At the Grand Jewel Gala, my competition piece was swapped with a stolen antique. I was arrested on the spot and sentenced to five years in prison. For one thousand, eight hundred days, I counted the slivers of light that pierced my cell window, enduring inhuman torment. The day I was released, my husband, Lucas, and our son came to pick me up. He gently draped his coat over my shoulders. My son, his eyes red-rimmed, threw himself into my arms. In that moment, I thought my suffering was finally over. At least I still had them. Until I received a video. My ten-year-old son was looking up at his father, his voice clear and innocent. “Dad, I helped Aunt Iris win the award by switching Mom’s design. Is she happy?” “But Mom was in prison for five years. People stare at her everywhere, and the kids at school make fun of me…” Lucas’s hand rested heavily on his son’s head. “This,” he said, his voice grave, “is something you must take to your grave. Never speak of it again.” “It’s your mother’s fault for being so selfish. Your Aunt Iris grew up with nothing. Do you know how much that award meant to her? Your mother has everything, yet she still had to compete. She deserved what she got.” My heart felt as if it had been torn in two. The living hell I had endured for five years had been orchestrated by the people I loved most. 1 “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ve been playing my part perfectly all these years. That stupid woman has no idea.” “In a couple of days, after Aunt Iris’s birthday party, we can finally be a real family.” Lucas’s voice was tinged with concern. “You still need to be careful. Don’t let your guard down around her. We need her at Iris’s party.” “Your grandfather is going to publicly announce her as the second daughter of the Sinclair family. Your mother has to be there. Otherwise, the gossip will all fall on Iris. With her there as a shield, Iris will be spared some of the backlash.” My son, however, was nonchalant. “You’re here, Dad. Who would dare to say anything?” “Michael!” “Fine, fine, I’ll do what you say! I’ll go tell her. It’s an honor for her to even be invited.” “If it weren’t for Iris, would a convict, an ex-con, even be worthy of being my mother?” I stared at the image of the tall, proud boy on the screen. His face was etched with a contempt I didn’t recognize. This was not the child who used to sleep peacefully in my arms. Every word from their mouths was alien to me. Five years ago, I was arrested on the day of the competition. For five long years, one thousand, eight hundred days, I suffered unspeakable abuse. By the time I was released, my own mother had died from depression, and my father had publicly disowned me in the papers. Everywhere I went, people pointed and whispered. Even the household staff treated me with disdain. When I stood on the roof, ready to jump, it was my husband and son who gently coaxed me down. They told me they believed I was innocent, that they would fight to clear my name. When others sneered at me, they stood in front of me, defending me. I saw them as the light that had pierced the darkness of my life. I gave them everything I had. And now, I learned that my five years of agony were nothing more than a sacrifice to pave the way for a charity case my family had sponsored. Tears flooded my vision, blurring the screen of my phone. I had thought they were my rock, my support. It was all just their pity, a handout after they had used me up and thrown me away. I scrambled to hide my phone, curling up in the study like a wounded animal. The first thing I saw was a row of dolls on Lucas’s desk. They were exquisitely crafted, each with a small beauty mark under its eye, a perfect replica of the one Iris had. Lucas was a world-renowned luxury designer. His custom dolls were priceless, sought after by collectors everywhere. After we were married, I had asked him to make one for me, but he always said he was too busy. I couldn’t get a single one, yet he had made a whole collection for Iris. It wasn’t that he didn’t have time. It was that I wasn’t worth his time. Each of Iris’s dolls had a bright, smiling face. I clutched the one in my hand so tightly I thought it would shatter. Because my husband cherished her, she became the dazzling new star of the jewelry world. And I became a pariah, a convict everyone despised. That evening, the father and son returned. Michael, my son, called out “Mom!” with his usual affection. Lucas held a box of my favorite pastries. These scenes, which once warmed my heart, now sent a chill through my entire body. The next day, after they had left, I went out as well. I took a cab to a remote athletic club and found the locker I had hoped I would never have to use. I entered the code and placed a single letter inside. It contained only three words. “I was wrong.” He had once told me that if I ever regretted my choice, he would come for me immediately. When the cab dropped me back at the house, I saw Lucas and Iris standing by the gate, with Michael trailing behind them. Michael was chattering animatedly, and Iris was bent over with laughter. Lucas was smiling indulgently. The sound of the car door closing startled them. The smiles froze on their faces. My eyes were drawn to the crown on Iris’s head. My brow furrowed. A flicker of unease crossed Lucas’s face. He quickly explained, “It’s Iris’s birthday party tonight. She didn’t have any suitable jewelry, so I lent her this crown for the evening.” Iris, her almond-shaped eyes crinkling, covered her mouth with a delicate hand and giggled. “It was so thoughtful of Lucas. He saw I had nothing valuable to wear and brought this for me to use in a pinch.” “Don’t worry, Thea,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet. “I’ll return it as soon as the party is over.” Their intertwined hands were a glaring white in the sunlight. A sharp pain pierced my chest, making every breath an agony. Since my release, Lucas had forbidden me from attending any social events, large or small. We never appeared in public together. He always said it was to protect me from the gossip. I had naively believed he was looking out for me. Now I knew the truth. He just didn’t want to be tainted by his convict wife. Seeing my silence, Lucas pressed on. “This crown is just gathering dust with you anyway. Why not give it to Iris? She needs these things to build her image right now.” “Lucas, do you have any idea what you’re saying?” I heard my own voice tremble. This crown had been custom-made by a famous designer for our wedding. It had caused a sensation at the time, featured in fashion magazines around the world. I had worn it only once, on our wedding day. The rest of the time, it was kept in a glass case, meticulously cared for. This crown was the symbol of the lady of the house. By giving it to Iris, what did that make me, his lawfully wedded wife? Noticing my darkening expression, Lucas quickly changed the subject. “Alright, it’s just a piece of jewelry. Don’t make a fuss. It’s Iris’s birthday party tonight. You should come, too.” Michael chimed in, taking my hand. “Mom, please come. It’s been so long since we went out together.” The images from the video flashed in my mind. A cold dread spread through me, but my expression remained as still as a frozen lake. “I’m a convict. My presence would only bring shame upon you.” Iris, however, linked her arm through mine. “Sister, you shouldn’t say that. We’re family, after all. Besides, you haven’t seen Father since you’ve been out.” At the mention of my father, I hesitated. After a long silence, I finally agreed. Lucas and Michael breathed a sigh of relief. The driver pulled up in Lucas’s custom luxury sedan. Lucas smoothly opened the door for Iris. When I moved to get in, Iris smiled sweetly. “Sister, my dress is so large. Maybe it would be better if you took another car?” Lucas, in the passenger seat, frowned. “It’s Iris’s birthday. We have to be careful with the dress. I’ll call you a car.” “No need.” I turned and walked away before he could finish. Lucas seemed taken aback, but Iris’s voice pulled his attention back. “Let’s go, Lucas. We’re going to be late.” The hesitation on his face vanished. “Let’s go,” he told the driver. The car sped away. It turned out that all the family drivers were suddenly “unavailable.” I, the lady of a wealthy household, couldn’t even get a car. Our villa was in a secluded suburb with no taxi service. As dusk fell, I had no choice but to start walking. A heavy rain began to fall. By the time I arrived at the party, drenched to the bone, it had been going for some time. Lucas and Iris stood side by side, their faces wreathed in smiles, a perfect picture of a happy couple. My father stood nearby, nodding with a pleased expression. The air was filled with the murmurs of guests, praising them as a match made in heaven. Meanwhile, I was stopped by security at the door, my dress dripping, looking like a drowned rat. The commotion at the entrance caught my father’s attention. He strode over, his face grim, and his words were a brutal, public lashing. “Who told you to come here?” “This is your sister’s birthday party. Have you no shame?” “A common criminal. If I were you, I would have killed myself by now. If you had any decency, you would divorce him and let them be happy.” “I have already announced today that Iris is my daughter. Why are you still clinging to Lucas?” “Dad, I am Lucas’s lawfully wedded wife!” I cried out. “Iris is nothing but a charity case our family sponsored! How can she be your daughter?” CRACK. A sharp, stinging slap landed on my cheek, making my ears ring. I had become the center of a spectacle. “You animal!” my father roared. Iris flinched and scurried into Lucas’s arms like a frightened rabbit. And my son, who usually showered me with affection, now refused to even look at me, his small body a stubborn shield in front of Iris. “You’re a convict. What right do you have to question me?” my father spat. “If you had half of Iris’s sense, you would have died in prison instead of embarrassing us here!” The crowd of guests gathered around, some even pulling out their phones to record. I covered my burning cheek, overwhelmed by a crushing wave of humiliation. Lucas looked uneasy. “Father…” he began. “Lucas, Mr. Sterling is here. We should go greet him,” Iris murmured. “But…” “Thea is Dad’s daughter. He won’t hurt her.” Lucas hesitated, but in the end, he let Iris lead him away. He wrapped an arm around her, protecting her, and walked back into the crowd without a second glance. I stood alone, trembling under the mocking gazes of the guests. My own child, the one I had cared for day and night, didn’t even pause. He shot me a look of pure disgust and hurried after Iris. Finally, I broke, fleeing from the laughter and the scorn. My father’s curses followed me. “You reap what you sow! You care about your pride now? It’s too late!” As I hid in a quiet corner of the hotel, weeping, Iris found me. Her face was alight with triumph, her eyes filled with mockery. “Thea Sinclair. How does it feel to have everything taken from you?” “Did you enjoy the five years in prison I gifted you? All I had to do was shed a single tear, and your precious son switched out your design for you.”

