Noah and I had been dating for five years. Just one day before our wedding, I discovered his private cloud drive. It was filled with over ten thousand photos of the exact same girl. Alongside them were thousands of flight itineraries, all round trips to the same city in Europe. I did not say a single word. I simply packed my bags and left on the day we were supposed to get married. The bride vanished, just as he secretly hoped. Yet, when I was actually gone, he lost his mind. 1 I stared at the glowing monitor. My pupils trembled, and my heart slammed against my ribs so hard I could barely breathe. Tens of thousands of photos. Endless screenshots of flight tickets. “Are you really getting married? You are not waiting for Luna to come back from overseas? I thought you were going to wait for her forever.” Mason’s drunken words from a few weeks ago echoed in my ears. He had let it slip when he first heard about our engagement. That was the very first time I had ever heard the name of Noah’s first love. Tragically, it took me until this exact moment to understand what Mason truly meant. The cloud drive was updated every single month. The photos Noah and I had taken together over our entire five year relationship did not even add up to a fraction of what he uploaded for her in a single folder. Whenever we went on dates and I wanted to take a picture to capture the memory, he always found an excuse to brush me off. He would say we were together every day. He would say we had the rest of our lives to take pictures, so there was no need to force it. Sitting in front of his computer, the freezing truth finally washed over me. It was not that taking pictures was unnecessary. I was just unnecessary to him. I stared at the timestamps watermarked in the corners of the photos. Pulling out my phone, I cross referenced the dates with our old text messages. Without fail, every single time a photo was taken, Noah had told me he was out of town for a corporate training seminar or a grueling business trip. The camera he kept in his study always conveniently vanished during those trips too. The smooth, effortless lies in our chat history made my chest physically ache. I abruptly shut down his computer, stood up, and rushed into the bedroom to pack my bags. I needed to get out. But the moment I pulled open the closet doors, a suffocating wave of familiarity hit me. Every single dress, every sweater, every coat hanging in my closet had appeared on Luna in those photos. And every single one of these clothes was a “surprise gift” from Noah. I slammed the closet doors shut and sank to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees in absolute helplessness. Tears completely blurred my vision. My hands shook violently as I typed out a message to my boss, Arthur. I told him I wanted to apply for the open position at our overseas branch in London. He called me immediately. He was silent for a long moment before letting out a soft sigh. “It is good for young people to be cautious. Marriage is not something you should rush into. I will submit your paperwork right now. Take some time to rest while we wait for the final approval.” His voice held relief and a quiet sense of understanding. The only thing missing was surprise. It seemed that everyone around us already knew Noah and I were never going to make it to the altar. I hung up the phone and opened a travel app, preparing to book a one way ticket for tomorrow morning. Right then, the sound of the front door unlocking echoed through the apartment. I pushed myself off the floor and walked out into the living room. The absolute adoration that used to fill my eyes whenever I looked at him was entirely gone. Noah walked in and, just like always, pressed a soft, habitual kiss to my forehead. Only today, he was holding a small bakery box. “I got off work early today, so I picked this up just for you. Try a bite. I have a college reunion tonight, so I have to head out soon.” I glanced at the box. Through the clear plastic window, I saw a rich chocolate mousse cake. A sharp, mocking gleam flashed through my eyes. “No thanks. I lost my appetite. Besides… I am allergic to chocolate.” For a fraction of a second, he looked dazed. Then, it clicked. It was the same sentence I told him every single year. And every single year, he completely forgot. Seeing my blank expression, he assumed I wasn’t actually mad. He smiled and affectionately ruffled my hair. “My bad, babe. Work has been absolutely insane lately. I promise I will buy you a different one tomorrow after the wedding.” In the past, trapped in my blind ignorance, I believed every excuse that fell from his lips. But after seeing those photos, I finally understood his obsession with chocolate. It was Luna’s absolute favorite. And “work has been insane” was the ultimate, foolproof shield he used for everything. 2 The last upload to his cloud drive was exactly three days ago. I looked into his eyes. They were completely devoid of any real emotional depth. I nodded slowly, choosing not to rip off his mask just yet. I wanted to leave us with a final shred of dignity. Seeing that I wasn’t throwing a tantrum like I used to, his lips curled into a pleased smile. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a velvet jewelry box, snapping it open in front of me. A silver necklace with a crescent moon pendant encrusted with crushed diamonds caught the light, making my eyes sting. I accepted it with a completely blank face, turned around, and walked back into the bedroom. I opened my nightstand drawer and tossed the necklace inside. Then, I slipped the silver promise ring off my finger. It had a tiny moon engraved on the inner band. I tossed it into the drawer too. Inside that drawer lay a matching moon bracelet, moon studs, a moon hairpin… I used to wonder why he was so wildly obsessed with moon motifs. Now that I knew Luna’s name, the translation was obvious. Everything revolved around the moon. As I closed the drawer, Noah’s upbeat, expectant voice drifted in from the hallway. “You should wear the jewelry I bought you for the wedding tomorrow! The whole moon set will look gorgeous on you.” “Anyway, be a good girl and stay home tonight. I am heading out to the reunion. It is my last night as a bachelor, so I might be back a bit late. Do not wait up.” I didn’t answer. I stayed huddled in the bedroom like a ghost. I repeated a silent mantra in my head. We were never having a wedding. Not tomorrow. Not ever. As soon as the front door clicked shut, I walked into the kitchen and threw the chocolate cake directly into the trash can. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the glass display cabinet. Inside were all the cute little bakery tags and ribbons from every single cake he had brought home over the last five years. They sat there, silently mocking my pathetic, one woman play. I treasured the literal garbage he handed me, treating it like gold, while I was nothing but a disposable convenience to him. I opened the cabinet and swept every last piece of it into the garbage. Then, I finally started packing for London. Aside from my clothes and my own jewelry, the only things going into my suitcase were basic daily necessities. As I dug through the cabinets, I stumbled upon even more harsh truths. Over the last five years, every carefully selected gift I had ever given Noah was shoved into random, dusty corners of the apartment. Many of them were completely expired, the plastic wrapping still fully intact. No wonder he always dodged the question when I asked how he liked my gifts. He always claimed they were too precious to use. Looking back, he probably just tossed them aside and genuinely forgot where he put them. Meanwhile, all of his premium grooming products and colognes were imported from the exact same city in Europe. The city where Luna lived. I gathered all his imported bottles and swept them directly into the trash bin. I was throwing away my love for him, right alongside the pathetic, desperate version of myself. The exact second I zipped my suitcase shut, my phone rang. It was Mason. “Audrey, Noah is completely wasted. Do you think you could come pick him up? I will text you the address.” Through the receiver, I could clearly hear Noah’s hoarse voice chanting a name in the background. “Luna…” His voice was dripping with pure desperation, religious devotion, and the euphoric joy of finding something he thought he had lost forever. But it was not slurred. He wasn’t drunk at all. My breath caught in my throat. My heart flatlined for a full second. Mason panicked, quickly covering the microphone before hanging up the call. I stood by my suitcase, staring at the wall. I hesitated for a couple of seconds before grabbing my coat and calling a cab to the address Mason sent. This was the final night. Since I had already decided to walk away forever, I needed absolute closure. No lingering doubts. No regrets. When I reached the heavy oak doors of the VIP lounge, the muffled sounds of laughter and teasing spilled through the cracks. “I can’t believe Luna actually flew back today! Did you hear some news about our boy Noah? We are definitely not letting you leave tonight!” Looking through the narrow glass panel in the door, I saw an expression on Noah’s face I had never witnessed in five years. He looked vibrant, reckless, and completely alive. His eyes were absolutely glued to the woman sitting across from him. The woman whose face I had just scrutinized in tens of thousands of photos. 3 Around her neck rested a crescent moon diamond necklace. It was the exact same design Noah had handed me an hour ago. Except hers was noticeably larger, custom made, and infinitely more brilliant. I took a deep breath and pushed the lounge doors open. The chaotic noise in the room died instantly. Noah clearly had no idea I was coming. His brows snapped together in deep confusion, a flash of irritation crossing his features. Mason was the first to jump up and play the mediator. “Oh, hey! Audrey! Let me introduce you. This is Luna, our old college classmate. She moved to Europe five years ago and literally just landed today. What crazy timing, right?” Mason’s eyes darted back and forth between Noah and Luna, practically glowing with amusement. He called me here on purpose. It was a sick game to him. If this were the old me, I probably would have lost control. I would have screamed, demanding to know why they were meeting up the night before our wedding, begging to know why no one stopped this. But now, I just stood there, offering a perfectly calm, polite smile. When Mason finally got around to introducing me, he used the word “fiancée.” The second the word left his mouth, Noah started violently coughing into his hand. Luna seamlessly reached over, grabbed a napkin, and gently dabbed the corner of his mouth. Her movements were fluid and entirely natural. After a long, agonizing moment, Noah’s face flushed deep red as he finally spoke. “She is just a really close friend.” My eyelashes fluttered. Under the burning, entertained gazes of everyone in the room, I smiled and nodded in agreement. My fingernails were digging so deeply into my palms the skin was breaking, but I refused to let a single tear fall. He never wanted to acknowledge my title publicly. I was used to it. Even our wedding invitations were just a mass text message sent out to his acquaintances. No engagement photos. No mention of the bride’s name. I used to fabricate endless excuses for his behavior. I foolishly thought that if I just bet my entire heart on these five years, I would eventually win. But time after time, I was always the loser. I forced my smile to stay bright as I looked directly at Luna. “You are even more beautiful in person than in pictures. And your necklace… is stunning.” The entire room fell into a suffocating, awkward silence. Terrified that I was going to cause a scene, Noah quickly grabbed a cocktail from the table and shoved it into my hand to keep me quiet. I looked down at the dark liquid. It was a Black Russian. A chocolate liqueur cocktail. My smile completely froze. I looked him dead in the eye, enunciating every single word. “I cannot drink chocolate…” I had literally reminded him two hours ago in our living room. He had already erased it from his memory. A flash of genuine panic crossed Noah’s face. Just as he reached out to swap my drink, Luna intercepted. She smoothly lifted the glass from my hand. “I will take it. I am not picky.” Noah’s panic instantly shifted into deep concern. “Wait, the bartender mixed lemon juice into that one. You hate the taste of lemon, remember?” In that split second, it felt like a grenade detonated inside my chest. Razor sharp shrapnel pierced my lungs. Every breath I took felt like inhaling broken glass. He didn’t have a bad memory. He just couldn’t be bothered to allocate a single brain cell to my existence. Luna let out a soft, musical laugh and reached out, playfully tapping Noah on the nose. “I drank these all the time in Europe. I am used to it now. It is fine.” She placed the glass in front of her and stood up to use the restroom. Only then did Noah lean in, lowering his voice to desperately whisper in my ear. “I am so sorry, I completely forgot. I swear I will pay more attention next time. But everyone is watching. Could you just take one sip to be polite? I will run out and buy your allergy medicine right after, I promise.” “Please do not overthink this. She is just an old friend I haven’t seen in years. She has no idea we are getting married tomorrow, and explaining it would just ruin the mood, so…” Before he could even finish his pathetic excuse, I simply nodded. He had absolutely no idea that I had been on a strict no sugar diet for months just to look perfect in my wedding dress tomorrow. He had no idea that I treated my severe allergens like literal poison. 4 The tears pooling in my eyes finally spilled over as I turned my head. He honestly believed I didn’t know who his first love was. He thought he was a masterful liar. Fine. I would give him exactly what he wanted. Playing the clueless fool was the one thing I was truly an expert at. “I know. You don’t need to explain.” He let out a massive, visible sigh of relief. To break the suffocating tension, Mason loudly suggested they play a drinking game. Spin the bottle. The moment Luna walked back into the room and sat down, the bottle spun and landed dead center on Noah. The guys started howling, demanding that Noah hand over his phone and open his photo gallery for everyone to see. Their eyes darted between the three of us, hungry for drama. Noah looked visibly cornered. One of the guys groaned, waving his hand. “Come on, you guys realize Noah is getting married soon, right? His gallery is just going to be boring photos of his future wife. Let’s make him open his texts instead. That is where the real dirt is!” Another guy laughed. “Why didn’t you say that sooner? Next round! Next round!” Noah’s face flushed. He instinctively shot a nervous, completely transparent glance at Luna. He pulled out his phone to unlock it. The VIP room was too dark, and the facial recognition failed three times in a row. With the phone about to lock him out completely, he was forced to type in his passcode in full view of the table. Six digits. As soon as he finished, Luna’s eyes flickered with a strange, satisfied light. A teasing whistle came from the corner of the booth. “Hold up. Those numbers look super familiar. Whose birthday is that? Wait… Luna, isn’t that yours?” Noah cleared his throat, refusing to make eye contact. “I don’t know. I just got used to the muscle memory and forgot to change it.” Mason lost his patience and snatched the phone right out of Noah’s hand. The next second, Noah’s entire camera roll was projected onto the smart TV on the wall. A collective wave of disappointment washed over the guys’ faces. There were no pictures of me. There were no boring work documents. There wasn’t any scandalous gossip to laugh about. There was nothing but the moon. Five years. Nineteen hundred photos. Noah and Luna locked eyes across the table. The air between them practically hummed with an exclusive, deeply romantic tension. The rest of the guys and I were completely walled off, existing in an entirely different dimension. My heart crashed into an endless abyss. The blood rushing in my ears was so loud it drowned out the music. Luna meant “moon” in Latin. Every single photo was a silent love letter to her. Finally, Mason sighed in disappointment. “Bro, what is wrong with you? Why are you taking so many pictures of the sky? You trying to be a photographer?” Luna smiled, her eyes melting into pools of liquid affection. “I think photography is a much more sophisticated hobby than playing video games. I actually really appreciate it.” It was as if she were declaring to the room that out of everyone there, she was the only one who truly understood his soul. The first round ended. When the second round finished, the loser was Noah again. This time, the dare was to choose a woman in the room and kiss her. The mastermind behind the dare was, unsurprisingly, Mason. Luna and I were the only two women in the booth. The guys started chanting, slamming their hands on the table. Noah gritted his teeth, glaring daggers at Mason for a full minute. Finally, he grabbed his jacket and stood up. “I’m drunk. I’m going home.” Seeing the show was over, the rest of the group started filtering out of the lounge. The three of us walked out to the curb to hail a cab. Suddenly, a speeding sports car drifted dangerously close to the sidewalk. Without a single second of hesitation, Noah grabbed Luna by the waist and violently yanked her into his chest to shield her. The sheer force of his movement knocked me off balance. I crashed hard onto the concrete. The palms of my hands, right where my nails had dug in earlier, scraped violently against the pavement. Blood instantly welled up from the torn skin. The stinging pain made me bite down hard on my lip. I forced the tears back into the corners of my eyes. This was my last night before I vanished. I absolutely refused to show him any vulnerability. Noah looked down at me. A fleeting shadow of guilt finally crossed his face. He reached down to help me up. Just as he opened his mouth to apologize, I shook my head and pulled my arm away.

