line and having Dr. Wilbert do it today.” 2 To cut out a “pimple” for cosmetic reasons, a surgeon was willing to let a hemorrhaging patient die. My hands shook violently as I fumbled with my phone, desperately trying to call other hospitals to see if anyone could take my mother immediately. But it was too late. Before I could even get an operator on the line, my mother stopped breathing in that cold waiting room. A few days later, that same kind patient tracked me down and secretly handed me a flash drive. “I recorded this on my phone,” she whispered. The video was clear, undeniable proof of Rodney Wilbert accepting a bribe and manually overriding the surgery schedule. After my mother’s funeral, I took that drive to Ridgeview Memorial, determined to show it to the board of directors. But when I arrived, I learned that Rodney had already been promoted to Chief of Medicine. I went to the state licensing board to file a formal complaint. But when the official watched the footage, his face hardened. “You’re a kid,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Instead of studying, you’re running around using fabricated videos to slander the President of our Medical Association, Dr. Evelyn Ward?” He deleted the file from my USB drive right in front of me and threatened to have me arrested for harassment and medical obstruction if I didn’t drop it. With nowhere left to turn, I went back to school. I buried my grief in textbooks, studying until my eyes bled. Eventually, I was accepted into St. Jude’s, the top medical program in the nation. After graduating, I stayed on as an admissions officer. Year by year, I climbed the ranks until I became the Director of Admissions, holding the power of a unilateral veto. I made a silent vow: any student I interviewed had to possess more than just intellect. They had to have integrity. They had to understand the weight of the oath they would take. And as for Daisy Wilbert, my rejection of her wasn’t just a personal vendetta against her father. I had read all five of her published papers. An eighteen-year-old with zero clinical experience could never have written them. The depth of the surgical observations was too advanced. Unless… Once the interviews wrapped up, I returned to my office and locked the door. I pulled open the bottom drawer of my desk. Hidden beneath a false bottom was a backup copy of the bribery video from eighteen years ago. Over the years, Rodney Wilbert’s influence had only grown. Every anonymous tip and formal complaint I had submitted had vanished into a black hole of bureaucracy. But now, the perfect opportunity had finally presented itself. A sharp knock sounded at my door. Rodney Wilbert walked in, with Daisy trailing closely behind him. He looked almost exactly the same, save for a few deeper creases around his eyes and a silver dusting at his temples. In the years since we last met, he had performed thousands of surgeries. He had long since forgotten the terrified teenage girl who had knelt at his feet, begging for her mother’s life. He wore a polite, practiced smile, though his voice carried the heavy authority of a man accustomed to getting his way. “Director Bishop,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Dr. Rodney Wilbert, Chief of Medicine at Ridgeview. My daughter, Daisy, has her heart set on St. Jude’s. I hear there was a bit of a misunderstanding during her interview today?” He set a thick, heavy envelope onto my desk. “Just a token of my appreciation. I’m hoping we can work this out. Daisy is truly passionate about medicine.” I calmly pushed the envelope back toward him. “Dr. Wilbert, this isn’t a matter of money. Daisy does not meet the standards of our program.” Rodney’s smile vanished. “Is it not enough? Name your price, Director.” I looked him squarely in the eye. “Dr. Wilbert, you are a medical professional. Don’t you think buying a spot in a medical school is incredibly dangerous for future patients? If students learn today that an envelope of cash can solve any problem, what happens when they start practicing? Will they accept bribes from patients, too?” “For example… taking a bribe to let a non-urgent patient cut the line for surgery?” “Tell me, Dr. Wilbert, have you ever encountered a situation like that?” 3 Rodney stiffened. The corner of his mouth twitched into a cold, hard sneer. “Director Bishop, I came here today to give you a respectful way out of this.” “St. Jude’s is a prestigious school, yes. But do not forget that Ridgeview Memorial is the primary residency teaching hospital in this state. I control how many of your graduates get matched for residencies at my institution.” “All it takes is one phone call from me to your President, and you’ll be out of a job by tomorrow morning.” “Process Daisy’s admission. Now.” He tapped his finger sharply against the heavy envelope on my desk. Daisy’s tearful, victimized facade from earlier was entirely gone. She stood beside him, chin tilted high, her expression dripping with arrogance. “Oh, come on, Professor Bishop,” she scoffed. “Stop acting so self-righteous. My parents are in the industry. We know how this game is played. You’re just holding out for a bigger payout. Even I can see right through your little act.” I stood up and gestured toward the door. “Dr. Wilbert, please show yourself out.” Rodney’s face darkened to a deep purple. Without another word, he snatched the envelope and stormed out, Daisy close on his heels. Ten minutes later, my phone rang. It was an international call from President Charles Mercer, who was currently attending an academic conference in Europe. “Lena, what the hell are you doing?” Mercer’s voice crackled through the line, sharp and furious. “St. Jude’s has a major partnership with Ridgeview. Why did you reject Dr. Wilbert’s daughter?” “Approve her admission immediately, or—” I spoke calmly, cutting him off. “President Mercer, Daisy Wilbert did not pass her interview.” “I don’t care about the interview! Even if she got a zero on her entrance exams, we are admitting her!” “Admitting a failing student violates the university’s charter, Mr. President.” Mercer practically screamed through the phone. “Lena! Do you run this school, or do I?!” I kept my voice perfectly level. “As long as I am the Director of Admissions, Daisy Wilbert’s application will remain rejected.” “Fine! Lena, you’re fired!” I smiled quietly. “President Mercer, terminating my contract requires your physical signature and the university seal. Your conference in Europe doesn’t end for another four months, does it? By the time you return, the admissions cycle will be officially closed.” I hung up before he could respond. The next afternoon, just as I was getting ready to pack up my desk, Mercer stormed into my office. He had flown back from Europe overnight. He threw a formal termination letter onto my desk, his face red with rage. “Pack your things and get out. Now!” I nodded, calmly packing my personal items into a cardboard box. He didn’t know that thirty minutes before his plane landed, I had already published the official early admissions list on the university portal. If he wanted to force Daisy’s name onto that list, he would have to manually retract the official announcement and republish it. In the digital age, doing so would inevitably trigger a massive public backlash. I went home and kept refreshing the university’s official page. Sure enough, within hours, the admissions list I had posted was deleted. A new list appeared. Daisy’s name was now prominently featured, while another girl’s name had vanished. The girl who had been replaced didn’t stay quiet. Within an hour, she posted on her social media: [I was officially accepted through early admissions today. My name was on the published list. But just an hour ago, I received an email saying my spot has been revoked without any explanation! What is going on?] It didn’t take long for internet sleuths to compare the two lists and identify the new addition: Daisy Wilbert. [What is this? Is she some legacy hire’s kid?] [Stealing someone’s spot in broad daylight? Bold move.] [Just looked her up. Her dad is Dr. Rodney Wilbert, Chief of Medicine at Ridgeview Memorial.] [Wow. So rich kids can just steal futures from regular students now?] The public outrage spread like wildfire. Within hours, Ridgeview Memorial’s social media pages were flooded with thousands of angry comments demanding answers. Sensing the brewing storm, Rodney Wilbert quickly released a public statement. 4 He posted a short video clip from his visit to my office. However, the footage had been heavily and cleverly edited. In his version, it appeared as though I was subtly hinting at a bribe, and when he refused to comply, I rejected his daughter out of spite. At the end of the video, Rodney addressed the camera, his face a mask of righteous indignation. “My daughter, Daisy, has published five medical papers at just eighteen years old. Her academic brilliance is undeniable. Lena Bishop, the Admissions Director at St. Jude’s, knew our family’s background and tried to extort a massive bribe from us. When I refused, she threatened to ruin my daughter’s future.” “Thankfully, President Mercer stepped in to ensure justice was served.” “My daughter did not steal anyone’s spot. She simply reclaimed the admission that she earned through her own hard work.” “Lena Bishop’s behavior is a disgrace to the medical community. She prioritizes greed over merit. I urge all medical schools and hospitals to blacklist her permanently. Someone like her does not deserve to shape the future of medicine, let alone treat patients.” Immediately after, President Mercer released a statement of his own: “We have confirmed the allegations of extortion against Lena Bishop, and she has been officially terminated. We offer our deepest apologies to the student who was temporarily affected by Bishop’s corrupt actions.” Under immense pressure, the girl who had been replaced quietly deleted her original post. My phone began to vibrate incessantly, inundated with thousands of hateful texts and death threats from strangers. [You rejected an eighteen-year-old prodigy with five papers just because her dad wouldn’t pay you off? You have no soul.] [People like you shouldn’t be allowed near medicine. Thank god you’re just an administrator. If you were a practicing doctor, you’d probably turn off life support if the check didn’t clear!] Even students who had been rejected during previous admissions cycles began chiming in, demanding investigations. [Did I get rejected because my parents didn’t slip you an envelope?] [Lena Bishop needs to apologize. I gave up on my dream of becoming a doctor because you rejected me. I thought I wasn’t good enough!] [You ruined my life for money, you greedy bitch!] Amidst the chaos, my phone rang. It was Rodney. His voice was dripping with the smug arrogance of a man who had won. “I warned you,” he purred. “You’re finished in this industry. Good luck finding a job cleaning toilets.” I hung up without saying a word. I sat in the quiet of my living room, watching the numbers climb on my screen. On Twitter, the hashtag #AdmissionsCorruption was trending number one in the country. On TikTok, videos dissecting the scandal had amassed over a hundred million views. I let out a slow breath, a cold smile touching my lips. It was perfect. Rodney, you wanted the spotlight. Now that you have the eyes of the entire country on you, let’s see how you use your precious connections to bury what comes next. I picked up my phone and dialed the contact numbers for the five largest news networks in the country. “This is Lena Bishop,” I said. “I have a statement regarding the St. Jude’s admissions scandal.” “I’ll be at the conference room on the second floor of the Grand Plaza Hotel tomorrow at 2:00 PM. I suggest you bring your cameras.” The following afternoon, I sat at a long mahogany table in the empty conference room. Five professional cameras were pointed directly at me, broadcasting live to millions of viewers across multiple platforms. Within seconds of the broadcast starting, over ten thousand people flooded into the livestream. The live chat scroll was an instantaneous blur of venom. [Look at her. How does a corrupt extortionist sleep at night?] [Trying to do a PR campaign to save herself? Pathetic. We aren’t buying it.] [We only want to hear about the bribe. Save your excuses!] I looked directly into the camera lens and spoke clearly, my voice steady. “My decision to reject Daisy Wilbert was, in fact, entirely related to a bribe.” “But not because her father refused to pay me.” “It was because eighteen years ago, I didn’t have the money to pay her father, Dr. Rodney Wilbert. And because of that, my mother died on a gurney outside his operating room.” The live chat froze for a fraction of a second, then exploded with a chaotic frenzy of messages. [What is she talking about? What does this have to do with eighteen years ago?] [Is she seriously trying to shift the blame to Dr. Wilbert? How desperate can you get?] I ignored the screen. I picked up a remote control and turned on the massive projector behind me. The screen flickered to life. The video from eighteen years ago—showing Rodney Wilbert and the former President of the Medical Association, Dr. Evelyn Ward—began to play.