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At my sister-in-law’s 21st birthday party, her gift to me was a tainted drink and a set of divorce papers. “A country girl who never even finished high school has no right to carry a Thorne heir.” Luna’s voice was cold, a world away from the girl whose brother had knelt with her at my family’s door ten years ago, begging me to save them. My eyes found Caleb, my husband, but he was too busy, his arm wrapped around another woman as he made his introductions. But I am his wife. His only wife. “The ten years are up,” I murmured, a strange weight lifting from my shoulders as I reached for the papers. “It’s time for me to go.” 1. By the time I realized my wine had been drugged, a sharp, tearing pain had already seized my womb, and I could feel the warm stickiness of blood. “For God’s sake, get back to the room and clean yourself up! Stop making a scene!” Caleb hissed, his arm tightening around the other woman, his brow furrowed in irritation. Blood was starting to pool on the polished marble floor, a dark stain spreading from beneath my dress. The guests recoiled, putting a sudden ten-foot circle of empty space around me, as if I, the girl from the countryside, were carrying some virulent plague. “You’re not going anywhere until you sign this!” Luna blocked my path, shoving the divorce papers at me. “Nelly, you used that baby to blackmail my brother, to keep him from leaving you. You don’t have any excuses left now, do you?” I stopped and fixed my gaze on her. She flinched, her shoulders hunching in a flicker of instinctual fear. She’s always been afraid of me. It started with that terrible blizzard ten years ago, when she was just a child, cowering in my arms, too terrified to even sip the broth I offered her. “Luna, who taught you to drug someone? You can go to your room and…” My words caught in my throat. I’d almost forgotten. By morning, this would no longer be my home to command. “Forget it. Go explain it to your brother,” I sighed, the fight draining out of me. Ten years. I’d raised her for ten years, and all it took were a few poisonous whispers from someone else to undo a decade of care. Back in the room, I showered. The water ran crimson, the bathtub a horrifying tableau of my loss. But as the water swirled down the drain, a profound sense of relief washed over me. It was better this way. Better for the child to be gone than to be born into a family where it would never be wanted. The bedroom was a scene of total violation. My clothes had been slashed into ribbons, my cosmetics dumped and smeared across the floor. On the vanity mirror, a single, furious message was scrawled in lipstick: GET OUT OF MY HOUSE. I sat on the edge of the bed and began to painstakingly gather the scattered pieces of my grandmother’s last letter. She had made me promise to only open it on my tenth wedding anniversary, not a minute sooner. And at midnight tonight, it would be exactly ten years since I married Caleb Thorne. I had little to pack. Most of my clothes and makeup were things Caleb’s assistant had bought for me—gaudy, jewel-encrusted things I never truly liked. When I first came to this city, all I had were Caleb and Luna. Now, as I prepared to leave, all I had was myself. After signing the divorce papers, I focused on piecing the letter together. Luna had torn it into confetti, and the work was slow, my fingers trembling. The moment I managed to form the words My Dearest Granddaughter, my vision blurred with tears. I was more than halfway through when Caleb entered the room, his expression as severe as ever, the scent of whiskey clinging to him. “Ellie,” he murmured, his voice thick. “I’m drunk.” It was only when he was like this, lost in the haze of alcohol, that he allowed himself to be vulnerable with me. He bent down, wrapping his arms around me from behind, his cheek brushing against my ear. “Luna’s still young. She doesn’t know any better. You’ll forgive her, won’t you? Be a good wife and make me some soup.” It was a familiar script, a scene played out on countless drunken nights. He would hold me, whisper sweet nothings, and beg for soup he rarely drank. More often than not, he’d feed it to me from his own lips before pressing me into the mattress, taking what he wanted under the cover of darkness. In the morning, he’d be gone, leaving me with nothing but his back. He could never reconcile the man he was with the “country girl” he slept with. In the dark, he never had to see my tears. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thorne. You’ll have to ask someone else,” I said, my voice flat. I kept my eyes on the letter, feeling his hands on my shoulders stiffen. “Nelly, Luna wasn’t wrong,” he said, his tone shifting, becoming patronizing. “You can’t even read a balance sheet, you don’t understand the first thing about business. I work myself to the bone out there, and I need a partner who can help me, not just… wait for me at home.” “But I never asked for a divorce, did I?” His voice was like a king granting a pardon, a charity I neither wanted nor needed. Ten years ago, my grandmother had given her life to change his fortune, breaking the laws of nature and dying for it. Now, her final letter echoed the truth I already felt in my bones: The bond is broken. Do not force what is already gone. 2. “Then I’ll be the one to ask,” I said, placing the signed divorce papers into his hand. I clutched the precious, reassembled letter and walked towards the door. “Nelly!” He called after me. “You walk out that door, and you’ll never set foot in this house again. Think about it. What do you have without me?” I didn’t stop. My abdomen clenched with a wave of pain, but I kept walking. Suddenly, he was there, slamming the door shut. He let out a long sigh, his voice softening. “Fine. I’m willing to give you another child.” “But you can’t raise it,” he continued, the words a fresh series of blows. “A child of mine must have the best education in the world.” Every sentence was a calculated jab at my origins, a sneer at my lack of a diploma. Ten years ago, after his parents were murdered and his inheritance was stolen by his uncles, he’d come to my village. He’d heard whispers of my grandmother, a woman with the Sight, a true mystic. He begged her to place a curse on his relatives, to help him reclaim what was his. Such dark magic always came at a cost, extracting a heavy price from the caster. But I had already fallen for him, for the fire in his eyes. To grant me the marriage I so desperately wanted, my grandmother paid with her life. At her funeral, Caleb knelt beside me before her coffin. His voice was raw with emotion as he swore an oath: Nelly would be his only wife, for all his life. If he ever broke his vow, may his skin split and his heart shatter, and may his soul be damned for eternity. One by one, his uncles met with bizarre and untimely ends. Caleb slowly, methodically, reclaimed the entire Thorne empire. But his world whispered that a simple country girl was not worthy of the Thorne name. I saw the shame on his face then, the first time one of his new, wealthy friends looked down on me. That look of contempt had never truly left his eyes. I pushed his hand away and walked downstairs. Luna was waiting at the bottom of the staircase, a smug, triumphant look on her face. “Finally got thrown out by my brother, huh?” she sneered. “Serves you right. How dare you live in our house and still try to tell me what to do.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All I’d done was try to stop her from getting involved with some local punk, and she’d reacted as if I’d declared war on her. “Luna, darling, your sister-in-law probably meant well,” a smooth voice purred. “Coming from the country, she just doesn’t understand our ways.” “She’s not my sister-in-law, Vivian!” Luna cooed, linking her arm with the newcomer. “My brother is embarrassed by her. He always takes you to his events, never her.” So that explained the cloying, unfamiliar perfume that clung to Caleb’s suits on the nights he came home drunk. I knew his life was hard, but he never shared his struggles with me. He just assumed I wouldn’t understand. Over time, the silence between us grew into a chasm. “Then I’ll have to trouble you to take care of Caleb from now on, Miss Vivian,” I said, extending a hand. Unsurprisingly, she left it hanging in the air. A third voice, sharp and condescending, cut in. “My Vivian isn’t like you. She won’t be a wife who acts like a glorified housekeeper,” said Vivian’s mother, stepping into the light. “Vivian is an international scholar. She’s fluent in two languages. She can make Caleb millions in minutes. You? You can wash clothes and cook. A maid can do that.” Vivian basked in her mother’s praise, a cascade of perfect waves falling over her shoulder as she looked down her nose at me. “Nelly,” she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “I know you were with Caleb through the hard times. But let’s be honest, he’s provided you with a very comfortable life these past few years. A live-in maid makes what, fifty thousand a year? That coat you’re wearing is worth more than that. Without Caleb, you’d still be stuck in that backwoods town, you never would have seen the world.” “Vivi,” Luna interrupted with a giggle. “Don’t use big words. She won’t understand.” They both burst into laughter, a sound like shattering glass. Luna had forgotten. After her family’s tragedy, she’d missed two years of school. When she finally went back, she was hopelessly behind. I was the one who worked shifts waiting tables during the day so I could come home and tutor her at night. I was strict with her, yes, but only because she was the one who had come to me, clutching a failed test, her eyes fierce with a child’s promise. “I’ll make you and Caleb proud, Nelly,” she’d sworn. “I’ll shut up all those relatives who made him kneel!” Luna hadn’t changed. Caleb hadn’t changed. They had simply returned to the lives they were always meant to live. The only one who had changed was me. I had dared to dream a dream that was never mine. “Enough!” Caleb’s voice boomed from the top of the stairs, silencing everyone. 3. “You and Vivian can stay the night,” he said, his gaze fixed on her mother. “I’ll have the staff prepare a guest room for you.” Then he turned to me. “You too, Nelly. It’s late. Stop bothering me. We’ll talk in the morning.” The moment Vivian’s mother heard Caleb intended for me to stay, her eyes shot daggers at me before she turned a fawning smile back up at him. “Oh, Caleb, darling, just one room is fine! Why would Vivian need her own room? You two lovebirds must have so much to talk about!” So this was the famed upbringing of the upper class. So eager to push her own daughter into a man’s bed. I turned to go back to my room, but Luna grabbed my arm. “You might as well just crash in the basement for one night,” she said, dragging me towards the cellar door. “No point in going back to your old room on the second floor. Besides,” she added with a cruel smirk, “you don’t want to be in the room next door listening to my brother and Vivian, do you?” “There’s no light down there,” I said, looking her straight in the eye. “So? It’s not like you’re afraid of the dark.” She shot me an impatient glare, having conveniently forgotten the time she’d gotten lost in the woods as a child. I was the one who went searching for her. A wolf found us. To save her, I drew it away, leading it on a desperate chase until I was cornered in a pitch-black cave. There was no way out. I could hear the wolf’s panting, feel its hot breath just behind me. Later, Caleb asked me a hundred times how I survived that night. I never told him. I survived on the sheer, desperate conviction that I had to see him again. After Luna left, locking the door behind her, I curled into a ball against the cold, damp wall. The darkness was absolute, a suffocating blanket without a single crack of moonlight. My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart hammering against my ribs. I could almost feel the phantom slick of the wolf’s saliva on my leg, the terror as real as it was all those years ago. I couldn’t take it. I scrambled back up the stairs, hammering on the door until my knuckles were raw. When it finally opened, I stumbled into the hallway and saw them. Caleb and Vivian, entwined on the sofa. “Vivian, I’m sorry,” Caleb was saying, his voice low and strained. “I really can’t divorce Nelly.” “Because of your debt to her grandmother?” “Not just that,” he paused. “I swore an oath on her grave. If I leave Nelly, I’m cursed to a horrific death…” “Her grandmother is dead, Caleb. You really think a corpse can curse you?” “Vivian, can’t we just stay like this? You’re my confidante, my partner… isn’t that enough?” He didn’t answer her question. Instead, he leaned in and covered her mouth with his. The cramped sofa became a stage for their passion, and a bitter poison filled my heart. The truth was, my grandmother had wanted to place a real curse on him. I was the one who stopped her. I remember her stroking my face, her voice full of sorrow. “My sweet, simple girl,” she’d sighed. “What will you do when you get hurt? There will be no one left to protect you.” She was right. The one who protected me was gone. And it was time for me to leave, too. I turned and went back to the basement. So what if it was dark? So what if I was terrified? The bite of a lone wolf years ago was nothing compared to the pain of Caleb’s casual admission—that he was bound not by love, but by fear of an old ghost story. The basement door creaked open again. The beam of a flashlight blinded me. I squinted, making out Vivian’s silhouette, the angry red marks visible on her exposed shoulder. “You heard all of that, didn’t you?” she said, her voice laced with venom. “You must be so proud. Caleb won’t divorce you.”

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1 She tricked me into going abroad, then held a lavish engagement party with her first love back home. I saw it on a stranger’s phone, watching as she placed the wedding ring I’d commissioned for us onto her ex-boyfriend’s hand. The guests gasped. “So he’s the one Ms. Vance truly loves!” Cora Vance smiled, not denying it. She announced that Specter, the prize stallion, would be her gift to him upon their marriage. A bitter smile touched my lips. With a heart heavy with exhaustion, I teleported home. What Cora didn’t know was that I came from a thousand years in the past, here only to repay an ancient debt to her family. Specter wasn’t just a horse; he was my companion, my family. I had given him to her as a gift on the day we registered our marriage. Now, watching their fingers intertwined, a deep weariness washed over me. A thousand-year promise, a dream shattered in a single moment. It was time for Specter and me to go home. … Cora clearly hadn’t anticipated that I could teleport, a feat far faster than any airplane. By the time I returned, she had successfully proposed to Patrick Sutton. Photos of their blissful union were still cycling on the hotel’s massive outdoor screen. I was sitting in the office of the Temporal Agent, watching it all unfold. The agent, Jasper, was trembling before me. “Sir, are you sure? Perhaps Ms. Vance has her reasons…” I pointed a finger at the intimate photos on the screen outside. “Do you think I’m blind, Agent?” He shook his head frantically, trying to salvage the situation. “But Ms. Vance gave strict orders to have everything restored to normal before your return! She still cares for you, sir, she does…” I held up a hand, cutting him off. My voice was sharp, laced with ice. “You insignificant agent. A few days as Cora Vance’s assistant and you’ve forgotten your true duty? Your true identity?” I knew what she was doing. Patrick was her childhood crush, the one that got away. Now that he was back, they were giving their ‘what if’ a perfect, storybook ending. This engagement party was their gift to themselves. She had coaxed me into taking a trip abroad precisely to keep me in the dark while she pursued this reckless affair. She wanted to give him a love that was bold and public, while I, her legal husband, was kept hidden in the shadows. But I saw. And I would not tolerate such impurity in my bond. If Cora chose him, she could have nothing to do with me. With a trembling hand, the agent stamped my departure papers. He informed me the process would still take seven days. I slammed my palm on his desk, and it exploded into splinters. “Seven days is too long. You have three.” I turned and left, his panicked stomping and muttered complaints echoing behind me. “Oh, Ms. Vance, what have you done? You foolish, foolish woman. It’s all over now. You can live with your regret.” Outside, I teleported to a high vantage point, one that gave me a perfect view of the hotel where they were celebrating. The guests had all departed. Through the massive floor-to-ceiling window, I saw Cora and Patrick, their gazes locked in a heated embrace. After downing glass after glass of champagne, Cora, feigning intoxication, had melted into his arms. I saw a flicker of conflict in her eyes, but it was fleeting. Her hands wrapped around his neck, and they staggered together toward the presidential suite on the top floor. Even though I knew it was over, I pulled out my phone and called her. “Cora. Where are you? Do you miss me?” Her voice, laced with guilt, trembled. “Julian! I’m at home, of course. And I miss you so much. I wish I could just fly to my darling husband’s side right now.” A cold laugh escaped me. Is that so? Then I’ll grant your wish. “Then come pick me up. I’m at the airport.” Cora shot to her feet, her eyes darting to Patrick on the bed. Her brow furrowed. “Julian, your flight wasn’t supposed to land until tomorrow night. Why don’t you head home first? I just got an urgent message from the office, I have an emergency meeting.” “Fine,” I said, and hung up, a glacial chill seeping into my bones. I had given her a chance. She chose Patrick. The moment she hung up, Cora was barking orders at her subordinates, having them scrub the videos from every screen in the city and manage the fallout. From the bed, Patrick called her name in a husky voice. She turned, gently pulling the covers over him. That was all the encouragement he needed. He pulled her down, his mouth finding hers. Without a moment’s hesitation, Cora let her hair down, unzipped her dress, and became entangled with him. To say the sight didn’t wound me would be a lie. But more than the pain, there was a profound sense of release. After wandering for so long, my heart yearned for my true family, a thousand years away. Finally, I could leave. The sight of their bodies entwined disgusted me. I had no interest in watching further. I turned and went back to the home Cora and I once shared. As I was gathering my few belongings, a picture message arrived. It was from Patrick. It was a photo of him and Cora, locked in a passionate kiss, his chest covered in love bites. A caption followed. “Has she ever been this wild with you, Julian? We went through two boxes.” A sharp pang of pain shot through me, but I have never been one to suffer in silence. I replied with a photo of my own. “I don’t know about Cora, but I’ve certainly seen pictures of you getting wild with that heiress in Monaco.” Message sent. I could almost picture Patrick’s sleepless night. It brought me a small measure of satisfaction. And for the first time in a long time, I slept soundly. 