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1 The ultrasound jelly was still cold on my belly when I opened a local mom’s forum. A new post caught my eye. In the photo, a woman held a rosy-cheeked toddler, flashing a peace sign. But it was the man cooking in the background that froze my blood. Behind his ear was a familiar, faded tattoo—my initials. The sweater he wore was the same cable-knit pullover I spent weeks knitting for my husband, Dominic. At home, the mansion was silent. The butler brought soup, his expression polite. “Mr. Dominic is working late again. He said not to wait up, ma’am.” This was the seventh day he hadn’t come home. I slid off my wedding band, opened the safe, and pulled out the divorce papers. I signed my name. I was done waiting for a man who’d forgotten the way home. My fingers trembled. I stared at our wedding photo, trying to recall the last time Dominic spoke to me directly. He always claimed the company kept him busy. Lately, there were no texts, no photos—only messages through the butler. “The company is swamped today.” “Don’t wait up. Take care of yourself and the baby.” … Large tears spilled over my lashes, hot and heavy. I didn’t know how long I sat there in the dark, but the sky outside the window was beginning to turn a bruised purple when the bedroom door clicked open. Dominic walked in, his brow furrowing instantly. He crouched in front of me and took my hands in his. “Didn’t I tell you not to wait up?” “You never listen.” He sighed. Feeling how ice-cold my hands were, he scooped me up into his arms and tucked me firmly beneath the heavy duvet. My eyes burned terribly. I watched in silence as Dominic meticulously filled a hot water bottle for me and began massaging my swollen calves. I suddenly wanted to ask him. Dominic, have you fallen in love with someone else? Dominic, do you remember the vow you made, promising to hold my hand until our hair turned gray? But the words felt like crushed glass in my throat. I didn’t dare ask. I was terrified that if I did, I would unravel into a hysterical, screaming mess. Noticing my sinking mood, Dominic gently picked up my hand and pressed it against his chest, right over the sweater he was wearing. “See? I’m wearing the love you made for me.” “Don’t throw a tantrum now.” Last night, I had scrolled through every single post on that woman’s account. The Dominic she documented was endlessly patient and tender. Dominic was a notorious germaphobe, yet he willingly rolled around in the grassy park to fly kites with her and the boy. Dominic was strictly disciplined with his diet, yet he would drive thirty miles at midnight just because she craved spicy takeout. They had chased the Northern Lights in Norway and kissed beneath towering, snow-capped mountains. Meanwhile, I was left to guard a beautiful, empty house. Dominic’s phone suddenly buzzed. I took the opportunity to wipe my eyes, but my gaze inadvertently caught the screen. He was texting her. After ten years together, I was simply saved as ‘Hazel’ in his contacts. But that girl. He had her saved as ‘Baby’. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper. My voice came out hoarse. “How did you find the time to come back today?” Dominic didn’t even look up. He opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out a velvet box. “Just came back to grab something.” I had opened that box a few days ago. Inside was a diamond ring, featuring a stone the size of a quail egg. Before I could say another word, Dominic pressed a quick kiss to my forehead and hurried out the door. The tears finally broke free. When I first discovered that ring, I had been so thrilled I immediately called my best friend to share the news. She had laughed, saying she didn’t know Dominic had a romantic bone in his body. She said he must have remembered that he never gave me a proper ring back when we were broke, and was finally making up for it with a massive diamond. I had hoped so desperately that he would remember today was our tenth anniversary. I had waited for him to get down on one knee, slide that ring onto my finger, and heal the regrets of our past. I had longed for him to press his ear to my belly and whisper to our unborn child. 2 But he forgot. His heart only had room for the girl he kept hidden in the shadows. Half an hour later, my phone pinged. The girl had updated her social media. It was a video. On the screen, Dominic and a little boy were clapping and singing Happy Birthday. Then, Dominic got down on one knee. He pressed a reverent kiss to the girl’s ring finger before slipping the massive diamond onto it. The speaker picked up her delighted, high-pitched scream. With her big, doe-like eyes brimming with tears, she threw herself into Dominic’s arms. “You’re the absolute best, hubby.” But as she laughed, a fragile vulnerability entered her voice. “More than the diamond, I just want all of your love.” She stuck out her pinky finger like a child. “Promise me. Promise you’ll love me the most in this lifetime.” The little boy hugged Dominic’s leg, his voice sweet and milky. “Daddy, you have to love me and Mommy forever.” What a picture-perfect family of three. The tears flowed freely now. I suddenly thought of the Dominic from ten years ago. We had just graduated college. We poured every single cent we had into his startup. During the darkest days, we lived in a cramped, damp basement apartment. Dominic would hold me in the dark, crying out of pure guilt. “Hazel, I swear I’ll make it.” “I swear I’ll give you a beautiful life.” But the only thing I ever wanted was his unwavering love. When the freezing winter wind howled through the cracked window, I would curl up against his chest for warmth, listening to his strong, steady heartbeat. “I don’t need you to give me the world.” “Just give me all your love, Dominic. Promise you won’t ever make me cry.” When his company finally started turning a profit, a rival business hired local thugs to trash our office. I saw the glint of a knife swinging toward Dominic’s back, and I threw myself in front of him without a second thought. It hurt. God, it hurt so much. That was the day we lost our first baby. Dominic cried like a broken man, cursing me for being so stupid. But I was so terrified of seeing him consumed by guilt that I forced myself to smile. I swallowed my tears and told him I was fine. Look at him now. The rising star of the industry. We moved into the most exclusive neighborhood in the city. He hired top-tier specialists to nurse my battered body back to health. Diamonds, designer clothes, rare handbags. They flowed into my life like water. Everyone told me I had an incredible eye, that I had bet on the right horse. Yet I missed the old Dominic so fiercely it felt like an open wound. The boy who, no matter how exhausted or how late it was, would always rush home just to coax me to sleep. Tears? I didn’t even know how many I had shed over the years. In the final second of the video, fireworks exploded outside the window. The bright flashes illuminated a very familiar skyline in the distance. Moonridge. My heart was suddenly seized by an invisible hand, squeezing until I couldn’t breathe. I knew that view. It was the view from the tiny, rundown house my late grandmother had left me. My only inheritance. Without a moment of hesitation, I dug through my vanity drawer, grabbed the rusted key, and drove straight to Moonridge. I kept one hand on the steering wheel and called Dominic. Call declined. I called again. After an agonizing amount of attempts, Dominic finally picked up, his voice laced with heavy irritation. “Make it quick. I’m in the middle of a crucial meeting.” It felt like someone was carving a chunk of flesh straight out of my chest. I swallowed the thick lump in my throat. “I miss my grandmother. I’m going to Moonridge to look around.” Dead silence on the other end. After a long pause, his tone softened into something resembling coaxing. “The place is still under heavy renovation. You’re pregnant, you shouldn’t be running around.” “Once the construction is completely done, I’ll take you there myself.” A faint female voice drifted through the receiver, urging him to come cut the cake. My nails dug so deep into my palms they nearly drew blood. I let out a long, shaky breath and spoke with absolute finality. “I just miss her too much.” “I’m going to take a look tonight, even if it’s just from the outside.” 3 I hung up before he could say another word. The moment my car rolled to a stop outside the property, the lights inside the house abruptly flicked off. I marched up the front steps, only to collide right into Dominic. A fine layer of sweat coated his forehead. He grabbed my hand and immediately started pulling me back toward the driveway. “Didn’t I tell you it’s a construction zone?” “The fumes are toxic. It’s dangerous for you and the baby.” Dominic was rarely a talkative man. His sudden barrage of excuses was a glaring cover for his panic. I violently ripped my hand from his grip and pushed past him. “I said I just want to look.” He shifted his weight, completely blocking the doorway. His eyes darkened, pooling with a heavy, dangerous emotion. We stood in a suffocating stalemate. Then, he stepped forward and pulled me into a tight embrace, patting my back like a child. “Be good. Listen to me.” My cheek was pressed against his neck, and my eyes fell on the tattoo right behind his ear. Five years ago, a horrific car crash left me in a coma. Dominic knelt outside the ICU for three straight days, begging whatever god was listening to spare my life. Maybe the universe took pity on him. I survived the critical window, but I wouldn’t wake up. The doctors warned him that if I stayed under much longer, I might be trapped in a vegetative state forever. Desperate and losing his mind, he listened to an old superstition that said carving a loved one’s name behind your ear could absorb their misfortune. He was notoriously sensitive to pain, but he refused the numbing cream so he could get back to my bedside faster. He let the needle bite into his skin, etching my name into his flesh. I finally woke up. But five years had passed, and the ink had faded into a blurry grey. Just like his love for me. Fading. Disappearing. A tidal wave of betrayal and grief crashed over me. I lost my mind. I started thrashing, hammering my fists against his chest, and then I sank my teeth right into his neck. A sickeningly sweet vanilla perfume filled my nose, slicing through my heart like a serrated blade. I didn’t let go until the strong, metallic taste of his blood flooded my mouth. I pushed him hard. My vision was completely blurred by tears. I couldn’t even see his face. “Dominic, if you don’t love me anymore.” “You can just tell me. I would leave.” He grabbed my wrists with crushing force and yanked me back against his chest, holding me so tightly it felt like he was terrified I would vanish. Like he wanted to crush my bones into his own. “Don’t say stupid things. How could I ever stop loving you?” Maybe he did love me. Otherwise, why would he hide that girl away like a shameful secret? But his love was so incredibly cheap now. It was something he could just casually slice up and serve to someone else. Once my breathing finally leveled out, he drove me home. On the way, we passed a boutique florist. He pulled over abruptly. The owner was already flipping the open sign to closed, but Dominic bent down, pleading with the man. Just like he used to do. For every anniversary, he would cancel every single meeting. He would burst through the door right at midnight, holding a delicate pastry and a bouquet of the most vibrant roses. I used to cry tears of pure joy. He would tell me how he had to beg the florist to open up, asking for a kiss as his reward. But that girl didn’t have to wait until midnight. She just snapped her fingers and got the entirety of his devotion. I unlocked my phone and sent a quick text to my best friend, Stella, asking her to pick me up on Wednesday. The car door opened. Dominic handed me the bouquet, his eyes briefly flicking down to my illuminated screen. “Who are you talking to?” I locked the screen and took the flowers, not even bothering to look at the petals. “Just a friend.” A suffocating silence filled the rest of the drive. After dropping me off at the mansion, he claimed there was an emergency at the office and sped off into the night. I ordered a cab and followed him. I watched as the darkened windows of Moonridge lit up once again. The woman was waiting by the front steps, holding the child. Dominic jogged over, wrapping her in a tight hug. He laced his fingers through hers. The three of them leaned into each other, walking toward the front door. It was the exact image I had pictured in my head a thousand times. Me holding Dominic’s left hand, our baby holding his right, walking into our forever home.

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When the truth finally came to light, I was brought back to the Sinclair estate. But the very second the fake heiress shed a single tear, my biological parents abandoned all plans to press charges. Instead, they turned around and urged me to be the bigger person, begging me not to make things ugly. The people who stole me not only escaped justice, but they rode the fake daughter’s coattails straight into a life of absolute luxury. My biological family trusted her unconditionally. My heart completely died, so I packed my bags and walked away. But karma never misses a target. Ten years later, the fake heiress gave birth, and her newborn baby was swapped at the hospital. The Sinclair family completely imploded. The eldest brother secretly ran a DNA test on his son. Zero percent match! The second brother rushed out in the middle of the night to test his own daughter. Also a zero percent match! As they sobbed and begged the authorities to ruthlessly punish the human traffickers, I simply smiled. “You need to be the bigger person. There is no need to make things ugly, right?” 1 Tristan Sinclair found me just as I was leaving the municipal building after a long shift. I was mentally calculating what to make for dinner when I looked up and saw him standing by my car. What a suffocating sight. I had zero intention of acknowledging him. I adjusted the strap of my tote bag and tried to walk right past him. But Tristan stepped into the harsh glow of the parking lot streetlamp, completely blocking my path. “Briar. We need to talk.” I lifted my grocery bag slightly. “I don’t have the time, Tristan. I’m going home to cook.” “Give me ten minutes.” His voice carried that familiar, commanding weight. “The family is in crisis. You have to know what’s happening.” Of course I knew. My phone had been buzzing non-stop for three days with breaking news alerts. The Sinclair corporate empire was drowning in a massive identity scandal, and their stock prices were in freefall. It all started because my abusive adoptive parents, the Dawsons, somehow got in touch with Serena, the fake daughter who had taken my place in the Sinclair family. Serena had secretly paid them off with a massive sum of money. The Dawsons bought a McMansion in the suburbs and went from white-trash nobodies to overnight millionaires. But people who suddenly stumble into money love the sound of their own voices. They started bragging to anyone who would listen about their incredibly generous, rich daughter. A sharp-eyed investigative journalist noticed the sudden wealth, got my adoptive father blackout drunk at a local bar, and recorded him spilling every filthy secret. The video hit the internet and went viral overnight. I looked at Tristan with dead eyes. “Your family’s public relations nightmare is not my problem.” “Briar, this is not the time to throw a tantrum.” He furrowed his brow, slipping right back into his role as the disappointed eldest brother. “Mom and Dad are getting older. They can’t handle this kind of stress. Serena is pregnant, and she is getting death threats in her DMs every single hour. She is on the verge of a total mental breakdown. We are a family.” “Your arrogance is genuinely exhausting. Move.” I stepped to the side, ready to walk around him. “Wait.” Tristan shifted his weight, blocking me again. “All you have to do is make a public statement. Just tell the press you left the family willingly.” I stopped dead in my tracks and slowly looked up at him. The amber light from the streetlamp caught the sharp angles of his face. He looked impatient, his jaw tight, his chin slightly raised. Ten years ago, he looked at me with that exact same expression. He had stood at the top of the Sinclair mansion’s grand spiral staircase, looking down at me like I was something scraped off the bottom of a shoe. What did I look like back then? Oh, right. I was clutching a frayed canvas backpack that held every single thing I owned in the world. I looked like a stray dog. That was when he delivered his welcoming speech. “Throw that garbage bag in the incinerator. You can use whatever you want in this house, but do not ever touch Serena’s things.” Any fragile hope I had of finding a real family evaporated the second those words left his mouth. I knew instantly that I was an intruder in their perfect world. “Tristan.” I said his name slowly, letting the coldness seep in. “Did you actually watch that video?” He frowned and gave a stiff nod. So he had seen it. Then how did he have the absolute audacity to stand here and ask me for a favor? I would never forget the smug, rotten look on my adoptive father’s blurred face in that footage. He proudly bragged about how he starved me, beat me, and treated me like a slave. He proudly bragged about how his real daughter was living like a princess while I suffered in the dirt. Tristan saw all of that. No, he saw it, and he simply did not care. “You did leave willingly back then.” Tristan insisted. “If you just post a video clearing her name, I can write you a check for.” “Get out of my face before I call the cops.” I ignored his stunned expression, shoved past his shoulder, and walked straight to my apartment building. I climbed the three flights of stairs, unlocked my door, stepped inside, and threw the deadbolt. The entire sequence was muscle memory. I learned a very painful lesson a decade ago. Some blood ties are just chains meant to be broken. 2 I was twenty-three the first time I met the Sinclair family. I had just graduated from night school. I was drowning in student debt, working a miserable desk job by day and pulling shifts at a gas station by night just to survive. The Dawsons tracked me down right at the register. They walked in wearing filthy clothes, immediately turning on the waterworks. They cried about how sorry they were for the past. Then they dropped the real reason for their visit. My adoptive brother had racked up a massive gambling debt, and they needed a hundred grand to keep a local loan shark from breaking his legs. They demanded I fix it. I barely had enough money to buy groceries. How was I supposed to pay off a loan shark? My adoptive mother suddenly dropped to her knees right there in aisle three. She started slamming her forehead against the linoleum floor, sobbing loudly. My coworkers stared at me with weird, judgmental eyes. When I was eighteen, I was the one on my knees. I had begged them not to force me to marry a creepy, fifty-something local landlord. But my adoptive mother just smiled and told me the man was willing to pay a hefty price for a young bride, enough to buy my brother a new truck. She said I should be grateful to marry a rich older man who knew how to treat a woman. I pretended to agree. That night, I stole my Social Security card and birth certificate, climbed out the second-story window, jumped into a pile of cardboard boxes, and ran for my life. I didn’t stop running for five years. They pulled me out of school in the eighth grade to work. After I escaped, I scrubbed toilets and flipped burgers while studying for my GED. I clawed my way into a community college and finally got my degree. And the second I had a real job, they came looking for blood. While the Dawsons were putting on their theatrical crying act, the Sinclair family walked through the gas station doors. It was like a scene straight out of a soap opera. Tailored suits, diamond earrings, the smell of expensive cologne. The wealthy middle-aged couple wrapped their arms around me, sobbing about how they had spent over two decades looking for their missing baby. The moment the Sinclairs appeared, the Dawsons vanished into thin air. I was taken back to the sprawling Sinclair estate. That was where I met Serena. Her skin was flawless, like porcelain. Her hands were incredibly soft, manicured to perfection. My hands were covered in rough calluses from years of manual labor. My arms were marked with ugly, jagged burn scars from my childhood. I had the exact same bone structure as Arthur and Eleanor Sinclair. Serena looked exactly like the garbage people who raised me. I wasn’t a lost child. I was stolen. I pointed out the obvious truth and demanded they call the police on the Dawsons. But the second a single, perfect tear rolled down Serena’s cheek, my biological parents shut me down. “Those are still Serena’s biological parents. Arresting them would ruin her reputation.” Eleanor had pleaded, clutching her fake daughter’s hand. Arthur sighed heavily. “You’re home now, Briar. We will compensate you financially. Let the past stay in the past. Be the bigger person. There is no need to make things ugly.” That was the night Tristan came home and told me to stay away from Serena’s things. I lay awake in a massive, king-sized bed that night, staring blankly at the vaulted ceiling. I stayed in that house for exactly one month. And for thirty days, I couldn’t breathe without doing something wrong. If I ate, my table manners were too aggressive. If Serena misplaced her jewelry, I was accused of stealing it. If Serena tripped on a rug, I was accused of pushing her. They never once tried to understand me. They never asked about the scars on my arms. They never cared about my trauma. The warm, loving family I had dreamed about on freezing winter nights was a complete delusion. They stood like a brick wall in front of Serena, deaf to my defenses. They just played the peacekeepers with passive-aggressive guilt trips. “You are the older sister, Briar. You need to be accommodating.” “Serena grew up with us. We know her heart.” “Serena has severe anxiety. Stop provoking her.” My second brother, Gideon, was the most blunt. “If you hate it here so much, you can leave. We will rent you an apartment downtown and deposit an allowance into your account every month.” A younger, more fragile version of me might have begged them to love me. But I had spent five years surviving on the brutal streets. Cold, hard cash meant far more to me than their conditional affection. I refused to stay in that toxic mansion and play the villain in Serena’s little victim narrative. Life is way too short. I wanted peace, stability, and a career I actually cared about. So when I packed my bags, I didn’t shed a single tear. I didn’t throw a prideful fit either. I asked for a hundred thousand dollars, packed my frayed canvas bag, and walked out the front gates. They never came looking for me. Not for ten years. Neither