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On Christmas Day, my boyfriend agreed to take me to see the giant Christmas tree downtown at the Plaza. But before I could even find my angle, Luke was already aggressively clicking the shutter. He tossed the camera back to me, his impatience radiating off him. I scrolled through the photos in disbelief. Not a single one was usable. They were all blurry, off-center, or caught me mid-blink. Luke let out a dry, mocking laugh. “You know what they say about photography, right? It’s all about the model, the model, and the model.” “Take a look in the mirror, Tara. You’re not some fresh-faced college girl anymore.” “Honestly, get over it. Dragging me out here just to post on Instagram. It’s exhausting.” And yet, when it came to his female manager, he had taken the exact same photos at the exact same spot. Those shots were masterfully framed, beautifully lit, and perfectly angled. Cheryl had posted them in a massive photo dump on Instagram. And Luke was the very first to like and comment on every single post. Later, Cheryl sent me a direct message: Hey Tara, your performance at work might be lacking, but I have to say, your man is incredibly useful. I took a deep breath and typed back: If you like him that much, he’s yours. She probably thought I was joking. But I was entirely serious. 1 It was 1:30 AM. My boyfriend lay with his back to me, the blanket pulled over his shoulders, furiously typing on his phone. I stared blankly at the ceiling, my eyes wide open in the dark. He remained completely oblivious. Finally, I broke the silence. “Luke, who are you texting at this hour?” He flinched, his voice laced with a sudden, poorly concealed guilt. “Just working things out with my manager.” A cold laugh bubbled up in my chest. I rolled over, turning my back to him. “Then go text in the living room. The glare of your screen is keeping me awake.” “Oh, come on. Stop being so dramatic.” The harsh clatter of his phone hitting the nightstand spoke volumes of his irritation. There was a time when my work-induced anxiety caused me severe insomnia. Back then, Luke had personally installed the highest-quality blackout curtains and soundproofing foam in our bedroom. Now, my sleeplessness was just me being “dramatic” and high-maintenance. “Look, are you seriously still throwing a tantrum over those photos? Let it go.” I didn’t bother replying. He opened the nightstand drawer, pulled out a small jewelry box, and tossed a cheap necklace onto my side of the bed. “Can we just stick to gifts and dinner for holidays from now on? Honestly, dragging me around to take photos is exhausting. I can’t handle it.” I didn’t even open the box. I threw it right back at him. “What is your problem?” He sat up straight, his tone sharp with frustration. I replied, my voice completely flat. “I’m allergic to cheap alloy, Luke. Did you forget?” From college to our professional lives, Luke’s jewelry gifts to me had always ranged from ten to thirty dollars. I never wanted to hurt his pride, so I always wore them anyway. Without fail, they would trigger painful rashes and hives. “Fine, whatever. Just don’t say I didn’t get you a Christmas present.” With a dismissive sweep of his hand, he knocked the necklace into the trash can. I felt a bitter smile pull at my lips. Earlier that day, I had glimpsed two receipt notifications on his phone. One was for $29.99. The other was for $8,999. And that $8,999 designer necklace was currently sitting around Cheryl’s neck in her latest Instagram post. Seeing that photo had frozen the remaining warmth in my blood. A moment later, his phone buzzed. He checked the screen, typed a quick reply, and immediately threw off the covers to get dressed. “Cheryl’s water heater just broke down in the middle of her shower. She’s stranded over there. I’m going to run over and take a look.” When I didn’t say anything, he added defensively, “Don’t start overthinking things, alright?” As the front door clicked shut, I sat in the darkness, feeling strangely detached. When, exactly, had Luke and Cheryl become so close? Was it when I took sick leave and Luke drove her to the office instead? Was it when I went on a business trip and Cheryl slept over at our place because her apartment had a power outage? Or was it even earlier, during the annual office gala, when Cheryl did a flashy dance, twisted her ankle, and fell right into Luke’s arms? I couldn’t pinpoint the moment. I only remembered when Cheryl first joined the company. She was quiet, dressed in dated, ill-fitting clothes, and was nearly a decade older than the rest of us. Nobody in the department wanted to talk to her. I had felt sorry for her. I took her under my wing, inviting her into our conversations, discussing skincare, and taking her to trendy new lunch spots. I even invited her to our private dinners. When I learned she lived nearby, I offered to let her carpool with us to work. At first, Luke had complained about the arrangement. But later… when did he start looking forward to it? By sunrise, Luke still hadn’t returned. A single text message from him sat on my lock screen: It’s pouring outside. Make sure you leave early. Morning rush hour in the rain was always a nightmare—cabs were impossible to catch, and the traffic was gridlocked. To make things sweeter, Cheryl had just posted a new update on her social media: Nothing beats the feeling of having a personal chauffeur on a rainy morning… By the time I slid into the office right on the dot, my pant legs and shoes were completely soaked. Meanwhile, Cheryl was elegantly holding a cup of artisanal coffee, her hair and makeup flawless, leaning casually against the back of Luke’s office chair. There was no trace of the awkward, frumpy woman who had joined the firm a year ago. As I walked past her desk, she pulled her feet back with a look of mild disgust, as if worried the rainwater dripping from my hem would ruin her Italian leather ankle boots. “It’s pouring. Couldn’t you have just ordered an Uber?” Luke asked, his tone irritated. It was as if my bedraggled appearance was an embarrassment to him. Yet, years ago, when a taxi driver had harassed me late at night, Luke had taken out a heavy car loan just so he could drive me himself. He had sworn back then that he would never let me be stranded in the rain again. I kept my expression blank, ignoring the tissue he held out to me. As I wiped down my damp phone screen, a new notification popped up. 2 I was staring at my phone when Cheryl tapped hard on my desk. “I need the campaign proposal on my desk before lunch,” she said. Having been promoted to department manager just a month ago, she had already mastered the art of talking down to people. I caught the sympathetic glance of a coworker nearby and managed a tight, weary smile. I locked my phone and immediately set to work. When lunch break ended, Luke and Cheryl stepped out of the elevator together. Passing my cubicle, Luke set down a bag of warm, roasted chestnuts. “Eat some of these to tide you over. I’ll take you somewhere nice for dinner tonight.” I didn’t look up, offering only a vague murmur in response. After double-checking the proposal, I printed the pages and walked toward the manager’s office. As I reached the door, Cheryl’s giggles drifted through the thin wood. “Oh my god, Luke! Just because I said I liked them doesn’t mean you have to buy me a million bags. You’re ridiculous.” “Hey, stop feeding me like that. You got crumbs all over my chest, you idiot!” I stood frozen, a wave of nausea washing over me at the mental image. Taking a deep, stabilizing breath, I knocked and pushed the door open. The moment I did, a ceramic mug came flying straight at me. I didn’t react fast enough. The mug slammed hard against my hand, and scalding water splashed over the back of my wrist. Cheryl shrieked, “Do you even know how to knock? Where are your office manners!” Luke’s hand, which had been lingering near her collarbone, snapped back as if he’d been electrocuted. Panic flashed in his eyes. I clutched my hand, ignoring the searing pain as red blisters began to form, and placed the proposal on the desk. This was the eighth draft. Cheryl had rejected every single one for arbitrary reasons, and this time, she didn’t even bother to flip through the pages. “Do it over.” She swept the entire document off the desk. It landed near my feet, the pages absorbing the puddle of spilled tea. A quiet, cold anger flared inside me. “Cheryl, if you could tell me exactly what needs adjusting, I can edit it right here.” “Is that your attitude toward your work?” Cheryl slammed her palm onto the desk, her eyes blazing. “Look at this garbage. Where is the innovation? Where is the professionalism? If we send this to the client, we’ll lose the entire account!” I almost wanted to laugh. I was the one who had trained Cheryl from the ground up when she first arrived. Now, she was lecturing me on professionalism. “You know what? Forget it. You’re off this account. I’ll reassign it to someone else.” Cheryl leaned back, admiring her freshly manicured nails. With a single, dismissive sentence, she had thrown away two months of my sleepless nights and hard work. When I stepped out of her office, Luke immediately dragged me into the breakroom. The guilt and worry in his eyes were painfully obvious. “Let me see your hand…” “Don’t touch me,” I said, recoiling from him. “Your hands are dirty.” The naked disgust in my voice made his face stiffen. “Tara, can you stop being so childish? This is a corporate office, not some fairy-tale ivory tower.” “I know you’re bitter. You think I play dirty, and you think Cheryl doesn’t deserve this promotion.” “But the decision has been made. You lost, Tara. You need to accept that.” The scene was painfully familiar. Just a month ago, we had stood in this exact breakroom, having the same argument. That was the day I missed the promotion. I had confronted him about why he had secretly swapped my almond milk for whole milk that morning. He knew I was severely lactose intolerant. The resulting stomach spasms had sent me straight to the ER, forcing me to miss my presentation. Everyone in the department had assumed the promotion was mine. The interview was supposed to be a mere formality. But when I was discharged from the hospital, Cheryl’s name was already on the announcement board. When I had demanded answers, Cheryl had looked at me with crocodile tears. “I’m so sorry, Tara. I didn’t mean to. I just thought… it would be such a waste if the proposal you worked on for months didn’t get presented…” I had nearly lost my mind with rage. “So that gave you the right to steal my pitch and present it as your own? Cheryl, I treated you like a sister, and you stabbed me in the back. How can you be so utterly shameless!” Looking at her feigned tears, my heart had turned to stone. It was the classic fable of the snake and the savior. But Luke had insisted I was the one being unreasonable. “Tara, I told you before, there’s no point in being so career-driven. Even if you become manager, what’s the point? Once we get married and have kids, you’re going to quit and stay home anyway.” “Cheryl is in her late thirties, and she’s had a brutal time building a life here from scratch. You grew up in a small town too, you should understand how hard it is.” “Aren’t you two supposed to be best friends? What’s wrong with letting her have this one victory?” We had screamed at each other until we were blue in the face. But looking at him now, I realized how pointless it all was. “You’re right,” I said quietly. “I was being childish.” “Don’t worry. I won’t fight you two anymore.” My sudden compliance made Luke let out a breath of relief. He reached out again to inspect my burned hand, but his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it, turned on his heel, and walked straight back into Cheryl’s office. I pulled out my phone and quickly drafted a reply to the message I had received earlier that morning. Hey Ian, I’m ready. I can start right after New Year’s. I walked back to my desk and threw the bag of roasted chestnuts directly into the trash. My screen lit up with a reply from Ian: It’s an honor, Tara. I can’t wait to have my favorite partner back. 3 That night, I sat on the couch drafting my resignation letter on my phone. The Word document interface was too obvious, and Luke leaned in, curious. “What are you working on?” “Just my weekly report,” I lied smoothly. He offered a vague “Oh,” then reached out to gently take my bandaged hand, inspecting the ointment I had applied. “My parents want us to come over for dinner on New Year’s. I think they want to talk about the wedding.” “They’re hoping we can set a date right after the holidays. They mentioned that since you’re still young, we should start trying for a baby soon.” I couldn’t help but let out a sarcastic dry laugh. “Oh? Did your mother change her mind about only letting me marry into the family if I