2 The next day, after clearing my things from the house, I went to the stables to retrieve Specter. He was more than a horse; he was family, a companion from my own time. He had once saved Cora’s life when she’d nearly been thrown from another horse. She had always doted on him, even building him a private, state-of-the-art equestrian center. But no matter. I could part with everything else, but not Specter. I had to take him back to our own time, where our family was waiting. The moment I teleported to the stables, I heard his pained whinny. I rushed forward, and the sight that met my eyes made my blood boil with fury. Specter was chained, and Patrick, wielding a barbed whip he’d found somewhere, was lashing it into the horse’s flesh. His eyes were vicious, every strike meant to inflict maximum pain. “What is this ugly beast?” he snarled between blows. “You think this is a worthy gift? You worthless animal. One day, I’ll throw you and your pathetic owner out on your asses.” He spat. “That bastard Julian dares to threaten me with photos? I’ve already had the evidence destroyed. Let’s see him try that again!” Specter screamed in agony, his glossy coat now matted with blood that dripped onto the pristine grass, forming a horrifying pool. I nearly went mad. I flashed forward, grabbing Patrick and landing a series of brutal punches to his face. He yelped in terror, his bravado vanishing the moment he saw my murderous expression. “Julian? How are you here? No, I’m sorry, please, don’t hit me!” I sneered, raising the whip to strike him down. But before it could fall, a hand caught my wrist. It was Cora. The second Patrick saw his protector had arrived, he collapsed into a heap, crying and pointing a trembling finger at me. “Cora, save me! Julian’s gone insane! He’s trying to kill me with the whip!” Cora didn’t even spare me a glance. She rushed to Patrick’s side, comforting him. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. He won’t dare touch you.” Finally, she looked up at me, her voice as cold as a winter storm. “Julian. What is the meaning of this?” I pointed at Specter’s bleeding form and told her exactly what Patrick had done. Patrick panicked, his face a mask of feigned innocence. “Cora, I didn’t mean to! Specter was acting up, he kicked me in the stomach. I just lost my temper and tapped him a few times… I grabbed the wrong whip by mistake! I really didn’t mean it…” The excuse was ludicrous. But Cora believed him. She lifted his shirt to inspect his abdomen, where a faint red mark was visible. Her gaze turned back to me, frigid with disappointment. “Julian, Specter is just an animal. So what if Patrick hit him? It wouldn’t matter if he killed him. How can you compare a beast to a person? You shouldn’t have taken advantage of my affection for you to attack Patrick. Now, apologize to him. Immediately.” Her words struck me like a physical blow. Specter had saved her life, and now she was calling him a beast. A hollow laugh escaped me. “Apologize? Fine. On one condition: we get a divorce.” At the mention of divorce, Cora flew into a rage. “Julian, have you not caused enough trouble? You want a divorce over something so trivial? Can you stop being so unreasonable?” “Unreasonable? Why don’t you check the security cameras? Then we’ll see who’s being unreasonable.” At the mention of cameras, Patrick, who had been enjoying the show, went pale. “Cora, it’s fine, I’m okay… Don’t fight with Julian because of me…” He grimaced, struggling to his feet. Cora rushed to support him, glaring at me. “Julian, Patrick is being the bigger person here by not pressing the issue. I don’t want to argue with you. Go home and think about what you’ve done.” She helped Patrick walk away. Once they were a safe distance, he turned and flipped me the middle finger. I walked to Specter and unfastened his chains, whispering in his ear. “Well, old friend. How would you like a little revenge?” Specter understood. With a triumphant cry, he shot forward like an arrow, closing the distance to Cora and Patrick in a heartbeat. A single, powerful kick sent them both sprawling face-first into the mud. I nearly doubled over, clutching my stomach with laughter. Cora stared at me, her eyes blazing with fury. Patrick, on the other hand, was more cunning. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed to the ground in a dramatic faint. Cora panicked, rushing him to her family’s hospital in a flurry of activity. I sighed, stroking Specter’s muzzle as he trotted back to my side. “Well, old friend,” I murmured. “I think we might be in a bit of trouble.” 3 When the test results came back, a weary Cora called me. “Julian, look what your precious beast has done. The doctor says Patrick was kicked so hard in the groin he might never be able to have children. This is your fault. You need to come to the hospital and apologize. If you do it for my sake, perhaps Patrick will forgive you.” My hand holding the phone trembled slightly. Specter was intelligent; he would never have truly harmed Patrick. Besides, even I, an outsider, knew that Patrick had spent years planting his own people within the Vance family’s hospital network. Forging a medical report would be child’s play. When I arrived at the hospital, a group of doctors glared at me with contempt. “For one man to command a beast to attack another… Mr. Thorne, your cruelty knows no bounds.” “Tch. Everyone knows he’s just jealous that Mr. Sutton was Ms. Vance’s first love.” I ignored them, my eyes fixed on Cora, who was silently feeding Patrick soup, refusing to look at me. She hadn’t told anyone about our secret marriage, and it was clear she had no intention of explaining now. Thinking of the life debt my ancestors owed hers, I could tolerate being nameless, but Specter was my line in the sand. An apology was out of the question. But I was willing to offer compensation. “Cora, this all started because Patrick attacked Specter first. He was in the wrong. However, I am willing to give him this hospital as compensation…” Before I could finish, Patrick’s face went white. He burst into tears. “Cora, he’s cursing me! I’m a healthy man, why would I want a hospital? I just want that horse dead! Or I want it gutted…” He was shouting hysterically. Cora held him, soothing him. “Alright, alright, Patrick, don’t get excited. I promise, whatever you want…”

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When I arranged breeding for our family dog, my husband called me insane while my mother-in-law had a meltdown. In my past life, after Buddy—my loyal companion of ten years—died, Aiden and his mother bought a lookalike dog to console me. I thought it would fill the void. Instead, it urinated on our bed, destroyed the house, and once even wore my pajamas on my marital bed. When I demanded they remove it, they scoffed, “Why fight with a dog?” On our anniversary, they insisted on feeding it our leftovers to “avoid waste.” That night, I died of a sudden heart attack. Only then did I learn the truth: This dog carried the soul of Aiden’s wealthy ex, Amber, who’d recently died of the same condition. They’d brought it home to swap our fates. When I reopened my eyes, I was back to the day they first brought the dog home. … Aiden stood at the door, holding a small dog, his face beaming with a joy he couldn’t contain. “Jenna, come look! Doesn’t she look just like Buddy?” I looked over instinctively. A small puppy, dressed in a set of exquisite little clothes, was nestled in his arms. My body jolted as the familiar scene replayed in my mind. Seeing the excitement on Aiden’s face, I knew. I had been reborn. Seeing my silence, he prompted me again. “Honey, I put her in the bedroom for you. She’s here to keep you company, a replacement for Buddy. You have to treat her well, okay?” His words snapped me back to reality. I turned and saw the dog looking at me with an unnervingly human-like smile. My heart hammered in my chest. The horrific images of my last death flashed before my eyes. Without thinking, I refused. “No! I don’t want it!” Aiden was stunned. “Jenna, she looks so much like Buddy. Why wouldn’t you want her? Besides, I went to half a dozen breeders to find her for you. They don’t do returns.” Without waiting for another word, he carried the dog to my bed and set her down, stroking her head soothingly. Watching them together, I felt no warmth. Only a profound, chilling cold. In my last life, after Buddy died, Aiden had brought this same dog home. I suspected nothing and treated her as I had Buddy. I thought she would heal my broken heart, but I never realized she was no ordinary pet. The very first day, she urinated all over my bed. From then on, it only got worse. She would deliberately shatter my belongings or put on my pajamas and lie smugly on my marriage bed. In those moments, she didn’t seem like a dog. She seemed like a person. The strangeness of it all terrified me. I called Aiden and his mother to see, using it as an excuse to get rid of her. But they just told me I was overreacting, asking why I was so obsessed with a simple dog. This continued until our wedding anniversary. That day, they prepared a huge feast. When we couldn’t finish it, they suggested giving the leftovers to the dog. I remembered how she usually ate better than most people, so I readily agreed. I thought they were finally going to discipline her. Instead, that night, I died of a massive heart attack. That’s when I learned the truth. The dog wasn’t a replacement for Buddy at all. She was Aiden’s dead, rich ex-girlfriend. They brought her home to swap our lives. The memory of dying in her place, of watching her smugly take over my body and kiss my husband, filled me with a white-hot rage. I watched Aiden and his mother fussing over the dog, a strange smile playing on my lips. Since you’re here, you might as well stay. This time, it’s my turn to give you a gift. Just like last time, the dog pissed all over my bed on her first night. I stared at the yellow stain spreading across the sheets, a vein throbbing in my temple. I knew the soul inside that canine body was my husband’s first love. I knew she understood everything, that she was doing this deliberately to torment me. A fire ignited in my gut. I grabbed a feather duster, ready to strike. The dog erupted in a series of piercing shrieks, leaping and scrambling around the room, shattering my water glass and knocking over the wedding photo on my nightstand. Her cries brought Aiden and his mother running. The second the door opened, the dog scrambled into Aiden’s arms, peering at me with wide, terrified, and wounded eyes. Hearing her pathetic whimpers, Aiden’s heart melted. He shot me a look of pure exasperation. “Jenna, what is your problem? Why are you picking on a puppy?” he grumbled. “She’s just a baby, she doesn’t know any better. Look how you’ve scared her!” The scene was a perfect echo of my past life. Seeing that damned dog wagging its tail, taunting me, I trembled with fury, my voice shaking. “My problem? Are you blind? Can’t you see she’s soaked my entire bed? It reeks of piss! How am I supposed to sleep in that?” I shot back. “The second I picked up the duster, she started screaming and tearing the place apart. I never even touched her! And you say I scared her? Have you lost your mind?” “That’s it. I can’t have this dog in my house for one more day. Get rid of it, now! Or we’re getting a divorce!” A divorce would be for the best, but I knew they would never let me go that easily. They were determined to use me. Even if I managed to escape this house, they would find another way to kill me. Aiden just frowned, looking at me as if I were an irrational, shrewish wife. “Jenna, you’re losing it,” he spat. “You’re completely obsessed with this dog. You’ve gone mad.” He carefully cradled the dog and turned to leave, tossing one last sentence over his shoulder. “We’ll sleep in separate rooms for a while. You need to calm down.” His heartless words extinguished the last spark of hope I might have had for him. I slammed the door shut and, with a cold smile, dialed the number for a dog training facility. After our fight, Aiden and the dog were inseparable. When he went to work, he’d leave her with his mother, making sure I couldn’t get rid of her. Protected by the two of them, the dog found new ways to provoke me every day. She’d dart into my room the second I opened the door to shit on my bed. She’d smash my things and hide shards of glass in my shoes. The worst was when she burst in while I was on the toilet and sprayed a full stream of urine right in my face. Soaked in the foul-smelling liquid, I watched as Aiden and his mother praised the dog for how high and far she could aim. I was shaking with rage. But I told myself to endure it. The time wasn’t right. I couldn’t show my hand yet. I swallowed my disgust and waited, biding my time until our wedding anniversary. Just like in my last life, my mother-in-law was up early, her voice cheerful. “Today is your anniversary! You’ve always had such quiet celebrations, but this year is different. This year, you two need to celebrate properly…” Aiden chimed in. “She’s right. This year is different. We have to have a huge feast to celebrate.” Hearing the exact same words from my past life, I sneered inwardly. Back then, when I’d asked what was so different, they’d just mumbled something about it being our fifth anniversary, a special milestone. Now I understood. The “difference” was that they were preparing to welcome their rich ex-girlfriend into my body, and preparing to kill me. Suppressing the turmoil in my heart, I forced a smile. “Okay. Let’s celebrate.” With that, Aiden and his mother went out to buy groceries. Before they left, he turned to me, smiling. “Honey, it’s our special day. When Mom and I get back, we’re going to have a real celebration.” He even pulled me into a hug. I feigned shyness, burying my face in his chest to hide the icy glare in my eyes. They were gone for four or five hours. I wondered what kind of groceries took so long to buy, but I knew it was nothing good. When they returned, my mother-in-law locked herself in the kitchen, and Aiden went in to help her. They shut the door, and I could only guess what they were concocting in there. When the food was finally ready, my mother-in-law gestured to the overflowing table. “Jenna, dear, it’s your anniversary with Aiden. Mom made all your favorites. You have to eat a lot.” Aiden added, “That’s right, honey. We’ve been fighting so much lately, our relationship has suffered. I’ve been thinking, a husband should be more patient. Eat up, have some wine. Consider it my apology.” I stared at the dazzling array of dishes, remembering what had happened after I ate them last time. Back then, they’d coaxed me into eating until I was fit to burst. When I tried to get up to use the restroom, my head was spinning, my mind foggy. I knew the food was tainted. But with both of them watching me, I slowly picked up my chopsticks and began to eat. Aiden’s expression visibly brightened. My mother-in-law’s eyes gleamed as she clenched her fists. Fearing I wouldn’t eat enough, they kept urging me on. “Eat more, Jenna. You’re too thin, you need to eat more…” “Why aren’t you two eating?” I asked, my mouth full. They exchanged a fake, benevolent smile. “You eat first, Jenna. We’ll eat after you’re done.” They watched me, practically counting the seconds. Once I was visibly stuffed, they decided it was enough. They each took a symbolic bite or two of food before my mother-in-law stood up. “I think I made a little too much. It’ll be a shame to waste it.” “Why don’t we call our little darling over and let her finish it for us?” Aiden nodded immediately. “Right. Waste not, want not. I’ll go get her now!” He stood and left. His mother remained standing, craning her neck expectantly. But no matter where Aiden looked, he couldn’t find the dog. Panicked, he and his mother searched the entire house, but there was no sign of her on the second floor. They were frantic, sweat beading on their foreheads as they rushed back to me. “Jenna! Where is our little darling? Did you get rid of her behind our backs?” Seeing their panicked faces, I couldn’t help but laugh. A thrill of vengeance shot through me. I stood up slowly and pointed towards a room on the first floor. “You two love her so much, how could I possibly throw her out?” Before Aiden could look relieved, I continued. “But I’ve noticed her climbing into my bed a lot lately. I figured she must be in heat. She’s our little treasure, after all. We can’t let her suffer.” “So, I found her a dozen studs to mate with. Big, black ones. I’m sure they’ll get the job done.” At my words, the color drained from Aiden’s face. My mother-in-law swayed and collapsed to the floor in a boneless heap. Watching their faces turn a pasty white, I smiled and delivered the final blow. “So don’t worry about calling her for dinner. She’s going to be busy for a while. To make sure the mating was successful, I gave her a little something to… heighten her excitement. I imagine she’s having a great time right now.” It took them a long time to process my words. When they finally did, their bodies began to tremble as if they’d been plunged into a nightmare. Aiden raised his hand to slap me, but his mother scrambled up and pulled him towards the stairs. “Forget that bitch, Jenna!” she rasped in a voice I wasn’t supposed to hear. “Go save Amber!” Aiden snapped out of it. He shot me a venomous glare and scrambled downstairs. I followed at a leisurely pace. I watched them run screaming from room to room on the first floor, tearing each one apart in their search. But after checking every room, there was still no sign of the dog.