did the Dawsons. If this scandal hadn’t blown up in their faces, they would have happily forgotten I existed until the day they died. 3 I had just finished eating dinner when my phone started ringing. It was an unknown number. I glanced at the screen and hit decline. It rang again. I declined it again. When it lit up for the third time, I let out a long breath and swiped to answer. A man’s voice barked through the speaker, thick with poorly contained rage. “Briar, did you seriously just hang up on me twice?” Ah. It was Gideon. My hot-tempered second brother, whom I hadn’t spoken to in a decade. His voice felt like a rusted blade swinging at me through the phone line. “Answer me, Briar!” I pulled the phone away from my ear, waited for his little temper tantrum to end, and brought it back. “Do you need something, Mr. Sinclair?” He choked on his next breath. “What did you just call me?” The fury practically bled through the receiver. “I am your brother!” “My entire family is dead. If you don’t have a point, I’m hanging up.” “Wait.” He snapped, suddenly frantic. “I am coming to your office tomorrow afternoon. We are going to have a serious conversation.” I let out a dry laugh. “I am incredibly busy, Mr. Sinclair.” “Briar!” He ground his teeth together. “Stop acting like a petulant child. Our family is being torn apart by the media. Do you have any idea.” I tapped the red button and ended the call. Peace at last. He was bold to pick my workplace. Did he honestly think I would bend to his will just to avoid a scene at the office? The next day at 2:30 PM, the receptionist called my desk to say a man was demanding to see me. I stood up and looked out my office window. Gideon was leaning against the hood of a sleek black sports car in the visitor lot. His expensive hair was perfectly styled, and he was wearing a bespoke suit, but he looked deeply erratic, checking his watch every five seconds. I ignored him and went back to organizing my municipal planning files. Ten minutes later, I heard him shouting my name from the parking lot. I kept my head down. He called my cell phone six times. I flipped it to silent. At 5:30 PM, I finally clocked out and walked out the glass doors. I was genuinely surprised to see him still standing there. Patience was never his strong suit. “Get in the car. We are going somewhere private to talk.” He marched up and grabbed my wrist, trying to pull me toward the passenger side. I planted my feet, dug my nails into his knuckles, and pried his fingers off my arm one by one. Ten years had passed, and he was still the same arrogant thug who thought he owned everyone around him. “We have absolutely nothing to discuss.” Gideon glared at me, his chest heaving under his tailored vest. “Fine. You think you’re untouchable now, right? Do you even watch the news? Do you know how much money the company has bled this week? Mom and Dad are crying themselves to sleep, Tristan is managing a total corporate meltdown, and you don’t have a shred of basic human decency?” I looked at him with a perfectly blank expression. “And?” “And you need to get in this car, come back to the estate, and host a press conference.” He fired the words off like a machine gun. “Tell the reporters the online rumors are fake. Tell them Serena is a saint who treated you like a sister. Tell them the Sinclair family gave you everything.” “Mr. Sinclair.” I interrupted his manic speech. “Do you remember the exact words you said to me before I left?” He froze, his eyes narrowing. “What?” “You said trailer park trash has no class.” I repeated his words with icy precision. “You said if I hated being civilized, I should just get out of your house.” The blood drained from Gideon’s face. “And now you need the classless trailer park trash to save your collapsing empire?” I smirked. “Where is Serena? Where is your fragile, perfect princess? She is so socially graceful, isn’t she? Let her face the cameras.” “You.” Gideon choked on his words, his face flushing a violent shade of purple. I looked at him and felt nothing but profound pity. They hadn’t offered me a single drop of warmth in my entire life. I had taken the hundred grand to buy myself out of their twisted bloodline, and they still thought they could summon me like a dog. Ten years. They hadn’t evolved at all. They still stood on their pedestals, convinced the world revolved around their feelings. They expected me to drop to my knees and thank God for the privilege of lying for them. Not once did he ask if I was okay. Not once did he apologize for the horrific abuse revealed in that viral video. I told him to go to hell, turned on my heel, and left him staring at my back in absolute disbelief. 4 I enjoyed exactly three days of silence after Gideon left. The fake daughter scandal was dominating every social media platform. Web sleuths had completely doxed my identity. People from my old rural town started coming out of the woodwork, posting testimonies about how severely the Dawsons had abused me. “It was brutal watching that little girl grow up. She wasn’t even as tall as the stove, and they forced her to cook for a family of four.” “The Dawsons were monsters. They beat her for breathing too loud, burned her arms with cigarettes. We tried to call child services once, but the dad chased us off with a shotgun, screaming she was his property.” My old college classmates posted about how relentlessly I studied and worked, mentioning they all assumed I was an orphan because I never spoke about a family. Serena’s meticulously crafted public image was being shredded. Photos of her bullying lower-income girls in elite private schools surfaced. A former university classmate dropped a massive thread proving Serena had plagiarized her senior thesis. Someone else posted a breakdown of her wearing a ten-million-dollar diamond necklace to a charity gala for starving children. Every single post about her was flooded with hundreds of thousands of venomous comments. The algorithms knew exactly what I wanted to see. I spent my evenings curled up on my sofa, sipping tea and liking the most creative insults. I could play the stoic professional all day, but deep down, watching them burn was incredibly satisfying. Thanks to the PR nightmare, Sinclair stock plummeted by forty percent. Saturday morning, my doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole. Standing in my hallway were Arthur and Eleanor Sinclair. They had aged gracefully. Money tends to buy good genetics. I leaned against the heavy oak door and didn’t move a muscle. The doorbell chimed again. “Briar.” Eleanor’s voice trembled through the heavy wood, thick with tears. “I know you’re in there. Please, sweetie, open the door. Just let me look at you.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Briar. We just came to check on you. What happened back then, it was our fault. We are here to apologize.” “Please, Briar.” Eleanor started openly sobbing. “I made a terrible mistake. I am so sorry. Just open the door.” I didn’t open the door, but I heard the neighbor across the hall crack theirs open to eavesdrop. I took a deep breath, undid the deadbolt, and pulled the door open. But I kept the security chain attached. The door only opened a few inches. Eleanor’s tear-streaked face lit up. She immediately tried to push her way inside. “Briar.” “Speak from out there.” I planted my hand on the edge of the door. “My apartment is small. We don’t have the space.” Eleanor’s smile shattered. Arthur looked humiliated for a brief second before forcing his features into a mask of fatherly concern. “Briar, these past ten years. Have you been doing well?” “I was doing exceptionally well until your family started stalking me.” “Briar.” Eleanor wept, pressing her manicured hands against her chest. “Don’t speak to me like that. It breaks my heart. I know we were foolish. We only listened to Serena’s side of the story. But we raised her from infancy. We loved her. We genuinely thought keeping both of you under one roof would be best for everyone.” “Best for everyone?” I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Mrs. Sinclair, are you listening to yourself? Serena literally stole my entire life. You didn’t keep two daughters. You harbored my abuser’s child.” “It’s not like that!” Eleanor grabbed the doorframe, her knuckles turning white. “I know you resent us, but we share the same blood! Blood is thicker than water! How can you be so merciless to your own mother?” “Merciless?” I stared into her eyes. “When Serena framed me for stealing her diamond watch, which one of you asked for my side of the story? When she claimed I pushed her down the stairs, which one of you checked the security cameras? When she turned the entire staff against me, which one of you defended me?” “We.” Eleanor stammered, unable to form a sentence. “You didn’t want to investigate, did you?” My voice dropped to a quiet, lethal whisper. “Because if you looked too closely, you would realize your precious princess was a pathological liar. You couldn’t bear the thought of hurting the girl you raised, so you decided it was easier to just let me take the abuse.” Arthur finally found his voice. “Briar, what happened was a failure of our judgment. But Serena was fragile. She had been with us for so long, we just couldn’t sever the emotional attachment.” “So severing ties with me was the easier choice.” I countered effortlessly. “Because I only lived with you for thirty days. Because my mental health didn’t matter. My reputation didn’t matter. My trauma didn’t matter. Is that it?” Arthur was completely silenced. Look at them. Even now, with their empire burning, they couldn’t just admit they were wrong. They just wanted to weaponize biology. They wanted to use guilt to force my head down, to make me clean up their mess. “The only thing you ever cared about was Serena’s comfort. You were terrified of upsetting her. As for me, I was collateral damage. But that is perfectly fine. Because to me, you are just strangers with a familiar bone structure. I sincerely hope this is the absolute last time I ever see your faces.” Eleanor broke down completely. She covered her face, her shoulders shaking violently as she sobbed. “Briar, I am so sorry.” Arthur supported his weeping wife and looked at me with desperate eyes. “Briar, we will make this right. We will compensate you. Whatever you want. A penthouse, luxury cars, an unlimited trust fund. Just name your price.” I looked at them, entirely exhausted by their existence. They genuinely believed that a few pathetic tears and a blank check could erase a lifetime of neglect. “I don’t want your money.” I said flatly. “I just want you to stop breathing near me.” I slammed the door shut and threw the deadbolt. “Briar!” Eleanor pounded her fists against the wood. “Open the door. Let me see my baby.” The sobbing continued for several long minutes. Eventually, the cries faded into sniffles. I heard Arthur whispering something in the hallway, followed by the sound of slow, defeated footsteps dragging toward the elevator. The world was finally quiet again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “397506”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“Is it really that big a deal that I broke your mother’s urn? Was it worth pushing your aunt over?” Ten years ago, my father swung a steel pipe, breaking two of my ribs. I dragged my injured body out of that house and hadn’t set foot in my hometown for ten years. Ten years later, with both his kidneys failing, he lay in the ICU begging me to come back for a match test. My stepmother knelt before a live-stream camera, kowtowing ten times to force me to show myself. In response, I mailed a body donation consent form directly to his attending physician. 1 The surgical lights finally flicked off at midnight. I peeled off my blood-stained gloves and walked out of the operating room, leaving behind a battlefield where I had fought for eight grueling hours. In the dead silence of the hallway, my phone screen lit up, vibrating relentlessly. The caller ID showed an unknown number from my hometown. I swiped to answer. The sharp scent of antiseptic still clung to my fingertips. “Is this Dr. Stella Crawford?” The male voice on the other end sounded exhausted and overly cautious. “Speaking.” “This is City General Hospital. Your father, Robert Crawford, is in the ICU with end-stage renal failure. We are currently trying to stabilize him.” I felt absolutely nothing. My heart remained a flatline of calm. Ten years. That name had finally crawled its way back into my ears. The doctor paused, his tone growing more strained. “Your stepmother says you are his only biological daughter. You are his best hope for a successful kidney match.” “She is begging you to come back as soon as possible.” I did not say a word. The only sounds were the faint static of the line and my own steady breathing. “Dr. Crawford? Are you still there?” “Yes.” I spat out the single word calmly and hung up. With a flick of my thumb, I dragged that number straight into my blocked list. The world was quiet again. I leaned against the freezing hospital wall, closing my eyes to steal a moment of rest. My phone screen flared back to life. A breaking news notification popped up. The blood-red headline felt like an open wound, stinging my eyes. [Where Is The Dutiful Daughter? Dying Father Waits In ICU For Biological Child To Donate Kidney And Save His Life!] I tapped the link. The video showed a hospital corridor I knew all too well. My stepmother, Diane, was crying her eyes out in front of a camera, looking absolutely heartbroken. She wore flawless makeup, but her hair was deliberately messy, her eyes wide and tragic. She was playing the perfect role of the exhausted, devoted wife fighting for her husband’s life. “Stella, I know you are watching! Please, I am begging you, come back!” “Your father is dying! The doctors say you are the only one who can save him!” As she spoke, her legs suddenly gave out. She dropped to her knees, hitting the cold floor tiles with a heavy thud. “Stella, if you just come back and save your father, I will grovel at your feet!” Bang. Bang. Bang. She actually started slamming her forehead against the ground. She used so much force that the dull thuds echoed clearly through the video. The live chat exploded instantly. A flood of pure outrage crashed over the screen. [What the hell! Is this daughter an animal? Her own dad is dying and she won’t even show up?] [Stella? How can a woman be this vicious? Cold-blooded psycho!] [Dox her! An ungrateful brat like this needs to be exposed and ruined!] [A doctor? She calls herself a doctor? She won’t even save her own father!] I stared at the ridiculous farce playing out on my screen with a completely blank expression. I watched Diane’s hypocritical face. I watched the righteous fury of the internet warriors in the comments. Ten years had passed, and their tactics were still just as clumsy, just as laughable. I closed the app, turned around, and walked straight into my office. I booted up my computer and downloaded a specific document. The printer hummed quietly, spitting out a crisp, warm sheet of paper. It was the National Organ Donor Registry Consent Form. I picked up a pen. In the “Donor Name” box, I wrote my name with slow, deliberate strokes. Stella Crawford. Then, at the very bottom, I stamped my personal seal. I placed the signed form on the scanner. The harsh white light swept across the page, permanently digitizing my handwriting. I opened my email and typed in the contact address for my father’s attending physician. Attachment uploaded. In the body of the email, I typed a single line. “Upon my death, I voluntarily donate all of my organs to anyone in need.” “With the sole exception of Robert Crawford.” The send notification chimed. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. The torrential rain from ten years ago started ringing in my ears all over again. I had been holding my mother’s newly issued urn. That small, freezing box was the only thing I had left in the world. Diane blocked the front door. She crossed her arms, the corner of her mouth twitching with pure disgust. “You think a dead woman’s ashes deserve to cross the threshold of this house?” Before I could even react, she lunged forward and swiped her arm violently. The urn was knocked out of my grasp. It flew through the air, tracing a desperate arc, before smashing into the wet concrete driveway. Crack. A sickening sound. The box shattered. Pale grey powder mixed with the freezing rain, washing away into the filthy mud. My brain completely short-circuited. Every ounce of my sanity collapsed in a single second. I screamed like a wild animal and shoved her backward. “What did you do!” Right at that exact moment, my father, Robert, charged out of the house. He was holding a thick steel pipe. “Are you out of your damn mind? You dare lay a hand on Diane?” He roared at the top of his lungs. That freezing steel pipe swung through the rain and slammed brutally into my back. Snap. Snap. I heard the distinct sound of my own ribs breaking. Agony shot through my entire body like raw electricity. My vision went black, and I collapsed into the muddy water. The rain battered my face. I could no longer tell the difference between the rainwater and my own tears. He stood over me, looking down from his high porch. There was not a single shred of pity in his eyes. Only disgust and violent rage. “Get out!” “I do not have an ungrateful wretch for a daughter! Get the hell off my property!” I would never forget the sheer agony and absolute despair of that moment. I thought I was going to die in the mud that night. But here I am. Alive and thriving. And now, they were the ones using their dying breaths to beg me for a favor. How incredibly ironic. 2 A single stone creates a thousand ripples. My father’s attending physician had clearly never encountered such a cold, merciless family member. In his sheer shock, he accidentally leaked the contents of my email. Within half an hour, the hashtag #DaughterDonatesBodyButRefusesKidney exploded to the number one trending spot on social media. Public opinion was completely torn in half. Some people started stepping back, wondering what kind of horrific trauma I must have endured to make such a drastic, unforgiving choice. But the vast majority of the internet remained firmly planted on their moral high ground, launching a massive crusade against me. Diane was certainly not going to let this golden opportunity slip away. She rallied my uncle, Arthur Crawford, and a massive mob of internet vigilantes clutching their smartphones. With reporters swarming behind them like vultures, they marched right into the main lobby of my hospital. “Stella! You heartless monster! Get out here right now!” Diane’s shrill, weeping voice shattered the quiet of the outpatient lobby. She acted like a lunatic, grabbing random strangers to cry to them. “Everyone, look at this! What kind of daughter does this? Her father is dying in the ICU waiting for her to save him, and she officially declares she would rather give her organs to strangers than her own flesh and blood!” Uncle Arthur stood beside her, fanning the flames. He pointed a furious finger toward the upper floors of the hospital. “You call yourself a doctor? Saving lives? You will not even save your own father! You are a murderer!” A massive crowd gathered at the entrance. Camera lenses and phone screens locked onto the hospital like the barrels of firing squads. I was up in the sterile prep room, washing my hands for a procedure. The head nurse burst through the doors in a sheer panic. “Dr. Crawford, this is bad. Your family… they are causing a massive riot down in the main lobby!” My hands paused under the running water for a fraction of a second. Then I calmly dried them and started pulling on my sterile gloves. “I know.” My mentor, Dr. Harrison, the Dean of the hospital, had beaten me to the lobby. He stood there in his crisp white coat. He was a slender man, but he stood incredibly tall, acting like a solid brick wall between the chaos and his staff. “This is a place of healing, not a circus for your tantrums. I need you to leave the premises immediately.” Dr. Harrison’s voice was not loud, but it carried absolute authority. Uncle Arthur spotted me walking out of the elevators. He pointed right at my face, spitting as he yelled. “Stella! You finally decided to show your face! You ungrateful parasite! Your father fed you and raised you for nothing!” Seeing me, Diane immediately flipped the switch. She cried so hard she was choking on her own tears, dropping her knees toward the floor. “Stella! Mommy is begging you! Have a little mercy in your heart! Please save your father!” I walked slowly out from behind Dr. Harrison. I looked right past him, fixing my eyes on Diane’s twisted, theatrical face. My voice was quiet, but it echoed perfectly clear into the ears of every person in that lobby, and straight into the live broadcast microphones. “Diane.” “Ten years ago, when you threw my mother’s urn into the garbage, were you this self-righteous?” The entire lobby went completely dead silent in an instant. The frantic, scrolling text in the live chat froze for a solid second. The color drained from Diane’s face in real-time. Pure panic leaked into her eyes. “What… what nonsense are you talking about!” She raised her voice, desperately trying to use volume to cover her guilt. “You were clumsy! You dropped it yourself! How dare you try and pin that on me!” “Oh?” I let out a soft laugh. The sound was dripping with ice. I took a step forward, looking dead into the nearest camera lens, as if I were staring right at the millions of people watching behind their screens. “Is that so?” “Then how exactly did I ‘accidentally’ push you so hard that your rib fractured, putting you in a hospital bed for two weeks?” “Did you not tell the police that I was jealous of your loving relationship with my father, and shoved you out of pure revenge?” “I am just curious. How did a fragile, weak stepmother manage to beat an eighteen-year-old girl until two of her ribs snapped, and then throw her out onto the street?” Every single question I asked was like a surgical scalpel, slicing precisely into Diane’s vital organs. She started shaking. Her lips trembled, but she could not force a single word out of her throat. The reporters smelled blood in the water. The sound of camera shutters clicking sounded like machine-gun fire. Uncle Arthur realized the narrative was slipping. He lunged forward with a ferocious scowl, trying to snatch the microphone away from the press. “You little bitch! Stop spreading lies!” Before he could even get close, two massive hospital security guards tackled him, pinning his arms behind his back. Dr. Harrison stepped in front of me, facing the sea of cameras. His voice was deep and unshakable. “Everyone, quiet down.” “Dr. Stella Crawford is the youngest lead cardiothoracic surgeon in this hospital, and she is my most brilliant student.” “The number of lives she has personally pulled back from the brink of death outnumbers the people standing in this room.” “I, Dr. Harrison, put my entire decades-long medical reputation on the line to vouch for her professional ability and her moral character!” He paused, his sharp gaze cutting across Diane’s pale face and Arthur’s struggling form. “As for her family disputes, I believe the truth will come to light through the proper legal channels, not through a poorly staged internet mob!” Dr. Harrison’s words hit like heavy iron. The security guards moved in. Completely ignoring Diane’s screeching and Arthur’s cursing, they physically dragged the two of them out of the hospital doors. The absurd theatrical riot ended in total humiliation. The storm settled for the moment. I had just changed out of my scrubs when the ICU nurse called my extension. “Dr. Crawford… your father… he woke up due to the agitation.” The nurse’s voice was hesitant. “He is incredibly worked up. He is demanding to speak with you.” The phone was handed over. A second later, a weak but violently arrogant voice crawled through the speaker like a venomous snake. “You… wicked brat…” “Get your ass back here right now…” “Give me… the kidney…” “Or else… even if I die… I will haunt you as a ghost… I will never let you go…” That voice sounded exactly the same as his furious roar in the rain ten years ago. Dripping with entitlement and toxic hatred. I did not say a single word. I just listened to him wheeze. Then, I reached out and tapped the red button. I powered my phone off completely. The world was finally, beautifully quiet. 