I secretly funded premium climbing gear for my team, covering costs to keep everyone safe and competitive. Until Haley joined. “Twelve hundred for a set? Sarah, you’re insane!” she mocked in the group chat. Others defended me. “That’s a steal. Custom gear retails for eight grand.” “Sarah owns the company. She charges raw cost.” Haley scoffed. “Raw cost? My family’s in retail. I know the markups. Order through me. Two hundred a set.” Greed exploded in the chat. “Two hundred? Insane savings!” “Haley handles our gear now.” “Sarah, how much did you pocket under ‘friendship’?” Pocket? Years of one-of-one custom builds, engineered to their exact biomechanics, dominating rankings. Gear no amount of money could buy elsewhere. I stared at the screen, typed “OK,” and stayed silent. If they trusted their lives to two-hundred-dollar gear on a hundred-foot cliff, it was their funeral. 1 Two weeks before the regional qualifiers, my teammates texted me their latest physical metrics. “Counting on you for the gear this season, Sarah!” Before I could even type out a response, Haley tagged me in the main chat. “Wait, twelve hundred dollars for a kit? Am I reading that right?” “That price is… literally absurd.” I initially thought she was complaining that the price was too low, and I was about to explain that taking a slight financial hit was worth it for the team’s overall performance. Instead, she dropped an audio message, her voice shrill and aggressively self-righteous. “How do you sleep at night charging everyone twelve hundred dollars for something that costs maybe two hundred bucks to make?” “Sarah, I know people hustle their friends sometimes, but you are absolutely bleeding them dry!” My fingers froze over the keyboard. Two hundred dollars? Was she pricing out cheap, plastic knockoffs from Temu? Jessica, one of our lead climbers, chimed in to smooth things over. “Haley, you’re pretty new to the pro circuit, but elite climbing gear is just insanely expensive.” “Sarah runs a legit manufacturing company. She’s hooking us up at cost. A rig like this would easily run you seven or eight grand in a specialized shop.” Haley fired right back. “I know exactly how this works, Jess. My family runs retail.” “MSRP is just a made-up number. The profit margins are completely bloated.” “When my family sources inventory, even the top-tier gear costs a maximum of two hundred dollars to produce, but they turn around and sell it to suckers for ten grand.” A heavy, awkward silence descended on the digital chat room. Then Jessica typed again, but this time, she tagged me. “Sarah… maybe you should clear the air here?” “We totally get that you run a business and need to make a profit, but marking it up six times over? That feels a little… predatory, don’t you think?” Like blood in the water, the rest of the team started surfacing. “I always thought she was way too eager to handle our equipment. Makes sense now.” “This is honestly messed up, Sarah. Every time we thanked you for the ‘friend discount,’ were you just laughing at us behind your screen?” Haley dropped a fake-innocent emoji covering its mouth. “Oh no, should I not have said anything? I didn’t mean to ruin your little side hustle, Sarah…” “But I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I absolutely despise people who exploit their friends for a quick buck.” “I used to source gear for my old team, and I charged them the real baseline cost. Two hundred dollars, flat.” “If you guys want, I can lock in that price for the whole roster.” The chat erupted into absolute chaos. “Are you serious, Haley? Two hundred? That saves us so much cash!” “Thank God, I don’t have to eat instant ramen for a month just to afford a harness.” “Man, to think of all the money I scraped together, only to line the pockets of a greedy corporate shill.” Even Greg, our supposedly level-headed team captain, finally weighed in. “I blame myself for not doing the market research. I let someone take advantage of this team’s trust.” A second later, a private message from Greg popped up on my screen. “Hey Sarah. Look, the team is pretty pissed off. I need you to refund the money we sent you for this season’s gear.” “We’re going to route the order through Haley.” “It’s nothing personal, but the price discrepancy is just too massive to ignore.” 2 I replied with a simple “OK” and instantly wired the $7,200 I had collected earlier that day straight back into his account. Over in the group chat, the whining hadn’t stopped. “So she refunded this batch, but what about the past three years? We’ve placed at least eight orders with her.” “Squeezing a thousand bucks out of each of us, every single time. Six people on the roster… that’s six grand a season!” “Wow. We basically bankrolled her entire storefront, didn’t we?” I quietly closed the app, not bothering to defend myself. There was no point. Even if I laid out the financial documents proving my actual production costs were closer to ten thousand dollars per set, they wouldn’t believe a word of it. They would just accuse me of forging invoices. I pulled up the spreadsheet containing everyone’s highly specific biomechanical data and picked up my phone, dialing the factory floor. “Josh, scrap those six custom orders. Shut down the specialized line.” Josh, my lead materials engineer, practically cheered through the receiver. “Finally! Thank God you woke up, Boss!” “Running a dedicated custom line for them was bad enough, but charging them pennies? It didn’t even cover the electricity bill for the carbon-fiber molds!” “You could give some people the shirt off your back, and they’d still complain about the fabric. Good riddance!” I hung up the phone, a bitter, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. When I first joined this team a year ago, they had stared at my gear like starving wolves looking at fresh meat. “Sarah, the rubber compound on those soles is insane! The grip looks unreal.” “How is your static rope so much lighter than mine, but rated for a higher load?” Greg had looked down at his own worn-out harness, sighing in defeat. “My rig cost me three grand, and I’m still paying it off. Yours has to be pushing fifteen thousand, right?” Back then, I had been genuinely moved by their raw passion for the sport. They were broke, struggling athletes, but they had heart. So, I made an offer. I told them I could get them the exact same tier of equipment I used, for only twelve hundred dollars. I lied and said I ran a small retail shop and could get wholesale prices. The truth was, I was the founder and CEO of Apex Dynamics, the premier climbing equipment manufacturer in the country. The very first competition they climbed in my gear, we took first place. Before that, they had never even cracked the podium. From that day on, the sponsorships started rolling in. We were getting paid to do what we loved. To give them an extra edge, I started requiring their precise body measurements, engineering bespoke equipment tailored to their individual weight distribution and reach. Custom manufacturing cannot be automated. Josh had to personally oversee the calibration of every single piece. The absolute bare-minimum factory cost for one of those kits was twelve thousand dollars. When Josh told me I was insane for eating the cost, I brushed it off. I told him they were my friends. The irony tasted like ash in my mouth. Greg’s name flashed on my screen again. “Hey, make sure you send all our measurement data over to Haley so she can place the order. Don’t drag your feet on this!” “OK.” I exported the file and sent the document straight to Haley. A minute later, she replied. “Wow, Sarah. You really commit to the bit, don’t you?” “Climbing gear comes in standard sizes. S, M, L. What the hell do you need wingspan and arch depth for?” “Adding all these fake, flashy metrics just to justify your ridiculous markup. You’re a total scam artist.” 3 I didn’t dignify that with a response. Trying to explain the aerodynamics and load-bearing physics of bespoke climbing gear to a girl peddling two-hundred-dollar death traps was a spectacular waste of oxygen. My phone buzzed constantly as the group chat continued their circle jerk. Haley: [She seriously tried to sound so professional asking for our measurements, acting like she was doing us a favor while ripping us off. The data is completely useless.] Jessica: [I mean, we’re not engineers. We just trusted whatever she said.] Greg: [Honestly, if Haley hadn’t joined, who knows how long we would’ve kept getting bled dry.] Rachel: [Thank you so much, Haley. It’s so refreshing having someone genuine on the team, unlike some people… smh.] I muted the chat entirely and swiped over to an unread message from a few days ago. It was from Dominic, the captain of our fiercest rival team. Dom’s crew used to absolutely dominate the circuit. But ever since I joined Greg’s team and quietly outfitted them in Apex Dynamics gear, Dom’s squad had been relegated to permanent second place. Dom had reached out to me relentlessly. “Sarah, I have scoured every pro shop in the country and I cannot find the brand of gear you guys are running.” “Can you hook me up with your supplier? I’ll pay a premium, I promise.” Yesterday, somehow, he had finally uncovered my real identity. “Ms. Mercer. I know you’re the CEO of Apex Dynamics. Please, I am begging you, can you manufacture a batch of that custom gear for my squad? Name your price.” I hadn’t replied. Custom lines took an immense amount of time and resources, and I had been prioritizing my own team’s gear. Now, I opened Dominic’s chat thread. “Nineteen thousand dollars per set. Do you want them?” Dom replied in less than three seconds. “Ordering seven sets right now!” Before I could even blink, a business wire transfer notification hit my phone. $133,000. The $7,200 I had just refunded Greg felt like spare change in a tip jar. Suddenly, Greg tagged me in the team chat again. “Sarah, why haven’t you sent Haley your $200 for the new order?” “The qualifiers are right around the corner. Stop stalling!” I typed back cleanly. “I have my own gear. I don’t need to order hers.” Haley immediately posted a crying emoji. “Are you punishing the team just because you’re mad I exposed your little hustle?” “Even if you hate me, you can’t jeopardize the squad. We’re supposed to be a cohesive unit. If you’re wearing different gear, we look sloppy and unprofessional for the sponsors.” Greg followed up instantly, his tone authoritative and cold. “If you’re going to be this petty and selfish, you don’t belong on this roster. Pack your bags, Sarah.” Before I could even formulate a reply, the screen glitched. You have been removed from this group chat. I stared at the notification, then calmly locked my phone screen. Whatever. Did they honestly expect me to scale a vertical cliff face in two-hundred-dollar garbage just to protect their fragile egos? Unlike them, I actually valued my life. Dom quickly gathered his teammates’ precise biometrics and forwarded the massive file to my email. “Thank you so much, Sarah. But… won’t your current team be furious about this?” “They won’t care,” I replied. “They just kicked me off the roster.” The second that message delivered, my phone buzzed. I had been pulled into a new group chat: Dom’s Climbing Squad. “Got her! Everyone welcome the boss!” Dom texted. I sent a single question mark. “Had to snatch you up before anyone else did,” Dom replied with a grinning emoji. I let out a genuine laugh. The new chat was absolutely buzzing with hype. “Oh my god, Sarah’s here! Do you have any idea how long we’ve been drooling over your hardware?!” “I always wondered why Greg’s gear looked like it was literally molded to his body. Custom measurements. That makes so much sense.” “I flew to three different states trying to find those shoes! They don’t exist in retail!” “Wait, why the hell did Greg’s team kick you out?” I leaned back in my chair and typed. “Because a new girl offered them gear for two hundred dollars a set, and they decided I was an evil capitalist scammer.” 4 The entire chat erupted into crying-laughing emojis. “Two hundred bucks?! Are they suicidal?” “Bro, I saw a guy buy a cheap harness online once. The carabiner was made of pot metal. Snapped like a twig. If they use that trash on the wall, they are asking for a body bag.” “Well, guess we’re taking gold this season! Time to call our sponsors back!” Ever since Greg’s team started winning, Dom’s major sponsors had abandoned them. Competitive climbing had exploded in popularity, and a single corporate sponsorship deal could inject fifty grand into a team’s budget. That was why Greg was so quick to throw me under the bus. He had quit his day job and was living entirely off the prize money and sponsorships. With me out of the picture, that fifty grand would be split five ways instead of six. The day of the regional qualifiers arrived. At the base camp, Greg and the rest of my old team were huddled around, waiting for Haley to show up with their fresh equipment. I pulled my SUV into the staging area and popped the trunk. Before I could even grab my duffel, Greg marched over, his face twisted in a smug scowl. “What are you doing here, Sarah? I thought we made it perfectly clear. We are not buying your overpriced trash. Are you really trying to force a sale right now?” “Are you that desperate for cash? Can’t move your inventory without scamming us?” Jessica crossed her arms, shaking her head. “This is honestly just sad, Sarah.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “She really thinks we’re just dumb ATMs, huh?” I looked at them, my expression completely deadpan. “I’m here to compete. And this gear isn’t for you.” Greg barked a harsh, mocking laugh. “Compete? You’re not on our roster anymore!” “You get zero cut of our sponsor money today! If you try to force your way onto the wall, I will personally have the judges drag you out of here!” “Pack up your little bags and get out of our sight!” Suddenly, a heavy hand shoved Greg roughly out of the way. Dominic stepped squarely in front of me, glaring down at Greg. “Sarah is our lead climber today. Keep your damn mouth shut and step back.” Dom’s teammates rushed over, carefully unloading the heavy black duffels from my trunk and distributing the bags marked with their names. “Holy shit, the texture on this…” “How the hell is this helmet so light, but it feels like solid steel?” “These shoes… it feels like walking on a cloud!” Greg and his team stood there, their smugness faltering slightly into awkward confusion. But Greg quickly recovered, sneering. “A bunch of brainwashed idiots. Getting scammed and thanking her for it.” Right on cue, Haley’s bright pink sedan pulled into the gravel lot. She popped the trunk and waved excitedly. “Gear’s here, guys! Come grab your stuff!” Greg’s team practically shoved each other out of the way, shooting us dirty looks as they grabbed their plastic-wrapped packages. “Man, I almost feel bad for Dom’s crew,” Rachel giggled loudly. “Imagine dropping thousands of dollars and then seeing our two-hundred-dollar kits. They’re probably crying inside.” Jessica covered her mouth, snickering. “They’re gonna be too weak to climb after Sarah finishes bleeding their bank accounts dry.” Rachel enthusiastically ripped open the bag with her name on it. “Wow, these are so lightweight! Way lighter than Sarah’s heavy old junk!” Greg aggressively tore the zipper off his bag, eager to prove a point. Haley puffed out her chest. “I told you guys, I source nothing but the best—” Her voice was abruptly cut off by Greg. The color completely drained from his face as he stared into the bag. “What the actual hell is this?”