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Our baby was just a month old when my wife vanished, leaving only a note. “Honey, it’s the planetary alignment, happens once every 77 years. I’ve time-traveled. Don’t worry about me. See you when I see you.” For three years of marriage, she’d used one absurd excuse after another, all to go on vacation with the one who got away. When our son, unable to breastfeed and refusing formula, was rushed to the hospital with a twisted intestine, she was in Norway with Evan, watching the Northern Lights. When our son was undergoing emergency surgery, she was with Evan in a hot air balloon, high above the clouds. When the doctors handed me the critical condition notice for our son, she was with Evan under the Eiffel Tower, sharing a passionate kiss as fireworks exploded overhead. She didn’t return until just before our son’s 100-day celebration, carrying a cheap, dollar-store plastic soldier. “Honey, I’m back from my travels! Look, a present for our son. From now on, we’ll all be a happy family.” That was when I finally saw her for who she was, and all hope died. On the day of our son’s celebration, I vanished too, leaving a note of my own. “Planet Gamma has summoned me back to the mothership. The child stays. Don’t look for me. This is goodbye.” 1 Our son was wailing, his face turning purple as he refused the bottle, when my eyes fell on the note left on the table: “Honey, it’s the planetary alignment, happens once every 77 years. I’ve time-traveled. Don’t worry about me. See you when I see you.” The bottle slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. She’d done it again. Snuck off behind my back, abandoning her one-month-old son. Three years of marriage, and her excuses only grew more fantastical. I pulled out my phone, tracked her location. She was overseas. I knew she was with Evan again, off on another one of their trips. Three years of our life together, meaningless against the ghost of her first love. A suffocating weight settled in my chest. Just then, the baby’s cries stopped. A stream of white liquid shot from his mouth. His diaper filled with a horrifying, jelly-like blood. Panic seized me. I fumbled for my phone and dialed for an ambulance. Cradling my son’s pale, limp body, I was drenched in a cold sweat. He was curled in my arms, his tiny hands clenched in pain. One of the paramedics shouted, “It looks like intussusception! We need to get him to the ICU, now!” His heart-wrenching cries echoed down the hall as they wheeled him into the emergency room. A nurse grabbed my arm. “Where is the baby’s mother? We need to ask some questions about the infant’s condition before we can operate.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. My voice came out a raw, hoarse whisper. “It’s just me.” “The mother isn’t here?” My own lips trembled, a hot sting behind my eyes. “She’s dead,” I rasped. A flicker of pity crossed the nurse’s face. Her voice softened. “Don’t worry. We’ll make your son our top priority.” To me, after three years of her cold indifference, she might as well have been. Just as they pushed my son through the doors, my phone vibrated. It was a new photo from the private investigator I’d hired. In it, my wife, Irene, was clinging to Evan, the two of them gazing up at the Northern Lights against the dark Norwegian sky. She had once promised we would see the Northern Lights together on our honeymoon. She kept putting it off, always for work. Now I understood. It wasn’t about work. It was simply that I wasn’t the one she wanted to see them with. As the oxygen mask was placed over my son’s tiny face, my heart sank to the floor. A cold draft from the emergency room doors seemed to seep into my very bones, a chill that ravaged every cell in my body. The light above the operating room door suddenly went out. A doctor emerged, handing me a critical condition notice. I was shaking too hard to stand, fighting back a wave of terror as I scrawled my name on the form. At that exact moment, my phone screen lit up with another image: Irene and Evan, locked in a passionate kiss beneath the glittering Eiffel Tower. The light went out again. This time, they wheeled my son’s tiny body out of the room. My vision blurred. He had been to hell and back. I leaned down and gently kissed his forehead. From this day forward, I vowed, it’s just you and me. After the surgery, my son was incredibly weak. I was sitting by his hospital bed when my mother-in-law pushed the door open, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And where is Irene? Her son is sick, and she’s not even notified?” A cold smile touched my lips. “She said she time-traveled. She’s vanished.” My mother-in-law’s face fell. Realizing it was just another one of Irene’s excuses, she turned her frustration on me. “Look at you. Can’t even take care of a simple baby. Useless.” Then she turned to my son, a wide, doting smile spreading across her face. “Oh, my handsome grandson. You look just like your mother.” I was used to her veiled insults. My grandfather and Irene’s had been brothers-in-arms. After my parents died in the line of duty, my grandfather, on his deathbed, entrusted me to her family. That was the only reason Irene had agreed to marry me. For all these years, I had stayed in this family for her grandfather’s sake. And it was only to fulfill his dying wish that she had agreed to have a child with me. 2 I had fulfilled my end of the promise. After the baby’s 100-day celebration, I would leave the Vance family for good. My mother-in-law cooed at my son for a few more minutes, then left, satisfied, leaving me alone to care for him. I stayed at the hospital, not sleeping, not resting, until the day he was discharged. Irene never showed. My phone, however, was a constant stream of photos of her and Evan, their intimacy a series of fresh wounds. When we got home, my mother-in-law dismissed the nanny with a smug smile. “You’re the man of the house now, the one who married into the family. Since you have nothing better to do all day, you can stay home and take care of the child.” The baby was fragile after his surgery. He cried often through the night. He wouldn’t take formula, and with no mother’s milk, he grew thinner and thinner. Seeing him waste away was a constant, stabbing pain in my heart. I spent that month teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. And then there were the messages from Evan, dripping with scorn. “So what if you married her, Mason? The one she’ll always love is me.” I clicked on the video he sent. A grainy, tangled image of two bodies, the sound a mix of a man’s heavy breathing and a woman’s soft moans. In the dead of night, I would watch my son’s peaceful face as he slept, my own heart aching. My social media feed was a gallery of Evan and Irene’s trip around the world, a new photo marking each new city. I tortured myself, scrolling through hundreds of them. The comments from their friends were a special kind of hell. “Living the life, Irene! Husband’s at home with the baby while you’re off seeing the world.” “Seriously, what was the excuse this time? How’d you manage to escape?” Irene’s reply was right there for all to see. “I told him it was the 77-year planetary alignment and I time-traveled.” “LMAO, Irene, only you could come up with that. Aren’t you afraid your husband will be pissed?” Her response: “He’s put up with it for three years. He’ll put up with this. He’ll just be at home waiting for me, like a good boy.” So my tolerance, my patience over the past three years, had become nothing more than a running joke between her and her friends. Too bad for her. This time, I wouldn’t be so forgiving. I spent the night staring into the darkness, my heart a hollow ache. Just after dawn, a frantic knocking echoed through the house. “Honey, I’m home! And I brought a present for our son!” I opened the door. Evan was standing next to her, impeccably dressed. He looked me up and down with a sneer. “Mason, you look like a mess. A man needs to take care of himself, you know.” I was in my baggy house clothes, a smear of dried spit-up on the collar. Evan wrinkled his nose, pulling a bottle of cologne from his bag and spritzing himself liberally. “What’s that sour milk smell? It’s disgusting.” He then plastered on a fake smile. “No offense, Mason. I just have a sensitive nose.” Irene frowned slightly. “Honey, you must have had a rough few days. I just got back from my trip. Here, this is for our son.” She pulled a cheap-looking plastic soldier from a bag and handed it to me. In the past, I would have thrown her thoughtless gifts back in her face. But not today. Today, I just didn’t care anymore. Noticing Evan behind her, Irene explained, “I ran into Evan on the way. He said he wanted to see the baby, so we came together.” When I said nothing, she assumed I was being my usual, jealous self. The next second, I smiled. “It’s fine. Come on in.” A flicker of confusion crossed her face, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “See, honey? Being a father has changed you. You’re so much gentler now.” Before, whenever she brought Evan home, I would get angry. We would fight, always about him. But now, I saw everything with a painful clarity. It didn’t matter anymore. Evan strode inside in his polished leather shoes. Irene rushed to the bedroom to see our son. I was alone in the living room with him. A mocking smile played on his lips. “Look at you, Mason. A middle-aged man looks younger than you do right now. How are you going to keep Irene interested when you look like that?” I ignored him, sterilizing a bottle. My cold shoulder seemed to annoy him. His words turned sharper. “You know she doesn’t love you. Why do you insist on staying here, clinging to her family? It’s pathetic.” The absurdity of it was almost funny. “I’m her legal husband,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “What does that make you? The other man?” He was speechless for a moment, his face twisting in a snarl. “Don’t think that just because she had a baby with you, she’s settled down. Irene and I can have children too. Your son means nothing.” I continued to calmly scoop formula into the bottle. His inability to get a rise out of me was clearly frustrating him. As I reached for the kettle to pour hot water, he snatched it from me and deliberately poured the boiling water over his own hand.