guarantee her a grandson?” When Luke and I first started dating, his parents had been incredibly sweet to me. But everything changed during a family dinner when they casually asked how many children I planned to have. When I told them I wanted to focus on my career for a few more years, his father’s face instantly hardened, and his mother threw her silverware onto the table. Determined to speed up my pregnancy, his mother had eventually started bringing over bizarre, traditional folk remedies—pots of foul-smelling stews made of animal parts that gave me nightmares for weeks. When Luke finally snapped and threw one of the pots into the trash, his mother had screamed at us: “You will only walk down the aisle when you’re carrying a boy! If she can’t produce a grandson, you two might as well break up right now!” I had kept my head down and endured it back then, but tonight, I was done keeping the peace. Luke frowned, immediately leaping to his mother’s defense. “She was just talking out of anger, Tara. I can’t believe you’re still holding a grudge over that. You’re being incredibly petty.” “Whatever my mom said, she only wants what’s best for us.” “Just bring a nice gift, apologize when we go over, and let it go. Got it?” His fingers tightened around my wrist. I winced and forcefully pulled my arm away. “Don’t worry,” I said, a cold smile touching my lips. “Your family is going to get exactly the kind of daughter-in-law they want.” Just not me. Luke took my words as submission, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise. He tried to lean in to kiss me, but I turned my head away. “What is it now?” he grumbled. “I think I’m coming down with something. I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight.” Ignoring his exasperated sigh, I went into the room and turned the lock. The next morning, the moment I walked out of the bathroom, Luke glared at me from the kitchen. “Why didn’t you make breakfast?” I raised my bandaged right hand, offering him a blank look. “Because my hand is burned.” He let out a stiff, awkward cough to mask his embarrassment. “Right. Well, get ready quickly. Cheryl is waiting for us.” I walked toward the door, checking my phone. Ian had sent over the official employment contract first thing in the morning. When we reached the car, I bypassed the passenger door Luke had opened for me and slid directly into the backseat. “Tara, what are you doing?” Luke stared at me, visibly annoyed. “What is wrong with you lately?” As he tried to peer over my shoulder to see my screen, I locked my phone. “Let Cheryl sit in the front,” I said flatly. “Consider it a chance to show off your driving skills.” He choked on his words, unable to find a comeback. Throughout the drive, he kept glancing at me through the rearview mirror, trying to read my expression. I ignored him, focused on my phone, and digitally signed the contract. We picked Cheryl up halfway through the commute. She immediately announced she wanted breakfast from a trendy, high-end bakery downtown. Luke, who had always scoffed at trendy spots and hated waiting in lines, didn’t hesitate to drive five miles out of our way. He spent forty minutes standing in the freezing morning air just to get her order. “Luke really is the perfect boyfriend, isn’t he?” Cheryl said from the front passenger seat, looking back at me while her fingers lightly traced the designer necklace resting against her collarbone. “Tara, I have to admit, I’m incredibly jealous of you.” I let my lips curve into a faint smile as I watched Luke jogging back to the car through the winter mist. “If you like him that much, feel free to take him. He seems more than willing.” Luke got back in, carefully wrapping the warm pastries in insulated paper before handing them to Cheryl. Cheryl gasped softly. “Oh, Luke, you’re so forgetful! Did you forget to get Tara’s share?” Luke froze, his hand suspended in mid-air. He opened his mouth to say he would run back and buy another, but he caught my calm, indifferent gaze. “It’s fine,” I said. “I’m watching my weight.” The rest of the drive was suffocatingly quiet. Cheryl kept trying to show Luke funny videos on her phone to break the ice, but Luke’s responses were distracted, his eyes constantly darting back to me in the mirror. The moment I walked into the office, I submitted my official resignation. Cheryl signed off on it immediately, without asking a single question. When Luke found out, he looked as though he had been hit by a truck. He marched over to my desk, his eyes searching mine, but I simply took a slow, calm sip of my coffee. “Have you completely lost your mind?” He lowered his voice, his brow furrowed in utter confusion. “The Zephyr Motors account—you’ve been working your tail off for that pitch for months. You could at least finish the bid before you walk out.” I threw my paper cup into the recycling bin, rubbing my aching temple. “There’s no point. I’m not waiting around anymore.” I had originally planned to wait until the year-end bonuses were distributed, but now, I didn’t want to spend another single day in this place. As for the Zephyr Motors account? I would just win it back later. 4 New Year’s Day arrived quickly. I brought along some organic, homemade preserves and local treats my parents had sent from our hometown to Luke’s parents’ house. His father greeted me with a polite, albeit hollow, smile. “Tara, we appreciate the gesture from your parents. But tell them not to go through the trouble next time. We have everything we need here in the city.” His mother peeked inside the bag, her face pinched with hesitation. “Oh dear, I wonder if these home-packaged goods meet proper sanitation standards. There are so many bugs going around these days, and my stomach is far too sensitive. I wouldn’t dare risk it.” Luke shot me a reassuring look and laughed weakly. “Mom, don’t be so dramatic. If you guys don’t want them, we’ll just take them back home with us.” His mother took my hand, adopting a patronizingly warm tone. “Tara, sweetie, once you officially join our family, you’ll need to start aligning your tastes and habits with ours.” I pulled my hand back, slowly but deliberately. “Mrs. Peterson, we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. Nothing is set in stone.” “Oh, don’t be silly, dear. That’s exactly why we’re gathered here today—to talk about the future,” she beamed. “Luke told us you quit your job. That’s wonderful. Now you can focus entirely on taking care of the home.” Luke poured me a cup of tea, looking pleased with himself. “See, Mom, Dad? You two don’t have to worry anymore.” I gently pushed his hand away, my voice flat. “I think you’ve all misunderstood.” “I only resigned from my current position. I have no intention of giving up my career.” His mother’s smile instantly vanished. She shot a sharp, accusing look at Luke before turning back to me. “You still want to pursue a career? Tara, we are a very traditional family. We simply cannot accept these modern, independent ideas of yours.” His father’s face darkened as well. “The Peterson family door is open for a supportive, nurturing wife. We have no room for a career-obsessed woman.” Luke turned to me, his brow heavily furrowed. “Tara, you promised me you’d try to get along with my parents. What is this?” Faced with their collective hostility, my expression remained completely unchanged. I was just about to use this perfect opportunity to end our relationship when the doorbell rang. Standing on the threshold was Cheryl. “Cheryl? What are you doing here?” Luke asked, completely blindsided. Upon learning she was Luke’s department head, his parents instantly broke into obsequious smiles, their cold attitudes toward me vanishing in a second. Then his mother glared at me. “What are you standing there for? Go make some tea for our guest.” Cheryl sat down, looking appropriately modest, a delicate, shy smile playing on her lips. “Luke, there’s something I need to tell you.” She looked around the room. “And since your family is here, I think it’s best to be completely open.” She reached into her designer bag, pulled out a folded piece of medical paperwork, and laid it flat on the coffee table. The moment Luke saw what was written on the sheet, he bolted upright, knocking over his teacup. He looked at me, the color completely draining from his face. He was trembling, caught in a state of absolute shock. His mother picked up the paper, scanning it quickly, her eyes widening with pure ecstasy. “Oh my goodness… you’re carrying Luke’s child?” Cheryl rested a hand gently over her stomach, looking soft and vulnerable. “I’m twelve weeks along. The doctor said… it’s a boy.” “Oh, this is a miracle! Look at this, honey! We’re finally getting a grandson!” His parents were practically weeping with joy. But my world had gone completely cold. A wave of violent, suffocating nausea hit me. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, the sharp bite of pain the only thing keeping me from throwing up right then and there. I swallowed the bitter, acidic taste in my throat, forcing myself to stand up. “Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, I’ll be leaving now.” They were far too busy fussing over Cheryl to even look up. They ignored me entirely. “Tara— wait!” Luke took a step toward me, but Cheryl reached out, her fingers catching his sleeve with desperate longing. “Luke, aren’t you happy we’re having a baby boy?” I closed the door behind me, shutting out the rest of his answer. On the drive back, I pulled over and sent a simple text: We are completely done. Don’t contact me again. After sending it, I blocked his number, along with his parents’ and Cheryl’s. Back at the apartment, as I was packing my bags, I found two velvet jewelry boxes tucked deep inside the dresser drawer. Inside was a pair of matching Mobius-strip promise rings, engraved with our initials on the inner bands. I had no doubt that once, Luke had truly wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. But the future I wanted no longer had any room for him. Without a trace of emotion, I shut the drawer. I left my house keys on the dining table and walked out, never looking back.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “459290”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my acute cholecystitis flared up. I was curled in agony on a cold hospital bench, sending a dozen texts to Helena. None of them went through—or rather, none were answered. Just as I was about to sign my own surgical consent form, my screen lit up. It was a video from Cody. In the video, Helena was holding a heavy blue moving box for him. Her voice, usually so clipped with me, was incredibly tender: “Let me grab that, don’t strain yourself.” Then came Cody’s cheerful voice note: “Hey Lucas, Helena’s helping me unpack and hasn’t checked her phone. Everything okay?” Gritting my teeth, I declined the call and signed the consent form myself. Five years of marriage, and every milestone, every crisis, saw her standing by someone else’s side. When my father underwent surgery for stomach cancer, she was at the clinic holding Cody’s hand through a bout of food poisoning. When my mother was on her deathbed, Helena was in a gaming lounge, keeping Cody company because he was “heartbroken.” When the anesthesia wore off, the wife in the next bed was gently peeling an apple for her husband. I closed my eyes, swallowing the bitter lump in my throat. The divorce papers were already drawn up; I had already found a new apartment. This would be the very last time I waited for her to come home. 1 “Lucas, running late? Helena got back about an hour ago,” the doorman said, helping me push open the heavy glass door of our building. I gave a tight nod, the fresh incision in my abdomen throbbing with every step. Elevator to the ninth floor. When I opened the apartment door, Helena was curled on the sofa, mindlessly scrolling through her phone. On the coffee table sat two opened boxes of antacids. “You’re home?” she asked without looking up. “Why weren’t you answering your phone?” “I was busy.” “Busy enough to turn your phone off?” Her brow furrowed, and she finally spared me a glance. “Cody moved into his new place today. He wanted to buy us dinner, but you didn’t show. He was really hurt.” I didn’t reply. I slipped off my shoes, quietly tucking the hospital billing receipt deeper into my coat pocket. “I sent you a message. I told you I wasn’t feeling well and was going to the hospital.” “Oh?” She swiped her screen carelessly. “I didn’t notice. It was chaos at Cody’s place. I guess I missed it.” “So busy you couldn’t spare two seconds to check your phone?” “Lucas, here we go again.” She snapped her phone face down on the table, her impatience flaring. “Cody is completely alone in this city. He has no family here. If I don’t help him with the heavy lifting, who will? You’ve always been so independent. Why do you have to make a fuss over something so small?” I stared at