3 Diane’s live stream may have ended in disaster, but her claims about the urn and the fractured rib had successfully ripped open a gap in the public narrative. The internet was not entirely stupid. Amateur detectives started digging frantically for clues. I did not give them much time to speculate. The very next morning, I handed a crystal-clear audio file to a trusted journalist friend. The recording featured an elderly woman’s voice, thick with pity and regret. “…Diane, I have to say, you went way too far.” “That was Evelyn’s ashes. Throwing them like that… it is a mortal sin.” “And little Stella. She is just a child. How could you lie to Robert and say she pushed you?” “Are you trying to drive that poor girl to her death?” The voice belonged to Mrs. Higgins, our old next-door neighbor. She had watched me grow up. She had witnessed every ounce of misery I endured after Diane moved in. Ten years ago, she was terrified of Robert’s violent temper and kept her mouth shut. Ten years later, her son had made a fortune and moved her to a luxury condo in another city. She had absolutely nothing to fear anymore. When I tracked her down, she held my hands, tears spilling down her wrinkled cheeks. “You poor girl. You have suffered so much all these years.” The moment the audio file dropped, the internet narrative flipped instantly. [Holy shit! So the stepmother threw the urn herself and framed the daughter for pushing her?] [This stepmother is pure evil! Who does something like that?] [I take back every bad thing I said about Dr. Crawford. If that were me, I wouldn’t just refuse the kidney, I would go back and slap her across the face!] [My heart breaks for Dr. Crawford. Being born into a family of bloodsuckers is a nightmare.] Diane’s phone was bombarded with calls. Thousands of hateful direct messages flooded her social media accounts like a tidal wave. Her carefully curated persona of the perfect, suffering wife shattered into a million pieces overnight. The Crawford family was in complete chaos. They held an emergency family summit that lasted well into the night. Finally, a call came through to Dr. Harrison’s personal cell phone. It was Great-Uncle Henry, the patriarch of the Crawford family trust and the most powerful figure in their circle. He ordered Dr. Harrison to hand the phone to me. Through the speaker, the old man’s voice was hoarse and dripping with absolute authority. He spoke in a tone that refused any argument. “Stella, this is your Great-Uncle Henry.” “Your father is dying. As his daughter, you are required to return immediately!” “If you continue this ungrateful, ridiculous tantrum and drag the Crawford family name through the mud, we will convene the board and legally strip you of the Crawford name and your inheritance!” Disinherited and erased from the family. That was the absolute worst punishment their tiny, pathetic minds could come up with. How hilarious. They thought a last name I was desperate to scrub from my identity was a bargaining chip. I smiled softly into the receiver. “Sure.” “Time and place.” Great-Uncle Henry was clearly shocked by how quickly I agreed. He paused for a moment before giving me the address to the main Crawford estate and the meeting time. The next day, I walked right into the grand library of the Crawford estate on the dot. The room was packed with people. A sea of dark suits and grim faces, all staring at me with judgmental, condemning eyes. The air was thick with the smell of old wood polish and suffocating tension. Diane sat in the chair closest to the patriarch. Her eyes were swollen. When she saw me walk in, she started sobbing quietly, playing the role of the brutally victimized wife flawlessly. Great-Uncle Henry sat in a massive leather armchair at the head of the room. He slammed his silver-tipped cane hard against the hardwood floor. “On your knees!” I stood perfectly still. A flash of pure rage crossed his cloudy eyes. “Stella! Your father is dying in a hospital bed! You owe us your life, your very flesh and blood belongs to your parents! Saving him is your absolute duty! You will go to that hospital, get matched, and donate that kidney right now!” “If you refuse, you are a traitor to the Crawford bloodline!” My flesh and blood belongs to my parents. I looked around the room, making eye contact with every single one of these hypocritical relatives, and let out a sharp laugh. “My flesh and blood?” “Ten years ago, when Robert Crawford used a steel pipe to break my ribs and threw me out into the street like a stray dog, why didn’t he think about my flesh and blood then?” “Did a single person sitting in this room stand up and say one word in my defense?” The grand library was dead silent. My gaze finally locked onto Diane. She flinched, shrinking back into her chair. I stared at the massive diamond ring sparkling on her right ring finger. Even in the dim light of the library, the stone gleamed with pure greed. “Diane, that is a gorgeous diamond ring.” She froze, completely confused as to why I was bringing up her jewelry. “You bought it with my mother’s heirloom, didn’t you?” My voice was quiet, but it hit the room like a live grenade. “Her favorite vintage emerald pendant. It was worth a fortune. Less than six months after she died, Robert pawned it for a hundred grand.” “And he used that cash to buy you that diamond ring, along with a closet full of designer bags.” “Am I right?” All the blood instantly drained from Diane’s face. She looked like a ghost. The rest of the Crawford relatives looked at her with sheer shock and visible disgust. They started whispering furiously among themselves. The fact that Robert had pawned his dead wife’s jewelry to spoil his mistress was clearly news to them. I completely ignored their reactions and took a slow step forward. My voice was not loud, but I made sure every single syllable was razor-sharp. “You are all sitting here demanding I give up my kidney, preaching about family love and moral duty.” “But is it really because he is my father…” “Or is it because… when I was ten years old, he bought a massive five hundred thousand dollar life insurance policy on me?” “And the sole beneficiary listed on that policy was Robert Crawford.” I stopped walking. My eyes cut across the horrified faces in the room like a surgical blade. Finally, I looked up at the massive family crest hanging above the fireplace. “I have spent years thinking about one specific detail.” “Ten years ago, in the freezing rain. If that heavy steel pipe had swung just a few inches higher and crushed my skull instead of my ribs…” “Could he have legally claimed that half a million dollars and lived happily ever after with you, Diane?” The grand library was submerged in absolute, terrifying silence. You could hear a pin drop. Every single face in the room was painted with horror and sheer disbelief. The majestic Crawford family crest suddenly looked incredibly pathetic, like the punchline to a very dark joke. 4 The word “insurance” dropped like a depth charge, blowing the stagnant waters of the Crawford family wide open. Buying a massive life insurance policy on a minor child, with himself as the sole beneficiary. Every adult in that room knew exactly what that implied. No one dared to bring up “family duty” anymore. No one threatened to disinherit me. The way they looked at me shifted from righteous anger to pure terror. They looked at me like I was an avenging ghost crawling back from the abyss. The ridiculous family summit ended in total disaster. When Robert heard the news, his failing body took another massive hit. According to the nurses, he started foaming at the mouth and had to be rushed back into emergency resuscitation. He was finally terrified. He stopped issuing orders and sent a corporate lawyer to contact me instead. The lawyer was a sharp-looking man in his forties. When we met, he got straight to the point. “Dr. Crawford, Mr. Robert Crawford has authorized me to negotiate with you.” “He states that if you agree to donate a kidney, he will immediately transfer all of his assets to you before the surgery. This includes two luxury estates, a premium vehicle, and thirty percent of his corporate shares.” “He is prepared to draft a legally binding will and have it notarized today.” It was an astronomical amount of wealth. Enough to guarantee a person absolute financial freedom for the rest of their life. When Diane caught wind of the offer, she completely lost her mind. She threw a massive tantrum in the hospital lobby, screaming at the lawyer, rolling on the floor, crying that Robert had gone insane. She demanded that half the assets legally belonged to her and her son. Someone filmed her greedy, hysterical meltdown and posted it online, sparking another wave of vicious mockery. I sat quietly in the hospital coffee shop, listening to the lawyer lay out the terms. When he finished, I picked up my coffee cup and took a slow sip. “Tell your client something for me.” “His money is filthy.” The lawyer blinked in pure shock. He clearly had not expected such a flat, instant rejection. “Dr. Crawford, are you sure you do not want to reconsider? We are talking about an eight-figure portfolio.” “I am sure.” I stood up, looking down at him. “And a piece of professional advice. I highly suggest you drop him as a client.” “Because I have a feeling your client is about to transition from a civil dispute into a primary suspect in a major criminal homicide investigation.” I turned around and walked out, leaving him sitting there with his jaw practically on the table. That afternoon, I accepted a text-based interview with a major national news outlet. The journalist’s questions were sharp, asking why I was being so incredibly ruthless. [Dr. Crawford, the public understands you survived a horrific childhood. But Robert Crawford is still your biological father. Now that he is willing to surrender his entire fortune in exchange for your forgiveness and a kidney, why do you still refuse?] I stared at the blinking cursor, typing my response word by word. [Because I want to know why my mother, who was only suffering from a mild winter cold, suddenly died of heart failure in her own bed.] I typed the next sentence slower, making sure it was perfectly clear. [I want to know exactly who snuck into her room the night she died and swapped her vital heart medication for a handful of over-the-counter vitamin pills.] Then, I delivered my final statement. [I have formally retained legal counsel and petitioned the authorities to officially reopen the investigation into the death of my mother, Evelyn Crawford.] [I believe the law will give me the truth.] The second the interview went live, the entire internet went completely silent. If the allegations of abuse and the life insurance policy were scandalous family drama. The words “medication tampering” and “premeditated murder” elevated the situation into a fight to the death. This war over a kidney transplant had finally reached its true climax. I never wanted his money. I never cared about his apologies. I wanted the truth. I wanted them to pay for my mother’s life with their own blood.

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The air was thick with the lingering scent of us when his friend showed up. Ashton and I had just finished. His buddy, a bottle of bourbon dangling from his fingers, gave me a knowing once-over and let out a low whistle. “Whoa, bad timing? Damn, Ashton, you’re a lucky man.” A hot blush crept up my neck. I mumbled something about needing to buy groceries and fled the apartment. But as the door clicked shut behind me, I heard his friend’s voice, low and conspiratorial. “Seriously, man. Felicity’s coming to town soon. What’s the deal with the girl in your room?” My feet froze to the floor. A long moment passed before I heard Ashton’s voice, casual and laced with a dismissive sneer I’d never heard before. “What’s to think about? She’s just a colleague. A bit of fun, that’s all.” His friend clicked his tongue. “And Felicity?” “Felicity?” He tapped the ash from a cigarette, his voice softening. “She’s different.” 1 At that moment, my mind went completely blank. I’d been chasing him, sometimes subtly, sometimes not, for five years. I thought we were finally, truly together. I was even planning to take him home for Christmas to meet my parents. I’d already figured out which train tickets to book, how I’d introduce him to my relatives, all the charming spots and hidden diners in my hometown I wanted to show him… The beautiful little future I’d built in my head shattered like glass, destroyed by those few careless words. Just a colleague? A bit of fun? The phrases hit me like a bucket of ice water, and I couldn’t move. The conversation inside continued. I peeked through the crack in the door. “By the way, I heard Felicity applied for grad school here. That’s because of you, right?” Ashton chuckled, his eyes softening into something warm and gentle. “Yeah. I had someone look into it for her, she’s pretty much a shoo-in. When she gets here in a few days, I’ll take her to meet her advisor.” “Look at you, pulling out all the stops. A regular knight in shining armor for your little princess.” Felicity. I’d heard her name before. She was Ashton’s childhood neighbor, three or four years younger, still in college. He’d never mentioned any special feelings for her, so I’d always assumed he saw her as a little sister. “Since she’s coming, you should probably clean things up here. Don’t want the kid to see this and get her heart broken.” “You think I don’t know that? I’ve got it handled.” Ashton took a drag from his cigarette, his expression vanishing into a cloud of white smoke. I couldn’t listen anymore. Tears blurring my vision, I stumbled down the stairs and ran. 2 I couldn’t understand it. Just last night, he was whispering “I love you” into my ear in a haze of passion. How could he turn so cold, so fast? Ashton. In my mind, he was brilliant, proud, and a little aloof to the world, but always, always gentle with me. He was a year ahead of me in college, and now we were colleagues at the same massive tech firm. I’d fallen for him the first time I saw him on campus. After graduation, I followed him right to this company. Our workplace even encouraged inter-office dating, so I pursued him openly. At first, he barely gave me the time of day, but slowly, he started to come around. When he finally kissed me, pulling me into his arms, I thought my devotion had finally won his. I never imagined this was how he saw our relationship. “Where’d you go? You’ve been gone forever.” My phone rang. It was Ashton, his voice a low rumble. “Just browsing at the supermarket,” I said, wiping away a tear and forcing my voice to sound steady. “Alright. Well, take your time.” He paused. “Oh, hey, we’re out of the ultra-thins. Grab a box on your way back.” Just as the line went dead, I heard someone in the background chuckle. He’d actually said that to me in front of his friend. Shame and anger washed over me. “Just a bit of fun…” His words echoed in my head, a sharp knife twisting in my heart. God, Ava, you’re so cheap in his eyes. I took a deep, shaky breath and opened my email, finding the transfer offer Sarah from HR had sent a few days ago. The company wanted to promote me to department head and relocate me to the Chicago office next month. My hometown wasn’t far from Chicago. It was a promotion, a raise—a golden opportunity. But for Ashton, I’d turned it down without a second thought. Sarah had pulled me aside for a chat afterward. When she realized I was rejecting the offer because of him, she’d hesitated. “Ava, love is important, but so are you… Just think about it a little more.” Now… Now I finally understood. I quickly typed out a reply: I accept the transfer. 3 I didn’t go back to the apartment I shared with Ashton. I went to my old room in the company dorms instead. When he called that night asking me to come home, I just told him I was swamped with work. Sarah had mentioned that the Chicago position was highly coveted, with several people vying for it, so she advised me to keep it quiet until the New Year. I wasn’t an idiot. If Ashton never considered me his girlfriend, then there was no need for a breakup. Where I was going and what I was doing was none of his business. The end-of-year rush was brutal, though. I had to wrap up all my current projects before the transfer, so I wouldn’t leave a mess for my colleagues. I found myself working until 3 a.m., and I’d only been asleep for a few hours when Ashton’s call jolted me awake. “Ava? What’s the name of that place you get those breakfast burritos and that weird green juice from?” “Huh?” I squinted at my phone. It was only 6:30. Ashton was usually dead to the world at this hour. “You know, the one with the extra crispy hash browns inside… Is it the one on the corner or the food truck downtown?” “The one downtown.” “Got it.” The call ended, but I was wide awake. Sleep was impossible now. Ashton was a night owl who always skipped breakfast. During the years I was trying to win him over, I’d bring him all sorts of things to eat in the morning. He loved the burritos from that specific truck, so I’d often take an early bus across town, a half-hour ride each way, just to get them for him. Was he up early today to buy breakfast… for me? A bitter, hopeful feeling swelled in my chest. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d woken up early for me. Last winter, I came down with a nasty flu and was stuck in my dorm room. I was drifting in and out of a feverish sleep when I heard the doorbell ring, thinking I’d imagined it. Later, I found out he’d gotten up at five, a personal record for him. He’d made me rice porridge from scratch, the kind my mom used to make, then went to the pharmacy for medicine, delivering it all to my door before he had to be at work. He grew up wealthy; he’d never cooked a day in his life. He deliberately handed me the soup and medicine with his left hand, but I still saw the bandages on the index and middle fingers of his right hand, tucked at his side. I can still remember the comforting aroma of that porridge. But today… I waited until 9 a.m., the start of the workday. He never showed. 4 “Ava! Ava, you won’t believe who I saw at the subway station today.” At lunch, Dani sidled up next to me in the cafeteria line. She was my partner on my main project and my best friend at the company. “It was Ashton. He took the day off, did you know?” Dani watched my face carefully. “No, I didn’t,” I said, my voice flat. Usually, I’d wander over to his desk during our breaks, chat for a bit, maybe grab a coffee together. Today, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. “He was with this really sweet-looking girl, heading for the L-train. I bet they were going to Six Flags.” Six Flags? After we’d gotten together, I’d asked him to go with me several times. He always said no. Turns out it wasn’t that he didn’t want to go. He just didn’t want to go with me. “The girl twisted her ankle on the stairs, and he just knelt right down, took off her shoe, and started rubbing her foot. He was blowing on it and everything, looked like he was about to kiss it…” “I snapped a picture. Here, look.” Dani handed me her phone. In the photo, a girl with a delicate, fair-skinned face and exquisite features sat on the steps, dressed in a wool skirt and black stockings. Ashton was kneeling before her, cradling her foot on his knee like it was a priceless treasure. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I understood. The breakfast burrito this morning was for her. Taking the day off was for her. Felicity. She was here. “Look, Ava, don’t think I’m overstepping,” Dani said, “but you’ve been chasing this guy forever, and he’s never given you a straight answer. I always thought he was a player, and today just proves it.” “Now you see him for what he is, right?” My colleagues and his all knew I was pursuing him. But no one knew we’d actually been dating for a while. That was because Ashton had never made it official. I used to think it was just his personality, that he was private and didn’t like public displays. I even found his reserved-in-public, passionate-in-private persona charming. But between yesterday and today, even I couldn’t be that stupid anymore. Dani took her phone back and deleted the picture with a decisive tap. “Jerk. He’s disgusting.” “You need to stop hanging all your hopes on him! You’re gorgeous, Ava. There are plenty of guys in this office who’d kill for a chance with you. In fact, that cute new guy from R&D was just asking me about you…” “Thank you, Dani,” I managed a smile. “But I’m not looking to date right now. I’m…” I told her about the promotion and the transfer. Dani was trustworthy, and since she was my project partner, she deserved a heads-up. “Oh my God, congratulations! Ava! You have to treat me to dinner!” she squealed, throwing her arms around me in a hug. “Deal!” I laughed, prying her off me. I leaned in closer. “I heard from Sarah that they might be expanding the Chicago office even more in the second half of the year. Your department might send someone over…” “That would be amazing! I’d be the first to volunteer!” Dani grinned. “We could go to Navy Pier together!” 