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My wife and I were married for five years. A secret. It started as a love-at-first-sight fairytale at university and devolved into this—a cold, silent existence where we were little more than strangers sharing a roof. All that was left between us was her charity and my silence. Then, her best friend called. “Claire’s planning a wedding of the century,” she’d chirped. “She says she owes it to you after these five years, for all the sacrifices.” A flicker of hope I thought long dead sparked within me. I was so ecstatic I had a bespoke suit tailored for the occasion. A week later, I stood in the corner of the grand ballroom, watching my wife, Claire, radiant under the crystal chandeliers. Beside her, dapper and beaming, stood Ethan. “I do.” Their vows echoed through the hall. When her eyes finally found me in the crowd, her face fell, a mask of pure shock. “Simon?” she blurted out. “What are you doing here?!” 1 As the officiant declared them husband and wife, the room held its breath. I broke the silence, rising to my feet and starting a round of applause. “Kiss her! Kiss her!” the guests roared, following my lead. The moment Claire saw me, raw panic washed over her features. “What are you doing here?!” she mouthed again, her voice lost in the din. I ignored her, turning on my heel and walking out of the ballroom, leaving a sea of confused faces in my wake. As I expected, she didn’t follow. The whispers and murmurs of the guests faded behind me until there was only the cold night air. The next time I saw Claire was late the following night. In the interim, there had been no calls, no texts, no explanations. Just the same suffocating silence that now filled our living room. She watched me work on my laptop for a long moment before finally speaking. “I promised Ethan,” she said, her voice flat. “I promised he could have his dream wedding.” She paused, as if waiting for a reaction. When none came, she added, “It was just for show, Simon. It’s not like we got legally married.” Her rare attempt at an explanation did nothing for me. The moment I’d watched them exchange vows, heard them say “I do,” something inside me had simply snapped. The whole charade of the last seven years suddenly felt profoundly, exhaustingly pointless. My silence seemed to ignite her temper. “Simon, what the hell is your problem?” she snapped, her voice sharp with impatience. “I didn’t sign a marriage certificate with him! Who are you putting on this long face for?!” I closed my laptop, ready to retreat to the bedroom. She blocked my path. “Is this the attitude you’re going to have? Fine,” she spat. “If you’re going to act like a child, you can stay out of my bedroom.” I just nodded. “Okay.” I turned, slipped the laptop back into its bag, and settled onto the oversized beanbag chair in the corner, closing my eyes. A deafening slam echoed through the apartment as she stormed out of the room. With my eyes closed, the years spooled backward in my mind. I’d fallen for Claire the moment I saw her at a university gala. My pursuit was anything but subtle—a relentless campaign of morning coffees, lavish dinners, and expensive gifts. I was her shadow, her benefactor, her most devoted admirer. But she remained unmoved, gracefully accepting all my offerings while consistently rejecting my heart. She made it painfully clear: she was in love with Ethan. He was the brilliant, handsome scholar, the untouchable ideal she worshipped. In my world, however, the truth about Ethan was an open secret. My friends all knew him for what he was: a handsome leech, preying on wealthy young women, desperate to marry into money. A gigolo in a cashmere sweater. I tried to tell her, to warn her. She accused me of being cruel and manipulative, of stooping to slander to ruin the image of her perfect man. Then came graduation. Ethan left for a graduate program overseas, and just as he disappeared, Claire’s father was diagnosed with a severe heart condition. He needed a donor, and he needed a fortune for the surgery. After being turned down by every friend and relative, she called me, desperate. That night, I was out with my friends at a club, my phone on silent. I have no idea how she found me, but she tracked me down, her face pale with desperation. I gave her a debit card with a million dollars on it—more than enough for the surgery. Then I called in a favor with a connection, securing a heart donor for her father. After I’d arranged everything, she took the card and left without a word. Only then did I check my phone and see the string of frantic messages from her. The last one read: “Simon, if you help me, I’ll do anything you ask.” A week later, she appeared before me again. Before I could even ask about her father, she cut me off. “Simon,” she said, her voice void of emotion. “Let’s get married.” 2 I later learned the full story. The moment Ethan had gone abroad, he’d ghosted her completely. Meanwhile, I had produced a million dollars and a life-saving organ transplant without batting an eye. In her family’s eyes, I wasn’t just a suitor anymore; I was a golden goose they couldn’t afford to let fly away. So, caught between the sting of abandonment and the weight of familial pressure, Claire had gritted her teeth and married me. And for the next seven years, she made sure I paid for it, channeling all her resentment and unhappiness directly onto me. Two years of courtship, five years of marriage. Seven years a resentful couple, and I still hadn’t carved out a single inch of space in her heart. Now, that heart of mine was finally dead. The next morning, my lawyer sent over the divorce agreement. I printed it, signed my name, and went to find Claire. She was in the living room, immaculately dressed, watering her plants. The moment she saw me, her face turned to ice. “Go to the grocery store,” she ordered, not even looking up. “We’re having dinner at my parents’ tonight. They just got back from their trip.” She paused. “And make sure you get some prime rib and a good bottle of Bordeaux. Ethan loves it.” That casual, commanding tone—born from years of my unconditional obedience—now sounded utterly absurd. A bitter laugh almost escaped me. This was the woman I’d fallen for at first sight? This was the woman I’d propped up with my time, my effort, my money? What a fool I’d been. “Sign it,” I said, my voice flat as I placed the divorce agreement on the table in front of her. “What’s this? I’m not talking about work on a Satur—Simon, what the hell is this?!” Her dismissive tone vanished as she focused on the words “DIVORCE AGREEMENT” at the top of the page. A flash of anger crossed her face. “Are you still sulking? And now you’re trying to threaten me with a divorce?” she scoffed. “Simon, I already explained everything. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.” I didn’t engage. I just repeated two words: “Sign it.” My cold resolve sent her into a rage. In one swift motion, she snatched the papers and tore them to shreds. “So now we’re playing hard to get, are we?” she sneered. “Why can’t you be more like Ethan? Why do you have to make everything so difficult?!” She paused, a cruel, calculating glint in her eyes. “Oh, I get it,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “This is about having a baby, isn’t it? Fine. I agree. We can have a child. Are you satisfied now?” I remained silent. It was true, I had wanted a child with her. Her family had been pushing for it for years. But she had always resisted, vehemently. She’d once even told me that even as her husband, if she didn’t consent, it would be rape. A chilling, clinical declaration that had echoed in my mind for months. But she was already pregnant. The double-lined test stick in the master bathroom’s trash can, the crumpled-up prenatal report tucked away in her drawer—they had seared themselves into my memory. Six weeks, it said. I had been on a business trip for the last three months. The child, quite clearly, wasn’t mine. “You’re right,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “A child would be… complicated.” I turned and walked back to the study, collapsing onto the beanbag chair. I braced myself for a storm of grief, for a tidal wave of anger that would lead to a screaming match. But nothing came. I felt a profound, unnerving calm, like the surface of a frozen lake. I was indifferent. And in that indifference, I felt terrifyingly strong. 3 I don’t know how long I sat there before the study door creaked open, jolting me back to the present. Claire stood in the doorway, her face a thundercloud. “Get dressed,” she commanded. “We’re going to my parents’.” I turned my head away, staring at the wall. A cold, humorless laugh escaped her. “You want a divorce, don’t you? Fine. I’ll sign the papers after we have dinner with my parents.” Without waiting for a reply, she was gone. I hesitated for a moment, then rose and changed my clothes. In the car, I sat in the passenger seat as we crawled through traffic. With every stop and start, the little anime figurine hanging from the rearview mirror swayed, its cheerful jingle grating on my last nerve. It used to be a small, hand-carved good luck charm I’d gotten for her. Now, it was a cheap trinket Ethan had gotten from a mystery box and discarded. Claire treasured it like a diamond. Half an hour later, we arrived at her parents’ house. The scene inside was sickeningly cheerful. Ethan was holding court with my in-laws and a host of relatives, his laughter echoing through the living room. I slipped on a pair of shoe covers, found an empty seat, and said nothing, a silent observer to their happy little family portrait. Soon, Claire tied on an apron and disappeared into the kitchen. In all our years together, whether at our home or here, I was always the one who cooked while she scrolled on her phone. But now, thanks to Ethan, I was finally getting to see Claire play the role of a doting partner. As she and Ethan bustled around the kitchen, their movements easy and familiar, I felt like a complete outsider, a stranger who had mistakenly wandered into a private party. The dinner table was a monument to Ethan. Every dish was one of his favorites. There wasn’t a single thing I liked. Ethan glanced at me, then smiled at Claire. “See, darling? I told you Simon wasn’t the petty type. Who would skip a meal just because they’re sulking? He’s not a child.” I silently worked on a bowl of salad, the only neutral dish on the table, and let their conversation wash over me. Ethan and Claire’s father were deep in discussion, with Ethan occasionally shooting me a look brimming with smug triumph. I didn’t care. I just wanted to get this over with. About twenty minutes in, Claire’s phone buzzed. Her face lit up. “Ethan! The photos we took in Aspen are ready!” “That’s wonderful!” he exclaimed, his eyes flicking to me for a split second. The message was clear: Everything you ever wanted from her, I get without even trying. The casual remark landed like a punch to the gut, and a memory I had buried deep within me rushed to the surface. A month ago, I was in the middle of a business trip. After a long dinner with a client, I was heading back to my hotel when a truck swerved to avoid a jaywalker and slammed into my car. Shaken, I called Claire. She’d been curt, telling me she was on her own business trip and couldn’t be bothered. But I remembered her distinctly telling me she had taken the week off. The accident wasn’t serious, and I was out of the hospital in a week. But on the day of my discharge, her “best friend” Sophie sent me a message. It was a video of Claire and Ethan in Aspen. They were taking wedding photos. My heart clenched. I put down my fork and looked at Claire. She was completely absorbed in the joy of her photos, oblivious to my stare. “Simon,” she said dismissively, “if you’re done, go sit on the couch. You can do the dishes after the rest of us are finished.” That’s when her aunt, sitting beside Claire’s father, decided to chime in. “Simon, you’re being awfully rude today,” she said, her voice dripping with disapproval. “You walk in without a word, don’t lift a finger to help, and make our guest, Ethan, do all the work. And now you’re leaving the table early?” “Exactly,” another relative piped up, their tone a chorus of disdain.

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The Dragon Lords’ arrogance angered the Celestials, cursing them with barrenness. Only a Golden Dragon hatched from the abyssal Heartstone Egg could break the curse—but it required a maiden’s heartblood for a century. I, Emma, Siren Princess, was betrothed to the Dragon Prince after my birth omens. In my past life, I nourished the Egg with my lifeblood for a hundred years. When the Golden Dragon finally hatched, my husband brought home a Lamia enchantress. He forced me to weave sea-silk for her, then slaughtered my people to fuel his palace lights. Dying, my blood-tears hardened into crimson pearls— Then I awoke on my wedding day. There stood Caelus, clasping the Lamia’s hand. “She alone holds my heart,” he declared, as the Heartstone Egg pulsed faintly for her. They thought they’d chosen wisely. They never questioned why the heavens had marked my birth… 1 “Caelus, my son, today is your wedding day. From this moment, Emma is your princess.” The old Dragon King’s booming laughter echoed through the grand hall, but I could only stare, numb, at the ceremonial gown I wore. This was… this was the day I married Caelus. I was back. “I’ll not marry this woman!” Caelus snarled, shoving my hand away. Caught off guard, I stumbled and fell, a sharp, searing pain shooting up from my knee. The assembled guests gasped. The union of the Dragon Prince and the Siren Princess was a destiny forged at birth; what was the meaning of this public humiliation? The Dragon King’s brow furrowed. “Insolence! On this auspicious day, what is the meaning of this tantrum?” I lowered my gaze, hiding the icy chill in my eyes. A dragon’s legacy was paramount. The Heartstone Eggs were exceedingly rare, and a dragon could only ever sire a single heir. The current king doted on Caelus, treating him as a priceless treasure. And my birth, which had sent ripples of pure essence through the oceans and filled the air with celestial music, had sealed my fate in the King’s eyes. He had waited impatiently for me to come of age to bind our destinies. In the life I remembered, I had endured the pain, carving out my own heart’s blood again and again to feed that stone until a small Golden Dragon emerged. I had hatched him, and I had raised him. Though he did not come from my womb, I had considered him my own son. I thought that life, that duty, would be my forever. Until the day Caelus brought home the Lamia, and everything changed. “Father, I will not marry her!” Caelus’s voice, sharp and defiant, ripped me from my reverie. The King’s face hardened. “My son, on any other matter, I would indulge you. But not this! Emma is the most powerful maiden in all the oceans. With her essence to aid you, you are certain to sire the strongest of heirs!” Caelus lifted his chin, his pride a palpable force. “What does it have to do with her? Father, why do you insist on giving credit to an outsider? My child will be quickened by my essence, bound to my blood. My lineage is noble; of course I will produce the strongest Golden Dragon!” Not wishing to openly clash with his son, the King reined in his anger. “But without a consort to nurture the egg, it will become a dead stone! Caelus, this is no time for games. Marry her. Let her help you hatch the egg. If you wish to take other women after, we can discuss it then.” “I understand, Father. But I have already chosen my princess,” Caelus declared. “And she is a thousand times better than this Siren!” A murmur rippled through the crowd. “Is the prince joking? The Siren princess’s birth was a divine portent. How could any other be her equal?” “Perhaps he is merely spiting her? A lover’s quarrel?” “But what if it’s true? If not for the King’s favor, would the Sirens hold their current station? I’ve never trusted them…” Caelus’s posture straightened, fueled by the whispers. “I will bring her here now, and we will be wed!” He transformed, a streak of incandescent silver, and shot away. I heard him whisper as he left, a vow carried on the currents: “Sylvie, wait for me. This time, no one will stand between us!” I was left abandoned at the altar. The hall erupted. “What now? Is the ceremony off?” “The Siren princess has been forsaken!” “But they always seemed so close… could there be more to this story?” The whispers grew louder, and the King’s face grew darker. Unable to unleash his fury on his beloved son, he turned it on me. “Emma! My son has always been a dutiful boy. What did you do to wrong him?” Seeing his accusatory glare, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. “I was about to ask you the same. Is this the honor of the Dragon Lords? My people may not be as mighty as yours, but we are not to be trifled with!” 2 “Father, this is the woman I truly love! I will marry her!” Just as the tension reached its peak, Caelus returned, his voice urgent. He was holding the hand of a woman of ethereal, fragile beauty. It was her. Sylvie, the Lamia he had cherished in our past life. Then, he had been the newly crowned king, returning from a tour of his domain with her in tow. He’d claimed she was a poor, adrift soul, deserving of pity. I’d felt a prickle of unease but had thought nothing more of it. Soon, Caelus doted on her, and my own son, Roric, clung to her side, leaving me to drown in the endless affairs of the court. I tried to speak to Caelus, but he cut me off with impatience. “I never knew you were so prone to jealousy! Sylvie has a pure heart, unlike you and your cunning manipulations. Besides,” he’d sneered, “isn’t this what you Sirens wanted all along? A way to claw your way into the dragon’s court?” So that’s what he saw. My love was nothing but ambition. Later, I accidentally uncovered the Lamia’s dark secret. Horrified, I ran to tell Caelus, only to find him overseeing the mass slaughter of my people. It was because Sylvie had complained that the deep sea was too dark, that the glow-orbs weren’t bright enough. She’d heard tales of the warm, bright lanterns of the surface world and yearned for them. To win her smile, Caelus had my people butchered, their bodies rendered into a luminous oil—Siren’s Light—to make the Dragon Palace blaze day and night. He imprisoned me, forcing me to watch. I wept, and my tears of blood fell to the floor, hardening into crimson pearls with a soft clatter. And Roric, the Golden Dragon I had nurtured with my own lifeblood, eagerly gathered them up. He presented them to Sylvie like a prize. “Lady Sylvie,” he’d chirped, “your wedding gown was missing some beautiful blood-pearls, wasn’t it?” Caelus embraced her from behind, his voice a possessive murmur. “My love, in a moment, we’ll have this Siren princess flayed. We’ll see if she burns any differently from the others.” My tears ran dry. In my final moments, the sound that tore from my throat was not the beautiful, haunting song of my people. It was a shriek of pure, hopeless despair. The death cry of a Siren. And the very oceans trembled with it. I blinked, the memory receding. The crowd around me was in an uproar. “This Lamia… she cannot possibly compare to the Siren princess!” “The Prince’s whims have a limit! The fate of the entire Dragon lineage is at stake!” The King, his pride wounded, spoke with a voice of thunder. “Caelus! If you fancy this serpent, you may keep her as a pet later. Do not disrupt the vital proceedings!” “Father, I am doing this for our lineage! I have seen it! The egg holds a Golden Dragon! And this Siren will only taint his perfection!” Caelus’s words silenced the entire hall. The King had spoken of a prophecy, that a Golden Dragon could break their curse. But one had never been successfully hatched. A legend claimed one had been born a millennium ago, only to perish mysteriously. Since then, the Dragons had been cursed by the Celestials, their power fading with each generation. Caelus, a Silver Dragon, was the best their bloodline had produced in centuries. 3 “Caelus, how do you know this?” the King asked. His disbelief was clear, but his tone had softened. Caelus swelled with pride, describing the Golden Dragon of our past life in vivid detail. Golden scales, five-clawed talons, a being of immense, innate power. His account was so precise that the King was almost convinced, believing his son had been blessed with the gift of foresight. “And this egg has nothing to do with Emma!” Caelus declared. “Even with a different consort, his noble blood remains unchanged!” As if remembering something, he produced the Heartstone Egg from a fold in his robes. “Words are wind. I have proof!” All eyes turned, eager to see the vessel of their salvation. But it was just as I remembered—a plain, unremarkable stone. Caelus tapped the egg lightly. It trembled, wobbling as if searching for something. “What is this? The egg can choose its mother?” the King murmured in astonishment. Caelus smiled triumphantly and placed the egg in Sylvie’s hands. Instantly, the dull stone began to emit a soft, golden light. “It must be a Golden Dragon! Why else would it glow?” “A miracle! The Dragon Lords will rise again!” Some of the older dragons were already weeping with joy. The hall was electric with hope. Only I stood motionless, a silent, cold observer in the midst of their celebration. The King’s face was split by a massive grin. “My son, you are truly magnificent!” “Father, now do you see? Now will you let me marry Sylvie?” Caelus pressed, his joy barely contained.

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My $30,000 year-end bonus became $30. I asked my boss if there had been a mistake. He sighed. “It’s been a tough year, sweetheart. I promise I’ll make it up to you next year.” I looked at the sales report, at the $600,000 figure next to my name. And I thought to myself, Yeah, right. I’m not falling for that. That night, I quit. And I went to work for the boutique right across the street. 1 That afternoon, my boss, Mr. Franklin, walked into the shop carrying two bubble teas. “Year-end is upon us,” he said cheerfully, handing one to me and one to my coworker, Hailey. “Bonuses have been deposited. Have a wonderful holiday, everyone. Let’s keep up the great work next year and push those sales even higher.” Hailey and I exchanged a delighted smile. At the beginning of the year, Mr. Franklin had made us a promise: a five percent commission on all our sales, paid out as a year-end bonus. I’d just checked my numbers. I had personally sold over $600,000 worth of designer clothing. That meant a bonus of at least $30,000 was headed my way. Hailey’s sales were less than half of mine, but she was still looking at a respectable eight or nine thousand dollars. I was floating on air all afternoon. The second my shift ended, I rushed over to the sales office of a new condo building I’d been eyeing for months. I was finally going to buy that perfect little studio apartment. I was so tired of renting. Every time I’d finally get a place decorated just right, turning it into a cozy little sanctuary, the landlord would jack up the rent the following year. But this was it. The down payment on the studio was only $18,000. For just eighteen grand, I could have a place to call my own. A warm little corner of the city that was all mine. After the down payment, I’d still have over ten thousand dollars left from my bonus. Enough for a nice vacation during the holidays. The thought kept a smile plastered on my face, a smile I couldn’t suppress no matter how hard I tried. 2 I hummed a happy tune as I rode my scooter to the sales office. My real estate agent, Leon, was already waiting for me. With a confident flourish, I pulled out my debit card. “Here you go. I’ll take the one we looked at last time.” Leon took the card, his professional smile fixed in place. He swiped it. And then swiped it again. The smile began to look a little strained. “Hm, there seems to be… an issue with this card, Ms. Chen.” My own smile faltered. “That’s impossible. Thirty thousand dollars were just deposited today. Try it again.” He tried several more times. Each time, the machine read: “Insufficient Funds.” I snatched the card back, a knot of dread forming in my stomach. I raced to the nearest bank. The ATM screen confirmed my fears. My balance was $33.82. The thirty dollars and change were what was left from before. Which meant my boss had deposited exactly thirty dollars. As I stood there, utterly dumbfounded, my phone rang. It was Hailey. “Chloe? What was your bonus? I think mine’s wrong. I only got fifteen dollars.” We quickly came to the same conclusion: it had to be a mistake. “Chloe, what do we do?” Hailey’s voice was tight with panic. “I was counting on that money.” “Don’t worry,” I assured her, though my own heart was hammering. “I’ll go talk to him. I’ll get him to fix this.” 3 Mr. Franklin lived just a block away from my apartment. I jumped on my scooter and zipped over to his building, taking the stairs two at a time to the fourth floor. When he opened the door and saw me, he didn’t look surprised at all. He just raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Franklin, there seems to be a problem with our bonuses. I think there was a mistake—” He cut me off, clapping a hand on my shoulder with a sigh. “Chloe, Chloe. You’re a veteran here. Business has been terrible this year. The market is in the gutter.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “My other stores are all losing money. I just don’t have the cash for bonuses right now. How about this? Next year, when things pick up, I promise I’ll make it up to both of you. How does that sound?” I knew about his other ventures; it was true they had all failed. But our boutique was a different story. Our boutique was thriving. My sales alone had netted him a profit of at least $200,000. And he was the one who had offered the five percent commission. It was that promise that had driven us to work our fingers to the bone. That commission wasn’t a gift; it was earned. The losses from his other failed businesses shouldn’t be on our shoulders. “Mr. Franklin, with all due respect, that’s not how this works,” I said, my voice shaking slightly. “The other stores have nothing to do with us. You promised us five percent.” His friendly demeanor vanished. “Chloe, look,” he said, pulling me into the dim light of the stairwell. He quickly transferred three hundred dollars to my account from his phone. “Here. You’re my best employee. Don’t tell anyone, especially not my wife. This is from my personal stash.” Before I could respond, he slipped back inside his apartment and shut the door. I stared at the three-hundred-dollar transfer notification on my phone. A wave of humiliation washed over me. I felt like a beggar being tossed a few coins. A lump formed in my throat, thick and bitter. That thirty thousand dollars was mine. I had earned every single cent of it. 4 Hailey called me a few minutes later. “Chloe? What did he say? When are we getting our bonuses?” “Hailey,” I said, my voice flat. “I don’t think we are.” “What?! Why not? I need that money for my mom’s surgery!” Hailey hung up and was at my door within fifteen minutes. The moment she stepped inside, her eyes were red-rimmed. “What happened, Chloe? How can he just go back on his word? He promised us five percent! I told my mom I’d pay for her surgery as soon as I got my bonus. What am I going to do now?” She collapsed into my arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Hailey was a sweet girl from a small town, with a family that had never had much. Her dad was killed in a hit-and-run when she was little. The driver was never caught. Her mom had raised her all alone, working multiple jobs just to get by. Just as Hailey was finally old enough to start her own career, her mom was diagnosed with stomach cancer. The doctors said surgery would give her a real chance, a chance at more years. “Without that bonus, how can I afford my mom’s surgery?” Hailey’s words were choked with tears. “He promised. How can he just lie to us?” My own heart ached for her. Hailey was the hardest worker I knew, always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Knowing I had a sensitive stomach, she would often bring me homemade lunches. “People are made of iron, but rice is made of steel,” she’d say with a grin, quoting her mom. “Eating well is the most important thing in life.” She was three years younger than me, and I thought of her as a little sister. I’d even passed a few of my own clients to her, just so she could boost her sales and get a bigger bonus. And now, our boss had just… decided not to pay us. His promise was worth nothing. It took a long time to calm Hailey down. After I sent her home, my phone rang. It was Leon, the real estate agent. 5 “Ms. Chen, are you still interested in the condo?” I paused. “I… I can’t afford it right now.” He launched into his sales pitch, reminding me of the great location, the perfect price. I rubbed my temples, where a dull throb had started. “I don’t have the money anymore.” That finally shut him up. “Ms. Chen,” he said, his voice now cooler, “are you sure you want to back out? The deposit is non-refundable, you know.” I’d been apartment hunting for six months. When I found this place—perfect location, great price, my favorite floor—Leon had convinced me to put down a deposit to hold it. I had calculated everything. My bonus would easily cover the down payment. So I’d paid the three-thousand-dollar deposit on the spot. I never imagined my boss would just… renege. It was my fault for breaking the contract. There was nothing I could do. The three thousand dollars were gone. “Look, Ms. Chen,” Leon said, making one last attempt, “I’ll hold the unit for you for another week. See if you can pull the funds together.” After I hung up, my head was pounding. I curled up on my sofa, my mind racing. I couldn’t just let my thirty thousand dollars disappear. I grabbed my bag, hopped back on my scooter, and headed straight back to my boss’s apartment.

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Julian Shaw paid over ten thousand dollars a gram for rare coffee beans, just so he could personally make me a pour-over every morning. He once told a global news outlet, “My wife is grumpy when she wakes up. Only the aroma of fresh coffee and my kisses can coax her out of bed.” The entire world thought he was madly in love with me. But as I watched that interview, my eyes fixed on the small bouquet of daisies tucked into his suit pocket, I sent him a text. [Let’s get a divorce.] … The news that Julian Shaw, CEO of the Shaw Corporation, had purchased a lot of world-renowned Panamanian coffee beans at a record-breaking price was headline news. Our names shot to the top of every social media trend. [My husband can’t even be bothered to get me a glass of water when I have cramps, and Julian Shaw is making his wife coffee by hand every morning. The jealousy is real.] [When are Julian and Lucy having kids? I need to know so I can plan my reincarnation accordingly.] [What did Lucy Hayes do to deserve a life this good?!] Julian had never been shy about his grand, public displays of affection. For a time, I was genuinely moved by his passionate declarations. But I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. He called me the second he got my text. “Honey, don’t be like this,” his voice was a low, urgent murmur. “You can be angry, you can yell at me, hit me, anything. But you can’t say the ‘D’ word. It would kill me.” “Julian, I’m serious.” “Tell me what you’re mad about. I’ll fix it,” he said, his tone gentle, patient, as if he had all the time in the world for my whims. “I don’t like daisies.” A few seconds of silence on his end. “That’s it?” “Yes. That’s it.” It took him a moment to remember why I hated them. “I’m so sorry, baby. It was an oversight. I didn’t notice when Hannah put the arrangement together. Please don’t be angry. When I get home tonight, you can have me any way you want as compensation.” When had “Ms. Vance, my assistant” become just “Hannah”? I doubt even he noticed the shift. Years ago, a single daisy had sprouted in our garden. Julian had hired a team to dig up the entire lawn, terrified a single seed might have been missed. They scorched the earth for a week before replanting it with roses. How could a man so meticulous, so attuned to my every aversion, “overlook” a bouquet of daisies pinned to his chest? The garden outside my window looked lifeless in the winter chill, a perfect mirror of my marriage, slowly dying. A few moments later, my phone rang again. It was Hannah Vance. “Mrs. Shaw, I am so, so sorry. It was my mistake, and I’m terribly sorry for upsetting you. Please don’t be angry with Mr. Shaw. I’ll be much more careful next time.” Her voice was soft and fragile, as if a strong breeze could blow her away. I knew Julian was right there beside her. “Next time?” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “What other disasters are you planning to orchestrate?” “Okay, Lucy, that’s enough,” Julian’s voice cut in, firm but gentle. He couldn’t bear to see her upset for even a second. “The poor girl has apologized. Be a little more gracious.” A soft sob came through the phone. “It’s okay,” Hannah wept. “I’m fine. She can yell at me all she wants, as long as she’s not angry with you, Julian.” “Shh, don’t cry. It’s nothing, it’s a small thing,” Julian soothed, his voice a tender caress. But to me, it was like the screech of nails on a chalkboard, carving a raw, bleeding wound across my heart. “Just leave me alone,” I snapped, tossing the phone aside. I couldn’t listen to another second of it. Ding. Two messages arrived simultaneously. One was from Julian. [You’ve yelled, you’ve let off some steam. Feeling better now? My darling wife’s temper is getting bigger and bigger. You’re making my life so hard. 😉 ] I let out a bitter laugh. So, raising my voice to the woman he was comforting now counted as “yelling.” The other was from Hannah. [Oops, I forgot. Your mother jumped to her death into a field of daisies, didn’t she? Was it a beautiful field? As beautiful as this?] Attached was a photo. A vast, endless field of daisies stretching to the horizon. The world spun. I reached for a chair to steady myself but missed, collapsing to the floor. My forehead hit the sharp edge of the seat. My mother had jumped right in front of me. My father’s endless affairs had worn her down, day by day, until she was nothing but a ghost. Her final act was the only thing that made him stop. “Love makes you weak, it makes you pathetic,” she’d told me. “Don’t become me.” Her last words still echoed in my mind during my darkest nights. Julian and I were high school classmates. Girls flocked to him, but he only had eyes for me. I rejected him ten times, but he never gave up. He seemed to thrive on the challenge. Later, my father’s company was on the brink of collapse. He wanted me to marry into the Jiang family to secure a financial rescue. Julian had confronted me then, his eyes red and raw. “Why? Why is some stranger you’ve never met acceptable, but I’m not?” The next day, he went to my father with an investment agreement. “Lucy is a free woman,” he’d said. “You can’t force her to marry anyone.” His left cheek was swollen that day. I knew his own father must have beaten him for that deal. I brought him an ice pack and asked if he wanted to marry me. He stared at me for a long moment, and then he started to cry. After we were married, he truly did put me on a pedestal. He remembered all my favorite things, my pet peeves, and showered me with extravagant surprises on every occasion. When I had nightmares, he would hold me tight, stroking my back until I fell back asleep. For a while, I thought my mother was wrong. Love didn’t make you weak; it could make a withered rose bloom again. Until a few months ago, when he hired Hannah Vance as his assistant, against my explicit wishes. That’s when I understood. Julian was no different from my father. He never understood why I had such animosity towards a fresh-faced college graduate. But I knew the moment I saw her photo that he would hire her. Because she looked exactly like me in high school. The me that Julian could never have. After sending the photo, Hannah posted on her social media. [I’m such an idiot. I messed up big time. Boss just canceled my year-end bonus. I just want to go hide and cry.] Julian commented instantly. [Mistakes happen. I’m giving you the afternoon off. Go have a good cry.] I couldn’t tell if he was trying to protect me or flaunting their relationship in my face. After lunch, I drove out to our hot springs villa in the suburbs. It was a wedding gift from the Han family. We’d moved out because the commute was inconvenient, but a lot of our important documents were still stored there. As I approached the door, I heard the sound of splashing water. There was a small hot spring pool in the courtyard, but we hadn’t been here all year. There shouldn’t have been anyone in it. “Feeling better? Still want to cry?” Julian’s voice, so painfully familiar, drifted through the wall. A chill ran down my spine. He’d brought her here. To our wedding home. “You have to make it up to me for my bonus!” Hannah’s voice was no longer soft and fragile. It was playful, coquettish. “You were naughty. You have to be punished so you learn your lesson. I told you not to bring this up in front of Lucy. That’s my one rule.” “Then send a company-wide email about it! I feel so wronged.” “I know you do. Did you like that apartment we looked at? You should move in. It’ll be more convenient for you to get to work.” “Is that all I get? A new apartment?” “What do you want, then?” Hannah’s voice dropped to a breathy whisper. I couldn’t make out the words. I only heard the sound of water, splashing violently from the pool. “Hmph. Let’s see if I can make you cry out for real,” Julian’s voice was a low, husky growl, every syllable crystal clear. I knew Hannah was confident in their relationship to have sent me that photo. But hearing it, experiencing it firsthand… the pain was overwhelming. I pressed a hand to my mouth to keep from being sick, my body trembling as I dragged myself back to the car. My mother was right. Love made you weak. But I would not become her. I took several deep breaths and called Julian. “Hey, baby. What’s up?” His voice was slightly breathless. “Where are you?” “In a meeting with a client.” “I can’t find one of the old contracts. I was thinking it might be at the villa…” I said, testing him. “No way. All the important stuff was moved to the house. I’m sure of it. Just look again.” “Really? I still think I should go check.” “Don’t go—” His voice shot up an octave. “I mean, it’s not safe for you to drive all that way alone. I’ll go with you this weekend, okay?” “Never mind. It’s not urgent. You’re busy,” I said, my voice flat, and hung up. A new message from Hannah popped up instantly. [So you check up on him too? Here, let me give you a full report.] Attached was a photo. A box of condoms on a nightstand, with only a few remaining. Bile rose in my throat. The man who had sworn to cherish me for a lifetime was utterly filthy. I didn’t go home. I drove to an event production company. They were handling the Shaw Corporation’s 20th-anniversary gala next month. To liven things up, Julian was scheduled to perform a magic trick—an underwater escape act—with one of their professional performers. “Can I be the one in the tank?” I asked the manager. “I want to surprise my husband.” “Mrs. Shaw, without proper training, it’s very risky,” the manager said, hesitant to agree, fearing an accident. “Thirty thousand dollars,” I said. “For my training. I’ll come every day.” “Well, in that case… You and Mr. Shaw are a true power couple. So romantic.” “Please keep this a secret,” I said, forcing a smile. If he loved playing the doting husband so much, then I would be the one to rip up the script. I would disappear from the world, right before his very eyes. Julian came home late that night. I was still reviewing the materials from the production company. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I got held up at the client’s. I’m so late.” He noticed the bruise on my forehead. “What happened to your head? Are you hurt?” He leaned in to inspect the wound. As he did, I saw a faint red mark, a hickey, just visible above the collar of his shirt. I snapped my laptop shut and pushed him away. “Still mad?” He produced a square jewelry box and opened it. Inside lay a magnificent emerald necklace, easily worth over half a million dollars. “Honey, I’ve had my eye on this for a while. It matches your aura perfectly. Do you like it?” I laughed, a bitter, self-deprecating sound. I never thought I’d be in this position. He buys his mistress an apartment and then immediately buys me a necklace to “compensate.” How ridiculous. As if he could balance the scales between his wife and his lover. “I don’t like it,” I said, pushing the box away. “Can’t you just be agreeable for once? You’re harder to please than any of my clients,” he snapped, his patience finally wearing thin. He slammed the bathroom door shut. He didn’t understand. I used to be easy to please because I never intended to argue with him. Now, I was difficult because I had no intention of ever forgiving him. In the weeks leading up to the gala, I was busier than ever. I saw less and less of Julian. But someone else was keeping me updated on his schedule. [He introduced me to his friends today. We all went out for drinks. They’re fun. Why do you think they don’t like you?] [Have you ever done it in a car on a mountain top? He’s insatiable.] [Guess where I am? Your old high school athletic field. My legs are jelly.] [This is so boring. You never reply. Are you just going to let me walk all over you? How does it feel to be abandoned? Feel like dying yet?] I ignored her. Julian’s taste in women was truly appalling. I dialed a recent number in my call history. “How is he?” I asked in a low voice. “Is the old man still alive? Did he agree to sign?” “Mr. Hayes has agreed to transfer all his company shares to you,” the voice on the other end replied. I hung up, a sliver of satisfaction finally cutting through the gloom. I pulled open a drawer and scanned its contents—contracts, deeds, plane tickets—my eyes finally landing on a set of divorce papers.