the woman standing before me, feeling a sudden, chilling distance. She felt like a complete stranger. Independent. That was her favorite shield. Because I was independent, she could hold Cody’s hand during an IV drip while my dad was in the operating room. Because I was independent, I had to arrange my mother’s funeral alone while she took Cody on a road trip to “clear his head.” My independence was my punishment; it meant I was always relegated to the very end of her list. “I brought back some leftovers Cody made. They’re in the kitchen. Go heat them up.” She stood and walked toward the study. I walked into the kitchen. In the trash can lay a few takeout boxes—the delivery address was Cody’s new apartment complex on the South Side. On the counter sat a sturdy, matte-black folding umbrella with a deep navy trim. It was Cody’s style through and through. “Helena, whose umbrella is this?” “Cody’s,” she called out. “It was pouring when I left, so he lent it to me. I’ll give it back next time I see him.” “Next time?” I traced the handle of the umbrella. “He lives on the South Side, we’re on the North Side. How is that on your way?” “Lucas, are you seriously tracking my mileage now?” She pushed open the study door, her voice hardening. “I helped him move, we grabbed a bite, and I got home a little late. That’s it. Do you have to make everything so ugly?” She called it “making a scene.” I said nothing, silently opening the refrigerator. The shelves, which I had meticulously stocked with gourmet ingredients for our anniversary dinner, had been shoved to the back. In their place were several six-packs of blue-labeled energy drinks and a vacuum-sealed package of spiced beef—Cody’s favorites. “Is he going to be coming over often?” “His new place is close to my office,” she said, handing me a shiny set of keys. “He doesn’t have a place to rest during his lunch breaks, so I told him he could crash here. This is our spare set. I gave him a copy. In case you’re ever out of town on a business trip, he can help out around the house.” She hadn’t even bothered to ask me. She had simply carved out a piece of our private, sacred space and handed it to Cody on a silver platter. “Helena, what is Cody’s contact name in your phone?” She blinked, caught off guard, then tapped her screen. “Just ‘Cody.’ Why?” “And what’s mine?” Silence stretched for three seconds before she turned the screen toward me. There, in cold, clinical letters, was my full name: Lucas Wright. First and last name. As cold as a business contact. “It’s just a contact name. Do you really have to be this dramatic?” “No,” I said quietly. “I suppose not.” I turned and walked into the bedroom. Reaching into the bottom drawer of my nightstand, I pulled out the signed divorce agreement. My phone buzzed. It was the leasing agent for my new apartment: “Hi Lucas, the apartment is clean and ready for move-in. When should we schedule the movers?” I stared out at the pitch-black night and typed back two words: “Tomorrow morning.” 2 “I have a follow-up appointment today,” I said at seven the next morning. Helena was at the vanity, carefully applying lipstick. “Can you drive me?” “A follow-up? What’s actually wrong with you?” “Gallbladder surgery. The surgeon said the incision was in a tricky spot and needs to be checked.” She paused, her lipstick hovering. “Why didn’t you mention this?” “I sent you a text. I called. You were busy assembling Cody’s gaming desk.” A flicker of embarrassment crossed her face, but it vanished instantly. “Fine, I’ll drive you. What time?” “Nine.” “We have time, then. I just need to run by Cody’s first. His water heater burst, and his floors are flooding. He can’t handle it alone. I’ll be back to pick you up at eight-thirty.” “He can call maintenance,” I said softly. “Or a plumber.” “It’s Sunday, maintenance is off. And emergency plumbers cost a fortune. Cody just put down a deposit on the apartment; he’s tight on cash. He needs to save where he can.” She grabbed her car keys. “It’ll take thirty minutes. Wait for me.” I sat on the bench in the entryway. Eight-thirty came and went. No Helena. At nine, a voice note arrived. In the background, I could hear the roar of rushing water and Cody’s panicked shouting. “Lucas, it’s bad. The hardwood floors are warping. I have to help him move his furniture. Just take an Uber. It’s just a routine follow-up anyway; it’s not like the doctor’s going to keep you there.” My fingers tightened around the phone. A sharp, throbbing pain bloomed across my lower abdomen. “Helena, the doctor said if the healing isn’t looking good, they might have to re-suture it.” “Oh, come on, stop trying to scare me. You’ve always been strong as an ox. Don’t start being fragile now. I’ll come pick you up from the clinic when I’m done here, okay?” The line went dead. I took an Uber to the hospital alone. Lines, exams, blood draws. The doctor looked at my charts, his face darkening. “The incision is severely inflamed. What happened? I told you absolute bed rest.” “…I had to move some things around the house.” “It hasn’t even begun to fuse properly. Any more strain and you’re looking at a serious infection.” He scribbled a prescription. “Five days of IV antibiotics. You have to come in every single day. Where’s your emergency contact? Why are you alone again?” “She’s busy.” Walking out of the clinic, my phone rang. It was my mother. “Lucas, happy anniversary, sweetheart! What did Helena get you?” I leaned against the cold corridor wall, taking a shallow breath. “She got me… a watch. It’s beautiful, Mom.” “That’s wonderful. Helena is quiet, but she has a good heart. Remember when I broke my leg and she was away on that business trip? She still sent money for those supplements.” I closed my eyes. She hadn’t been on a business trip. She had been in Austin, attending an esports tournament with Cody. The two hundred dollars she had sent me didn’t even cover the cost of the seafood dinner she bought him that night. And during the seven days my mother was hospitalized, Helena was in the same city but never set foot in the ward. Her excuse? “Cody says he’s feeling suicidal after his breakup. I need to watch him. He’s genuinely volatile. Your mom has a chronic condition; she’s going to be fine.” “Mom,” I said, “I’m thinking of relocating. A position opened up at the branch in Austin.” “What about Helena?” “She… supports it.” By the time I hung up, it was 2:00 PM. A text from Helena finally popped up: “Water heater is fixed. Cody insisted on buying me barbecue to thank me. You’re probably done, right? I figured you’d be home by now, so I won’t head over to the clinic.” After fixing his pipes and eating barbecue, she had finally remembered me. “I’m done,” I replied. “Great. I want pickled fish for dinner. Pick up a fresh trout on your way back. Cody’s coming over; it’s his absolute favorite.” Staring at the words Cody’s absolute favorite, my stomach churned. I opened my contacts and called the moving company. “Can we move the pick-up to 3:00 PM today? I want to get this done.” “Today? Mr. Wright, you scheduled for tomorrow.” “I can’t wait.” I couldn’t risk waiting. If I stayed another night, I knew I would end up throwing that fish in her face. 3 “Thanks for the trouble, Lucas!” Cody said as he stepped through the door, carrying two cheap plastic containers of fruit, a bright grin on his face. Helena followed behind him, still holding Cody’s deep navy folding umbrella. “Cody said no one makes pickled fish like you do,” Helena said, kicking off her shoes and casually hanging the umbrella on the coat rack—the exact hook where I always hung my jacket. I sat at the dining table, watching Cody confidently pull his favorite black mug from our cabinet. “Hey Lucas, did you get a new apron? I liked the camouflage one better.” “It got dirty. I threw it out,” I said evenly. “Oh, Helena, can you tie this apron for me? My hands are wet,” Cody called out, turning his back to her. Without a second thought, Helena dropped her coat and stepped up to him. In the cramped kitchen, they stood incredibly close. Her hands moved with a practiced ease, a routine they had clearly performed a thousand times before. I sat in the living room, staring at the massive wedding portrait on the wall. In that photo, Helena had held my arm with the exact same familiarity, promising that I was the only man she would ever share a kitchen with. “Lucas, why aren’t you helping?” Cody poked his head out, his eyes drifting to my midsection. “Helena said you’ve been under the weather? You look perfectly fine to me. Just trying to get out of kitchen duty?” “He’s fine. It was just a minor gallbladder thing,” Helena called out from the stove. “Don’t copy him, Cody. Lucas is the type of guy who can carry two fifty-pound bags of concrete up five flights of stairs without breaking a sweat. He doesn’t need looking after.” It wasn’t that I didn’t need looking after. It was that no one cared to look. I watched Helena meticulously slice the spiced beef Cody loved, arranging it perfectly on a platter, completely forgetting that because of my surgery, I couldn’t touch anything spicy or greasy. The red-hot, chili-laden fish was prepared entirely for him. During dinner, Cody suddenly pulled a bottle of cologne from his bag and sprayed it right in front of Helena. “Helena, do you like this scent? The last bottle broke in your car. This is my new one.” Helena studied it for a moment, then nodded. “It’s nice. Suits you.” My grip on my chopsticks tightened. Last year for my birthday, I had practically begged her to help me pick out a cologne. She had dismissed it, calling it a “commercial trap” and a waste of money. “Look, Lucas, Helena and I share our locations now,” Cody said, shoving his phone screen in my face. “One night I was stuck at the office and couldn’t get a cab. She saw my dot hadn’t moved for thirty minutes and drove straight down to pick me up. She’s so attentive.” On the screen, their two icons were practically touching. Meanwhile, the night I was sitting in the emergency room waiting for a signature, she hadn’t even bothered to open the map I sent her. “You want to join the sharing circle?” Cody asked. “No, thanks.” “He doesn’t need it,” Helena answered for me. “Lucas has a great sense of direction, and he’s too independent anyway. He’d find it annoying.” Cody set his phone down, his eyes landing on my wrist. I was wearing a platinum chain bracelet with a tiny silver pine needle charm. “Wow, that bracelet is stunning. It looks so high-end.” He reached over to touch it. “Helena, is this the one you said you wanted to give away?” Helena glanced at it. “Yeah. I gave it to Lucas years ago. He doesn’t really wear jewelry anymore. It just gets in his way when he’s working.” She stood up and walked over to me. “Lucas, you’ve had that for years. The style is getting a bit dated anyway. Cody just moved into his new place and doesn’t have any nice accessories to wear out. Why don’t you let him borrow it for a while?” I stared at the pine needle charm. It was a limited-edition piece she had spent weeks searching the city for on our first anniversary. She had told me then that I was as resilient as a pine tree. Now, she wanted me to hand that resilience over to her fragile little project. “Lucas, I’m talking to you. You’re always working with your hands anyway. It’s just a distraction.” Slowly, I unclasped the bracelet. The cool metal dragged against my skin, leaving a cold trail. “Take it.” Cody gasped, snatching it up and fastening it around his wrist. “Thanks, Lucas! I’ll take great care of it.” I watched the charm bounce against Cody’s wrist. In that silent apartment, I heard the faint, distinct sound of my own heart shattering into dust. 4 At six on Sunday morning, I got up and made some plain white rice porridge. No oil, no salt. Helena walked out, yawning, and cast a disapproving look at the pot. “Why so bland? Cody said last night he wanted beef and egg congee.” “I wanted plain porridge.” “Suit yourself. I’ll grab something out.” She sat down, scrolling through her phone. “The invitations for Cody’s housewarming dinner went out. It’s next Friday. Make sure you request the day off.” Last year, when I got my promotion, we had planned a quiet dinner at home. But Cody’s apartment had a power outage, and she rushed over to play video games with him in the dark. The expensive dinner I had prepared ended up rotting in the trash. “I might not be free.” “What else could you possibly have going on?” she asked, her voice sharp with irritation. “Cody treats you like an older brother. Stop being so stuck-up. Don’t you think you’re taking this too far?” I swallowed a spoonful of the bland porridge. It tasted like ash. “Helena.” “What now?” “If I packed up and left one day without a word, would you even look for me?” Her fork paused for a fraction of a second, then she let out a dry laugh. “Lucas, you’re too old for these childish mind games. Where would you go? Your job is here, your life is here. Honestly, who else but me would put up with your rigid attitude?” To her, my presence was an absolute certainty. I had no other choice. She put on her coat and picked up Cody’s navy blue umbrella. “Cody needs help picking out a rug at the furniture market today. He wants my eye. I’ll probably help him set up his gaming console afterward, so don’t wait up for dinner.” She slipped on her shoes and reached for the doorknob. “Helena,” I called out, one last time. “Don’t go today. Stay and drive me to the clinic to finish my IV. I’m really not feeling well.” Her frown deepened. “You said it wasn’t a big deal. Cody already made an appointment with the vendor. It’s rude to cancel last minute. Just call an Uber. Treat yourself to a nice lunch after you’re done, my treat.” “Do you really have to go?” “Lucas, why are you being so incredibly unreasonable today? He’s shopping for rugs alone. What if he gets ripped off? Can’t you be a little more generous?” The door slammed shut. Once the hum of the elevator faded, the apartment became as quiet as a tomb. I stood up and began to pack. I didn’t own much. My side of the closet was cleared out in minutes. On the bathroom counter, my toiletries boiled down to a single, half-empty bottle of aftershave. I took our wedding portrait off the bookshelf. Looking at my younger self, smiling so radiantly, I felt a wave of pity. I turned it face down on the table, leaving it behind. The sofa cushions, which Cody had complained were too light, had already been replaced by Helena with dark grey gaming cushions. There was no space left for me here. I placed the signed divorce papers directly in the center of the coffee table. I weighed them down with the expensive fountain pen Cody had gifted her. Beside it, I left a sticky note: “My transfer to the Austin branch went through. I’m gone.” “Once you sign, mail them to my company’s legal department.” “Consider the pine bracelet his housewarming gift.”

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My son’s girlfriend said their dog was in a bad mood. So my son canceled his trip home to see me. “Mom, I’m not coming back for the sixth either. If Snowball gets depressed, that’s serious.” I listened to the cheerful barking on the other end of the line. He had probably forgotten — this was the third year in a row he hadn’t come to see me. Including Chinese New Year. He had also forgotten that my doctor had just handed me a terminal cancer diagnosis. “Mom, why aren’t you saying anything? Never mind, I’m hanging up. I still need to take Snowball out to cheer her up.” In the dead silence after the call ended, I pulled the IV tube out of my arm. — **1** The nurse came rushing in, panicked, trying to put the needle back in. “Ms. Shen! You can’t do this! Your condition—” I pushed her hand away, my face cold. “Discharge me. Now.” The cancer had spread through my body. Every movement sent sharp pain shooting through me, but I stood up straight. I dialed my lawyer’s number. My voice was completely steady. “Have a car ready. Take me back to the estate.” The car moved smoothly along the road. Then Hayden’s call came through. I picked up. Through the speaker came the sound of Crystal putting on her baby voice. “Snowball, sweetie, just one bite — this is wagyu beef, flown in specially for you.” Then came Hayden’s impatient voice. “Mom, what is wrong with you? It’s the holidays and you’re deliberately making my life difficult? Ever since you got sick, Snowball’s been depressed because of you.” “Transfer fifty thousand dollars right now. I need to take Snowball to a pet therapist. If we wait any longer it’s going to get worse.” I said nothing. My stomach clenched in waves. This time last year, I had just finished a round of chemo. I had a fever that wouldn’t break. I had nearly lost half my life. And my wonderful son had been out skiing in Hokkaido with Crystal, posting a grid of smiling vacation photos on Instagram. He had sent me a two-hundred-dollar Venmo with the message: *Happy New Year, Mom. Stay warm, drink plenty of water.* I cut off the memory. I didn’t open my banking app the way I normally would have. I simply asked, calmly, “Hayden, do you know what today is?” There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then came an enraged outburst. “There you go again with the guilt trip! Is this fun for you? Let me tell you something — you better stay alive a good long time, because if you die, all that money is useless to you!” The call slammed dead. I looked out the window at the business empire I had built with my own hands. I thought of all those years, drinking at client dinners until my stomach bled just to close a deal. The only love that had kept me fighting — my love for my son — dissolved completely in that moment. I returned to the cold, empty estate. The living room was stacked with New Year gifts I had prepared for Hayden: the latest gaming console, limited-edition sneakers. Every one of them felt like it was mocking me. My chest tightened. The pain took my breath away. “Mr. Zhao.” I spoke. My voice came out rough. “Ms. Shen, shall we finalize the will now?” “No.” I shook my head. “Draft the first document. Notify all banks to freeze every supplementary credit card under Hayden’s name. Effective immediately.” The moment the words left my mouth, my phone began buzzing nonstop. A flood of voice messages from Hayden came through. *”Mom, have you lost it? Why won’t my card work?!”* *”Crystal and I are out right now! Do you know how embarrassing this is?!”* *”Are you insane?!”* I turned off my phone, walked to the study, and picked up the framed photo of my late husband. I traced his gentle smile with my fingertips and said quietly, “Gerald, it’s time to clean house.” I turned to my lawyer. “Put out word that my condition has improved, and that I plan to name a successor for the company this holiday season.” It was bait. I wanted to see with my own eyes exactly what kind of creature I had raised. Less than thirty minutes after the news broke, Hayden messaged me on Snapchat. A complete one-eighty. *”Mom, are you feeling better? Crystal and I are getting in the car right now! Please take care of yourself!”* *”Mom, what do you want to eat? I’ll bring it back for you.”* *”Mom, I know I’ve been a bad son. Don’t hold it against me.”* Reading those copy-pasted pleasantries, my stomach turned. Mr. Zhao and I sat in the living room. I was wrapped in a heavy blanket, sunk into my wheelchair, waiting quietly. Late that night, the door was thrown open. Crystal came in first, carrying Snowball. The moment she crossed the threshold, she started fanning the air in front of her face dramatically. “God, what is that smell? It reeks of old people and medicine in here.” Snowball leapt out of her arms and tore across the expensive rug, claws raking across the leather sofa. Hayden came in behind her. Not only did he not stop the dog, he laughed. “Mom, look — Snowball’s just bringing some energy into the place.” From the moment he walked in, he hadn’t once looked directly at my face — a face that had wasted away almost beyond recognition. Hayden dropped onto the sofa across from me and got straight to the point. “Mom, Mr. Zhao said the succession process has started. Has it actually been filed?” I gave a vague smile. “That depends on how you behave.” Hayden immediately slipped into a fawning expression and reached for the kettle on the coffee table. “Mom, you must be thirsty. Let me pour you some water.” He handed me a cup of scalding water. My body was weak, my hands were shaking. I couldn’t hold it. The cup hit the floor. The boiling water splashed across my hand — and a few drops landed on Snowball’s fur nearby. “Ah!” Crystal let out a piercing scream. Not for me. For her dog. She lunged forward, pulled out tissues, and dabbed frantically at the few drops of water on Snowball’s coat. “My baby! Are you burned? Does it hurt?” She didn’t look at me once. Even as my hand began to swell and redden. — **2** I stared down at my burned hand, and suddenly thought of the time Hayden had a high fever as a little boy. I had held him all night, wiping down his body with rubbing alcohol, not sleeping for a single moment. Crystal finished comforting her dog and turned to me with a performance of concern. “Aunt Helen, honestly, with your health being what it is, maybe you should consider a care facility. They have professionals there. It would be better for you.” She paused, then added pointedly, “And it would be a shame to leave this estate sitting empty. I think it would make a lovely place for a wedding.” Hayden jumped in right on cue. “Exactly, Mom! The energy here is great, it’s perfect for us young people. You’d be much better off at a nice facility, and we’d feel so much more at peace.” I nodded. “Alright. I’ll think about it.” Right in front of them, I pulled out my phone and texted Mr. Zhao. *Inventory all antiques and artwork in the estate. Prepare for transfer.* At dinner, the table was full of Hayden’s favorites — braised pork ribs, sweet-and-sour fish. The chemo had destroyed my appetite. All I could manage was a bowl of plain congee. Between bites, Hayden complained, “Mom, VP Reynolds at the company is getting completely out of line with me. You need to hand over full authority soon.” The next morning, I was woken by the clattering and banging from downstairs. I pushed myself out of bed and made my way to the top of the staircase. Below, Crystal was standing with her hands on her hips, directing a team of movers to rearrange the furniture. She was pointing at my most treasured piece — the rosewood bookcase. The one my husband had loved most. “This thing — it’s old, it’s ugly, throw it out. Just looking at it brings bad luck.” “Stop.” My voice came out sharp. “Don’t touch that.” Crystal looked up at me. Not a trace of guilt on her face. She smiled, sarcastic and sweet. “Oh, Aunt Helen, you’re up! I figured out with the old, in with the new — I’m refreshing the place a little, for good luck.” “And this space would be perfect for a luxury play area for our Snowball.” Hayden stood to the side and didn’t say a word against it. In fact, he played along. “Mom, that bookcase is so dark, it gives off bad energy. It’s affecting our luck.” I was shaking with fury. I gripped the banister and made my way down the stairs, one step at a time. I spread my arms wide and stood in front of the bookcase. Snowball suddenly charged at me, barking furiously, snapping at the hem of my trousers. Crystal stood off to the side with her arms crossed, watching, amused. “Look how smart Snowball is — she knows quality when she sees it. She’s just not a fan of these old things.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I swatted at the dog hard. “Get away from me!” Snowball startled, yelped, and scrambled backward — straight into the display cabinet behind her. *Crash—* The sound of something shattering cut through the entire room. The blue-and-white porcelain urn that had been sitting on the top shelf of the cabinet tumbled to the floor and broke into pieces. It had contained my husband’s ashes. The only urn. A roar went through my head. My body went rigid. Hayden’s first reaction was to point his finger in my face and scream at me. “What is wrong with you! Why did you have to yell that loud? If something happened to Snowball, you’re paying for it!” He was worried about the dog. Not his father’s ashes. Crystal rushed over too, scooping up the dog, checking her over from head to toe for scratches. She kept muttering under her breath, “God, this is so morbid, dead people’s things should’ve been thrown out a long time ago, keeping them in the house is terrible luck.” My legs gave out beneath me. I sank to the floor. My hands shaking, I reached out to gather the broken pieces. A shard sliced into my finger. Blood fell, drop by drop, onto the pale gray dust. Hayden looked at me on the floor and grew even more impatient. He grabbed my arm roughly. “Alright, enough of the pity show! Get up and sign the will, don’t make us late for Snowball’s grooming appointment!” I wrenched my arm away from him. I raised my head. Whatever emotion had been in my eyes was gone. Only ice remained. I pulled myself up off the floor. Hayden took a step back. Something in my gaze had shaken him. But the thought of the money steadied his nerve. He reached for the coffee table, picked up a document he had obviously prepared in advance, and slammed it down. His voice was thick with greed and urgency. “This is an unconditional power of attorney over the company’s shares. For the sake of stability, you need to sign this right now.” Crystal hugged Snowball and chimed in from behind him. “That’s right, Aunt Helen. You’re not thinking clearly anymore. Hayden is the only one who can protect this family’s legacy.” I looked at the document — it was practically a mugging dressed up in legal language — and the corner of my mouth moved slightly.

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On the day of the wedding, I swapped souls with Vivienne’s sworn enemy. When I opened my eyes, Vivienne’s body was covered in hickeys. “Don’t leave so many marks next time. My husband finds out, he’ll kill you.” My heart shattered. I told her who I really was, my voice trembling. Vivienne froze. Then she leaned in and kissed me with a smile. “Right. You’re my husband. A little husband is still a husband.” “Be a good boy and rest up. I’ve got a wedding to get to. I’ll come back tonight and take care of you.” At the million-dollar wedding that had been planned for me, she declared her love for someone else in front of everyone. Then she covered the microphone and whispered, “Ethan, for these seven days, you are my husband in the eyes of the world.” Rage burned through me. I stormed the stage wearing Marcus’s face. “I, Marcus Cole, am Vivienne’s side piece!” — **1** The entire hall erupted. A flash of panic crossed Vivienne’s eyes. She composed herself quickly, her brow furrowing. “You’ve always loved picking fights with me. Spreading lies, hurting people — you’ll do whatever it takes.” “I’ve let it go before, but today is my wedding day. Don’t push me.” Everyone in the city knew Marcus Cole and Vivienne were enemies. Born rivals. If I hadn’t lived it myself, I never would have known these two had already been sleeping together. Malicious whispers cut into my ears. I let out a cold laugh. “You have three hickeys on your left chest. Fresh ones.” I dropped the bombshell and dared her to take off her dress and prove me wrong. Vivienne knew my personality better than anyone. This wasn’t going to end quietly. She grabbed my wrist and warned me not to make it worse — she’d explain everything later. But I didn’t want her explanation. I reached out and tore at her wedding dress. The gown, the lining — all of it ripped open. Three fresh hickeys on her left chest, plain as day. The room exploded. “Did Vivienne really cheat? And with Marcus Cole — the man responsible for her family’s deaths?” “Impossible! When Dylan was kidnapped, Vivienne threw everything she had into saving him. She said she’d give her life for his.” “Nobody in this city would believe she stopped loving Dylan!” Vivienne’s eyes went red. She stared at me, silently begging me to back down. I shook her off and opened my mouth to keep going. But Marcus — wearing my face — cut me off with a sharp cry. “Enough! I left those marks. How would you even know that?” “Did you put cameras in our bedroom? What are you after?!” He twisted the whole thing around, making it look like I was the one targeting Vivienne. I was furious. I almost blurted out the whole soul-swap situation right then. But Vivienne shot me a look. Her friend group immediately swarmed me and dragged me into a corner of the venue. They took turns trying to talk me down. “Ethan, didn’t you promise Vivienne you’d behave today? She even promised you three months alone with her.” “You two have been tangled up for ten years. You’re definitely the only husband she has in her heart.” I stood there frozen. I couldn’t even breathe. “Ten years? She and I — Ethan Walsh — have only been together seven years.” The heartbreak curdled into rage. Vivienne’s friends started talking over each other, piecing together the history. It started with Vivienne and Marcus running away together on New Year’s Eve when they were teenagers. Then their vow at the top of the Pinnacle Tower. Then the expedition they’d survived together on a mountain climb — clinging to life, clinging to each other. The whole wedding became a backdrop. No — the wedding belonged to them too. Before they ran out of things to say, they told me about the day before Vivienne met me. Her parents had been invited on a trip by Marcus’s family. A landslide. No survivors. “If that hadn’t happened, Ethan, you and Vivienne would’ve gotten married with your families’ blessings a long time ago.” “And… Vivienne doesn’t hate you. She just… loves you in a way that hurts her.” — **2** I sat there and listened to the whole epic love story between my wife and her affair partner. Then I let out a quiet, hollow laugh. I pressed my palm until the pain cut through, forcing myself to stay sharp. I hit record. “Start over from the beginning. Tell me exactly how much Vivienne loves Marcus.” Her friends didn’t notice anything was off. They just figured their boy Ethan had snapped. They talked until the sky went dark. Walking out of the venue, I had one thought left in my head: I’m done with her. But I’m getting my body back. I tucked the recorder into my pocket and kicked open the door to the bridal suite. Vivienne was waiting. Exhaustion was written all over her face. “I figured out what happened. Marcus used your family heirloom — the bloodstone — to swap your souls without telling anyone.” That bloodstone. I’d retrieved it from the family vault myself to keep her safe. The only person I’d ever told about its power was her. Vivienne paused, then continued. “I’ve already talked to him. Don’t be angry. You’ll swap back in seven days.” As for the affair — she never offered a single word of explanation. I looked at her in silence and pressed play. The color drained from Vivienne’s face as the recording played. Her knuckles turned white. Her eyes went red. When she spoke, the words came out unsteady. “Ethan, that was the past. I only love you now.” “If I didn’t love you, why would I have chosen to marry you instead of Marcus?” I found it funny. I actually laughed. Vivienne took that as a good sign and let out a breath of relief. She even lightened up, pushing her luck. “Because of what happened to my parents, I blamed Marcus for years. He went through a lot because of me. This feels like a chance to make it right.” “Think of the wedding night as something I owe him. It’s still your body, so just pretend it didn’t happen. Don’t let it bother you.” She kept talking like I wasn’t even there. I looked at her, flat and cold, and said exactly one thing. “Why should my dignity pay for your mistakes?” Vivienne looked annoyed. She pulled out the old line about being one unit, husband and wife. Then she gave me a disappointed look and said I was being unsympathetic. I didn’t bother arguing. “Give me back the bloodstone and my body. And sign the divorce papers while you’re at it.” “You’re the one at fault. Walk away with nothing.” Lucky that Marcus hadn’t gone public with the soul-swap. Otherwise I never could’ve gotten Vivienne’s friends to hand me evidence of her affair on a silver platter. Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. She snapped at me for being reckless. “Forcing the swap back early will hurt both bodies. You can’t give Marcus even seven days?” “And Ethan — don’t joke about divorce. That would really hurt me.” I wouldn’t budge. That pushed Vivienne to her limit. She held herself back from lashing out at me. Marcus, though, couldn’t stand it anymore. He burst out of the room and came at me. “You’ve always used the fact that Vivienne loves you as a weapon. You hurt her whenever you want. You don’t deserve her. There are plenty of people who would.” Vivienne looked genuinely moved. She turned away from me. She was upset now. The whole thing was absurd. I crossed my arms and looked Marcus up and down. “You two deserve each other. She’s a liar, you’re worse — no wonder you found each other.” I don’t hold back with words. Never have. Even if Marcus wanted to take a swing at me, I wasn’t afraid. But the hand he raised never came down on my face. Vivienne caught his wrist and pulled him into her arms. “Marcus, I know you’re angry for me. And you’re right — Ethan has always taken me for granted.” — **3** Her eyes, sharp and clear, found mine. There was a cruelty in them that left no room for argument. “Actually, I don’t need your permission to do anything.” “Ethan, you married me. You need to learn what it means to be my husband. You can’t keep acting like a child.” A chill ran through me. I stepped back and grabbed the door handle. But she yanked me by the arm and dragged me into the darkened bridal suite. Vivienne locked the door. No light. Just her voice. “When Marcus and I are done, I’ll let you out.” The bridal suite was Vivienne’s design. That room had always been locked. Her ultimate secret. I hit the floor hard. Scraped my palm. I pushed myself up through the pain. Moonlight fell across the walls, and the color drained from my face. Every wall was covered in photos of Marcus. Portraits. Couple shots. Intimate photos. Every single one had a date written underneath. My birthday. Our anniversary. The night we got engaged. Even the day I first visited her parents’ graves as her husband. Blinding fury and disgust crashed over me. I started tearing the photos off the walls. And the whole time, Marcus’s breathless voice drifted through the walls. “Vivienne, I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.” Vivienne moaned his name back. Then mine. Back and forth. The moment I remembered that was my body, I bent over and dry-heaved. When I straightened up, my face was blank. I flicked the lighter. The room caught fast. Everything was flammable. The fire spread before I could think. Thick smoke tore through my lungs. I coughed until my chest felt like it was splitting. I smashed the window. I was halfway out when Vivienne crashed through the flames. “Ethan!” She smothered the fire, then wrapped her arms around me in the charred room and held on tight. “Are you out of your mind?! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” She must have smelled the smoke and come running. Her clothes were still half-undone. Not even the smoke covered the smell on her. I shoved her away. Before I could say anything, she grabbed my arm. “You burned yourself? Do you know how much Marcus cares about his skin?” “Just because it’s not your body, you think you can trash it? That’s a twisted way to get back at someone.” Vivienne’s expression went cold. She forced me to the hospital to get skin grafts done on Marcus’s body. I fought her the whole way. It didn’t matter. I stood there helpless while Marcus used my body to sign the consent forms. Eyes shining with tears, he clutched Vivienne’s sleeve. “Vivienne, I’m worried there are other injuries he’s hiding.” Vivienne understood immediately and ordered a full examination — the works. I told them through gritted teeth that nothing was wrong. They pushed me into the exam room anyway. The doctor came back with results. “The patient’s eyes were exposed to intense smoke and heat. The corneas have been damaged. Vision has significantly deteriorated.” Marcus sobbed into Vivienne’s arms. “I knew he was hiding something. Is he trying to make me go blind for the rest of my life once we swap back?” Vivienne shot me a withering glare. Then she turned back to Marcus and spoke gently. “Don’t worry. We’ll have him sign a cornea donation form. After the swap, we’ll do the surgery — same time as the skin grafts.” My eyes went wide. “There’s nothing wrong with my eyes right now!” Marcus had bribed the doctor. He wanted my eyes. I needed to prove I could see. I read out every word in sight, one after another. Vivienne hesitated. Marcus’s expression flickered. Then he put on a wounded look and started whimpering. “You could see when you came in. You probably just memorized everything then.” Fury surged through me. I laughed, ice cold. “So you want to be blind that badly. Fine. I’ll make it happen.” I raised my hand and drove it straight toward my own eyes. — **4** Marcus stared at me in disbelief, stunned that I’d actually snapped. Vivienne’s pupils contracted. She lunged and grabbed my wrist. Her face had gone pale. She growled at me under her breath. “What are you doing? Do you have any idea how much it hurts to poke your own eye? Is it really worth destroying yourself like this?” I looked at her, genuinely confused. It’s just pain. What’s the big deal? They thought the swap wouldn’t happen for seven days. But that was outdated information. The bloodstone could only hold the connection for three days. In three days, I’d be back in my own body — and I’d catch them completely off guard and leave. Nobody would be able to force skin grafts or cornea donations on me after that. Vivienne didn’t know any of this. She swallowed her anger. “Stop making a scene. You cause the damage, you deal with the consequences.” She called the doctor over and had the cornea donation form brought in, all business. Marcus signed two names on it and shot me a satisfied look. I said nothing. Let him sign. If he signed and I wasn’t around to collect, what was the point? Vivienne softened her voice. “Ethan, don’t be scared. Even if you can’t see, I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life. You don’t have to be afraid.” “Just rest for these seven days. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.” Guilt had made her generous. Vivienne offered me three requests. On the first day, I asked for the bloodstone back. Marcus hemmed and hawed and refused to hand it over. After I pushed him hard enough, he admitted he’d sold it. That same day I ransacked his place and listed everything he owned for sale online — including his used clothes. On the second day, I asked for a divorce. “Transfer the bridal suite to my name. I’m selling it.” I wasn’t in my own body yet, so pushing a clean split was difficult — I just needed her signature on the divorce papers first. Vivienne’s face went cold. She pressed her lips together. Under pressure from Marcus, she nodded. On the third day, I asked for seven years’ worth of dividends back. A divorce fund. Something to fall back on. Vivienne had no objections. Marcus did. He shot me a resentful glare. “Finance only recognizes Ethan’s face. Come with me.” The window for the swap was closing. I couldn’t tip my hand early. I figured he wouldn’t try anything, so I got in the car. I was wrong. Halfway there, everything went sideways. Several black SUVs came out of nowhere and rammed us. Marcus screamed in terror. I clenched my jaw and hit the emergency contact button on the phone. The next second, the phone was ripped away. My hands were tied. By the time Vivienne arrived, Marcus and I were both barely conscious on the concrete floor. “Ethan! Marcus!” I forced my eyes open. Fury simmered in my chest. Marcus, you idiot. Your emergency contact wasn’t 911. It was Vivienne. The kidnappers grabbed us both by the hair and grinned. “Ms. Vivienne, Mr. Reid needs a transplant. Both of your men are a match.” “Out of respect for you, he only needs one. Your choice. Who lives?” My mind was running fast, calculating every angle. Marcus was sobbing. “Vivienne, save me. Please save me.” Vivienne’s face was a wreck. Her fists were clenched so tight the veins stood out. She tried to speak several times. “I — I choose—” The kidnappers ran out of patience. They raised a solid steel pipe, aiming at both of our heads. Right before it came down — Vivienne raised her hand and pointed. “Him. I choose him.” Ethan Walsh’s body. Marcus Cole’s soul. I was about to die. I was smiling. Three. Two. One.

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The brother who had been so disgusted by my confession that he fled the country was finally back. His fiancée threw a welcome-home party behind my back. I showed up uninvited. Before I even walked through the door, I heard his best friend say: “Aren’t you worried she’ll latch onto you again now that you’re back?” Ethan draped an arm around his fiancée’s waist. “The beating I gave her before I left should have knocked some sense into her.” “Of course,” he added, “if she starts up again—” He laughed softly. “Then I’ll just have to ship her off somewhere so remote she’ll never forget her place.” Laughter erupted inside. I pushed the door open and walked in. The room went instantly quiet. Everyone stared at me with contempt. His fiancée sneered. “Shameless. Nobody invited you.” Ethan gave me a knowing look and said lightly, “My fiancée speaks her mind. Don’t take it personally.” “But honestly, you shouldn’t be here.” I swept my gaze over the crowd drinking in the spectacle. Then I let out a sudden, broken sob. And grabbed Ethan’s best friend by the arm. “Babe,” I cried, “why didn’t you tell my brother I’m pregnant?” — **1.** Ryan yanked his arm away in shock, staring at me like I was something he’d stepped in. “Stella, are you out of your mind? Why the hell would I ever touch you?” The room exploded with laughter. Ethan frowned and pulled his fiancée, Violet, closer as they stepped toward me. “Stella, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to make a scene like this.” I met his disgusted gaze. I pressed a hand to my stomach, going for pitifully helpless. “Ethan, I really am carrying Ryan’s baby.” “That’s impossible.” Violet hurled her wine glass at me. The liquid splashed across my face and soaked into my clothes. “Still delusional? My brother can’t stand you. What, you couldn’t climb your way into Ethan’s bed so now you’re going after the next rich heir?” The wine stung my eyes like needles. I reached up to wipe them. Ryan grabbed my wrist and wrenched my hand away. “You say it’s my kid — when exactly did we sleep together?” The wine blurred my vision until tears streamed down my face, but no one cared. My voice shook. I had no choice but to say it. “About six weeks ago. At the Nightfall Club. Someone slipped something into your drink, Ryan. That night — it was me.” “That’s insane! How could it have been you!” Ryan’s grip loosened in shock. Ethan’s expression darkened. “Is that true?” Ryan said blankly, “I was drugged that night. I knew someone was there, but I had no idea who…” He cycled through women like he was flipping channels — his schedule was booked out years in advance. There was no chance he remembered who he’d been with. Ethan exhaled roughly and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were burning with fury. The next second, he backhanded me across the face. The force of it sent me stumbling backward into the champagne tower. The room gasped. The entire tower crashed down on top of me. I pressed my palm to the floor and cut it on the shards. The pain was sharp enough to make me tremble. I forced my eyes open and saw Violet coming at me, her face twisted with rage. She raised her hand and slapped me twice across the face. “Say it! You seduced my brother, didn’t you!” Ryan watched me with open irritation. “Yeah — did you crawl into my bed on your own? Because the idea that I’d actually want you makes me sick.” My head was spinning from the blows. Through the daze, I caught Ethan staring at me with an intensity I couldn’t read. For just a moment, I thought I saw something in his eyes. Like he actually cared. I denied it instinctively. “No. He forced me.” Violet screamed again. “Liar! You threw yourself at my brother! Ethan, don’t believe her!” She grabbed Ethan’s arm and clung to it. Ethan stroked her hair gently. “It’s okay, Violet. I know.” Then he looked at me, and his eyes went cold. My chest tightened with dread. Sure enough — the next second, Ethan patted Ryan on the shoulder. “I didn’t raise Stella right. That’s on me. I’ll give up a percentage of the West District deal next month as an apology.” He then turned to address the room. “Stella seduced Mr. Ryan of her own doing, without any shame. I will handle her personally. Are we clear?” The guests exchanged glances, then fell over themselves to agree. “Grew up outside a proper home — what do you expect? No class, no limits.” “She went after Ethan first, now Ryan. Absolutely shameless.” I dug my nails into my palm. A shard of glass drove deeper into my flesh. The pain kept my head clear. Ethan was still Ethan. He would never pick a fight with the Ryan family over me. Why would he? — **2.** Ethan grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the car. I shook him off. “Why does my brother suddenly care what I do?” I said flatly. “Shouldn’t you be managing Violet’s feelings right now?” Ethan smiled at me. “A few years apart and you’ve picked up some new tricks.” I didn’t respond. He stepped in front of me and blocked my path until I got in the car. I swallowed my irritation. Now wasn’t the time. I climbed in and spent the whole ride staring out the window. When the car passed through the gates of the Foster estate, I went still. Three years ago, Ethan had whipped me with his own hand — ten lashes — and then thrown me out himself. I hadn’t expected him to bring me back. I was fifteen when the Foster family found me. My birth parents were already gone by then. The only one who welcomed me was Ethan — the Fosters’ adopted son. The estate was vast and hollow. I was too scared to sleep. Ethan flew back from out of state that same night, still carrying a warm box of date pastries. He pushed open my bedroom door and said: “If the dark scares you, leave the light on. I’ll stay with you.” For three years after that, he walked beside me through everything. Introduced me to people. Helped me find my footing. When a business associate mocked me in private, Ethan walked away from an eighty-thousand-dollar contract on the spot. The day I turned eighteen, he took me to the rooftop observatory. The wind was fierce up there. He draped his jacket over my shoulders and asked what I wished for. I said quietly, “Can you be my boyfriend?” I remember the hope I felt in that moment. What I got instead was him stepping back, revulsion written across his face. “How could you have feelings for your own brother?” Ethan left me alone on that cold, dark rooftop. I walked through the snow for hours before I finally made it home. Then I found Ethan holding Violet in his arms, repeating over and over how disgusted he was. And Violet — the moment she saw me — smiled and held him tighter. After that, Ethan whipped me again. Ten more lashes. Family discipline, he called it. Each stroke came with a demand: say it. *I will never have feelings for Ethan Foster again.* By the time it was over, I was barely conscious, lying on the floor. Violet pressed her stiletto heel into the wounds on my back. “This is what you get for being shameless.” The next morning, Ethan threw me out of the house and had me sent abroad. And everyone laughed at me for being unable to keep my place. That was the moment I understood. If I couldn’t have Ethan, then I would take what was rightfully mine: the Foster family itself. — Back at the estate, Ethan shoved me down into a chair. The Foster family’s medical team surrounded me immediately. Ethan stood over me, staring down. “Stella, if I find out you’re not actually pregnant, you know what happens.” He didn’t believe me. But I was prepared. “And if I really am?” I asked calmly. Ethan slammed his fist down beside me and forced out two words: “Disgusting. Mistake.” I smiled faintly and rolled up my sleeve, letting the doctor draw blood without resistance. “Ethan, if I’m really carrying his child, it’s good for both families. Why are you so against it?” He laughed coldly. “Don’t flatter yourself. First of all, we don’t know if you’re even pregnant. Second — how are you so sure it’s Ryan’s? Has Ryan even admitted to anything?” He leaned closer. “Stop selling yourself so cheap, Stella. Did your parents auction you off so many times it started to feel normal?” My face went white. There was a time when Ethan had pitied me — when my gambling-addicted foster parents kept selling me off to cover their debts. He’d been furious on my behalf. Now he was using it as a weapon. Ethan watched the shame cross my face. Then, suddenly, his voice softened. “What I said at the party tonight — that was because the deal with the Ryans closes next month. I can’t afford complications right now.” He crouched in front of me and used tweezers to carefully pick the glass fragments from my wounds himself. I watched him do it. I felt nothing. The stick-and-carrot routine. Ethan had worn that one out years ago. Back in school, Violet had never been able to stand me. She bullied me relentlessly. Ethan never said a word against her. Instead, after every time Violet hurt me, he’d take me to an amusement park to smooth things over. I used to tell myself he was stuck in the middle and doing his best. Later I figured it out. I was easy to manage — a little comfort was all it took. But Violet was different. She was the Ryan family’s princess. She wasn’t someone he could afford to upset. Ethan finished dressing my wounds. His fingertips brushed lightly over the bandage. His voice carried a trace of amusement. “Going through all this just to get a rise out of me — making yourself a mess and cooking up some baby that may or may not exist. Was it worth it?” I met his eyes. He looked like he could see right through me. I smiled. “Ethan, I genuinely like Ryan.” His expression darkened instantly. He scoffed. “Impossible. You like someone else? And Ryan, of all people?” Before he could say another word, the test results came back. “Miss Foster is indeed pregnant.” Ethan spun around to face the doctor. The doctor held his ground under the pressure. “The father is confirmed to be Ryan.” A crash — Ethan swept the medical kit off the table, his hands trembling. I calmly placed a hand over my stomach. Then I found the female doctor standing just behind the others and met her eyes. She gave me a firm, steady nod. — **3.** When Ethan looked at my stomach again, he couldn’t hide the hatred. “Get back to your room.” He was scowling hard. I didn’t move. “Which room is mine?” Ethan paused. He clearly remembered that three years ago, he’d thrown me out along with everything I owned. “Didn’t you give this estate to Violet?” I said. “Because she said it was a waste to leave it empty — might as well use it for her wardrobe.” Ethan had pressed my hand down and made me sign the transfer papers himself. The only thing my birth parents had ever left me had become Violet’s walk-in closet. Ethan was silent for a few seconds. He avoided my eyes and called Ryan. Ten minutes later, Ryan arrived with Violet in tow. The moment he saw me, Ryan’s cruelty kicked in automatically. “So you really are knocked up. Think that gives you leverage over me? You wish.” Violet looked up at Ethan with wounded eyes. “Ethan, what do we do?” Ethan turned to Ryan. “If we terminate the pregnancy, do you have any objection?” Ryan glanced at me with contempt. “Obviously not. Someone like her doesn’t deserve to carry my child.” The two of them went back and forth like I wasn’t there. I slammed my hand on the table. “I don’t agree. I’m keeping this baby.” This child was my leverage. My entire plan depended on it. But apparently Ryan misread something in my expression, because he stared at me with a complicated look. Ethan narrowed his eyes and stepped between us. “You don’t get a say in this. Someone take her and lock her up.” I shot to my feet and dodged the hands reaching for me. “On what grounds? I don’t get a say in my own child?” Ethan grabbed me and twisted my arm behind my back, then shoved me into the nearest storage room. He tossed my phone in after me. The door locked. His voice came through the crack. “I’ll arrange the procedure for tomorrow.” The storage room was pitch black. Before I even realized it, cold sweat had soaked through my shirt. My breathing came fast and shallow. I threw myself at the door, pounding it like a madwoman. “Ethan! Let me out — I have claustrophobia!” Violet had locked me in small spaces enough times to give it to me. Ethan’s footsteps paused. Then they came closer. I forced myself to breathe slowly. I waited for him to open the door. But he stopped just outside it. “If I don’t give you consequences, you’ll never learn.” “Use the time in there. Think about what you should and shouldn’t do.” Then his footsteps faded away completely. I couldn’t believe Ethan would actually leave me. The darkness pressed in from every side, like something was about to swallow me whole. My heart leapt into my throat. Then everything went black. When light finally hit my face again, I opened my eyes — weak, disoriented. And found Violet standing over me. With a man I didn’t recognize. Violet drove her heel down onto my face. Her voice reached me like something out of a nightmare. “How dare you taint my brother.” Then she picked up a camera. “Ethan went and scheduled a whole procedure. So much trouble,” she said lightly. “Once you’ve been used up, who’s going to believe that baby is Ryan’s?” The stranger’s eyes crawled over me as he stepped forward. Violet turned and walked out, pulling the door shut behind her. Her parting words: “Make it quick. Bring the video to the main hall when you’re done.” The man’s hands moved to my legs. I kicked him away with everything I had. He yelped in pain and slapped me hard across the face. “Stop fighting. Do you know who you’ve made an enemy of?” I screamed: “I’m Stella Foster! You touch me and my brother will destroy you!” It was the only name that still carried weight. Ethan’s. But the man just laughed. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and spat in my face. “Who do you think sent me?” The words turned into a ringing in my ears. His greasy hands tore at my collar. Desperate, I reached to my waist and found the small self-defense knife I kept hidden there. I drove it into the back of his skull. He dropped like dead weight. I crawled to my feet. Wiped the blood from my face. Walked to the camera with its blinking red light. Saved everything. — **4.** I pushed open the storage room door and picked up my phone from the floor. The screen was cracked. When I turned it on, I found a message from Dr. Helen. *Stella — reporters are camped outside the Foster estate asking about the baby. Ethan said he’s giving a statement at 2 p.m. today.* It was 1 p.m. A bad feeling hit me. I sent a quick message and headed downstairs. The moment I stepped outside, cameras swung toward me from every direction. Violet spotted me and went pale, like she’d seen a ghost. “What are you doing out here?” She lunged at me. I stepped aside. I raised the camera. “Your little plan didn’t work, Violet. Disappointed?” She flinched but forced herself to hold her ground. “What are you doing?” I smiled coldly and backhanded her across the face. Violet clutched her cheek and screamed. The sound brought Ethan and Ryan running out at the same time. Ethan crossed the distance in a few long strides and clamped his hand around my wrist hard enough to fracture it. His eyes swept over me. I was covered in dust. There was blood on me. My clothes were torn. Ethan barely registered any of it. “What is wrong with you? You’re an embarrassment.” I wrenched my arm away from him and raised my voice. “Violet hired someone to rape me! To make sure I couldn’t affect Ryan’s reputation!” Ethan’s hand froze in midair. Every camera lens in the crowd swung toward me. I held up the camera. “I have it all on here. Everything she said. Evidence of attempted assault on Violet’s orders.” The color drained from Violet’s face. She shook her head frantically. “That’s not true! I didn’t do anything!” But the cameras kept rolling. Violet let out a scream and threw herself into Ethan’s arms. “Ethan, I swear it wasn’t me! Please, you have to help me!” Ethan wrapped his arm around her protectively. When his eyes found mine, I saw a flicker of something — guilt, maybe. But Violet’s tear-streaked face turned up toward him. “Ethan…” He hesitated. Then he looked away from me. “Let it go, Stella.” His voice came out rough and low. “Violet’s young, she doesn’t think. Don’t make it into more than it is — I’ll have her apologize to you later.” His words turned my stomach. I was younger than Violet. But because Violet was his fiancée, she would always get his defense. I looked to Ryan. He wouldn’t meet my eyes either. “On what grounds?” I held the camera tighter. “Nothing actually happened, did it?” Ethan’s expression carried a trace of tiredness. “Why make this bigger than it needs to be?” In his mind, this was nothing. The numbness in my chest spread. I stopped speaking. I turned to face the press, and I raised the camera. It was ripped out of my hands. Ethan took my only piece of evidence and without a moment’s hesitation, popped out the memory card and smashed the camera against the ground. I stared at him. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “Apologize to Violet,” he said. “What?” I thought I’d heard wrong. Ethan repeated himself. “Apologize to Violet. Tell everyone you made it up.” “It’s better for everyone this way.” He meant trade my dignity for Violet’s reputation. I understood him perfectly. Even though I had long since stopped expecting anything from Ethan, my eyes still stung. My chest felt like something was grinding it apart, over and over. The pain never quite stopped. Ethan kept his cold eyes on me, waiting for me to say the words. “It was me who—” I opened my mouth slowly, drawing it out, my eyes drifting toward the gate. At that moment, the front doors of the estate swung open. “What exactly is going on here?” A middle-aged man in a jacket bearing the Foster family crest walked in. Ethan straightened slightly at the sight of him. “Uncle Richard.” This was the man who actually ran the Foster family: Richard Foster. When I saw him, I wiped the corner of my eye. Richard glanced briefly at my stomach, like he already knew everything. I covered my abdomen with my hand and stepped back. Richard looked away and spoke. “Ethan — didn’t the Foster and Ryan families arrange a marriage alliance?” Ethan hesitated. “Yes.” “I’m the one who decides who the parties are.” Richard looked at me. “Since Stella is carrying a Ryan child, she’ll be the one to marry Ryan.”

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