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After we tied the knot for the second time, I stopped asking questions about Ross’s life. If he took his childhood sweetheart on a trip, I didn’t throw a jealous fit. If he stayed out until dawn, I didn’t blow up his phone. Even when I found his little friend’s silicone bra petals discarded in our bathroom. I simply packed them into a neat little gift bag and reminded him to take them back to her. Ross furrowed his brow, his voice edged with frustration. “Are you quite done throwing a tantrum?” 1 I looked up at his flushed, angry face, genuinely confused about what had set him off this time. Ross looked away, rubbing his temples with an exhausted sigh. “Sophie got blackout drunk at the corporate dinner last night. She lives alone, so I had no choice but to bring her here to sober up.” “She took a shower this morning and ordered fresh lingerie through a courier. She just forgot the petals by accident.” He gave me that same helplessly exasperated look I had seen a thousand times before our divorce. “I’ve told you over and over again. We grew up next door to each other, and now she works for my firm. Her mother begged me to look out for her. Can you please stop being so petty?” I calmly pressed the little paper bag into his chest. “I’m not mad. I just wanted you to return her things. Besides…” I flashed a sweet smile. “I promised I would trust you unconditionally from now on, didn’t I?” It was like punching a cloud. A flicker of absolute shock crossed Ross’s face. He stared at me intently, searching my eyes for any trace of sarcasm or hidden rage. “…You mean that?” I offered a perfect, polite smile and broke eye contact. “Of course.” After all, you already showed me exactly what it costs to doubt you. Hearing my answer, the tension drained from Ross’s shoulders. He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his voice turning incredibly soft and affectionate. “Fiona, since you came back to me… you’ve been so wonderfully well-behaved.” “Come to the company gala with me tonight. Please?” I brushed him off effortlessly. “I think I’ll pass. You always hated mixing business with your private life. I’d only get in the way.” Before I could finish, the arm around my waist tightened like a vice. Ross’s voice was perfectly level, stripped of all emotion, but my instincts instantly picked up on his displeasure. “You used to cling to me everywhere I went. You used to say you had to supervise me to make sure no other women got too close.” I let out a soft laugh, turning around to cup his face. “Like you said, that was the old me. I trust you now. There’s no need to play the jealous wife.” His expression darkened instantly. He opened his mouth to say something else, but I ignored his shifting mood and leaned in, my tone dripping with honey. “Plus, a friend already asked me to go shopping and catch a movie tonight. I can’t cancel on him now.” “Honey, could you wire a million dollars to my account?” Ross didn’t say a word. He just stared at me, his eyes swirling with dark, complicated emotions. After a long moment, a humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “Fine.” He was about to say something else, but the electronic lock on the front door suddenly beeped and clicked open. Sophie strutted into the foyer wearing a skirt so short it bordered on scandalous. Her face morphed into a mask of exaggerated surprise. “Oh! Fiona, you’re back. Since you and Ross just signed the remarriage papers, I totally didn’t expect you to move back in so fast.” Ross glared at her, dropping his hands from my waist. “Barging in here without knocking. Do you need something?” Sophie immediately bounced over to him, grabbing his arm with a sickly sweet pout. “The gala is tonight, and I still haven’t picked out my dress! Come with me to the VIP boutique to help me choose. Please?” Ross didn’t answer her. Instead, his gaze locked entirely on me, waiting for my reaction. I simply picked up my designer bag from the sofa and strolled casually toward the door. “My friend is texting me to hurry up. I’ll leave you two alone. I hate playing the third wheel.” With my hand on the doorknob, I paused and popped my head back inside. “Oh, right. Honey.” A smug, knowing smirk flickered across Ross’s face. He looked like a man who had finally proven his point. But then I beamed at him and delivered the punchline. “Don’t forget to wire that million dollars. Have fun!” I pulled the heavy oak door shut behind me with a solid thud, not sticking around to hear his reply. The world outside was perfectly quiet. As I walked down the manicured stone path through the front gardens, the bright smile melted off my face, replaced by a mask of frozen apathy. Sitting in a dimly lit restaurant that evening, I refreshed my Instagram feed and saw a new post from Sophie. It was a candid shot taken inside an exclusive boutique. Ross was sitting on a velvet sofa in the background, his eyes practically glued to her exposed, bare back. I double-tapped the photo to leave a like. Less than five minutes later, the post was deleted. A text from Ross popped up on my screen. “Are you done with your date? Are you home yet?” I stared at the words, letting the silence stretch out. Ross and I had been together for eight years. We fell in love naturally, but the massive gap in our social standing always left me feeling insecure. He was old money, and I was just an aspiring artist. That crippling inferiority complex reached its absolute peak the day Sophie entered the picture. At first, I actually bought Ross’s excuses. I truly believed she was just a naive, sheltered girl from his childhood country club circle who needed help navigating the real world. But that supposedly innocent girl managed to make Ross, a man who worshipped his work, break his own professional rules time and time again. He even reassigned the executive assistant he had relied on for eight years just to keep Sophie close to him in the office, despite her having zero administrative experience. It didn’t take long for me to realize that his boundary-breaking wasn’t just limited to the office. It bled straight into our marriage. Whenever Ross and I went on a date, Sophie would magically find an emergency that required his immediate attention. And Ross, a man who brutally guarded his private time, would always cave because it was her. The final explosion happened on the opening night of my private gallery exhibition. Half an hour into the event, Ross, who had sworn to stay by my side the entire day, got a phone call. Sophie was on the other end, crying that she felt violently ill and needed him to drive her to urgent care. Swallowing my mounting fury, I took the phone and told her Ross was hosting an important exhibition with me. Sophie scoffed, her voice dripping with pure disdain. “Your exhibition? Let’s be real, Fiona. The only reason anyone is there is because of Ross’s money and connections.” “We might not say it out loud, but you need to know your place. Without him, who would ever buy your amateur paintings? It really doesn’t matter if he stays there or not.” I was shaking with rage. My artwork had always sold well, even back when I was a struggling student. Hearing her casually invalidate my entire life’s work made me snap. I yelled right into the receiver. “You literally begged Ross for a desk job because you couldn’t get hired anywhere else! Where do you get the nerve to speak to me like that?!” “Enough, Fiona!” Ross barked, snatching the phone away. “She’s just a young girl. Why are you being so vicious over nothing?” “Her parents are vacationing in Europe. She’s home alone and she’s sick and scared. I’m going to check on her.” “Ross.” I called his name, my voice colder than it had ever been in my life. “If you walk out that door to go see her, we are getting a divorce.” He froze. A harsh, bitter laugh scraped the back of his throat as he pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “Are you threatening me? Wow, Fiona. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.” “Fine. You want a divorce? You’ve got it.” He turned on his heel and walked out, his face like thunder. I stood frozen in the center of the gallery like a statue, bearing the weight of a hundred pitying stares from the city’s elite. To this day, I can’t remember how I forced myself through the rest of the evening, or how I managed to drive back to an empty, suffocating house. All I remember is the crushing silence of the next three days, culminating in an email from Ross’s lawyers containing the divorce settlement. My brain must have initiated some kind of trauma response, because I truly cannot recall what I felt the exact second I read those words. I only remember the endless, blinding tears, and staring at Ross’s completely empty chat log. Meanwhile, Sophie was having the time of her life on social media. She posted daily updates. One day it was a picture of Ross applying sunscreen to her shoulders in Miami. The next, it was a selfie of them pressing their cheeks together at a Michelin-star restaurant. Every single post was a calculated strike at my breaking point. Maybe it was my own stubborn pride, or maybe I was just desperately hoping he would come to his senses and beg for my forgiveness. Whatever the reason, I called him a few days later, informing him that I had signed the papers and telling him to meet me at the courthouse. A tiny, pathetic part of me still thought he would back down, just like he always used to do when we fought in the early days. Instead, Ross simply answered with a single word. “Okay.” On the day we finalized the paperwork, he brought Sophie to the courthouse. He completely ignored the dark circles under my eyes and my hollowed-out cheeks. The second the stamped decree was in his hands, Sophie wrapped herself around his arm, her voice deliberately loud and sultry. “Let’s head back to my place for the pool party, Ross.” “I bought a brand new bikini just to celebrate you finally being a free man.” She leaned up, her glossy lips brushing against his jawline. I stood there watching them, my fingernails digging so deeply into my palms that they drew blood. I prayed he would pull away. Instead, he locked eyes with me, his gaze dark and unreadable. After a torturous second, he smiled. “Sure. Let’s go.” “You younger girls know how to have a good time. It’s refreshing being around someone with so much energy. Keeps things exciting.” Sophie caught his underlying meaning instantly. She shot me a triumphant, venomous smirk and climbed into the passenger seat of his sports car. I don’t know the exact details of what happened between them that night. But after tossing and turning until 3 AM, I saw a video posted by one of Ross’s frat brothers. By the edge of a neon-lit pool, Sophie, wearing a microscopic bikini, was leaning her wet body flush against Ross’s chest. They were sharing a single glass of champagne, their lips inches apart. In the background of the chaotic party, they leaned closer and closer together. Right before they closed the gap, someone walked in front of the camera, cutting the video off. I knew Ross did it on purpose. He was deliberately flaunting her, purposely letting his friends film it, and making sure the algorithm pushed it directly to my feed. It was his twisted way of punishing me for not trusting him, for daring to utter the word ‘divorce’. That was just the beginning of my personal hell. Even though I actively tried to block his digital footprint, updates about him and Sophie constantly bled into my life through mutual acquaintances. I spiraled. I started drinking heavily. I spent my days suspended in an alcoholic haze, dissecting every single argument we ever had, putting myself on trial and desperately trying to find out where I had failed him as a wife. I tormented myself with doubts. Had I misjudged him? Were he and Sophie really just innocent friends until I pushed him over the edge with my ultimatums? But none of it mattered. I eventually realized that regardless of whether Ross was at fault, I was the only one drowning in the wreckage of our past. He had clearly moved on. After a month of absolute misery, I forced myself to put the bottle down. I returned to my art studio, determined to bury my grief in work. But my nightmare wasn’t over. A corporate client I had worked with for five years suddenly called to cancel a massive commission. Then a second client pulled out. Then a third. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew exactly whose invisible hand was choking my livelihood. I had never once used Ross’s name to secure a contract. Even when we were married, every single gallery showing and commission was earned through my own relentless networking and pure talent. But now, with a few casual phone calls, my ex-husband was systematically incinerating my career. I knew this was his sick way of forcing me to crawl back to him and beg. But I refused to break. To keep my studio afloat, I started aggressively cold-calling independent investors. I crashed every single industry cocktail hour and gallery opening in the city, desperately trying to pitch my portfolio. Despite being mocked, ignored, and blacklisted by anyone afraid of crossing Ross, I never stopped pushing. A month later, I finally secured a meeting. A wealthy art investor invited me to a private suite in a downtown luxury hotel to review my portfolio. I dressed impeccably, my heart pounding with the hope that my life was finally getting back on track. But that beautiful dream was shattered the moment the investor locked the door and slid his sweaty hand aggressively up my thigh. Pure survival instinct took over. I grabbed my heavy crystal champagne flute and smashed it directly across his face. The glass shattered, and the man roared in pain, tackling me violently to the hardwood floor. Just as I thought it was all over, the heavy mahogany doors of the suite were kicked open with a deafening crash. Ross stood in the doorway, a lit cigarette clamped between his teeth. He casually grabbed the bleeding investor by the collar and hurled him across the room like a ragdoll. His eyes were completely devoid of warmth. “Unless you want your entire firm liquidated by tomorrow morning, get out of my sight.” The man scrambled out of the room, leaving me alone with my ex-husband. Ross crouched down in front of me with the slow, arrogant grace of a predator. He reached out, his thumb and forefinger tilting my chin up to force me to look at him. “Fiona.” His tone was suffocatingly superior. Beneath the coldness, I could hear a dark, twisted sense of triumph.

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1 On the day of my wedding, I was assaulted by my fiancé’s best friend. Afterward, everyone begged me to just let it go and sweep the whole nightmare under the rug. “They grew up in the same sandbox. They’ve been thick as thieves since childhood. If you make a scene, how is Declan supposed to face his best friend?” “Besides, you’re a woman. If word gets out, your reputation will be dragged through the mud. Think about your future.” I blocked out every single word. I bypassed the gossip and dragged the attacker straight to court. But on the day of the trial, right in front of the judge and a packed gallery, the defendant ripped open their dress shirt. “Take a good look, Mrs. Croft. We are both women.” “Why don’t you explain to the judge how exactly a woman managed to overpower and force herself on you?” I stared at the completely flat chest, my mind flatlining. But that day, in that dark room, the attacker absolutely had the physical anatomy of a man. I was sure of it. The courtroom fell into a suffocating silence for three excruciating seconds. Then, it erupted. “It’s a chick?” “So she made the whole thing up?” “I knew it sounded totally unhinged…” Quinn stood in the defendant’s stand. The shirt hung wide open, revealing tight red marks from a chest binder, the torso as flat as a sheet of paper. Quinn made no effort to cover up. In fact, Quinn leaned slightly to the side, giving the judge an unobstructed view. “Your Honor, Declan and I have been best buddies since we were kids. In his eyes, I’m just one of the guys.” A bitter smirk touched Quinn’s lips. “The bride had a little too much champagne on her big day. She grabbed my arm and wouldn’t stop rambling.” “I helped her to the VIP lounge so she could sleep it off, and I left before two minutes had even passed.” “I honestly have no idea why she would invent such a sick lie about me.” Quinn paused, and the edges of those eyes grew visibly red. “Maybe it’s because… Declan has always treated me so well?” A fresh wave of murmurs crashed through the gallery. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is all over petty jealousy?” “That is next level toxic. The defendant is literally a woman!” “Some wives just can’t stand their husbands having female friends…” The judge slammed the gavel down hard. “Order in the court.” He turned his gaze toward me, his eyes heavy with doubt. “Plaintiff. Do you have a response to the defendant’s statement?” What did I have to respond to? I opened my mouth, but the words withered on my tongue. The memories of that day came flooding back like dark water. The sound of the lock clicking shut. Being pinned down against the velvet sofa. My head spinning from the spiked drink, the silhouette above me blurred into a terrifying shadow. “You have such beautiful skin, Nora.” That was Quinn’s voice. Whispering right against my ear. I felt the weight. I felt the rough hands. And I felt that thing. Ice cold. Hard. Forcing its way inside. There was zero chance I was mistaken. “That day…” I squeezed my hands into tight fists. “You had male anatomy.” Quinn blinked in mock surprise before letting out a soft, echoing laugh. “What anatomy? I am a biological female. What exactly was I supposed to use…” The sentence trailed off. But the entire room caught the implication. A few people actually snickered. “Plaintiff, present your evidence,” the judge said, his brow deeply furrowed. Evidence. I had the medical report from the hospital. It clearly documented severe bruising and signs of forced entry. But the report also stated that no traces of DNA were found. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I just assumed Quinn had used protection. Now, staring at that flat, scarred chest, the horrifying truth dawned on me. That thing was never a human organ to begin with. “I…” “Your Honor.” Quinn’s defense attorney shot up from his chair, cutting me off completely. “The defendant is female and physically incapable of committing the crime as described. If the plaintiff cannot provide hard evidence, this is a textbook case of perjury and malicious prosecution.” “We reserve the right to countersue.” Countersue. Malicious prosecution. Just like that, the victim became the criminal. “Plaintiff?” The judge’s voice echoed from above. “Do you have anything else to add?” Every single pair of eyes in that room was glued to me. Quinn was looking at me too. Too calm. Too composed. Not like a victim of a false accusation. But like a predator watching a trapped animal bleed out. I drew in a shaky, desperate breath. “Your Honor, I request a recess.” “I need time to submit additional evidence.” The moment those words left my lips, a man stood up from the front row of the gallery. It was Declan. “Your Honor, if I may speak.” The judge frowned. “And you are?” “The plaintiff’s husband.” Declan hesitated, his voice thick with emotion. “And the defendant’s oldest friend.” The entire courtroom went dead silent. 2 Declan stood frozen in the aisle, looking at me with his brow completely knotted in distress. “Nora, sweetheart. Quinn is a girl. I kept the extent of our friendship quiet because I didn’t want you overthinking things.” He let out a heavy, ragged sigh. He sounded like a father scolding a toddler who had thrown a tantrum. “If you were feeling insecure, you could have taken it out on me at home. Yelled at me, thrown things. Whatever you needed.” “But you dragged her into a courtroom.” “She just tore her shirt open in front of a hundred strangers just to prove she isn’t a monster.” He dropped his voice, letting it crack perfectly. “How is she supposed to walk out of here with any dignity left?” The gallery immediately took the bait. “That is seriously messed up. Couldn’t they just talk it out? Why ruin someone’s life?” “How is that poor girl ever going to show her face again?” “Man, I feel bad for the husband. Stuck between his crazy wife and his best bro.” Declan acted like he didn’t hear a word of it. He just kept his eyes locked on mine, projecting nothing but exhaustion and sorrow. “Nora, I’m not mad at you.” “But you owe Quinn an explanation.” “Just apologize, and we can put this awful mess behind us. Please?” His tone was nauseatingly gentle. So gentle that anyone looking in would think I was a hysterical, paranoid housewife ruining everyone’s life for sport. But my mind was racing back to that room. That night. Pinned to the couch, my throat raw from screaming for someone, anyone, to help me. There were footsteps in the hallway outside. They paused right outside the door. And then, they walked away. I had always told myself it was just a random waiter or a lost guest. But looking at Declan’s face right now, the cadence of those footsteps clicked into place in my memory. Heavy, deliberate, familiar. I didn’t acknowledge his pathetic plea. I just stared right through him. “Declan.” “You walked past the VIP lounge that night, didn’t you?” His perfectly crafted mask of sorrow slipped for a fraction of a second. “Nora, what on earth are you talking about?” He frowned, layering on the confusion thick. “I was in the main ballroom giving toasts the entire night. Why would I be all the way down by the lounges?” “Are you sure you aren’t… misremembering things again?” His delivery was flawless. Too flawless. Like a script he had rehearsed a hundred times in the mirror. “I am not misremembering anything.” I glared at him, refusing to blink. “I know the sound of your walk. I would never mistake it.” Declan went quiet for exactly two seconds. Then he exhaled slowly, turned away from me, and looked up at the judge. “Your Honor, I need to disclose something.” “Something regarding my wife’s… condition.” The judge gave a terse nod. Declan hesitated, chewing on his lower lip like a man carrying the weight of the world. “Nora… she has been under extreme psychological stress for the past six months.” “She wasn’t sleeping before the wedding. Her moods were erratic.” He looked back at me, his eyes brimming with fake pity. “I didn’t want to bring this up. I wanted to protect her pride.” “But seeing her like this, completely detached from reality…” “I’m terrified she’s going to hurt herself or someone else.” I felt the blood drain from my face. “Last October, I finally convinced her to see a specialist.” Declan reached into his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. “This is her official diagnosis.” He handed it to the bailiff, who passed it up to the bench. “The psychiatrist diagnosed her with severe anxiety disorder, coupled with…” He lowered his voice, but kept it just loud enough for the reporters in the front row to catch every syllable. “…paranoid personality tendencies. She suffers from severe delusions.” The gallery practically exploded. “Holy crap, she’s actually psycho.” “No wonder the husband was so desperate to shut it down. He’s managing a mental patient.” “It all makes perfect sense now.” A cold sweat broke out across my back. “That is a lie!” I violently shoved his hand away as he reached out to “comfort” me. “What kind of twisted game are you playing, Declan? I have never seen a psychiatrist in my life!” He didn’t yell back. He just sighed again, his gaze growing even softer, bathing me in suffocating pity. The judge scanned the document, his lips pressing into a thin line. I lunged forward and snatched it from the desk. Right there, printed in crisp black ink. “Anxiety disorder with paranoid personality tendencies. Immediate pharmacological intervention and aggressive cognitive therapy recommended.” The header bore the official seal of Mercy General’s psychiatric ward. The city’s top facility. I stared at the paper. White noise filled my ears, drowning out the murmurs of the courtroom. October twelfth of last year… I had gone to Mercy General that day. But not for the psych ward. I was there to accompany my father for his pre-op cardiology screening, and I decided to get a routine blood panel done while I waited. I never stepped foot on the psychiatric floor. This diagnosis was a complete, utter fabrication. But with the hospital seal glaring back at me, how the hell was I supposed to prove it? 3 “Your Honor.” Declan’s voice cut through the static in my brain. “I’ve kept her illness a secret from everyone, even her own parents.” “I truly believed that if I just loved her enough, created a safe environment, she would get better.