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We were a family of villains, the kind that exists only to do evil, racking up a body count to make the heroes shine all the brighter. In the end, our pre-written fate was to be left for dead on the streets, objects of public scorn. My father was the corrupt Lord Treasurer, having siphoned off half the kingdom’s treasury. The King had been eyeing his head for a long time. My mother, a ruthless woman from a lesser noble house, had clawed her way into her marriage over a few dead bodies. My brother, the High General, was the capital’s most infamous rake, a bloodthirsty tyrant who held the city’s garrison in his iron fist. And then there was me. Freshly reincarnated into this world, a useless girl with no skills to speak of, except for the voice screaming inside my head: [Dad! Mom! Damian! If we don’t get our act together, the heroes are going to crush us! I’m doomed!] 1 The moment I arrived in this world, I knew. I had been reborn into a family of archetypal villains, the dark mirror to the story’s heroic protagonist. The first twenty years of my life were a whirlwind of silk and gold; the next twenty were slated to end in a variety of uniquely gruesome ways for each of us. I had just come of age when the royal decree arrived: a dual marriage proposal. My father, Lord Valerius, was a man of immense power, his hands on the economic pulse of the entire kingdom. The other bride-to-be was Lady Trista, daughter of the Lord Justiciar. A respectable family, they called them—a kinder way of saying they were broke. Though Trista’s station was modest, she was hailed as the most brilliant literary mind in the capital city of Aethelgard. Her reputation far outshone mine, which is how we both ended up in this mess. The King, in a show of feigned respect for my father, offered me the first choice: the Crown Prince or the Lord Marshal. My father leaned close, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Choose whoever you like, my darling girl.” But I fell silent, my mind racing. [The Prince and the Lord Marshal are both obsessed with Trista. If I marry the Prince, he’ll despise me but fear my father. Publicly, he’ll be courteous. Privately, in the palace, I’ll be treated worse than a servant. He’ll take Trista as his favored mistress anyway, and when the time is right, he’ll probably have me disposed of—walled up in some forgotten tower to make way for his true love.] [If I choose the Lord Marshal, I’ll be a lonely wife in a cold castle. He’ll immediately request a post on the furthest border of the kingdom. A few years later, he’ll return with a woman who looks suspiciously like Trista and demand I raise her son as my own. And all the while, he’ll be acting as Trista’s devoted, lovesick puppy, lavishing her with gifts bought with my family’s money.] [Either choice is a death sentence. I’m utterly screwed.] My eyes widened and I shot my father a desperate look, trying to signal my panic. “Father… Dad…” A tremor ran through him, his eyes instantly bloodshot. He straightened up, his voice strained but firm. “Your Majesty, forgive my impertinence, but my daughter is… unruly. This union is simply not possible.” The King’s pleasant facade cracked. “The Crown Prince and the Lord Marshal are the finest young men in this kingdom,” he said, his tone turning to ice. “If neither is good enough for your daughter, Lord Valerius, who exactly did you have in mind for her?” Panic made my father reckless. “My daughter is… slow. I had already arranged a betrothal for her, you see.” A cold, humorless laugh escaped the King’s lips. “Don’t play games with me. You were given a choice and you refused it. Very well. I shall choose for you. She will marry my son, the Crown Prince. She will be his Princess.” Defeated, my father could only prostrate himself in thanks before being dismissed. When it was Trista’s turn, she and the Prince exchanged secretive, longing glances. She, too, chose the Prince, though she would only be his official mistress, a Lady of the Court. Her father, the Lord Justiciar, was ecstatic. “A blessing from the heavens! My daughter must serve the Prince well in his household.” Only the Lord Marshal, Gideon, cast one last, mournful look at Trista before striding away, his shoulders slumped in defeat. 2 The news that I, Cassia Valerius, and Lady Trista were to be married to the Prince on the same day spread through Aethelgard like wildfire, fanning the flames of gossip. Not that any of the noble ladies ever wanted to associate with me; they all flocked around Trista like moths to a flame. She had the reputation, the grace. She could recite some mournful poem and earn a roomful of applause. As for me? My parents always said, “Why bother with lutes and watercolors? Those are skills for entertainers. Our daughter has no need for them.” So, just like my brother, I was branded one of the capital’s “gilded fools.” On the way home, the whispers were impossible to ignore. “Look, there’s Cassia Valerius, dripping with gold again. Does she intend to wear the entire treasury on her person? So vulgar.” “What does she know of elegance? She’s just a spoiled brat with a rich father. Look at her, trailing a half-dozen servants. You’d think she was a queen.” “Even the Queen isn’t that ostentatious. A shame, really. With that character, she might become a princess, but she’ll never be a queen.” “The Prince prefers women of substance. He would never fall for an empty-headed doll like her.” Every time I stepped outside, it was the same story. I knew my reputation was in the gutter, but I refused to be shamed for my fashion. And what of their beloved Trista? The woman was about to marry the Crown Prince and she still wandered around in a plain white linen dress and a simple silver pin. It was pathetic, yet the capital’s elite praised it as the height of sophisticated minimalism. Leaving the palace, I had muttered loud enough for her to hear, “Dressed in white like that. Is she attending a wedding or a funeral?” Her retort, delivered in that sickeningly sweet tone of hers, came swiftly. “I love this white gown as I love a pure soul. It is a constant reminder to remain true to oneself, untainted by the gaudy trends of the world.” This was going to be unbearable. The thought of sharing a roof with that master of passive-aggression made me lose my appetite. 3 That night, my parents and my brother, Damian, were all too worried to eat as well. Damian, ever the cavalier, slammed a fist on the table. “Seriously, Dad? You couldn’t just say she was already spoken for? Do you have any idea the filth they’re spewing about her out there?” Mother’s face was a mask of frustration. “If it were anyone else, we could just have them… disappear.” Before her marriage, she was infamous for eliminating several rivals within her own family to secure her position. Talk of murder never fazed her. Damian nodded eagerly. “A knife in the dark solves a lot of problems. Better dead than miserable under the Prince’s roof. I’m with Mom on this one.” He turned to me, his eyes filled with a rare spark of pity. “Poor Cassia. So young, and already being set up as the unloved wife.” He’d picked up that particular turn of phrase from me. He was using it perfectly now. My father looked like he was about to explode. “Have you both lost your minds?” he roared. “We’re talking about the Crown Prince and the Lord Marshal! Who, exactly, do you plan on assassinating? And he’d better not treat her like that. He wouldn’t dare!” Tears welled in my eyes. I couldn’t say it out loud, so I screamed it in my head. [Of course he’d dare! I’m not just the unloved wife, I’m the villainess! The evil counterpoint to his perfect Trista. I’m her stepping stone, the ultimate sacrificial pawn! No matter what I do, I’m destined to die!]. The mood at the table grew even heavier. I stared at the feast of roasted meats and exotic fruits before me, and for the first time in my life, it all tasted like ash. Damian slammed the dining room doors shut, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Then let’s do it. Let’s start a rebellion. Father becomes King. Then let’s see who dares to bully Cassia.” My parents said nothing. Only I, the one who knew the script, sighed internally. [The wedding has to happen. Refusing is treason. The King is already looking for an excuse to destroy our family. This is just the beginning. Once I’m married, they’ll send Damian to the frontier, where he’ll be betrayed and take a dagger in the back. With me trapped and my brother dead, our family will be defenseless, lambs to the slaughter. We’re all going to die!]. My brother’s breath hitched. My mother’s eyes grew as cold and sharp as daggers. My father seemed to reach a decision, snapping a pair of ivory chopsticks in his hand. “Rebellion it is!” he declared, his voice a low growl. “Anyone who dares to harm my Cassia will not live to see another dawn.” We spent the rest of the night plotting. The plan was simple: I would marry into the Prince’s household and act as their eyes and ears on the inside. We would strike before they even knew what was happening. We would embrace our roles. Understand the villain. Become the villain. Surpass the villain. We would solve this problem the way villains do. “Cassia,” my father said, his eyes burning with intensity. “Once you are in that palace, do not play the part of the meek, forgiving wife. Be as wicked as you can be. We don’t have much time, so make every moment count.” “That’s right,” Damian chimed in. “If he gives you any trouble, just hit him. You might not be a warrior, but surely you can handle that pampered Prince, can’t you?” A room full of master villains, all looking at me as if I were a fragile little flower. A fire lit within me. “I’ll try,” I said, a grin spreading across my face. “I think I can manage.” Honestly, being a villain might be bad for one’s public image, but damn, it felt good. 4 On the day of the wedding, two grand carriages proceeded to the Prince’s residence. My dowry was an extravagant procession of one hundred and twenty-eight chests, overflowing with silks, jewels, and gold. My mother fussed at the sidelines, trying to cram even more into them. “Oh, the Prince’s palace is a den of vipers. My sweet girl has never known such hardship.” By contrast, Trista’s dowry was pitiful. A few pieces of jewelry, barely enough to fill thirty-two small chests. As our carriages rolled through the city, merchants and commoners alike chattered. “Now that’s a dowry fit for a princess. She must be impossibly rich.” “Compared to that, the other one’s dowry is just embarrassing. So shabby.” … We were helped from our carriages at the same time. Through the delicate silk of my fan, I saw Trista’s face twist with envy. Her expression softened only when we entered the palace and the Crown Prince, Alaric, immediately took her hand. “Don’t worry,” he murmured to her, loud enough for me to hear. “Now that you’re here, I won’t let anyone make you suffer.” They looked like a pair of blissful newlyweds. I was just the third wheel, an awkward, overdressed obstacle. Still, during the ceremony, protocol dictated that I take precedence. The Prince had to show me respect, at least in public. In private, of course, it was another story. That night, Prince Alaric didn’t even bother stopping by my chambers. He walked straight to the west wing, to the rooms prepared for his beloved Trista. My personal matron, Lyra, was wringing her hands. “Your Highness, this is an outrage! A breach of all decorum! If the Prince doesn’t spend his wedding night with you, what will the servants think tomorrow? That woman in the west wing will be walking all over you!” Matron Lyra had always been blunt and fiery back at our estate, which was precisely why Mother had sent her with me. She was here to make sure I wasn’t bullied. “She’s not some common wench I can drag out by the hair, Matron. Am I supposed to go catch them in the act? You worry too much, that’s why you’re getting wrinkles. Let’s all get some rest. We have a big day tomorrow. The Crown Prince spurning his bride on their wedding night? We have to make sure the entire city hears about it.” I pulled off my heavy veil and wiped away my makeup. Even from my chambers in the east wing, I could hear the celebrations in the west wing. The Prince had even set off fireworks for Trista. He had finally married the woman of his dreams. I was just the collateral damage in their great love story. The sky outside was lit up, and servants scurried back and forth to the west wing with pitchers of hot water. One didn’t need much imagination to guess what was happening. Meanwhile, I stretched out on the massive, empty bed and drifted off to sleep. What was the point of confronting him tonight? The Prince’s palace was crawling with his spies. Making a scene would just be another mark against the “evil villainess,” making him feel even more protective of the “wronged” Trista. It would gain me nothing but his anger. Since he wouldn’t give me face, I had no intention of giving him any either. This scandal needed to be public. The next morning, before the sun was up, I had my maids dress me and apply makeup that made my eyes look red-rimmed and swollen from a night of weeping. “Let’s go, let’s go,” I chirped. “Time to go tattle.” As the city awoke, I went straight to the Royal Palace. 5 I knelt outside the King’s audience hall, begging for an audience. At this point in the story, the King was still wary of my family’s power. Before I even saw him, I started to weep—a gut-wrenching, soul-shattering cry that echoed through the marble halls. I had also ordered my entire dowry to be brought with me, a glittering caravan of treasure that paraded through the city for all the nobles and commoners to see. It was a display of wealth that would make even the King jealous. When he heard I had arrived with my dowry in tow, he received me at once, not even waiting to properly arrange his robes. The moment he asked what was wrong, I looked up at him, the picture of misery. “I would rather give this entire dowry away to the poor of this city than suffer such humiliation in the Prince’s household.” Between my ragged sobs, I painted a picture of utter despair. The King’s head began to throb. “Summon the Prince at once!” he boomed. “To have the Princess come to me alone on her first day as a wife… This is disgraceful!” When Prince Alaric arrived, there were fresh red marks on his pale neck—a little trophy from Trista, no doubt meant to provoke me. In his haste, he hadn’t bothered to cover them. The King saw them and his face turned purple with rage. “You are the Crown Prince! Look at the state of you! You humiliate your wife on your very first day? What do you think the court will say? What will the people say?” The King laid into him, and Alaric could only stammer, “It’s not… I didn’t…” But I just kept crying. No matter what the King said, I cried, letting my sobs fill every pause. Finally, when I had exhausted myself, the King’s tirade ceased. “Princess,” he said, his voice softer. “Take your dowry and go home. Be a good wife to the Prince. You cannot speak of giving it all away. What would people think?” He eyed the chests of gold. “Besides… such wealth is better used to enrich the Prince’s own household.” He punished the Prince and shot a warning glance at Trista, who had followed him in, reminding her to remember her place. The matter was temporarily settled, and my dowry was ceremoniously escorted back to the Prince’s residence. The moment we were out of the King’s sight, Alaric violently ripped his hand from mine, his earlier meekness vanishing. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Cassia,” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “You did this deliberately to make Trista miserable. You embarrassed me in front of my father. Do you think that will make your life any easier?” He ranted for another minute before taking Trista’s hand and storming off, leaving me standing alone in the palace courtyard. My eyes were still red. Well, a villain’s got to do what a villain’s got to do, right? If I just swallowed every insult and never caused any trouble, what kind of villain would I be? Of all the things the Prince had threatened me with, one phrase stuck in my mind: embarrassed me. As I left, the King was heading to his morning council. I saw the kingdom’s nobles milling about, my father among them. I couldn’t shout, but I focused all my energy on a single, silent scream in my mind. [Father! The Prince wants a scandal! Give him one!] I hoped my father, having already received a report from the servant I’d sent last night, would be on the same wavelength. By midday, it was the talk of the town. First, it was that the Prince hadn’t even visited his new bride’s chambers. Then, the story evolved: on his wedding night, the Prince had been cavorting not just with his new mistress, but with a whole host of courtesans, nearly sleeping through his morning summons to the King. The Prince was publicly humiliated, and Trista’s reputation took a hit right along with his.

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