5 Two days later, Ashton showed up at my dorm room with a cup of bubble tea. I was on my laptop, trying to finish up some work. “Ava, can you please come home tonight? I can’t sleep when you’re not there.” The warm lamplight softened the lines of his face, making his eyes look deep and sincere. He sounded so loving, so gentle. My gaze fell on the cup on my desk. A coconut matcha latte, my old favorite. In the past, on the rare occasions I’d gotten upset with him, a single cup of this was all it took to soothe my anger. It wasn’t about the drink itself. It was because I was that easy to please. But things are different now, Ashton. “I’m not coming back. I’ll pick up the rest of my stuff in a few days.” I didn’t even look up from my screen. “What’s wrong?” He frowned slightly, then a look of understanding, mixed with a hint of amusement, crossed his face. He leaned over and pulled me into his arms. “I had to take a couple of days off for an emergency. My fault, I forgot to tell you. Is that it? You’re mad because you haven’t seen me for a few days? You’re the one who’s been hiding out here working late.” He buried his face in my neck, inhaling deeply, trying to take things further in the privacy of my room. He’d done this before, and I’d mistaken it for love. Now I knew he was just horny. I shoved him away, hard. My arm knocked over the latte on the table. The pale green liquid splashed across the floor, blooming like a sickly flower and filling the air with a cloying sweetness that made my stomach turn. “Ava!” His voice finally sharpened with anger. He grabbed my wrist. “What the hell is your problem? I asked around. Your department is busy, but not this busy. What are you really doing here every night?” He trapped me against the desk, his lean forearms bracketing me. His dark, narrow eyes narrowed menacingly. “Or are you avoiding me to see someone else?” The air went still. My eyes suddenly burned with tears. I had wanted to end things quietly, to just disappear. But I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Ashton, I’m not shameless like you! You’re the one who doesn’t give a damn about me! You’re the one seeing someone else! Felicity! I know she’s here!” Ashton froze, his shock quickly morphing into fury. “How did you know? Are you spying on me?!” “Ava, we’re not married! We just slept together, and you’re already watching my every move… I’m very disappointed in you.” “I’m disappointed too,” I choked out, looking up at him. All the pain I’d bottled up over the last few days burst forth like a flood. This man, the man I had loved for years, had taken my love and forged it into a thousand tiny knives, plunging every single one of them into my heart. Seeing my tears, Ashton’s anger faltered. He fumbled for a tissue, trying to wipe my face. “I’m sorry, that was too harsh. I just mean… Ava, I need my space. You can’t control everything I do…” “I won’t anymore.” I pushed his hand away, wiping my tears on my sleeve, swallowing them down. I’m done with you, Ashton. I heard voices in the hallway; my roommate was coming back. “You should go,” I said, pushing him toward the door. Ashton stood there for a moment, then pressed the crumpled tissue into my hand. “Fine.” “Calm down. We’ll talk on the phone tonight.” 6 My roommate tiptoed around the puddle of latte on the floor, her eyes wide with surprise. “Ava, what happened?” “It’s nothing.” I grabbed a mop and cleaned the floor, scrubbing until it was spotless, as if nothing had ever been spilled. Then I took out my phone, blocked Ashton’s number, and blocked him on every social media app. That evening, my mom called. “Ava, have you and your boyfriend booked your train tickets yet? I cleaned out the guest room today, so he’ll have a place to stay…” I paused, then cut her off. “Mom… we broke up.” Every time I went home for the holidays, the first question from every aunt and uncle was about my relationship status. My parents never pressured me, but I knew they were secretly hoping I’d bring someone home. When my mom had called last week and I asked if I could bring my boyfriend for Christmas, she had been ecstatic. Now, just a few days later, I had to let her down. There was a brief silence on the other end of the line before my mom’s voice returned, as cheerful as ever. “Well, that’s okay! You’re young, these things happen.” “You’ll find someone better when the time is right.” “Ava, just make sure you book your own ticket home soon! I can’t wait to see you…” “Okay,” I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. The next day, I took a half-day off and went back to the apartment. I threw my few clothes and makeup into a suitcase. The stuffed animals, the lipstick, the handbag he’d bought me—they all went into a trash bag. Downstairs, I tossed the bag into the dumpster and walked away, pulling my suitcase behind me without a single look back. I wondered if Ashton had noticed I’d blocked him, if he was furious. Or maybe he was too busy with Felicity to even care. Either way, he didn’t contact me again for the next few days. Soon, it was the company’s annual anniversary party. Employees were allowed to bring a plus-one, and the ballroom was filled with spouses and partners. A few of Ashton’s colleagues passed by me, their eyes darting away as they mumbled a hello. “Ava!” Dani called out, nodding toward the front of the room. “Ashton’s here. And he brought her.” I turned. Ashton stood with his back to me at the dessert table, next to Felicity. She took a small bite of a strawberry panna cotta, then playfully fed the rest of it to him. Ashton put on a show of exasperated affection. I remembered how he’d never once touched food I’d already eaten. Even when we shared a bag of chips, we had to have separate bowls. The ballroom was chaotic, with kids running everywhere. As I stood there, lost in thought, a little boy about five or six years old, holding a chocolate ice cream cone, ran straight into my white dress. Before I could even react, he burst into tears. His mother, assuming I was the one who had bullied her precious child, immediately started scolding me. Dani tried to explain, but the woman wouldn’t listen. A crowd of colleagues gathered, but no one knew what had happened, so they just stood there watching. Finally, a guy holding a large camera stepped in front of me. “Ma’am, your son ran into her. I caught the whole thing on video, if you’d like to see?” After reviewing the footage, the mother offered a half-hearted apology and dragged her son away. The guy turned to me and smiled. He had a kind, handsome face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He held out his hand. “Noah. R&D department.” Dani nudged me with her elbow, a teasing glint in her eye. “The cute new guy from R&D.” Noah’s ears turned a little red. I got the hint. “Ava, from Product,” I said, shaking his hand politely. “Thanks for that.” “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” 7 I was still trying to scrub the chocolate stain out of my dress when a call came through from an unknown number. I answered. It was Ashton’s deep voice. “Ava, where are you? Who was that guy?” He’d seen what happened. He didn’t even ask if I was okay. The first thing he asked was who the other guy was. “Ava, stop this childish game! You blocked me, you cleared out your stuff from the apartment, and now you’re putting on a little show with this guy right in front of me?” His voice was strained with disappointment and fatigue. “This is exhausting!” “I only brought Felicity today to introduce her to a few people. She’s leaving in a couple of days. You don’t have to be so petty…” I almost laughed. He actually thought I’d staged the whole thing just to get his attention. “Ashton, I’m not being petty! What are we, anyway? We’re colleagues, remember? Why would I put on a show for you? Frankly, this dress is worth more to me than you are!” I dabbed at the stain again. It was fading, but it wouldn’t come out completely. A shame. It had cost me three hundred dollars. “Fine, Ava. Just fine,” he seethed through the phone. “You…” I didn’t hear the rest. I hung up and blocked his new number. It was all just noise. I didn’t want to hear another word. When I came out of the restroom, Dani and Noah were rushing toward me, both out of breath. Noah was holding a paper bag from a sportswear store. “Ava, this was the best I could do on short notice,” he said. “It’s just a tracksuit, but you can change into it for now.” “Thank you, Dani!” I said, taking the bag. “Don’t thank me! It was his idea, and his money. I just picked the size,” Dani said with a grin, pointing at Noah. The tall, broad-shouldered young man gave me a shy smile.

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The day my patron was exposed as an imposter, the true heir of the city’s wealthiest family forced him into a basement where he tried to kill himself. I had just stolen the sponsorship agreement we’d signed years ago, planning to shred it and run. Suddenly, a stream of text began to scroll before my eyes, like comments on a live feed. Typical gold digger. She’s ditching him now, which is perfect. Makes room for our girl, the real heroine. After she leaves him, she’ll find some psycho benefactor who tortures her to death. If only she knew that in six months, he’ll have staged the most epic comeback in history, surpassing the Blackwood dynasty to become the youngest self-made billionaire. He and the heroine will become a legendary power couple. She’d probably claw her way back from the grave out of sheer spite. My hand trembled, and the agreement ripped in two. There was no time to think. I burst into the bathroom and saw him, Alistair, with a fresh cut bleeding on his wrist. I threw myself forward, grabbing his arm, my tears flowing without a shred of dignity. “Alistair, don’t you die on me! Who’s going to take care of me if you’re gone? I was hoping we could renew our contract!” His gaze, dark and hollow, drifted to the two pieces of the agreement on the floor. He spoke, his voice a ghost of its former self. “Really?” 1 “You were only ever with me for the money,” he said, his eyes scanning the damp, grimy basement as if he were a machine. “And now, you see what’s become of me.” His lips, always so vibrant, were now bloodless. I pressed my hands over the gash on his wrist, but crimson still dripped onto the cracked concrete floor. “I’ve been cast out of the Blackwood family. I’m hiding in this hellhole, a man who can’t even support himself, let alone you. So just go. I won’t blame you.” A cold dread prickled my skin, and I shivered. I’d been with Alistair for eight years. To the world, he was the suave, gentle heir. But I knew the truth. He was a viper coiled behind a mask of civility, and he never forgot a slight. His words might have sounded like a release, but the hand hidden behind his back was clenched so tight his knuckles were white. I didn’t know whether to believe the strange text floating in my vision, but my instincts, honed by years of surviving at his side, screamed at me to make a choice. I couldn’t leave. If I did, I wouldn’t have to wait for some future psycho to kill me. Alistair would do it first, and he’d do it slowly. I lunged forward and crushed my mouth against his pale lips. He seized control instantly, kissing me with a desperate hunger that left me breathless. When I finally pushed him away, gasping for air, I snatched the torn agreement from the floor. As he watched in stunned silence, I ripped it into tiny pieces. I cupped his face in my hands, my voice earnest. “Alistair, I don’t want to be your mistress anymore.” A flicker of murderous intent, the kind born from having nothing left to lose, flashed in his eyes. The comments in my vision were just as scathing. [Wow, I actually thought she’d had a change of heart. Turns out she’s just here to twist the knife. Just you wait. When her new patron is torturing her, she’ll be begging Alistair for help, and he won’t even give her a second glance.] [As soon as this parasite leaves, the heroine will burst in and save him. And that’s when his epic revenge story begins. Get the popcorn ready!] I ignored their vitriol, my voice dropping to a soft, trembling whisper. “I know this is probably the worst possible time to say this, but… now that you have nothing, I feel like I can finally reach you. So, Alistair, will you be my boyfriend?” His eyes widened slightly. But before he could answer, my vision went black. The last thing I saw was a single line of text materializing in the darkness. [Changing your mind won’t save you. Deviate from the script, and you’re the one who suffers.] A furious fire ignited in my soul. Follow the script? The script wanted me dead. Why the hell should I? In the suffocating dark, a searing heat consumed me. I ran and ran, desperate to escape, until finally, my eyes flew open. I shot upright, drenched in a cold sweat. I was in a hospital bed, a piercing pain radiating from my core. A soft groan escaped my lips. A cool hand touched my forehead, and Alistair’s voice, thick with fear, washed over me. “Sasha? Are you feeling any better?” The pain was a constant torment. After eight years of him catering to my every whim, never letting a single scratch mar my skin, I had grown soft. The agony was too much. I broke down, sobbing. “It hurts. It hurts so much.” He stood up, helpless, and rushed out to find a doctor. The man who returned with him shot me an irritated look. “If you don’t have the money for tests, you need to be discharged. Stop taking up a bed. What do you want me to do? No money, no treatment. It’s that simple.” Alistair’s voice was a low, furious growl. “Run the best tests you have. I have…” His words died in his throat. His proud posture, always so straight, seemed to crumple. He lowered his head, unable to meet my eyes. The doctor scoffed. “You should probably get going. You don’t have anything left to pawn for another night’s stay.” That’s when I noticed it. The family signet ring he always wore on his little finger was gone. Ignoring the searing pain, I threw myself out of bed, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward the exit, chattering nonstop to soothe him. “Honestly, just being with you is like a painkiller, you know? It doesn’t hurt nearly as much. You can’t get rid of me, Alistair. You just can’t.” A single, hot tear landed on our joined hands. His voice was a raw, broken whisper. “I won’t.” A small smile touched my lips. And I wasn’t even lying. 2 [He chose to take the side character to the hospital and missed his fated meeting with the heroine. The plot is completely derailed.] [The system’s punishment seems weaker, too. That’s probably why she can still walk. The original penalty for defying the script should have left her in a state worse than death.] [You know, I’m kinda shipping them. The fallen tycoon and his fiercely loyal canary. You don’t see that every day.] I hid the glint in my eyes, piecing together a path to survival from these fragmented clues. So, if I defied the script, I’d be punished. But if Alistair chose me, without hesitation, every single time, it could break the script’s hold. The punishment might weaken, or maybe even… disappear? It all hinged on Alistair’s love. I turned to look at the man who was once the untouchable prince of the city, now trailing behind me, holding my hand with such gentle care. I smiled, my eyes crinkling. “Alistair, you’re my boyfriend now. So you’re going to work hard and get rich again so I can have my old life back, right?” “I promise,” he said, his voice firm, his words a vow. [Is it just me, or did he go from being her sugar daddy to her lapdog?] [Just wait until he starts working. The humiliation and degradation he’s about to face… that’s when the heroine swoops in to save him from rock bottom. Their love story will ignite. That’s the most important plot point.] [So they missed their first meeting. Big deal. It won’t stop them from falling in love. The side piece should start looking for her next benefactor now, before it’s too late.] I didn’t stop Alistair from going to work. The pain was a relentless beast, and sleep was my only escape. He came back exhausted every day. His clothes, once impeccably clean, now had dust ground into the knees. I knew from the comments what was happening. He’d gone to an old acquaintance from his circle, a man named Rick. Rick despised Alistair for being an imposter, but he couldn’t deny his business genius. So he tormented him with petty cruelties. The man who once oozed pride was on his knees, polishing another man’s shoes. He was hauling heavy water coolers up twenty-six flights of stairs, replacing the jug in every office. He was standing in the breakroom for three hours, making coffee for the entire company. Rick even made Alistair clean the toilets. I had smelled the acrid scent of disinfectant clinging to his skin. But despite all that, the first thing I saw when he walked through the door each night was a smile. He’d set down the groceries he’d bought and immediately pull me into his arms. “Feeling any better today?” I’d blink my eyes open, still groggy, and plant a loud kiss on his cheek. “Just having you hold me makes it all better.” “I’m starving. I want dinner.” Alistair, carrying the bag of groceries, moved to the small kitchen with practiced ease. I propped my head on my hand, enjoying the absolute meltdown happening in the comments. [This is the man who used to take three showers if he got a whiff of cooking smoke on him. Now he’s living in the kitchen just to cook for her.] [All she has to do is give him one compliment and he’s putty in her hands. And her whole ‘you’re my painkiller’ line? So cringe, I got goosebumps.] I rolled over in bed. Oh, there’s so much more than that. After dinner, Alistair would wash my clothes by hand, clean our tiny apartment, and then give me a full-body massage. Only after I was sound asleep would he start on the work he’d brought home. Whenever he was here, the slightest sound from me was treated like a national emergency. Like right now. Wearing an apron, he knelt beside my bed. “Did rolling over hurt? Do you need me?” I put on my sweetest voice. “I need my boyfriend to kiss me.” He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to my lips, his hands, the same hands that had signed billion-dollar deals, began to gently massage my temples. The throbbing ache inside me subsided a little. I closed my eyes, content, and directed him to my shoulders. A shrill ringtone shattered the peace. Alistair’s hands paused before he answered the call. His brow furrowed, and he gave me an apologetic look. “Something came up at work, Sasha. I have to go out for a bit. You finish dinner, just leave the dishes on the table. I’ll wash them when I get back.” I watched him go. The comments exploded. [Rick has been plotting this all along. This isn’t about work. It’s a setup. He’s going to break Alistair’s pride, humiliate him, assault him. But thank god, the heroine is about to make her grand entrance and save the day! I’ve been waiting for this scene. My ship is finally sailing!] [After tonight, that manipulative gold digger will be kicked to the curb. I am so tired of her cutesy, fake act.] 3 A jolt of energy shot through me. I forced myself up, ignoring the pain, and scrambled out the door after Alistair, determined to intercept his and the heroine’s fated romantic encounter. Following the directions from the comments, I found the nightclub and slipped past a distracted bouncer. The pounding music amplified the pain in my body. In the center of the main floor, a noisy crowd had formed a circle. I pushed my way through and saw him. Alistair, pinned to the floor. Rick had his foot on Alistair’s face, grinding his heel into his cheek. The floor was littered with shattered glass, the shards digging into Alistair’s skin. Blood and spilled liquor pooled around him, the metallic, sweet stench making my stomach turn. “Still think you’re some kind of prince?” Rick sneered. “You’re a fake. A nobody. Thrown out on the street with nothing. If I wasn’t feeding you, you’d be begging for scraps right now.” “All I asked was for you to do a little striptease for us. You had no problem getting on your knees to polish my shoes. Why the high-and-mighty act now?” A vile smirk spread across Rick’s face. He grabbed Alistair’s chin, pinching his cheeks until they were red. Rick was notorious in their circle for being into men and women, but I never thought he’d set his sights on Alistair. “You’ve had a tough time, haven’t you? Just soften up a little. Be a good boy and play with me, and I can give you all the money and power you could ever want.” Alistair’s chest heaved, his eyes burning with silent fury. He spat a mouthful of blood onto Rick’s face. The response was a vicious storm of kicks and punches. Rick wiped his face, his expression twisting into a mask of rage. “Break his arms and legs! Strip him naked and hang him from the ceiling! Let’s see how long he lasts with no food or water!” A bouncer lifted a chair over his head and brought it down hard. Alistair let out a muffled grunt, swallowing the scream that rose in his throat. My vision turned red. Forgetting everything about the plot, I grabbed a fruit knife from a nearby table and charged into the circle, swinging it wildly. “Let us go! Or none of us are walking out of here alive!” My voice shook uncontrollably. I’d never been this close to real danger. My frenzied state made Rick stumble back a step. He squinted, and a slow, dawning smile spread across his face. “Well, well, if it isn’t Alistair’s little pet canary, Sasha. Still sticking with him even though he’s broke. What a loyal little whore.” His lecherous eyes darted between us. “I’ve had men, and I’ve had women. But I’ve never had a matching set before. Looks like I’m trying something new tonight.” “You can be my little plaything,” he said to me. “I’ll give you more than he ever could.” The words had barely left his mouth when Alistair, who had been lying limp on the floor, exploded. Veins bulged on his forehead as he snatched the knife from my hand and plunged it straight into Rick’s eye. “You dare touch her!” But Rick had numbers on his side. Bouncers swarmed forward, pinning Alistair down and beating him mercilessly. Rick writhed on the floor, screaming. “A doctor! Get me a goddamn doctor! And skin that bastard Alistair alive! I want him to beg for death!” I tried to shield Alistair with my own body, but someone kicked me so hard I flew backward, crashing into a table and coughing up a mouthful of blood. The fists landing on Alistair were brutal, each blow a sickening thud. But he seemed to feel nothing. His only focus was on me. When he saw the blood spill from my lips, he began to struggle with renewed ferocity. His eyes were blazing red, staring straight at me. He mouthed two words: Run now. [I knew this scene was coming, but it’s still brutal to watch. This incident leaves a permanent scar on him. It’s only with the heroine’s love and support that he’s able to heal.] [No wonder Rick is the one who eventually tortures the side character to death. I wish I could jump through the screen and kill him myself.] That sentence flashed in my mind. A wave of fury and defiance surged through me. Why should I die at the hands of scum like this? Why does he get to humiliate Alistair without consequence? I grabbed a jagged piece of broken glass from the floor and scrambled toward the now-unprotected Rick. As he roared in agony, I drove the shard deep into his neck. Hot blood sprayed across my face and hair. Suddenly, a clear, commanding female voice cut through the chaos. “Stop! Anyone who lays another hand on Alistair Blackwood will answer to me.” It was as if fireworks had exploded in my vision as the comments lit up in celebration. [The hero and heroine have finally met! The plot is back on track!] A wave of unimaginable pain washed over me, stealing the last of my strength. I collapsed to the floor. With my last ounce of will, I turned my head to look at Alistair. And I saw it. A flicker of awe and astonishment in his eyes as he looked at his savior.