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. A brilliant touch of theatrical grief. “I never imagined she would snap like this on our wedding day.” “The stress of the event, the alcohol… she had stopped taking her meds, and so…” He swallowed hard, acting as if the words physically burned his throat. “So she hallucinated.” “She took a totally innocent memory of Quinn helping her to a room, and her broken mind twisted it into… into this nightmare.” Whispers hissed through the gallery like venomous snakes. Declan took a deep breath, looking pleadingly at the judge. “Your Honor, I am not here to condemn my wife.” “I just want to take her home. I want to get her the medical help she desperately needs.” “Can we please just end this circus?” “I am begging you, stop triggering her. She can’t take much more.” A tear actually slipped down his cheek. Only I knew how rotten and hollow that tear really was. The judge sat in silence for a long moment. He looked down at me, the annoyance in his eyes replaced by clinical sympathy. “Plaintiff, do you have any evidence to counter this document?” I opened my mouth. It felt like my throat had been packed with dry cotton. What could I say? Scream that it was forged? It had the official hospital stamp. It had a real doctor’s signature. And my name was undeniably in the hospital’s visitor logs for that exact date. I was utterly trapped. “Court is adjourned.” The gavel slammed down, echoing like a death knell. “The plaintiff has seven days to present verifiable forensic evidence, or this case will be permanently dismissed with prejudice.” “Furthermore, given the serious concerns regarding the plaintiff’s mental competency…” He gave Declan a knowing nod. “I strongly advise the family to seek immediate psychiatric evaluation. We will need an updated, legally binding mental health assessment.” Declan nodded eagerly, his face awash with manufactured gratitude. “Thank you, Your Honor. I will take her straight to the clinic tomorrow.” He turned on his heel, walked over to me, and held out his hand. “Come on, Nora. Let’s go home.” I stared at his perfectly manicured fingers. On our wedding day, that exact hand had slid a diamond ring onto my finger. In front of hundreds of cheering guests, he had kissed my forehead and made a vow. “Nora, I will protect you from the world, until the day I die.” Now, that same hand was trying to drag me into a padded cell. I took a sharp step back. “Don’t touch me.” Declan’s gentle smile vanished for a fraction of a second. But the mask snapped right back into place. He closed the distance and clamped his hand around my bicep. It didn’t look aggressive to the crowd, but his grip was like an iron vice. I couldn’t pull away. “Nora, be good.” He leaned in close, his breath brushing against my ear. His voice dropped to a pitch so low only I could hear the malice dripping from it. “You know how obsessed I am with you.” “But since you want to act crazy, I guess I’ll have to lock you up with the crazies.” He pulled back and sighed, projecting the image of a long-suffering saint. “Once the doctors fix your head, we can renew our vows, okay?” My blood turned to ice. He straightened his tie, painting that lovesick, tragic expression back onto his face. “Come on. Home.” He half-dragged me down the aisle. As we passed the defense table, Quinn was still standing there. Quinn caught my eye, and a slow, triumphant smirk spread across that face. “Take care of yourself, Mrs. Croft.” The words were mouthed silently, but the message was deafening. “Next time you try to ruin me, make sure you aren’t wearing a straitjacket.” By that evening, I was the top trending topic on every social platform. #PsychoBrideCriesWolf #WifeFramesInnocentWoman The comments were a bloodbath. Thousands of strangers demanding I be locked in an asylum or thrown in jail. I shut my phone off, lay in the dark, and stared at the ceiling. My brain looped the courtroom footage endlessly. The fake psychiatric papers. The gaslighting. The perfectly executed narrative. They had meticulously woven a web so tight, I couldn’t breathe. Even if I screamed the truth until my vocal cords snapped, the world would only hear a lunatic raving. The next morning, I drove straight to Mercy General’s medical records department. I demanded to see my file from October twelfth. The receptionist typed for a minute, frowned, and shook her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. There is no record of a visit or bloodwork for you on that date.” I sat in my car in the hospital parking garage, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. Declan had enough power and money to scrub a major hospital’s database. Just how deep did his rot go? 4 Then, a memory hit me like a bolt of lightning. Last year’s corporate health screening. It was a joint initiative between my family’s company, Sinclair Group, and his company, Croft Enterprises. Every executive had to participate. Quinn was on the Croft payroll. Quinn had taken that physical. Declan was thorough, but he couldn’t have predicted I would dig into a boring corporate wellness archive. I grabbed my phone and dialed the head of HR at Sinclair Group. “Pull the master file for last year’s executive health screenings. Find Quinn’s file and encrypt it, then send it directly to my private email.” Ten minutes later, my phone pinged. I screenshotted the bloodwork pages and forwarded them to a trusted friend who worked as an endocrinologist. “Look at these labs. Tell me exactly what you see. Is there anything… off about this patient?” Five minutes later, my phone buzzed with her reply. I read her message. I read it three times to be absolutely sure. And then, sitting alone in the dark car, I laughed. It was a hollow, manic sound. So that was it. No wonder Quinn was so eager to rip open that shirt in a room full of people. They had bet everything on the assumption that I would never find a biological smoking gun. I leaned my head back against the leather seat and closed my eyes. I couldn’t just leak this online. Declan’s PR team would immediately flag it as a deepfake, and I would be slapped with a defamation suit. I needed Quinn to admit it. Live. In front of a crowd too big for Declan to silence. I picked up my phone and dialed Declan’s number. “I’ve been thinking.” I forced my voice to sound raspy, broken, and utterly defeated. “You were right. Maybe I am losing my mind. Maybe I imagined the whole thing.” There was a tense silence on the other end. “Are you… being serious right now?” “Yeah.” I let out a shuddering breath. “I want to host a press conference. I need to clear the air.” “This has spiraled totally out of control. I owe everyone an apology. I owe Quinn an apology.” I could practically hear the tension leaving Declan’s shoulders. “Nora, baby, I’m so proud of you. You’re finally thinking clearly. I’ll have my PR team book a venue immediately.” “Tomorrow afternoon,” I said softly. “Done.” The press conference was set up in the grand ballroom of a five-star hotel. Declan’s PR machine was terrifyingly efficient. Within twenty-four hours, every major news outlet and tabloid had a camera crew set up in the room. An hour before we went live, Declan cornered me in the green room, gripping my hands. “Nora, stick to the prompter. Do not go off-script. Read the apology exactly as it is.” He handed me a crisp sheet of paper. I took it, scanning the humiliating words he had written for me. “I understand,” I whispered, keeping my eyes downcast. Declan beamed, a sickeningly genuine look of relief on his face. He kissed my forehead. “Good girl. Once this is over, we’re going on a long vacation. Just you and me.” Quinn was there, too. Trading the sharp suit from the courtroom for a soft, flowy white blouse. The absolute picture of innocent, feminine grace. Sitting in the front row, radiating a quiet, triumphant glow. Seeing me, Quinn offered a gentle, forgiving smile. The eyes above the smile were mocking me. I walked up the steps to the podium, staring down a sea of flashing lenses and microphones. I took a deep breath and leaned into the mic. “Good afternoon, members of the press.” “I asked you all here today to finally address the events that have dominated the news cycle over the past week.” The room fell dead silent. The only sound was the rapid clicking of camera shutters. “First, I want to thank you all for your patience.” “There has been a lot of speculation online. Accusations of perjury. Rumors about my mental stability.” I let the silence hang for a moment. “Reading those things… has been an absolute nightmare.” I looked down at the scripted apology in my hands. “I stand here today to publicly address Quinn.” A ripple of excited whispers swept through the press pool. “Holy shit, she’s actually going to do it.” “Guess the crazy wife finally caved…” Quinn’s smile widened, practically glowing under the stage lights. Declan sank back into his front-row chair, crossing his legs, completely at ease. “On the day of my wedding, I consumed a large amount of alcohol.” I continued, my voice steady. “My memory of that night became fragmented. Distorted…” “And so…” I took a massive breath. “So today, in front of all of you, I am going to reveal exactly what happened in that room.” Declan’s relaxed posture instantly vanished. He sat bolt upright. I dropped the PR script onto the floor. “But before I do that, I have one simple question for Quinn.” The ballroom became so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Quinn’s smile froze. “Nora…” Declan warned, standing up. I ignored him entirely. I stepped out from behind the podium and walked down the steps, marching straight down the center aisle until I was standing face-to-face with Quinn. I locked eyes with the monster who ruined my life. “Quinn.” “In court, you tore open your shirt. You proved to a judge that your chest matches your legal gender marker. I don’t dispute that.” I paused. The entire room held its breath. “But…” I leaned in, dropping my voice to a lethal whisper that was still picked up by the lapel mic. “What about the lower half?”

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1 At twelve, my mother found a fatal flaw in a jet’s hydraulics and refused takeoff clearance. Richard Blackwood, Vanguard Aviation’s billionaire owner, screamed in her face, accusing her of drama and threatening to replace her. She gripped the manifest, knuckles white, and stood her ground. By morning, she was framed for stealing aviation parts and blacklisted before noon. Disgraced and broke, she jumped from our apartment roof. Years later, fueled by spite and student loans, I fought my way into the National Aviation Academy. Graduating as the FAA’s most ruthless airworthiness inspector, I now held Vanguard’s ten-billion-dollar fleet expansion on my desk. Test data was perfect, the board ready to sign. Only my pen was missing. I opened the dossier. Under software supplier, the parent company was Vanguard Tech. CEO: Richard Blackwood. I closed the file, picked up my pen, and wrote my verdict: Approval denied. Fleet grounded indefinitely. The atmosphere in the conference room was suffocating. The entire inspection board was present. A row of Vanguard Aviation executives sat in the gallery, barely hiding the smug anticipation on their faces. This certificate meant their massive ten billion dollar investment was finally hitting the global market. All the preliminary data was perfect. Every single sub category had the bright red stamp of approval. It all came down to this final hurdle. The lead inspector’s signature. Every eye in the room was locked onto me. I flipped to the second to last page of the thick binder and let my eyes linger on the text. Vanguard Tech. Legal Representative: Richard Blackwood. My fingers tightened around the barrel of my pen. When I was twelve, my mother, Eleanor, was a senior quality control engineer at Vanguard Aviation. She was meticulous. She obsessed over every single valve and wire. One night, she noticed an abnormal pressure fluctuation in the hydraulic system. After running the math three times, she concluded it was a catastrophic risk. She locked the system and refused to sign the release manifest. She truly believed she was saving lives. But all Richard Blackwood saw was a delayed departure. He only saw the massive penalty fees for a missed schedule. He only saw a disposable quality control worker daring to stand in the way of his cash flow. “Stop using safety as an excuse to be dramatic! If you won’t fly it, pack your bags and get the hell out!” That was what he screamed at her. My mother held her ground. She kept the manifest and refused to back down. The next day, there was no safety investigation. Instead, a termination notice arrived, accusing her of embezzling high grade titanium parts. An eight year veteran of the industry, completely blacklisted overnight. I still remember that final evening. She washed my school uniform, hung it up to dry by the window, and stood there staring up at the sky for a very long time. “Sloane, I didn’t do anything wrong.” That was the last thing she ever said to me before she stepped off the roof. Over the years, Richard’s airline empire grew into a global powerhouse. And I took out crippling loans to get through the academy. Four years of undergrad. Three years of graduate school. Two years of brutal certification exams. I bled to climb into this exact chair. I had been waiting for this exact day. I closed the file. I pressed my pen to the paper and wrote my decision. “Approval denied. Fleet grounded indefinitely.” “Inspector Sloane! What is the meaning of this?” Arthur, the head of the review board, slammed his hands on the table and stood up. “The flight data is perfect. The entire board voted to approve. On what grounds are you vetoing this?” Marcus, the Vice President of Vanguard Aviation, shot up from the gallery. “Sloane, do you have any idea what you are doing? Do you know how much interest this company bleeds every single day this ten billion dollar project sits on the tarmac? Can you afford that kind of liability?” I calmly opened my folder and pulled out the inquiry sheet I had prepared hours ago. “The flight control software source code validation report is missing three critical parameter logs. Furthermore, Vanguard Tech’s vendor certification expired last month and has not been renewed.” I looked directly at Marcus. “According to Agency Regulation Part 21, incomplete documentation mandates an automatic denial. As the lead inspector, I have absolute veto power. This is entirely lawful and compliant.” Arthur’s face turned purple. “These are… these are clerical trivialities! It is just a matter of filing a late addendum! You are grounding the entire fleet over a paperwork delay?” “Incomplete is incomplete. There are no trivialities when it comes to aviation safety.” I pushed my chair back and stood up. “If you have an objection, file for an administrative review. Until that review concludes, the aircraft remains grounded.” I turned and walked out of the room without a single backward glance. Behind the heavy oak doors, I could hear the muffled sounds of men cursing my name. 2 The next morning, I received an urgent summons to the Agency’s VIP reception lounge. I pushed the door open. Richard Blackwood was sitting comfortably on the leather sofa. Director Mitchell, the head of our entire division, was sitting right next to him, playing the gracious host. Seeing me enter, Richard stood up and adjusted his expensive suit. “Inspector Sloane. I have heard incredible things about you.” He wore a practiced, media ready smile. But when he reached out to shake my hand, his fingers barely grazed mine before pulling away quickly. Like he was touching something filthy. “Mr. Blackwood,” I said, keeping my voice perfectly flat. “Inspector Sloane is young, brilliant, and the absolute backbone of this agency,” Mitchell chimed in, laughing nervously. Richard kept smiling, but his eyes were scanning me top to bottom, calculating my worth. He didn’t recognize me. How could he? When I was twelve, I threw myself onto the marble floor of the Vanguard Aviation lobby and wrapped my arms around his legs. I begged him to retract the firing. I begged him to clear my mother’s name. He didn’t even bother to look down at me. “Security. Drag this trash out into the street.” He was a god in his own mind. Why would he ever remember the face of an ant he crushed under his heel? Richard sat back down and pulled a thick, pristine envelope from his breast pocket. “Inspector Sloane, I understand you relied heavily on student loans to finance your impressive education. I also hear you are currently living in cramped public housing?” His tone was dripping with manufactured sympathy. “Vanguard Aviation recently established a young talent foundation. We specifically sponsor brilliant young professionals who come from… difficult backgrounds.” He slid the envelope across the glass table. I could clearly see the check inside. “Five million dollars. Consider it a private grant from Vanguard to support the future of aviation.” He leaned forward, dropping the corporate speak. “Look, we all know this inspection is just a formality. The missing files are basically typos. We will patch them up next week. There is no need to be so rigid. You sign that paper today, and this money goes straight into your personal account. No one will ever know.” He didn’t even care that the Director of the Agency was sitting two feet away. I reached out and pushed the envelope right back across the glass. “Mr. Blackwood. The documentation is incomplete. I cannot sign.” Richard’s smile twitched. “Sloane, listen to me. You are barely in your thirties, and you are already a lead inspector. The sky is the limit for you.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I have already spoken with the upper management. If you just play ball on this one project, Vanguard will personally endorse your promotion to department chief.” He tapped the envelope. “You had a rough start in life. You swallowed a lot of glass to get to this chair. Do not throw your entire future away over a minor bureaucratic technicality.” The corners of his mouth curled up just a fraction. It was a look of absolute, arrogant pity. He was silently telling me: People like you are incredibly lucky just to be allowed in the building. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you. “Mr. Blackwood, I appreciate the generous offer. But until those files are submitted in full, my pen stays in my pocket.” Richard’s smile vanished. The polite, wealthy gentleman routine evaporated instantly. His eyes turned dead, cold, and full of raw contempt. It was the exact same look I saw when I was on my knees in his lobby twenty years ago. “Sloane. When I throw you a bone, you take it.” He stood up, towering over the coffee table. “You really think a low level paper pusher can hold my empire hostage?” “I have survived storms that would drown you in a second. If you refuse to sign that certificate today, I will personally guarantee you never work in this industry again.” He buttoned his suit jacket. “You just wait.” I looked right back into his dead eyes. No anger. No fear. Not a single flinch. I had been waiting for this day for nearly two decades. You want me to wait? Richard Blackwood, I am the one who has been waiting for you. 3 At three o’clock that afternoon, I was summoned to Director Mitchell’s private office. Marcus, Vanguard’s Vice President, was already sitting on the sofa. Twenty years ago, Marcus was the Director of Maintenance. He was the man who wrote “Reviewed, hold for now” on my mother’s critical safety warning. Mitchell stood by the window, staring out at the runway, completely silent. Marcus glared at me. “Inspector Sloane. Have you bothered to run the math on the daily interest for a ten billion dollar loan?” “You are not hurting Mr. Blackwood. You are holding a knife to the throats of twenty thousand Vanguard employees who need this launch to feed their families.” “If this company goes under, can you carry that kind of blood on your hands?” I didn’t blink. “Marcus, the paperwork is missing. When it is complete, I will sign. It is that simple.” “Sloane, you are young,” Marcus sneered, the threat bleeding through his teeth. “Think very carefully about your career trajectory. It would be a real tragedy if you were permanently stripped of your inspection credentials.” “I suggest you wise up. Mr. Blackwood’s patience is entirely gone.” He stood up, straightened his tie, and walked toward the door. As he passed me, he patted me hard on the shoulder. A physical reminder to know my place. Once the door clicked shut, it was just me and Mitchell. “Sloane.” He sighed, sounding like a disappointed father. “The agency recognizes your technical brilliance. Truly.” “But in this line of work, you cannot just look at the code. You have to look at the big picture.” “The mayor’s office is heavily invested in this Vanguard project.” He paused, letting the political weight sink in. “Can we not show a little flexibility on these minor procedural hiccups?” “Just draft a conditional approval letter. Let them promise to submit the code later. As long as the optics are fine, there is no need to enforce the letter of the law so brutally.” “You have a long career ahead of you. Being this stubborn… it does not end well for anyone.” Every word he spoke was legally safe. But every single syllable was an order to surrender. My voice was like ice. “If it is missing one single page, I will not sign.” “Tell them to submit the code.” Mitchell looked at me, his face hardening. “Think about this, Sloane.” I turned and walked out. The very next morning, a mass agency memo hit every inbox. “To optimize our review mechanisms and expedite critical airworthiness projects, the administration has restructured the oversight committee. Inspector Sloane is hereby removed from the position of Lead Inspector. All final approvals will be handled directly by the executive review board.” I was boxed up and banished to the basement archives. At ten in the morning, I carried a cardboard box into the dusty archive room. A few clerks watched me, whispering behind their hands. No one stepped up to defend me. Committing career suicide by crossing Vanguard Aviation was not contagious. Down the hallway, Mitchell walked toward me. As we passed each other, he didn’t even stop walking. He just muttered under his breath. “Think it through, Sloane.” I knew exactly what he meant. Grovel now, and you might get your desk back. I adjusted my grip on my cardboard box and kept walking. That afternoon, Brenda from Human Resources came down to the basement to “check” on me. “Sloane, what exactly is your endgame here?” “The entire board approved the Vanguard project. You were the only one playing hero.” “Now look at you. Stripped of your title, rotting down here with the mold.” “Do you regret it yet?” I looked up from the stack of old boxes. “It isn’t over yet.” Brenda froze. She walked to the door, turned around, and looked at me like I belonged in a psych ward. Once she was gone, I opened my laptop and pulled up the encrypted review logs. She was right. It wasn’t over. The trap was just beginning to close. That evening, an old college friend sent me a link. “Sloane, what the hell is going on?” I clicked the link. It was a massive investigative article by a prominent aviation blogger. Headline: “The Strictest Inspector or the Most Corrupt? A Deep Dive into Sloane’s Dictatorship at the Aviation Agency.” “The test flights were flawless. The entire board voted yes. Only Inspector Sloane vetoed the project. Are we looking at a blatant shakedown for bribes?” “According to anonymous insiders, Sloane frequently hints that airlines need to provide ‘supplemental materials.’ What exactly she wants them to supplement is anyone’s guess.” The comment section was an absolute bloodbath. “How is this corrupt witch still employed?” “Investigate her bank accounts immediately!” “Holding a ten billion dollar project hostage all by herself? If you think she isn’t fishing for a payout, you are delusional.” There were dozens of hit pieces multiplying by the hour. Another headline screamed: “Delaying the Billion Dollar Launch: Heroic Standards or Petty Revenge?” This one dug into my personal life. It listed my student loans, my single parent household, the fact that my mother died young and in disgrace. The implication was dripping from every paragraph. A desperate, poor girl climbs into a seat of massive power. Put ten billion dollars in front of her, and of course she is going to hold her hand out for a cut. I clenched my jaw and turned off my phone. 4 One week later. The heavy metal door of the archive room creaked open. A junior admin assistant stood there, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Sloane, the airworthiness certificate was officially signed by the executive board.” “Vanguard rented out the entire Continental Hotel. They are doing a global live broadcast of the maiden flight at two o’clock. Mr. Blackwood is personally boarding the plane for the test run.” I turned the page of the dusty manifest in my hands. “Got it.” At one thirty in the afternoon, I drove to the tarmac. The Agency had mandated that all review personnel be present for the historic launch. The tarmac was a sea of people. Vanguard executives, city politicians, Wall Street investors, and dozens of media cameras were all aimed at the massive, gleaming silver jet. Richard Blackwood stood at the center of the press podium, soaking in the glory. “Today marks a historic turning point for Vanguard Aviation!” “This aircraft represents the absolute pinnacle of global aviation technology. It has passed the most rigorous safety inspections on earth. In a few moments, I will personally board this flight to prove that Vanguard stands behind its quality!” The crowd erupted into deafening applause. I stood at the very back of the crowd, my face entirely blank. Richard walked up the boarding stairs, turning at the top to give a victorious wave to the cameras. Then he stepped inside the cabin. The entire tarmac held its collective breath, waiting for the roar of the engines. One second. Two seconds. Five seconds. Through the cockpit glass, a row of green indicators blinked once. And then, every single warning light flashed a blinding, violent red. System Diagnostic: FAILED. Hydraulic Valves: SAFETY LOCK ENGAGED. Engine Ignition: DISABLED. The global live feed kept rolling. The ten billion dollar marvel of engineering sat dead on the runway, completely unresponsive. Panic rippled through the media pit. Through the window, Richard’s face came into view. The arrogant smile was gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated panic as he stared at the sea of red warning screens. The crowd broke into chaotic murmurs. Ten agonizing minutes later, Richard walked out of the cabin. His face was a mask of pure, murderous rage. He marched down the stairs, his eyes scanning the crowd like a predator. They locked right onto me. I knew that exact look. It was the look he gave my mother twenty years ago. The day he screamed in her face while she clung to that safety report. The very next day, she became a thief and a pariah. And now, he was aiming that exact same weapon at me. Right on cue, Richard stormed through the crowd, heading straight for me. The cameras pivoted instantly, tracking his every move. He stopped two feet away from me. “Sloane.” “Just because I refused to pay your extortion fee, you think you can sabotage a commercial airliner?” “You are destroying the livelihoods of thousands of innocent people!” In one breath, he crucified me. He told the entire world I had tampered with the plane because he wouldn’t pay my bribe. The journalists started whispering frantically. “Did she hack the plane?” “Can an inspector even lock down the flight systems?” “That is actual terrorism…” Director Mitchell materialized at my side, playing the devastated leader perfectly. “Sloane, if what Mr. Blackwood is saying is true, do you have any idea what you have done?” “Thousands of jobs. Ten billion dollars. Can you survive the consequences of this?” He sounded like a man pleading with a criminal to surrender. Every word was designed to pile the guilt squarely on my shoulders. The camera crews surged forward, shoving microphones in my face. “Inspector Sloane! Did you tamper with the flight control system?” “How do you justify holding a ten billion dollar project hostage?” I could only imagine the live chat on the broadcast feed. “This chick is psychotic! Lock her up!” “Even if she didn’t hack it, abusing her power like this is disgusting.” “Investigate her bank accounts! She is a menace!” “She ruined thousands of lives just to throw a tantrum!” Richard looked at me with deep, theatrical sorrow. “Inspector Sloane. What could you possibly say to defend yourself now?” He had dragged me into the town square to be executed. He wanted me to be the villain. The criminal. Just like he made my mother the thief. I looked at the blinding flashes of the cameras. I looked at the angry faces of the crowd. I looked at Richard’s towering, arrogant stance. And then, I smiled. The entire crowd went dead silent. I took one deliberate step forward. “Mr. Blackwood.” “Do you want to know exactly why I am doing this?” My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the silence like a scalpel. “Twenty years ago, a quality control engineer named Eleanor discovered a fatal anomaly in the hydraulic systems. She refused to sign the release manifest.” “The very next day, she was framed for stealing titanium parts and permanently blacklisted from the aviation industry.” “She was my mother.” “I was thirteen years old when the shame drove her off the roof of a building.” Richard’s pupils dilated in raw shock. I stared him down. “You used your power to frame my mother and push her to her death.” “And today, you thought you could use the exact same playbook to dump your toxic waste onto me.” “But this time, you won’t win.”

