1 The Royal Hunt was in full cry, a thunder of hooves on damp earth and the whistle of arrows in the crisp spring air. Crown Prince Alaric loosed an arrow. He never intended for it to find a human target, but it did. It struck a destitute young woman, a distant, orphaned cousin. Her name was Seraphina, the niece of his own mother—a woman whose name was never spoken in polite company. No one could have predicted that a single arrow would spark an instant, fiery infatuation in the Prince. On the spot, he declared his intention to make her his bride. There was, however, the small matter of his existing betrothal. His fiancée was me, Eleonora, the sole heiress of the great House de Courtenay. Soon after, Prince Alaric arrived at Courtenay Manor. His expression was resolute, his voice ringing with a conviction that left no room for debate. “I wounded my cousin. I bound her wounds myself. We touched. Her honor is compromised. Now, she has no other path but to marry me.” He looked at me then, a flicker of something like pity in his eyes. “You are the Queen’s own niece. The finest men of the kingdom would line up for your hand. Why must you fight a poor, unfortunate girl for one man?” Fight? A daughter of House de Courtenay does not fight over men. The absurdity of his words was laughable. Was he dreaming? The news that he had broken our betrothal had barely begun to circulate when a Royal Decree arrived from the palace. The decree stated that while I would retain the honorific title of a princess, the official position of Crown Princess—the future Queen—was now destined for another. … Prince Alaric stood in the grand hall of my family’s estate, his posture impeccable, his bearing noble. But his gaze never left the delicate figure of Seraphina, who clung to his side. “Seraphina is fragile,” he announced to my father, the Duke. “To suffer such a calamity upon her first visit to the capital… I am the one who harmed her. If I do not marry her, how can she possibly face the world?” He then turned his attention to me. “Lady Eleonora, you must understand. For a young woman, her reputation is everything. Seraphina now has no choice but to become my wife. If you have even a shred of compassion, you will agree to dissolve our engagement.” So this was his plan. He had been captivated by her since that day at the hunt and had spent two months nursing his secret obsession, only to choose my own birthday, in front of all my guests, to deliver this public humiliation. My father’s entire body trembled with rage, the porcelain teacup in his hand rattling in its saucer. Decorum be damned. “Your Highness,” he bit out, “do you use such a flimsy excuse to break this vow, without a single thought for my daughter’s future? For her reputation?” “This union was one you personally begged the King to approve, a matter known to the entire realm. And now you appear at my door to renounce it, casting the honor of House de Courtenay into the mud?” Seraphina, her face a mask of timid distress, tugged gently at Alaric’s sleeve. “My prince, please, do not argue with the Duke on my account. I am not afraid of whispers and rumors. If it comes to it, I would rather die than cause you this trouble.” Alaric wrapped a protective arm around her, his voice softening to a tender murmur. “Fear not. I will never let you face them alone.” He then looked up at me, his expression arrogant, his eyes laced with disdain. “Lady Eleonora, you come from a great house. Surely you wouldn’t deign to compete with Seraphina for a man’s affection. You have a legion of worthy suitors to choose from. To cling to this engagement now would make you seem… desperate. A social climber.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Or perhaps you are just like every other woman in the capital, greedy for the title of Queen?” He straightened, his voice ringing out once more. “Since our betrothal, you have refused my invitations to ride, to attend poetry readings. You’ve been so cold and distant. It’s clear you were never happy with this match. My breaking it simply saves us both the trouble.” House de Courtenay, a name respected for centuries, had never endured such an insult. I was speechless with fury. With trembling hands, I retrieved the ornate scroll that served as our betrothal writ. “Your Highness, here is the contract. From this day forward, our houses are unburdened by this vow. You are free to marry, and I am free to wed, and we shall be as strangers.” My gaze shifted to Seraphina. “And you, Lady Seraphina, need not continue this performance in my home. You have found your prince. You will one day ascend to the most revered position a woman can hold. Should you not be overjoyed?” Seraphina swayed, her face turning deathly pale. “Lady Eleonora, I know my station is low. I would never dare to compare myself to you, and I never intended to steal your betrothed. Why must you mock me so?” Alaric let out a scornful laugh. “You relinquish your claim so readily, Lady Eleonora. Could it be you already have another in your heart? Perhaps my actions have done you a favor?” He scanned the assembled guests, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Since today is your birthday, why not choose a new husband from this fine company? I shall even provide a handsome gift to add to your dowry.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Seraphina’s waist and led her away, leaving a stunned silence and a flurry of whispers in his wake. “Has the Prince gone mad? To cast aside a de Courtenay for some unknown cousin?” “But Lady Eleonora is the Queen’s niece! She is his cousin as well!” “You haven’t heard? He shot this Seraphina girl during the hunt and was instantly smitten. Insists he must marry her.” “I’ve never even heard of this woman. The security at the Royal Hunt is impenetrable. How did she even get in? There’s more to this than meets the eye.” “I heard she’s from his birth mother’s side of the family…” “Hush! Don’t speak of that. The Prince’s origins are a forbidden topic. His mother was nothing but a common maid.” My birthday celebration was ruined, ending in a chaotic, humiliating mess. And overnight, the news that Crown Prince Alaric had jilted the heiress of House de Courtenay for an orphaned nobody spread through the capital like wildfire. 2 The very next day, I was summoned to the palace by the Queen. She is my father’s sister, my own aunt, and she has always cherished me. My aunt has reigned as Queen for many years but has remained childless, a quiet sorrow that has shadowed her entire rule. Alaric’s birth mother was a mere scullery maid the King had a fleeting encounter with at a country palace. Her station was so low that even after bearing a royal child, she was never granted a title. She died of illness not long after Alaric was born. Because of his mother’s lowly status, Alaric was scorned and abused by everyone in his youth, even the palace servants. He nearly didn’t survive his childhood. It was my aunt, the Queen, beloved by the King and holding unwavering power at court, who took pity on the wretched boy. She brought him into her own wing of the palace, raised him as her own, and educated him with the greatest care. And so, despite being the King’s fourth son, his adoption by the Queen made him the logical, undisputed heir to the throne. She took my hands in hers, her touch warm and comforting. “My dear child, I know the injustice you have suffered. That boy, Alaric, he does not know how to value what he has. I poured my heart into teaching him for years, promised him the most beloved daughter of our house, and for what? For him to be swayed by a pretty face, to cast you aside for a cousin he’s never even met!” Her voice was laced with disappointment. “How can a man who acts on such whims ever be a great ruler? All my years of teaching have been wasted.” A bitter sigh escaped her. “The blood of House de Courtenay does not run in his veins. A son that is not your own, it seems, can never truly be yours.” I leaned against her, resting my head on her lap. “Aunt, perhaps it is not such a bad thing that the Prince has revealed his true nature before our marriage. It is far better than for me to suffer such betrayals after I am bound to him.” I forced a smile. “A daughter of de Courtenay will not want for suitors.” The Queen’s expression softened, and she stroked my cheek. “My Eleonora, you are the finest young woman in the realm. Rest assured, the position of Crown Princess is yours. No one else can take it.” The King and Queen were childhood friends, their bond deep and enduring. Even without an heir of her own, she remained the woman he cherished most. Because she had raised Alaric, the King’s affection extended to him, doting on the boy as if he were his own true-born heir. Despite his mother’s origins, the King bestowed upon him the ultimate honor: the title of Crown Prince. The King had heard of the broken betrothal and was now in a towering rage. “That fool!” he bellowed. “The greatest houses in the realm would kill for a match with a de Courtenay, and he casts aside the family’s heiress for some nobody? The Queen arranged this marriage to give you the backing of a powerful house, to support your weak maternal line, and you throw away your greatest asset with your own two hands! You are as dim-witted as a pig!” He stormed out, his fury echoing in the hall. Even after the King’s tirade, Alaric remained defiant. He had the gall to bring Seraphina to the Queen’s chambers to pay his respects. He knelt before my aunt. “Your Majesty, you have always loved me as a son. All I ask is to marry a woman I truly love. I am the Crown Prince. Surely I have the right to choose the woman I desire?” The Queen looked down at him, her disappointment a cold, heavy presence in the room. “You and Eleonora grew up together. I recall you kneeling before me, begging for this betrothal, proclaiming your love for her, promising a life of mutual support. One life, one love. And now, you claim she is not the woman you desire?” Her voice was sharp. “It seems this Seraphina has blinded you to all reason.” Alaric lifted his chin, his hand tightening around Seraphina’s. “Your Majesty, Eleonora is just like all the other dull noblewomen—bound by convention, lifeless, utterly devoid of spirit. But Seraphina… Seraphina is different! She loves to laugh and play, she can dance in ways the court has never seen, she hums folk songs from the countryside. She is enchanting, vibrant! Your Majesty, if you only got to know her, I know you would love her too!” 3 From behind the curtain where I was hidden, I let out a silent, scornful laugh. Humming folk songs and dancing scandalous dances? You could find women like that in any tavern in the city. The Queen’s gaze was like ice. “Alaric, do you have any idea what you will lose without the support of House de Courtenay?” The Prince actually smiled. “I know you speak of the backing of the great houses of the south. But, Your Majesty, I am the Crown Prince. The future King. The entire realm will be my subjects. What have I to fear?” He brightened, a foolish idea taking root. “I know you are fond of Eleonora. Why not let her be my second consort? When I ascend the throne, I can make her a duchess. Surely House de Courtenay would not dare object to such an honor?” My fists clenched behind the screen. The insolent fool. The Queen’s voice was chillingly calm. “A daughter of House de Courtenay will never be a secondary wife. Alaric, you are my adopted son, but you are not the King’s only son. Do you truly believe you can hold your position by your own strength alone?” “Of course,” he replied, his voice ringing with unshakeable confidence. “I am the future King, Your Majesty.” Seraphina spoke then, her voice a delicate whisper. “Your Majesty, I know my station is low. If Lady Eleonora joins the Prince’s household, I promise not to compete with her for his affections. I will treat her as a sister, and we shall serve the Prince together.” The Queen let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Hmph. Alaric, you must be certain. Once you choose Seraphina, there is no turning back.” His reply was firm. “Yes. I will have no regrets.”

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1 My father was dying. I called my sister, who was on vacation in Paris with her husband, and told her to come back to see him one last time. By some miracle, Dad pulled through. But my brother-in-law, Mark, died in a freak accident abroad. While sorting through his belongings, my sister, Chloe, found his journal. In it, he’d written that my father and I had pushed him away, that he never felt like he had a place in our family. From that day on, she cut us out of her life. For nine years, we didn’t speak. Then, on the tenth anniversary of her husband’s death, my sister set our house on fire and killed us all. I woke with a gasp, my eyes flying open. I was back. Back on the day my father was pronounced critical. The first thing I did was race to the hospital. Dad’s condition was severe. He was hooked up to a ventilator, the machine breathing for him, keeping his vitals stable. The only sound in the room was the rhythmic, relentless beeping of the monitors. A knock at the door broke the silence. The doctor ushered my mother and me into the hallway. “We need you to sign the critical condition paperwork,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Your husband has reached a critical stage. Whether he pulls through now is entirely up to him.” The pen trembled in my mother’s hand. The tip hovered over the signature line, unable to descend. Seeing her anguish, I took charge. I took the pen from her and signed my name. As the doctor left with the clipboard, he gave us one last piece of advice. “If there are any other close family members, you should call them now. He might not make it through the night.” That was it. My mother’s composure shattered. She broke down, sobbing like a child. When the tears finally subsided, she wiped her face and looked at me. “Logan,” she said, her voice raw. “Call your sister. Tell her to come home.” My immediate impulse was to refuse. In my last life, I had listened to her. I’d called Chloe, and she’d caught the first flight back from Egypt. The good news was that Dad, seeing her, rallied and made a full recovery. The bad news was that Mark, left alone abroad, was kidnapped. The next time anyone saw him, he was a cold, lifeless body. Chloe never blamed us outright, but she could never get over it. I didn’t want to remember the fire that had consumed us all. Hearing my mother’s words now, I shook my head. “Mom, she’s in another country. Even if we call now, she won’t make it in time. I’m here. I can take care of everything. We don’t need to trouble her.” My mother didn’t understand. I was the one who always deferred to my older sister, who called her for everything. Why, now, in our darkest hour, was I suddenly insisting on handling it all myself? “Logan, I understand you want to step up, but if your sister doesn’t get to see your father one last time, she will hate you for it!” But Mom, don’t you see? If I call her, Mark will die, and she’ll hate more than just me. I couldn’t say those words. Instead, I took her hand, my grip firm. “Mom,” I said, looking her straight in the eye. “Trust me. Dad is going to pull through.” She stared at me for a long moment, then sighed and put her phone away. Just then, my phone buzzed. A notification from our family group chat: “The Happy Family.” I opened it. It was Chloe, picking a fight from halfway across the world. “I know you all have a bad impression of Mark, but we’ve been gone for days and not a single one of you has checked in. Is that so hard?” “For other people, family is a safe harbor. For me, it’s like I’m invisible.” “Logan, say something. Are you dead?” I didn’t have to guess. Mark had fed her those lines. He was a man with a massive ego and a petty soul, always looking for a slight. The ego of a king with the work ethic of a servant; he couldn’t earn a dime himself but dreamed of living like a millionaire. But this wasn’t the time to point that out. As I waited for Dad to wake up, I sighed and typed a message into the chat. “Hey Chloe, Mark. Did you guys arrive safely? Hope you’re having a great time. Things are a little crazy at home right now, Mom and Dad are swamped.” That night, luck was on our side. Dad’s condition stabilized enough for surgery. “If he can open his eyes on his own after this,” the doctor told us, “he should be out of the woods.” My mother was overcome with gratitude, thanking the doctor again and again. As we waited outside the operating room, a nurse from billing approached us. “Hello, who’s the family of Robert Vance?” My mother and I raised our hands. “His medical bill is due. There will be additional charges for the surgery as well.” Dad had been in the ICU for three days. There was one surgery when he was admitted, and this was the second. All told, the bill was a staggering two hundred and forty thousand dollars. 2 I had just graduated and started working; I had barely any savings. My parents were working-class people their whole lives. The hundred thousand or so they’d managed to put away was the fruit of a lifetime of hard labor. We pooled everything we had, called in every small favor, and we were still fifty thousand dollars short. Left with no other choice, I dialed my sister’s number. “Chloe? Hey, something’s come up at home. Is there any way you could lend me fifty thousand dollars?” Her response was a torrent of abuse. “Logan, have you no shame? Mark and I are on vacation, trying to be careful with our money, and you have the nerve to ask for fifty grand? Do you think money just grows on trees for me?” “No, Chloe, it’s not for me,” I tried to explain. “Something happened at home, it’s an emergency…” She scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. “Something happened? What could it be? You probably got yourself into online gambling debt, right? Mark saw right through you from the start. He told me I needed to set you straight, and I defended you. I said you weren’t that kind of person, but I guess…” I opened my mouth to explain, but she wouldn’t listen. “Let me tell you something. Mark and I are having a wonderful time here in Paris, and you’d better not call again and ruin our mood. Logan, our family doesn’t need a disgusting leech like you!” She hung up. When I tried to call back, it went straight to voicemail. Desperate, I texted her. “Chloe, this is really, really urgent. Please, I’ll sign an IOU, whatever you want.” Her response was to block my number. Seeing my distress, my mom took her own phone and called. “Chloe, why did you block Logan? He was just trying to borrow some money.” At the sound of my name, Chloe’s voice turned sharp with irritation. “Logan, Logan, that’s all you two care about! You don’t give a damn about your daughter who’s halfway across the world, do you?” My mom tried to placate her. “Honey, it’s not what you think. We’re at City Center Hospital. You know so many people, even if you can’t send money, maybe you could help us figure something out?” But Chloe had no intention of helping us. Or rather, of helping me. The mention of the hospital only made her colder. “When I was a kid and my stomach hurt, I begged you to take me to the doctor and you said it was nothing. But now Logan needs a hospital and you rush him right over? You only have him in your hearts. You never cared about me!” “Since I mean so little to you, let Logan take care of everything! Why are you even calling me?” It was like she’d been brainwashed. Her words were irrational, completely divorced from reality, and she refused to listen to a word of explanation. The only person in our family who could ever get through to her was our father, and he was lying unconscious in a hospital bed. My mother was lost. She couldn’t understand why her daughter was being so cruel, so reckless. “Did we do something to upset her? Why did she change so much the moment she left the country?” One name came to my mind: Mark. My brother-in-law. He always looked at my father and me with suspicion, as if he believed we were plotting against him. No one knew what we had ever done to offend him. Perhaps only he knew the answer to that. “Mom, forget it,” I said, trying to sound stronger than I felt. “If Chloe won’t help, we’ll figure something else out.” We had to. We couldn’t just give up. It was just money. I would swallow my pride and call our relatives. If that failed, I’d beg the doctors. But when I called my uncle, the response was not what I expected. “Logan? Is that you? Look, I’m not trying to be old-fashioned, but you’re a young man. How could you get a girl pregnant? And now you need money for an abortion and you come crawling to your family? Are you trying to disgrace us? Don’t you have any sense of shame?” I was stunned. “Uncle, what are you talking about? An abortion? I am trying to borrow money, but it’s not for…” He cut me off. “Your sister already gave us all a heads-up. She said it was time you learned a lesson, that you shouldn’t be so reckless. Look, I get it, you’re a young guy, you have… urges. But you have to be responsible!” He hung up before I could say another word. It hit me then. Chloe had anticipated this. She had known I would turn to our relatives and had systematically poisoned the well, cutting off my last resort. I made several more calls. The answers were all the same. In that moment, I understood the true meaning of helplessness. 3 How could my own sister be so ruthless? How much did she hate me? I must have annoyed my uncle with my repeated calls, because he drove down to the hospital to lecture me in person. “Logan, you’re not a kid anymore, but you’ve got no sense of responsibility! And you,” he said, turning to my mother, “you need to keep a better eye on him! Don’t just dote on my niece.” My uncle had always favored Chloe over me. He wasn’t here to help; he was here to gloat. I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the billing office. “Uncle, please, just lend me the fifty thousand. I’m begging you. After this is over, you can yell at me, hit me, whatever you want!” He shoved me away, sending me sprawling to the floor. “You think money is that easy to come by? Fifty thousand just like that? You’ve got your head in the clouds.” He was about to launch into another tirade when a long, piercing sound cut through the hallway from Dad’s room. Beeeeeeeeeeeeep— The heart monitor. It had flatlined. “Dad!” My legs gave out. I collapsed to my knees, unable to stand. A deafening roar filled my ears, the flatline tone echoing inside my skull, chaotic and overwhelming. “Dad, you can’t die! You can’t die!” My uncle finally seemed to realize something was wrong. He pointed toward the room. “What’s going on? Who is that on the bed?” “That’s my father! Your brother-in-law! The man who is about to die because he can’t get surgery for fifty thousand dollars! Aren’t you going to pay it now? If my father dies, you’re a murderer! All of you are murderers!” But he still wore that same look of smug disbelief. “You think I’ve never seen a heart monitor before? If he were really dying, the hospital would be rushing to save him. I see what this is. You found someone who looks like your dad to try and scam us! Logan, you’ve got some nerve!” My legs were jelly, I couldn’t move, but he still didn’t believe me. Nothing I said mattered. It was all a lie, a trick. I was powerless. What else could I do? What could I possibly do to prove I wasn’t lying? “Dad…” “Enough with the act. You’re coming home with me right now. You really think your uncle hasn’t been around the block? You think I don’t know how these hospitals work?” he sneered. “This kind of trick might work on your mother, but not on me. They’re not going to let a man die over money. They’d cover the costs first if it were a real emergency!” He looked down at me as if I were a cockroach in a sewer. “You thought you could use this man to cheat money out of me? You really underestimate me, Logan.” I was sobbing, my vision blurred with tears. He was right in one sense—the doctors and nurses were already rushing to stabilize my dad, even without the payment. It was basic humanity. But resuscitation wasn’t the problem. The surgery was. They could bring him back from the brink for free, but they wouldn’t perform a major operation on credit. “Uncle, please, yell at me later! Just give me the money. Once I pay the bill and Dad has his surgery, you can do whatever you want to me! You can beat me to death!” He remained unmoved. My mother, overwhelmed by her high blood pressure and the stress of it all, had been taken to an emergency room herself. But my uncle used that against me. “If your dad was really in trouble, where’s your mother? I see. You two are in on this together, trying to scam me!”

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After his first love died, Duke Cassian despised me for ten years. I tried everything to earn his affection, but he would only sneer. “If you truly wish to please me, Eleonora, you should die.” The words were a dagger in my heart. Yet, when the burning rafters of our manor collapsed, he died saving me. As he lay dying in my arms, he used his last ounce of strength to push my hand away. “Eleonora,” he rasped, “if only I had never met you in this life…” At his funeral, his mother, the Duchess, was inconsolable. “Oh, Cassian, it was my fault. I never should have forced you to marry her. If only I had let you marry Lilliana, would things have been different today?” His father, the old Duke, glared at me with pure hatred. “My son saved your life three times. Why do you bring him nothing but disaster? Why wasn’t it you who died?” Everyone regretted that he had married me. Even I did. In the end, I threw myself from the highest window of the Celestial Spire. And I awoke, ten years in the past. This time, I would sever all ties with Cassian. This time, I would give everyone the ending they wanted. 1 “Eleonora, you truly have a talent for it. Forcing my parents to threaten their own lives to make me marry you. Did you think that by wedding me, you would find happiness?” The deep, cold voice of a young man echoed in my ears. I blinked, my gaze fuzzy, and found myself staring at Cassian. He stood before me, dressed in the striking red tunic of the royal guard, his features sharp and untamed. He was different from the man he would become in ten years. This was Cassian at eighteen. I had truly returned. Swallowing the lump of grief in my throat, I drank in the sight of him. “You don’t want to marry me,” I stated, my voice steadier than I felt. “The one you truly want to marry is Lady Lilliana. Isn’t that right?” Cassian scoffed. “What if it is? Are you going to step aside?” “Yes,” I said, my voice firm. My parents had died as heroes on the battlefield, securing the kingdom’s borders. As a reward, the King had granted me a Royal Writ of marriage—a blank contract I could use to claim any nobleman in the realm as my husband. By the same token, I could use it to request a marriage for someone else. He froze for a second, then laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “You used the King’s writ to pressure me. My parents are forcing me. Our marriage is set in stone. How, exactly, do you plan to ‘step aside’?” He took a step closer, his eyes burning with contempt. “Eleonora, I have no time for your games of cat and mouse. Take your royal writ and go back to the palace yourself. I will wait for you here.” With that, he turned and leaned against the cold stone of the palace wall. The raw disgust in his eyes was a physical blow. In both my lives, I had loved Cassian for so long. He had saved me twice, risking his own life without hesitation. I had mistaken that for a secret love, and with a joyful heart, I had asked the King to grant us marriage. It was only after his true love died that I understood. He had never loved me. My ten years of devotion had been his ten years of torment. In my past life, I had performed countless acts of charity, bartered my own life force with a Seer, all for the chance to bring him back. Before I was reborn, the Seer had given me a warning. “Within twelve hours of his rebirth, you must resolve his three greatest regrets. Once they are fulfilled, you must leave at once. From then on, you and he will walk separate paths. He will not die at thirty because of you. You will both find your own destinies.” “But rebirth always has a price, my lady. Be certain you are prepared.” As long as Cassian could live, I feared no price. I sought an audience with the King and petitioned him to issue a new Royal Writ, this one for the marriage of Duke Cassian and Lady Lilliana. I knew his three regrets. They were written in a leather-bound journal he kept locked in his study. “I regret marrying Eleonora. I regret not fighting my parents’ wishes. I regret not being able to save Lilliana.” Now, his first regret was fulfilled. I walked out of the palace, the new edict in my hands, and presented it to him. He looked at me with an expression of pure disdain, as if I were a predator who had finally cornered her prey. He reached to unroll the scroll. I gently pressed his hand down. “Wait until tomorrow,” I said, a soft smile on my lips. “There will be a surprise.” He shot me a look. “How tedious. Whether I read it today or tomorrow, it still says I must marry you, doesn’t it? What is wrong with you today? Are you mad with joy at the thought of finally having me?” I was. I was mad with joy. Because I was finally seeing you again, alive. I smiled. “I think you are the best man in the world. Anyone who marries you will be very, very happy.” “Let’s go,” he grunted, turning away so quickly I might have thought he was blushing, if I didn’t know better. Our carriage rumbled back towards his family’s estate. As we passed the bustling Flower Market, I pulled back the curtain and overheard the chatter of young women. “They say the Maiden Star appears tonight! From the top of the Celestial Spire, you can see a meteor shower that only happens once a century! The legend says that any couple who watches it together will be bound by love for three lifetimes!” I remembered hearing those same words in my past life. I had excitedly begged Cassian to take me. He had looked at me with that chilling, mocking glint in his eyes. “Binding me for one lifetime isn’t torment enough for you? You want three?” he’d sneered. “What a foolish, childish legend. If you want to be taken in by such fantasies, do it alone. Don’t drag me into it.” Even now, the memory of that cold glare sent a shiver down my spine. I quietly let the curtain fall. But this time, a calm voice spoke from beside me. “Do you want to go?” I looked up, startled. “I can take you to the Celestial Spire tonight,” he said, his tone flat. “After we are wed, I won’t have time to accompany you to your parents’ memorial. Consider this my apology in advance.” I stared at him, surprised, yet not. This was Cassian. A viper’s tongue, but a heart softer than anyone knew. He didn’t love me, but he had still given his life to save me. Three times. The first time, we were attacked by brigands on the road. He took a knife to his right arm to protect me. The hand that could put an arrow through a coin at a hundred paces could never again draw a bow. The second time, I contracted the Crimson Fever. He scaled the treacherous Dragon’s Tooth peaks to find the rare Ghost Orchid that would save my life, nearly falling to his death in the process. The third time was the Great Fire at the Royal Keep. He died pushing me from the path of a collapsing beam. Cassian was perfect in every way. He just didn’t love me. I knew that after today, we would be strangers. Even if we stood atop the Celestial Spire and watched the meteor shower of a century, the legend would not apply to us. Still, I pushed down the hot moisture welling in my eyes and gave him a smile so bright it felt cheap. “Yes. Let’s go see the stars together.” 2 Our carriage was stopped halfway. It was a servant from Lilliana’s household. She said Lady Lilliana had one of her terrible headaches and wished to see the Duke. Cassian’s brow furrowed, and he immediately swung himself out of the carriage. “Lilliana is unwell. I must go to her. You go on ahead. I will meet you at the Celestial Spire tonight.” I nodded. “Alright.” He looked at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You used to mind so much when I went to see her. A sudden change of heart?” I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off with a cold laugh. “Of course. We are to be married soon. She poses no threat to you now.” He strode away, not seeing the bitter, sad smile that touched my lips. I had never tried to stop his fondness for her. The only time I had ever interfered was when I discovered she was having an affair with a high-ranking court official. The evidence was irrefutable. I had tried desperately to keep Cassian from getting entangled with her. But he never knew. After she died, he grieved for ten years. If I had to choose, I would rather see him happy with Lilliana than see him suffer and die for me. My first stop was the city magistrate’s office, where I obtained the documents needed to leave the capital. Then, I returned to the ducal estate. The Duchess had prepared a feast herself, the entire table laden with all my favorite dishes. I reflexively slipped off my white fox-fur cloak and draped it over her shoulders. “It’s cold, Your Grace. You must take care of yourself.” She beamed at me. “My sweet girl, you are always so thoughtful. Now, let me see the Royal Writ! I have waited so long to finally call you my daughter.” The old Duke, seeing I had returned alone, bristled. “That boy didn’t accompany you? The edict has been issued, and he still doesn’t know how to cherish you? When he returns, I will give him a stern talking-to!” Their genuine affection was a painful twist in my gut. After my parents’ deaths, they had taken me in, raised me, given me everything. I had always been an obedient daughter. But this time, I had to betray them. I looked at them both, my expression solemn. “Your Graces, I will not be marrying the Duke.” “Tomorrow, I will be leaving for the Southern Marshes. I will no longer be here to serve you. You must take good care of each other.” The Duchess was stunned. “Your parents died on the battlefield. You grew up here. This estate is your home. Where will you go?” Her voice rose with alarm. “Is it Cassian? Did he mistreat you because of that woman? Is that why you’re calling off the wedding?” “Don’t think like that, my dear. He has feelings for you. He wouldn’t have risked his life to save you twice if he didn’t. Every year for your birthday, he spends months searching for the most unique treasures. I know you love him too. You learned to cook for him, you massage his old injury every day to ease the pain. If you two were to marry, you would be so happy!” “Besides, that Lilliana is a wicked woman. We can’t let her win. Don’t leave just to spite him!” She had said the same things to me in my past life. In the end, I lost my husband, and they lost their son. Everyone was left with a lifetime of regret. I gently wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Your Grace, you cannot force love where it does not grow. I am not the one in Duke Cassian’s heart. I cannot force him to marry me.” “Last night, I had a dream. I dreamt that we were married, but he would not see me. He worked himself to the bone, day and night, until his body was broken. He wouldn’t drink the broth I made for him, wouldn’t let me care for him when he was sick. He said the pain I brought him was greater than any happiness. He even died… died at thirty, saving my life.” The words were a physical pain, making it hard to breathe. The Duchess stared at me. “But… but that’s only a dream, my dear. Cassian would never…” I sniffed, forcing a smile. “Your Graces, dreams can be warnings. I want him to live a long life, even if it means he doesn’t marry me, even if we are not husband and wife.” “He is a man of great rank, but he has so little freedom. I believe, at the very least, he should be able to choose who he marries.” I knelt and bowed my head to the floor three times. “I have my travel papers. I beg you, let me go. I will never forget your kindness. I will repay it for the rest of my days.” The old Duke’s lips thinned. He helped me to my feet. The Duchess, wiping her eyes, pressed a thick stack of bank notes into my hand. “If this is what you have decided, my dear, then I will not stand in your way. But you must remember, no matter what happens, this house will always be your home.” Tears finally spilled down my cheeks. I embraced her. “Thank you, Your Grace.” As long as I cut my ties with Cassian, the tragedy of our past life would not repeat itself. He would live a long life. The Duke and Duchess would not be heartbroken, would not grow to hate me. This time, everyone would have a happy ending. The second of Cassian’s regrets was now fulfilled. I had to complete all three within twelve hours. There was still one left. Would I succeed? That night, I went to the Celestial Spire. Couples were everywhere, come to seek a shared destiny from the stars. “Eleonora.” A familiar voice. I turned, my heart leaping, only to see Cassian’s face, dark with fury. He seized my wrist, his grip like iron, his eyes shot through with red. “You know I despise those who abuse their power. I was gone for a few hours, and you ran to my parents, turning them against Lilliana. They shamed her, humiliated her. She tried to take her own life, Eleonora. Are you satisfied now?” 3 My wrist throbbed, the pain sharp and radiating up my arm. The color drained from my face. In my past life, after Cassian and I were married, Lilliana had tried to kill herself a month later by taking a rare blood-curse poison. Cassian couldn’t find a blood match to create the antidote, and he was forced to watch her die. He had hated me for it, right up until the moment he died himself. But in this life, we weren’t getting married. Why would she still do this? I had been wondering how I would fulfill his third regret. And now, the