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1 Isabelle Ridley and I grew up inseparable. The day we turned eighteen, our families announced our engagement. From then on, I counted the days. But Isabelle saw it as a cage. “Most people get to fall in love a few times,” she once said bitterly. “Why am I stuck with you, from cradle to grave?” She shrugged, adding, “You should date around too, Noah.” She lived by her words. In the year after our engagement, Isabelle cycled through seven boyfriends. With each one, I calmly said it was fine, telling myself she’d get it out of her system and return to me eventually. Then came the eighth. She brought him to her family’s annual gala, holding his hand as he called her “Izzy.” I set down my fork and, in front of everyone, slid the signed engagement contract to the center of the table. “You were right, Isabelle,” I said steadily. “Committing to one person for life? It’s a raw deal.” Later, when I stood before her with Sophia Langdon—the Langdon heiress—Isabelle smashed her champagne flute, her eyes red with fury. “Noah, what is this?!” I smiled. “Isn’t this what you wanted? I tried. And she’s a perfect fit.” … I’d been to the Ridley family gala many times. But tonight was the first time I walked through those doors as something other than “Isabelle Ridley’s fiancé.” “Is that Noah Prescott? What is he…” “Who is he holding hands with? Is that the Langdon girl?” “And who’s that standing next to Miss Ridley? What is going on…” Isabelle shot to her feet, the legs of her chair scraping a jarring shriek against the polished marble floor. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she pointed a trembling finger at Sophia. “Do you have any idea who he is? He’s my fiancé!” Sophia glanced at me, a silent question in her eyes, asking if she should speak. I gave a subtle shake of my head. Mrs. Ridley forced a smile, trying to smooth things over. “Noah, there must be a misunderstanding. Izzy is just young and likes to have her fun. In her heart, she’s still yours…” I looked at Isabelle’s mother and offered a smile of my own. “Mrs. Ridley, she’s had her ‘fun’ for a year. Seven boyfriends. I never said a word.” “Tonight is your family’s most important event of the year, and she brings number eight. If I stay silent now, should I be expected to give up my seat for number nine?” Mr. Ridley’s face turned to stone. He shot Isabelle a look that could kill. She opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off with a raised hand. “You were right, Isabelle. Being faithful is a bad deal.” “So, I’m ending the engagement. It’s over.” I nudged the contract further across the table, then turned to my own father. His expression was unreadable. He met my gaze for three long seconds, then stood. “Richard,” he said to Mr. Ridley, “let’s not interfere in our children’s affairs. But if Noah wants to end this engagement, he has my full support.” Mr. Ridley’s face darkened. He roared at Isabelle, “Get out of my sight! Now!” Isabelle was banished to the study. Even through the thick wooden door, we could hear the sound of things being thrown and smashed. Mrs. Ridley said nothing more, simply following her daughter into the room. Isabelle’s date, a young man named Caden, was left standing alone, wilting under the stares of the entire room. He ducked his head and hurried out of the main hall. The gala ended abruptly. I walked Sophia to the door, releasing her hand once we were outside. “Thank you for tonight, Sophia.” She looked up at me, her gaze warm and uncomplicated. “It was my honor to play a part in your little drama.” Then she got into her car and vanished into the night. I stood there in front of the Ridley estate, a cool wind brushing against me. A red wine stain on my white shirt had dried, leaving a dark, rust-colored mark. When I got home, I collapsed onto the sofa and lay there for a long time with my eyes closed. My mind drifted back to the year Isabelle first took my hand, declaring, “Noah Prescott is mine.” I remembered our eighteenth birthday, the day of our engagement party, when she announced to everyone, “He’s the one for me, for life.” And now, at twenty-two, she had brought her eighth boyfriend to meet me. The person I had sworn to protect was no longer mine to protect. I opened my eyes, took out my phone, and opened my chat with Isabelle. The last message, from three days ago, was a picture of her and Caden. New boyfriend. Cute, right? I hadn’t replied then. And I wouldn’t be replying now. I tapped her profile picture and selected “Delete Contact.” 2 A week after the engagement was broken, I drove out to a tea garden in the countryside to discuss a new project. The place was designed like a classical estate, with a small courtyard at the entrance and a flagstone path lined with bamboo. As I walked through the courtyard, I saw him. Caden. He was sitting at a tea table under a covered veranda, smiling and chatting, with pastries and tea laid out before him. Across from him sat Isabelle. Caden saw me first. A flicker of recognition lit his eyes before he quickly composed himself and pretended to continue his conversation. A hostess came to greet me, and I told her I had a reservation. She led me to a table in a quiet corner. The spot wasn’t far from their table, close enough to overhear their words. I had just sat down when I heard Caden say, “Izzy, about what happened with Noah the other night… what’s the latest?” The teacup in my hand paused halfway to my lips. Isabelle’s voice drifted over. “What’s to handle? He’s the one who broke it off. You don’t expect me to beg him to take me back, do you?” Caden chuckled. “But for him to do that in public… it was a huge slap in the face for you.” Isabelle laughed along with him. “He thinks he can scare me by ending the engagement? Please. Our families arranged it. His word alone doesn’t mean a thing.” I lifted the cup and took a slow sip. It was a premium green tea, this year’s harvest. It was good. Caden asked another question. “So, are you going to see him again?” “See him for what?” Isabelle’s tone was breezy, indifferent. “I have you now.” Caden lowered his voice. “So… when are you going to marry me?” There was a two-second pause. Then, Isabelle’s voice, clear as day. “Soon. As soon as things settle down, I’ll marry you.” I swallowed the tea and poured myself another cup. The steam rose, warming my face, leaving it feeling damp. Caden was still talking, but his voice had become a dull buzz in my ears. Her words echoed in my head, over and over. As soon as things settle down, I’ll marry you. Things settle down. I almost laughed. I had waited an entire year for her to come back to me. And here she was, promising to marry someone else as soon as things “settled down.” I drained my cup, called the waitress, and paid the bill. As I stood to leave, I walked past their table. I didn’t slow my pace. I even wore a faint, polite smile. Caden’s expression shifted, likely surprised by my composure. Isabelle watched me, her gaze following me until I was out of the courtyard and gone. Once I was in my car, I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles white. My nails dug into my palms, the pain a sharp, welcome sting. I sent a message to the project manager, changing the location of our meeting. Three seconds later, I started the car and drove away. Back at the tea garden, Isabelle pushed away the pastry Caden offered her. “Let’s go.” Caden looked confused. “Where?” “You go home first. I have something to take care of.” His face fell, but he didn’t dare argue. That evening, the client for my new project was finalized. It was the Ridley Corporation. The next day, I received another message. The project liaison would be Caden. I stared at the message for a long time. Did Isabelle get him a job at her family’s company? Or was he already working there? It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. I put down my phone and went back to revising the proposal. 3 At the project kick-off meeting, I found myself sitting across from Isabelle as a contractor for the first time. She was dressed in a sharp business suit, her expression all professional. Caden, also in a suit, sat beside her. I opened my laptop and began my presentation. Five minutes in, Caden held up a hand, interrupting me. “Mr. Prescott, I believe there’s an issue with your target demographic positioning.” I paused and looked at him. “The positioning was determined by preliminary market research. Your team signed off on the report.” Caden smiled. “That was before. I’m in charge of the project now, and I don’t think it’s appropriate. It needs to be changed.” Isabelle nodded beside him. “Caden’s right. Revise it.” I paused for a beat. “Alright.” I continued. Ten minutes later, Caden interrupted again. “This customer flow design is also unacceptable. It’s too convoluted. Did your team even do a site visit when you drafted this?” “We conducted three site visits,” I replied evenly. “The flow is based on…” Caden cut me off again. “I’ve seen your analysis report. The data sources are all wrong. Do it over.” Isabelle nodded again. “Do as he says.” Her gaze met mine for a fleeting second before she looked down at her phone. I took a deep breath. “Understood.” For the rest of the meeting, Caden interrupted me every five minutes, his criticisms growing more and more absurd. The other people in the room exchanged uneasy glances, but no one dared to speak up. When I finally finished, I closed my laptop. Caden smiled. “Thank you for your hard work, Mr. Prescott. Please take the proposal back and revise it thoroughly. We’ll meet again soon.” After the meeting, he cornered me in the hallway. He gave me a slick, smug smile. “Mr. Prescott, I’ll be your point of contact for this project moving forward. Let’s make sure we communicate frequently.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Izzy told me that the success of this project will directly impact the future partnership between the Prescott and Ridley corporations.” “Don’t worry,” he added, his voice dripping with insincerity. “I’ll be sure to ‘cooperate’ with you fully.” I looked at his face and felt a sudden, sharp urge to ask him a question. Do you have any idea that the woman you’re with went through seven boyfriends in a single year? But I didn’t. I just said, “Then let’s stick to the protocol.” His smile widened. “Of course, I’ll follow protocol. I’m just worried Mr. Prescott might not be used to it.” He turned to leave, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Prescott. Izzy said that after this project is completed, we’ll be officially announcing our engagement.” I stood there, motionless, and watched him disappear down the hall. For the next week, I worked late into the night, every night. I revised the proposal eight times. Each time I submitted it, Caden sent it back. My colleagues complained in private, saying he was doing it on purpose. I just told them, “Keep revising.” I knew he was doing it on purpose. Arguing was pointless. At eleven o’clock one night, I was alone in the office, working on the proposal. A knock came at the door. I looked up to see the security guard. Someone was here for me. I went downstairs. Sophia Langdon was standing in the lobby, holding a plastic bag. 4 Sophia walked over and handed me the bag. “I was passing by and thought you might be hungry.” I opened it. Inside was a container of hot soup and a coffee. I looked up at her. “Sophia, did you plant a tracking device on me?” She pretended to think about it. “That would be illegal.” “Then how did you know I hadn’t eaten?” She just smiled, not answering. I started on the soup. The warm broth soothed something deep inside me. She stood beside me quietly, just watching. Suddenly, I let out a small laugh. She looked at me. “What’s so funny?” “Nothing,” I said. “It’s just… I feel like it’s been a long time since I’ve laughed like this.” She met my eyes, her gaze soft and light. I didn’t say anything more. I went home that night and completed the ninth revision of the proposal. I submitted it at two in the morning. At eight a.m. the next day, I received a reply: [Approved.] The project’s milestone reception was held in the grand ballroom of a five-star hotel downtown. The moment I walked in, I could hear the whispers. “Isn’t that Noah Prescott? I thought he was engaged to the Ridley girl. Why is her family giving him such a hard time now?” “I heard they broke it off, but I don’t know the details.” “That Caden guy seems to be Miss Ridley’s new favorite. I bet an announcement is coming soon.” The words floated into my ears, but I kept my face a blank slate. At precisely eight o’clock, Caden entered with Isabelle on his arm. He was dressed in a sharp white suit that made him look dashing. Isabelle was in a magnificent gown, a polite smile fixed on her face. Someone braver than the rest called out, “Miss Ridley, is it true you and the Prescott family have called off the engagement?” Every head in the room turned to look at Isabelle, and then at me. Just as she was about to speak, I set down my glass. “It’s true,” I said, my voice cutting through the murmurs. “The engagement between the Ridley and Prescott families has been cancelled.” A wave of shock rippled through the ballroom. Isabelle’s face paled. She stared at me, her eyes wide. I met her gaze without flinching. Then, a slow, deliberate smile spread across her face. She wrapped her arms around Caden’s neck. And in front of everyone, she stood on her toes and kissed him. Caden froze for a second, then a look of pure joy washed over his face as he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her back. Gasps and whispers erupted from the crowd. When the kiss ended, Isabelle pulled back, her eyes still locked on me. “Mr. Prescott is correct,” she announced, her voice ringing with false triumph. “The engagement is off.” “Because the man I’m going to marry… is him.” The room exploded. Caden was so overjoyed his eyes turned red. He held her waist tightly, as if she might disappear. But Isabelle wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at me. Waiting for my reaction. Waiting for a crack to appear in my composure. But my expression remained a perfect, unreadable mask. Just as I was about to say something, a voice came from behind me. “What a coincidence.” I turned. Sophia Langdon was walking through the crowd, a vision of elegance in her evening gown. She moved toward me, her gaze passing over everyone else until it landed on my face. She stopped in front of me, reached out, and took my hand. Then she lifted her head, looking at Isabelle, at Caden, at the entire room. “Because I’m going to marry him.”