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1 My own daughter locked me outside on our seventeenth floor balcony ledge. We had been trying to cut down on household expenses. That was why I was out there in the freezing cold, risking my neck to clean the exterior windows myself. I was almost finished when I asked my daughter to hand me a dry rag. She stomped over, her face twisted in annoyance. “Why do you always need so much help? Who cleans windows without bringing a rag in the first place?” I swallowed my frustration and spoke to her gently. “Dad just forgot it inside. It is right there on the coffee table. Just pass it through the gap, please.” But her next move nearly stopped my heart. She grabbed the window handle and slammed it shut, locking it from the inside. Panic flooded my chest instantly. I yelled through the glass, begging her to open it, but she just looked at me with pure disgust. “You can just stay out there. Uncle Tyler is coming over soon, and you always just get in the way when he is here!” Tyler was supposed to be my best friend. My brother from another mother. Why would I be getting in the way in my own home? Before my brain could even process the thought, a vicious gust of icy wind slammed into my back. My body swayed violently. My center of gravity vanished. Pure survival instinct took over. I threw my arms out, plastering my palms flat against the freezing metal window frame. I didn’t even dare to exhale. Half of my boots were hanging off the edge of the concrete ledge. Seventeen stories up. If my fingers slipped even a fraction of an inch, I would be nothing but a splatter on the pavement below. “Lily! Sweetheart!” My voice was shaking so hard I barely recognized it. “Open the window! Daddy is begging you! This isn’t a joke, I could fall and die!” Lily acted like she could not even hear me. She just looked down, tapped her screen, and loaded up her mobile game. “Nobody is joking with you. All you do is nag me about my screen time anyway. You are so annoying! Uncle Tyler never yells at me about my games. You can just chill out there for a while!” Without another word, she spun on her heel, walked back into the living room, and yanked the heavy curtains shut. A second later, I heard the heavy thud of the sliding glass balcony door locking into place. All sound from the inside was completely cut off. I was spreadeagled against the window frame, completely paralyzed by gravity. The winter wind howled against my spine, sinking its teeth into my jacket. My teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. The curtains were not pulled completely tight. Through a narrow gap, I could see Lily curled up comfortably on the plush sofa. Her thumbs were flying across her phone screen, a giddy little smile playing on her lips. Looking at her, a sickening wave of grief washed over me. This was the daughter I had busted my back to raise. Just because I restricted her video games, she locked me on a freezing ledge seventeen stories in the air. She didn’t care if I lived or died. She even compared me to Tyler. Of course Tyler didn’t discipline her. He wasn’t her father. He got to be the fun uncle with zero responsibilities. While my mind spun, the front door swung open. Judging by the time, it had to be my mother in law, Helen. I was just about to risk freeing one hand to bang on the glass when I saw two more figures walk in behind her. My wife, Rachel, and my best friend, Tyler. The moment Rachel walked in, she looked at Lily. “Did your dad go out for groceries?” Lily didn’t even look up from her game. Her tone was completely casual, laced with an easy lie. “Yeah, he left. He said he was going to the big market and wouldn’t be back for an hour.” Rachel nodded, supporting her swollen belly as she sank onto the edge of the sofa. “When Tyler gets settled, let him heat up some of that rich bone broth for you. You need your strength,” Helen fussed, taking Rachel’s coat. Tyler sat down right next to Rachel, his eyes locked on her pregnant belly with a look of absolute adoration. “It might be her second pregnancy, but we still have to treat her like a queen.” When Rachel first got pregnant this time, I had practically begged her not to keep it. Her health was incredibly fragile. Having Lily had nearly killed her. Going through another high risk pregnancy was like playing Russian roulette with her life. I didn’t want to lose my wife over a second child. But Rachel was adamant. She claimed it was a miracle and insisted on going through with it. Eventually, Tyler stepped in. He said he was worried I would not be able to handle the stress of caring for a high risk pregnant woman alone. He started coming over every single day. He cooked, he cleaned, he catered to her every whim. I never had an issue with it. He was my best friend. I trusted him with my life. But staring through that narrow gap in the curtains, the blindfold was finally ripped off my eyes. The way my wife and my mother in law looked at him. The gentle touches. The soft smiles. They treated him with far more intimacy than they ever showed me. 2 But I didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on their twisted dynamic. My fingers were going numb. I slammed my fist against the glass. The muffled thud echoed into the apartment. Helen frowned, standing up and looking toward the balcony. “What was that noise?” A surge of wild hope flared in my chest. I hit the glass three more times. But Lily suddenly jumped up from the sofa and grabbed her grandmother’s arm. “Nana, don’t go look! It’s almost Christmas. It is definitely just those bad kids downstairs setting off loud fireworks again. They have been doing it all morning.” Helen nodded immediately, her suspicion evaporating. “Kids these days have no manners. Just making a racket and giving people migraines.” The blood in my veins turned to absolute ice. My own flesh and blood. My daughter. She actively covered for my absence and lied to keep them from finding me. Staring at her through the glass, I felt completely sick to my stomach. Tyler reached out and rested his hand gently on Rachel’s swollen abdomen. It was a deeply intimate gesture. “This kid is kicking hard. Gonna be a real fighter.” Rachel nudged him playfully, a dark blush creeping up her neck. “Yeah. Honestly, we are so lucky to have you around taking care of us. When the baby is born, I am definitely making you the godfather.” Tyler reached up and pinched Rachel’s cheek. His voice was thick with implication. “Why settle for godfather? It is only a matter of time anyway.” “Besides, Cole is completely useless in that department. You need someone strong. Someone who actually knows how to make a woman happy.” “When the time is right, we will make our move.” Those words plunged into my chest like a jagged knife. When Rachel and I were first married, I was young, reckless, and completely uneducated about her medical history. I accidentally caused a severe internal hemorrhage during intimacy. It was the greatest regret of my life. Ever since then, no matter how desperate I was, I would take freezing cold showers and suppress every urge just to ensure I never hurt her again. I treated her like glass. I never in a million years thought my restraint would become the reason she found me disgusting. Fat, wet flakes of snow began to fall from the gray sky, landing on my shoulders. But the snow was nothing compared to the absolute winter inside my heart. Lily finished her round of gaming. She tossed her phone aside, ran over to Tyler, and grabbed his hand. “Uncle Tyler, you are the best. You are a million times better than my dad. When are you going to be my real dad?” Tyler’s face flushed with fake modesty. He put on a show of looking embarrassed. “Lily, don’t say things like that. Your mom and I aren’t… we aren’t like that.” Rachel stroked her belly, her eyes darting over to Tyler with a look of pure, hungry longing. Helen sat in the armchair, watching the three of them with a warm, approving smile. Looking at them, you would think they were the perfect, happy family. Witnessing this sickening domestic bliss, the tears finally spilled over my freezing eyelashes. I tried to tell myself Lily was just a kid. She didn’t understand the gravity of what she was doing. I ground my teeth together and began hammering on the glass with both fists. Helen finally snapped. The relentless noise was grating on her nerves. She stood up, her face flushed with anger, and marched toward the balcony. “Who do these little brats think they are?! Setting off fireworks right against our windows! I am going to give them a piece of my mind!” Lily’s face went pale. She tried to grab her grandmother, but she was too late. Helen yanked the sliding door open and tore the curtains back. Our eyes locked. Time completely froze. Helen’s jaw dropped open in absolute shock. Rachel and Tyler snapped their heads toward the balcony. When they saw me plastered against the exterior wall, shivering violently, their faces went blank. “What the hell are you doing out there?” Helen shrieked, finding her voice. “Lily said you went to the market!” Lily’s eyes darted nervously. Then, a manipulative little spark lit up her face. It was the exact expression she made right before she spun a massive lie. “I locked him out there! And he deserves it for talking trash about Uncle Tyler!” Lily pointed a dramatic finger at me, doubling down on her sick fantasy. 3 “Mom, he was acting totally crazy! He said he hated that you guys were nice to Uncle Tyler. He called him a cheap gigolo who only comes around for free food!” “I was so mad I locked him out to teach him a lesson!” My eyes went wide. The blood rushed so hard to my frozen ears I thought they would explode. When had I ever said a single word like that? Tyler immediately clutched his chest, taking a theatrical step backward like he had been physically struck. “Cole… how could you say those things about me? I thought we were brothers. I have broken my back helping your family, and this is how you insult me?” Rachel’s face darkened into a scowl. The look she gave me was filled with pure venom. “Cole! I cannot believe I ever married someone so pathetic!” “If Tyler hadn’t stepped up during this pregnancy, I would be entirely miserable right now!” “You don’t have an ounce of gratitude in your body. How dare you insult him like that?” “Lily did the right thing! You need to stay out there and seriously reflect on your toxic behavior!” Helen immediately moved to stand next to Tyler, glaring at me like I was a convicted criminal trespassing on her property. “I never said that!” I screamed over the howling wind, my voice cracking with desperation. “Lily is lying! I swear to God I never said a word against him! Please, just open the window! My hands are going numb, I am going to fall!” Rachel looked at my trembling body. A flicker of genuine hesitation crossed her face. She reached for the handle. But then, her face suddenly contorted. She clutched her stomach and let out a piercing wail. “Oh God! My stomach. It hurts so bad. The baby…” The entire room went into an instant panic. Tyler and Helen rushed to her sides, holding her up. “Rachel, honey, look at me! Don’t panic! We are taking you to the ER right now!” Tyler shouted, playing the hero flawlessly. Helen and Lily hovered around her in tears. The three of them guided Rachel frantically toward the front door. Not a single one of them looked back at the balcony. Right as Tyler reached the threshold, he paused. He turned his head and shot me a look of pure, absolute malice. “Enjoy the weather, Cole.” The front door slammed shut. I was left clinging to the exterior wall, the last of my adrenaline draining away. I was completely abandoned. Left to die on a ledge seventeen stories in the air. But I refused to die here. I hadn’t lived enough yet to let them win. The primal instinct to survive sparked a fire in my freezing blood. I looked over at the neighbor’s balcony. It was a completely insane idea. The concrete ledge connecting our apartments was barely the width of a human hand. It was slick with fresh snow. One wrong shift in weight, one slip of a frozen boot, and I would plummet to the concrete below. But staying here was a guaranteed death sentence. Wait for Rachel and Tyler to come back? They only cared about each other. They probably hoped I would fall so they wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore. It was climb or die. I sucked in a lungful of freezing air. I peeled one hand off the window frame and pressed it flat against the icy brick wall. I began to shuffle. Inch by terrifying inch. My boots sliding dangerously on the snowy concrete. I kept my eyes locked onto the neighbor’s balcony rail. I refused to look down. I have no idea how long it took. Time lost all meaning. Finally, my frozen fingers wrapped around the metal railing of the neighbor’s balcony. I dragged myself over the rail and collapsed onto their deck. I used the last ounce of my strength to bang weakly on their sliding glass door. The living room lights flicked on. A second later, the curtains were thrown back. The elderly couple inside jumped in terror when they saw a half frozen man sprawled on their balcony. They scrambled to unlock the door and hauled me inside. The moment I hit their carpet, my body gave out completely. I lay there gasping for air, unable to form a single word. The neighbor rushed to get me a mug of boiling water. I forced it down my raw throat. The heat spreading through my chest was the only proof I was still alive. It took me twenty minutes to stop shaking enough to speak. I gave them a heavily edited version of the truth. I left Lily out of it entirely. I just said the wind had blown the window shut while I was cleaning, locking me out by accident. I thanked them profusely, borrowed a jacket, and walked back to my own apartment. Right as I unlocked my front door, I heard the elevator ding down the hall. 4 They were back. Tyler was practically carrying Rachel down the hall. Lily was trailing right behind them, holding Tyler’s coat. Rachel’s color had returned. She was leaning heavily against Tyler’s shoulder, whispering something that made him chuckle. They stepped into the apartment and froze. Rachel frowned. She didn’t even bother to ask how I survived or how I got back inside. She just waved her hand dismissively. Tyler was the one who broke the silence. “Oh, you got back in? Perfect. Go start dinner. Rachel just got back from the hospital and she is exhausted. She needs that bone broth.” His tone was completely flat. He was speaking to me like I was the hired help. Lily peeked around Tyler’s leg. I saw the flash of guilt in her eyes before she muttered under her breath. “How did he even get back in? Why didn’t he just fall and die.” That was it. The final thread holding my sanity together snapped. I closed the distance between us in three strides, raised my hand, and slapped Lily hard across the face. The crack echoed through the apartment. Lily grabbed her cheek, staring at me in absolute shock. “You locked your own father outside on a freezing ledge, and then you lied to cover it up! Today is the day I finally teach you some basic human decency!” Before I could say another word, Tyler shoved his way between us, spreading his arms wide to shield Lily. “Cole! What the hell is wrong with you?! Even if a kid makes a mistake, you do not put your hands on her!” “She is just a little girl! How can you be so violently abusive?” “Yeah! He is a monster!” Lily shrieked, hiding behind Tyler’s back and glaring at me with pure hatred. “You are a terrible man! I don’t want you to be my dad anymore! Get out of my house! Get out!” Rachel rushed forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Tyler, forming a human barricade to protect the child. Looking at them, they looked exactly like a family. “Cole, have you completely lost your mind?!” Rachel screamed. “You are abusing a child now? You are entirely unfit to be a father!” She paused, taking a deep breath, and looked over at Tyler. “Starting tomorrow, Tyler is moving in with us.” “That way, he can keep an eye on my health, and he can be here to protect Lily from your violent outbursts.” I stood perfectly still, my brain struggling to process the absolute audacity of her statement. “We only have three bedrooms. If Tyler moves in, where exactly is he going to sleep?” Rachel didn’t even hesitate. “He needs to monitor my pregnancy. He will sleep on a floor mattress in the master bedroom with me.” “You can take the couch in the living room.” Tyler waved his hands, putting on a sickening display of fake humility. His eyes, however, were dancing with arrogant triumph. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly. I am just a guest. I cannot kick a husband out of his own bedroom.” “You are not a guest, Uncle Tyler!” Lily grabbed his sleeve, dragging him toward the hallway. “You have to stay! Stay tonight! I want you to read me my bedtime stories!” Tyler looked down at Lily, then shot me a long, mocking look. “Alright, sweetie. Uncle Tyler will stay. I will read you stories all night long.” He turned back to me, looking the picture of polite distress. “Cole, you see how much the kid needs me. I really can’t say no.” “Then stay.” I forced the words past the massive lump in my throat, cutting off his pathetic performance. The moment I agreed, all three of them broke into matching smiles of relief. Those smiles were blindingly painful. I let out a dark, silent laugh in my head. I kept the second half of my thought to myself. If he is moving in, then I am moving out. Helen immediately hurried into the master bedroom to set up fresh sheets for Tyler. Lily clung to him like a barnacle, dragging him into her room for her stories. I didn’t spare them a second glance. I turned around, walked into the guest room that I was now supposed to vacate, and quietly packed a duffel bag. My plan was simple. Wait until the house was dead silent, and vanish into the night. If they loved Tyler so much, I would let them have him. I would disappear. Let Lily see what life was really like without me paying the bills. Around midnight, I slung the bag over my shoulder and headed for the front door. I checked my wallet and realized my marriage certificate was still in the nightstand in the master bedroom. I hesitated, but decided I needed to take it. I assumed they would both be fast asleep by now. I crept down the hallway. I reached out to turn the brass handle of the master bedroom door. But the muffled conversation leaking through the wooden panel made my blood run entirely cold.

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1 After Echo’s husband died, she came crawling back to Thomas. “Toby’s fever won’t go down,” she sobbed, clutching at his sleeve. “He keeps crying out for his daddy. Can you please just pretend to be his father for a few more days? You and Travis are identical twins. No one else can do this!” Thomas instinctively looked at me, his eyes searching mine for a reaction. I merely gave him a cool, detached look. “Go,” I said, my voice empty of emotion. “Don’t let the boy’s fever get any worse.” He froze for a fraction of a second, surprised by my indifference, before grabbing his coat and rushing out the door. He had no idea. He was actually supposed to become a real father. But only days ago, Echo’s son had pushed me into the swimming pool. Thomas hadn’t even glanced at my medical report. He had been too busy defending the boy, his voice dripping with excuses. “Toby thought I was Travis. He actually believed you were the home-wrecker trying to tear his mommy and daddy apart.” So he never found out. I had miscarried. The moment the words left Echo’s mouth, Thomas’s tone turned freezing cold. “If he has a fever, why didn’t you take him straight to the emergency room?” Echo froze at our front door. Loose strands of hair clung messily to her damp cheeks, giving her a look of fragile, pathetic helplessness. “I called a private doctor,” she whimpered, “but Toby won’t let anyone near him. He just cries for his daddy. Ever since Travis died in that car crash, you’ve been the one playing his father. Now that you’re not there, he’s miserable.” She tapped her phone screen, bringing up a video. A little boy, flushed and semi-conscious with fever, was sobbing weakly. “Daddy, I want my daddy…” With every whimpering cry from the screen, Thomas’s brow furrowed deeper. Echo tugged at the corner of his jacket, her eyes red and pleading. “I know you’re married now, but please, just this once, help me again. You and Travis are identical twins. There is literally no one else who can play the part!” Thomas glanced at his watch and instinctively turned to me. “Laurie, I…” “I’m tired. I’m going to bed,” I interrupted, my voice unnaturally calm. “They need you right now. Go on, don’t delay and make the boy’s illness worse.” For a rare moment, Thomas’s face went entirely blank. He stared at me, his gaze heavy with an unreadable mix of emotions. After a long silence, he offered a quiet, raspy explanation. “I’ve come to see Toby as practically my own son. I can’t just ignore him.” He wrapped his arms around me in a brief, soothing embrace. “Get some rest, Laurie. I’ll be back soon.” With that, he grabbed his coat and hurried out into the night with Echo. Once the door clicked shut, I picked up the envelope that had arrived earlier that evening. Inside was a draft of the divorce papers, sent by my lawyer friend. I stared down at the crisp white sheets. My hand slowly drifted to my flat stomach, and a bitter warmth flooded my eyes. Thomas didn’t know. He had a child. A real one. Except, before the baby could even see the light of day, it had been killed. Killed by his deceased brother’s son, the boy he loved like a son, in a tragic, deliberate accident. Thomas didn’t return that night. I was used to it, so I fell asleep early. When I woke up the next morning, my phone buzzed with a message from him. Laurie, Toby’s fever broke. There’s a family activity at his preschool this afternoon, and they require both parents to be there… I didn’t bother reading the rest of his lengthy paragraphs. After showering, I walked downstairs to find a lavish, nutritious breakfast spread across the dining table. Our housekeeper, Martha, beamed at me. “Mr. Thomas said you’ve been feeling weak ever since you fell into the pool. He personally instructed me to make sure you get enough nutrients to recover.” I gave a faint nod. While sipping my warm porridge, I opened social media. Echo’s feed had just updated. My sweet boy. Even though your biological daddy is gone, Mommy is still so blessed. You have another, even better, handsomer daddy to watch you grow up year after year. The attached video showed a family basketball game at the preschool. Thomas was wearing a jersey printed with “Toby’s Dad.” Tall and athletic, he wove through the opposing players like a gust of wind. And on his ring finger, he wore a wedding band that perfectly matched the one on Echo’s hand. I stared at the screen, a dry, bitter laugh escaping my throat. How incredibly thoughtful of him. He really covered every detail. Thomas sank a gorgeous three-point shot to seal the win. “You’re amazing, honey!” Echo’s voice squealed behind the camera, the lens shaking with her excitement as she waved at him. Thomas bent down, scooped Toby up, and hoisted him high onto his shoulders, his eyes crinkling with genuine warmth. “Was Daddy good?” The little boy clung to his neck, his eyes filled with pure adoration. “The best! You’re the best, Daddy!” For a split second, I was dragged back to a sunny afternoon during our senior year of college. A handsome boy had leaped into the air, releasing a perfect shot right into the net. Amidst the roaring cheers of the crowd, he had looked across the court, straight at me. His lips had moved without making a sound, secretly mouthing the words: Was I good? Staring at the glowing screen of my phone, the memory was so vivid that the word slipped past my lips in a fragile whisper. “Yes, you were…” Then a hot tear splashed onto my bare arm. I snapped back to reality, quickly wiping the moisture from my eyes. And then, I took another spoonful of the warm porridge, swallowing it along with my own salty tears. Echo’s family was whole again. Mine, however, had shattered into dust. Thomas and Travis had been twins, but they were so distant they might as well have been strangers. Because of this, I knew next to nothing about my brother-in-law’s private life. The day of Travis’s funeral was the very first time I met Echo and her five-year-old son, Toby. The face etched onto the cold tombstone was identical to my husband’s. My eyes burned with a sudden, overwhelming grief. Amid the soft, mourning whimpers of the crowd, Toby suddenly broke free from Echo’s grip. He toddled over on his little legs and wrapped his small arms tightly around Thomas’s leg, asking in a sweet, innocent voice, “Daddy, why is everyone crying?” Thomas closed his eyes in agony, his hand trembling slightly as he stroked Toby’s hair. Thomas wasn’t the boy’s father. But everyone standing around the grave remained dead silent. No one had the heart to shatter the child’s illusion. Neither did I. Looking at the tiny, fatherless boy, my heart swelled with nothing but pity. I had no idea back then that a single moment of sympathy, a silent agreement to let this gentle lie play out, would completely ruin my life. After the funeral, Thomas and Echo started seeing each other constantly. Echo had lied to Toby, claiming his daddy was away on a long business trip overseas. But as the months dragged on, the lie became impossible to sustain. So, she turned to Thomas. She begged him to step in as Travis, to accompany the boy just for a little while. “You and Travis are identical twins,” she had pleaded. “No one else can be Toby’s father.” I had a delicate constitution and had struggled to conceive. After three years of marriage, Thomas and I still didn’t have any children. Faced with his grieving nephew, Thomas had hesitated for only a brief moment before agreeing to this inappropriate arrangement. From that point on, our quiet nights were shattered. Every single night, Toby’s voice calls would ring through the phone like clockwork. His tiny, high-pitched voice would drift out of the receiver. “Daddy, I miss you so much. I can’t sleep.” “Daddy, when are you coming home?” One night, after we were woken up yet again, Thomas rubbed his tired eyes and leaned over to kiss my forehead. “I’ll go quiet him down. Go back to sleep, honey.” As soon as the bedroom door clicked shut, I slipped out of bed. I stood by the door, pressing my ear against the wood, listening in silence. “Yeah, Daddy loves you too,” Thomas muttered. “Daddy, you can’t just say you love me! You have to say it to Mommy too!” The hallway outside suddenly fell into a dead silence. It was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Just when I thought the call was about to end, a deep, quiet voice drifted through the gap. “Echo, I love you.” My mind went completely blank. Those words felt like a physical blow, striking my chest and shattering my heart to pieces. I didn’t know when their call finally ended. All I knew was the physical sensation of the mattress dipping behind me as a cold body slid back under the covers, wrapping his arms around me out of pure habit. I pulled away, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “Do you love her?” Thomas froze, then let out a helpless, soft chuckle. “I was just playing along for the kid. I couldn’t blow my cover in the middle of a call.” He pulled me closer. “Are you jealous?” That night, he showered me with sweet, apologetic kisses, whispering promises in my ear. “Laurie, I love you. Only you.” But the heavy, suffocating knot in my chest refused to dissolve. In a moment of petty retaliation, I secretly put Thomas’s phone on silent. That was the night Toby went missing. Echo showed up at our house, furious. She slapped Thomas across the face with a resounding crack. “Why didn’t you answer his calls! He thought you abandoned him and ran out to look for you!” Thomas’s eyes darkened as he cast a subtle, quiet glance in my direction. The red mark blooming on his cheek made his expression look incredibly cold. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’ll find him.” Thankfully, Toby was found sleeping soundly on a park bench, completely unharmed. When we got back to the house, Thomas shed his jacket and rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaustion dripping from his voice. “Did you touch my phone?” I kept my composure and nodded. He quietly lit a cigarette, his eyes cold and distant. “If something had actually happened to Toby tonight, could you have lived with the guilt?” I threw the question right back at him. “And what about you? Are you really just trying to be a good uncle to your brother’s son?” Or was he planning to take care of the widow as well, keeping her warm in his bed? The cigarette caught between Thomas’s fingers paused in mid-air. “I’m Toby’s father right now, Laurie. That’s my responsibility.” My vision began to blur. I forced a smile and let the tears roll down my cheeks. “Right. Of course.” A cold war settled over our marriage. Thomas noticed my withdrawal and tried everything to win me back. Despite his packed schedule, he would find time to cook for me. Expensive jewelry began arriving at the house in various velvet boxes. But the knot in my heart remained. The delicious meals tasted like ash, and the diamonds sat untouched in their boxes. Thomas never truly understood the root of my silence. He continued to meet with Echo and Toby, treating their calls as perfectly normal obligations. I simply chose to ignore it all. One evening, Thomas was working late in his home office. His assistant had sent over some urgent documents, asking me to get them signed. When I pushed the door open, I found him on a video call with Toby. I masked my expression, laid the folder on his desk, and turned to leave. Suddenly, Toby’s voice piped up from the phone. “Daddy, the lady next to you looks really familiar. Who is she?” Thomas’s brow twitched, and his fingers froze against the mahogany desk. The room plunged into a suffocating silence. I was the one who broke the tension. “I’m his assistant,” I said, leaning slightly toward the screen with a polite smile. “I work for your daddy.” The moment the words left my mouth, the fountain pen in Thomas’s hand slipped, clattering loudly against the floor. I bent down to pick it up, placing it neatly beside the document. My voice remained perfectly flat. “Please sign here, Mr. Thomas.” His face was a mask of cold fury, but he signed the papers with hasty, messy strokes. I took the folder and turned to walk out. Behind me, the sweet, childish voice continued over the speaker. “Daddy, your assistant is really pretty. But Mommy loves you so much, you can’t cheat on her, okay? Otherwise, Toby won’t love you anymore.” This time, I waited, but there was no response from the man behind me. On Toby’s birthday, Echo brought him to our house for the very first time. Excited to see his “daddy,” Toby clutched Thomas’s arm, his eyes wide and bright. “Daddy, I love this house! Can Mommy and I move in here to live with you?” Echo stood nearby, her eyes gleaming with quiet anticipation, though she pretended to scold him. “Be good, Toby. We’d only get in the way of your daddy’s work.” Thomas instinctively looked at me. I was sitting on the sofa, working on my laptop, and didn’t even bother to look up. After a long pause, his cold voice cut through the room. “No. I prefer peace and quiet.” Toby’s face fell, and he let out a disappointed murmur. Then, his little finger pointed directly at me. “But today is supposed to be Mommy and Daddy celebrating my birthday. Why is the assistant lady here? She’s an outsider!” I froze for a second, then calmly closed my laptop and stood up. “Then I won’t disrupt your family reunion.” As I reached the entryway, a hand clamped tightly around my wrist. Thomas stared at me, his eyes dark and heavy, but his words were directed at the two people standing behind him. “You both have crossed the line.” Echo turned pale. She quickly knelt down and scooped Toby into her arms. “Sweetie, the assistant lady has to work here. She can’t leave.” Toby puckered his lips, huge tears rolling down his cheeks. “But Mommy, you said she’s a home-wrecker who wants to tear us apart! I don’t want her to steal my daddy away!” He threw a tantrum, crying at the top of his lungs, and Echo’s eyes welled with tears too. It was a pathetic, dramatic scene, making me look like the villain who was breaking up a happy home. “Enough!” Thomas’s voice was like ice as he glared at them. “Take him to the guest room. Don’t come out until he stops crying.” Once the guest room door slammed shut, blocking out the noise, Thomas pulled me into a fierce embrace. He held me so tightly it felt as though he wanted to fuse my bones with his. “Laurie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t handle this well,” he whispered, his lips brushing against my temple in a desperate, pleading gesture. “Please, don’t freeze me out anymore. If you’re unhappy, I’ll send them away tomorrow morning.” I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Make them leave now.” “What?” “I want them out of my house right now.” Thomas’s arms loosened around me. After a brief silence, he whispered, “Okay.” Echo bit her lip so hard it nearly bled, her red-rimmed eyes filled with humiliation as she hastily packed her bags. Even though she tried to hide it, I saw what was inside her suitcase. Tucked into the mesh compartment were several sets of revealing lace lingerie. They had never intended to leave. Did Thomas know? Probably. But he had silently allowed it. A wave of suffocation washed over me, and I walked out of the villa alone. The cool night breeze swept across my face, but it couldn’t clear the heavy knot in my chest. “Hey, assistant lady, do you like my daddy?” The childish voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I spun around. Toby had slipped out of the house unnoticed and was standing a few feet away. After a moment of silence, I answered quietly, “No, I don’t.” “Liar!” Toby’s bright, glassy eyes filled with angry tears. I looked at him, noticing for the first time how much his eyes resembled Thomas’s, while his jawline and mouth were a carbon copy of Echo’s. To any outsider, they looked like a perfect family. “Daddy yelled at me because of you, and now he’s kicking us out!” he sobbed. “Mommy said being a home-wrecker is bad. Give my daddy back to us!” I had no desire to argue with a five-year-old, so I turned to walk back inside. “You can’t leave! You haven’t promised me!” Toby lunged forward, grabbing my sweater with surprising force. Caught off balance, I stumbled backward, pulling him down with me into the empty swimming pool beside the path. Because Toby was visiting, Thomas had ordered the pool to be mostly drained two days ago to prevent accidents. Without the water to cushion the fall, I slammed hard against the cold, concrete floor of the pool. A blinding wave of pain turned my vision pitch black. A pool of dark crimson began to bloom against the shallow puddle of water at the bottom. Toby, coughing from a mouthful of water, began to scream in sheer terror. “Mommy! Daddy! Help me! I’m bleeding!” “Toby!” A loud splash echoed through the night. Two figures leapt into the pool without a single second of hesitation. I stared up at them, my eyes stinging. I couldn’t tell if it was the chlorinated water or my own tears blinding me. Toby was Echo’s son, so of course she jumped in for him. But I was Thomas’s wife. Why had he run to Toby first too? When I finally opened my eyes, everything was a blinding, sterile white. “You’re awake,” a nurse murmured, gently removing the IV drip from my arm. Her voice was full of pity. “I’m so sorry about the baby. Some things just aren’t meant to be. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just focus on recovering. You’ll have another chance in the future.” Baby? The memory hit me like a physical blow. The blooming red water, the sharp, tearing pain in my abdomen. A deafening ring filled my ears. I clutched the cold metal of the bed rails, my voice shaking. “Where… where is my husband?” The nurse blinked, a flicker of disgust passing over her face. “No one has been here since that couple dropped you off last night,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t understand people sometimes. You just suffered a miscarriage, yet your husband is nowhere to be found. Meanwhile, that other couple’s son only got a minor scratch on his arm, and they’ve been hovering over him all night…” The rest of her words faded into static. Because the man she thought was part of “that other couple” was my husband. Once the nurse left, I forced myself out of bed. Clinging to the cold hospital walls, I dragged my weak, aching body down the corridor until I reached Toby’s room. Peering through the narrow glass pane of the door, I saw a scene so grotesque it felt like a sick joke. Thomas was sitting by the bedside, holding a picture book, reading to Toby in a soft, soothing voice. Echo rested her chin on her hand, a look of serene happiness on her face. “Toby really looks like Travis,” she murmured softly. Then, her eyes shifted to Thomas. “Thomas, you and Travis were identical. If you hadn’t broken up with me back then, if you had been the one sleeping next to me that night… our child would have looked exactly like Toby.” The words hit me like a physical blow. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and the world began to tilt. They had broken up? Thomas and Echo used to be together? “Thomas,” Echo whispered, her eyes suddenly glistening with tears. “You’ve been mad at me for so long. Haven’t you punished me enough?”

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1 I was born with a curse, a twisted form of pain empathy. Any injury my identical twin sister suffered would register in my own body, magnified ten times over. Growing up, my sister Giselle became a notorious street punk. Street fights and brawls were a daily routine for her. She ran wild because she knew a fundamental truth: I was the one who felt the pain, not her. Our parents turned a blind eye to her behavior. Instead, they blamed me for being weak, claiming my fragility dragged her down and kept her from living her life to the fullest. To force me to hand over my early admission scholarship to her, she stood right in front of me and dragged a blade across her own arm, over and over. As I thrashed on the floor, convulsing and foaming at the mouth from the agonizing pain, my family watched with cold indifference. My father didn’t even flinch. He simply lit a cigarette and muttered, “Stop faking it. Sign the waiver and hand the scholarship over to your sister.” Later, in a desperate bid to scam a wealthy driver, Giselle threw herself in front of a speeding sports car. The devastating impact registered in my chest, and my heart stopped instantly. But at the exact moment my breath left my body, my sister, the girl who had never felt pain in her life, screamed in absolute agony. Her name was Giselle, my identical twin sister. My name was Julia. From the moment we were born, fate had played a cruel joke on us. Any physical damage Giselle sustained would ripple into my body, multiplied by ten, while she remained blissfully numb, unable to feel a single ounce of pain. Right now, I was curled up on the hardwood floor like a dying shrimp, my entire body convulsing violently. The sheer intensity of the agony reduced my voice to a ragged, wheezing rattle. Through my blurred vision, I could see Giselle lounging on the sofa, casually twirling a sharp utility knife between her fingers. A careless smirk played on her lips as the cold steel bit into her pale forearm once again. A soft slicing sound filled the quiet room as her flesh parted. “Aaaagh!” The scream didn’t come from her. It came from me. In that instant, it felt as if a power drill were boring directly into my bone marrow, tearing my very soul to shreds. I began to foam at the mouth, my limbs jerking uncontrollably as my fingernails scraped bloody gouges into the wooden floor. “Julia, that’s enough out of you.” My father, Belmont, sat in the adjacent armchair, tapping the ash from his cigarette with a look of pure annoyance. A stray flake of glowing ash drifted downward, landing squarely on the back of my hand. Sizzle. Another red blister bloomed on my skin. The pain was so sharp my eyes felt as if they would pop out of their sockets. I forced my mouth open, trying to beg for help. Dad, please. Save me. But no words came. Only a pathetic stream of tears and saliva smeared across my face. My mother, Amy, was busy peeling an apple for Giselle. She didn’t even bother to glance in my direction. “Giselle, sweetheart, you shouldn’t hurt yourself over something so minor.” Giselle pouted, looking up like a spoiled child. “But she won’t hand over her scholarship spot! Mom, I don’t want to take the college entrance exams. It’s too exhausting.” “Since she’s the younger sister, isn’t it her duty to bear my pain and help with my academic stress?” A cruel glint flashed in her eyes. She pressed the blade deeper, dragging it down until it nearly scraped her bone. “Aaaagh!” My heart contracted violently, as if a giant hand had reached into my chest and squeezed it to a pulp. The pain went far beyond the limits of human endurance. My body stiffened into a straight line before crashing back down onto the floor. My vision went dark. The sounds in the room began to fade, sounding distant and hollow. Amy nudged my head with the toe of her slipper, her expression dripping with disgust. “Stop acting. You’ve been pulling this stunt since you were a kid. Aren’t you tired of it yet?” “Look at you, looking like a dead dog. You don’t have a single ounce of your sister’s courage.” “Giselle is bleeding all over the place and hasn’t made a sound. You don’t even have a scratch on you, yet you’re squealing like a pig at slaughter.” Yes, that was my life. Because I was always the one screaming in agony, they saw me as a dramatic, fragile weakling. Meanwhile, Giselle, who couldn’t feel a thing, was praised for being brave, tough, and a survivor whenever she got into street fights. They forgot that I was the one carrying the scars on my soul. My father exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, his cold face hidden behind the grey haze. “Stop playing dead. Sign the waiver.” “Once you sign, your sister can go get bandaged up, and you can stop your little screaming show.” I tried to lift my hand, tried to show them that I was slipping away. My heart was fluttering wildly, completely out of rhythm. Then, one final, massive wave of pain surged through my nervous system. Snap. The final thread holding me together broke. My eyes remained wide open, staring blankly at the chandelier on the ceiling as my pupils slowly dilated. My body remained frozen in a twisted shape, completely still. Seeing that I had stopped moving, Giselle walked over with an annoyed sigh. She wiped her bloody arm against my cheek, trying to force a pen into my stiff fingers. “Hey, stop faking it. Sign the paper so I can go to the clinic. It’ll save you some pain too.” The pen slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the floor. My arm fell limp, like a puppet with its strings cut. I was gone. My spirit hovered in the air, watching this absurd theater play out below. I was dead. Dead in the middle of my eighteenth summer, while my family watched with cold, uncaring eyes. 2 Giselle, frustrated that I wouldn’t hold the pen, kicked me hard in the ribs. “Mom! Look at Julia! She’s still throwing a tantrum!” Amy walked over and looked down at me. My glassy, unblinking eyes stared right back at her. She frowned, showing no panic, only irritation. “This girl has such a nasty temper. To think she’d try to threaten us by faking a fainting spell.” “Just ignore her. Starve her for a couple of meals, and she’ll crawl back.” My father, Belmont, was even more direct. He hauled my limp body off the floor and tossed me onto my bed. Then, he picked up the pen from the floor, forged my signature on the waiver, and handed the document to Giselle. “There. The spot is yours.” “Thank you, Dad! I knew you loved me best!” Giselle squealed, jumping up and down, completely ignoring the blood dripping from her arm. She lazily slapped a small bandage over the deep cut. The blood quickly soaked through the adhesive, but she didn’t care. It didn’t hurt. “To celebrate our sweetheart getting into university, let’s order a feast tonight!” Amy declared, ordering the most expensive seafood delivery available. Half an hour later, the food arrived, featuring a massive spread of caviar, king crab legs, and expensive oysters. The dining table sat right in the living room, less than ten feet away from my body. I hovered above the table, watching them gorge themselves. The briny smell of the seafood filled the air, slowly mixing with the subtle, sweet scent of decay starting to drift from my bedroom. Giselle ate greedily, grease coating her lips. She peeled a sharp crab leg and carelessly tossed the shell backward. Clack. The sharp shell landed right on my face, catching on my eyelashes. It was a grotesque, mocking sight. “Hey, Julia, stop faking,” Giselle called out. “Get up and clean this mess. Don’t think you can skip chores just by hiding in bed.” I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Amy fed Giselle a piece of crab meat. “Don’t waste your breath on that miserable girl. Just looking at her ruins my appetite.” “My Giselle is the one with real drive. You know how to be ruthless to get what you want. You’ll go far in life once you start college.” Belmont, his face red from the beer, pointed his glass at my room. “We spoiled her too much. All that pain empathy nonsense is just a mental illness to get attention.” “Look at Giselle. She bleeds without a single whimper. That’s the mark of someone destined for greatness.” They laughed and joked, painting a beautiful picture of Giselle’s bright future. Not once did any of them walk over to check if I was still breathing. If they had simply bent down, they might have realized my heart had stopped. But they didn’t. They truly believed I was playing a game of silent protest. By the end of the meal, Giselle let out a loud burp. She glanced toward my room, suddenly feeling annoyed. “Mom, her lying there is creeping me out. She’s just staring into space. It’s bad luck.” Amy stood up, grabbed an old tablecloth from a drawer, and walked over to my bed. She tossed it over my head like she was covering a pile of trash. “Out of sight, out of mind. Let her sleep on the floor tonight. No blankets for her. Let’s see how long she can keep up this act.” A single piece of fabric covered my dead face. And with it, the last shred of what this family called love was smothered. My soul trembled in the air. Not from the chill of the room, but from the utter, bone-deep coldness of their hearts. 3 The night grew deep. The air conditioning was set to a freezing sixty degrees, which only accelerated my rigor mortis. Before heading to bed, Giselle walked past me. On a whim, she stomped hard on my stomach through the tablecloth. “Make sure you scrub the floor tomorrow. It’s covered in my blood, and it’s disgusting.” It was a heavy blow, but I felt nothing. Instead, my stiff, frozen body bruised her foot. She muttered under her breath, “Hard as a rock. Even her attitude is stubborn.” The next morning, sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the draped figure on the floor. Giselle woke up refreshed. Seeing me still lying in the exact same spot, she strode over and yanked the tablecloth off my face. My skin had turned a sickly purple, and the white foam around my mouth had dried into a crust. Giselle blinked, then burst into a loud laugh. “Julia, you really went all out to scare me.” “Who did you put on this dead girl makeup for? You should have gone to drama school instead.” She genuinely believed it was cosmetics. She nudged my stiff arm with the toe of her shoe. “Alright, get up. I’m heading to school. Don’t forget to wash my sneakers.” She tossed the cloth back over my face and hummed a tune as she walked out the door. I floated right behind her. At school, Giselle was on top of the world. She strutted around the classroom, waving the forged scholarship documents in everyone’s faces. “Some people can study all they want, but the prize still goes to me.” A few classmates who couldn’t stand her sneered. “Stealing from your own twin sister. How pathetic.” Giselle’s face darkened, and she lunged forward, slapping the girl across the face. A sharp crack echoed through the room. The girl was stunned for a second, then fought back, digging her nails deep into Giselle’s arm. In the past, I would have been rolling on the classroom floor in agony. The pain would have transferred to me instantly. But today, I was dead. Giselle looked down at the nails sinking into her flesh, a strange, ecstatic thrill washing over her face. She felt absolutely nothing. “Is that the best you can do?” she laughed, grabbing the girl by the hair and slamming her head hard against a desk. The sheer brutality of her attack terrified the classroom. Because she was immune to pain, she had no fear. “I am invincible!” she laughed maniacally, beating the girl black and blue. The teacher rushed in, and the parents were called. Amy arrived at the principal’s office. Instead of apologizing, she pointed a finger at the bruised girl. “Your daughter started it! My girl was only defending herself!” “My daughter is gifted. She’s strong. She doesn’t cry like some weak little princess over a tiny scratch.” The teacher pointed at the security footage. “Ma’am, your daughter’s attack was incredibly vicious.” “That’s called bravery! Strength!” Amy boasted, her chest swelling. “Unlike her useless sister, who has the backbone of a jellyfish.” Mentioning me reminded Amy that she still needed my signature to finalize some school paperwork. She pulled out her phone and dialed my number. The call went through, but the phone was vibrating on our living room coffee table. Nobody answered. “That miserable brat is still throwing a fit,” Amy muttered, hanging up with a curse. “Just wait till I get home. I’ll teach her a lesson.” Watching from the side, I found the entire scene laughable. They defended the abuser while dragging down the dead victim. They even mistook the silence of a corpse for rebellion. 4 That evening, Giselle and Amy returned home, with my spirit trailing behind them. My body still lay in the corner of the living room, draped under the old tablecloth. It had been over twenty-four hours. A faint, sweet odor was beginning to escape from the fabric, but the heavy smell of the pungent cabbage stew they cooked for dinner masked it completely. Giselle sent a picture of a limited edition designer handbag to the family group chat. “Dad, Mom, I want this bag as a reward for getting into university.” Belmont looked at the price tag, which was nearly four thousand dollars. He frowned. “We just paid the administrative fees for your admission. Money is a bit tight right now.” Giselle immediately threw a tantrum, stomping her feet and slamming doors. “I don’t care! I want it! All the other scholarship students have nice things!” Amy tried to soothe her. “Sweetheart, can we wait a few weeks?” Giselle’s eyes darted around before a wicked idea popped into her head. “Mom, I heard those rich street racers have been tearing up the boulevard lately.” “Since I don’t feel pain anyway, why don’t I stage an accident?” She gestured excitedly. “We find a spot with no traffic cameras, and I’ll throw myself in front of one of their luxury cars.” “Those rich kids are terrified of getting in trouble. They’ll pay anything to settle it quietly. A few thousand dollars would be pocket change to them!” My soul shuddered. Were these human beings, or were they monsters? She spoke of a dangerous, illegal scam as casually as ordering takeout. Even worse was our parents’ reaction. Belmont stroked his chin, considering the idea. “It’s not impossible. But you have to pick the right spot. We don’t want you getting permanently crippled.” Amy looked worried. “What if you get a nasty scar? A girl shouldn’t have ugly scars on her body.” Giselle cast a careless glance toward the covered lump in the corner. “Who cares?” “If my skin gets ruined, we’ll just make Julia give me a skin graft.” “She’s a useless waste of space anyway. Her skin is perfectly fine. It would be a waste not to use it.” “And if my kidneys get damaged, we’ll just take hers.” “I’m the older sister. It’s her duty to sacrifice for me.” Belmont nodded slowly, blowing a ring of smoke. “True. We’ve kept her fed all these years. It’s about time she made herself useful.” Amy smiled, her worries vanishing. “Alright, it’s a plan then. Just make sure to protect your face.” They huddled together, eagerly discussing the details of the scam. They had completely forgotten that the “living organ donor” they were talking about was currently a rotting corpse. Once the plan was finalized, Giselle was in high spirits. She walked over to the corner and kicked the covered figure on the floor. “Hey, did you hear that?” “Get ready to donate your skin when the time comes.” “Don’t go playing dead on me, you hear?” Naturally, there was no reply. The body made a dull, heavy thud as her shoe struck the stiff flesh. Giselle scoffed. “Lazy pig. She’s sleeping like a log.” She turned on her heel and walked out the door to execute her scheme. Watching her leave, my soul felt a strange, intoxicating sense of anticipation. Giselle chose a secluded intersection. There were no street cameras here, and it was a popular strip for the local wealthy drag racers. She hid behind the bushes, waiting like a hungry predator. I floated above her in the night air, quietly waiting for the climax. The distant, roaring scream of a high-performance engine pierced the night. A crimson sports car sped down the asphalt like a bolt of lightning. Giselle’s eyes gleamed with greed. She took a deep breath, calculating the distance and speed. All she needed was a light graze, a dramatic roll onto the asphalt, and a massive payout would be hers. After all, Julia would be the one feeling the pain. Even if her bones snapped, Julia would bear the agony. She was used to it. For eighteen years, she had exploited this connection. From childhood vaccinations to broken bones, she had never shed a single tear, because every ounce of agony was instantly transferred to her fragile little sister. The headlights blinded her. Giselle lunged directly into the street! Screeech! The desperate scream of burning rubber tore through the night as the driver slammed on the brakes, leaving thick black streaks on the road. But the car was moving too fast. Smash! A horrific thud echoed. Giselle was thrown into the air like a ragdoll, spinning twice before slamming hard onto the unforgiving asphalt.

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1 I sat at the long mahogany dining table, the rhythmic thud of a headboard and muffled moans drifting down from the second floor. It was my husband, Garrett, breaking in his eighteenth secretary. Today was our fourth wedding anniversary. It was also the fourth year since the True Love System bound itself to us. Four years ago, the moment we signed our marriage papers, the System descended. Every act of genuine love between us was rewarded. That was, until the day I found out I was pregnant. The System handed out its ultimate gift, a technological breakthrough that skyrocketed Garrett into the ranks of the world’s most elite billionaires overnight. But even a man certified by a magical entity could have a change of heart. Garrett took the seat next to me, his collar slightly wrinkled, a faint smattering of red marks on his neck. He ladled a bowl of steaming chicken soup and set it before me. “Sorry for the wait, honey. I specifically asked the housekeeper to simmer this for you today.” I nodded, my face an unreadable mask, and picked up the silver spoon. The next second, a long forgotten, cold mechanical voice echoed in my mind. [Ding. Congratulations to the Host. The Severance Protocol has been triggered.] I froze, the spoon hovering in midair. I glanced at Garrett. He was casually checking his phone, completely oblivious. It was certain. He had not heard the prompt. Footsteps padded down the grand staircase. The eighteenth secretary was a familiar face. Garrett immediately stood up, pulling out a chair for her with practiced, intimate grace. “Sylvia, this is Laura. She was the recipient of our university’s scholarship program last year.” His voice actually carried a hint of pleasant surprise. “When she brought it up during the interview, I couldn’t help but marvel at how small the world is.” “Garrett,” I interrupted his order for another place setting, my fingernails digging into my palms. “You promised. They are never allowed at our dining table.” The very first reward we ever got from the System was a lavish anniversary dinner. Garrett waved his hand dismissively. “Laura is different. I plan to mentor her personally.” “Mentor her how? Between the sheets?” The young girl’s face drained of color. She shrank back, her trembling fingers gripping the hem of Garrett’s expensive blazer. “There is no need to be so vulgar,” Garrett said, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. “I initiated it. She is young. You cannot blame her.” He patted her arm to soothe her. Suddenly, Laura looked up. Her voice was thin, but her words were crystal clear. “Sylvia, I am truly grateful for the financial aid you provided me back in college. But Garrett and I are truly in love. Doesn’t it exhaust you, clinging to a title when the heart is gone?” She had changed. The timid college girl I met a year ago had grown bold, her eyes gleaming with naked ambition. Garrett’s face darkened instantly. “Laura, know your place. She will always be my wife.” But his tone softened just as quickly as he looked down at her. “That doesn’t stop us from being in love. Just be a good girl and do as you are told.” A dry, bitter laugh escaped my throat. “Laura, he said the exact same lines to the seventeen women before you. Tell me, which number of true love do you think you are?” The pregnancy reward the System gave us back then was a technological blueprint decades ahead of its time, along with massive startup capital. When I was eight months pregnant, Garrett was overseas attending his company’s IPO gala. His aunt and uncle suddenly barged into our home, demanding fifty million dollars in alimony. They claimed that without them taking in an orphaned Garrett years ago, he would be nothing. During the heated argument, his cousin shoved me down the stairs. The whole family blocked the front door, demanding the money before they would call an ambulance. As a pool of crimson soaked the hardwood floor, I dialed Garrett’s number over and over. I got nothing but endless voicemail. Three hours later, the celebratory fireworks of his IPO lit up the foreign sky. And the fully formed baby boy inside me stopped breathing forever. When Garrett finally rushed back to the country, he handled his relatives, but began avoiding me. While I was confined to my bed in mourning, I smelled a foreign, sweet perfume on his dress shirt for the first time. I found a glaring, chestnut blonde strand of hair on his collar. I smashed every vase and mirror in the room. He simply stood amidst the shattered glass, his voice devoid of emotion. “It was just a one night stand. Don’t work yourself up. You will always be my wife.” I prayed countless times for the True Love System to appear again, to strip away everything it had given us. If we went back to being poor but in love, maybe Garrett would come back to me. But nothing happened. The mechanical voice I once viewed as a divine miracle remained dead. From then on, whoever caught his eye became his new personal assistant. When he got bored, he swapped them out. The entire corporate empire knew, but no one dared breathe a word. I drafted divorce papers. He tore them to shreds right in front of my face. The very next day, armed guards patrolled the estate, and housekeepers were stationed in my room, impossible to shake off. Propelled by the System, he sat comfortably at the absolute pinnacle of the business world. There was nothing he could not control. Garrett put down his fork and wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “Stop throwing a tantrum. There is an auction next month featuring that vintage emerald set you have been eyeing. Consider it… compensation for number eighteen.” I ate my cold rice in silence. Those so called gifts were already gathering dust in the storage room. They made my skin crawl. He stood up, taking Laura’s hand to leave. He paused at the door, as if suddenly remembering something. “I am taking Laura to see the Northern Lights next week. The kid has been begging me for ages. Be good and stay home. I will bring you a souvenir.” Next week was the anniversary of my mother’s death. “Next Wednesday is my mother’s memorial. You…” “What does a memorial matter?” he cut me off, irritation lacing his voice. “We go every single year. Is her ghost going to haunt me if I miss one?” He pulled Laura closer, his tone turning frigid. “Mope all you want on your own, just don’t ruin our mood.” During our senior year of high school, my mother fell terminally ill. He knelt by her hospital bed, swearing on his life that he would cherish me forever. When she passed, he drained his entire savings from six years of part time jobs to give her a proper funeral. Every year since, he would kneel at her gravestone, recounting how well he was taking care of me, telling her to rest in peace. Now, he could not remember our anniversary. He did not care about my mother’s memorial. But he remembered his little secretary wanted to see the Northern Lights. The heavy oak doors slammed shut. At that exact moment, the icy mechanical voice rang out again. [Ding. Congratulations to the Host. You have received 99,999,999 dollars in highest denomination currency.] [The funds have been transferred to your encrypted offshore account. The Severance Protocol will be with you every step of the way.] The System had descended once more, pulling me from the wreckage. 2 After sweeping the fallen autumn leaves from my mother’s grave, I arranged the fresh white chrysanthemums. My fingertips brushed against the carved letters of her name. That stone was once the only warmth in my isolated world. I never knew my father or any other relatives. It was just me and her. That was, until I met Garrett in high school. He was like a wild, untamed fire, forcefully illuminating the bitter, barren landscape of my youth. We used to huddle together in a freezing rental apartment during winter nights, promising to be each other’s irreplaceable source of warmth. But Mom, he changed. That fire now burned me until I bled. “Ma’am, it is a call from Mr. Garrett.” The bodyguard’s stiff voice pulled me back to reality. I took the phone. On the other end, Garrett’s voice sounded unusually panicked. “Sylvia, the puppy Laura adopted is doing really badly. You need to come take a look.” A wave of pure absurdity pierced my heart like a needle. Years ago, when he rushed back and saw me hollowed out, having just lost our child, he had not sounded this frantic. He was only anxious about whether the System would revoke his wealth. I should have known. I should have realized it long ago. “Go to hell,” I heard my own dry, raspy voice say. Minutes later, I was essentially escorted by force into the black SUV. The car pulled up to the tiny starter home we had rented right after college. Back then, after receiving a massive cash reward from the System, we bought this place full of memories. We renovated it together, turning it into our dream nest. I pushed the door open. The interior was violently different from my memory, like a beautiful dream heavily vandalized. The spot on the mantelpiece that once held our framed couple photos was replaced by Laura’s graduation portrait. The velvet sofa I had spent weeks picking out was draped with a sickeningly sweet pink blanket. The air was suffocating, thick with a cheap, sugary perfume that completely eradicated the clean scent of sunlight and laundry detergent that used to live here. Laura initiated a video call from Garrett’s phone. “Sylvia, how is Peanut doing?” She lowered her eyes, putting on a masterful display of distress. “When Garrett and I found him last week, he was so weak. He refuses to eat. Could you please take him back to the main estate and nurse him?” I walked further in. The room we had painstakingly designated as the nursery had been gutted and turned into a dog’s playroom. In the corner, a frail puppy curled up in a designer dog bed. Tied around its neck was a glaring red string. Dangling from the red string was a tiny, blessed gold locket. It was the very same locket Garrett had walked miles up a treacherous mountain path to pray for, back when I was pregnant. We used to press our hands to my barely showing stomach, calling the baby Noah, praying for him to have a lifetime of peace and safety. “Where did you get that red string?” My voice trembled, freezing the air in the room. My heart hammered heavily against my ribs, every beat radiating a dull, sickening ache. “You mean the one on Peanut’s neck?” Laura blinked innocently through the screen. “Garrett put it on him. He said it brings good luck and protection.” He forgot. He did not just forget the locket. He forgot Noah. He forgot how we knelt side by side on the temple floor, heads bowed in absolute devotion. He forgot the tears and laughter embedded in the name Noah. He forgot how awkwardly, yet blissfully, we debated the paint colors for the nursery. Even the very last memento of my dead child had been casually tossed to his mistress’s pet. “I know this used to be your house, Sylvia.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, dripping with hidden triumph. “All the junk you two used to own is locked in the master bedroom. We even did it on that old bed of yours…” “But just the once. Garrett said it felt a bit gross being in there.” I walked over and pushed open the master bedroom door. Every single photo album, every souvenir, every piece of our shared history was piled haphazardly in the corner. Like trash waiting for the dumpster. I dragged them all out into the center of the backyard. Box after box, memory after memory, along with that red string and the tiny gold locket. My lighter sparked, spitting out a blue flame. The fire eagerly licked at the edges of our polaroids, consuming our awkward teenage smiles, swallowing the gold locket into the inferno. It was time to end this. Along with the unborn child, and all the years of pathetic, self deceiving fantasies. As the flames roared higher, Garrett’s furious roar erupted from the phone’s speaker. “Sylvia! What the hell are you doing? Are you insane? Put it out!” His voice cracked, shrill and laced with absolute terror. “How could you… how could you burn it all!” I stared into the dancing, crackling flames, feeling like a spectator watching a play that had nothing to do with me. “It is trash nobody wants. Better to burn it clean.” “Laura!” 3 He immediately turned his crosshairs on her, his voice warped with panic. “What the hell did you say to her?!” “I… I didn’t! She just asked about the red string… and about me moving in…” The bonfire crackled and popped in front of me, perfectly masking Garrett’s out of control screaming and Laura’s pathetic sobbing. I stood right beside the blistering heat, yet a terrifying, ice cold silence soaked through my bones. The space where my heart used to be had been hollowed out long ago, scooped away by his endless betrayals. Now, even the leftover ashes were being swept away by this fire. [Ding. Congratulations to the Host. You have received a fleet of five legally registered top tier luxury vehicles across the continent.] I was not alone. I had the System. With every ounce of shattered hope and every act of rebellion, I received massive rewards tied to an overseas haven. From unlimited funds to supercars, the System was meticulously paving a flawless escape route for me. … When the two of them walked through the villa doors later that evening, looking utterly drained, my mind was composed of nothing but icy calculations. “Sylvia, I picked this out for you.” Laura had morphed back into her timid persona, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. “I misspoke earlier. I made you angry enough to burn your own things.” Garrett stepped forward, reaching out to embrace me. I sidestepped, leaving his arms hanging awkwardly in the air. “Noah is… gone. You can’t drown in the past forever,” Garrett said softly. “If that locket could bring some peace to the puppy, isn’t it worth it?” “Worth it?” I raised my hand and slapped him across the face with everything I had. “You do not get to say Noah’s name. It makes me sick coming from your mouth.” [Ding. You have received a sprawling vineyard estate in Tuscany.] Garrett rubbed his cheek. A terrifying smile stretched across his face, followed by words even more ruthless than his betrayal. “Fine. The playground and nursery you designed for Noah in the backyard? Tear them down. Staring at dead memories is bad for your health. Laura studied design in college. Let her use the space for practice.” Seeing the corner of Laura’s mouth twitch upwards behind him, an idea flashed in my mind. I snatched a sharp paring knife from the fruit bowl and pressed the steel firmly against my own collarbone, forcing tears to well up in my eyes. “You want to erase the very last trace of Noah to make room for your new baby? Are you trying to make room for a new Mrs. Garrett, too?” I saw the sudden, hungry spark in Laura’s eyes. She understood exactly what I was doing. The final jackpot, my ultimate ticket out of this hellhole, relied on one thing: a child. “Tear it down,” I pressed the blade harder, “and I will bleed out right here!” “Sylvia! Don’t do anything stupid!” Garrett panicked, lunging forward to wrestle the knife away, wrapping his arms tightly around my trembling body. “We won’t touch it! We won’t! You are the only woman who will ever bear my children!” [Ding. You have received full estate resources, including a historical castle, a full butler and maid staff, and private chauffeurs.] “I’m sending you on a vacation to clear your head. Too much has happened,” he murmured, cupping my face, his eyes swimming in a sickening mix of terror and fake devotion. “Go overseas. Go to Europe… see the places we talked about when you were carrying Noah.” The very next day, I boarded a first class flight across the Atlantic. For half a month, under the guise of grieving, I inspected the vineyard estate the System had gifted me. It was a breathtaking property bathed in Mediterranean sunlight, overflowing with blooming roses. It was perfect. In the past, every single reward from the True Love System went straight to Garrett. Cash, real estate, cars, they all bore his name. I used to complain, asking why a system based on our love only rewarded him. It turned out, my gifts were just severely delayed. When I finally returned to the city, Laura opened the front door. Just as I predicted, the backyard was unrecognizable. The sandbox and jungle gym I sketched out for Noah were gone, replaced by a tacky infinity pool and an outdoor bar. Laura wore a secretive, arrogant smirk. “See that, Sylvia? The memories you threatened to die for? I wiped them out with a few whispers.” She stepped closer. “Once I get pregnant, you are going to hand over the title of Mrs. Garrett quietly.” Hearing heavy footsteps approaching from the hallway behind her, I didn’t hesitate. I raised my hand and struck her hard across the cheek. The girl stumbled back with a gasp, collapsing onto the marble floor. 4 “Sylvia! What the hell is wrong with you?” Garrett rushed over, shielding her on the floor, roaring at me. “I authorized the demolition! If you are pissed, take it out on me!” I scoffed coldly, turning on my heel and walking upstairs. [Ding. You have received an elite architectural design studio overseas, complete with a full executive team.] “You are staying in this house! You are not going anywhere!” he screamed from the bottom of the stairs. Everything I needed was almost in place. My movements were completely restricted to the villa. I spent my days researching the design studio the System had given me. Their portfolio aligned perfectly with my own creative vision. When Garrett walked into the bedroom and saw the architectural drafts spread across my desk, a deep frown etched into his face. “Are you short on cash? Why are you playing around with blueprints again?” I casually covered the name of my new overseas studio with a notebook, not bothering to look up. “You grounded me. I needed a hobby.” “You are coming with me to the charity gala tomorrow.” He slammed the door shut on his way out. On the surface, I was still the trophy wife required for his public theater. But when the chauffeur opened my car door the next evening, I saw Laura standing there, draped in an evening gown that rivaled my own. She instinctively reached to link her arm through Garrett’s, but he hissed in a low voice, “In public, you are just my assistant!” Yet, his tone immediately softened back into a caress. “Be a good girl. I will buy you whatever you want tonight.” Laura’s face fell into a pout, and she trailed behind us obediently. I observed the entire charade with dead eyes, like a theater critic watching a terrible play. Given Garrett’s current billionaire status, our seats were dead center in the front row. Laura and I flanked him on either side. When the vintage emerald set he had promised me was rolled onto the stage, Laura leaned in, tugging gently on his sleeve. “Garrett, that would look so cute on Peanut.” Garrett turned, offering her a disgustingly tender smile, and nodded. He forgot again. Half the socialites in this room knew I had been coveting that exact emerald set for years. When the white gloved usher brought the velvet box over, he bypassed me completely, handing it directly to Laura. A ripple of thinly veiled gasps and murmurs spread through the surrounding elite crowd. Since he had decided to strip away my last shred of dignity in public, I was done playing along. I stood up, violently flipping the low glass table in front of us. The deafening crash of shattered crystal and porcelain echoed through the dead silent ballroom. Without a single glance backward, I walked through the shocked crowd, heading straight for the terrace. [Ding. You have received a forged, legally ironclad identity in your new country.] The gala was being held at a historic mansion perched on the cliffs of the Riviera. I walked toward the stone balustrade, letting the salty sea breeze whip through my hair. A few moments later, the clack of heels announced Laura’s arrival. “Sylvia, why make a scene and humiliate Garrett like that?” “You ruined the mood for the entire room. Garrett had to cover the entire night’s auction tabs just to save face.” “Being this hysterical is only going to make him hate you more.” She closed the distance between us, pulling a folded piece of paper from her clutch. Her ambition was fully bared now. “Besides, I am carrying his child. Your days sitting on that throne are over.” I took the medical report from her hands. I scanned the lines. It was a confirmed positive pregnancy test. [Ding. Please prepare yourself, Host.] The final reward was about to drop. In the distance, Garrett burst through the terrace doors, his eyes wildly searching the darkness. The second his gaze locked onto me, I gave him the brightest, most radiant smile I could muster. Then, clutching that pregnancy report to my chest, I leaned backward and let gravity pull me off the cliff. The wind screamed in my ears as I plummeted. The very last thing I saw was Garrett’s face warping into a mask of pure, unadulterated horror. I saw him sprint toward the edge, diving forward, his hands grasping at empty air. He watched me vanish. Not fall into the crashing waves, but literally vanish. Like a digital image being deleted, I faded out of existence inch by inch right before his eyes. He even saw the lingering, victorious curve of my smile before I dissolved completely. But all anyone else heard was Laura’s piercing shriek. “Help! Call the Coast Guard! She fell into the ocean!” The security footage showed a clear, uninterrupted fall straight into the raging black water, followed by a massive splash. Everyone told him it was a hallucination. A trick of the mind brought on by extreme trauma.

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1 In my third year as a divorce attorney, Oliver forced his way into my office. On the CCTV screen overhead, the news was broadcasting his latest scandal: the city’s newest billionaire had just fled his own high-society wedding. Across the black mahogany desk, he sat with his head in his hands, looking utterly miserable. The wedding band on his left ring finger caught the light, gleaming mockingly. Oliver tapped the wood. His voice, deep and gravelly, broke the silence. “I need a divorce settlement. And a deed of gift.” “The divorce is for my fiancée, the woman I was supposed to marry today. Her name is Gemma.” “The deed of gift… I want to transfer every single asset I own to a woman named Abigail.” Abigail is me. But he didn’t recognize me. We had been broken up for three years, and for three years, he had turned the city upside down looking for me. Subconsciously, I adjusted my face mask and pulled the brim of my cap lower. I reached out and flipped the little sign on my desk to face him: No Consultations Without Appointment. Oliver froze. He looked up, his eyes locking onto mine. In that single second, a visible tremor ran through his entire body. “Abby?” he gasped, rising from his chair. This was a man who prided himself on absolute restraint, yet now he was completely unraveling. Before I could even breathe a word, the spark in his eyes died. He sank back into his seat, his shoulders slumping as he muttered to himself, “No. No, it’s not her. I’m sorry… I lost my head. I mistook you for someone else.” “You couldn’t be her.” “She was with me since we were teenagers. If she were still in this city, she wouldn’t have hidden from me for three whole years…” I remained silent. My hand, resting on the computer mouse, was shaking so violently I had to grip it tight. Oliver. That name defined my youth. He was the author of every romantic memory I possessed. Once, I truly believed he would be the man I’d grow old with. Even after our split, I used to panic, thinking that if we ever crossed paths again, I would be the one to break down. Yet here I was, surprisingly calm, while he was the one falling apart. I tapped the sign on my desk again, then pointed to the notice on the door: Private Practice. No walk-ins. Without a word, he pulled a gold-embossed checkbook from his breast pocket. He signed a blank check and slid it across the desk toward me. “Name your price. Just do this for me.” “You saw the news. I walked out on my own wedding. My fiancée is looking for me, and I need this marriage dissolved immediately.” Glancing at the chaotic live broadcast playing on the silent screen above, I kept my voice low and raspy, asking, “Why did you run?” Oliver stared into space, lost in some distant memory. It took him a long time to speak. “Because I’m willing to give up everything to win back someone I lost. Someone I might never get back.” His expression softened into a profound, aching sorrow. But whatever warmth was left in my chest froze over. Instead, my mind flashed back to a year before I left. It was his birthday. I had lovingly baked a cake, bought a gift, and rushed home to surprise him. When I opened the bedroom door, I found him pinning Gemma to our bed, the young college student we had been financially sponsoring. When he saw the devastating hurt in my eyes, he didn’t even flinch. He just let out a soft, mocking laugh. “To be honest, Abby, after seven years, you’re pretty boring in bed.” “Gemma knows what she’s doing. You should take notes. Learn how to please a man.” “Don’t look at me like that. If you can’t handle it, you’re free to leave.” “But I give you three days. You’ll be back begging for my forgiveness within three days.” What Oliver never understood was that once I make up my mind to walk away, I never, ever look back. So, I didn’t just stay away for three days. I vanished for three years. I shook my head and slid the blank check back across the polished wood. “Take a right when you walk out. The firm next door handles standard divorces. They’re much better suited for you.” Oliver’s brow furrowed. “I did my research. You have the highest success rate in the city, and you get things done quietly.” “I’m offering you a fortune. Why are you turning me down?” Offering you a fortune. How incredibly familiar. Years ago, before he was a billionaire, he was just a boy from a poor working-class family near the docks. I remembered him kneeling before me in a faded, threadbare shirt, holding a cheap ring. “Abby, I love you. Please say yes.” “I promise I’ll marry you twice in this lifetime.” “Once as the broke boy standing here, and a second time when I make my fortune and can give you the world.” I hadn’t been swayed by his promises of wealth. Back then, I wasn’t the city’s most formidable lawyer. I was just a girl visiting my family’s old hometown. But I had never seen a man with eyes so bright, or with a love that burned so fiercely just for me. So I nodded, and we built a life together. But in the second year after he struck gold and became a billionaire, he slept with the student we took in. The next morning, he casually told me, “That grand wedding I promised you? I’m going to have it with Gemma instead.” “She’s throwing a tantrum, and it’s just easier this way.” “Of course, we won’t sign any legal papers. It’s just a show. You’re still my legal wife.” He spoke of throwing a wedding for his mistress as if he were simply planning a casual dinner with a friend. He didn’t care about my tear-stained face or my shattered heart. “Don’t give me that look,” he had said, sighing. “A wedding is just a display of wealth, right? I’ve already given you more money than you could ever spend!” But Oliver never understood. I never cared about his money. Pushing the memories aside, I didn’t say a word. Instead, I pulled a notepad and wrote: For the past three years, you have planned a wedding with Miss Gemma every single year, and every single year you have abandoned her at the altar. You are too much drama. It’s bad for my firm’s reputation. Please leave. Oliver’s eyes narrowed as he read the note. He stared at me intently, as if trying to pierce through my disguise. I didn’t blink. I met his gaze dead-on. Before he could say another word, a frantic voice cried out from the doorway. “Oliver!” A woman in a wrinkled, expensive wedding gown burst in. It was Gemma. She had shed the shy, awkward look of the broke student we had once sponsored. Now, she carried herself with a sharp, calculated glamour. Seeing Oliver, she burst into tears of frustration. “You promised me we’d finish the ceremony this time! Why did you run away again?” Oliver sat there, pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice dripping with exhaustion. “Gemma, how many times do I have to tell you?” “These weddings were only meant to draw Abby out. I wanted her to see them and come back.” Gemma looked like she was about to lose her mind. “You’re still obsessed with her? You told me you loved me!” “We’ve had three weddings now, and she never showed up!” “She doesn’t care who you marry anymore! Why can’t you just let her go and build a life with me?” Oliver fell silent, murmuring almost to himself, “She cares. She’s just stubborn. She’s trying to punish me.” I felt a cold wave of amusement. Back when he was convinced I’d come crawling back in three days, he wasn’t this melancholic. He had been smug, self-assured, waiting to see how long I could last without his money. He was certain that because I had loved him since I was eighteen, I would never truly leave. Even when Gemma deliberately smashed my late grandmother’s heirloom bracelet and accused me of framing her, all to force me to come to his office, he didn’t bother asking for my side of the story. Like a judge handing down a sentence, he had simply looked down at me and said, “Abby, if you’re going to stay, you need to learn to get along with Gemma. I won’t have drama in my home. Both of you are important to me.” I swallowed the bitter taste of the memory. Gemma’s eyes darted to the plaque on my desk, her face twisting in horror when she realized what kind of lawyer I was. “What are you doing here, Oliver?” Oliver glanced at her, his voice devoid of emotion. “I’m divorcing you.” “And I’m transferring all my assets to Abby.” “Are you insane?!” Gemma shrieked. She grabbed his lapels, shaking him. “What about me, Oliver? I’ve been with you since I was eighteen!” Oliver said softly, “So was she.” There was no warmth in my chest, only the memory of the night I had practically begged him on my knees, crying, pleading with him to remember our seven years together and just come back to me. He had seemed moved then, promising to cut ties with Gemma. Yet the very next day, I walked in on them again. I had screamed at him, asking how he could be so cheap, so utterly shameless. He had simply leaned back against our headboard, with Gemma smirking beside him, lit a cigarette, and said, “You want to talk about cheap? You were in my bed when you were eighteen, Abby. Let’s not pretend you’re a saint.” That was the moment my heart truly died. I had thought giving myself to him in our youth was a sacred act of love. To him, it just made me cheap. I cleared my throat, keeping my voice low and raspy. “If you two want to scream at each other, do it outside. My office is closing.” Gemma looked up, her eyes finally locking onto my face. Suddenly, she froze. Her face turned pale, and she pointed a trembling finger at me. “Abby?!” “No… no, that’s impossible. You just have similar eyes. It can’t be you.” “She would never stay in this city. She wouldn’t dare face him!” I kept my gaze cool and detached. She was right about one thing. I would never, ever go back to him. The day I caught them together for the second time was supposed to be the day of our “second wedding.” He had plastered it across every paper in the city. He was going to remarry his wife in a lavish ceremony to thank her for her years of devotion. The venue was the rooftop of the city’s most exclusive skyscraper. Helicopters buzzed overhead, and reporters lined the red carpet, waiting for the billionaire to sweep his wife off her feet. I stood there in the custom gown he had personally designed and hand-stitched for me, enduring the envious stares of the crowd, waiting for my husband. But Oliver didn’t show. An hour passed. Then two. The envious looks turned to whispers, and then to mockery. “What do you think the billionaire is doing? Did he realize she’s getting too old for him?” “I heard he’s got a gorgeous young thing at home. Why buy the old model when the new one’s so much fun?” “Look at her standing there all by herself. How embarrassing.” The grander the setup had been, the deeper the humiliation. I remembered standing there, my knuckles white as I gripped the silk of my dress, listening to the cruel laughter. Even my father had called me, furious, demanding I leave before I embarrassed the family any further. I fled back to our apartment. When I pushed the door open, he was in bed with Gemma. He didn’t even look up as he said, “Oh, right. The wedding. I forgot. We’ll do it another time.” Later, Gemma had whispered to me with a smug smile, “All I had to do was take off my clothes, and he forgot all about his suit. You can’t really blame me, sister.” “Could you… please take off your mask?” Oliver’s hesitant voice pulled me back to the present. I looked at him coldly, making no move to comply. Gemma stepped between us, crying hysterically. “Oliver, Abby is gone! She abandoned you! Why won’t you look at me?” “Do you think throwing me aside at the altar every year will make her forgive you for leaving her stranded? You’re dreaming!” Her words seemed to strike a nerve. A deep, ugly shadow crossed Oliver’s face. Without a word, he stood up and struck Gemma hard across the face. She fell to the floor, clutching her cheek in utter disbelief, but he didn’t even look at her. He turned back to me, his voice eerily calm. “Now, as I was saying. I want to hire you to draw up a deed of gift for a woman named Abigail.” I sighed, adjusting my papers. “A deed of gift requires the recipient’s signature to be legally binding. If you can’t even find her, this document is useless.” “Please leave, Mr. Oliver.” Gemma scrambled up from the floor, grabbing his leg. “Oliver, please! Beat me if you want, but don’t give her everything!” “I’m pregnant with your child! Our baby needs that money!” “She doesn’t want you anyway! She’s probably married to someone else by now!” Her words made me pause, and my hand instinctively drifted to the diamond band on my left ring finger. A soft warmth bloomed in my chest as I thought of the man waiting for me at home, the man whose smile always made me feel safe. She was right. I had married someone else, and he was a thousand times the man Oliver could ever hope to be. But Oliver couldn’t accept that. He slammed his hand on my desk, his face contorted with rage. “Shut up! I’ll leave enough for the kid.” “But Abby spent ten years of her life with me. Everyone in this city knows she was my woman. No one else would dare touch her!” “I have to take care of her. I need to give her a reason to come back to me.” “Once she sees that I’m willing to hand over every single dime I own, she’ll come home. I know she will.” He spoke with such absolute certainty. Yet he had no idea that the woman he was talking about was sitting right in front of him, listening to his grand delusions without a single flicker of emotion. Gemma stared at him, her expression shifting from fear to a dark, unstable rage. Suddenly, she snapped. “Her, her, her! That’s all you care about!” “I told you she’s never coming back! You’re losing your mind looking for her, seeing her face in every stranger!” “Open your eyes, Oliver! Look at who’s sitting right in front of you!” Before I could react, Gemma lunged across the desk, her manicured fingers clawing at my face, ripping the mask away.

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1 My husband, Gary, managed our marriage with a “KPI Evaluation Sheet.” He claimed that a healthy relationship required rational maintenance. My best friend was incredibly envious. She said a man who actually planned things out was a hundred times better than those who only talked. Whenever he brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear, he would say with deep solemnity, “Ava, my strictness is only because I take our marriage seriously.” That was until my car plunged into the freezing river. My phone screen shattered and went dark, but my smartwatch triggered an SOS call, automatically dialing his number. The freezing water rushed into the cabin. I was covered in blood, fading fast. Yet all I heard was his disappointed voice through the speaker, “You’re forty minutes late for our anniversary dinner. You have absolutely no sense of time. Stay put and reflect on your behavior.” Before I could make a sound, the line went dead. I drowned to death in the silent, icy depths. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of our quarterly review. Gary tapped the evaluation sheet on the table, a slight frown creasing his brow. “You forgot to wear your wedding ring to the family dinner last night. Your marital presentation score was sub-standard. I’m grading you a C.” “Ava, if you keep being this negligent, we will have to separate for a trial period so you can reflect.” In my past life, I would have panicked and apologized immediately. But this time, I just looked at him and spoke quietly. “Fine. Let’s separate then.” The words hung in the air. Gary’s hand froze mid-motion. For a brief second, a flash of genuine shock broke through his usually stoic face. He had expected me to do what I always did: grab his sleeve in a panic, beg for forgiveness, and promise to play the role of the perfect Mrs. Kingsley next time. But he quickly composed himself, letting out a soft, patronizing sigh. It was the sigh of an adult dealing with a petulant child. “Ava, don’t use divorce as a bargaining chip.” “I admit my tone was harsh.” “But as I’ve told you before, my strictness is out of responsibility for our marriage.” He stood up and walked over to me, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead. I tilted my head, dodging his hand. I looked at him calmly. The desperate love that once filled my eyes was completely gone. I let out a soft laugh. “Gary, I want to be myself now.” Gary’s hand froze in mid-air, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. Before he could speak, the sound of the front door unlocking echoed through the foyer. It was Gary’s mother, followed by a young woman in a pale silk dress. Pamela. The wealthy socialite who had just returned from abroad, and Gary’s lifelong childhood friend. The two of them walked into the living room. Pamela’s eyes immediately landed on the Marriage KPI Sheet splayed out on the coffee table. A flash of surprise crossed her face, followed by a fleeting, smug satisfaction. Yet, her voice remained sweet and gentle. “Gary, you’re still the same. You always resort to rules the moment you get upset.” She turned to me, offering a polite smile. “Ava, don’t take it to heart. When we were living abroad, he used to control the exact hour I drank water and how I color-coded my wardrobe.” “That’s just how he is. The closer he is to someone, the more possessive he gets.” “If you can’t handle him, let me know. I’ll whip him into shape for you.” It sounded like she was trying to help, but her words neatly highlighted their years of intimacy, while making me look like an outsider in my own home. Gary’s mother sat on the sofa, gracefully sipping the tea a maid had just poured. “Pamela is right,” his mother chimed in. “Gary almost gave up his inheritance to marry you, Ava. You’re a smart girl. You should know how to be grateful.” “Don’t throw these childish tantrums. It ruins the family’s dignity.” Gary frowned, cutting them off. “Mother, Pamela, Ava is still adjusting. I will guide her.” In my past life, I would have been touched by his defense, thinking he had sacrificed so much for me. I would have swallowed my tears and worked even harder to learn their ridiculous etiquette. But now, it just felt pathetic. I looked at Pamela’s elegant, well-behaved posture, and then at Gary. “Since Pamela understands your rules so well,” I said, my voice entirely flat, “why don’t you give her the position of Mrs. Kingsley instead?” 2 I walked back to our bedroom. Looking around at the cold, modern furniture Gary had chosen according to his taste, I took a deep breath. Gary didn’t think he was wrong. He genuinely believed that molding me with these rules was his way of protecting our love and keeping his family from looking down on me. He even controlled my weight. I wasn’t allowed to fluctuate by more than two pounds, claiming it was necessary to maintain mutual attraction. Before we married, my favorite thing in the world was eating extra-spicy street noodles at midnight and driving my jeep into the mountains on weekends. But after we wed, he banned those spicy, pungent foods, saying the smell ruined our social standing. He forced me to swap my jeep for a heavy, bulletproof sedan, claiming the wife of a Kingsley shouldn’t take safety risks. He even structured our sex life with clinical precision: the 5th and 20th of every month, with a set number of times. The moment it was over, he would get up to wash, stating that restraint preserved the romance. There was never a moment of post-coital warmth. It wasn’t a marriage. It was a corporate job with worse benefits. I thought of our third anniversary. That night happened to coincide with the Kingsley family’s grand gathering. Gary had promised that if I performed flawlessly, his mother would present me with the family’s heirloom emerald bracelet, cementing my status and silencing the relatives who looked down on me. To surprise him, I had gone out in a torrential storm to pick up a rare vintage watch he had been eyeing. That was when the multi-car pileup happened. My car spun out of control, plunging into the dark, roaring river. As the icy water rushed in, I sat there covered in blood, desperately groping for my shattered phone. My watch triggered the emergency SOS, dialing his number. The moment the call connected, I tried to scream for help. But all that came through the speaker was his low, tightly controlled voice, dripping with anger. “The entire family is waiting for you, Ava. What are you playing at?” “I spent months convincing my mother to hand over the bracelet tonight, and you can’t even manage basic punctuality.” “Since these rules mean so little to you, don’t bother coming. Stay out there and reflect on your actions.” The line went dead. I drowned in the freezing dark, listening to the dial tone. This time, I was done being his perfect doll. I wanted my life back. 3 I left behind the designer gowns, the diamond necklaces, and the expensive handbags he had bought me. I packed only a few basic clothes, grabbed my passport, and carried my small suitcase downstairs. Gary’s mother and Pamela had already left. Gary was sitting on the living room sofa, his tie loosened slightly, looking uncharacteristically restless. When he saw me carrying a suitcase, he stood up abruptly. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes. “Where do you think you’re going?” He strode over, his hand clamping down on the handle of my suitcase. “Ava, I admit my words earlier were too harsh.” “But everything I do is for us. For our future.” “If you’re feeling overwhelmed, I can lower the evaluation standards for this quarter…” “There’s no need,” I said calmly. There was no anger in my voice, only the peaceful weight of letting go. “Gary, your love is too expensive. And too heavy.” “I’m letting you go. Please do the same for me.” I let go of the suitcase handle. I walked past him and out the front door without looking back. Breathing in the cool, crisp evening air, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “Lucas? You once told me you specialize in divorce law. Are you still taking clients?” The line was silent for a second. Then, a warm, deep voice replied, “I am. For you, I’m always available.” “Where are you? Send me your location. I’ll come get you.” Lucas had been our college classmate, and he was once Gary’s roommate. Now, he was one of the most sought-after partners at the city’s top law firm. Back in college, when Gary was pursuing me with grand gestures and fighting his family to be with me, everyone swooned over Gary’s passion. Almost no one noticed the quiet, intense way Lucas used to look at me. During my three years of marriage, whenever I bruised myself trying to fit into Gary’s rigid mold, Lucas was always there, quietly keeping me from falling. At a charity gala last year, Pamela’s friend had maliciously handed me an incredibly complex vintage wine, demanding I critique it on the spot. I choked on the dry liquid, spilling it down the front of my dress. Gary had been standing just a few feet away, talking to investors. He saw it happen. But he didn’t come over. He simply flagged down a waiter with a cold look, instructing them to escort me to the lounge. I had “lost my composure,” and that meant I was embarrassing him. It was Lucas, attending as the gala’s legal counsel, who had quietly stepped in. He took off his grey suit jacket and draped it over my stained dress, shielding me from the whispers. With a few smooth, polite words, he deflected the woman’s trap and shifted the conversation, preserving my dignity. 4 Lucas and I met at an outdoor café. The sun was warm, and a gentle breeze swept through the patio. Lucas wore a perfectly tailored light grey suit, his eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses looking soft and deep. He hadn’t ordered any of the pretentious coffees Gary loved; instead, he had the waiter bring over a hot, sweet salted-caramel milk tea. “I remember you used to love sweet things,” Lucas said, sliding the cup toward me. “You said sugar was the best way to get a quick dopamine hit.” “I reviewed the draft for the divorce agreement. You’re asking for a clean break, leaving with nothing just to dissolve the marriage as quickly as possible.” “As your attorney, I respect your decision.” “But as an old friend… I’m glad you’re finally stepping out of that house.” I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, the sweet scent of caramel filling my nose. My throat tightened, and my eyes grew hot. Gary had banned high-sugar drinks from my diet. I had forgotten what sweetness tasted like. “Thank you, Lucas,” I said, offering a genuine smile. “Leaving him is the only way I can finally be Ava again.” As I spoke, my hand brushed against the cup, tilting it. A few hot drops of milk tea splashed onto the back of my hand. “Careful, it’s hot.” Lucas moved quickly, pulling a couple of tissues from the dispenser. He gently took my wrist, leaning in close as he carefully dabbing the liquid from my skin. A loud crash echoed from the entrance of the patio, like a chair being violently kicked aside. I looked up. Gary was standing there. He must have just walked out of a meeting in the high-rise next door, a few terrified executives hovering behind him. Right now, his eyes were locked onto my hand, resting in Lucas’s grip. The legendary composure he prided himself on shattered instantly. He stormed over, his face pale with a mix of disbelief and raw, suffocating jealousy. In his mind, once I left his protection, I was supposed to struggle, to realize how cold the world was, and come crawling back to him. Instead, he found me sitting in a cheap café, wearing an ordinary dress, drinking a sweet beverage he despised, and smiling at his former best friend. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Gary’s voice cracked with uncharacteristic rage. He grabbed Lucas’s arm, trying to yank him away like a beast defending its territory. I ignored his outburst, quietly sliding the divorce agreement across the table toward him. “Since you’re here, sign it.” Gary’s breath caught. He slowly turned his head to look at me, his eyes bloodshot. His hand hovered over the paper, trembling slightly as his voice came out hoarse. “You’re leaving me… for him?”

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