opportunity had delivered itself to me. I looked at him, my voice calm. “So, you’ve come for my blood to make the antidote, haven’t you?” Cassian froze, clearly not expecting those words. His voice turned even colder. “You think I wouldn’t dare? You drove her to this. It is only right that you atone for it.” He dragged me to Lilliana’s residence. She lay on the bed, her breath shallow, her skin ashen. A physician produced a small, sharp dagger and made an incision on my arm. A fine, sharp pain, and I let out a soft gasp. The physician’s eyes lit up. “The curse reacts! My lady, your blood is a match.” He hesitated. “But to save her, we will need to draw blood directly from your heart. I am not certain your body can withstand such a procedure.” “No!” Cassian’s face paled, his brow furrowed. “Taking heart’s blood is nearly fatal. She can’t endure it. Is there no other way?” The physician looked grave. “Other blood will have a minimal effect. If the Duke is unwilling, then you must prepare for the worst. The lady who gives her heart’s blood may not die, but the one afflicted with this curse most certainly will.” Cassian’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on Lilliana’s pale form. I saw the anguish in his eyes. I looked at the physician. “I will do it. Take what you need.” “But my lady,” the physician protested, looking to Cassian for a final decision, “it will severely damage your vitality.” I managed a weak smile. “It’s alright. I can recover. Saving her is what’s important.” Cassian stared at me, his eyes a storm of unreadable emotions. Finally, he grimaced, tore a strip of fabric from his own white tunic, and used it to blindfold me. “I will owe you a debt,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I will repay you.” Then he was gone. The physician began the procedure. The blade pierced my skin. With every fraction of an inch it sank deeper, the pain became clearer, more defined. My mind drifted back. I was eight years old, my parents newly dead. The other noble children taunted me, said I had no one to protect me. Cassian had chased them off. He had ruffled my hair. “Don’t be afraid,” he’d said. “I will protect you.” He had kept his word. Even as he was dying, he had protected me. How could I not love him? But I knew, from the moment I was reborn, I had to sever that love, no matter the cost. As the heart’s blood was drawn, a warm trickle of blood escaped my own lips. The pain was a white-hot agony, and I collapsed, the world going dark. In the haze, I heard his last words from our previous life. “Eleonora, if only I had never met you in this life…” Tears streamed from under the blindfold. I smiled a faint, weak smile. “Cassian… this time, I will not chain you to me.” When I awoke, the sun was bright. I was in a guest room next door. A deep, throbbing ache radiated from my chest. I was alone, too weak to move. I glanced out the window. It was nearly noon. The twelve hours were almost up. I had to leave. Outside, I could hear the maids chattering. “Did you see the meteor shower last night? It was once in a century!” “I did! It was so beautiful! They say if lovers watch it together, they’ll be together forever!” Hearing their happy voices, a pang of regret shot through me. What a shame. To have missed something so beautiful. A short while later, the door opened, and Cassian entered, carrying a bowl of soup. It was the rich consommé from the royal kitchens, my favorite as a child. For a dizzying moment, I couldn’t believe he remembered. He looked at me, his voice softer than I had heard it in a decade. “Does your heart still ache? Should I call for the royal physician? She is out of danger, thanks to you.” I nodded. “Good.” Seeing my pale face, his brow remained furrowed. “I was harsh with my words yesterday. Don’t take them to heart. But Lilliana was an innocent party. You shouldn’t have dragged her into our affairs. Don’t go to my parents with tales again.” His words still stung, but I didn’t protest or try to explain myself as I would have in my past life. I just forced a smile. “I won’t. There won’t be a next time.” He tucked the blankets around me. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take you to see the stars last night. After we are wed, I will accompany you on a trip. I remember you always wanted to see the Southern Marshes. We can go there after visiting your parents’ memorial.” I froze, then gave a small, sad smile. “There’s no need.” “You don’t have to compensate me for last night. I chose to save Lady Lilliana myself.” Cassian looked taken aback, a flicker of something new in his eyes. “I have already arranged for the carriage to leave in five days. Once you have rested, we will depart.” I just looked at him, saying nothing. The bowl in his hands seemed to tremble. The old injury to his arm, the one he’d gotten protecting me, always ached in the damp weather. Even now, just holding a bowl was a strain. A wave of sympathy washed over me. “Do you regret it?” I asked, my voice soft. “Getting hurt like that, to save me?” His expression was calm. “There is nothing to regret. I would have saved anyone in that situation.” My heart sank. My voice was barely a whisper. “And when I had the fever? When you climbed the cliffs for the Ghost Orchid? Would you have done that for anyone?” “Yes.” Of course. I was nothing special. Tears welled in my eyes, but I forced a bright smile. “Cassian, thank you. For saving me, again and again.” “I had no parents. I was so desperate for a family. That’s why I forced you to marry me. My selfishness must have caused you so much pain, so much torment.” But not anymore. He wouldn’t have to abandon the woman he loved for me. He wouldn’t have to suffer for ten years. He wouldn’t have to die at thirty. This time, he would be alright. I thought I saw a flicker of panic in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but just then, one of Lilliana’s maids rushed in. “Your Grace! My lady is awake, and she is asking for you! She refuses to eat until she sees you. Please, come quickly!” A genuine smile finally broke through Cassian’s grim expression. He glanced at me and stood to leave. “Wait for me here.” “Cassian,” I called out, stopping him at the door. I gave him the most radiant smile I could muster. “I’m sorry. And… I wish you a lifetime of happiness and peace.” He looked startled, a sense of unease clouding his features. “Why are you talking like this? I am just going to check on Lilliana. I will be right back. Eat something. Wait for me. I have something to tell you.” Then, he turned and left. It was almost noon. I forced myself out of bed. The physician came to check on me and left some medicine. I smiled gratefully. “I will take it, thank you, Doctor. And please, could you give the Duke a message for me? Tell him I have left for the Southern Marshes. Tell him to take care, and not to think of me.” After seeing Lilliana, Cassian rushed back to the guest room. It was empty. He called for a servant. “Where is Lady Eleonora? She is not well enough to be out of bed.” Before the servant could answer, one of his personal guards hurried in, his face grim. “Your Grace, terrible news! There was a brigand attack on the road out of the city. Several travelers were wounded, but there was one fatality—a young woman who had just had her heart’s blood drawn. Her name was Eleonora.”

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The video of me slapping the hottest starlet of the moment went viral. Her fans swarmed my socials, calling for my blood, while the rest of the internet grabbed their popcorn. 【Charlotte is a dead woman walking. Everyone knows Stella is dating the Astor heir. She’s going to be blacklisted into oblivion!】 Three days later, the Astor heir himself showed up at my reality show’s set. Everyone watched, salivating for the drama, only to see the golden boy of New York society drop to his knees in front of me. “Mom, I’m so sorry!” 1 I hesitated when the producers of Second Act first approached me. It’s not like I needed the money or was desperate for a comeback. The show didn’t offer me much. That is, until I saw a clip from last season where one of the contestants lost twenty pounds. At forty-five, with a metabolism that had long since clocked out, the battle of the bulge was a daily struggle. My eyes lit up. I slapped my thigh. “I’m in!” 2 Once filming started, I was practically invisible. Among the thirty contestants, or “sisters” as they called us, I was far from the most famous. My career highlight had been a few memorable villain roles years ago—the kind of actress you recognize but can’t name. I never monetized my private life, kept my family background under wraps, and had zero interest in sucking up to the production team. Naturally, no investor was lining up to back me. I didn’t care. I was just there for a celebrity weight-loss camp, after all. I threw myself into training, preparing for each performance with professional diligence, and made a point to stay out of everyone’s way. But trouble, it seemed, had a way of finding me. 3 Her name was Stella. She was the youngest and, by far, the most popular star on the show. At only twenty-three, she didn’t exactly fit the “sister” concept, but the network was determined to help her transition from a cutesy pop-tart persona to something more mature. The show had already boosted her fame, making her the main draw for viewers. But it wasn’t enough for her. She wanted to build a new image—the “fearless, independent woman of the new millennium”—and for that, she needed a foil. A punching bag. She chose me. For our second performance, she picked me for her group and immediately started her campaign of micro-aggressions. During rehearsal, I’d be the first to arrive, yet she’d sigh dramatically and say, “Charlotte, I know you’re on the show, but could you please try to think about something other than your husband and kids for a few hours?” I just stared at her. What the hell? I hadn’t so much as mentioned my husband or son since filming began. Later, at dinner, I’d be picking at a plate of grilled chicken breast, and she’d frown with theatrical concern. “I know pregnancy and childbirth can be tough on a woman’s body, Charlotte, but you can’t just let yourself go!” Again, what the hell? I had abs under my shirt and legs for days—longer than hers, thank you very much. I just didn’t feel the need to flaunt them. Then, during a group chat about the industry, she deliberately singled me out. “You quit showbiz for a man, didn’t you, Charlotte? I could never do that. My life is my own.” I just bit my tongue. Get your facts straight before you run your mouth, kid. My acting career was always a side gig. I left to get my doctorate in the States. I was utterly baffled by her. I tried to ignore her, writing it off as childish nonsense, but she only grew more audacious. One night, over dinner, the contestants were discussing whose life they envied the most. Stella suddenly spoke up. “I don’t envy anyone. But the one person I would never want to be is Charlotte. Such a failure, no sense of self. If I were her parents, I’d regret ever having her!” That did it. She had finally poked the bear. She could insult me all she wanted, but she never should have brought up my parents, who had passed away years ago. I was done being patient. I raised my hand. SMACK! The slap echoed through the room. 4 When the episode aired, the clip of me slapping Stella blew up online and shot to the top of the trending topics. The production team, clearly in Stella’s camp, had edited the footage to make her look like a saint. A shot of me in the hallway practicing a rap verse was deceitfully framed as me video-chatting with my family. They spliced my first day’s clumsy dance practice into the final week’s montage to make it look like I’d made zero progress. My singing was auto-tuned in reverse, making me sound painfully off-key. Their goal was clear: to paint me as the lazy, family-obsessed housewife—the most despised archetype for a female celebrity today. The internet unleashed its fury. 【If Charlotte wants to be a housewife so badly, she should just stay home! Why is she wasting our time on the show?】 【Seriously, I can’t stand these slackers who take the money and do nothing. Get her off my screen!】 【I used to like some of her old roles, but now I see what a failure of a woman she really is. So pathetic!】 Meanwhile, Stella was edited to look like a responsible, long-suffering group leader, earning her a massive wave of sympathy and new fans. When the slap scene aired, they conveniently cut out her vicious comment about my parents, making it seem like I’d lashed out simply because I couldn’t handle her constructive criticism. Stella’s fans went ballistic, plastering my face on mock-up funeral photos and cursing my entire family tree. The general public was just as outraged. 【Charlotte went way too far. Is she bullying a junior just because she’s a veteran? Stella was just trying to help her.】 【Old hags like her are always so entitled. She needs to get out of the industry for good!】 【Oh, she won’t be in the industry for long, trust me. Have you all forgotten who Stella’s boyfriend is? Julian Astor! The Astor heir. She’s messing with him now. She’s finished.】 I’d been scrolling through the comments with bored detachment, but that last one made me pause. Wait, what? My son has a girlfriend? Since when? 5 Just in case it was some misunderstanding, I did a quick search for my darling son’s name: Julian Astor. I shouldn’t have. What I found was a digital tabloid shrine dedicated to his romantic escapades. 【Astor Heir Drops Millions to Win a Starlet’s Smile】 【Julian Astor Buys Film Studio on a Whim to Promote His New Flame】 【Rival Actresses Brawl Over Billionaire Scion Julian Astor】 The best part? The male lead was always Julian, but the female lead changed with every headline. And the latest piece of gossip featured none other than Stella. A paparazzi photo showed them holding hands while shopping, under the headline: 【New York’s Golden Boy Steps Out with It-Girl Stella, Drops $200k on Handbags in a Single Day】 I nearly fainted from rage. So this was why my brilliant son had refused to study abroad, why he’d shown no interest in learning the ropes of the family business. He was too busy gallivanting around town, collecting celebrity girlfriends! I may have been an actress once, but now I was a retired businesswoman, fully occupied with managing family assets and my own fitness regimen. I rarely paid attention to celebrity gossip. This was the first I was hearing of my son’s… extracurricular activities. Fuming, I shot him a text. 【You have a girlfriend and you didn’t tell your mother?】 The little brat replied almost instantly. 【Which one?】 He must have realized how insane that sounded because he deleted the message a second later and sent a new one. 【Oh, you mean Stella? Yeah, we’re dating. I was actually planning to bring her to meet you in a few days.】 His casual tone told me he had no idea his new girlfriend had just been on the receiving end of a slap from his own mother. Nor did he know that her fans were currently roasting me, him, and our entire lineage online. But that figured. My son loved being the subject of gossip; he had no interest in reading about anyone else. I was about to type back, No need, we’ve already met, when a sharp voice cut through the air. “Charlotte, would you please put down your phone? Stop texting your husband and son for five minutes and focus on the rehearsal!” 6 I looked up to see Stella, her arms crossed. Ever since the slap, her hostility had become a constant, simmering presence. She looked for any excuse to pick a fight. Like now. We were on a break. The other contestants were chatting and on their phones too, but she singled me out. A cold smile touched my lips. “And who are you to talk, Stella? You spend more time glued to your phone than anyone here.” It was the truth. Stella was the one constantly texting and disappearing for hours-long, syrupy-sweet video calls. I’d always assumed she was dating some young heartthrob. I never imagined it was my son. Stella’s face darkened. Before she could retort, one of her little followers chimed in. “You can’t compare, Charlotte,” said Vicky, a lesser-known actress who served as Stella’s sidekick. Her voice dripped with condescension. “Stella is talking to Julian Astor. Do you even know who that is? He’s the Astor heir!” I had to bite back a laugh. The little brat who came out of my own body? Yeah, I think I know who he is. At the mention of Julian’s name, a smug, triumphant smile tugged at Stella’s lips, though she tried to feign modesty. “Vicky, stop. I’ve told Julian I want to keep our relationship low-key.” “Oh, Stella, you’re just too humble!” Vicky gushed. “But how can you be low-key when he’s so crazy about you? When he marries you, I bet he’ll throw you the wedding of the century!” The word “wedding” made Stella’s smile widen uncontrollably. But I, standing off to the side, couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Getting a little ahead of yourselves, aren’t you?” I asked, my tone laced with amusement. “Have you even met his parents?” You haven’t even met me, and you’re already planning on marrying into the Astor family? Over my dead body. My question made Stella’s face fall. “What’s that supposed to mean, Charlotte?” she snapped. “So what if I haven’t met his parents yet? He told me he’s taking me to meet his mother very soon!” That announcement captured the attention of every woman in the room. Even the A-listers, who had previously ignored our little feud, couldn’t help but look over. “For real?” Vicky gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in exaggerated shock. “He’s taking you to meet his mother? Oh my God, I heard she’s the legendary heiress of the Astor family, one of the most powerful women in New York! Is it true?” “Yes, yes!” another contestant chimed in, leaning closer. “I’ve heard the stories about Julian’s mom too. She’s incredibly private. No one’s ever gotten a picture of her face, and nobody even knows her full name. Just that she’s the ultimate blue-blooded beauty!” Stella’s chin lifted with pride as she adopted the tone of a seasoned insider. “Of course. Julian told me all about her. She’s the only daughter of the Astor family, a true New York princess in her day. And not just that—while the Astor Corporation has a board of professional managers, she’s the one who really calls the shots. She isn’t just a pretty face with a trust fund; she’s brilliant. A PhD in Finance from an Ivy League school. She made a killing on Wall Street before coming home to take over the family empire. She’s a true icon for women.” A chorus of envious sighs filled the room. I felt a blush creep up my neck. I had no idea Stella held me in such high regard. It almost made me feel bad for slapping her. She was still going. “Basically, Julian’s mom is my idol. She is, without a doubt, the most perfect woman in the world!” This was getting to be too much, even for me. I couldn’t help but clear my throat and mutter, “Well, it’s not that dramatic.”

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On our wedding anniversary, eight months pregnant, I fell down the stairs. Avery rushed me to the hospital, terrified. As anesthesia took hold, I overheard the surgeon: “We’ve given six times the normal dose—she won’t feel a thing. But the baby’s vitals are stable. Are you sure you want to induce labor? It could paralyze her.” Avery’s voice was ice: “Do it.” “Caleb’s induction into the family is soon. I can’t risk anything threatening his position. This debt is owed to Sabrina and our son.” “Once Caleb’s secure, I’ll heal Daisy. We’ll have another child. But this one… has to die.” A tear slipped down my temple as darkness swallowed me. I woke to a stillborn son and a shattered body—paralyzed from the waist down. Grief was drowned by betrayal. So when Avery spoke of a fresh start, I chose my own path. I faked my death… and disappeared. 1. The news of our son’s death sent me into another spiral of unconsciousness. When I next surfaced, it was to the sound of Avery’s voice, speaking with a friend just outside my room. “You’ve been with Daisy for years, Avery. Don’t you know her at all? If you had just told her Caleb was your son, she would have loved him as her own. Why did you have to do this to her? Turn her into… this?” A long silence followed before Avery’s detached voice finally responded. “I know she would have. But it was a risk I couldn’t afford to take.” “It’s what I promised Sabrina.” “Besides,” he added, his voice chillingly practical, “we can have another child. Daisy is young. We’ll have our own family someday.” The friend sounded incredulous. “This was all because you were afraid Daisy’s child, your legitimate heir, backed by the Sterling family’s influence, would threaten Caleb’s inheritance, wasn’t it? That’s all this was about!” “You’re a monster, Avery! That baby was fully formed. When they carried him out of the OR, I saw him… just a tiny, perfect little thing… How could you?” Hearing this, a phantom tearing sensation ignited in my lower body. The ghost of a baby’s cry echoed in my ears, a razor blade scraping against my heart. The pain was unbearable. “And that’s not even mentioning that Daisy is paralyzed because of you! She’s your wife! Do you have any idea how much she went through, carrying your child for nine months?” “This wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been so stubborn, if she hadn’t secretly pricked holes in the…” Avery’s voice trailed off into what sounded like a sigh. “Sabrina was already making a huge concession by allowing Daisy to have a child of her own at all!” “Do you think I don’t feel the pain of this? But I owe the Quinn family everything. What was I supposed to do?” The friend’s voice dropped to a furious hiss. “You should never have gotten involved with Daisy Sterling in the first place!” The conversation ended, the two men parting in anger. Hidden beneath my blankets, I wept in silence, not daring to make a sound. A moment later, the door opened. “Is it all taken care of?” I felt Avery gently adjusting my covers. “Give them a generous severance. Enough to ensure they never set foot in this country again.” He had sent the entire surgical team abroad. A man of decisive, ruthless action. I laughed, a bitter, silent laugh, and kept my eyes squeezed shut. I had believed he was as excited for our baby’s arrival as I was. When I fell, the only person I hated was myself. I had twisted my body, taking the impact on my back, sacrificing my own well-being to shield my belly from any sharp edges. I never imagined it was all a trap. That it was Avery who had poured oil on the stairs, who had engineered my “accident,” who had an executioner waiting for me at the hospital. What a cold, black heart. The husband I adored, the marriage I cherished—all of it, a lie. For his illegitimate son, Avery had murdered our own flesh and blood. All to fulfill some twisted promise and secure an inheritance. A violent tremor wracked my body. But the searing pain that radiated from my legs was nothing, not even a fraction of the agony consuming my heart. 2. My silent trembling must have been visible, because when Avery returned, he saw the quivering mound under the covers and immediately wrapped his arms around me. His voice was a masterpiece of regret. “Daisy, I promise you, we’ll have another child.” “Trust me. I’ll do everything in my power to heal you. Please, don’t cry.” He kissed my forehead, a gesture of profound, counterfeit love. “When you cry, my heart shatters.” I stared blankly ahead, my gaze venomous. I couldn’t look at him, terrified the raw hatred in my eyes would betray me. “Does it really?” I whispered. Avery gently turned my shoulders to face him. I saw the tear tracks on his cheeks, the raw red rimming his eyes. “How could it not? I love you, and I loved our child.” “No one was more excited for our baby to come into this world than I was. What happened… Daisy, I’m the one in the most pain here.” The man was a virtuoso. No wonder I’d never seen through his despicable charade all these years. I remembered his ecstatic joy when we first found out I was pregnant. He’d been like a man who’d discovered a priceless treasure, too happy to sleep. Throughout the pregnancy, he had been obsessively attentive, hovering over me with a dozen layers of caution every time I went near a staircase. Who could have possibly guessed that even then, he was laying the groundwork for his other son, his real family? “Avery, thank you for the gifts. Caleb loves them.” Avery was asleep beside me, but his phone buzzed incessantly. Using his thumbprint, I unlocked it. My world shrank to the glowing screen. I stared for a long time, fat tears plopping onto the glass. The clothes I had lovingly picked out for our baby had all been exchanged, a month ago, for Caleb’s size. The villa I had dreamed of giving to our child was now occupied by Sabrina and her son. The background of their chat history was a photo of the villa’s garden. The three of them—a perfect family—were sitting together on a swing set, radiant with happiness. My heart went numb. Scrolling further up, I found Avery’s correspondence with a Feng Shui master, discussing the most auspicious date for Caleb’s formal induction into the family. It was three months from now. I closed my eyes, a bitter taste flooding my mouth. Three months. It was more than enough time for me to disappear. “I had this dress custom-made by a designer,” Avery said, holding it up. “No one will be able to tell.” My lower body was slightly misshapen from the injury, and even with a cane, the signs of paralysis were visible. Seeing my eyes well up, Avery rushed to my side. I shook my head. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking about when we first met. You were this thoughtful then, too.” When we’d first met, I’d taken a fall while hiking and scraped my arm. He had meticulously sourced a beautiful, long-sleeved summer gown so I could attend my debutante ball without the scrape showing. It was that meticulous care that had won my heart, convincing me to leave my home and marry him. He smiled, a fond, indulgent smile, and knelt to help me with a medical dressing. “I’ll be even better to you from now on. Don’t overthink things. I’ll never be ashamed of you.” If I hadn’t heard the brutal truth with my own ears, I would never have believed this perfect gentleman was a monster who had murdered his own child. My enemy. The man who had pushed me into this abyss. I had no choice but to play along, to feign a more severe paralysis to lower his guard. I knew him. Even after he brought Sabrina and Caleb into the family, he would never willingly let me go. I secretly contacted my best friend, Chloe, and had her arrange for a new hospital and a new medical team. “You have to be careful,” she had warned. “Avery can’t find out. Not a whisper.” Two weeks passed. One morning, I woke to find Avery sitting by my bed, his eyes red, unable to meet my gaze. “Daisy, I’ve booked the best doctors in the world. We’re going to get the feeling back in your legs. I promise.” Yesterday, during a physical therapy assessment, I had deliberately exaggerated the severity of my condition. As expected, today’s medical report was grim. “Everything else seems to be fine,” the doctor had said, a line I was sure Avery had fed him. “However, if you two are thinking of having another child in the near future, I’m afraid I can’t recommend it.” Temporarily infertile? I scoffed internally. Another lie, courtesy of my husband. Women with amputated limbs could have children, but I, with two legs that could still touch the ground, was being declared barren? It was laughable. Fine. I would play his game. “Avery,” I said, my voice carefully fragile. “I know how much you’ve always wanted a child. Maybe… maybe my legs will never get better. What if… what if we adopted?” 3. Saying the words felt like my heart was bleeding out. Avery didn’t notice. He just looked at me, stunned, then pulled me into a tight embrace. “Trust me, Daisy. This is just a temporary solution.” “Once my parents’ wishes are fulfilled, I’ll take you abroad. We’ll start our own new life, the three of us.” He had it all planned out, down to the country where we would live. The one detail he hadn’t accounted for was me already knowing about Caleb. And he was moving fast. His desperation to legitimize his bastard son was palpable. A few days later, he brought the boy to the hospital. “You’re his mother,” Avery said, his expression cautious, as if afraid I would refuse. “It’s only right that you be the first to meet him.” I looked at the boy standing outside my room. He was impeccably dressed, exuding an air of quiet aristocracy. My hatred reached its zenith. Why did his son get to be born with a silver spoon, to grow up cherished and carefree, while my poor, innocent baby was suffocated before he could even see the world? But a smile remained plastered on my face. “Caleb, is it? Come here.” It was only when I saw the locket around his neck that I understood the true meaning of despair. It was an identical locket to the one Avery had given me on the day I reached nine full months of pregnancy. A family heirloom, he’d said. But the one Caleb wore was older, more worn, infinitely more precious. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Who takes care of you, sweetie? Is she here today?” I wanted to see her. This Sabrina. I wanted to see the woman who had orchestrated my ruin. The words had barely left my mouth when the sharp, confident click of high heels echoed in the room. Avery’s expression changed instantly. “Avery, he’s still so young. I was worried, so I came up… You don’t mind, do you?” It was her. Over the years, every time Avery had gotten drunk and called me to pick him up, I’d seen her hovering in the background. She had been infiltrating our lives all along. I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to show any weakness. “Mrs. Rhodes, hello. I’m Caleb’s mother. I’m also a cardiothoracic surgeon at this hospital. Sabrina Quinn.” She claimed they were university classmates, that Caleb was the result of a one-time accident. He had claimed she was just a surrogate. I knew better. It was just one lie piled on top of another. The pathetic cowards didn’t even have the courage to admit to their affair. “Please, excuse him,” Sabrina said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Caleb just loves making these little trinkets.” Suddenly, the bracelet on her wrist came loose. I stared at it, then my gaze shifted to Avery’s empty wrist. I’d seen it before. It was a crude, handmade thing, but Avery had come home wearing it more than once. Sabrina was marking her territory. I couldn’t maintain my composure any longer. The air in the room was suffocating. “I’m tired, Avery. You should all go.” He didn’t suspect a thing. As Sabrina left, her triumphant smirk was seared into my brain, lingering long after she was gone. I clutched my chest, fighting back the urge to sob. Later that night, Sabrina, on her night shift, came back up to the VIP floor. “Caleb says he really likes Ms. Sterling.” “He wanted her to have this bracelet. I’m so sorry about today, I forgot to take it off.” Avery rubbed his temples. “I don’t wear it often. She probably didn’t even notice. But you should probably avoid her from now on. I don’t want her getting the wrong idea.” “Good. I was so worried she would misunderstand.” Then Sabrina’s tone shifted. “Have you told Ms. Sterling about the family induction ceremony? Her legs… it will be inconvenient. Do you need me to step in…?” “No,” Avery refused without hesitation. “You just need to take care of Caleb.” “Daisy is the lady of this house. My wife. She is the one who should be there for such an occasion.” Suddenly, a nurse rushed in, announcing that I had fallen from my wheelchair. Avery bolted from the room, his face beaded with sweat as he ran back to me. “Daisy! Are you alright?” Just before he burst in, I had twisted my own wrist, a sharp, deliberate motion that brought tears of genuine pain to my eyes. I hadn’t fallen. I had been practicing walking on my own, my recovery far ahead of schedule, when the nurse had suddenly entered to take my temperature. In a panic, I had no choice but to pretend to fall. Avery held me tight, his eyes overflowing with anguish as the nurse described the scene. “Daisy, why are you so foolish?” “Whether you can ever stand again or not, I will always love you.” I hugged him back. If it weren’t for Sabrina and Caleb, I might have been the happiest woman in the world. 4. But his love was worthless. To appease Sabrina, the very next day, he told me it was time for Caleb to be formally welcomed into the family. “Even though he’s adopted,” he lied smoothly, “we have to do this to silence the gossips.” I knew this day was coming. The day Caleb officially became a Rhodes would be the day I left. Meeting Avery’s expectant gaze, I nodded without a word, even offering to help prepare Caleb’s ceremonial attire. Avery was deeply moved. “Caleb will be a good, filial son to you, I promise.” I didn’t want his filial piety! I wanted my own child! The silent, screaming roar inside me was buried beneath a placid exterior, a storm no one could see or hear. After I was discharged, we moved back to the Rhodes family estate. Sabrina and Caleb moved in with us, as if it were their right, and she carried herself with more authority than I, the actual lady of the house, ever had. The elder Rhodeses doted on their newfound grandson, and Sabrina’s status rose accordingly. It was clear they had known about Caleb all along. Only I had been the clown, the fool deceived by a charade for years. On the day of the ceremony, a maid wheeled me into the grand hall of the estate, where the family’s history was enshrined. Sabrina was already waiting. She dismissed the maid and took over the wheelchair, her voice a low, provocative whisper in my ear. “You’ve known all along that Caleb is my child with Avery, haven’t you, Daisy? It’s truly pathetic how you’ve swallowed all this humiliation just to hang on to your title. But what a shame. As grand as the title ‘Mrs. Rhodes’ is, it won’t be yours for much longer.” I smiled faintly. “Are you so proud? Of an illegitimate child born in the shadows? What does it matter if his name is added to the family records?” Sabrina looked at me with exaggerated pity. “After today, Caleb will be groomed as the heir. And you… you’re a cripple. Even if you had managed to produce a child, he would never have compared to my Caleb.” “Oh, and by the way,” she added, her smile turning cruel and sharp, “I heard your baby was a boy, too, wasn’t he?” Her laughter was wild, triumphant. “In a story of two choices, Avery still chose me. Don’t you understand yet?” She could have said anything else. Mocked me in any other way. But why did she have to bring up my poor, lost child? I hadn’t wanted a confrontation. I just wanted to get through this day and leave in peace. Was even that too much to ask? Leaning on my cane, I pushed myself to my feet and swung my hand, the sharp crack of a slap echoing in the hall. “Caleb is a Rhodes. But what, exactly, are you?” At that moment, Caleb ran in and threw his arms around Sabrina’s waist. “Mama! Why did you hit my mama! You’re a bad woman!” The elder Rhodeses followed close behind. Seeing Sabrina clutching her face, tears streaming down her cheeks, their expressions turned to stone. “Daisy, what do you think you’re doing! Who gave you permission to raise a hand in this hall!” Avery’s mother shrieked. “A barren hen is less useful than a dog! Get out! Don’t be an eyesore!” She shoved me, hard.

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During my half-sister’s birthday celebrations at Royal Ascot, I was discovered in a compromising position with the lowest of the Duke’s stable hands. Yet instead of panic, I demanded my sister—the Duchess of Westminster—sanction our union. In my first life, I had drunk drugged champagne at this very event, awakening in the arms of my brother-in-law, Sir Richard Astor. My sister Beatrice collapsed in hysterics, “dying” only after summoning me to her bedside to beg me to marry Richard and raise her children. I agreed, swallowing my shame. For years, I endured society’s scorn, managing the Astor estates with my own funds, raising her children as my own—until the day her son graduated Oxford and her daughter married a German prince. That was when Richard returned with Beatrice on his arm. He handed me an annulment. My stepchildren demanded I surrender my title. When shock triggered my “hysteria,” they bound me and threw me into the Thames. As I drowned, I heard Richard soothe Beatrice: “We only needed her labor.” Then—I woke. Back at Ascot, the drug’s heat coiling in my veins once more. 1 The familiar, searing heat in my blood confirmed it: I was reborn. It was the day of Lady Beatrice’s birthday fête, the day my life was stolen. With newfound clarity, I pressed the half-empty bottle of drugged champagne into the hands of a grasping opera singer, a subtle glance towards Sir Richard’s private box all the instruction she needed. Then, feigning panic, I grabbed the nearest stable hand and dragged him into an empty horse stall. In my past life, desperate to preserve my honor after realizing I’d been drugged, I had hidden myself away in a guest suite. I’d awoken to find Sir Richard beside me. Just as my own horror began to dawn, Beatrice had thrown open the doors, a crowd of London’s most notorious gossips at her back. The sight of us—me disheveled, him feigning confusion—sent her into a spectacular, apochryphal fit of hysterics from which she never “recovered.” Society branded me a vulgar opportunist, a savage Scot who had preyed upon her own grieving brother-in-law to climb the social ladder. On her “deathbed,” she had played the magnanimous saint, forgiving me, her only wish that I take her place. For the next decade, I had honored that wish. I served the old Duke and Duchess, raised the children, and never rested. When the Astor finances dwindled, I used my own dowry—the wealth from my mother’s Highland properties—to shore them up. Yet my stepchildren openly mocked me, calling me a bed-climbing harlot. Sir Richard treated me with utter contempt. On the rare occasions I conceived, he forced me to… end it, sneering that a woman of my “low birth” was unworthy of bearing an Astor heir. I exhausted my fortune and my health for them. And my reward? To be replaced by a miraculously resurrected Beatrice, still as beautiful as the day she had “died,” while I was a graying, broken woman. “Beatrice is back,” Richard had said, handing me the annulment papers. “You may go. I grant you permission to remarry.” “You were nothing but a bed-warmer,” my stepson had spat. “Did you really think you were the Duchess?” “If it weren’t for your depravity, our mother would never have been forced to leave us for all these years!” my stepdaughter had shrieked. The shock had sent me into a real fit this time, gasping for air. “Let her die,” my stepson had said, prodding my convulsing body with his boot. “It’s cleaner this way. No one can accuse the family of being cruel if she simply… expires.” “Indeed,” his sister had agreed. “Common blood is so fragile. It’s hardly our fault.” They left me on the banks of the Thames, not yet dead, to be swallowed by the tide. In the ethereal moments after, I heard Beatrice’s jealous whining. Had he ever truly loved me? Richard’s laugh was a cold comfort. “Love her? My dear, she was a tool. A placeholder to raise our children. My heart has only ever been yours. But thank God for her diligence. Her servitude gave you the peace you needed to heal, so that we may be together forever.” Now, in the present, I heard Beatrice’s voice approaching, thick with staged tears. “My own half-sister… I treated her as if she were my own blood. And yet, to marry into this family, she would seduce my husband.” “What am I to do?” she lamented to her audience. I quickly arranged my dress, hiding the stable boy behind me just as Beatrice’s footman kicked open the stall door. The guests gasped at the sight of me, my gown torn, my skin flushed. Beatrice, her eyes blazing with righteous fury, strode forward and ripped me away from my hiding spot. “Eleanor! Have I not been good to you?” “If you desired the Duke, you only had to tell me! I would have arranged for you to be his mistress! Why must you resort to such vulgar, common tactics?” Just as she prepared to clutch her heart and faint, I shoved the man from the shadows. It was, very clearly, not Sir Richard Astor. The crowd froze. In that stunned silence, I fell to my knees before Beatrice. “My lady sister,” I cried, my voice ringing with false desperation. “I have lost my honor to this man. I have no choice but to marry him. I beg you, as head of our family, to sanction this union!” 2 Beatrice froze, her hand, raised to strike me, hovering in mid-air. At that exact moment, one of Sir Richard’s valets came running, his face pale with panic. “Your Grace! You must come to the Duke’s private rooms at once!” “An opera singer… she claims the Duke has… compromised her! She was a virgin, she says, and now she demands satisfaction!” Every head turned. Beatrice’s face went white with rage. She shot me a look of pure venom before sweeping away, her gaggle of gossips trailing behind her. I quickly dressed and followed, eager to watch the fireworks. In the Duke’s rooms, the opera singer was on her knees, her dress artfully torn, weeping hysterically. Sir Richard stood by, attempting to straighten his cravat, his face a thundercloud. Beatrice grabbed the singer by the hair, looking as if she wanted to run her through with a hatpin. But she had an audience. She had to maintain her façade of the graceful, benevolent duchess. She asked the singer what she wanted. Money? Jewels? I stepped forward, fanning the flames. “Money and jewels? Surely her honor is worth more than that. The Duke must make her his mistress.” “My lady sister,” I continued, my voice dripping with concern, “you are so often unwell. Managing this great house is such a burden. Would not a mistress be a great help? Someone to share the load, to ease your mind?” Beatrice would never allow it. A mistress was not a governess. A mistress would compete for Richard’s affections, for his money. A mistress might produce more bastards. But under my pointed suggestions, the crowd began to murmur in agreement. It was, after all, the standard way of handling such… indiscretions. Beatrice, trapped by her own performance, finally succumbed to a genuine fit of rage, coughing and sputtering until she collapsed in a faint. I used the chaos to slip away. Back at our modest London lodgings, I found my mother. “We must pack,” I told her urgently. “Gather every penny we have. At dawn, we buy passage on the first ship sailing north.” Just as we had finished packing, my… stepfather, the man my mother had married after fleeing Scotland, burst into my room. “You wretched creature!” he roared. “Look what you’ve done!” Without another word, he took his cane to me, lashing me until my back was a ruin of bleeding welts. He then dragged me to the Astor townhouse, where Beatrice was weeping in Richard’s arms. “I cannot bear this humiliation,” she cried. “The scandal! My own sister, fornicating with a stable boy! The Duke’s mother will have me cast out! I should just hang myself and be done with it!” I gritted my teeth against the pain. “I was under the impression it was the Duke’s public affair with a singer that was the source of the scandal. I’m surprised my own indiscretion has so thoroughly eclipsed it.” “I have told you,” I said, my voice cold, “the man and I have an understanding. Sanction our marriage, and the rumors will cease.” “Why come here to weep and wail? Save your tears for when the Duke installs his new mistress. You will need them then.” My words earned me two sharp slaps across the face from Beatrice. “The stable boy has fled, you fool!” she hissed. “Do you still dream of marrying him?” “We are a respectable family! I am a Duchess! If you were to marry a common servant, how could we ever show our faces in society again?” “There is only one solution…” She turned to my stepfather, her expression one of utter sincerity. “No other respectable family in London will have her now. But the Duke… the Duke, in his great mercy, has said he does not care. He is willing to take Eleanor as his mistress.” “We will simply say that she was infatuated with the Duke all along. In her… agitated state… she mistook the man in the dark. The Duke, moved by her devotion, has agreed to take her under his protection. It will be seen as a great romance.” “Of course,” she added, turning to my mother, “we will need a significant sum to be settled upon her. A dowry, to help with the… expenses of the Dukedom.” The bitch was after my mother’s savings. I shot a hateful glare at Richard. He simply nodded. “It is my duty to ease my wife’s burdens. There is no need for thanks.” “As long as Eleanor is diligent in her duties to the household and the children once she joins us.” My mother rushed in, having heard the commotion. She fell to her knees before my stepfather. “My lord, you cannot! You promised me Eleanor would never be forced into such a position! It was the only reason I agreed to come to this city!” I pulled my mother to her feet, wiping her tears. “A mistress?” I said softly. “Very well. I accept.” “I will only need a few days to prepare my things.” Seeing me agree, they relented. Late that night, my mother and I slipped out through the back garden. But the trail of blood from my wounds betrayed us. The Astor household guards found us quickly. Just as they were about to seize me, I saw him. The stable boy, standing at the end of the street, staring at the Astor townhouse. His eyes widened as he saw my injuries. I shoved my mother towards him. “They’re taking me back! They mean to force me into the Duke’s bed! If they take me, so be it. But if they catch my mother, they will kill her! I beg you, for the memory of our… encounter… save her!” “Please!” The hesitation in the man’s eyes hardened into resolve. “My name is Alistair MacGregor,” he said, his voice a low Highland burr. “Wait for me. I swear on my clan, I will come back for you.” With that, he grabbed my mother and vanished into the night. I was dragged back to the Astor townhouse and, to prevent another escape, locked in the cold, damp cellar. 3 The “ceremony” was set for three days’ time. Normally, installing a mistress was a private affair. But Beatrice, determined to maximize my humiliation, organized a small, exclusive gathering, inviting London’s most venomous gossips. As they picked at their cakes, Beatrice told her story, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “She is my sister, after all. She has long harbored a secret affection for my husband. And since her… unfortunate mistake… I had to do what was right.” “She is so foolish. If she had only confided in me, did she think I would deny her? She never would have… mistaken her bed, and lost her honor.” The ladies murmured their sympathies for Beatrice and shot me looks of utter contempt. I was the author of my own misfortune. They forced a draught down my throat that stole my voice and led me to the bedchamber. Richard entered and lifted my veil. “This is all your fault,” he said coldly. “Now Beatrice must clean up your sordid mess.” “I have no desire to be here. Let us get this over with.” With that, he pushed me onto the bed. But before he could proceed, a frantic knock came at the door. A maid’s voice, choked with sobs. “My Lord Duke! Her Grace… she was so overcome with grief… she’s coughed up blood! She’s dead!” “Please, my lord, come quickly!” Beatrice. The manipulative sow was faking her death again, leaving me to manage the fallout. I shoved Richard away and scrambled out of the room. In the main hall, Beatrice was already laid out in an open casket, dressed in white. The guests, who had come for a sordid celebration, now found themselves at a funeral. The Dowager Duchess slapped me across the face. “You whore! If you hadn’t been so desperate to get into this house, Beatrice would never have been driven to this! She was a saint! You should be the one in that coffin!” The two children were weeping by the casket, their cries of “Mother!” wringing tears from the assembled crowd. A lady-in-waiting, one of Beatrice’s closest confidantes, sobbed, “Lady Beatrice was the soul of grace. To be driven to her death by a common strumpet…” “Hollis,” she asked, turning to Beatrice’s personal maid. “Did your lady have any final words?” Hollis, a key player in their schemes, fell to her knees before me. “Her Grace asked for nothing,” she wailed. “Only that Miss Eleanor honor her memory by serving the Dowager Duchess and caring for her children. Only then, she said, could she rest in peace.” The room filled with praise for Beatrice’s boundless generosity and curses for my wickedness. But she was alive. I could see the faint flutter of her pulse in her neck. Unable to speak, I bit my own finger and began to write in blood on the marble floor. SHE IS NOT DEAD. They called me a demon, a ghoul, defiling the memory of a saint. In desperation, I lunged for the coffin, determined to drag her out and expose the lie. Richard, seeing me claw at the polished wood, kicked me away with brutal force. “You bitch,” he snarled, his boot connecting with my ribs, snapping them like twigs. “Beatrice thought only of you, and you repay her with these vile slanders. You would disturb her even in death.” He kicked me again and again. My fresh wounds burst open, my simple white dress blooming with crimson. Just as my vision began to fade, my mother’s voice screamed my name. She burst into the room, followed by dozens of men in the royal livery. At their head was Alistair MacGregor. He lifted me from the floor and forced an antidote down my throat. My voice returned. I took a ragged breath. “There is a cholera epidemic in the city,” I gasped. “My sister coughed up blood. She died of the plague.” “According to the Queen’s own law, her body must be cremated immediately, on site, to prevent the spread. I implore the Duke to follow the law and set fire to the pyre at once.”

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To support my family, I sang in dive bars. I wore the necklace I’d bought myself to the set of the reality show I was secretly funding. The moment I walked in, another contestant gasped in recognition. The day of my wedding, my bride never showed up. The guests murmured amongst themselves as I called her again and again, each call going straight to voicemail. A moment later, a post popped up on my feed, from her childhood best friend. “Every time I fly back into town, she’s the first person I see. It feels good to be someone’s priority.” The accompanying photo showed his hand intertwined with my fiancée’s. My sister, standing beside me, let out a grim little laugh. “So, brother… what about the $150,000 tiara and the million-dollar diamond ring? And those three share-transfer agreements…?” Without looking up, I liked the post. “Sell what you can. The rest of it is just bad luck now.” “And shred the share agreements. She’s clearly a very busy woman. Let’s not add to her burdens.” 1 It was three hours past the scheduled start of the ceremony when Jenna finally stormed into the backstage dressing room. She didn’t even catch her breath before she started laying into me. “How many times have I told you? If I don’t answer after the first call, it means I’m busy.” “Stop calling over and over. It’s so annoying.” Her face was a mask of irritation, devoid of any joy. She looked like she was here to punch a clock, not get married. My best man, Mark, shot me a helpless look. “Should we… give you two a minute?” Normally, this would be my cue to grovel. To apologize profusely and do whatever it took to smooth her ruffled feathers. But today, I felt none of my usual panic. Instead, a strange, reckless calm settled over me. I shook my head. “No need. There’s nothing left to say.” At my words, Jenna’s expression soured even further. She snatched her purse, her heels clacking angrily on the floor as she headed for the door. “If that’s your attitude,” she threw over her shoulder, “then maybe we shouldn’t get married at all!” Mark nudged me, a silent question: Aren’t you going to go after her? I shrugged. “Let her go. The guests have all left anyway.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go get a drink.” Mark stared at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Well, look at you. Not even going to chase her. Finally growing a spine, are we?” It was after eleven when I got home. Jenna was waiting on the sofa, arms crossed, poised for an interrogation. “Aren’t you going to explain yourself?” I almost laughed. She was the one who was late. She was the one who had spent our wedding day picking up another man from the airport. And yet, she felt no remorse, only righteous indignation. I ignored her and headed for the stairs. Her voice rose, shrill with frustration, the hand she pointed at me trembling. “Fine! Be that way, Liam! See if I care! Don’t you dare speak to me ever again!” Her face was flushed with anger, her eyes daring me to defy her. She was so certain that this threat, this ultimatum, would send me running back to her, begging for forgiveness. A wave of profound sadness washed over me. All my patience, all my unconditional acceptance of her behavior, had only served to forge the very weapon she now wielded against me. But this time, I was going to disappoint her. I didn’t even pause. I just walked up to my room. A piercing shriek of pure, unadulterated rage followed me up the stairs. I put on my headphones, cranked up the music, and slept soundly through the night. The next morning, I found a gift box on the coffee table. Jenna was eating breakfast. As usual, she hadn’t made any for me. Her expression was still stormy, but she spoke through a mouthful of toast. “I bought this yesterday afternoon. I was going to give it to you last night if you’d had the decency to apologize.” “I’ll let it slide this one time. Are you happy now?” The classic move. A slap, followed by a cheap sweet. As if a single gift could erase everything. How little did I mean to her? I didn’t answer. I just knotted my tie and prepared to leave. Jenna shot to her feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Aren’t you even going to look at it? Is this how little you care now?” She strode to the table and ripped open the box. Inside was a men’s necktie. I recognized it. It was the free gift that came with the expensive Swiss watch she’d bought six months ago. A watch that I had never seen, because it was now on Alex Carter’s wrist. The sheer, galling hypocrisy of it made me sick to my stomach. My face must have shown it, because when I pushed her hand away, the calm façade she’d been wearing all morning finally shattered. “Don’t push your luck, Liam!” 2 I didn’t want to fight. I turned to leave. The next thing I knew, the tie was around my neck, pulling me backward. I instinctively struggled, lost my footing, and fell. Jenna screamed and jumped back as the corner of the glass coffee table connected with the back of my head. The world exploded in a nauseating wave of pain and the wet warmth of blood. She stood over me, the tie still clutched in her hand, her face a mask of panic. “You… why didn’t you catch your balance?” “We should go to the hospital.” Her voice was distant, unfocused. As she helped me up, her collar slipped, revealing a cluster of angry red marks on her collarbone. A love bite. She saw me staring and instinctively pulled her collar up. “The mosquitoes have been terrible lately…” I was too tired to argue, too tired to pretend I believed her. I didn’t even grunt in response. Jenna frantically gathered my wallet and insurance card, ready to help me out the door. Then her phone rang. She answered it, her tone instantly shifting to one of anxious concern. “I know, I know. I’m on my way.” She shoved my wallet and card into my hand. “Something urgent came up. You’ll have to call an ambulance yourself.” I stared at her, stunned. Had she forgotten who had just caused this injury? “The hospital is a fifteen-minute drive from here!” Her impatience flared. “But I’m in a real hurry. Besides, won’t an ambulance be faster?” “Then at least call one for me!” Jenna paused, her eyes narrowing. “Liam, how old are you? You don’t know how to dial 911?” And with that, she slammed the door, leaving me alone in a pool of my own blood. I staggered to the bedroom for my phone. The sticky blood made it difficult to use the screen. My hands trembled as I wiped them clean and finally dialed for help. After the call, I stumbled back to the front door, propping it open for the paramedics. The room began to spin. The more blood I lost, the fuzzier my thoughts became. I passed out before they arrived. I awoke to the blinding glare of fluorescent lights in a hospital room. An IV was taped to my hand. A nurse came in. “Good, you’re awake. You called just in time. You need to be careful.” “You might experience some dizziness and headaches for a while. You have a mild concussion, and there might be some blood clotting in the brain that could cause temporary side effects. We’ll need to keep you under observation.” I nodded my thanks. I opened my phone. The first thing I saw was a new post from Alex. It was an hour old. “Thankful for the one who always shows up for me, no matter what.” The picture was of Jenna’s back as she spoke with a doctor. In the comments, Alex had replied to someone: “It was nothing, I was just being a worrier.” A sharp pain lanced through my head, a pain that settled deep in my chest and became a dull, throbbing ache. I remembered a time, long ago, when Jenna had cared for me like that. She had just graduated and started working at my family’s company. I’d seen one of the senior managers tearing into her over a project report. Her eyes were swimming with tears, but she refused to let them fall. Later, I found her crying in a stairwell. The sight of her, so fierce and so vulnerable, had tugged at something inside me. 3 I told her that business wasn’t personal, that all that mattered was getting the job done. She said she understood, but the mistake hadn’t been hers. She was always taking the fall for others. She needed the job. Her mother was sick, and the medical bills were piling up. I felt for her. I taught her how to navigate the treacherous currents of corporate politics. I told the manager to give her more opportunities, to help her build her portfolio. We saw each other often at the office. We grew close. Eventually, we started dating. She was a fighter. She seized every opportunity, her progress astonishing everyone. In a few short years, she rose to become the head of a major subsidiary, a woman who commanded respect and envy in equal measure. I was so proud. I had always known she had it in her. I kept my true identity—the fact that my family owned the entire corporation—a secret. I didn’t want her to feel intimidated, or that she hadn’t earned her success. But as her own power and wealth grew, she began to look down on me. After Alex returned from his job overseas six months ago, it had gotten even worse. I hadn’t wanted to give up. I thought that even the coldest stone, held close for years, would eventually warm. I was wrong. Utterly, hopelessly wrong. You can’t hold on to something that doesn’t want to be held. After my IV was done, I went for a walk in the hospital garden. Before I even reached the doors, I saw her, helping Alex pick up a prescription. His arm was around her shoulder. They looked less like friends and more like a couple, deeply in love. Jenna happened to turn her head and saw me. A flash of guilt crossed her face. “Alex hurt his foot,” she said, her voice a little too loud. “I was just helping him.” I just nodded, my expression neutral. “Are you okay? What did the doctor say?” She knew how to be concerned. She knew my injury was more severe than his. She knew I would be jealous. She knew everything. She just didn’t care. I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked away. Jenna ran after me, grabbing my arm. “I was just so panicked back there, my head was a mess…” “Jenna…” Alex’s voice interrupted her, but she ignored it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you.” Alex limped over to us. “I’ve got the medicine. Can you take me home?” Jenna looked from him to me. “Alex, since you’re fine, why don’t you just grab a cab?” He started to argue, but seeing the look on her face, he fell silent. He shot me a venomous glare and limped away. Jenna took a deep breath. “Liam, can we please talk? Properly?” I took a step back, putting distance between us. “There’s nothing left to talk about.” She looked shocked. “So that’s it? That’s your answer to everything now? If you’re going to refuse to communicate for the rest of our lives, then I’d rather we just get a divorce!” In the past, the mere mention of breaking up would have sent me into a tailspin. If she blocked me, I’d camp outside her door for days, terrified of being abandoned. But today, I felt nothing. No panic. No desperation. I just looked at her for a long moment. Then I said, “Okay.” Jenna stared at me, completely stunned. “No, that’s not… I didn’t mean it. It was just an example. Don’t misunderstand.” My heart was a calm, flat sea. “But I mean it.”

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On the day of my kidney transplant, my husband’s old flame, Zoe, volunteered to be my surgeon. After I refused, again and again, my husband, Phoenix, still let her use me for practice on the operating table. When an artery ruptured mid-surgery, Zoe panicked, completely out of her depth. The hospital demanded Phoenix take over, but he flatly refused. “Don’t put so much pressure on Zoe,” he said, his voice cold. “She’s not going to die. And if she does, I’ll sign a waiver. The hospital won’t be liable.” After the surgery, I suffered from severe complications and organ rejection. The entire hospital was put on high alert for an emergency rescue. But Phoenix was out with Zoe at a celebratory dinner, ignoring all our calls. Lying in the observation ward, my phone buzzed with a text from him. “I’m at home helping Zoe with her dissertation. Don’t come back when you wake up. You’ll distract us.” I had waited so long for a donor kidney, but just before I was wheeled into the OR, everything went wrong. My case was a perfect match for Zoe’s dissertation topic. Using this as an excuse, my husband, Phoenix, refused to perform the surgery himself. He wanted to hand me over to his protégé, Zoe, as a practice run. “Zoe will be the lead surgeon in name only. I’ll be right there to make sure everything goes perfectly. What are you so afraid of?” Phoenix snapped when he saw me hesitate to sign the consent form. He ignored my weakened state, his fingers digging into my jaw. I heard the sickening grate of bone. “I’m afraid of dying!” I choked out. “You know better than anyone how complex my case is. Zoe just graduated. How could she possibly handle this?” Zoe, who had been lingering by the door, heard my words and fled the room in tears. Phoenix pointed a trembling finger at me. “Then you can just lie there and die. Ungrateful bitch, I don’t even know what to say to you.” He chased after her, leaving me alone and helpless in the sterile white room, desperately waiting for him to come back and do his job. “Clara, don’t you worry,” a kind nurse whispered, trying to console me. “If he won’t do it, we can always… call him back. He’s the best there is.” I knew who she meant. The man they were talking about was Phoenix’s sworn rival. He would never operate on Phoenix’s wife. The surgery was scheduled in an hour. Phoenix was still nowhere to be found. My palms slicked with nervous sweat. I had waited so long for this kidney. Was it all going to be for nothing? With thirty minutes to spare, Phoenix finally reappeared, his neck littered with fresh hickeys. He signed the liability waiver with a flourish. This time, he promised, he would be the one in charge. I was too consumed with the fear of dying to care about the marks on his skin. I just nodded, tears streaming down my face. As they pushed my gurney through the double doors of the operating room, I watched them swing shut behind me. And then I saw her. Zoe, dressed in surgical scrubs, standing right in front of me. My eyes widened in horror. But the anesthesiologist was already administering the dose. Just before the world went dark, I saw Phoenix wrap Zoe in a gentle embrace. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. “Just do what you need to do. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.” A chill, colder than any I’d ever known, washed over me. Zoe stepped up to my gurney, a faint, triumphant smile on her lips. “Don’t be scared, Clara. I’ve only scrubbed in three times, but I’ll do my best.” Phoenix watched her, his face a mask of pure admiration. And then, I surrendered to the suffocating darkness. An hour later—or maybe a lifetime—I was jolted awake by Phoenix’s rough voice. A harsh beam of light stabbed at my eyes as he checked my pupils for dilation. From the periphery, I heard the frantic, disjointed voices of a few residents. “Dr. Evans, please, you have to take over! The fellow almost nicked the patient’s artery. If this goes on, something terrible is going to happen!” “Yeah, Dr. Evans, you should be the one operating. This is your wife, after all. If anything happens to her… you’d be devastated.” My husband listened to their desperate pleas, then glanced at the woman behind him, whose hand was trembling so badly she could barely hold the scalpel. His response shattered my world. “I have faith in Zoe,” he said calmly. “Besides, if this woman dies, I, as her husband, will sign a full liability waiver. None of you need to worry. The hospital won’t be on the hook for it.” Why? Why was this the first thing I heard upon waking? I felt the blood freeze in my veins. The faces around me, once familiar, were now the faces of strangers. My consciousness drifted in and out. I could hear Phoenix’s voice, a distant murmur guiding Zoe, but the words were blurred, like a half-remembered nightmare. The next time I woke, I was staring at a stark white ceiling. The room was empty. It wasn’t until the monitor beside my bed began to scream its shrill warnings that people rushed in. “What’s going on? Why are all her vitals crashing after the surgery?” “Her O2 sats are dropping like a stone! What the hell happened? Where’s her attending physician?” The nurses exchanged nervous glances. Finally, one spoke up. “Dr. Evans took Dr. Monroe to celebrate after the surgery. He took a leave of absence, said he’d be back in two days.” “His patient just got out of a major operation! She’s in critical observation! How could he take leave? Who approved this?” the head nurse thundered. A junior nurse stammered, “Dr. Evans approved Dr. Monroe’s leave himself… and as for his own, he said he hadn’t had a vacation in a long time. The administration just… couldn’t say no.” Just then, a resident shouted. “Severe organ rejection! She’s covered in a rash, her airway is swelling… Code Blue! We need to resuscitate, now, or we’re going to lose her!” As they wheeled me away, my mind was terrifyingly clear, as if my body knew it was shutting down. I heard them announce the “Code Blue” over the hospital-wide PA system, a call to arms for every available doctor and nurse to converge on my operating room. I heard their frantic discussions, heard the anesthesiologist lean down and whisper gently, “Don’t you worry, Clara. We’re going to give it everything we’ve got. You just take a nice long nap, and everything will be okay when you wake up.” I nodded. But I’d been a medical student. I knew exactly what a Code Blue meant. “Still no contact with Dr. Evans?” A roar echoed through the haze. It was the hospital’s chief of staff, his voice tight with fury. “In a crisis like this, the two surgeons responsible have just… vanished?” “Get them on the phone now! How can they be out enjoying themselves while their patient is circling the drain?” That’s when a young intern held up his phone, his voice barely a whisper. “It looks like… they went on a trip to the coast. They posted on Instagram, but… they’re not answering the hospital’s calls.” In the final minutes before the anesthesia took me completely, I heard Phoenix’s voice on a speakerphone. He sounded annoyed. “Impossible. I supervised the surgery myself. There’s no way there could be such a severe complication. It’s probably her own body, a violent rejection. It has nothing to do with Zoe’s skill.” “If you can’t save her, don’t waste any more medical resources.” “Just… let her go.” His final words were followed by Zoe’s anxious murmur, but before I could make out what she was saying, the darkness swallowed me whole. The battle between the hospital and the grim reaper lasted for ten grueling hours. In the end, they pulled me back from the brink and I was transferred to the ICU. I spent two weeks teetering on the edge before my condition finally stabilized. As I was moved to a regular ward, my phone, silent for so long, lit up with its first message from Phoenix. “I’m at home helping Zoe with her dissertation. Don’t come back when you wake up. You’ll distract us.” His social media had been wiped clean, but his profile picture was a new one: a shot of him and Zoe on vacation, taken while I was fighting for my life. They were locked in a sweet embrace. You couldn’t see Zoe’s face, but Phoenix… Phoenix looked happier than I’d ever seen him. I pulled up the feed from the security cameras at home. There they were. Zoe, curled up against Phoenix on our couch, reading aloud from the love letters I’d written him years ago. She finished one and let out a derisive laugh. “Clara was so cheesy back then! This is so cringey, how did you even stand it?” she mocked. “And her handwriting is awful.” Phoenix’s reply was a cold, flat blade. “I keep them around for a laugh.” Zoe’s laughter grew louder. She then found the metal box where I kept all the mementos from our long-distance relationship—every train ticket stub from my visits, every handwritten note. She pulled them out, one by one, and began to tear them into pieces. With every rip, she’d look up at Phoenix and smile, a bright, cruel grin. She even handed him a photo to tear himself. He didn’t hesitate. Together, they shredded ten years of my life, one piece at a time, driving a fresh knife into my heart with every tear. The last item was a cheap photo of us, taken with money from our part-time jobs right after college graduation. In it, his gaze was so earnest, as if I were the only person in his world. At least, that’s what I believed back then. It was a grainy, poorly lit photo, but I could never bring myself to throw it away. Zoe ripped it to shreds, then ground my half of the picture under her heel. “I don’t know why Clara would keep such an ugly photo of herself. She looks horrible here!” she declared, then pulled out her phone, switched to the front-facing camera, and snapped a selfie with Phoenix. “See? Even a random shot of me looks better than her prized photo.” Phoenix looked at the screen, a fond, indulgent smile spreading across his face. “That’s because you’re beautiful.” And then they were kissing, a tangle of limbs and shameless passion, right next to our wedding portrait, which they completely ignored. As I watched, a cool, crisp voice cut through the silence of my hospital room. “Still obsessed with your husband? Staring at security footage of him from your hospital bed?” That sharp, sarcastic tone could only belong to one person. I looked up and met his eyes. Leo. He held a stethoscope, and after a brief examination, he announced, “Another two weeks or so, and you should be good to go home.” I stared at him, my mind reeling. He was supposed to be in a fellowship program across the country… What was he doing here? “You… you… you…” I stammered. He rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t aware that kidney transplant complications included a stutter. A new research topic for me, I suppose. After all, I’m the one who flew back to perform your surgery.” “What?!” “What, what? Of course, the ridiculously generous offer the hospital director made didn’t hurt. Don’t get a big head about it.” With that, he packed up his things, gave a haughty tilt of his head, and strode out. Just then, my phone pinged. A large wire transfer had just hit my account. The amount: $5,000. On the monitor, Zoe saw the notification on Phoenix’s phone and squealed, smothering him with kisses. They were so wrapped up in each other, it was as if I were already dead. A moment later, another transfer came through. Another $5,000. Over ten thousand dollars. Had Phoenix forgotten our prenuptial agreement? It clearly stated that all our assets, even after marriage, remained individual property. The card he was using was mine. I’d given it to him so he could take care of himself while he was busy with his research, since my job at the pharmaceutical company paid far more than his. I never said he could use it to woo other women. And this house… what did it have to do with you, Phoenix Evans? What gave you the right to bring another woman to live in it? I turned off the monitor and made a call. “Hello, 911? I’d like to report a crime. Someone is using my credit cards without permission and has broken into my home.” It didn’t take long. Phoenix, who had been too busy for the hospital, too in need of a “rest,” suddenly had all the time in the world. He didn’t even bother to put on his respectable, doctorly facade. He stormed into my room wearing slippers and pajamas. “What the hell is your problem?” His finger jabbed forcefully at my forehead. “I sent you a message! I told you Zoe was staying with us to work on her dissertation. Why did you call the cops?” I slapped his hand away. The look of feigned concern on his face was almost comical. When I was on my deathbed, he had the time to go on a romantic getaway with Zoe, hiking and watching sunsets. He didn’t show an ounce of concern for me, even blocking me from seeing his posts. But the moment Zoe was taken in for questioning, he forgot all sense of decorum and rushed to the hospital to confront me. I let out a bitter laugh. “I’m surprised they didn’t take you with her.” That only enraged him further. “You’ve gone too far, Clara! What did Zoe and I ever do to you? Why are you so hell-bent on sending us to prison? You’re just that vicious, aren’t you?” His face was a mask of contempt, his expression so hateful it burned itself into my memory. “The surgery is over, and the hospital saved you, didn’t they? So what are you being so dramatic about? Zoe has been working on this dissertation for ages, and she just needed your case data. Couldn’t you just help her out? Instead, you call the police. Do you have any idea what a criminal record would do to her career?” Suddenly, it all made sense to him. He was worried about Zoe’s reputation, her future. But what about that time she stole the topic for my dissertation? Why was his first instinct back then to tell me to just let it go? Just a case file? There were dozens of kidney transplant cases at the hospital every day. They chose me for a reason. Because I was Phoenix’s wife. Because I had no parents. Because if I died, Phoenix could decide not to press charges. Bullying an orphan—that was their ultimate weapon.

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The day I got married, my childhood sweetheart, Blaze, crashed the wedding. He and his pack of friends kicked open the chapel doors, declaring he was here to take me away, to run away with me. But not far from the chapel doors, he let go of my hand and a lazy, triumphant smile spread across his face. “Boys, I won the bet. Again. The hundredth time. Pay up.” Then he turned back to me. “It was just a joke, Eliza. You didn’t actually take it seriously, did you? You can go back in and finish getting married.” They all laughed, mocking me for the ten years I’d spent chasing after Blaze, for being willing to do anything for him. But what they didn’t know, what Blaze didn’t know, was that this little wedding crashing scene was just another scheduled event on my wedding day program. 1. By the time Blaze explained it was all just a bet, the hall was already echoing with raucous laughter. The taunts were so sharp they felt like they were piercing my eardrums. “Damn, Blaze, I’ve lost so much money betting on her. Can’t you just get her to use that dumb brain of hers for once?” “This is hilarious. Did you really think Blaze would ever actually marry you?” The humiliation was a familiar, bitter taste in my mouth. My fingers tightened on the fabric of my wedding dress, my nails digging painfully into my palms. Blaze lit a cigarette, a flicker of disgust in his eyes. “Eliza, if you’re thinking about how to cling to me right now, I’d advise you to drop it.” The jeers grew louder, a chorus of mockery. Normally, this would have been the moment I broke down, sobbing, asking him why he would do this to me. But this time was different. The moment he finished speaking, I turned to leave. A strong hand clamped down on my arm. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Back to my wedding.” Blaze froze, stunned. A moment later, a cruel, mocking smile twisted his lips. “You know, Eliza, when it comes to debasing yourself, you really are in a league of your own.” I closed my eyes. His words still sent a tremor through my heart, an involuntary flinch. Yes, that’s what I was in his eyes. No matter what I did, I was always debasing myself. Three days before the wedding, I had sent him an invitation. Somehow, his friend had pocket-dialed me, and I’d overheard their entire conversation. “Interesting. She’s really going all out this time, actually marrying someone.” Someone asked Blaze, “You think she’s for real?” Another voice cut in before he could answer. “No way. Everyone knows she won’t marry anyone but Blaze. She’s just jealous because he has a new girlfriend, probably trying to get his attention.” Blaze’s new girlfriend was named Sienna. He was completely smitten with her, had pursued her for ages. I heard the rustle of paper as she picked up my invitation, then a soft thud as she tossed it to the floor. She giggled. “This is the kind of trash he was dealing with? If I were a man, I wouldn’t be interested either.” After another round of laughter, Blaze’s voice cut through, low and cool. “Wanna make a bet?” “Another bet? Fine. If we win, you have to break up with Sienna.” Blaze’s voice turned to ice. “Don’t you dare use Sienna’s name in a bet.” And right there, over the phone, I heard him set the terms of the wager, so easily, so carelessly. The bet was whether or not I would abandon my own wedding for him. Sienna was too precious to be used as a gambling chip. But me? He’d used me as the centerpiece of his games for a hundred bets. 2. Almost everyone in the room got in on the action. “Damn! That’s a huge bet. No way she’d actually run out on her own wedding. Count me in!” “Yeah, Eliza’s obsessed, but even she’s not that pathetic. I’m betting against it.” My hand holding the phone trembled. I fumbled with the screen, my fingers too clumsy to hit the end-call button. A tear I didn’t know I was shedding dripped from my chin and landed on the speakerphone icon. I panicked and just shut the phone off completely. I stared blankly into the space in front of me and then, I started to laugh. It was absurd. Pathetic. This was my relationship with Blaze. Everyone knew I loved him. But no one knew that we had once been together for a very long time. Before he went abroad to study, he’d asked me to wait for him. Three years, he’d said. Once he made a name for himself, he would come back and marry me. But when I saw him again, he was surrounded by a revolving door of beautiful women. He had made a name for himself, just like he’d promised. I asked him if he remembered what he’d told me. The look in his eyes was that of a stranger. “We all do stupid things when we’re young. Are you trying to use that to blackmail me?” After that, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t close the distance between us. So I gave up. But why? I was already getting married. I had already willingly admitted defeat. Why couldn’t he just let me go? “Eliza, you’re so damn stupid.” “If I were the guy you’re marrying, I’d walk back in there and slap you across the face. Don’t you know how cheap you look right now?” Blaze’s voice was a torrent of insults. But all I felt was a profound sense of exhaustion. I wrenched my arm from his grasp. “Is that so? Well then, watch and see.” As I walked away, Blaze’s voice followed me, laced with irritation. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you’ve made a fool of yourself.” I didn’t look back. As I re-entered the chapel, confetti cannons exploded at the entrance, a celebratory bang showering down on me. Inside, everyone was applauding. “I didn’t believe it when the program said there would be a ‘wedding crashing’ segment, but I guess it’s real!” “A little dramatic, isn’t it?” “I think it’s supposed to symbolize something, right? Like true love conquering all obstacles?” 3. My face was a blank mask as I walked back onto the dais to continue the ceremony. Someone closed the heavy chapel doors, leaving Blaze frozen in place outside, his eyes wide with shock. We exchanged rings. We said our vows. During the reception, I finally got my phone back. There were several frantic messages from Blaze. “What was that all about?” “Eliza, did you set me up?!” He wasn’t wrong. I had done it on purpose. I was just so tired. I didn’t want to be the girl at his beck and call anymore. I just wanted him to have some decency, to know when to stop. I ignored the messages and was about to block his number when his call came through. I declined. It rang again. Finally, I sighed and answered. Blaze’s voice was thick with fury. “Eliza, you have three minutes. Get out here and explain yourself.” I answered casually, “Blaze, your bet is over, isn’t it? I thought you were happy with the result.” I could hear him take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to control his temper. Just as I was about to hang up, his tone shifted. “You really went all out just to piss me off once, didn’t you? Was the fake wedding fun?” “Fake wedding?” “Let me make this clear, Eliza. After today, you can forget about ever seeing me again.” Blaze had always been arrogant, but I no longer cared whether he believed me or not. I was just so done with this endless drama. I pressed my fingers to my temples. “That would be for the best,” I said, and hung up. As I turned, a tall shadow fell over me. I looked up and met the strikingly handsome face of Liam. He was leaning against the wall, a little taller than Blaze, his black suit radiating a quiet, powerful presence. “On the phone?” he asked. I paused. There was an undercurrent of annoyance in his voice that I couldn’t quite place. But Liam and I hadn’t known each other for long; our marriage had been a sudden decision. Before I could answer, he leaned in. His breath was warm against my skin, and I instinctively held my own. The thought, isn’t this a little too fast? hadn’t even fully formed in my mind. He reached past me, grabbing a glass from the table. He saw my reddening ears and smiled. “A toast to celebrate?” 4. Liam had chosen fruit juice. We stood there quietly by the stage for a moment before he asked, “You still haven’t told me why you were at City Hall that day.” I’m a lightweight, and even with juice, I could feel a warmth spreading across my face. I squinted, trying to remember. “Just a coincidence, I guess.” But the truth was, it had been my birthday. I hadn’t spoken to Blaze in a while, but he’d suddenly contacted me, saying he had a birthday surprise. Even though I didn’t believe him, even though he’d played cruel tricks on me so many times before, a pathetic part of me still wanted to see. As I approached the City Hall building, I heard a thunderous roar from above. It was a helicopter, scattering flower petals. And Blaze was inside. My heart gave a violent lurch. The petals were specially made, large enough to have words printed on them. My hand trembled as I picked one up and unfolded it. “Be with me—” At the same time, my phone rang. It was Blaze. “Told you it was a surprise.” But I was frozen solid, because as I flattened the petal, I saw the name written after the proposal: Sienna. Blaze’s laughter echoed through the deafening noise of the helicopter. “Eliza, she said yes! Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” In that moment, a chill washed over me, so cold it felt like ice was forming in my veins. I couldn’t hear anything he said after that. I remembered back in college, when Blaze had “confessed” his feelings for me. It was after he’d lost a game of Truth or Dare, and he’d picked me out of a group of girls. It was a joke, something to be laughed off. But at the time, I thought maybe he just needed an excuse, a bit of courage. So I said yes. We were together for four years after that, just like any other ordinary couple. Staring up at the shower of petals meant for another woman, I had a sudden, devastating realization. In all our time together, Blaze had never once said a sincere “I love you” to me. I was so, so tired. No matter how much I followed him, there would never be a future for us. That’s when Liam had walked up to me, emerging from a crowd of people near the entrance to City Hall. His face was breathtakingly handsome, and he was being completely swarmed. He looked at me with pleading eyes. “Please, I was just passing through. Can you help me out? Just pretend to be my girlfriend for a minute.” An afternoon later, we had a marriage certificate. It felt completely surreal. He said his family was pressuring him to get married. And me? I was 28, and I’d wasted enough time chasing Blaze. It was a perfect match. 5. Liam finished his juice and helped me into the car. My head was spinning a little. Halfway home, the car screeched to a halt. I opened my eyes to see a black SUV parked sideways, blocking our path. I recognized it instantly. It was Blaze’s. Through the window, I could see Sienna in the passenger seat. Blaze got out and strode over, rapping on my window. Liam only rolled it down a crack. He was wearing sunglasses, and his gaze collided with Blaze’s in the space between the cars. “Need something with my wife?” Blaze’s eyes swept over him, and a condescending smile played on his lips. “Eliza, the actor you hired is really committed to the role, isn’t he?” “Must have cost a bit to keep a fake wedding going for that long, huh?” I bit back a sarcastic remark. If I’d had our marriage certificate with me, I would have thrown it in his face. But I didn’t even have the patience to prove myself to him anymore. “Get out of the way,” I said, my voice cold. Blaze’s expression flickered, then quickly returned to his usual arrogant mask. “Sienna forgot her jacket. It’s cold out. Give her yours.” Sienna glanced over at me, then turned her head away with a disdainful sniff. I was speechless. “Blaze, are you really that broke?” He used to do this all the time. He loved seeing me jealous and upset for his sake. Then, when I was truly angry, he’d coax me with a few sweet words. I always fell for it, always clung to the sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, I was different to him. But now, I just calmly reached into the backseat, grabbed my jacket, and tossed it at him. “It’s fine. Consider it a gift.” It was part of a matching set we’d bought in college. It was about time I threw it out anyway. He recognized it. He froze, his expression hardening into anger. “Eliza, that’s enough. Don’t take it too far.” Liam had already hit the gas, expertly maneuvering around the SUV. A few moments later, the car stopped. I realized we weren’t at Liam’s place. We were in front of a high-end designer boutique. Liam got out and opened my door. “Let’s go.” “Huh? Today? I don’t really need any clothes.” He deftly changed the subject. “Is that so? Well, I do.” “And I’m particularly in need of something that matches.” He strode into the store, leaving me frozen on the sidewalk for a moment. How did Liam know that jacket was part of a matching set?

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My family runs a butcher shop. Turns out, I was switched at birth with the daughter of the Blackwells, the wealthiest family in the state. The day they came to take the real heiress—me—home, I figured the fake one, the girl who’d lived my life, wouldn’t show her face at my old house. But she did. And she brought her copy of A Guide to Scientific Swine Management with her. I, on the other hand, just shoved my hands in my pockets and slid into the car. The broody CEO brother sent to fetch me shot me a sideways glance. “Where’s your luggage?” I answered slowly, “Too lazy to pack. Isn’t bringing myself enough?” My new brother, Ryan, was speechless. 1 I settled into the plush leather seat, buckled myself in, and found a comfortable position to sink into. Then I went still. The look Ryan Blackwell gave me was… complicated. Like he was trying to decipher a piece of abstract art. Oh, right. Ryan is my long-lost biological brother. Profession: walking cliché of a CEO. And I’m the real heiress they misplaced. My attitude, more suited for a picnic than a life-altering family reunion, seemed to throw him. He was silent for a long moment before speaking again. “You’re not going to say goodbye?” “No—” “Mia! My one and only sister! You can’t just leave like this!” My reply was cut short by a theatrical wail. A human missile launched itself at the car, plastering its face against my window and clawing at my hands. “I can’t live without you! What am I going to do when you’re gone?” he sobbed, shaking my arm with such force I felt like a strand of seaweed in a storm. My soul was about to vibrate right out of my mouth. “Yeah, well, I’m a goner now,” I said, closing my eyes peacefully. “If you need anything, hold a séance.” My brother, Leo, paused his hysterics for a beat, then cried even louder. “Mia, I finished the diagnostic test for the game! When are you gonna send me an invite code—” He was abruptly hoisted to his feet by an unseen force, and the waterworks stopped instantly. It was Jessie, the girl I’d been switched with. She clutched a thick binder to her chest and pushed a pair of glasses up her nose. A cold glint seemed to flash behind the lenses. “Leo Miller, correct?” she asked, her tone clinical. “According to our parents, you’ve been in charge of the feeding regimen for the eight pigs in the backyard?” Her serious, interrogative manner made Leo snap to attention, adopting the solemn posture of a schoolboy facing the principal. “Y-yes? Is there a problem?” Jessie flipped open her binder with a crisp thwack and produced a fountain pen from her pocket. She began scribbling furiously as she fired off questions. “What are the daily feeding times? How are the piglets’ appetites? What is the duration of their post-meal exercise? Have you observed any abnormalities in their fecal matter?” With each question, Leo’s mouth fell open a little wider until he looked completely stupefied. Ryan, however, seemed to have expected this. He merely lifted an eyelid, observing the scene from the sidelines without a word. I shot Jessie a look of genuine surprise. From heiress of a fortune to the daughter of a butcher, she showed no sign of whiplash. In fact, she was adapting faster than I was. Jessie met my gaze and gave me a polite, professional nod. I smirked and pointed at the dumbstruck Leo. “He’s useful,” I told her. “Whatever grand plans you have, just point him at it.” Jessie’s eyes lit up. She thought for a moment, then stated a simple, powerful fact. “The Blackwells… have money.” Ryan, the Blackwell heir, shifted uncomfortably. Leo, the butcher’s son, looked terrified. 2 It was nearly ten by the time we reached the Blackwell mansion, well past my usual bedtime. My eyelids were in a losing battle with gravity; I was about to fall asleep on my feet. But as I stepped through the door, a saccharine, syrupy voice jolted me awake. “Ryan, you’re finally back! Auntie Liu, please bring out the chicken and wild rice soup you prepared! My brother must be exhausted after such a long day on the road. He probably didn’t even eat properly.” A girl in a floaty white dress fluttered over, fussing around Ryan with a perfectly furrowed brow of concern. After a torrent of words, her gaze finally landed on me. She covered her mouth with a delicate hand. “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot about you.” She glanced at me timidly, then back at Ryan. “Ryan, is this… Mia? Does this mean that… that Jessie really isn’t coming back?” Ryan’s face was a stony mask. “Where she goes is her business. From now on, Mia is your sister.” He turned to me. “This is Lily. She’s a child my mother sponsors. Adopted, more or less.” Lily looked at me, her expression a careful performance of anxiety. “Mia… sister… I didn’t know you were coming today, so I didn’t prepare anything for you. You… you won’t hold it against me, will you?” I covered my mouth to stifle a yawn. My body was here, but my soul had already checked out. Are we done yet? I just want to find a bed and pass out. Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose, a flicker of exhaustion crossing his handsome face. “She’s tired from the trip. Take her to her room to rest.” Lily bit her lip. “…But her room isn’t ready yet.” Ryan’s hand dropped, his brow creasing. “What do you mean? I told you to have it prepared before I left.” His sharp gaze fell on the housekeeper, Auntie Liu. Lily rushed to explain, wringing her hands. “It’s not Auntie Liu’s fault, it’s mine! I thought, since my sister was coming home, I should give her my room. But… but I have so many things, I couldn’t get it cleared out in time.” As she spoke, she looked as if she were on the verge of tears. Ryan’s frown deepened. “There are plenty of empty rooms upstairs. Just prepare one of those.” “But my room has the best light! A sister coming home deserves the very best. It’s all my fault, I should have moved out sooner. I never should have taken such a nice room in the first place… Maybe she can sleep in my room tonight? I can sleep anywhere, really. Sister…” Lily dabbed at her eyes, turning to me with a look of brave self-sacrifice, but her words died in her throat. Ryan followed her gaze. His own composed expression finally cracked. Leaning against the wall, eyes closed, I was already fast asleep. 3 I slept until noon the next day, waking up in a completely unfamiliar room. I wasn’t fazed in the slightest. Once, when I was a kid, I went with my dad on a late-night butchering job. On the way back at dawn, I was so tired I saw a pile of hay on the side of the road, flopped down, and was instantly out. Dad was walking ahead and turned around to find his daughter had vanished into thin air. Scared the hell out of him. Mom nagged him about it for a month, and young Leo was given a new, solemn duty: keep an eye on Mia, and don’t let her fall asleep in random places. When I came downstairs, Ryan and Lily were already at the dining table. Ryan looked up at me, a flicker of what seemed like relief on his face. He’d probably never seen someone sleep so much like a corpse—utterly unresponsive. If I wasn’t still warm to the touch, he might have called an ambulance. Once I sat down, he asked a few perfunctory questions about how I slept and told me to make a list of anything I needed so his assistant could buy it. Across the table, Lily bit her lip, looking like she was bursting to say something. Naturally, I said nothing. Getting an extra word out of me was a feat of herculean effort. Leo could attest to the number of times he’d practically begged me on his knees just to acknowledge his existence. When the food arrived, I focused on the dish directly in front of me, slowly picking at it. Ryan glanced at me. Then glanced again. Finally, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “There’s so much food. Why are you only eating that one dish?” He softened his tone slightly. “This is your home. Don’t be formal. Take whatever you want.” It was the opening Lily had been waiting for. She immediately began piling food onto my plate. “Sister, you’ve probably never had any of this before. You should try everything. I know your family… runs a butcher shop…” She let out a little “ah!” and covered her mouth, her eyes wide. “Oh, sister, I didn’t mean it like that! I’m not looking down on butchers, really. It’s just, living in a place like that, you must have suffered a lot. But now that you’re back with the Blackwells, everything is different. Just tell me what you want to eat, and I’ll have Auntie Liu make it for you.” She stared at me, waiting for a reaction. I just gave a flat “Oh,” and added, “Thanks.” She waited, but I offered nothing more. The smile on her face stiffened. After a moment, I turned to Ryan. “It’s too far. Lifting my arm is tiring.” Ryan blinked, taking a second to realize I was answering his earlier question. A look of mingled frustration and amusement crossed his face. “It’s just lifting your arm…” My phone buzzed with a string of notifications. Seeing me ignore it, Ryan prompted, “Aren’t you going to check that?” “It’s nothing,” I said without looking up, continuing to eat. Lily’s eyes darted. Suddenly, she reached out, picked up my phone, and put on an expression of thoughtful concern. “What if it’s something urgent? Just because you’re a Blackwell now doesn’t mean you should cut off everyone from your old life.” With that, she unlocked the screen. A series of desperate cries immediately filled the room. “MIA, SAVE ME! I’M BEGGING YOU! THIS WOMAN IS A DEMON! SHE STAYS UP ALL NIGHT WRITING BUSINESS PLANS FOR PIGS! THE POSTNATAL CARE GUIDELINES FOR SOWS ALONE ARE A HUNDRED. ITEMS. LONG!” “SHE’S TALKING ABOUT EXPANDING OUR BUTCHER STALL, AIMING TO INCORPORATE IN SIX MONTHS AND GO PUBLIC IN THREE YEARS!” “SHE DRAGGED ME OUT OF BED AT 6 A.M. TO CONDUCT HEALTH ASSESSMENTS ON EVERY SINGLE PIG, AND THEN SHE MADE THEM DO AEROBICS!” “I DON’T WANT THE REST OF MY LIFE TO BE TIED TO PIGS! I DON’T WANT TO BE THE HEIR TO A PORK EMPIRE, EVEN IF IT’S PUBLICLY TRADED!” 4 The string of anguished howls echoed through the dining room, painting a vivid picture of Leo’s mental breakdown. An awkward silence fell over the room. Ryan sat up a little straighter. “I’m finished. Enjoy your meal.” He stood up and strode out of the house, heading for work with a sudden, inexplicable surge of energy. As for Lily, who was usually the center of all drama, she was suddenly as quiet as a mouse. A thoughtful expression crossed my face. Jessie. The girl who was supposed to be me, the former Blackwell heiress, and now Leo’s actual sister. She was that intimidating, huh? Under Leo’s continuous barrage of text-message agony, I learned just how much of an overachiever Jessie was. She wasn’t just writing business plans late into the night; she was already renovating the facilities, implementing scientific breeding and butchering protocols. She had even humbled herself to work at Dad’s butcher stall for three days, observing and then implementing a complete overhaul. And you know what? Her changes had elevated the humble stall to a whole new level. Business was booming. The only victim was Leo, who had become the sole soldier in Jessie’s one-woman army. But that wasn’t even the most terrifying part. The butcher shop was just Jessie’s side hustle. Her main job was Team Lead in the project development department at Blackwell Corp. She had applied for the job right after she turned eighteen, starting as a junior employee and earning every promotion on her own merit. No one at the company even knew she was the boss’s daughter. Terrifying. Utterly terrifying. Suddenly, Ryan’s newfound sense of urgency this morning made perfect sense. With a super-hustler like that for a sister, constantly threatening his CEO throne, how could he ever relax? But now he had me, his new slacker sister. He probably didn’t have to worry anymore. While my CEO brother was out providing for the family, I was sprawled on the sofa, playing on my phone. Lily finished her piano practice. I was on the sofa. Lily finished her dance lesson. I was on the sofa. Lily was learning to bake with Auntie Liu. I flipped over to my other side. “Sister, you…” Lily approached me with a plate of freshly baked cookies, her words trailing off. My fingers were tapping away on the screen. I hadn’t even registered the human-shaped organism standing beside me. A flash of annoyance crossed Lily’s pretty face, and her voice rose sharply. “Sister, the Blackwells may be wealthy, but that doesn’t mean we should waste our lives. We should strive to better ourselves.” She paused, biting her lip before continuing. “Perhaps the environment you grew up in was… lacking. You haven’t been exposed to truly exceptional people, so your perspective is limited. You’ve grown accustomed to that… aimless, day-to-day existence of the lower class, but—” Her tone sharpened, her fists clenching as she stared at me, her face a mask of righteous anger. “That’s no excuse for you to be so degenerate!” I looked up, bewildered. “What is she talking about?” Lily frowned, about to speak again, when a familiar voice cut through from my phone. “She’s always been like that. Can’t make a point, no logical flow, her semantics are a mess.” On the other end of the line, Jessie paused, then added with emphasis, “Lily, did you just skip every English class you ever had? Is that what your teachers taught you? Or is there something wrong with the way you learn? How can a grown person be so utterly incapable of articulating a coherent thought?” “Chlo… Jessie?” Lily’s face went pale. She tensed, instinctively standing up straight. Jessie’s words seemed to hit her hard. She turned and walked away, looking utterly dejected. Over the phone, Jessie thanked me. “Your system is brilliant. Leo was right, you’re incredibly good at this.” I gave a noncommittal grunt. Before hanging up, Jessie remembered something. “By the way, Mom and Dad… the Blackwells… will be back in a few days. They’re very different from our parents at the butcher shop. You should probably brace yourself.” Different how? Were they not human? I pondered it for two seconds before dismissing it from my mind. 5 My life at the Blackwells’ was no different from my life at the Millers’. It was just a new place to lie down. And damn, the sofa in the Blackwells’ living room was comfortable. For the past few days, aside from going upstairs to sleep, I’d barely left it. I’d considered just sleeping on the sofa, but Ryan, down for a glass of water, caught me in the act and banished me back to my bedroom. He even escorted me to the door to make sure I didn’t sneak back. “These years with the Millers…” He looked like he wanted to say something, but ended up just pinching the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. Get some sleep.” In these few days, Ryan had gotten a full education on the difference between a human and a human sloth. I could hold the same position for hours without moving. The day I arrived, he’d given me a credit card with a $200,000 monthly allowance. Hilarious. I hadn’t even set foot outside the front door, let alone spent any money. It was only because Ryan was home from work today that he realized just how… precariously I was living. The kind of existence where one could accidentally perish from sheer inertia. He couldn’t stand it anymore and took it upon himself to manually flip me over—no, I mean, to correct my unhealthy lifestyle. One minute he was pulling me up to stretch my limbs, the next he was telling me to look away from the screen and focus on something in the distance. He was driving me nuts. For the first time, I voluntarily asked him why he was home. Ryan paused, about to answer, when the sound of a car pulling up outside made him go silent. Lily, who had been practicing piano upstairs, came bounding down the stairs and threw herself into a woman’s arms like a homing pigeon. “Mom! Dad! You’re back! I missed you so, so much!” The woman hugged her, cooing “my baby,” while the man beside them joined the embrace. The three of them were a picture of familial bliss, their conversation a cascade of warm, effusive endearments. Mrs. Blackwell launched into an excited monologue about their trip, showing off a mountain of gifts, while Lily played her part perfectly, gasping with a “Wow!” at every item and providing a geyser of enthusiastic reactions. The chatter continued all through dinner, with Mr. Blackwell smiling indulgently at them. It was a perfectly harmonious scene. Which made Ryan and me stick out like sore thumbs. Ryan was especially quiet today. He glanced at me, a look of what might have been sympathy in his eyes. Me: “?” Ryan’s gaze shifted to Lily, who was joyfully displaying her gifts. His voice was firm. “Alright, that’s enough. We’re eating. You can open your presents in your room later.” Then he turned to Mrs. Blackwell, his tone softening slightly. “Mom, this is your first time meeting Mia. Shouldn’t you have a gift for her, too?” Mrs. Blackwell let out a long, theatrical “Ohhh” of annoyance, as if she’d just remembered my existence. She slapped her forehead, looking for something to give me, but all the gifts she’d brought back had already been claimed and opened by Lily. Without much thought, she simply snatched a gift from Lily’s hands. “Mia, this is for you. Mommy forgot to buy you something, but I’ll make it up to you next time.” Mr. Blackwell added, “Just take what your mother is giving you. We didn’t forget you on purpose, you just… slipped our minds.” If Jessie were here, I thought, she’d definitely say Mr. Blackwell’s grasp of language was also subpar. Or maybe he just majored in saying absolutely nothing of substance. I didn’t take it. “I don’t want presents someone else has already opened.” My words dropped the temperature at the table by twenty degrees. Mrs. Blackwell looked lost and hurt. “Mia, are you angry with Mommy? I didn’t mean to, I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Mr. Blackwell slammed his chopsticks on the table, his face darkening. “Where are your manners? Is that any way to speak to your mother?” Ryan rubbed his temples, the irritation practically radiating off him. Into the suffocating silence, Lily spoke up timidly. “I don’t want the gifts anymore. You can give them all to sister.” This immediately triggered Mrs. Blackwell’s protective instincts. She pulled Lily’s hand into hers. “Oh, my darling, you’re always the thoughtful one. You just tell Mommy what you like, and Mommy will buy it all for you.” “Okay, thank you, Mommy.” The two of them resumed their affectionate chatter, and just like that, the storm seemed to pass. 6 After dinner, the family settled in the living area to chat. Mostly, it was Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell chatting with Lily. Ryan had his laptop out, dealing with work. I, naturally, reclaimed my designated spot on the sofa with my phone. Mrs. Blackwell shot disgruntled looks at both Ryan and me, clearly feeling we weren’t as filial as Lily. She and Mr. Blackwell had been traveling for days, and upon their return, we couldn’t even be bothered to ask about their trip or sit and chat with them. Me: “…?” Mr. Blackwell nodded along, in full agreement with his wife. He even mentioned that Jessie used to be the same way—cold, a workaholic just like her brother, completely inconsiderate of her parents. That, he explained, was why they adopted Lily in the first place. Now their biological daughter was back, and she wasn’t fawning over them either, more attached to her phone than to her own parents. Thank goodness they’d adopted one good one, or they’d never know the joy of a child’s affection. Listening to this, I was at a complete loss for words. I glanced at Ryan. His expression was placid. This was clearly a well-worn lecture he’d learned to tune out. Somehow, the conversation shifted to my schooling. They asked me where I went. Lily, my age and a senior, attended the prestigious Northwood Preparatory Academy. The mere mention of the school brought a proud, irrepressible smile to her face, and Mrs. Blackwell looked equally pleased. My fingers didn’t stop moving on the screen. I answered casually. “Oh, I’m a homebody.” Mrs. Blackwell was still muttering, “Homebody? Is that a magnet school?” when Lily let out a small “pfft” of laughter. When everyone looked at her, she covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, sister, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just the way you said ‘homebody’ instead of ‘homeschooled’…” She looked like she was about to laugh again. Mrs. Blackwell’s voice turned sharp. “You’re not in school?” “Nope,” I replied without looking up. I couldn’t be bothered with school. I’d always taught myself. The one day my parents tried to send me to kindergarten, I managed to make the teacher and the entire class cry. After that, the idea of traditional schooling was permanently off the table. They worried endlessly about it. It was Leo who eventually said, “There’s a wall between gods and mortals. Forcing a deity to mingle with commoners just makes everyone uncomfortable.” He got a beating for that. So, I’d never spent a day in a classroom. Though for the past two years, the old principal of Northwood Prep had been trying to persuade me to enroll, especially with the SATs coming up. He wanted me to take them as an official student of the school. Right now, however, Mrs. Blackwell’s face was a thundercloud. She was already in a hushed, urgent conference with her husband about getting me into Lily’s school. The Blackwells couldn’t have a dropout for a daughter. It would be a laughingstock. Where would she hide her face?

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