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When popular actress Ruby’s secret Instagram account was exposed, hundreds of love letters made her the number one trending topic on social media overnight. She wrote: “The man I love became someone else’s husband.” Her fans all felt sorry for her: “You’re so devoted!” “These love letters are so touching! I’m crying!” I was lying in bed scrolling through my phone when I casually commented: “How can someone make falling for another woman’s husband sound so innocent?” One minute later, Frederick’s call came through: “Ruby didn’t do anything wrong. Saying that will cause her trouble.” I froze for a moment, then suddenly laughed. So in a relationship between three people, the extra one had always been me—the wife. The man Ruby couldn’t have in her posts was my husband of nearly three years, Frederick. I opened my mouth, wanting to explain I’d only commented casually. But the words that came out were: “How did you even see it?” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. I suddenly understood. With tens of thousands of comments on the trending topic, Frederick—currently on a business trip abroad—had spotted my account among all those comments at a glance. Not because I was important to him, but because he’d been following Ruby’s every move. He’d even scrolled through every single comment. “Serena, delete the comment first.” Frederick’s tone softened slightly from before. “I’ll handle things with Ruby. You don’t need to worry about it.” I bit my lip. “Sorry. I didn’t know those love letters were written to you. I’ll delete it.” He paused. As if he wanted to say something more, but in the end just hummed in acknowledgment. The call ended. I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at the screen for a few seconds. Frederick had always been gentle and courteous with me. This was the first time he’d confronted me like this. I set my phone face-down on the nightstand and lay back down with my face mask on. Fifteen minutes later, I went to the bathroom to wash my face. The person in the mirror looked normal, except her eyes were a bit red. I leaned in for a closer look. Probably some mask serum had gotten in my eyes. After washing up, I reopened that trending topic. All the posts were titled “Letters to Mr. F.” Documenting Ruby’s years-long obsession with a man. I found my comment, clicked on it, and deleted it. When I exited, the number one trending topic had already changed. “Who Is the Man in Ruby’s Love Letters?” I scrolled past it and closed the app. My phone stayed quiet. It didn’t ring again. I turned off the light and lay back in bed. In the darkness, I suddenly remembered something. The prenuptial agreement between Frederick and me had a three-year term. Only two months remained.

Three years ago, the Ashford family faced a crisis. Stock prices plummeted. Partners withdrew funding one after another. At that time, as the only daughter of the Hayes family, I proposed a marriage alliance. Some said I was taking advantage of their misfortune. Some said the Hayes family was bottom-fishing. What no one knew was that I liked Frederick. Since college. For seven years. To avoid putting pressure on Frederick, I drafted an agreement myself: a marriage term of three years. During those three years, we would cooperate to handle family matters and attend public events together. After three years, if either party proposed divorce, the other must agree unconditionally. This marriage held no benefits for me. I wanted nothing—just a chance to be with him for three years. Later I heard that he apparently had a girlfriend he was deeply in love with at the time. His parents forcibly separated them and made him marry me to save the company. Over these three years, Frederick had been very good to me. Genuinely good. Considerate, gentle, fulfilling his duties as a husband. He would bring me late-night snacks when returning home from business dinners. He would bring me gifts when returning from business trips. He never brushed off any holiday or anniversary. When I was sick, he would stay by my bedside. Even in our intimate life, he was attentive. I thought he was slowly falling for me. Now I understood. He was just fulfilling contractual obligations. As for feelings— Those weren’t in the contract. I turned over, burying my face in the pillow. Before long, the pillow was wet in one spot.

The next evening, Frederick returned from his business trip. I sat in the living room waiting for him. Before he could raise his arms to hug me, I pushed the agreement across. “What’s this?” He was clearly startled, sitting down beside me. “The prenuptial agreement.” “We have two months left until the three-year term expires. But if you’re in a hurry, we can end the contract early.” He frowned. “Serena, what do you mean?” I looked up at him calmly. “I don’t care about your business with Ruby. But I don’t want to stay in this position.” “Before proposing the alliance, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend. I’m sorry, but I have no interest in being the one who gets in the way of true love.” Frederick’s expression froze slightly. He reached out to put his arm around me, his tone softer than before. “She and I ended completely long ago. Those love letters were written by her. They have nothing to do with me.” I moved back slightly. His arm froze in midair. “Don’t overthink it,” he said, finally placing his hand on my shoulder and patting it reassuringly. “The three years aren’t up yet. You’re still Mrs. Ashford.” I nodded. “Okay.” He looked at me for a few seconds, stood up, and said he was going to shower. That evening, we ate dinner together. After the meal, we sat together in the media room watching an old movie. During the end credits, we became intimate. Afterward, he carried me to bathe as usual. He let me fall asleep on his arm. I almost doubted again that he liked me. I woke in the middle of the night to find the spot beside me empty. I instinctively looked toward the balcony. The curtains weren’t fully drawn—there was a gap. Through it I could see a figure on the balcony, back turned to me, phone raised. I got out of bed quietly and walked to the door. “…I’ve already handled the trending topic.” His voice drifted in from the balcony, kept very low. “I don’t want this to affect the cooperation between the Ashford and Hayes families.” Silence for a few seconds. “Ruby, what we had is in the past.” I stood behind the curtain, my fingers clenched tight. He listened for a while longer, then said, “Get some sleep.” The call ended. I thought he would come back, but he made another call. “Mr. Johnson, the company needs a global brand ambassador for the new season. Contact Ruby’s agent. Accept whatever conditions they ask for.” I heard the sound of a lighter. A flash of flame—he lit a cigarette. Smoke drifted into the night. His profile was briefly lit by the cigarette’s glow, then darkened again. When we first got married, he occasionally smelled of smoke. I would cough a few times. After that, I never saw him smoke again. I stood behind the curtain watching him smoke one cigarette after another. My feet felt cold. I realized I was standing barefoot on the floor. I tiptoed back to bed, lay down, and closed my eyes.

On the weekend, Frederick had a gathering with friends. I hit traffic and arrived later than planned. The moment before I pushed open the private room door, voices from inside filtered through. “Frederick, if the Hayes family hadn’t taken advantage of the situation back then, you would have married Ruby by now, right?” “You two were doing so well together, forcibly torn apart.” “Exactly.” Another voice chimed in. “Serena’s move was pretty calculated. I heard that when your family had problems, she was the first to jump out proposing a marriage alliance. Who knows if her family was behind it all?” “I’ve wanted to say this for a while—you and Ruby were such a perfect match back then. She still can’t forget you, writing all those love letters. So devoted.” “Serena’s just been taking advantage these three years, when you get down to it.” Laughter, voices agreeing. Then I heard Frederick’s voice. His tone flat, almost cold. “It’s all in the past.” My hand stopped on the door handle. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t say Serena wasn’t that kind of person. Didn’t say she wasn’t scheming. Didn’t say she was his wife. He didn’t even tell them to stop. One dismissive “it’s all in the past.” Drowning three years of marriage and my dignity in their mockery. My nails dug into my palm. It hurt a little. I had looked into Ruby. When the Ashford family was in crisis, she had quickly latched onto a new benefactor. Even I could easily find this out. I didn’t believe Frederick couldn’t. Unless he trusted her completely. I suddenly recalled three years ago. When the Ashford family was in crisis, my family opposed the marriage alliance. They said the Ashford family’s problems were too deep—the Hayes family didn’t need to get involved. I was the one who sold all the properties under my name and mortgaged my shares in Hayes Corporation. I scraped together that money and transferred it to Frederick’s finance department under the guise of working capital. I never told anyone about this. Including him. I thought that was love. Turns out in others’ mouths, it was called taking advantage of someone’s misfortune. The laughter inside continued. I released the handle and stepped back. Before tears could fall, I left the club.

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After my husband Damien Carter died in the line of duty, I visited his grave every weekend. Five years later, on another weekend, I was in a car accident on my way to the cemetery. When I woke up, my best friend Gwen Mitchell tried to comfort me. “He’s been gone for so many years now. You need to move on and live your own life.” I nodded and agreed, deciding to take a job in the UK. Before heading to the airport, I decided on impulse to say goodbye to my husband at the cemetery. His headstone was gone. I pulled up the cemetery’s security footage from three days earlier. My husband — who had supposedly died in a fire — was there, holding hands with a pregnant Gwen. That evening, Gwen called asking if I’d landed yet, wondering why I wasn’t replying to her messages. I raised my hand and knocked on her door, smiling at her shocked, wide-eyed expression. “Your belly’s gotten so big. Why didn’t you tell your best friend?” That evening, I arrived at Gwen’s door and knocked. The moment she saw me, her phone clattered to the floor. I bent down and picked it up for her. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” She seemed to snap out of a daze, forcing out a smile. “Didn’t you fly to the UK? Why did you suddenly come find me without saying anything? I could have picked you up.” I let out a cold laugh. “Didn’t you sprain your ankle?” After my car accident, she’d been anxious and apologetic, saying she’d twisted her ankle and couldn’t get back from Los Angeles to see me. All lies. Just then, a delivery guy emerged from the elevator, handing over a large bouquet of roses. “Delivery for you — flowers.” Gwen didn’t take them. I did. “Honey, is that the delivery?” From inside the apartment, a man’s familiar voice made my heart lurch violently. The next second, Damien Carter walked out of the kitchen wearing an apron. Seeing me, he froze completely, his pupils trembling. I pulled out the card from the flowers. It was in Damien’s handwriting. “Dear Mrs. Carter, Happy Fourth Wedding Anniversary. Thank you for marrying me and giving me a lifetime of happiness.” I read it aloud mockingly, watching both their faces grow increasingly pale. “How wonderful.” They both stood frozen, unsure how to react. I walked toward the photo wall in the living room. Five years ago, Damien had supposedly died saving people, his body obliterated in a fire explosion. I’d been devastated, crying day after day until my retina detached. While they moved into their new home, excitedly planning their new life together. The day before I attempted suicide by cutting my wrists, they’d registered their marriage. While I was downing antidepressants by the handful, finding it difficult to even breathe or feel my heartbeat, they were traveling and vacationing around the world, skiing and diving. While I could only fall asleep listening to Damien’s old voice messages, he’d gotten my best friend pregnant and was reading picture books to their baby in her belly. I took down the ultrasound photo of the baby, my hands shaking uncontrollably. “Have you picked a name for the baby yet? How about Luna?” At Damien’s wedding, he’d said in his vows: “I fell in love with you at first sight. The night we first said hello, I’d already thought of names for our children. Luna.” Everyone had laughed, including my maid of honor — Gwen. Gwen had held the bouquet and playfully hit Damien. “If you dare hurt Keira, I won’t let you get away with it.” Damien had laughed and said he knew. Back then, immersed in exhausted happiness, I hadn’t noticed the subtle tension between them at all. I took a deep breath, grabbed a potted plant by the sofa, and hurled it at the photo wall with all my strength. Gwen jumped in fright, her face going pale as she clutched her belly. “Honey…” Damien immediately rushed to support her, helping her sit down. Gwen shook her head and pushed him away. “I’m fine. Go check on the soup in the kitchen. Remember, don’t add cilantro when it’s done — Keira doesn’t eat it.” I let out a cold laugh. “My dear best friend, so thoughtful and considerate.” “Enough!” Damien’s face darkened, his voice a low, angry growl. I laughed again, staring straight into his eyes as I walked up to him. I slapped him across the face. Not satisfied, I hit him several more times. He turned his face away, veins bulging and pulsing on his forehead. My hand went numb from shaking, my whole body trembling. Over these five years, I’d lost count of how many times I’d dreamed of this exact scene. I’d come home, push open the door, and Damien would suddenly be standing there alive before my eyes. I’d hit him, curse at him, cry and ask him why he left me alone. “Keira, I’m sorry…” Gwen dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her face. “It’s all my fault. If you want to hit someone, hit me. I was the one who fell for Damien first. I seduced him, pursued him. I deceived you and betrayed our friendship.” She desperately pushed away Damien as he tried to help her up. “Go away! Go home with Keira! The baby… I’ll abort the baby. She never should have existed anyway, and I don’t deserve to be her mother.” Damien held her tightly, his eyes full of heartache. “Don’t talk nonsense. I love you. I love our daughter. You two are my family.” My heart felt like it was being crushed by a giant fist, the pain making my breath tremble. Suddenly everything went dark. I thought my retinal detachment was acting up again. Thankfully, it was just a power outage. “Ah…” Gwen screamed. She grabbed my leg, and I kicked her in the stomach. “Honey… the baby… my stomach hurts so much…” Damien frantically found his phone and turned on the flashlight. Seeing the footprint on her dress, his eyes filled with furious rage. He kicked me away with one foot. My head hit the cabinet corner, my back pressed against the broken ceramic shards of the flowerpot. My hand touched something wet — blood. Damien picked up Gwen to take her to the hospital, saying through gritted teeth: “Keira Summers, if anything happens to them, I won’t let you get away with it.” The door slammed shut. I lay on the floor, laughing and crying in the darkness. I don’t know how long passed before I seemed to smell gas. I tried to crawl up, but like in a nightmare, I couldn’t move at all. Maybe dying like this would be better. I wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. I woke up with a splitting headache. My vision blurry, I instinctively grabbed Damien’s hand, my voice carrying a grievous sob. “Don’t leave!” He clearly stiffened. The next second, I snapped fully awake, remembering everything. He pried my hand away and placed it on top of the blanket. “Be careful. Don’t dislodge the IV.” His concern carried a deliberate distance and avoidance. I laughed self-mockingly. “Sorry, I forgot you’re my best friend’s husband now.” His expression darkened at that. He turned and pulled my phone from the drawer, handing it to me. “Your company called. They asked why you didn’t report for work.” He paused. “You should start a new life.” Everyone around me had been saying the same thing. A new life… just three words when spoken, but only I knew how difficult it actually was. From the moment I fell in love with him, all my visions of the future included him. When he died, my heart died with him. Now I’d tasted something a thousand times more painful than death. I swallowed the bitter taste in my throat. “Damien Carter, I won’t let you two get away with this.” His eyes flashed sharply, glaring at me with vigilance and resentment. “If you dare hurt Gwen and the child again, I’ll definitely make you pay.” With that, he turned and left. I stared at the ceiling and let out two cold laughs. When I first started working, my boss would take me to business dinners and subtly take advantage of me. I didn’t dare resist directly, so I complained to Damien when I got home. A few days later, my boss’s face was swollen like a pig’s head. “Don’t worry, he won’t suspect us.” Damien’s expression held a trace of pride, though it quickly turned serious. “Keira, no matter who it is, if anyone bullies you, I’ll definitely make them pay.” Looking at his serious, determined eyes, I was so moved my nose stung. I jokingly asked him: “What if the person bullying me is you?” He wrapped his arm around my waist, pressing his forehead to mine. “That won’t happen.” “If one day I really do make you sad… then punish me by losing you forever.” Losing me had once been the greatest punishment for him. But a few years later, I became the shackle he desperately wanted to shed. For that, he didn’t hesitate to fake his death and escape. I wiped away the tears rolling down my temples into my hair. Gwen pushed open the door. “Keira, eat something.” While arranging the contents of the lunch box on the table, she chatted casually. “The baby’s nickname is Joey. We haven’t decided on a full name yet. You’re the child’s godmother — why don’t you help us choose one?” “You understand, right? Your Damien can never come back to you. If you haven’t vented enough anger, we can keep playing along.” “Beef stew — Damien’s specialty. You haven’t had it in a long time, right?” Smelling the meat, I was hit with an even stronger wave of nausea. She smiled. “Oh, didn’t you tell me your sister finally got pregnant after so many rounds of IVF? Twins, even.” “What do you want?” I asked through gritted teeth, my eyes bloodshot as I glared at her. “I don’t want anything.” She looked innocent. “The key is — what will you do?” 3 She returned my phone. My sister happened to call right then. “Keira, I just received a package. Inside were two really exquisite dolls. Did you buy them?” My heart jumped. I shouted urgently: “Don’t touch them! Throw them out!” My sister was startled, asking what was wrong. I took a deep breath, watching the faint smile on Gwen’s lips, my spine going cold. My parents died in an accident when I was young. My sister dropped out of high school to work, supporting me and putting me through college. Her difficulty getting pregnant was largely due to overwork that damaged her health. Gwen knew how deep my relationship with my sister was, so she was using her to control and threaten me. After hanging up, I admitted defeat and compromised. “I won’t do anything. I don’t know anything. Nothing happened. My husband is already dead.” Gwen smiled with satisfaction. “Don’t worry, the dolls are just ordinary dolls.” “Hurry and eat. The food’s getting cold.” But the next second, she heard movement at the door. She flipped the small table over. Soup and dishes spilled all over my bed and body. The lunch box rolled to the floor with a clatter. Damien rushed in from outside. “Gwen! Did you get burned?” Gwen shook her head and smiled. “No, I’m fine. Check on Keira quickly.” Damien held her back, glancing at me sideways. “She’s fine. Don’t worry about her.” Another knife to the heart. Gwen looked even more satisfied. Damien protectively walked her out. I heard his voice, kept very low: “Keira’s emotionally unstable right now. What if she goes crazy and comes after you? I’ve already arranged for someone to come.” Gwen’s voice was soft and coquettish with a hint of laughter: “You’re so thoughtful.” They left. A nurse came in to clean up. I hid in the bathroom and called my sister back. “Hailey, will you come to the UK with me for a while? Have your husband take you to get your visa today. I’ll come back to get you.” Someone knocked on the door. I hurriedly told my sister one more thing and hung up. It was the nurse’s voice. I opened the door, and a man pushed his way in. Before I could scream in terror, my mouth and nose were covered, and I quickly passed out. When I regained consciousness, I was lying in bed wearing my hospital gown. Under my clothes were bruises all over. Gwen came in supporting her waist, like a friend sharing gossip as she showed me nude photos of myself. “Since you don’t trust me, I had to keep some leverage on you too.” “If you don’t want your sister, your coworkers and friends, or even strangers to see these things, you’d better keep your mouth shut forever.” I trembled all over, gritting my teeth and nodding. Gwen drove me to the airport and gave me a card. “Live well on your own.” I took it, but she didn’t let go immediately. “The password is the day Luna left. I’ve always felt guilty. Especially after I got pregnant myself — I kept dreaming about it.” I froze, realizing in a flash. “The car accident… you did it on purpose!” After Damien’s “death,” I discovered I was pregnant. Gwen advised me not to keep it. I couldn’t bear to give it up, so she said she’d help me raise it after it was born. But a few days later, she drove me out to relax, and we got into an accident. I lost the baby. “A child without a father is too pitiful. Better not to come into this world to suffer.” I swallowed the bloody taste rising in my throat and got out of the car. Just after getting off the plane, my old phone in my pocket suddenly vibrated frantically: “Is this Keira Summers, Hailey Summers’s sister? Your sister opened a package delivered to her home today. It had a strong allergen on it. She’s hemorrhaging badly and had a miscarriage. The situation is critical. You need to get to the hospital immediately to sign papers!” My fingertips instantly went ice cold. I turned around and went to the counter to change to the earliest flight back to New York. On the plane, I had a good cry. Back in New York, I bought a new phone and switched it on, then made a call. “This is Keira Summers. You said I could come to you if I needed help. Does that still stand?” 