1 I was abducted as a child. When I finally escaped and found my way back, I discovered I was the true heiress of the wealthy Hayes family. But my biological parents didn’t love me. They loved the girl who had taken my place. During an emergency surgery, my parents were clad in full protective gear, and my brother, Wesley, shielded the fake heiress, Stella, like a human wall. No one told me the patient had HIV. No one told me I needed to wear a biohazard suit. And so, with a fresh cut on my hand, I was exposed. After cheating death, the fragile thread of family affection, already worn thin, finally snapped. I was done hoping. The moment the surgery ended, I calmly dialed a number. “I need to file a report. A colleague intentionally withheld a patient’s medical history, leading to my occupational exposure.” “Winnie, why aren’t you in a hazmat suit?!” My colleague Jenna’s shocked voice echoed from the doorway, her eyes wide with a terror I didn’t understand. I froze, confused. “What’s wrong?” I asked. I hadn’t heard anything about the patient having an infectious disease. Jenna recoiled as if I were the plague itself, backing away until she was plastered against the far wall. “This patient has HIV and syphilis! You can’t have contact! Didn’t Dr. Hayes tell you?” “Oh my god, are you insane? You went into surgery with zero protection?” “You’re too young to want a death sentence! Didn’t they teach you anything in nursing school?” …HIV? My gaze drifted to my parents, cocooned in their pristine protective gear, and then to my brother, Wesley, who stood guard in front of Stella. For a moment, my mind went blank. HIV. A virus that medicine has yet to conquer. Once you have it, you have it for life. My heart stuttered, missing a beat, then another. I turned stiffly to face the brother who had so carefully protected the other girl. He was the hospital’s top anesthesiologist. Reviewing a patient’s history was his job. The accusation died on my lips. I tried to force a joke. “Wes, Jenna’s kidding, right? I didn’t hear anything about an infectious—” “The patient is HIV-positive,” he cut in, his voice flat. “This was an emergency. I didn’t have time to tell you.” Didn’t have time to tell me? The smile froze on my face. My own brother dismissed my life with those four careless words. “Winnie, you’ve always been strong. It’ll be fine,” he continued. “Stella is delicate, that’s why I didn’t let her assist. Weren’t you always complaining that we play favorites? Now you get to take the lead. You should be happy.” I couldn’t hear the rest of what he said. A roar filled my ears. My face drained of color, my hands trembling uncontrollably as a hot mist of tears blurred my vision. In the ringing silence, I screamed. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” This was a communicable, life-altering disease! Even if I weren’t their daughter, their sister—even if I were just a stranger, a colleague—they had a duty to inform me of the patient’s history. My heart turned to a block of ice. Then I heard my mother’s impatient sigh. “Winnie, can you not be such a buzzkill?” “Your father and I knew you’d make a scene. That’s why we agreed not to tell you. You’re always so dramatic, such a downer.” “Besides,” she added, “you’re just a nurse. What does it matter if you know or not? Stella knows the patient’s history, and she’s standing right here, isn’t she?” A bitter, broken laugh escaped my lips. “She’s as far away as possible and wrapped in more plastic than a Christmas toy! How is that the same?!” My voice cracked. “Mom, Dad, Wesley… she’s the apple of your eye, but am I not your daughter? Your sister? Why would you hide something like this from me?” Silence. The surgery continued, their movements precise and undisturbed. My father didn’t even deign to look at me. Only after he’d stitched the final suture did he snap, “Winnie, you are being incredibly childish!” “What happens in this family, stays in this family! Have your mother and I taught you nothing? You don’t air our dirty laundry in public!” 2 His tone was pure reprimand. But who could remain calm, learning they might have just contracted HIV? Especially when I had an open wound on my hand. I stared at them, a horrifying realization dawning. From the moment I entered the operating room, they had been bundled up, double-masked, wearing goggles and two layers of rubber gloves. The entire time, Wesley had kept Stella protectively behind him, never letting her get close. I had thought she was just squeamish. And with my parents barking orders at me, I was so busy, sweating through my scrubs, that I hadn’t paid any mind to their strange attire. It wasn’t just a precaution. It was a transfer of risk. They were so terrified of Stella being endangered that they’d given the “opportunity” to me. My hand trembled more violently. My mind spiraled, imagining a future of agonizing treatments… My mother’s voice cut through my panic, sharp and scolding. “The surgery’s over. Did anything happen to you? No. I swear, you are such a drama queen!” But the virus has an incubation period! I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice water. My body finally caught up with my mind. I bolted from the OR, scrubbed my skin raw, and choked down the post-exposure prophylaxis. I washed my hands again and again until my muscles gave out and I collapsed against the wall. Tears I could no longer control streamed down my face. Wesley is terrible at eating on schedule. Just last night, worried he’d be hungry during his shift, I’d cooked his favorite braised pork. And, as fate would have it, I’d sliced my index finger while cutting the meat. When I brought him the container, I’d mentioned it casually. “Cut myself. It stings a little.” Wesley had gotten the first-aid kit, bandaged my finger himself, and told me to be careful. He was the top graduate of his class. He knew better than anyone that HIV transmission is far more likely with an open wound. Especially when the patient was coughing up blood. Did my brother actually want me to die? … As I waited for the initial test results, my heart hammered against my ribs. Meanwhile, my parents, finished with their work, didn’t spare a thought for where I was. As they passed me in the hall, they didn’t even glance in my direction. They flanked Stella, each holding one of her hands, their faces soft with affection. “My sweet girl,” my father murmured, “you worked so hard today. What do you want for dinner?” “That new sushi place?” my mother cooed. “Of course. Our treat. Let’s go.” My mouth opened, but no words came out. I just watched them walk away, a wave of dissociation washing over me. Ever since they’d found me, they had never once called me by a term of endearment. It was always a clipped, simple: “Winnie, come here.” “Winnie, dinner’s ready.” “Winnie, your sister needs help with her homework.” After I started at the hospital, their tone became exclusively one of command. “What are you standing there for?” “Didn’t you hear me? We’re having a family dinner. Keep up.” That thought snapped me back to the present. I looked up at Wesley. He was frowning, wearing that same unapproachable mask that kept the world at bay. Maybe it was the tear tracks on my face, but his tone softened, a rare occurrence. “Not telling you about the patient’s history was an oversight on my part. I’m sorry.” “But Dad’s promotion to Vice-Chair is on the line. Once that goes through, it’ll benefit you here at the hospital. So can you just drop it? We’re busy.” He paused, then added as an afterthought, “And Stella’s already clocked out. You need to write up her reports for her. I’ll text you the location of the restaurant later.” “And after the scene you just made, Mom and Dad are furious. You should apologize to them tonight.” It was still an order. Distant, detached. As if he were speaking to a subordinate. 3 Benefit me? The words were so absurd, I laughed. And once I started laughing, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Oh, Wesley. How could any of this possibly benefit me? From the day I started at this hospital, I’d been given the grunt work, the heaviest loads. Stella, on the other hand, was treated like a porcelain doll. My parents, terrified she might overexert herself, told every senior staff member that she was young and couldn’t handle hardship. Once, I overheard my mother telling a supervisor, “Don’t give Stella too much work.” “But you can give the menial tasks to Winnie. She didn’t grow up with us. She’s tough.” She glossed over the truth so neatly. She ignored the fact that I was “tough” because I’d been abducted and sold. She only saw that I could endure, while her precious Stella could not. Stella’s grades were so poor that no hospital wanted her. It was my parents who pulled strings to get her a position here. During my entire internship, I’d been doing the work of two people, writing two sets of reports. Most days, I didn’t even have time to eat, collapsing into bed the moment I got home. This was a benefit? A sour knot formed in my throat. I fought back a sob, my voice rising to a sharp point. “Wesley, doesn’t my life matter to you? It’s HIV! If I get it, I have it for life! I’m only twenty years old! If I’m infected, the consequences are unimaginable…” He cut me off before I could finish, his frown deepening. He sneered, his tone turning nasty. “Are you going to milk this for all it’s worth?” “Winnie, you’re fine now, aren’t you? You’re a nurse, for God’s sake. Can you stop being so fragile? I thought after we found you, you’d become independent, resilient…” He shook his head in disappointment, as if passing a final sentence on me. “But I see now you’re a lost cause.” The words were a cruel irony. My heart, once swollen with emotion, felt like a deflated balloon—limp and defeated. I suddenly remembered the day they brought me home. I was clutching Wesley’s hand, my other hand twisting the hem of my faded, threadbare dress, my heart pounding. Be calm, I told myself. Make them like you. Don’t let them send you away. And then— Stella appeared at the top of the grand, sweeping staircase, a vision in an expensive princess gown. She descended step by step, stopping in front of me to look me up and down. Then, with a practiced innocence, she asked, “Wesley, who is she? Is she the new maid?” Wesley’s jaw tightened. His grip on my hand grew firm, but he never denied it. He only said, “From now on, she’s your sister.” … At first, I was resentful. Because of my parents’ negligence, I was lost for five years, eventually sold to a rural family as a child bride. There, I had to cook, clean, and care for an invalid “grandmother” who was bedridden and incontinent. I had to fend off the advances of the family’s lecherous old bachelor son. I refused to give up. I studied relentlessly. It was only when the family let their guard down that I made my escape, walking for three days and three nights to the nearest town to call the police. I thought, after all that, I was finally coming home. But there was no place for me here. Stella was already the family’s untouchable treasure. After I was lost, my parents had channeled all their guilt and affection onto the girl who bore a passing resemblance to me. Most of the time, their bias was unconscious. But it was always there. Once, I reached for a piece of beef at dinner, and my father snapped, “Your sister likes that. Can’t you wait until she’s had her fill? Why are you so greedy? It’s not like you’ve never had it before.” But I hadn’t. Not in a very, very long time. I silently put down my chopsticks. I pushed the serving dish closer to Stella, swallowing my anger, swallowing my words. I was terrified that if I stepped out of line, they would abandon me, and I’d be sent back to that rural hell. I tried to be accommodating. I gave up so much. Three years ago, I even gave up the boy I had a secret crush on. Wasn’t it enough? Why wouldn’t my family just accept me? … A long time passed. Long enough for my colleagues to clock out and leave for the day. Wesley glanced at his phone, his patience wearing thin. “Just get over it. Jenna told me you already took the PEP. You’ll be fine.” A notification popped up on his screen. He glanced at it, then shot me a cold smirk. “Stella’s worried you’re going to have a breakdown. She asked me to comfort you.” “You don’t have the life of a princess, but you certainly have the attitude.” I snapped out of my daze, licking my dry lips. My throat felt tight, but I managed to say, “Okay. Thank her for me.” The truth was, I was hurt. So deeply hurt. Who could be treated this way by their own family and just laugh it off? But I knew, even if the pain killed me, no one here would care. My parents would just call me dramatic. My sister would just wipe her crocodile tears and say, “Oh, sister, if only I had been the one who was taken…” Wesley seemed taken aback by my compliance. He faltered for a second before snapping, “Look at you. What a mess.” Without waiting for a reply, he rushed off, presumably to the sushi dinner. After he left, I stood frozen for a long time. My family’s words echoed in my ears, each one a fresh wave of heartache. “When will you ever be as considerate as your sister?” “Why do you always walk around with that dead look on your face? What do we owe you?” “If you make Stella cry again, you can get out of this house!” Those merciless words were a razor-sharp knife, severing the last, tender strand of connection I had to this family. Abducted at eleven; found at sixteen. I had spent five years walking on eggshells, making myself small. Finally, at twenty, I understood. My own flesh and blood truly did not care if I lived or died. A laugh bubbled up from my chest. I felt something inside me, a place I had reserved only for family, begin to crack and shatter. A knife appeared, methodically slicing away the thing called “kinship.” The wound healed, scarred over, reformed into something new. I placed a hand over my beating heart. And I was surprised to find… I really didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care about my parents’ love. I didn’t care about my brother’s approval. And I certainly didn’t care about my sister’s constant provocations. My hands felt clumsy as I pulled out my phone and dialed the number for the State Medical Board. The words I had buried for so long finally came pouring out. “I need to report my colleagues for concealing a patient’s HIV status, resulting in my occupational exposure.”

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I was once the childhood companion of Aurelius, Crown Prince of the Celestial Realm. For three millennia, I loved him in secret. To win his hand, I knelt before the Celestial Emperor countless times, finally begging a decree for our betrothal. Yet, he treated me with an icy disdain. Because my sister claimed I meant her harm, Aurelius forced me to leap from the Sky-Piercer Spire, condemning me to ten mortal lifetimes as a lesson. A thousand years later, I dragged my scarred, broken celestial body back to the heavens. The lofty Aurelius looked down upon me. “Rhea, have you learned your lesson?” Humbly, I knelt. “I have, Your Highness. I swear on my very soul, I will never again harbor improper thoughts for you.” He nodded, satisfied. But when he saw the marks and scars that covered my body, when he learned that for the last millennium, I had been a courtesan in the Abyss of Lost Souls, his eyes turned blood-red, and he went mad with rage. 1 It was my one-thousand-and-fiftieth year working in the Abyss of Lost Souls. Aurelius finally sent someone for me. “By my calculations, Lady Rhea’s ten mortal lifetimes should be concluded. Go and bring her back. She can attend the wedding feast for myself and her sister, Lady Lyra.” Aurelius’s lieutenant had searched the Three Realms for an eternity before finally tracking me to this infernal brothel. When he arrived to collect me, two hulking demons were just leaving my bedchamber. The lieutenant’s brow furrowed, his eyes filled with undisguised disgust. “Lady Rhea, what a clever scheme. Hiding in the filthiest corner of the Abyss to evade the Prince’s sentence.” “You are a Celestial, a princess of the Phoenix Conclave. How could you fall so low?” he spat. “Look at yourself. The sight of you makes me want to vomit.” Once, if a mere lieutenant had dared speak to me so, his head would have parted from his shoulders. But I was no longer the Rhea I once was. I lowered my head. “You are right, Lieutenant. I have debased myself. I am unworthy of being a Celestial. Please, take me back to the heavens.” I pulled on my robes, but my legs were weak, my body drained of all strength. Impatient, the lieutenant bound me with a Celestial Chain and simply dragged me skyward. The chain was lined with countless tiny barbs. The moment he pulled, a piercing scream tore from my throat. He barked, “What are you screaming for? You have your celestial energy to protect you. As if this chain could truly harm you! If you hadn’t been feigning weakness and wasting time, I wouldn’t have had to use this at all.” When we reached Aurelius’s Citadel of Eternal Light, he yanked the chain back. The barbs tore my flesh anew. Blood soaked through my thin robes. I clutched the fabric to myself and knelt on the cold, unforgiving marble. Soon, Aurelius appeared. He sat upon the high throne of his Citadel, his gaze a mixture of coldness and contempt. Everyone in the heavens knew the story: Lady Rhea, the young princess of the Phoenix Conclave, had been infatuated with Crown Prince Aurelius for three thousand years. Trading on their shared childhood, she had openly declared she would marry no other. A millennium ago, to secure a betrothal, I had prostrated myself before the Celestial Emperor countless times, finally earning a royal decree. But Aurelius had rejected it, never showing me an ounce of affection. I had once believed he was simply incapable of love. Then I saw him tenderly tracing my sister Lyra’s brow, adjusting her cloak. And I knew. The ice-cold Prince could love. He just didn’t love me. A thousand years had only amplified his commanding presence. I kept my head bowed, not daring to meet his eyes. Seeing me, Aurelius’s lips tightened in a familiar, downward curve. “Rhea, have you learned your lesson?” he asked. As the words left his mouth, the crushing weight of his royal authority washed over me. My already fragile body couldn’t withstand the impact, and I collapsed. Aurelius snorted. “Look at this pathetic display. How pitiful.” “Rhea, I am warning you. If you ever dare to think of harming your sister again, I will make you pay a thousand times over.” Before he could finish, I scrambled back to my knees, bowing my head to the floor. “I was wrong! I was wrong, Your Highness! I will never dare again!” And I wouldn’t. Once, I had believed our shared past made me special in his eyes. But all it took was a single tear from my sister Lyra for him to believe her lies, to condemn me for a crime I never committed. The Prince’s sentence of ten mortal lifetimes was nearly impossible to evade, unless one fled to the Abyss. When I refused to go, he drew his sword and forced me to the edge of the Sky-Piercer Spire. “Your heart is black with poison,” he’d snarled. “You tried to poison Lyra. A few lifetimes of mortal suffering is a light punishment. What right do you have to refuse?” As I fell, ten thousand bolts of celestial lightning shattered my powers, nearly cleaving my phoenix form in two. Remembering this, I pressed my forehead lower, prostrating myself in supplication. What courage did I have left to resist? How many lives did I have to spare? The celestial handmaidens in the hall began to whisper. “Look at her. A princess of the Conclave, brought to such a miserable end.” “It’s her own fault for being so greedy, for daring to think she could marry the Prince.” “His Highness and Lady Lyra are a perfect match, destined by the heavens. What does she have to do with it?” Celestials have keen senses. Aurelius heard them, but said nothing. I remained bowed, not daring to lift my head. My body trembled as I swore an oath, word by painful word. “Your Highness, it was my foolishness, my delusion. I am awake now. I will never again presume to covet you.” “I, Rhea, swear to the heavens, I will never again harbor improper thoughts for the Crown Prince!” “And I sincerely wish you and my sister a blessed union, an eternity of love.” I peeked up, offering a placating smile, praying he would finally let me go. Aurelius sneered. “If it weren’t for Lyra’s kindness, for her begging on your behalf, do you think you would have ever been allowed back?” “You two are sisters, born of the same mother. Lyra is as benevolent as a saint, while your heart is as black as a demon’s.” “You’ve returned after your punishment, but a few mortal lifetimes was a pittance. You still need to suffer a little more, to truly learn your lesson.” At the word “suffer,” I began to shake uncontrollably. The matron of the Abyss brothel used to say the same thing when I was disobedient. Fear paralyzed me. I crumpled to the floor, my face as white as paper. “No, no, I beg you! Please don’t punish me again!” “I can leave the Celestial Realm forever! I’ll become a mortal! Just please, no more punishment!” But Aurelius saw only another pathetic performance. “Is this a place for you to speak?” he commanded coldly. “Guards! The Lady Rhea has shown disrespect to the Crown. Three hundred lashes!” These were not ordinary lashes. A single strike from his enchanted whip could shatter my phoenix bones. The lieutenant carrying out the sentence, clearly acting on another’s orders, aimed every blow at my old wounds, carefully avoiding any fatal injury, leaving me in a state of living death. When it was over, I was alone in the great hall. My body was a bloody ruin, one leg broken. I began to crawl, inch by painful inch, toward my own palace. Behind me, a stark, crimson trail stained the pristine marble of the Citadel of Eternal Light. 2 The Citadel of Eternal Light and my Palace of Moonlight were directly across from each other. As a child, I used to flit between them in the blink of an eye. Now, I crawled from dawn until dusk and still had not reached home. The journey was so long, so agonizing, it brought back a millennium of torment. At the end of the first century, Aurelius had sent a phantom projection of himself to me. He had asked, his voice cold and remote, “Rhea, have you learned your lesson?” At the time, I was fighting for my life every day, battling various demons to protect my virtue, my body covered in wounds. Outrage and grief churned within me. “I did nothing wrong!” I had shouted. And it was true. I had never intended to harm Lyra. It was all a charade she had orchestrated. Aurelius had sneered. “It seems your life is still too comfortable.” “I suppose you are of phoenix blood. Even with your powers stripped by the Spire, you still have your phoenix bones to protect you. You must be living as you please among the mortals, knowing nothing of hardship.” He had pointed a finger, and a bolt of lightning shattered my phoenix bones. I screamed in agony as the last of my defenses crumbled. After his projection vanished, the demons lurking in the shadows emerged. They took advantage of my grievous injuries, my utter helplessness, and defiled me. They laughed, their voices grating. “A Celestial, as expected. The taste is truly… exquisite.” “A delicacy delivered by the Crown Prince himself. How could we not partake?” I cried until I had no tears left, but I was powerless to stop them. At the end of the third century, Aurelius’s phantom appeared again. He saw me adorned in fine silks and jeweled hairpins and was incandescent with rage. “I sentenced you to self-reflection, and instead you’ve made a fine life for yourself!” He didn’t know that I had been captured by the brothel matron, dressed in finery, and forced to entertain clients every day. Another bolt of lightning struck. With my bones already broken, I had no defense. This time, one of my celestial tail feathers—the core of my being—shattered. I was the last Rainbow Phoenix in existence. With each lost feather, I moved closer to oblivion. When all seven were gone, I would simply cease to be. At the end of the fifth century, the moment Aurelius appeared, I fell to my knees and confessed. I lied, admitting to everything, begging him to stop punishing me, to let me return. But he only laughed coldly. “A little late for regrets, isn’t it? It is Lyra’s misfortune to have a sister like you.” He shattered another of my feathers, for my “own good.” My heart died then. The light in my eyes went out. After that, I learned. When his phantom appeared again, I pretended not to see him. Aurelius, thinking something was amiss, never came back. And so he never knew. I had not been living out ten mortal lifetimes. I had spent a thousand years in the Abyss of Lost Souls. 3 The Palace of Moonlight had been empty for a millennium, draped in dust and decay. But still, a flicker of excitement rose in me. A thousand years, and I was finally home. But just as I reached the threshold, the world went black, and I passed out. When I awoke, I was in a clean, pristine chamber. My wounds had been treated and bandaged. Hearing someone approach, a wave of terrifying memories washed over me, and I shrank back into the bed. “Don’t! Stay away!” My sister Lyra entered, carrying a bowl of medicinal broth. Her gaze was soft and full of pity. “Little sister, don’t be afraid. It’s me.” Seeing her, my fear intensified. She offered me the bowl. “I found you collapsed outside your palace. I couldn’t bear to leave you there, so I brought you here.” “You seem to be covered in wounds,” she murmured. “Were your mortal lives so unpleasant? How strange. The Prince placed a powerful ward of protection on you. How could you have sustained so many injuries?” I stared at her, trying to parse the truth from the lies. After Aurelius forced me from the Spire, I should have been reborn a mortal. But as my power faded, a shadowy figure had abducted me and thrown me into the Abyss. Though the figure had concealed its aura, I had seen a flash of blue feathers. And my sister, Lyra, her true form was that of a Blue Phoenix. Who else in the universe could hate me so much? She held a spoonful of the scalding broth to my lips. “Drink, little sister,” she cooed, but her eyes were cold, pressuring me. I didn’t want it. I shook my head, shrinking away. Suddenly, Lyra cried out. Her hand “slipped,” and the bowl shattered on the floor. She shook her head, sighing with theatrical sadness. “Rhea, I know you resent me, but you can’t trifle with your own health. If you don’t take your medicine, how will your wounds heal?” The words were barely out of her mouth when Aurelius strode into the room. He saw the red, scalded skin on Lyra’s hand and his face filled with concern. He immediately lifted her fingers to his lips. Lyra blushed. “Your Highness, Rhea is watching.” Aurelius paid me no mind. Only when Lyra’s hand was healed did he look up, his eyes blazing with anger at me. “You claimed you had learned your lesson in my Citadel. I see now you haven’t learned a thing.” “Lyra tries to help you, and you throw hot broth on her. If you want to die, then get out! I will gladly grant your wish. But do not trample on Lyra’s kindness here!” Lyra quickly interjected, “Your Highness, don’t be angry. My sister is truly, grievously injured…” Aurelius scoffed. “My lieutenant told me everything. He gave her three light taps with the whip, and she was screaming for her life. Three hundred lashes became three. It was a tickle. What injuries could she possibly have?!” My eyes went wide. The lieutenant had lied? He hadn’t spared a single lash. Whose orders was he following, to slander me like this? Lyra tried to speak again, but Aurelius marched over and seized my wrist to check my celestial pulse. I flinched, terrified he would discover the truth of my condition. But a second later, he threw my hand down in disgust and wiped his own fingers with a silk handkerchief. “Your celestial energy is abundant, your phoenix bones are strong. You are perfectly fine!” My mouth fell open in disbelief. My very essence was damaged, my powers were gone, shattered a millennium ago at the Spire. How could he say this? Lyra feigned a look of dawning comprehension. “Oh, is that so? Then it seems I was the fool, deceived by Rhea once again.” “Sister,” she said, turning to me, “why do you always torment me so?” She gave me a small, tight smile, and in it, I saw an ocean of enmity. It was her. It had to be. She had woven some new illusion, some fresh treachery. 4 My father, the Phoenix King, heard I had returned and came to Lyra’s palace to see me. At the sight of his familiar face, tears streamed down my cheeks. When I was a child, I was his favorite. If I’d asked for a star from the sky, he would have had the Star-Lord pluck one for me. But after Lyra’s endless, subtle manipulations, a chasm had grown between us. Like Aurelius, he believed I had tried to poison my own sister. And so, at our reunion, his eyes held only stern coldness. He was no longer the doting father of my childhood. There would be no indulgence for me. He asked the same question as Aurelius. “Rhea, have you learned your lesson?” I nodded frantically. “I have. I will never dare again.” My father’s brow furrowed. “What is this… illusion upon you?” Beside him, Lyra’s face paled. With a wave of his hand, the spell was broken. The skin of my arms and neck, now exposed, was a tapestry of old and new scars. “Someone has placed an illusion on you to hide your wounds?” he demanded. “Who? Who did this?!” He looked around the room, his gaze falling on my trembling sister. Aurelius, too, sensed something was wrong. “An illusion? Was the pulse I read a lie?” He strode toward me, intending to check my celestial veins again. “It was me!” I cried out, my voice tight with panic. “I cast the spell on myself!” My father stared at me, confused. Lyra breathed a sigh of relief. Aurelius’s hand froze in mid-air. He stared at my face, a cold sneer forming on his lips. “It seems Lady Rhea’s celestial foundation is quite profound indeed. After ten mortal lifetimes, you still have the power to cast illusions on yourself.” Lyra added smoothly, “Aurelius, don’t be angry with her. A young girl, sent to the mortal realm… it’s only natural she’d feel wronged and want to conjure some fake injuries to get your attention.” “When I discovered it and spoke to her, she saw the error of her ways and used another illusion to hide them. It was all just a misunderstanding. Rhea is still young. Don’t hold it against her.” Her explanation only deepened the disgust in Aurelius’s eyes. Even my father, who had shown a flicker of concern, now frowned deeply. “I had hoped your time in the mortal realm would temper you, build your character. But you are the same as you were a thousand years ago—scheming and manipulative!” “Rhea, I am so disappointed in you!” My father’s anger was a thunderstorm. I dragged my weak body from the bed and fell to my knees, bowing my head to the ground again and again. “I was wrong! Please, Father, calm your anger!” I bowed until my forehead bled, staining the marble, but no one cared. They saw it as just another small lesson for me. My father swept from the room, Aurelius following him. After seeing them off, Lyra returned and kicked me to the ground. “Well done, Rhea. It seems your millennium in the Abyss has taught you a thing or two. You even know how to cover for me now.” She giggled, covering her mouth. The implication of her words hit me, and I shot my head up, glaring at her. “It was you! You’re the one who sent me to the Abyss!” Lyra sat gracefully, a perfect celestial being compared to the wretched creature I was on the floor. In the face of my accusation, she just smiled. “Yes. And what of it? Just like today, you knew I cast the illusion, but you only dared to tell Father and Aurelius that you did it yourself.” “You did the right thing, you know. If you had exposed me, I have a thousand ways to defend myself. It would only have deepened their disgust for you. In their eyes, I am the moon in the sky, and you are the mud on their boots. You see the difference, don’t you?” Her words were daggers, each one piercing my heart. It was true. In their eyes, I was nothing but filth. There was another reason I had lied. I was terrified that if Aurelius discovered the true extent of my injuries, he would demand to know how I got them. And then, he would uncover the unspeakable memories of the last millennium. I had been ruined, tainted beyond repair. I couldn’t bear to have my shame exposed before him and my father. It would be worse than death. So I had to hide it all—the scars, and the thousand years in the Abyss. Lyra grabbed my throat, forcing me to meet her eyes. The horrific memories flooded back, and I began to tremble uncontrollably, terror spilling from my eyes. “What are you afraid of, little sister? Let me tell you the truth. Aurelius’s lieutenant is my man, too. I knew where you were all along. I just told him to take his time finding you. So he made a little detour through the Three Realms before coming to get you.” “Another fifty years in the Abyss for you. You don’t blame me, do you, sister?” “And the three hundred lashes that he told Aurelius was only three? That was my idea, too. Even if the truth came out, Aurelius wouldn’t blame him. He’d just assume you were up to your old manipulative tricks.” “So, you see, you have to swallow all this bitterness. Just like when that matron forced you to take clients, broke your teeth, and you had to swallow them down and keep working through the night.” Every word she spoke was a fresh agony. Tears streamed down my face. I was choking, trembling, unable to form a single word, only a silent, desperate scream. She knew. She knew everything. She was the architect of my ruin. And I was drowning in a grief I could share with no one.

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The first time I met my biological parents, I had just crawled out of the mine shaft, covered in coal dust. Disgust flickered in their eyes—my father didn’t bother hiding it. “Get her another car,” he snapped. “I won’t have her dirtying ours.” My mother forced a smile. “Poor child. Once you’re clean, Mommy will make it up to you.” Then they fled to their car. Only their adopted son, Aiden Ashford, stayed behind. “Ride with me,” he said. I showered at the mine first, washing off the grime before slipping into his Maybach. At the Ashford estate, my parents were absent. Instead, Naomi—the “fake” heiress—greeted me with a saccharine smile. “Sister!” she chirped, grabbing my hand—then shoved a fruit knife into it, forcing my grip toward her own chest. 1 My first introduction to the Ashford family, and Naomi was trying to make me shank her with a piece of cutlery. Was this some kind of bizarre welcoming ritual? I’m lazy by nature, but I’m also strong. She didn’t stand a chance. She tugged, strained, but my arm didn’t budge. She blinked, her wide, innocent eyes betraying a flash of confusion before she tried to pull again. I just pointed a finger at the small camera pinned to my shirt. “Life-logging,” I said, conserving my words. The color drained from Naomi’s face. She dropped my hand as if it were on fire. Just then, Aiden walked in from parking the car. He saw the knife in my hand, Naomi’s terrified expression, and a complicated look crossed his face. I couldn’t be bothered to explain, so I just placed the knife back in Naomi’s hand. “Aiden, you’re back!” she chirped, her tone instantly shifting to one of cloying affection. “I had Mrs. Gable make you some of her chicken soup. I’ll go get it for you right now.” “Not hungry,” Aiden replied, shaking his head. His gaze shifted to me. “Claire? Are you hungry?” “Too much effort,” I said. I slumped onto the nearest sofa, letting my body go limp. I pulled a bag of chips from my backpack and began to shovel them into my mouth with a listless, apathetic air. This was me in my natural state: if I can lie down, I won’t sit; if I can sit, I won’t stand. “Tired?” Aiden asked, a note of genuine concern in his voice. “I’m fine.” I kept eating, pulling out my tablet with my other hand. My left hand danced across the screen, tapping out lines of code, while my right hand scrolled through videos on my phone, my snack-shoveling an intermittent, automatic motion. Aiden and Naomi stared at me as if I were some kind of alien creature. Naomi eventually drifted closer, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Sister, you’ve had it so rough all these years, you probably never learned the proper etiquette for a family like ours. If people saw you acting like this, it would be terribly embarrassing for the Ashfords. But don’t you worry, I can teach you all about social graces.” “Too much effort.” I yawned and offered a piece of well-intentioned advice. “The mine’s a busy place. Are you sure you don’t want to go back and help out?” In my mind, a person should see their biological parents. It was the only reason I’d even agreed to come back to this place. I figured she’d feel the same. But Naomi’s smile twitched, and her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Sister, if you don’t want me in this house, I can just leave…” “Suit yourself.” I could see it then. For all her talk about not pulling any drama, she was itching for a fight. But what was there to fight over? Money? I couldn’t care less about money. I really wanted to tell her that, but I knew she wouldn’t believe me. No normal person would. So, I saved myself the breath. Aiden came and sat down beside me. “Mom and Dad said they have to go abroad for a few days,” he explained softly. “They’ll make it up to you properly when they get back. They hope you won’t overthink things.” “Okay,” I nodded, my spirit feeling like it could drift out of my skull at any moment. Aiden looked a bit helpless. He turned to Naomi. “Is her room ready?” “It’s still being prepared. I want it to be perfect for my sister, so there’s a lot to do,” Naomi said, a hint of distress in her voice. “Aiden… maybe she could just stay in a guest room for tonight?” 2 Aiden’s brow furrowed, as if he could see right through Naomi’s little scheme. “Claire just got here. Why would she stay in a guest room? She’s family, not a guest.” “I get it, Aiden. In this family, I’m the only one who’s an outsider…” Naomi’s voice broke, and she started to cry. I saw Aiden roll his eyes. I wanted to do the same, but it felt like too much work. “I’ll sleep anywhere,” I said, breaking the tension. “As long as it has a window for ventilation.” Aiden let out a breath of relief, seemingly glad that the ‘real heiress’ wasn’t going to be difficult. “Then pick any room you like, except for Mom and Dad’s. I’ll personally see to your permanent room tomorrow.” Naomi looked crestfallen. “But Aiden, I can arrange the room for my sister…” Aiden completely ignored her, speaking only to me. “I have a meeting at the office this afternoon. If you need anything, we can talk when I get back tonight.” “Okay,” I mumbled, melting back into the sofa cushions. He shook his head, a hint of amusement and resignation in his eyes at my profound laziness. Then he was gone, clearly a man with important responsibilities. The moment he left, Naomi’s demeanor changed. “Sister,” she said, her smile returning, “let me show you to a wonderful room. I’m sure you’ll love it.” “Fine.” I reluctantly pushed myself to my feet. Honestly, if they’d let me just strip down and pass out on the living room floor, I would have stayed right there. Moving was such a chore. I knew this girl was up to something, but I was too tired to care. Sure enough, she led me to a room on the second floor. It was immaculate. A faint, sterile scent of lavender hung in the air, and every object was arranged with obsessive precision. It was clearly the room of someone with a serious case of OCD. And from my limited observations, the prime candidate for that in this house was Aiden. My suspicion was confirmed when I saw a framed photo of him on the desk. I shot a weary glance at Naomi. Seriously? Did this girl really think I was that stupid? But she feigned ignorance, smiling brightly. “If you like it here, Sister, you can get some rest.” “Fine.” I nodded. I knew she was setting a trap, but the thought of searching for another room was physically painful. All I wanted was a shower and to lie down until I fused with the mattress. Naomi couldn’t hide a triumphant little smirk as she scurried out, as if afraid I’d change my mind. I took my shower and collapsed onto the bed. Sometime after dark, I was jolted awake by the sound of a soft cough. Aiden was standing by the bed, dressed in a sharp, tailored black suit. His face was a cold mask, an unspoken demand for an explanation hanging in the air. Naomi was right beside him, her voice a soft, poisonous whisper. “Aiden, I tried to stop her. I told her you were a neat freak and couldn’t stand anyone in your space, but Sister just wouldn’t listen. She insisted on this room.” 3 “Is it comfortable?” After a long, tense moment, that’s what Aiden asked. Not the explosion of anger I’d expected, especially with Naomi fanning the flames so expertly. I rubbed my eyes and gave him a serious nod. “Very. The aromatherapy is great for sleep.” A hint of surprise flickered in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected me to know about aromatherapy. “Then you can stay here.” Naomi looked stunned. “Aiden! In the past, you’d get angry if I even stepped into your room. Why does she get to sleep here?” “Are you hungry?” Aiden ignored her completely, a small smile playing on his lips as he looked at me. I nodded, adding, “Don’t want to get out of bed.” “Alright. I’ll bring it up for you.” He nodded and turned to leave. Naomi’s eyes widened, her voice a furious whisper. “Why? Why is he so good to you when you’ve just arrived? He’s a complete germaphobe, but he’s letting you sleep in his bed? He’s even going to let you eat in his bed? Why?” I didn’t bother answering, just pulled out my phone and started scrolling through videos. Naomi stood there, looking like a fool, but she didn’t leave. It seemed she was morbidly curious to see how I would manage to eat in Aiden’s pristine bed. A few minutes later, Aiden returned pushing a serving cart. It had a small, extendable tray table that could be positioned over the bed. All I had to do was sit up. I did so, listlessly, rinsed my mouth with some water, and then dug into the food without a word. Aiden went to his desk and started working on his laptop, not paying me any mind at all. Naomi sidled over to the cart and picked up a glass of juice. I knew what she was planning. She was going to “accidentally” spill it on the bed and then tattle to the compulsively clean Aiden about my clumsiness. I had no idea how he’d react, but I was sure it would involve me having to move rooms. I’m lazy. I didn’t want to move. So, I picked up my phone and aimed the camera at her. The motion of her hand, just about to tip the glass, froze. A strained, sickly smile spread across her face as she held the juice out to me. “Sister, have some juice.” “Don’t want any.” I glanced over at Aiden and found him already looking our way. Our eyes met for a moment. He had beautiful eyes, deep and perceptive, as if they could see right through everything. “Naomi,” Aiden’s voice cut through the silence. “Don’t you have your college entrance exams coming up? Shouldn’t you be studying?” Naomi’s smile faltered. She knew she was being dismissed. She had no choice but to leave. After I finished eating, a housekeeper came in to clear everything away. I went back to my routine: left hand coding, right hand scrolling. I have no idea how much time passed, but eventually, I was sleepy again. I was about to go take another shower before bed when Aiden finished his work. He walked over and placed a small bottle on the nightstand. “Nootropic supplements,” he said. “For brain function.” “Thanks, Aiden,” I said, looking at him with suspicion. How did he know I needed something like that? But he had already left the room. I was too lazy to ask. I took a shower, swallowed the pills, and was asleep in minutes. The next few days passed in a similar blur. I barely left the room. Naomi kept trying to stir up trouble, but she never got the chance. Aiden was there every day, working quietly at his desk, but we hardly spoke. Until one morning, as I was still dead to the world, the blankets were suddenly ripped off me. I shot awake to see my biological parents standing over me. It was my father who had torn away my covers. “What do you think you’re doing, sleeping in here?” he roared. 4 “Sister, even though Aiden is adopted, you have to think about appearances!” Naomi immediately fanned the flames. “If people find out that the true Ashford heiress came back and immediately started sleeping in her brother’s room, what would they say? It’s a disgrace! We can’t let you tarnish the Ashford family name like this!” My mother collapsed into a dramatic fit of tears. “Oh, what a tragedy! How could my own daughter be so shameless? I don’t want to live!” My father turned his fury on me. “You’re a student! Why is your mind filled with such improper thoughts? Get out of that bed right now!” I calmly pulled the blanket back over myself and tapped a few commands into my phone. The room’s lights dimmed and a projector whirred to life, casting an image onto the wall. It was a feed from the room’s security camera, showing everything from the moment Naomi first brought me in until this very second. I’m too lazy to argue, but I’m not about to be wrongly accused. My parents shot a look at Naomi, their expressions souring. But my father quickly recovered. “Your sister brought you to this room to give you a nice environment, but you should know to keep your distance!” My mother sighed. “She was raised in the countryside, after all. No sense of propriety, no consideration for others.” It was crystal clear. They didn’t care about right or wrong; they just plain didn’t like me. But if they disliked me so much, why did they go to all the trouble of finding me and bringing me back? I sighed, too tired to press the issue. Thankfully, Aiden arrived and diffused the situation. As my parents were leaving the room, I heard my father mutter something vile. “You need to be more discreet. You’re a bargaining chip for this family’s future. A tarnished reputation makes you worthless.” I caught a glimpse of Aiden’s face as he heard it. It was a blank, dead mask. Later, I was summoned downstairs for dinner. My parents sat with Naomi between them, looking for all the world like a perfect family of three. Naomi was a master at pleasing them, showering them with compliments and laughter. They would look at her with pride, then glance at me with disappointment, the comparison hanging unspoken in the air. Suddenly, Naomi turned to me. “Sister, did you go to school in the countryside?” “Graduated,” I said dismissively. My father frowned. “You’re the same age as Naomi, and she’s only a high school senior. What did you graduate from? What did you even study?” “Computer science and welding.” Smack! My father slammed his hand on the table. “An Ashford does not learn something as low-class as welding!” My mother quickly chimed in. “Naomi is a senior at Northwood Preparatory Academy, she has a real shot at the Ivy League. You should go there for a semester. Even if you can’t get into a good university, your father and I can always endow a new library to get you a degree from a decent school.” “But I’ve already graduated.” I wanted to tell them I was a graduate of MIT’s early entrance program, that I had a job—a job so secret I couldn’t even talk about it—and that I was just here on a family visit. But it was classified, and honestly, I was just too lazy to explain. My father slammed the table again. “How dare you talk back! I’ve decided. You’re enrolling at Northwood tomorrow!” Great. They were sending me back to the forge. If I remembered correctly, I had visited Northwood a few years back as a consultant. I couldn’t wait to see the principal’s face when he found out I was his newest student. Just then, we had visitors. A family of three arrived, the middle-aged couple exuding an air of wealth. With them was a woman around Aiden’s age, beautiful in a sharp-boned way, but her eyes were sunken and her skin had a pale, unhealthy cast. She looked like she’d been hollowed out by a life of excess. I noticed Aiden’s expression harden the moment he saw her. His intended? The introductions were made. The older couple seemed quite taken with Naomi. The younger woman, however, couldn’t take her eyes off Aiden, occasionally licking her lips in a way that made my skin crawl. My father, noticing I hadn’t stood up, scowled. “This is Claire. She’ll be taking the Ashford name soon. She’s my daughter who was… misplaced. We just found her. She doesn’t have many manners.” He then ordered me to greet them. I offered a perfunctory “Mr. Beaumont, Mrs. Beaumont.” Naomi added sweetly, “Sister, this is our future sister-in-law.” I looked at the predatory woman, then at Aiden’s pale, trapped face. He glanced at me, and for a fleeting second, I saw a desperate plea for help in his eyes. That was all it took. I walked over to Aiden, leaned in, cupped his face in my hands, and kissed him. Right there, right then. The world froze. Everyone stared, mouths agape, as if they’d been turned to stone. I pulled back, stood up straight, and rested my hand on Aiden’s shoulder. “Allow me to introduce you,” I announced to the silent room. “Aiden. My boyfriend.”

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Cole’s one true love and I were trapped in a burning building. He chose to save me—his pregnant wife—first. But by the time he went back for her, Lila was gone, consumed by the flames. And so, he blamed me. He said my weakness delayed the rescue. He wouldn’t even let our daughter call him “Dad.” Six years later, when time travel was invented, he ignored the pleas of his family and prepared to go back. “Zoe,” he’d said, his voice cold as ice, “if you hadn’t used the baby to threaten me, I never would have saved you first.” Even our daughter had turned against me. “If you hadn’t killed Aunt Lila, Dad wouldn’t hate me!” So, facing their accusations and my own broken heart, I made a choice. I would follow him back. This time, I would save myself. And I would owe Cole Sterling nothing. 1 The dizzying sensation from the time machine faded, immediately replaced by a wave of heat so intense it felt like it could melt steel. I blinked my eyes open and saw him standing before me: Cole Sterling, his jaw clenched tight. He glanced at me, just for a second, before turning without hesitation and running toward Lila, who had crumpled to the floor nearby. Flames licked at my clothes, threatening to swallow me whole. I scrambled, desperate to escape. I was just about to break free, to taste the clean air, when Cole rushed past me, carrying Lila in his arms. In her panic, she thrashed, her hand flying out and shoving me backward, back into the inferno. I hit the ground hard. A heavy cabinet, weakened by the fire, toppled over, crushing my body beneath it. A searing pain exploded through me. Gritting my teeth against the agony and the blistering heat, I managed to shove the cabinet off and crawl, inch by painful inch, out of the fire. When I finally reached the safety of the open air, I collapsed, coughing violently. Cole, who had long since escaped with Lila, walked over and looked down at me, his eyes devoid of warmth. “So, Zoe, you could have gotten out on your own?” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “You waited in there just to force my hand, to make sure I wouldn’t have time to save Lila.” The chill in his eyes was colder than any winter wind, extinguishing the fire’s oppressive heat. He didn’t know yet. He didn’t know I had come back, too. “You’re already planning how you’ll twist this to Mom and Dad, aren’t you?” he sneered. “Say whatever you want. But if you drag Lila into this, don’t expect me to honor our marriage vows.” Hearing that, I instinctively placed a hand over my stomach. My voice was calm when I spoke. “Cole, let’s get a divorce.” His expression froze. He stared at me for a long moment before his face hardened with impatience. “I’m in no mood for your games.” “I’m not playing. I’m serious. I want a divorce.” In the last lifetime, Cole Sterling had two great regrets: not saving Lila from the fire first, and listening to his parents and marrying me. I had no intention of reliving that miserable life. This time, I would help him erase both regrets. His eyes narrowed, his tone becoming even more frigid. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. You’re just using this ‘divorce’ to blow up the fact that I saved Lila, to make my parents hate her even more.” He sighed, a mask of weary tolerance sliding into place. “Marriage isn’t a game, Zoe. Stop being so childish. Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital to get checked out.” He reached a hand down to help me up, a clear warning in his eyes that told me to drop the act. A sharp, cramping pain shot through my lower abdomen. I started to lift my arm, but Lila was faster. She grabbed Cole’s hand first. “Cole,” she whimpered, clutching a small carrier. “Peanut… I think he inhaled too much smoke. He doesn’t look good. Can you please take me to the pet hospital?” Tears streamed down her face. Cole didn’t hesitate. “Of course.” Only after he agreed did he seem to remember me. Lila followed his gaze, her expression turning pleading. “Zoe, you don’t seem badly hurt… could you just wait here for a little bit? Peanut means the world to me.” Peanut was the parrot Cole had given her years ago. “I’ll call an ambulance for you,” Cole said to me. “I’ll come to the hospital to be with you after I get Peanut sorted out.” I met his gaze and nodded faintly. “Okay. Go ahead.” A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but seeing Lila’s frantic state, he didn’t press. He just scooped her up and drove away. After they were gone, I forced myself to lift the hem of my oversized coat. My dress beneath was soaked in a horrifying, bright red stain. When the ambulance finally arrived and I was rushed into the operating room, the doctor’s face was grim. “Ms. Sullivan,” he said after the examination, his voice gentle but firm. “You were brought in too late. I’m so sorry, but we couldn’t save your baby.” 2 Last time, because Cole had saved me first, the baby had been fine. But after our daughter was born, he was a father in name only. He paid the bills, but offered nothing else. I remember our daughter once asking me, tears in her eyes, why all the other kids got presents from their dads, while hers had never bought her a single toy. I never understood his coldness, not until the day I overheard him talking to her. “Don’t call me ‘Dad’,” he’d said softly. “I won’t acknowledge you as my daughter. I’ll compensate you in other ways.” He saw the confused tears welling in her eyes and carefully pulled out a single, iridescent feather he’d treasured for years. “The day you were born,” he whispered, more to himself than to her, “everyone was so busy rushing your mother to the hospital that no one noticed Peanut was gone. Lila must have hated me… I not only failed to save her, I couldn’t even protect her parrot.” His voice broke. “If I had another chance, I would protect them both. Even if it meant losing my own child.” The memory brought a familiar heat to my eyes. From the moment I came back, I knew I couldn’t keep this child. I accepted the doctor’s news with a strange sense of peace. My friend had just dropped off the divorce papers when Cole walked into the hospital room. He was carrying a bag of toys. “I saw these on the way here and thought they were cute,” he said, a rare, lighthearted smile touching the corners of his eyes. “A little gift for the baby.” He started arranging them on the table next to me. “Did you find Peanut?” I asked. His movements paused. Then he nodded. “We found him. So, I hope you won’t tell my parents what happened today. I don’t want them to misunderstand Lila. If you can help me keep this quiet, I’ll agree to anything you want.” Ah. So that was it. The toys, the smile—it was all for Lila. My eyes drifted to the toys on the table. On the tag of a small plastic ladder, I saw the words: “For Parrots.” My heart felt like it had been plugged with concrete. Even these little tokens meant to appease me were just afterthoughts, purchased while he was out shopping for Lila’s pet. “Anything?” I asked, forcing the tears back, forcing a light, playful tone into my voice. He nodded. I took out the divorce agreement I’d prepared, covering the text so only the signature line was visible. “Then sign this promise for me.” He frowned in confusion. “What kind of promise?” “A promise that you’ll never change your heart, of course.” I used to do childish things like this all the time, so he didn’t seem to suspect anything. He simply took the pen and signed his name. Once the signed paper was safely in my bag, a wave of relief washed over me. In the last life, Cole Sterling was my savior. This time, I would be his freedom. We’d known each other since we were kids. My family wasn’t poor, but after my parents divorced and I was sent to live with my remarried father, I became the unwanted baggage in a new family. When our class ordered uniforms, I was the only one wearing a cheap knockoff my stepmother had bought. As the other kids laughed, Cole had deliberately ripped his own uniform, stood by my side, and salvaged my shattered dignity. “Is buying a knockoff by accident that funny?” he’d challenged them. “Not everyone cares about this stuff. Our clothes are the same.” Later, when my stepmother got pregnant, my father decided to get rid of me for good. He locked me in the house when a fire accidentally broke out. As I was on the verge of death, it was Cole who charged into the flames, risking his own life to pull me out. After my father was jailed and my stepmother disappeared with the money, it was Cole who paid for my education, saving me from dropping out. 3 He had appeared at my lowest moments, again and again, a constant rescuer. I had mistaken his compassion for something more, something special, meant only for me. It was time to wake up. “Mom and Dad want us to come over for dinner tonight,” Cole said. “If you’re feeling okay, we can head over now.” We had just arrived at his parents’ house when his phone rang. It was Lila. “Lila was terrified by what happened today,” he explained after hanging up. “She’s afraid to cook, so I’m going to go make something for her.” After I finished eating with Cole’s parents and was getting ready to leave, his mother’s face suddenly darkened as she stared at her phone. “Cole went to see Lila again!” she exclaimed. Seeing my lack of surprise, she shoved the phone in my face. “Zoe, didn’t you say Cole had a work emergency? You knew he was going to see her, didn’t you? You know that woman is… ugh! What kind of spell is he under?” Lila had posted a photo to her Instagram story: a shot of Cole, looking focused and handsome as he cooked dinner for her. “That Lila,” Mrs. Sterling fumed, “she’s already married, but she has no shame, constantly clinging to Cole. And he’s so naive, he’s never suspected a thing.” That’s right. The reason Cole’s parents were so vehemently against his relationship with Lila was because she was already married. She’d hidden it well, and they had only found out by chance. Her marriage was unhappy, so they were afraid to tell Cole, fearing he would impulsively confront Lila’s husband and cause a scene. I had learned this from them, and it was the main reason I’d never considered divorcing Cole. I thought I was protecting him. I never imagined that ‘protection’ would earn me eight years of his hatred. This time, I wouldn’t get involved. His relationship with Lila was his own choice to make. “Zoe, I’m so sorry you have to go through this,” Mrs. Sterling sighed. “I really thought that after you two got married, he’d let go of Lila. After all, he used to be so… so good to you…” I smiled gently at her. “Cole only ever helped me out of pity, out of the kindness of his heart. I was the one who misunderstood. If forcing us together only brings us pain, it’s better to end it now.” “End it?” Mr. and Mrs. Sterling looked at me, stunned. “Cole and I have already signed the divorce agreement. I’ll be leaving in a few days. I hope you can keep this from him for now. I don’t want him to make another choice he’ll regret for the rest of his life because of this.” Thinking of the cold, indifferent look he’d given me in the time machine, my heart ached. After more than a decade together, that was the first time he had ever looked like a complete stranger. After explaining everything to his parents, I went home alone. I was just drifting off to sleep when my bedroom door was kicked open with a loud bang. I jolted awake, met by a pair of eyes blazing with fury. “Zoe Sullivan! You promised you wouldn’t go crying to my parents! Are you not happy until you’ve completely destroyed Lila?”

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I was on my ninety-ninth specialist when the final verdict came down: I was barren. Lifelong. Hearing this, my husband, Joshua, didn’t hesitate. He stormed out, leaving me in the sterile quiet of the doctor’s office. I chased him to his high-rise office, the one with the panoramic city view, but stopped short of the door. From inside, I could hear the rhythmic sounds of… intimate conversation. “Mila,” Joshua’s voice was a low murmur, “have my baby. Be my wife.” My hand, raised to knock, fell limp at my side. Back at our house, I started taking down the wedding photos. Tucked behind one of the frames, I found it: Joshua’s old journal, untouched for years. My heart, a tight knot of rage and sorrow, found an outlet. I snatched a pen and scrawled eight furious words across the page: Joshua Sterling, we are over! And then, something impossible happened. New words appeared on the page, materializing out of nowhere. “Who are you? Why are you writing in my journal?” My anger momentarily eclipsed my fear. I wrote back: I’m Vivienne. And I’m writing this because you don’t love her. 1 The words flickered into existence on the page, one by one. “You’re Vivienne?” “Impossible. Who are you, really?” “How can you be in my journal?” Three rapid-fire questions. My bravado evaporated. I shrieked and threw the journal across the room as if it were on fire. It took me a full two minutes to compose myself before I crept over and picked it back up. Staring at the ghostly script, I shakily wrote my own question. “This is your journal? Who are you?” “I’m Joshua Sterling.” The five words appeared, neat and self-assured. My hand trembled. The Joshua on the other end of this journal… was he eighteen years old? Before I could process it, more words appeared, hurried and anxious. “You haven’t answered my question. Who are you?” I quickly scribbled my reply. “I’m Vivienne. I’m thirty-one.” “The man you will become is going to betray me. So, the boy you are now… stay away from me.” The journal went silent. Ten seconds later, new words appeared, carved into the paper as if by a knife. “IMPOSSIBLE!” Through the journal, I could almost see him—the eighteen-year-old Joshua, his face a mask of defiant anger, making a vow his future self would shatter. Back then, his love was so pure, so absolute. He could never have imagined the cruel, heartless man he would become. I was about to write back when the front door swung open. A gust of wind swept through the house, flipping the pages of the journal. I snapped it shut just as the thirty-one-year-old Joshua stormed in, immediately starting to tear the place apart. It used to be that whenever he came home, he’d wrap his arms around me from behind, nuzzling my hair like a cat. I’d squirm and push him away, laughing, and he’d just pull me closer, whispering sweet nothings that made me blush. Now, his eyes didn’t even linger on me for half a second. After ten minutes of fruitless searching, he finally turned to me, his face a mask of irritation. “Have you seen the family heirloom?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Mila’s having a boy. The heirloom always goes to the firstborn son.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. On our wedding day, in front of all our guests, he had placed that heirloom—a jade pendant—in my hands for safekeeping. His younger brother had been furious. “Joshua, that’s meant to be passed down through generations! Everyone knows Vivienne can’t have children. What right does she have to hold onto our family’s legacy?” It had been thirteen years since the accident that had damaged my body, leaving me unable to conceive. No one ever dared to mention it in front of Joshua. But on our wedding day, his own brother had thrown it in my face. The atmosphere had turned instantly suffocating. All eyes were on me. Joshua had squeezed my hand, then slapped his brother across the face. “Even if Viv can’t have children,” he’d declared to the stunned room, “she is the only one worthy of keeping it.” In that moment, I knew I had married the right man. For five years, I had cherished that pendant. And now, he was about to break that sacred vow himself. I opened the drawer in front of me and took out the jade, intricately carved with characters for “peace” and “safety.” Joshua snatched it from my hand, a broad, happy smile spreading across his face. “Finally. If Mila wears this, she and the baby will be safe and sound.” Only then did he bother to look at me, the coldness in his eyes undisguised. “The heirloom is meant to be passed down. Mila is carrying my child now. It belongs to her.” He turned to leave. “I have to go see Mila. I’ll come back and celebrate our anniversary with you when I’m done.” At the door, he paused, tossing a final, pitying glance over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Even after Mila has the baby, your position as Mrs. Sterling is secure.” A slap and then a sweet. It was his signature move these last few years. I watched him leave, a bitter smile on my face. He called me his wife, yet he was having a child with another woman. I opened the journal again. A new line of text had appeared. “Because I was waiting for your reply, I missed my chance. I couldn’t get the spot behind her.” I grabbed my high school yearbook. My jaw dropped. In the graduation photo, Joshua’s position had actually changed. My breath hitched. My fingers trembled. The Joshua on the other side of this journal… could he actually change the future? Before I could recover, another line appeared. “If you’re really Vivienne, then tell me, where am I standing in the graduation picture?” I quickly replied, “You’re standing behind Mila.” The journal went silent again. After a minute of waiting, I picked up the pen and pressed down hard, carving the words into the page. “Joshua Sterling, please, get out of my life.” “Why? If you’re really Viv, don’t you know that I love you?” He had pressed so hard on the last question mark that he’d torn the paper. “Love? Because of your ‘love,’ the day after that photo was taken, Mila sent a group of thugs after me. They stabbed me in the stomach, damaged my uterus, and left me barren!!” “And the thirty-year-old you? He got her pregnant.” With every word I wrote, the memories came flooding back, sharper and more painful than ever. I had tried so hard to forget, but for years, that nightmare had woken me in a cold sweat, night after night. Thirteen years ago, Mila had begged Joshua to stand behind her for the photo. He’d refused. He stood firmly behind me, whispering that one day, we’d be standing together for our wedding photos, too. His sweet, clumsy confession had made my ears burn. The next day, a furious Mila had cornered me in an alley with a dozen thugs. When Joshua found me, I was lying in a pool of my own blood. He’d started screaming, a raw, terrified sound. He’d scooped me up, his eyes wild, and ran like a madman to the hospital, begging the doctors to save me. But it was too late. My womb was irreparably damaged. I would never have children. Joshua had held me and wept, swearing a solemn oath to love and protect me for the rest of our lives, to never let me be hurt again. I never, ever imagined that he would one day cheat on me with the very person who had caused me that pain. That he would have a child with her. “Joshua, promise me. If you love me, you’ll leave me alone.” “As far away as possible. Please?” “I’m begging you.” No reply came. I curled up on the floor, clutching the journal, and drifted into a restless sleep. In my dream, I saw a seventeen-year-old Joshua, running frantically through a dark alley, his face etched with panic. I woke with a start, chilled to the bone. It was the middle of the night. The thirty-year-old Joshua still hadn’t come home. Not a call, not even a text. But Mila’s social media was a different story. A new post every ten minutes. Thirty of them in total. The first was a picture of Joshua placing the heirloom around her neck. The second, him gently blowing on a spoonful of soup before feeding it to her. The third, his head resting on her swollen belly, a look of pure bliss on his face as he listened for the baby’s kicks. … Each post was flooded with likes and congratulatory comments. “Congrats, Joshua! Fatherhood looks good on you!” “Told you he wouldn’t stay with that barren hen, Vivienne.” “Vivienne was never good enough for him. Mila and Joshua are the perfect couple, a match made in heaven.” Joshua had liked every single post. Maybe, deep down, he agreed with them. I closed the app, my head feeling heavy and my body weak. I drifted back to sleep on the sofa. In my dream, Joshua finally reached the end of the alley. He saw me, pinned to the ground by a group of thugs. He saw Mila, a knife in her hand, plunging it toward my stomach. “VIV!” The next second, Joshua’s eyes went bloodshot. He charged, a primal scream tearing from his throat. He went for the leader, smashing a loose brick against his head again and again. The other thugs swarmed him, stabbing him dozens of times. But Joshua didn’t stop. He held onto the blood-soaked brick, using his last ounce of strength to crack the leader’s skull open. Then he turned to the others, his face a grotesque mask of fury. “COME ON, IF YOU’RE NOT AFRAID TO DIE!” he roared. His sheer, terrifying ferocity sent them scattering. They fled, disappearing into the darkness of the alley. Only then did Joshua’s strength finally give out. He collapsed in front of me. Our eyes met. His were filled with a fierce pride. A small, triumphant smile played on his lips. “Viv,” he gasped, “I told you I’d protect you. I did it.” “Joshua! I don’t need your protection!” “Leave me alone!” I screamed his name and jolted awake, tears streaming down my face. I sat on the sofa, gasping for air, my body trembling from a fear and cold that felt bone-deep. I looked down at the journal in my lap, my mind a confused jumble. Was it a dream? Or a memory? I lifted my shirt. My body went rigid. I frantically ran my hand over my stomach. The scar, the one that had been my constant companion for thirteen years, was gone. A fresh wave of tears blurred my vision. I opened the journal again. There was a new line of text, the handwriting shaky and weak. “Viv, I saved you.” Once my emotions subsided, I wrote back, my own hand steady and cold. “It’s what you should have done.” If it weren’t for his love. If it weren’t for the love he was destined to betray. Mila never would have come after me. I never would have lost the most important part of being a woman. And the thirty-year-old him never would have had a child with my tormentor, wounding me all over again. The letters appeared again, shaky and labored. “Viv, is there anything else I can do for you?” After the seventeen-year-old Joshua had written the final question mark, I replied. “I’ve already told you. Get out of my life.” “Disappear from my sight completely. Don’t use the love you feel now as a weapon to hurt me in the future.” When everyone else had mocked me for my infertility, it was Joshua who had held my hand, who had stood in front of me and shielded me from the world. His love had made me fearless. But when he let go of my hand and joined the ranks of my tormentors, I had shattered. The pain he inflicted was a hundred, a thousand times worse than the physical wound. The heart he had so carefully mended, he had then crushed with his own two hands. A scratching sound came from the journal, each letter gouged into the page, almost tearing through. “That’s impossible!” “Viv, did you know? After class every day, you always stand by the third pillar outside the classroom to listen to music. I deliberately take a five-minute detour just to see you. Just one glance, and I feel so happy.” “Once, during gym class, I heard you had a fever. I was so worried I ran out of school to buy you medicine, just so you wouldn’t have to suffer for a second longer…” “And…” I cut him off. “I know. I know all of this.” “There was the time I got my period, and you, blushing, bought pads for me.” “And the time the school bully was picking on me. You heard about it and went after him the same day. Neither of you were seen for a week. He ended up with a broken leg and transferred schools. You ended up in the hospital with a head injury.” The journal paused for ten seconds before replying. “You know? How do you know all that?” “If you know all that, then why would you say I’d betray you?” There was a line he didn’t write, but I knew he was thinking it. I love you so much. How could I ever betray you? I could picture his seventeen-year-old face, full of confusion and disbelief. “I know because the future you told me. He told me everything, one story at a time. And he told me he regretted it all.” Joshua had told me he should have listened to everyone, that marrying a barren woman was the biggest mistake of his life, a source of five years of shame. He’d said he should have let the bully have his way with me, that saving me so early had only made me ungrateful and arrogant. He paraded his “heroic deeds” around like trophies, using them to justify his every whim in our marriage, right up to having a child with his mistress. A tear fell onto the journal, blurring the ink. I panicked, afraid I’d ruin it, and tried to wipe it away. But I was too rough. The page tore in two. In my horror, the world around me dissolved. I was no longer in my living room. I was in a hospital room. And in front of me was a seventeen-year-old boy, a thick bandage wrapped around his abdomen. His face was pale, his brow furrowed in pain. It was Joshua. One hand was pressed against the blood-soaked gauze, the other was painstakingly writing in the journal, his lips moving as he formed the words. “Viv, don’t worry. I’ll protect you. I’ll never hurt you…” He was so earnest, so determined, as if this were the most important mission of his life. He had just finished writing when he seemed to sense something. His hand stilled. He looked up, and his eyes met mine. “Viv?” In that instant, I saw them again—the eyes I thought I’d lost forever, as clear and bright as a spring morning. His dry lips parted, but before he could speak, a shrill ringing pierced the air. And just like that, I was back in my messy house, the house the thirty-year-old Joshua had ransacked. The phone was still ringing, a sharp, insistent sound. It was him. The thirty-year-old Joshua. His voice was cold, commanding. “Get down to the coffee shop below my office. Now. Mila and I need to talk to you.” At the same time, new lines appeared in the journal. “Please, believe me. I would never do that.” “I love you. So much that you can have my life if you want it.” The naive promises of a young boy, convinced his love was a rose that would never wilt. I clenched the pen in my hand, my eyes downcast. Fine. If you won’t believe me, I’ll let your future self tell you in person.

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The day before my wedding, my best man, Nicholas, hit and killed my father with his car. My fiancée, not only did she not blame him, she posted a picture of their marriage certificate online. I dragged Nicholas to court. I crashed their wedding, demanding justice, and became a laughingstock. At my lowest point, my childhood friend, Rose, proposed to me in front of everyone, promising to be my harbor for life. I said yes. I handed the accident case over to her, trusting her completely. She told me Nicholas was in prison, and I believed her. But in the third year of our marriage, I overheard a conversation between her and her lawyer. “Ms. Monroe, you married Julian just for a pardon letter? For a traffic accident? Was it really worth throwing your own life away?” “It was the only way. By marrying him, I could write the letter in his name, as his family, and set Nicholas free.” “As long as he’s happy abroad, that’s enough. As for me… it doesn’t matter.” So, the marriage I saw as my salvation was nothing but an elaborate lie. The pardon letter, written in my name, and Nicholas’s freedom—that was all she ever wanted. It was me. I was the one who needed to leave. 1 In her office, Rose gazed at a photo of Nicholas on her computer screen, a photo taken somewhere beautiful and far away. Her smile was a fragile, heartbreaking thing. “It’s been three years,” she murmured. “Seeing him happy is enough, even if I’m not the one who gave him that happiness.” “As for Julian… I’m giving him the rest of my life. That should be enough to make up for it. It’s over.” The company’s legal counsel was practically vibrating with frustration. “Ms. Monroe, the company is finally stable. You can’t play games with a homicide case! If our competitors find out about this, it won’t just be you—the entire Monroe family enterprise will be ruined!” “The fact is, Mr. Vance intentionally killed him. Why are you wading into this mess? He doesn’t even love you!” Rose’s face hardened. “That’s enough,” she snapped. “I told you never to bring this up again. I don’t believe Nicholas killed him on purpose. It was an accident. I handled Mr. Jiang’s funeral arrangements myself. I’ve done right by the Jiang family.” Her voice dropped, becoming a fierce, determined whisper. “To save him, I’d give anything. Not just this company. My life.” The lawyer’s voice rose with urgency. “And what about Julian? He’ll find out eventually! The moment he decides to visit Nicholas in prison, your entire plan will fall apart! You used his name to free the man who killed his father! What do you think that will do to him?” Rose was silent for a moment, her fingers reaching out to enlarge the photo on the screen. “Then he’ll never know,” she said finally. “It’s been three years. Nicholas should be getting out soon. Make the arrangements. And remember, don’t let Julian find out.” “Ms. Monroe, as your lawyer, I must remind you: the law has a long reach. You can’t do something like this and not leave a trace. For a murderer, you’re hurting an innocent man. If Julian finds out, you’re finished.” A tear traced a path down my chin. I was shaking so hard the lunchbox I was holding nearly slipped from my grasp. Footsteps approached. I scrambled into the stairwell, my heart hammering against my ribs. So, my father’s fatal accident was never even a real case. Nicholas was never in prison, paying for his crime. He was living it up, free as a bird, in some foreign paradise. And the architect of this whole deception was the woman I loved, my wife. Her humility, her quiet strength, her patient endurance—it was all a performance, all to save the man she truly loved. For three years, I had been living in her beautifully crafted lie. I thought I had found happiness, but I was in hell. The irony was suffocating. I stumbled down the stairs and stood outside the gleaming office building, waiting. For five hours. Finally, the last light in the building winked out. Her silhouette appeared in the doorway. The moment she saw me, her face softened with concern. She took my hand. “You’re here! Why didn’t you come in? How long have you been waiting?” “Not long. I just got here,” I lied. “I know you’ve been busy, so I brought you some soup. Your secretary said you were in a meeting, so I came back out.” “Don’t do this again,” she chided gently. “You’re not well. I’d be heartbroken if you tired yourself out.” She leaned in, pressing a soft, familiar kiss to the corner of my mouth. The gesture was as tender as always, but for the first time, I felt no warmth. A person could really do this. For someone else, they could go to such lengths. She led me to the passenger seat of her car. As she started the engine, she spoke, her tone casual. “By the way, Nicholas should be getting out of prison soon. You two used to be close, and he’s served his time. Besides, the company is working on a lot of projects with the Vance family now, so maybe—” “It’s fine,” I cut in. “It’s all in the past. I won’t cause any trouble. Don’t worry.” She let out a visible sigh of relief, a smile touching her lips. “Thank you for being so understanding, darling. I’m so lucky to have you.” I turned my head to look out the window, silent tears tracing paths down my face. Back at home, while she was in the shower, I opened her laptop. The password was Nicholas’s birthday. The desktop wallpaper was a stunning photo of a beach in the Maldives. That’s where Nicholas had been living for the past three years. I logged into her social media. The profile banner was a photo of her and Nicholas, smiling together. She was only following one person. I clicked on it. The feed was a shrine to Nicholas’s life abroad. The watch on his wrist was the latest model from a brand owned by Monroe Corp. The suit he wore was from Monroe Corp’s newest campaign. Even the villa he was tagged in was a Monroe Corp hotel property. A hotel that had been established three years ago. The only overseas project the Monroe family had ever undertaken. My hand trembled as I clicked on her transaction history. There was only one recipient: Nicholas Vance. A million dollars a month, every month, for three years. I scrolled through the records, my heart turning to ice. I remembered the single word in her social media bio: Waiting. I had asked her about it once. She’d brushed it off, saying it was something she’d written a long time ago. Now, I understood. In three years of marriage, besides the wedding photo on the wall, we didn’t have a single picture together. No matter how much I begged, she’d always say we saw each other every day, so there was no need. Now I knew. It wasn’t that there was no need. It was that I wasn’t a need for her. I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh and closed the laptop. I bought myself a one-way ticket out of the country, for a flight three days from now. And I filed the paperwork to cancel all my official documents. Three days to say goodbye to three years. It was enough. I set a countdown as my phone’s wallpaper, a constant reminder. When she came out of the bathroom, I was already in bed, pretending to be asleep. She didn’t say a word. I didn’t sleep a wink. The next morning, as I was getting ready, my phone buzzed. Rose’s voice, laced with confusion, followed immediately after. “Julian, what documents are you canceling?” I quickly snatched the phone from her. “It’s nothing,” I said smoothly. “My ID expired. I just made an appointment to get it renewed. Don’t you have that project meeting today? You should get going.” She didn’t seem to suspect anything. She just nestled into my arms, her warmth a familiar, painful lie. “Thank you, darling. I’m so lucky to have such a thoughtful husband.” I smiled, saying nothing. “As a reward,” she murmured, “how about your wife gives you a big present tonight?” “Okay,” I said. “I’ll be waiting at home.” She was willing to do anything to keep me from causing trouble for Nicholas. This three-year charade was finally coming to an end. The moment she left, I went to the government office and filed the rest of my cancellation papers. Then I went to see a lawyer. When I asked about the pardon letter, he confirmed that a letter from a family member carried legal weight. It was a done deal, irreversible. I didn’t press further. I just had him print out two copies of a divorce agreement. With the papers in hand, I went to Rose’s office. As I walked in, I overheard some employees gossiping. “Is that Ms. Monroe’s husband? I heard he just got back from abroad. That charisma, that physique… no wonder Ms. Monroe is so smitten. I mean, even I’m feeling it!” “It has to be him. That watch he’s wearing is the new Patek Philippe, one of only ten in the world. I saw Ms. Monroe looking at it in her office several times. She even bought him that… so sweet.” “You don’t think that hotel abroad was built just for him, do you? I heard they were childhood sweethearts. You couldn’t even write this stuff in a movie!” I stood outside the door to the top-floor office. I could hear a familiar voice from within. “These past three years… have you been okay?” “Yeah, great. Waking up to the ocean every day, the air just smells like freedom. And I haven’t even thanked you yet. If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be—” “Don’t say that. It’s all in the past. I know you didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Helping you… was like helping myself.” Nicholas’s laugh was confident, affectionate. “You haven’t changed a bit. If Julian knew you were secretly helping me, he’d probably lose his mind.” “This watch is too much, I can’t accept it. You should give it to Julian. If I take it, I’m afraid he’ll sue me again.” Classic Nicholas. Taking everything for himself while pretending to be the magnanimous one, shifting all the blame onto me. Three years ago, at the wedding. I had exposed him as a murderer, turning against him and his new bride—my ex-fiancée—completely. But every guest in that room had sided with him, calling me unreasonable. I became a joke. Rose’s arrival had been my only salvation. And now, she was the one who had pushed me into the abyss. Her secretary, rushing to deliver a contract, threw open the door before I could move. Rose’s eyes widened in surprise. “Julian? When did you get here? Don’t get the wrong idea. Nicholas just got out, we were just catching up, that’s all…” “Julian. Long time no see,” Nicholas said, standing up. He was wearing a new, custom-tailored suit from one of Monroe Corp’s brands. His skin was glowing, his body fit. He looked nothing like a man who had just been released from prison. I forced a smile, pushing down the knot of pain in my chest. “It’s fine. I was just in the neighborhood. Since you’re busy, I’ll head home.” Rose, thinking I was angry, chased after me, explaining frantically. “Don’t be like that. I was just asking him how he was doing in prison, that’s all…” “It’s been three years, shouldn’t we let bygones be bygones? Didn’t you say it was all in the past?” Seeing her so flustered, I had to laugh. To save Nicholas, she had sacrificed her own marriage, playing a part for three years. Now that he was safe, who was she performing for? “Yes, it’s in the past. Don’t worry. I’m not an unreasonable person. I keep my word.” “You go back to work. I’ll be good and wait for you at home.” The relief on her face was palpable. She had her secretary personally escort me downstairs. Before I left, she reminded me about the Vance family’s banquet the following night, a celebration for Nicholas’s return. He was the president of their company now, he had an image to maintain. The official story was that he’d been studying abroad. No one mentioned prison. I nodded and said I understood. I wouldn’t cause a scene. Only then did she seem to relax.

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The stomach pain hit me like a fist, and that was when Isabelle kicked me out of the car. My crime? My agony was interrupting the witty banter between her and her childhood friend, Nate. She ignored my pleas, the tinted window gliding up with a soft hum. “So dramatic,” she sighed, her voice a cold whisper before the engine purred and she drove away, leaving me hunched over on the curb. I ended up in the hospital with a perforated stomach. I called her over a dozen times, each call instantly rejected. The next thing I saw was her, the woman I’d loved for eight years, nestled intimately in another man’s arms in the hospital corridor, waiting for an OB-GYN appointment. Isabelle, who had been adamant about us being child-free for our entire relationship, was gazing at him with a syrupy sweetness I hadn’t seen in years. “Nate,” she murmured, “if it’s what you want, of course I’ll have this baby for you.” 1 Later, after I was discharged, I spent a week alone, healing my body and soul at Azure Peak. When I came back, my phone, which had been silent for nearly two weeks, was blowing up with frantic calls from her. “Ethan, are you forgetting to keep tabs on me?!” I finally answered the thirty-ninth call on my way out of the airport. “Ethan, your location shows you’re out of state! Where the hell did you go?” The question was an accusation, sharp and immediate. I didn’t answer, my face calm as I stepped out into the crisp air. When Isabelle pulled up to the curb, she snatched my suitcase without a word, a cold, mocking smirk playing on her lips. “I almost thought you were trying to pull a dramatic little runaway act. But look at you, crawling back with your tail between your legs after just a few days.” She lit a cigarette, the smoke instantly filling the car. “Our wedding is just around the corner. I’m swamped, so I don’t have time to babysit you. Just stay put and don’t cause any more trouble.” I winced, cracking the window. The cold wind was a relief. “We need to stop by the wedding planner’s,” I said, my voice flat. The invitations should be ready by now. She scoffed, hitting the accelerator and peeling out onto the street. When we arrived, she refused to go in, leaning against the car door and scrolling through her phone, a private little smile gracing her lips as she smoked. Inside, the consultant beamed, presenting a stack of elegant boxes. “Mr. Grant, Ms. Vance, your invitations are all ready.” Isabelle glanced over, her eyes landing on the crimson-and-gold cards. “So tacky,” she muttered. “Only you would pick something so garishly red. Zero creativity.” I didn’t argue. I just counted the invitations and pulled out my phone to pay the invoice. Just as I was about to speak, her phone rang. She answered it instantly, and a saccharine, theatrical voice poured from the speaker. “Babe, it’s time for my check-up again! I’ll be on my best behavior if my princess comes to pick me up!” Isabelle hung up, grabbing her keys from her pocket and tossing a single, cold sentence over her shoulder. “You can handle this. I have to go.” It wasn’t a question. It was a declaration. She never doubted for a second that I would simply obey. She was gone before I could even reply. I turned back to the consultant. “These are all paid for,” I said, my voice steady. “You can throw them away. And please, cancel everything else. We won’t be needing your services anymore.” The consultant’s smile faltered. “But, sir… we’re already halfway through the design process. If you cancel now, the deposit is non-refundable…” “Keep it.” As I walked out, it occurred to me that the custom-designed wedding attire I’d paid a fortune for should probably be canceled, too. After handling it all, I walked into a small ramen shop, ordered my favorite spicy broth, and started composing a post for my Instagram feed. The scenery at Azure Peak had been breathtaking. I chose nine of the best photos, a grid of snow-capped mountains and crystal-clear lakes. The caption was just two words: “As promised.” The likes started rolling in. Friends, family… and one from Nate. A moment later, a new post from him popped up on my feed. It was a candid shot of Isabelle, her face soft and focused as she looked at him. The caption read: “A lifetime of promises starts now. A huge thanks to my princess for agreeing to be my surrogate and carry our child!” A flood of “congrats!” and “999” comments filled the space below. I tapped the heart icon, put my phone down, and focused on my noodles. A few minutes later, it started ringing. It was Isabelle. 2 I declined the call, but she was persistent. On the second try, I sighed and answered. “Ethan, you went to Azure Peak alone?” Her voice was low, but laced with a simmering anger. “Didn’t we agree we’d go together after the wedding? A place that romantic… for you to go by yourself, are you trying to embarrass me?” The background was noisy. I could hear the faint, tinny sound of a PA system calling out names, the tell-tale murmur of a hospital waiting room. “It wasn’t about you,” I said calmly. “I just needed to go.” Her outrage, which once would have twisted my gut, now felt like a distant echo. For eight years, I had suggested a trip to Azure Peak. It was my mother’s dying wish for me to see it. But every single time, Isabelle had an excuse. “Ethan, I’m just too busy right now. We’ll go when things calm down.” “Something came up with my family. Maybe next year.” “No time!” Last year, when I brought it up, she didn’t even bother with an excuse. Just a flat, annoyed refusal. I was done waiting. “If that’s all, I’m hanging up.” I didn’t wait for her to reply, just tapped the red icon and felt a wave of relief wash over me. That night, I was working on my laptop in the study when a piece of clothing hit me in the face. “Ethan, can you please pick up after yourself?” Isabelle snapped. “Your clothes are all over the place.” A sharp, metallic decoration on the fabric scratched my cheek, a thin line of stinging pain. “I found this under the sofa. Get your things organized. I don’t want to see it again.” I looked down at the ridiculously skimpy flight attendant costume. “It’s not mine,” I said, my voice cold. Isabelle’s face paled. A flicker of panic crossed her eyes as she snatched the costume off the floor, hiding it behind her back. “Oh, it must be Nate’s. He must have left it here by accident last time he stayed over. I’ll give it back to him.” I said nothing, turning my attention back to my screen. But Isabelle, now consumed with guilt, fumbled in a drawer and pulled out an old, faded cartoon band-aid. She sat beside me, her touch hesitant. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I shouldn’t have thrown that at you. I didn’t see it had… sharp bits.” The sickly sweet smell of the old adhesive made my stomach turn. I pulled away. “It’s fine.” I closed my laptop and headed for the spare bedroom. Isabelle was left frozen in the middle of the room, staring after me long after I had gone. 3 “Ethan, you haven’t been keeping tabs on me lately,” Isabelle said, pushing the door to the study open. She was fresh from the shower, a cloud of steam still clinging to her. As she towel-dried her hair, she added, almost as an afterthought, “And… you feel different. Like you’re avoiding me.” My fingers paused on the keyboard. I thought back. For eight years, we had been in constant contact. Texting, calling, sharing every little detail of our days. Even on the busiest of days, we never broke contact. I had built my life around her. But to her, it was always “keeping tabs.” Now, looking at our message history, our last conversation was over two weeks ago. This distance, this freedom, was exactly what she’d always claimed she wanted. And yet, here she was, complaining. I managed a small smile. “You’re overthinking it. I’ve been busy, that’s all. Didn’t want to bother you.” “Get some sleep,” I added, closing my laptop and picking up my pillow. We had been together for eight years, but we’d been sleeping in separate rooms for the last six months. I hated the smell of smoke. She had actually quit for me once, for three whole years. But the moment Nate came back from overseas, all that effort went up in smoke, literally. Nate was her childhood friend, the one who’d always held a piece of her heart. They thought nothing of sleeping in the same bed, claiming it was something they’d done since they were kids. When I was sick with a fever, desperate for her care, a single phone call from Nate was enough to pull her away. At first, I was consumed by a bitter, helpless jealousy. Why was my girlfriend so entangled with another man? But now? Now, there was nothing. A calm, quiet emptiness. The fact that she was carrying his child barely registered. I had already decided to leave. As I walked towards the door, a flicker of panic crossed her face. “Ethan!” she called out, her voice suddenly fragile. “Tonight… I used mouthwash. The smoke smell is all gone. Can we… can we sleep together?” I didn’t move. She rushed forward, wrapping her arms around me from behind. “Ethan, we’re getting married in two weeks. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? A home? A family?” A home. My eyes burned. Yes. For eight years, that’s all I ever wanted. My mother died when I was young, and I’d spent my whole life searching for that sense of security, of belonging. I had been so desperate to build that little world with Isabelle. But I finally understood. Isabelle’s life was a whirlwind of chaos, and Nate would always be at its center. If the rest of my life was going to be this exhausting, this painful… I’d rather have no home at all. I gently pried her hands off me. “We’ll talk about it later.” Then I walked out and closed the door behind me. 4 I submitted my resignation letter first thing in the morning. My boss, who had mentored me for years and guided me up the corporate ladder, called me into his office, confused. “Ethan, is something wrong? Why the sudden resignation?” I smiled. “Just feel like it’s time for a change of scenery. A new city.” He was kind enough not to press. He approved it on the spot. After work, a few colleagues I was close with insisted on a farewell dinner. As we stepped out of the building, a sudden downpour had soaked the streets. We were waiting for a ride when a voice cut through the rain. “Ethan!” A black Audi was parked by the curb. The window rolled down, and Isabelle’s gaze fell on my rain-slicked hair. She frowned. “Get in. I came to pick you up.” I didn’t move. From the passenger seat, a light chuckle. “See, Ethan? I told you she loves you,” Nate said, his voice oozing with false sincerity. “Coming to get you in this weather? I’m so jealous!” He noticed my flat stare and offered a practiced, innocent smile. “Oh, I didn’t have an umbrella today, and I was with her for the check-up, so she insisted on giving me a ride. You don’t mind, right?” I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “I don’t mind.” But I made no move to get in the car. Isabelle’s patience wore thin. Just as she was about to snap, my colleague’s Uber arrived. We both climbed in. As I shut the door, I heard her voice, sharp with urgency. “Ethan, I came all this way for you! Where are you going?” I looked back at her, my expression unreadable. “I have plans. My colleague is heading the same way. I’ll see you later.” I closed the door, and the car pulled away, leaving her in my rearview mirror. During dinner, my phone buzzed incessantly with her calls. I silenced it, flipped it face down on the table, and went back to laughing with my friends. After the meal, my colleague’s wife came to pick him up. “Hey man, need a ride home?” he offered. I shook my head. “No, I’m good. You guys go on ahead.” I stayed in the hot pot restaurant, slowly eating from the bubbling, spicy broth. When Isabelle finally found me, she was soaked to the bone, her hair plastered to her face. Nate was nowhere in sight. She looked lost and pathetic. The moment she walked in, her eyes locked on the crimson, oil-slicked pot, and her nose wrinkled in disapproval. “Ethan, you know you can’t handle spicy food. You’re going to be sick.” I didn’t stop, just lifted a piece of tender meat to my lips. The heat made my eyes water, but I smiled through it. Eight years together, and she still didn’t know that I loved spicy food. She was the one who couldn’t handle it; it gave her mouth sores. So, to make her comfortable, I’d all but given it up, only indulging when I was out alone or with colleagues. Besides, the one who got sick from spicy food was Nate.

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Five years into our relationship, I brought my boyfriend, Gabriel, home for the Christmas holidays to meet my family. At the grand family dinner, my relatives couldn’t stop singing the praises of the man who had once been his state’s valedictorian. But then, my single cousin, Cora, suddenly gagged and ran from the table, clearly fighting a wave of morning sickness. My aunt, her mother, was mortified. She raised her hand, ready to slap her. “You’re an Ivy League graduate!” she shrieked. “How could you let yourself get knocked up by God knows who?” Cora didn’t say a word, just sobbed uncontrollably. That’s when Gabriel stepped forward, catching my aunt’s hand mid-air. “Don’t,” he said, his voice firm. “Don’t scare her. The baby’s mine.” He pulled Cora behind him, shielding her as he led her out of the room, leaving a trail of stunned silence in his wake. He never even gave me a second glance. 1 The ballroom was a whirlwind of noise. Some people were crying, others were shouting. My mind was a complete blank. Just minutes ago, Gabriel had been holding my hand, toasting my parents and elders. My relatives were all fawning over him, calling him brilliant, successful, and yet so humble. Now, under the glare of every eye in the room, he had walked out with my cousin, Cora. Leaving me to clean up the mess. “I knew it,” one of my aunts sneered. “I always said our plain little Vivi couldn’t possibly land a guy like that. What a joke.” “So, does this mean Vivi stole Cora’s boyfriend?” another whispered. “I mean, Cora’s pregnant. How could she do that to her own cousin?” “Well, Gabriel and Cora both went to top-tier universities. They always did make a more fitting pair.” Growing up, everyone had always favored Cora. She was prettier, smarter, and her side of the family had more money. In a situation like this, no one was ever going to take my side. “Vivi, sweetie… what… what on earth just happened?” My mother’s hand, cold as ice, found my wrist. I turned to look at her, but my eyes were drawn past her to my father. His face had gone a horrifying shade of purple. With a sickening thud, he collapsed back into his chair. “Dad! Dad, what’s wrong?” The last shred of his composure, his carefully maintained dignity, had finally been torn to shreds in front of everyone. From the ambulance to the hospital, my mother clutched my hand and wept. But I couldn’t afford to shed a single tear. I ran back and forth, handling admissions, filling out forms, my mind numb. It wasn’t until Dad was out of the emergency room and settled in a private ward that the reality of it all began to sink in. I checked my phone. The only new messages were automated debit alerts from my bank for the hospital fees. Not a single word from Gabriel. Taking a deep breath, I headed to the pharmacy to pick up Dad’s prescriptions. And that’s when I saw him, standing in the hallway, talking to a doctor I recognized as one of his old college friends. “Man, I never took you for the shotgun wedding type,” the friend said, clapping Gabriel on the shoulder. Gabriel’s gaze was distant. “The baby isn’t mine,” he said quietly. “I just… I couldn’t stand to see her judged like that.” “Then why are you here in the middle of the night, getting her admitted for observation? I thought you were with her cousin, Vivi. Weren’t you two about to get engaged?” Gabriel just hummed in agreement, a soft, noncommittal sound. “So you’re spending Christmas Eve with Cora, and you’re not worried your girlfriend is going to lose it?” “Cora’s well-being comes first. Once she’s okay, I can relax,” Gabriel said, his voice laced with a strange sort of resolve. “Besides, I’m going to marry Vivi. I’ll have the rest of my life to spend with her. What’s one night?” The doctor sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’re still carrying that torch for her. After all this time. Does she even appreciate what you do for her?” “I don’t need her to. As long as she’s okay, that’s enough,” Gabriel murmured, more to himself than to his friend. “Being part of her family, being able to look after her… that’s all I’ve ever really wanted.” A memory flashed in my mind. The first time Cora introduced me to Gabriel. He was already a legend at our high school, the valedictorian everyone still talked about years after he’d graduated. Cora had playfully pushed me toward him. “This is my cousin, Vivi. She’s your biggest fan.” I was so busy blushing I didn’t notice that every time Gabriel spoke, his eyes never left Cora. He asked me out not long after that. All this time, I thought it was love at first sight. I never realized I was just his way of staying close to her. “Gabriel,” a soft voice called. It was Cora, pale and frail in a hospital gown. Gabriel rushed to her side instantly, his voice softening. “What are you doing out of bed? It’s freezing out here.” “You were gone for so long. I got scared.” He immediately shrugged off his expensive wool coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Let’s get you back. We can’t have you catching a chill. Just be good, let the doctors run their tests, and if everything looks good tomorrow, you can go home.” Cora leaned into his embrace, and for a moment, they looked just like a devoted, loving couple. My voice trembled when I finally found it. “Gabriel!” 2 When Gabriel turned and saw me, the warmth on his face vanished, replaced by a cold mask of irritation. He strode over, blocking my path. “Cora needs to rest. Don’t you dare start trouble with her. I’ll explain everything to you later.” He actually thought I’d come to the hospital to confront Cora. “Explain?” I shot back, my voice rising. “What is there to explain? My father is in here because of you! He had a—” “Don’t make a scene!” he snapped, his patience gone. “Your cousin is in a fragile state. The doctor said her pregnancy is high-risk right now. Did you really have to follow us here to cause more drama? Can’t you be reasonable for once?” “Gabriel,” Cora’s weak voice drifted over. “Don’t be so harsh with Vivi. Please, just explain things to her patiently. She must be feeling so hurt after we just left like that.” Her words were like a magic spell, instantly smoothing the sharp edges of his anger. “I’ll explain it all another time,” he said to me, his tone softening slightly. “It’s not what you think. And don’t worry, I’m still going to marry you. Just… go home for now.” So that’s all it took. A single sentence from Cora, and he was gentle with me again. How pathetic. I didn’t say another word. I just turned and walked away. I spent the night by my father’s bedside. A message from Gabriel finally came through. 【Vivi, please don’t worry. The baby isn’t mine. Your cousin got involved with a real jerk, and I can’t let her face the fallout alone.】 【I’m sorry if I hurt you. I promise I’ll make it up to you.】 【Once this is all over, we’ll get our marriage license. We’ll go to Italy for our honeymoon, just like we planned. And when we get back to New York, I’ll sign over 1% of my company’s stock to you.】 I switched off my phone, a bitter laugh stuck in my throat. In his world, a promise of marriage and a payout could smooth over any wound. He couldn’t bear to see Cora face the gossip, so he’d simply redirected it all onto me. And now my father was lying in a hospital bed, recovering from a heart attack. What good were apologies and compensation now? “Vivi…” My dad was awake, looking as though he’d aged a decade overnight. I knelt by his bed, gripping his hand tightly. “You two should just… end it,” he rasped. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. Even after everything, his first thought was for me, worried I was with the wrong man. “Okay, Dad,” I whispered, forcing a calm I didn’t feel. “I’ll listen to you. Don’t you worry about me.” The next day, my mom arrived at the hospital, and almost immediately, her phone rang. It was Aunt Carol. Mom stepped out of the room to take the call, and I followed her into the main lobby. “Gabriel is such a dear!” my aunt’s voice chirped through the phone. “He gave us such a wonderful surprise, showing up this morning with a case of that expensive Scotch!” Then her tone shifted. “Say, sis, you know all those high-end wellness tonics you bought for Vivi? How about you send some over for Cora? She’s so drained right now. It’s not like Vivi needs them anymore, right?” I saw the corners of my mom’s eyes turn red, tears welling up. Before she could break, I snatched the phone from her hand. “Aunt Carol,” I said, my voice bright and cheerful. “You’re right, expectant mothers need the best. I have a friend in Switzerland who sources these amazing artisanal supplements. I’ll send you her contact info in a bit.” “Hey! Why are you being so stingy—” I hung up before she could finish. “The nerve of that woman!” Mom fumed, her face pale with anger. “Her daughter steals your boyfriend, and she has the audacity to ask me for gifts?” I wrapped an arm around her trembling shoulders. “It’s okay, Mom. Don’t be angry. No one stole him. I’m the one who doesn’t want him anymore.” As the words left my mouth, my eyes met a pair of cold, familiar ones. It was Gabriel, standing at the hospital entrance, his arms laden with shopping bags. 3 “What is he doing here?” Mom whispered urgently. “Tell him to leave. Your father doesn’t want to see him.” Gabriel’s gaze swept over us, his tone laced with disapproval. “Vivi, why did you bring your mother here? Cora needs to rest. You two shouldn’t be disturbing her.” I glanced at the bags in his hands. Boxes of premium supplements, prenatal vitamins, specialty teas. It clicked. He wasn’t here to visit my father. He was here to dote on Cora. I held my mom’s shaking shoulder. “Don’t worry,” I said, loud enough for him to hear. “We’re not here to see Cora.” As I turned to lead my mom away, Gabriel’s voice stopped me. “What did you say just now? Who is it you don’t want anymore?” The last thing I wanted was to fight with him in front of my mother. I spun a quick lie. “A puppy,” I said breezily. “My mom saw one she liked, but I was afraid it wouldn’t train well. So I said no.” Gabriel frowned, seemingly oblivious to the barb in my words. “Just take your mother home,” he said dismissively. My mom, worried about me, insisted I go home and get some real sleep. But instead of sleeping, I found myself wrapped in my duvet, my thumb hovering over Cora’s profile. I opened her Instagram. She’d posted a photo of a signed contract for a luxury postpartum recovery suite, a bouquet of white roses placed artfully beside it. I’d only seen that place in celebrity magazines; a famous actress had spent hundreds of thousands on her stay there. The caption read: 【All the panic, all the helplessness… you ended it in a single moment. With you here, what is there to be afraid of? 】 Gabriel had certainly spared no expense. I scrolled down through the comments, a flood of congratulations from friends and relatives. And right at the bottom, a comment from Gabriel himself: 【I’ll always be here.】 He’d never made a promise like that to me. I remembered a time I had the flu, my fever spiking to 104. Delirious, I’d called him on his business trip. A few hours later, he was there, having caught the first flight back to take me to the hospital. After my fever broke, he’d scolded me, his face tight with annoyance. “You’re a grown woman, Vivi. You have to learn to take care of yourself. I can’t always be by your side.” At the time, I thought he was just worried, speaking harshly out of concern. Now I understood. He was just telling me the truth. His promises were meant for someone else.

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Eight years ago, to protect Lily, I fought a long and bitter war with a man named Anthony. Even though she was a mute, I ignored my family’s vehement objections and married her anyway. Eight years later, our house was on fire. I risked my life to save her, but to protect a wooden doll that looked unnervingly like Anthony, she shoved me back into the inferno. “Lily, just pretend to be mute. Just for me, okay? He’ll definitely fall for you.” “Okay.” That single recording, saved in a folder on her computer labeled “My Love,” plunged me into an icy abyss. All this time, what I thought was love at first sight had been a meticulously planned deception. Looking at her now, still refusing to speak, still covering for Anthony, a sharp, unrelenting pain seized my heart. But on the day I finally decided to leave her, I received a strange phone call. “Leo… don’t… don’t leave me. You’re all I have…” It was the seventh day of my hospital stay, and Lily still hadn’t come to see me. I stared blankly at the exquisitely crafted wooden figure in my hands, at the hauntingly familiar face carved into it, and felt my heart plummet into a frozen cavern. No one knew that face better than I did. After all, I had fought him for so long to keep Lily by my side. Before I could put the doll down, the door to my room burst open. It was Lily. She looked at me, her expression frantic, her brow furrowed as her gaze darted to the doll in my hands. Her look was an accusation, with no hint of concern for my bandaged, recovering body. “Leo! Why did you take this? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for it?” Panting, she signed at me with furious speed, desperate, guttural sounds escaping her throat as she lunged to snatch the doll from my grasp. So, it was for the doll. Of course. Otherwise, she would have already taken it to see Anthony, to celebrate his birthday. She wouldn’t have wasted her time coming here. A doctor who had just walked in was stunned by the scene. I held on tight, my grip unyielding, but she was strong enough to yank me bodily from the hospital bed. I teetered on the edge, about to fall. “Hey! What are you doing?!” a nurse shouted. I looked at Lily, still wrestling with me, and a bitter, self-mocking smile touched my lips. I let go. She got the doll, and I crashed to the floor. Damn, that hurt. But the physical pain somehow dulled the ache in my chest. Lily froze, staring at the doll in her hands. A flicker of panic crossed her face. She glanced at me as if finally remembering I was there, and reached out a hand to help me up. I flinched away, shifting my body to avoid her touch. Her hand hung in the air for a moment before she awkwardly pulled it back. The doctor, furious, began to reprimand her for agitating a patient, but fell silent when he realized she was mute. “Don’t be upset,” she began to sign, her movements slow and pleading. “Let’s just forget this happened, okay? I promised you, I’ll make you a new one…” “Get out!” I didn’t wait for her to finish her pathetic pantomime. I grabbed the water glass from my bedside table and hurled it at her. That laughable promise, which once might have meant something, now only filled me with disgust. “Lily, where’s my gift?” As we stood in a tense stalemate, a new voice cut through the air. Anthony stood at the doorway, a smug look on his face as he watched Lily. Then, feigning surprise, he turned to me. “Well, if it isn’t Leo. Look at you. It’s been years. What a mess you’ve become.” The sound of more voices drifted in from the hallway. My old colleagues, the people I used to work with, were all filing in behind him. They stared, wide-eyed, at the pathetic sight I made on the floor. “Can’t you see? Anthony planned this,” one of them whispered, not quite quietly enough. “Poor Leo. What a tragedy, falling for a backstabbing viper like her…” And just like that, it all clicked into place. I looked at Lily’s pale face. Her hands trembled as she offered the doll to Anthony, the hopeful, eager light in her eyes telling me everything I needed to know. Liars. All of them. Anthony snatched the doll, then tossed it aside with a look of disgust. He immediately turned his attention back to me, mocking my current state, seizing every opportunity to show how much better he was doing. I was no longer the cheerful crusader I’d once been. “All of you, get out!” I roared. I closed my eyes, shutting out their false words of comfort and pity, and told the doctor to call security and have them all removed. “I don’t want you to keep being deceived.” I was at home, groggy and still healing, when the text message arrived. It was from Claire, a friend I hadn’t spoken to in years. Attached was a full audio file. In the recording, I heard Anthony’s low, indulgent laughter, and then the soft, mumbled sounds of a voice I knew better than my own—Lily’s. “Lily, if you get together with him, I’ll accept your gift.” “We grew up together, and he’s so into you. Just do this one favor for me, okay? It’s not like you’re losing anything.” “Okay. I promise.” My heart grew colder with each word. Listening to that soft, feminine voice—a voice I had never heard—I didn’t even realize when the tears started streaming down my face. For eight years, she hadn’t spoken a single word, all because of a request from Anthony. As the recording played on, the coldness seeped deeper into my bones, colder even than when she had abandoned me in the fire. So, from the very beginning, her love for me had been a lie. I stared at the wedding photo hanging on our wall, remembering the vows we’d exchanged. With a guttural cry, I hurled my phone at the frame, shattering the glass into a thousand pieces. Lily walked in at that moment and jumped, startled by the scene. But her expression quickly hardened, confident that I would, as always, be the one to back down and comfort her. But I just sat there on the sofa, silent. “Today was an accident,” she signed, her hands moving tentatively. “I really did want to see you. How’s your hand?” She seemed unable to bear the silence any longer. But I kept my head down, refusing to look at her. She was performing a one-woman show to an empty audience, her hands aching but too afraid to stop, that same pathetic, pitiful look on her face. “If you can’t speak, then don’t make those grating noises. I can’t stand to hear them.” My voice was ice. Lily froze, her face a mask of shock. The hand she had reached out to tend to my wound snapped back as if burned. I had never used her muteness against her, never thrown it in her face. This was a first. The thought that the person I had loved for over a decade could be so repulsive made me shut my eyes in disgust. “Mark, I’m coming back to the studio,” I said into the phone later. “As for Lily… I’m done.” “Boss, you’re finally back! You’re finally letting go of that woman?” Mark, my lead designer, looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes, but he was practically vibrating with excitement. His face soured, though, when I mentioned Anthony. I looked around the studio, at the awards on the shelves and the design blueprints on the walls. It felt like I was seeing them from a lifetime away. For all these years, I had poured everything into Lily, completely forgetting the man I used to be. Anthony and I had grown up together, and we’d despised each other from the start. I couldn’t stand the way he bullied Lily, who couldn’t speak up for herself. The day I saw him force her to go out and buy him something in a torrential downpour, something inside me snapped. I stormed over and grabbed her hand. “Are you an idiot? You’ll do anything he says? What, are you mute or something?” But then I looked into her wide, rain-slicked eyes, and my heart skipped a beat. I cursed under my breath and wiped the rain from my face, annoyed at myself for forgetting she really was mute. Lily just stared at me, not with irritation, but with a quiet curiosity. She nodded obediently and offered me a gentle smile. I never forgot that moment, not even after we were married for years. I gave up my own dreams, my own ambitions, to build a world for her. And now, to realize it was all a scam from the beginning, a game Anthony used her to play to get back at me… I sighed and shared a look with Mark. A real smile, for the first time in a long time. “I’m not leaving again,” I said. “This time, I’m here to stay.” Getting back into the rhythm of work was exhausting but fulfilling. My mood would have been perfect, if not for the sight of Lily waiting for me outside the studio. “Why won’t you come home?” she signed, her eyes filled with a convincing, weary sadness. I ignored her, just as so many others had ignored her in the past. I turned away, leaving her standing there, and started talking to my colleagues. People stared at her, their expressions a mixture of confusion and pity. They couldn’t understand what the mute woman wanted. Someone even wondered aloud if she was a beggar. I glanced at her clothes, torn and scuffed from a fall, and felt nothing. I used to be the one to jump to her defense, my heart aching for her. Not anymore. I wasn’t going to be the fool in this play. “Leo, old friend. How about a reunion? And you too, Lily.” Anthony had appeared out of nowhere, a teasing glint in his eye. I frowned and looked at Lily. Her eyes went wide, and she frantically waved her hands, trying to signal that she hadn’t been the one to call him here. “Sure, why not,” I said. Just then, my phone buzzed with another message from Claire. The information within made my blood run even colder, but I kept my expression neutral. “Anthony,” I said, a slow smile spreading across my face. “Your girlfriend will be there too, right?” The reunion was packed. Not just the three of us, but a crowd of our old friends and classmates. They joked about my “grand romantic gesture” back in the day, how the star-crossed lovers had finally ended up together. “But wait,” someone piped up. “Didn’t Lily used to have a thing for Anthony?” The ill-timed question silenced the room. All eyes turned to us, hungry for drama. What a show, I thought, looking at Lily. How long are you going to keep up this act? “I don’t care who she likes,” I said, my voice light, letting out a small laugh. “Because I’m done with this mute. She’s just a fool who plays with blocks of wood.” The crowd went dead silent. For years, they had mocked me for being with Lily, calling me a “white knight” with a savior complex. Lily had always hidden behind me while I fought her battles. This was a new dynamic. Lily stood there, humiliated, and looked to me for help as the whispers and snickers started. What was she looking at me for? I turned my gaze to Anthony. He was pointedly ignoring her too, a look of irritation on his face. I couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh. “That’s not right,” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “As I recall, Anthony had feelings for Lily, too. Maybe we should let Jenna hear some of your sweet nothings. Or maybe she’d like to see the wooden doll Lily has been saving for you for years.” A collective gasp went through the room. This was better than they could have hoped for. Beside me, Jenna’s face, which had been impassive until now, turned thunderous. “What did you say?” she demanded, turning on Anthony. “You and that… that mute. You haven’t been in contact, have you? And what’s this about a wood carving?” I sneered, watching Anthony’s face drain of color. I deliberately pulled out my phone, making a show of finding the audio file. “What do you think you’re doing! Don’t you dare try to frame us! Everyone knows you’ve always been jealous of me! You married a mute carpenter, and now that you can’t compete, you’re trying to ruin my life!” Anthony, completely unhinged, lunged at me, acting as if he had no idea what recording I was talking about. The moment his hands grabbed my collar, Lily, who had been sitting frozen, shot to her feet. With a strength I didn’t know she possessed, she tore us apart. Her face was a mask of anxiety as she checked the red marks on my neck, her hands flying as she asked if I was okay. I dodged her touch with a click of my tongue, turning away coldly. Lily tried to reach for me again, but Jenna, now incandescent with rage, kicked her hard in the back of the leg. Lily crumpled to her knees. “So that’s why,” Jenna snarled, towering over her. “That’s why Anthony suddenly invited you two. It was always about you, wasn’t it? You pathetic mute, still trying to climb the social ladder?” The others now openly jeered at Lily. She had always been the aloof, untouchable artist, protected by me. The polite respect they’d shown her was a facade. Now, their eyes were filled with nothing but contempt. “Still playing the high and mighty princess…” someone sneered from the crowd. Listening to the taunts, watching her get hit without being able to even cry out, a small, dark part of me felt a sliver of satisfaction. “My apologies. Have I come at a bad time?” A new voice cut through the noise. The crowd turned to the door. “Quite a party.” It was Claire. I raised an eyebrow, not surprised. I gave her a nod of thanks for the intel she’d sent. But Claire’s gaze was fixed on Lily, on the floor, and her expression was one of disappointment. Claire rarely attended these kinds of events, so her arrival immediately shifted the room’s focus. The gossip was forgotten as everyone flocked to suck up to the wealthy heiress. “Don’t be angry, Leo,” Lily signed desperately, pulling at my sleeve now that the attention was off her. “That’s all in the past. My heart is only with you. I only love you. Just let go of this feud with Anthony.” Still for Anthony. Even now, she couldn’t tell me the truth. I watched her frantic pledges of loyalty and found them utterly ridiculous. I forced a smile and nodded, my heart finally, completely dead. In her joyful eyes, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around Lily. “It’s over now. It’s really and truly over. Goodbye, Lily. I’m just heading to the studio for a bit.” Lily hugged me back tightly, nodding hard, but she wouldn’t let go. “I don’t know why,” she signed slowly, her hands trembling, “but I have a feeling you’re not coming back.”

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The last male phoenix had fallen. Now, the survival of the flock rested on the females, who were forced to drink from the Birthing River to propagate their kind. But I, the one with the greatest potential to conceive an Ancient Phoenix of legend, turned my back on the River. Under the bewildered gazes of my people, I cast myself into the Abyss of Eternal Flame. In my previous life, I had poured my very essence, every drop of my life force, into nurturing the most noble of all phoenixes—a Golden Phoenix. But on the day of its presentation at the Sunstone Altar, it pierced my chest with a single, brutal claw, then flew into the arms of my stepsister, cooing and calling her “Mother.” My stepsister became the revered Phoenix Matron, destined to ascend to godhood, while I was branded a child-thief. My feathers were torn from my body, and I was thrown into the Abyss to burn alive. Even as I died, I couldn’t understand. The Golden Phoenix was my child. Why did it call another its mother? When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I was to drink from the Birthing River. … The waters of the Birthing River flowed languidly before me. It wasn’t until my stepsister, Elara, called my name for the third time that the searing memory of being plucked bare and consumed by fire finally released its grip. “With your power, sister, I can only imagine what kind of phoenix you’ll bring forth! My guess… it will be the Golden Phoenix of old, the most noble of all!” Seeing Elara’s innocent, harmless smile sent a sudden, icy sweat down my spine. The agony of my last life—my child stolen, my name cursed, my body desecrated—was still terrifyingly vivid. With that thought searing my mind, I didn’t hesitate. I stood up and turned to leave. If drinking from this river meant birthing a child that would betray me, then I simply wouldn’t drink. Elara’s expression changed in an instant. She moved to block my path while shouting for the Matriarch. “Mother! Look at sister! What’s wrong with her? Why is she leaving?” The Matriarch appeared before me, her smile as warm and benevolent as ever, but the warmth never reached her eyes. “Lyra, my dear, don’t be willful. Every phoenix must drink from the River and bear young. It is the law of our flock. To defy it is to invite a curse upon yourself.” The current Matriarch of the Phoenix Flock was Elara’s mother—my stepmother, Morgana. My own mother, a magnificent Rainbow Phoenix, had been the previous Matriarch. She had fallen into dark sorcery and perished soon after I was born, leaving me to be raised by my stepmother. After my father’s passing, the few remaining male phoenixes had dwindled, one by one, until none were left. The law requiring the females to drink from the Birthing River had been established by the council of elders. Every one of us had sworn a blood oath: for the future of the flock, we would bear young, regardless of our own standing or power. Furthermore, only the one who birthed the most powerful fledgling would become the next Matriarch. Elara’s bloodline was diluted, her own power weak. She could drink the entire river dry and likely never produce a phoenix of any real note. But I was different. I was of pure lineage, my procreative essence the strongest among all the females of the flock. In my past life, my sole ambition had been to hatch the most powerful phoenix, to become Matriarch and repay Morgana for her years of kindness. Elara and I had drunk from the River at the same time, conceived at the same time, and laid our eggs at the same time. The ancient phoenix tome Morgana had given me said that by feeding the egg with one’s own heart’s blood and using a secret ritual, a Golden Phoenix could be born. I hadn’t suspected a thing. I did as I was told, draining my life force, enduring ten days of agonizing struggle, until finally, a rare and magnificent Golden Phoenix hatched from the shell. Weak and trembling, I carried the fledgling in my arms to the Sunstone Altar, ready to be declared the Phoenix Matron and inherit the title of Matriarch. But then, without warning, the creature in my arms lashed out, its sharp talons tearing through my chest. It then soared gracefully into Elara’s embrace, nuzzling against her and chirping, “Mother.” A fledgling’s bond with its birth mother is instinctual, absolute. No one would ever doubt the child was Elara’s. Elara stroked the Golden Phoenix’s head, her expression a mask of regret as she looked at me. “Sister, how could you be so cruel? To secretly switch my egg with your own! I want to honor the bond we share, but as the new Matriarch, I must uphold the law. You must be punished.” Her words, so seemingly righteous, painted me as a monster. The flock turned on me, their disgust palpable as they swarmed forward, tearing my feathers from my flesh. I lay bloodied on the altar, enduring the scorn of my people. “Disgusting! After all the Matriarch has done for her, she steals another’s child! She has no shame!” “Whoever said Lyra was powerful must be blind. Elara birthed a Golden Phoenix! Her essence is clearly stronger. Lyra was just jealous, she stole it! She’s as vile as her corrupted mother. She should be cast out of the Phoenix Vale!” On the day of Elara’s ascension, I was thrown out, barely clinging to life. As I struggled to my feet, someone seized me and hurled me into the Abyss of Eternal Flame to be burned alive. Even in death, I never understood how Elara had managed to steal my child. Now, looking at the mother and daughter duo frantically trying to stop me from leaving, a plan began to form in my mind. “I just feel a bit unwell,” I said, feigning weakness. “I want to go back and rest. I’ll come back another time.” My stepmother let out a sigh of relief. “Then I’ll have your sister accompany you. You can come back and drink together next time.” I frowned. There were many other phoenixes by the riverbank, drinking the water and birthing perfectly normal fledglings. The river was constantly flowing; the water itself wasn’t the problem. Could it be the timing? Was I not supposed to drink at the same time as Elara? Morgana had been Matriarch for many years; she likely knew secrets of our people that I did not. Perhaps if Elara and I drank together, we were breaking some ancient taboo. “No need,” I said, forcing a smile. “I think I’m feeling better now.” Elara and I went to the river’s edge. I watched as she drank first. Then, shielding my mouth with my sleeve, I pretended to drink, but secretly collected some of the water in a flask to take with me. If the heavens were giving me a second chance, I would not overlook a single detail this time. Back in my chambers, just as in my previous life, my stepmother brought me a collection of potent herbs and that same secret tome on incubation. I accepted them with a smile, but as soon as I was alone, I summoned a brazier and burned them all to ash. I had once believed my stepmother to be the kindest of souls. She always treated me better than her own daughter. Growing up, every rare treasure, every potent artifact, was given to me first. When Elara looked on with envy, I, loving my sister, would share them with her. This always sent my stepmother into a rage, and she would harshly scold Elara. The entire flock praised her for her selflessness. They trusted her completely. And I… I had truly thought of her as my own mother. When she was injured gathering herbs, I, though just a child, had recklessly thrown myself into danger to protect her. I had treated Elara like my own flesh and blood, depleting my own life force time and again to help her advance her power. Only after my first life did I understand. Everything my stepmother had done was simply to pave the way for her own daughter. In their eyes, I was nothing but a vessel. A tool for birthing a legendary phoenix. So, even though I hadn’t figured out the exact nature of the deception, I wouldn’t so much as glance at that tome again. I drank the water from the Birthing River and quietly waited for the changes in my body. The same strange sensation of life coalescing within me returned. I could feel the water flow to my womb, emitting a warm, white glow. This time, I didn’t expend any extra life force, nor did I take any of the herbs meant to strengthen the conception. I let go of my obsession with birthing a Golden Phoenix. Soon, my belly swelled slightly, and I laid a pure white, unadorned egg. I didn’t rush to incubate it. Instead, under the cover of night, I snuck into the flock’s forbidden sanctuary. This was the place where my mother had once lived. After she fell to dark sorcery, the flock deemed it cursed and forbade anyone from entering. My memories of my mother were a complete blank. From a young age, Morgana had told me that my mother was beautiful but restless, that she had abandoned me as a child to run away with a demon lord. My father’s attitude toward me had always been distant. Only Morgana had showered me with unconditional love. So, for my entire life, I had avoided thinking about my real mother, trying to be Morgana’s daughter instead. But the truth was becoming clear: the past was not as Morgana had described it. There wasn’t much left in my mother’s sanctuary, but every single item was connected to me. My childhood toys, my favorite snacks, even the small nest I had slept in as a fledgling. My eyes stung. How could my mother not have loved me? There had to be more to the story. Among a pile of old books, I found an incubation manual. Back in my room, I followed my mother’s instructions. From the egg hatched not a simple phoenix, but a Rainbow Phoenix! Rainbow Phoenixes were even rarer than the Golden ones. And my little Rainbow Phoenix was incredibly powerful; its future would be extraordinary. My own mother had been a Rainbow Phoenix. They were known to be gentler, more intelligent and understanding than the proud, arrogant Golden Phoenixes. This would be a child who was truly mine. My heart swelled with joy. After all my efforts, this child would belong to me and me alone. The Matriarch’s seat was within my grasp! Cradling the still-unopened eyes of my fledgling, I headed for the Sunstone Altar. On the way, I overheard the others talking. “Did you hear? Someone stole Elara’s fledgling!” I stopped dead in my tracks. “Elara’s bloodline is weak. She couldn’t have birthed anything special. Who would steal from her? If anyone’s child was worth stealing, it would be Lyra’s. Her essence is so strong, she might have actually hatched a Golden Phoenix!” “And get this, Elara is going around claiming she hatched a Rainbow Phoenix! That’s hilarious. Rainbow Phoenixes are even rarer than Golden ones!” A cold dread washed over me. Elara’s egg had also hatched a Rainbow Phoenix? This couldn’t be a coincidence. The gossiping flock members saw me and rushed over, their faces alight with curiosity. “Lyra! Has your egg hatched yet? What kind of phoenix is it?” In the distance, I saw Morgana, supporting a distraught Elara, searching frantically. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. I ignored everyone, turned, and ran. I bolted back to my chambers and barred the door. My heart hammered against my ribs. I had to know if the fledgling would recognize me as its mother. I drew a drop of my heart’s blood and let it fall onto the fledgling’s closed eyelids. The little Rainbow Phoenix opened its eyes. It looked at me with no emotion whatsoever. Then, Elara’s voice came from outside my door.

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