4 I brought my sister to New York, temporarily staying in a secure private community that the man had arranged. I felt somewhat reassured. I organized evidence and documents, writing two complaint letters. I printed the complaint letters and put them in two separate envelopes. One I sent to Gwen’s workplace, the other to Damien’s military unit. The afternoon after mailing the letters, I sat on a park bench, watching the falling leaves in a daze. These years I’d spent as a widow for Damien — it was all a joke. If only he had really died in the line of duty. At least then, we wouldn’t have come to this point, and my sister’s children would still be alive. Three days later, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find Damien standing outside, holding two crumpled letters in his hand. The very complaint letters I’d sent. “Keira, don’t do anything foolish.” He threw the letters on the coffee table, his tone carrying a warning. “Fighting a losing battle won’t end well for you. Your sister is the best example.” I suddenly stood up, my chest heaving violently: “I already agreed! Why did you have to destroy everything I had left?” For the first time, Damien’s eyes showed a trace of guilt. His expression was complicated. Suddenly he reached out and pulled me into his arms, apologizing: “I’m sorry, Keira. Don’t do anything foolish. Just live your own life properly.” I broke down crying, tears hitting the floor: “Damien Carter… why are you doing this to me?!” He didn’t answer. The accumulated grievances and anger exploded again. I continued crying and asking him: “Damien Carter! How can you?! How can you destroy everything I have and then tell me to live well?!” He let me hit him, but his arms only tightened around me. “I’m sorry…” he kept repeating. I cried until I was drained of strength, using what little energy I had left to push him away. When he left, he left behind a card. “Let’s end this here. Gwen still has those photos of you. I don’t want her to hurt you again.” “This card — consider it some compensation from me to you and your sister.” I looked at him with a smile and nodded okay. With my sister’s situation still unresolved, how could I possibly let them go? If I really gave up now, wouldn’t that be exactly what they wanted? If I was in pain, they shouldn’t get to be comfortable either. But I didn’t expect they had no intention of letting me go either. The next morning, I went to bring my sister breakfast. Just as I walked out of the community gate, a black sedan suddenly accelerated toward me. The blinding headlights made me unable to open my eyes. I instinctively stepped back but tripped on a step. After being hit by the car, only one thought remained in my mind. I can’t die. In the last second before losing consciousness, I felt someone pick me up. I struggled to open my eyes and saw a face with distinct features. The man’s voice was deep and gentle. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

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In my past life, Ethan’s mom found a pair of sexy underwear in his room. Faced with Ethan’s pleading eyes, I accepted by default that the underwear was mine. From that day on, I became a thorn in his mother’s side. Later, after the SAT, Ethan—who should have gotten into an Ivy League school—only made it into community college. Ethan’s mom lost her mind. She set fire to my house and burned my entire family alive. Reborn into this life, back to the day the lingerie was discovered. This time, I’m not taking the fall. “You little slut! So young and already seducing my son into sleeping with you? Have you no shame!” Victoria Lane’s shrill voice exploded through the apartment complex courtyard. A pink piece of lingerie landed on my face, reeking of an indescribable fishy smell. My whole body trembled. In an instant, I remembered the bone-searing pain of being burned alive in my past life. In my past life, it was also today. Mrs. Lane publicly accused me of seducing her son. I was about to open my mouth to refute when I caught Ethan’s slightly pleading gaze. The rebuttal on the tip of my tongue was swallowed back down. I promised Mrs. Lane over and over that I would keep my distance from Ethan, never imagining that was just the beginning of a nightmare. From that day on, whenever Ethan’s grades showed the slightest fluctuation, Mrs. Lane would show up at our door crying and making a scene. My parents were tormented beyond endurance and even lost their jobs. I originally thought that after the SAT ended, things would gradually calm down. I never expected that Ethan—whose grades should have been good enough for MIT—dropped a bombshell on SAT score release day. He only scored just over 300 points. Mrs. Lane went crazy. In the middle of the night, she doused our house with gasoline and burned our entire family alive. My parents and I were trapped inside. The agony of flames licking my body and the smell of burning flesh intertwined. The heart-wrenching screams of my parents are something I’ll never forget in this lifetime. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. Ethan ran over and grabbed his mother. “Mom! Stop embarrassing yourself here!” Mrs. Lane thought her son was protecting me and plopped down on the ground, wailing, “I worked so hard to raise my son. Ethan is my only hope. If you wanted a man, go find those delinquent punks who don’t study. Why target my son? Are you trying to destroy me?” Mrs. Lane knelt toward me. “Lily Thompson, I’m begging you, please leave our Ethan alone. I’ve never wronged you all these years. Just let me live, okay?” With such a big scene, neighbors gathered around, pointing and whispering about me. “This Lily seems so proper though…” “You can’t judge a book by its cover.” “And pink lingerie too. Young people these days really know how to have fun.” I took a deep breath, my eyes uncontrollably drifting toward Ethan. Ethan’s eyes were full of pleading, just like in my past life. In my past life, I was soft-hearted and nodded, then carried the reputation of being frivolous and promiscuous from then on. Mrs. Lane went around saying I was young but already knew how to seduce people. Our whole family couldn’t hold our heads up in the complex. And Ethan, the actual culprit, never once stood up to say a word in my defense from beginning to end. I took a deep breath. “This underwear isn’t mine.”

Mrs. Lane froze, then sneered, “Lying through your teeth, huh? If it’s not yours, whose could it be? Besides you, Ethan never brings other girls home!” I explained, “I get to school at 7:30 every morning and finish evening study hall at 10:30. My mom and dad take turns picking me up. Plus, every time I go to your place, Mrs. Lane, aren’t you always there?” I looked into her eyes. “Besides, the building security cameras can check, the school entrance logs can check. If you don’t believe me, you can go look right now.” Mrs. Lane’s neck stiffened. “What if you cut class?” “I’m ranked second in my grade. You think I got a 600+ score by cutting class?” Seeing more and more onlookers gathering, the security guard quickly came over to maintain order. Guard Wilson squeezed through the crowd. “Alright, alright. I work night shift every day. This girl really does get picked up by her dad at 10:30 sharp every night. On weekends she still has to go to tutoring. Where would she have time to seduce your son? Making accusations requires evidence, doesn’t it?” My mom has always been kind to others and has a good reputation among the neighbors. The onlookers began to switch sides. “Yeah, I’ve watched Lily grow up since she was little. She’s well-behaved and sensible. She even tutored my daughter in freshman and sophomore year. Her character is beyond question.” “Lady, accusing a young girl without any proof is a bit much, don’t you think?” “Exactly. Besides, that thing is attached to your son. If he wasn’t willing, could a girl force him?” “Victoria, did you misunderstand something?” Mrs. Lane’s face turned the color of liver. Ethan’s expression was also ugly. He grabbed his mom and left. “Mom! Stop making a scene. Let’s go home!” Mrs. Lane was being dragged away but didn’t forget to turn back and glare at me with a vicious warning look. I stood in place, my palms full of sweat, but I knew this wasn’t over. Because Ethan really did have a girlfriend he didn’t dare let his mom know about. In the future, whatever trouble the two of them caused would be dumped on my head again. Soon enough, I met Ethan’s girlfriend. The next day at school, there was a girl sitting on my desk. The books and test papers I’d stacked neatly were swept onto the floor. She sat crookedly, as if trying very hard to contort herself into alluring curves. The originally oversized school uniform had been altered to fit her body, the collar open wide so you could see the low-cut bra underneath from above. I knew her—Madison Brooks from the class next door. With her grades, it would be hard for her to get into a good school. I stood in front of her. “Move. This is my seat.” She sat on the desktop without moving. “Oh, so this is Ethan’s little childhood friend? Pretty ugly, but you sure dream big.” She deliberately raised her voice. “I heard you left your lingerie at Ethan’s place yesterday. Mrs. Lane didn’t hit you, did she?” The students nearby perked up their ears, no longer sleepy or busy, listening in on the gossip. Ethan still said nothing. I smiled. “Madison, it’s not good to badmouth your boyfriend like this, is it? You two have already gotten intimate. Too scared to own up to it? Want to pin it on me instead?” “Enough!” Ethan looked at me with disappointment. “Why are you joining in on this nonsense?” I took a deep breath. “Ethan, control your girlfriend. If she keeps spreading rumors about me, I’ll tell Mrs. Lane about you two.” Madison obviously knew how formidable Mrs. Lane was and awkwardly shut her mouth. I gathered my things from the floor, grabbed my backpack, and walked straight to the last row, sitting down next to the school bully. The school bully was named Derek Frost. Tall and built, he slept in the back row year-round, and no one dared mess with him. He lifted his head to glance at me, then laid it back down. Ethan walked over, lowering his voice. “What are you doing? Move back!” “No.” “Don’t joke around with your grades.” He frowned. “Class is about to start.” I looked at his face and suddenly felt disgusted. In my past life, I took the fall for him. What did he do afterward? After our family of three died, Mrs. Lane was sentenced to death. He “turned over a new leaf,” changed his name, repeated senior year, then went straight to MIT. Living his happy, brilliant life. Never once saying sorry from beginning to end. “Where I sit is my freedom.” I looked down at my book. “Don’t bother me.”

During the break, I went to the bathroom. Just as I closed the stall door, I heard a “click”—someone locked it from the outside. Madison’s laughter came from outside. “Lily, you were pretty bold just now, huh? If you kneel down and beg me, I’ll be kind and pour a little less water on you.” As soon as she finished speaking, a bucket of cold water poured down from above. I was soaked through. Madison and her group laughed hysterically outside. I wiped my face, stepped back two paces, and slammed into the bathroom door. “Bang!” The lock broke. I rushed out and grabbed Madison by the hair, shoving her head into the dirty sink beside us. “Ahh—!” She screamed and struggled. The other three were terrified. No one dared move. I pressed her down, enunciating each word. “I’m not interested in Ethan. Don’t provoke me. Got it?” Just then, Ethan suddenly rushed in and without a word, slapped me across the face. “Smack!” My cheek stung with burning pain. “Lily, this is bullying!” He stood protectively in front of Madison. The dean arrived at the sound. “Everyone stop right now!” Madison covered her face and collapsed crying into Ethan’s arms. “I don’t know why she suddenly came at me. I just got a little closer to Ethan. If you didn’t like it, you could have just said so. Why bully me like this?” Ethan looked at me coldly. “Dean, Lily struck first.” I laughed coldly. “Then explain why I’m soaking wet.” “There’s a surveillance camera at the bathroom entrance. Who’s right and who’s wrong will be clear with one look.” The dean glanced at me, then at him. I knew that between Ethan and me—one ranked first in grade, one ranked second, both aiming for Ivy League schools—punishing either of us could cause problems. In the end, the dean glared at Madison. “Madison Brooks, 5,000-word self-criticism, to be read aloud at Monday’s school-wide assembly!” Madison glared at me hatefully. “Lily! I’m not done with you!” Monday, just after Madison finished reading her self-criticism, the school forum exploded. A user called “Ethan’s Wife” went on a posting spree on the forum. [Ethan wore a white shirt today, so handsome!] [Worthy of being my boyfriend, want to lick, want to lick] [That idiot Madison, why is she so close to my boyfriend?] [Ethan and I are childhood friends. I’m Mrs. Lane’s handpicked daughter-in-law. Does that bitch think she can compete with me?] The attached images were all private photos of Ethan—eating, sleeping, wearing a tank top… The angles were extremely intimate, clearly taken at home. Based on the deliberately provided “clues” in the posts, you didn’t even need to guess—it was obviously “me.” The student next to me gave me a thumbs up. “Holy crap, girl, you’re amazing!” “Lily dares to love and hate. Truly an inspiration to us all.” “Is this what academic love looks like? So thrilling!”

Soon, the homeroom teacher called me to the office. Sitting beside her were Mrs. Lane and Ethan. As soon as Mrs. Lane saw me, she rushed over, hand raised high. But before the slap could land, my dad grabbed her wrist. “What are you doing!” My dad pulled me protectively behind him. The teacher sighed. “You know about the forum posts, right? It’s a very bad influence, and Ethan’s grades have been greatly affected recently…” Ethan glanced at me, his eyes dark with unreadable emotion. “Lily, what’s the point of doing this? I don’t like you at all… If my past behavior made you misunderstand, I apologize, but can you please stop making things up about me?” Hearing Ethan’s words, Mrs. Lane became even more convinced that I was the one who posted on the forum. “I knew you had bad intentions! Last time it was lingerie, this time spreading nonsense online! If my son doesn’t get into MIT, I’ll kill you!” Both my parents spoke at once. “Our daughter would never do such a thing!” I pressed down my angry parents and spoke directly to the teacher. “Teacher, the post has such high visibility now that the whole school knows about it. The impact is huge. This could be prosecuted. Why don’t we report it to the police and have the cyber police trace the IP? Whoever posted it gets arrested.” Mrs. Lane froze, then immediately nodded. “Yes! Call the police!” Now it was Ethan’s turn to look pale. “We can’t call the police.” Ethan suddenly stood up. Mrs. Lane glared at him. “Ethan, how can you be so confused! The most important thing now is to root out the real vixen. You can’t let this affect your studies!” Ethan avoided her gaze. “Mom, we’re all classmates. Making this bigger will affect my studies even more. Let’s just drop it. I promise I’ll definitely rank first in grade next time.” The homeroom teacher didn’t want things to escalate either. If this somehow made the news and went viral, her meager salary wouldn’t be enough to cover the deductions. She quickly tried to smooth things over. “That’s right, Mrs. Lane. They’re just kids having little squabbles. If this gets out, Ethan will be pointed at wherever he goes in the future. Don’t worry, our school will definitely investigate thoroughly and won’t let other people affect your child’s studies.” Mrs. Lane looked at him suspiciously, then at me. Finally, she left through gritted teeth. Only Ethan and I remained in the hallway. He leaned down, lowering his voice. “What’s going on with you lately? Changing seats, getting into fights, now you want to call the police. Do you have to give me trouble?” I laughed. “Ethan, get it straight. We’re just ordinary neighbors. Your mom wrongly accused me, you gave false testimony for Madison, and now you want to pin the blame on me. I’m not allowed to fight back?” His face turned iron-blue. He couldn’t say a word. “Stop putting yourself on a pedestal.” I picked up my backpack. “I have no interest in causing you trouble. Don’t disgust me either.” As I walked past him, Ethan grabbed my hand. “Lily, you weren’t like this before…” I laughed coldly. “Ethan, I once thought you weren’t this kind of person either.” This time, I shook off his hand and didn’t look back. Mrs. Lane still didn’t trust me. She installed surveillance cameras in the hallway just to monitor what time I came home. She even stalked all my social media accounts. Even if I posted about going out to have fun, she’d immediately screenshot it and ask my mom if I’d brought her son along. My mom was afraid it would affect my mood, so she just endured Mrs. Lane’s harassment. But I couldn’t stand it. Friday evening study hall, I glanced at Ethan’s seat. He wasn’t there again. I heard he’d taken sick leave, but Mrs. Lane was the type who would make him go to school unless he was dying. I didn’t believe he was really sick. I took out my phone and snapped a panoramic photo of the classroom. Ethan’s seat was in the lower left corner. Most people wouldn’t notice, but I was sure Mrs. Lane would spot her precious son’s absence at a glance. I clicked send and added a caption: “Another day of hard work studying. When will the SAT come!” Less than ten minutes after posting, hurried footsteps echoed through the classroom hallway. Mrs. Lane rushed into the classroom, out of breath. “Where’s Ethan?” I didn’t even lift my head, focused on my work. “No idea, Mrs. Lane. Maybe check wherever there aren’t many people around?” Mrs. Lane seemed to think of something. Her expression changed, and she turned and ran. I leaned against the window ledge, watching her figure disappear toward the far end of the field. Before long, a piercing scream came from the direction of the small grove.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “373616”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance