The plane crashed. Mark, my captain and my brother, sacrificed himself to save me. To repay that debt, I spent seven years taking care of his wife, Sarah, and their son, Leo. Standing by Mark’s grave on Memorial Day, Sarah dropped a bombshell: she was aborting the baby she was carrying. My baby. I felt a pang of loss, started to say something… But then seven-year-old Leo lunged, scissors flashing, and stabbed me hard, right below the belt. His eyes burned with hate. “Mommy is mine! You can’t trick her into having another baby!” “Don’t think just because you look like him, you can be my dad! You killed him!” “Why wasn’t it you who died that day?!” Blood bloomed on my pants. The pain was sharp, bringing cold sweat to my brow. Seeing the kid I’d raised with all my heart hate me this much… I sighed. It was over. The seven years were up. Time for me to leave. … Nobody stopped Leo as he made a move to shove me. I barely lifted a hand to block him, and he stumbled back against Mark’s headstone, bursting into tears. Ignoring the throbbing pain in my groin, my first instinct was to comfort him. Leo screamed, venom in his voice, “Murderer! You killed my dad! Get away from me!” Sarah’s face hardened. “What are you doing, fighting with a child? It’s just a little blood, how much can it hurt!” she snapped. “Are you going to bully him right in front of his father’s grave?” My mother-in-law slapped me across the face. “You caused my son-in-law’s death, and now you want to hurt his only child right here? Why didn’t your parents just get rid of you before you were born!” My heart clenched. My arm froze mid-air. My mother-in-law scooped Leo up protectively. A handful of candy spilled from his pocket. He had cavities; I never let him have sugar. Leo’s eyes darted nervously, then hardened with defiance. He grabbed the candy and threw it in my face. “Life-stealer! Who are you to tell me what to do? I’ll eat candy if I want!” “You stole my dad’s life! Are you trying to let the baby in Mom’s belly steal mine too? Get out of our house!” His hateful glare felt like a physical blow. Before I could say anything, Sarah and her mother rushed Leo off to the hospital, leaving me there. Nobody noticed my pants slowly soaking through with blood. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I straightened the flowers and offerings Leo had knocked over at the grave. I placed my hand on the cool stone. Before Mark died, he’d begged me to look after Sarah and Leo until Leo started elementary school. Sarah, mindful of Leo’s age, had agreed to marry me legally. A year after the wedding, the co-pilot, Ryan Vance, sent Sarah an audio clip from the crash – edited, doctored – implying I’d somehow deliberately survived instead of Mark. It wasn’t solid proof, the editing was obvious if you listened closely. But after that, Sarah grew colder, treating me like I wasn’t even there. I stopped hoping for anything more. I just tried my best to be the father figure Mark would have been. But now, the child I’d poured my life into saw me as a monster. School started in three days. My time was up. I had to leave. I drove myself to the ER. As I walked in, I ran right into them – Sarah, her mother, and Leo. And Ryan Vance. Leo was clinging to Ryan’s neck, looking at me with a smug, challenging expression. I tried to hide my humiliation, my body trembling slightly. Sarah must have thought I was angry. She sneered, “Remember your place, Jake. You’re just his brother’s substitute. Don’t act like you own anything.” Her mother rolled her eyes. “Freeloader. Living off my daughter for years. Her private life is none of your business!” Ryan smirked, gave me a pointed look, then turned away, putting his arm around Sarah and leading her and a quiet Leo off. My face felt bloodless. I bent over, the pain below intensifying, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest. It was almost dark when I got back home from the hospital, bandaged up. I opened the door and froze. Leo had thrown all my belongings out of the bedroom. He stood there, one hand on his hip, the other clutching the little cockatiel I’d given him for his birthday. He watched me with a cruel glint in his eyes, his small hand slowly tightening. A sharp, final chirp. The bird’s head snapped. 2 I stared, rooted to the spot. I couldn’t believe this was the same kid who’d cried in my arms all night when that bird had been sick once. Seeing my shock, Leo’s face twisted into a vicious grin. “You tried to steal my mom. Your baby will end up just like this.” Then he threw the dead bird at me. It hit me right where I was injured. Pain shot through me, making me tremble, but I clenched my jaw. “Leo, you can’t just kill things!” Even as I was leaving, I didn’t want him to grow up wrong. Leo stuck out his tongue, making a face. “You’re teaching me? I learned it all from you!” My heart seized. I could barely breathe. Sarah came out of the bedroom at the noise, her eyes landing on me with distaste. “It’s just a bird. It’s dead, so what? This is partly your fault anyway, giving him the bird in the first place!” “Leo’s upset. You sleep in the guest room from now on.” It was just another excuse to push me further away. For seven years, she’d been cold, distant. Except in bed, where she still treated me like a stand-in for Mark, a life-sized doll bearing his face. I opened my mouth, looked down at the small feathered body on the floor, and said nothing. I slowly, painfully made my way to the guest room. Seeing my silence, Sarah frowned, grabbing my arm roughly. “Don’t you dare throw a tantrum in this house!” I met her disgusted gaze and forced a bitter smile. Sarah faltered, her grip loosening slightly. “Ungrateful,” she muttered, before quickly retreating to her room. Late that night, a knock on the guest room door. Leo stood there, an innocent smile on his face. “Dad, I’m sorry I lost my temper today. I poured you some milk myself. Drink up.” In the dim light, for a hazy second, it felt like the old days, when he’d relied on me completely. Before I knew it, I’d drunk most of the milk. Leo’s smile vanished, replaced by a nasty smirk. “Idiot. Calling you ‘Dad’ makes me sick.” “The scissors didn’t finish the job, so I put a massive dose of sterilizing drugs in there. Let’s see you try to have kids now!” He laughed wildly and ran off. The glass slipped from my hand, shattering on the floor like my heart. Soon, sharp, twisting pains started low in my belly. Agony doubled me over. I couldn’t even stand. I cried out for help. After what felt like forever, Sarah appeared, annoyed. “What kind of stunt are you pulling now?” With my last bit of strength, I choked out, “Help me.” As I lost consciousness, I saw Leo peeking from behind the doorframe, giggling. I woke up to harsh fluorescent lights. Sarah’s face showed a flicker of guilt, quickly suppressed. “You shouldn’t have provoked Leo. Then maybe you wouldn’t have ended up… sterile.” She paused, touching her belly, her expression turning cold again. “I can keep this baby. Consider it compensation.” “But I have to think about Leo first. So… after the baby’s born, we get a divorce. You take the kid and get as far away from here as possible.” I remembered Ryan’s smug look that day. Tears welled up, blurring my vision. My voice felt stiff. “If you want a divorce, you don’t need excuses. I’ll give you one.” “I hope you and Ryan will be very happy.” “As for the baby… don’t have it. I don’t want my child born without a mother who wants them.” The words were barely out before tears spilled, hot and shameful, down my cheeks. Sarah stared at me, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she slapped me, hard. “You think crying with that face – Mark’s face – will make me feel sorry for you? Dream on!” “Don’t have the baby? Do you really believe that yourself?” Her face was livid. She pulled a box of condoms from her purse and threw it at me. “If you hadn’t poked holes in all of these, would I even be pregnant?!” “Try pulling any more tricks with that face, and I’ll ruin it!” “Now wait until it’s born, take your little bastard, and get out!” She stormed out, slamming the door. The hospital room felt vast and empty. My cheek burned. A cold draft seemed to blow through the room, chilling me to the bone. 3 Once I was stable enough, I went back home, feeling numb. I opened the door to find Sarah and Ryan heading out, Sarah flushed, Ryan looking pleased. Ryan whistled softly at me. When Sarah wasn’t looking, he deliberately pulled his shirt collar down, showing off fresh hickeys, then glanced pointedly at my lower body. As he passed me, he whispered: “You’re useless now. Be smart and disappear. Sarah will be mine eventually.” “Pretty soon, I’ll be the one living here.” He shoved me hard as he walked by, knocking me off balance. I stumbled, catching myself on the wall as he put his arm around Sarah’s waist and they left. Sarah hadn’t even looked at me. I staggered into the living room. I needed to wait for Sarah, talk about the baby, try to reason with her. Leo glared at me, pure hatred in his eyes. Then, seeming to get an idea, he ran into the bathroom. I heard the shower running, on and on. It was dark when Sarah came back, alone. I started to speak. Just then, Leo emerged from the bathroom, soaking wet, shivering violently, his skin flushed red. He’d had a terrible fever when he was three; I’d stayed up with him for a week straight. A sick feeling hit my stomach. “Leo, we need to get you to the hospital!” I rushed towards him. But Leo stumbled past me, throwing himself into Sarah’s arms, sobbing dramatically. “Mommy, he was mad at me! He pushed my head under the water in the tub! I’m sorry, Mommy, I really know I was wrong, I won’t do it again…” Sarah hugged him tight, her eyes, when they met mine, filled with pure fury. She grabbed the nearest vase and hurled it at me. “He almost died last time he had a fever! Are you trying to kill him?!” I froze, staring at Leo. “Leo,” I pleaded, “tell the truth. Was it really me?” Leo avoided my eyes, burying his face in Sarah’s shoulder, sobbing and gagging. “I want my daddy…” he wailed. Hearing that, reflexively, I moved closer. Leo flinched violently away. “He tried to drown me! Mommy, I’m scared…” Sarah shoved me back forcefully. “Get away from him! You don’t deserve to be near him!” Moments later, Ryan arrived, clearly called by Sarah. Leo immediately scrambled into his arms, crying “Daddy!” over and over, clinging to him like a lifeline. Ryan gave me a look of triumph before rushing Leo out the door with Sarah. I collapsed onto the living room floor, staring into space until the sun came up. In the morning, I got a text. “Got Leo. Come alone if you want him back alive.” Attached was a picture of Leo, tear-streaked and terrified. He was Mark’s only son. He’d called me Dad for seven years. Even though I was leaving, I couldn’t let him be kidnapped. I drove to the address – an abandoned warehouse district. As soon as I stepped inside the designated building, I saw Leo huddled on the floor, looking dirty and scared. I ran towards him. Suddenly, a heavy kick slammed into my back, sending me sprawling. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ryan, grinning maliciously. He mouthed the words: “You fell for it again.” Blood spurted from my mouth. I was such an idiot for still caring about Leo. Never again. Tears streamed down my face, hitting the dusty concrete floor. Sarah burst in, screaming Leo’s name, falling to her knees beside him, clutching him tightly. Ryan whispered something to Sarah, gesturing towards me. Sarah’s voice was ice. “He dared to kidnap my son. He doesn’t deserve that face anymore.” “No! It wasn’t me!” I yelled, trying to get up, desperate. Leo clung to Sarah, sobbing, “Mommy, I’m sorry! I won’t be jealous anymore! I won’t try to make you divorce him! I’ll take care of the baby brother or sister! I won’t be selfish…” Then he looked straight at me, his big, wet eyes wide. “I did what you told me to. Please don’t hit me anymore.” Sarah exploded. “Jake! This marriage is OVER!” “I was willing to have this baby, thinking you deserved something for taking care of Leo all these years! That was a gift! And this is how you repay me? Don’t push your luck!” “Get him! Beat him! And ruin that face! Make him remember this lesson!” In Sarah’s arms, Leo’s eyes flew open, met mine for a split second, then squeezed shut again. Sarah’s assistant and a couple of guys who looked like security moved in. Fists rained down on me. My own screams echoed in the vast, empty space. Sarah snapped, “He’s too loud! Gag him!” I had no strength left to fight. I lay there like a broken doll. An ambulance siren wailed outside. Sarah swept Leo up and left. Ryan crouched down beside me, casually flipping a switchblade open and closed. “Sarah was supposed to be mine. First your brother, then you show up with his face. Let’s see how long you last without it.” I tried to crawl away, but rough hands grabbed my legs, dragging me back. The sharp blade bit into my skin, slicing across my face again and again. I closed my eyes, giving in to despair. 4 Sarah’s punishment was to leave me there in the warehouse, injured and alone. It wasn’t until three days later, after Leo was released from the hospital and presumably “recovered” from his faked trauma, that Sarah’s anger seemed to cool slightly. Someone came, patched me up crudely, and then dragged me back to the house. Sarah was sitting on the sofa, composed. “Have you learned your lesson?” I nodded numbly. She seemed satisfied, taking Ryan’s hand as he sat beside her. “Remember your place. Don’t reach for what isn’t yours. From now on, Ryan is the man of this house. Once the baby is born, you take it and get lost.” My voice was a dry rasp. “Okay.” Sarah waved a dismissive hand. “Go make breakfast.” Leo was still asleep. Sarah and Ryan didn’t bother hiding their affection, cuddling and kissing on the sofa. Even the roar of the kitchen exhaust fan couldn’t completely drown out their soft murmurs and sighs. I tuned it out. My heart was already dead. An hour later, breakfast was ready. I no longer had a place at the table. I stood silently to the side. Suddenly, Sarah cried out in pain. Her bowl clattered to the floor as she clutched her stomach, sliding from her chair. Blood trickled down her thigh, a shocking splash of red against her clothes. It burned my eyes. The world blurred. It wasn’t until after Sarah was rushed to the hospital and the emergency procedures were over that I fully registered it. My only child. Gone. Sarah woke up later. Her assistant came in, looking hesitant. “The oatmeal you had this morning… it contained a very high dose of abortifacient.” He pulled a small plastic bag of white powder from his pocket and looked pointedly at me. “We found this in Jake’s room.” I stared at him, bewildered. “I can’t have children anymore. Why would I harm my own baby?” Sarah’s voice was laced with fury. “Jake, are you still lying? To stop me from divorcing you, you first terrorize Leo, and now you even kill your own child!” “You’re not fit to be a father! You’re not even fit to be human!” “Take him! Take him to the cliff near where the plane went down! Put him in a coffin and bury him!” “I want him to repent every single day, right where his brother died!” Ryan quickly moved to cover my mouth before I could protest. The freshly scabbed cuts on my face tore open again under the pressure. Blood seeped into my eyes, stinging, blurring my vision. I stared at Sarah, helpless tears streaming down my face. Sarah looked away, disgusted. “Pathetic!” Ryan and the security guards dragged me away. My heart filled with utter despair. I closed my eyes. They forced me into a wooden box – a coffin. They buried me in the earth. Shovelfuls of dirt thudded against the lid, each impact tearing another piece of my soul apart. Cold. Dark. Fear. Suffocation… It closed in on me. I clawed frantically at the wooden planks above me, my nails splintering, the sound harsh and grating in the confined space. The air grew thin. My vision started to tunnel. Consciousness faded. I couldn’t even cry anymore. After what felt like an eternity, I heard sounds outside the coffin. Ryan’s resentful voice: “Sarah, he’s a monster. Why are you letting him out?” Sarah’s voice, colder than ice: “His life belongs to his brother. From now on, I want him to live in agony, tormented every night by what he’s done. I want him to wish he were dead!” The lid was pried open. I blinked slowly, adjusting to the dim light. The salty tang of sea air hit me. I remembered – this cliff overlooked the ocean. While they were distracted, I summoned every last ounce of strength I had left. I shoved past the guards. And jumped.

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My mother is a pop icon, practically a legend who once dominated the American music charts for years. My older sister followed in her footsteps, clawing her way through the industry, winning awards for Mom, making her proud. She’s Mom’s everything. And then there’s me. The quiet one, the little mute, the stain on Mom’s otherwise perfect life story she could never erase. To keep the world from finding out I existed, Mom locked me in the storage closet every day. She even told me, more times than I can count: “Why don’t you just disappear.” Eventually, I did. I died. And after that, my sister couldn’t hit a single pure note anymore. And my mother, my arrogant, self-assured mother, she lost her mind. 1 The day I got locked in the little dark closet for the last time was the night of the Awards show – the finals where my sister, Victoria, was up for Artist of the Year. I curled up in the corner of the storage space, catching my reflection in a dusty old mirror. A skinny, frail girl with a sickly pale face stared back. Mom, Seraphina Reign, was a household name. After she retired from performing, she poured everything into grooming Victoria. And me? In her eyes, I was just the kid who stammered as a child and grew up… silent. A little mute. Locking me in the dark closet with just enough scraps to keep me alive was the best arrangement she could think of for me. Officially, she only had one daughter: Victoria Reign. Nobody knew Seraphina Reign had another daughter, a mute one named Lily. Mom couldn’t stand the thought of the media finding out about me. It was humiliating for her. Suddenly, Mom flung open the closet door. She rummaged through shelves, picking out props for Victoria’s performance tonight, not even glancing my way. I shrank further into the corner, terrified of making any sound that might annoy her. My throat felt tight, like something was stuck there. I swallowed hard, trying desperately not to cough. “What’s wrong with your throat? Hacking like some stray dog?” Mom’s sharp voice cut through the air, twisting my insides. “Must’ve done something terrible in a past life to end up with a mute kid like you. Thank God your sister takes after me, got more talent than I did at her age. Tonight, she’s finally going to win it – the award I always dreamed of!” “Since you can’t sing, you just stay put in here. Don’t you dare let the press get a whiff of your existence!” She shot me a look filled with disgust, her words spat out through clenched teeth. I nodded quickly, clamping my hand over my mouth as a violent cough finally broke through. Seeing me cough uncontrollably, Mom muttered something about me being bad luck and slammed the door shut, the lock clicking into place. I hid my hand behind my back, the palm now smeared with blood. My heart felt heavy, like a stone. 2 Mom told me not to leave the storage closet, but I still ended up backstage at Victoria’s final performance. Hidden away, of course. Inside a small equipment locker this time. While Victoria was getting her makeup touched up, a hand – elegant, with long fingers like polished jade – appeared at the locker’s vent. She quickly shoved a bottle of water towards me. “For your throat,” she whispered. I flinched, pressing myself deeper into the dark corner. Those beautiful hands… they’d held so many trophies, countless awards, delivered what the world thought were heavenly vocals. Those same beautiful hands had also gripped my arm countless times, bruisingly tight, while Victoria cried, begging me to lip-sync for her, to help her steal the title of the next big pop sensation. Victoria promised that if I helped her win Artist of the Year, she’d find a way to get me out of the closet, maybe even convince Mom to love me, just like she loved her. The thought of living in the sunlight, the fantasy of Mom holding me close with affection… I agreed without a second thought. All those secret nights spent practicing, straining my voice, were all for this moment – helping Victoria win the award Mom herself had craved. If Victoria won, wouldn’t Mom be overjoyed? Maybe then… maybe she’d finally look at me? Right now, Mom was sitting on the judges’ panel, beaming with pride at Victoria under the spotlight. And I was huddled in a dark locker, quietly sipping water to soothe my raw throat. Only Victoria knew I wasn’t really mute. And definitely not tone-deaf. I’d inherited all of Mom’s musical genius, born with a voice that was a gift. But tonight… I’d changed my mind. I wasn’t going to give a perfect performance. Suddenly, I didn’t want Mom to see her precious Victoria crowned. I didn’t want the headlines screaming about the mother-daughter duo conquering the music world. I was dying anyway. Let me have this… Let me be selfish, just this once. 3 Victoria was scheduled to perform last, the grand finale. That was Mom’s arrangement. “Save the best for last,” she’d declared. “I lost out years ago because I went on first. Someone else got lucky with the votes.” Mom was always like that – supremely confident, almost arrogant. Her talent was undeniable, so she bulldozed through the industry, never caring who she offended. Countless young artists had been crushed by her sharp tongue over the years. Even seasoned veterans weren’t safe from her criticism. But that same confidence meant she never really listened to Victoria sing on her own. She had no idea that my sister, when actually singing, sounded like a rusty hinge. Oblivious, Mom had even crafted a ridiculous tagline for her: “Talks like a crow, sings like an angel.” Twenty minutes before showtime, Mom swept into the dressing room, practically vibrating with nervous excitement. Even through the locker vent, I could feel her thrill. “Vicky, honey, don’t be nervous. You’ve got this! It’s in your blood, pure talent!” “A gift from God!” Then her tone shifted. “Not like Lily… Sometimes I wish I’d never bothered having her. Can’t get rid of her, but can’t stand looking at her!” My heart clenched violently. My throat felt like it was blocked with cement. “It would be so much better if she just… disappeared.” My mind went blank. I couldn’t believe my own mother would wish that. A bitter smile touched my lips. I fought back the urge to cough. Soon, Mom. Your wish is coming true. I’ll be gone soon. My whole existence was a mistake, wasn’t it? I won’t be your burden much longer. Mom, after I’m dead, maybe then… maybe you could smile at me the way you smile at Victoria? Even if it’s just at my picture, my grave, my ashes… Maybe the only right thing your daughter ever did was die. Three days ago, after helping Victoria lip-sync through the semi-finals, I actually got half a day off while we waited for the results. Clutching the fifty dollars Victoria had tossed me like charity, I wandered aimlessly, unsure where to go. Lately, the nosebleeds were constant, and my throat felt scratchy and tight, like tiny insects were crawling inside. I took that fifty dollars and walked into a free clinic. The doctor looked at me sympathetically. “Where are your parents? Maybe they should come in so we can talk.” I looked down, mumbled, “Mom’s with my sister.” The doctor paused, then sighed, her expression full of pity. “Okay, honey. If you don’t want your guardian here, I’ll be straight with you.” “All this intense singing, the constant strain… you’ve let this go for too long. Your voice… I’m afraid it’s probably too late to save it. But if you start aggressive treatment now, maybe there’s still a small chance—” I already knew, didn’t I? It didn’t matter if I had a fever, or felt sick. If Victoria had a performance, I had to be there, hidden away, singing my heart out for her. If it wasn’t for sheer natural talent, my voice would have given out long ago. I cut the doctor off, managing a weak smile. “Ma’am, could you just prescribe me some strong painkillers? It really hurts… I can’t stand the pain anymore.” With a look of deep sorrow, she gently nodded. On my rare half-day of freedom, I spent my entire fifty dollars confirming I had late-stage throat cancer. I really was going to become mute. And I really was going to die. 4 Victoria walked onto the stage, wearing the custom designer gown Mom had commissioned for her. Elegant and proud, she glided to the center stage spotlight. Mom’s grin stretched practically ear to ear. She leaned over, whispering excitedly to the judge next to her, listing off Victoria’s previous awards. I knew most of the judges found Mom annoying, but privately, they all acknowledged Victoria’s talent. No, my talent. The powerful, moody intro of the song filled my earpiece. Mom had chosen ‘Cage’ for Victoria’s final performance. She’d told Victoria: “Even though you’ve had an easy life, your singing always has this undercurrent of pain, this complexity.” “Singing this in the finals? It’ll blow everyone away!” Mom wasn’t wrong in her analysis; she was a musical genius, after all. But how could she, who had fought her way to the top, never wonder? How could she not suspect that a song sung with such raw, lived-in pain couldn’t come from someone who hadn’t experienced it? Mom, didn’t you ever doubt? Victoria gave the subtle cue in my earpiece. I cleared my throat. “In the deep dark sea, a flicker of light, a dim temptation…” A hush fell over the audience. Everyone held their breath, eyes fixed on Victoria, lost in the haunting, beautiful melody. From the judges’ table, I saw Mom press a hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes, brimming with pride and adoration. Countless performances had perfected our synchronization. Victoria and I moved as one voice, hitting every pause, every breath perfectly. The song built towards its crescendo. The audience leaned forward, hearts suspended, waiting for the soaring climax, the moment the music would break free from the song’s oppressive weight. Curled in the cramped locker, the lack of air and the awkward position made it hard to breathe. My mind flooded with images: years locked in the musty closet, Mom’s looks of disgust, her cruel words, my own fragile heart starved of any affection. The final notes faded into silence. The venue was utterly still for a beat, then erupted in thunderous applause. Judges leaped to their feet, clapping and shouting praise. Only Seraphina Reign, my mother, remained frozen in her chair, silent. I knew that look. She wasn’t stunned speechless by joy. She knew. She knew the truth. 5 A single, mistimed breath. That tiny slip-up during the lip-sync. It might fool the general public, maybe even the other judges. But it wouldn’t fool her. Not my mother, the legendary Seraphina Reign. I bet even Victoria didn’t realize that the almost imperceptible pause in the final phrase, less than half a second long, would be the crack that let Mom see the truth. Victoria stood basking in the ovation, accepting the award, drunk on the roar of the crowd and the judges’ effusive compliments. She was completely oblivious to Mom sitting rigid in her chair, her face darkening, eyes fixed on her like a hawk. Everyone’s focus was on the stage. Victoria Reign had just won the coveted Artist of the Year award, the only one given out in the last three years, instantly becoming the dazzling new star of her generation. She had arguably surpassed her mother’s legacy, achieving the one prize Seraphina had always wanted but never attained. Instantly, entertainment news outlets exploded. Headlines flew everywhere. The buzz even overshadowed the time Mom herself had fiercely defended American pop music against a wave of international artists years ago. Seraphina, never one to hide her feelings, looked like thunder. The air around her crackled with tension. She presented the award to Victoria with a face like stone, managing a clipped, icy comment: “Well done, Victoria. I suppose you’ll be giving me singing lessons now.” Victoria just smiled shyly, still unaware, and shot a proud little wink towards Mom at the judges’ table. She had no idea the storm that was about to break. And Mom had no idea that the voice she revered, the voice that had bested even her own legacy, belonged to the daughter she despised most. I swallowed a painkiller. A hollow laugh escaped me. I’d won this round, maybe. But my heart felt utterly empty. 6 Night fell. I sat in the back seat of Mom’s car. Tilting my head, I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror – sallow skin, my nose raw and swollen from wiping away blood. The tension in the car was thick enough to cut. Victoria was rambling, trying to make excuses, to deny everything. Mom gripped the steering wheel, face an emotionless mask, her thoughts hidden. Suddenly, she slammed on the brakes. Before I could react, she threw open my back door, grabbed a handful of my hair, and yanked me brutally downwards. Sharp pain shot through my scalp. The metallic taste of blood filled my throat again. Mom started hitting my head, screaming, cursing relentlessly: “You little bitch! You can sing? What the hell was all that mute crap? Were you playing me? Making a fool of your own mother?” “Was helping your sister lip-sync some kind of sick joke? Huh? Does it make you feel important?” I opened my mouth, forcing down the blood, trying to speak past the agony in my throat. “I didn’t… I wasn’t pretending… You said I had no talent… You never… never treated me like a daughter.” My voice dwindled to a whisper. I broke free from her grip, collapsing onto the pavement, trying to scream out years of silent pain, pleading my case, venting my rage… But no sound came out. And no one was listening anyway. No one ever wanted to listen. More blood welled up in my mouth. I finally said it, I thought. I finally spoke up. But just like Victoria had warned me in secret, what difference did it make? Mom, see? Even now, you won’t change how you see me. You’re capable of love, just… not for me. Suddenly, my brain felt like it short-circuited, plunging me into a blinding white fog I couldn’t escape. All the pain and tightness in my throat vanished. My body felt incredibly light, almost like floating. The last thing I heard, echoing endlessly in my mind, was Mom’s voice: “Why couldn’t you have just died sooner!?” Why not die sooner? Truth is, I did. My heart died… It died that winter, abandoned on a dark highway.

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Spring Break, and the old college group chat suddenly blew up. Jessica Miller was bragging, practically shouting through the screen: “Guess what? I’m engaged to Brandon Prescott! You know, the eldest son of the Prescott family? This weekend, I’m going to the family estate to meet everyone, get the whole official welcome. Get ready for wedding invites soon!” Everyone immediately started kissing up to her, blowing smoke like crazy. Then, like clockwork, they ganged up to tag me: “Unlike some people, who not only kiss up to their advisors but probably sleep with them too.” I just scoffed and didn’t reply. It was the same old garbage. All because I accidentally walked in on her getting way too cozy with our married academic advisor, she flipped it and spread rumors that I was the one having an affair with him. Pathetic. Just then, my phone buzzed with a message from Arthur Prescott himself, the patriarch of the Prescott dynasty: “Ma’am, my grandson’s fiancée is visiting the estate tomorrow to be formally introduced and added to the family records. We’d be honored if you could join us.” Yeah, nobody ever believes it. That the most senior member of the Prescott family, the one who literally holds the pen for the family registry, the one sitting on billions, is a twenty-two-year-old college student. Me. … The moment I stepped out of the Rolls-Royce Mr. Prescott sent for me and stood before the grand entrance of the ancestral home, I tilted my head back, looking up at the old stone archway. Walking inside, I headed towards the back gardens. But then, from a secluded spot deep within the old wooded area near the edge of the property, I heard… sounds. Soft moans. My curiosity piqued, I crept closer, quiet as a mouse. Leaves rustled in the breeze, and through a gap, I saw them. My eyes widened. I stared hard at the woman. It was Jessica, looking flushed, wrapped around some guy I didn’t recognize. They were all over each other. Her eyes met mine. She instantly shoved the man away. She froze, frantically smoothing her clothes, then shot me a look so full of venom it could curdle milk. Then they both scrambled away. I was confused, but Mr. Prescott’s future granddaughter-in-law was arriving today. I decided to keep quiet for now. A little while later, as I was about to enter the main house where the family gathers, I noticed a forgotten broom lying near the entrance path. I bent down to pick it up. As I straightened and walked into the main hall, I was met with bursts of laughter. I looked up, and my eyes locked with Jessica’s. I frowned slightly. Jessica blinked, then her eyes raked over me from head to toe. She smirked at her gaggle of friends clustered behind her, then crossed her arms and sauntered towards me. She glanced pointedly at the broom in my hand, then back at my face. “Well, well,” she sneered. “Look who it is. Our esteemed student body president, moonlighting as a cleaning lady at the Prescott estate. And here I thought you were so high and mighty.” Her friends behind her burst into mocking laughter. The sound grated on my ears. My nails dug into my palms. “What are you doing here?” I demanded, keeping my voice low. A flicker of pure nastiness crossed Jessica’s face before one of her friends jumped in. “Jessica is going to be the future Mrs. Prescott, you idiot. This is the Prescott family home. Naturally, she’ll be your boss soon enough.” Another one linked arms with Jessica, practically dripping fake sweetness. “Oh, Jessica, I wish I had your luck! Marrying into the Prescott family… all that money and status…” Jessica soaked it up, a smug little smile playing on her lips. I dropped my gaze, stepping around them towards the main room. I couldn’t resist a cold chuckle. “He must be blind then,” I muttered, “ending up with someone like you.” Suddenly, a hand clamped down hard on my arm. “What did you say?! Did I say you could leave?” Jessica blocked my path. Her friends quickly surrounded me, trapping me in the middle. I couldn’t move. Before I could react, someone grabbed my hair from behind, yanking me backward. As I struggled, Jessica kicked me hard in the back of my knee. My leg buckled. I crumpled, landing hard on my knees on the polished floor. She crouched down in front of me, gripping my chin, her fingers digging in. A cruel smile spread across her face. “Still sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, aren’t you? Seeing things you shouldn’t see, saying things you shouldn’t say. You just never learn.” 2 I thrashed, trying to get away, but Jessica violently shoved me, sending me sprawling onto the floor. She planted her high heel squarely on the back of my hand, the sharp point grinding into my skin. Pain shot up my arm. I could feel the skin break. Jessica’s face was twisted with malice. She placed a hand protectively on her stomach, smiling sweetly. “You know, if you’d just told me you were working here as a cleaner, I could have put in a good word for you.” Summoning all my strength, I shoved upwards with my free hand. She stumbled backward, momentarily losing her balance. Her friends gasped and rushed behind her, cushioning her fall. Jessica looked genuinely shaken for a second. Painfully, I pushed myself up. Blood dripped from my hand onto the pristine floor. One of her friends charged forward, kicking me hard in the stomach. I gasped, doubling over, and fell to the floor again. Pain washed over me. Tears stung my eyes, blurring my vision. “You little bitch!” Jessica shrieked, grabbing a fistful of my hair. “This baby is the future Prescott heir! Are you trying to kill me? Is that it?” She started slapping me, hard, across the face, again and again. My mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood. My ears were ringing. I looked up at her, managing a weak, knowing smile. “Prescott heir? Are you so sure about that?” That hit a nerve. It struck the core of her insecurity. Jessica’s grip loosened slightly. She spun around, trying to regain her composure, projecting false confidence. “Don’t you dare spread lies! This baby is a Prescott!” I slowly, shakily, got to my feet again. I laughed softly. “Why so defensive? I never said it wasn’t.” Her friends exchanged uneasy glances. “You think everyone’s as disgusting as you?” Jessica spat, pointing a shaking finger at me. “Going after married advisors? You’re just trash.” She was dredging up the lie from last year. The Photoshopped pictures she’d plastered all over the campus network. The university, desperate to protect the advisor’s reputation, had pinned it all on me, leaving a permanent black mark on my record. Thinking about it made my chest tighten with fury. My eyes found Sarah Chen, standing nervously on the edge of the group. I grabbed her arm, my voice rising. “Sarah! You were right there with me! Tell them the truth!” Sarah lowered her head, trembling. “Sarah, please,” I begged, my voice softer now. “Forget about last year. I just need you to tell the truth now. Give me that much.” I looked at her, hope flickering inside me. But then Jessica sidled up to Sarah, leaning in and whispering something in her ear. Sarah finally lifted her head. The look she gave me was… unreadable. Troubling. My stomach clenched with dread. Sure enough, when Sarah turned to face the others, she squeezed her eyes shut and yelled, “I saw her! I saw Ava sitting on the advisor’s lap!” Jessica let out a triumphant, ugly laugh. I just stood there, stunned. A bitter, hollow smile touched my lips. 3 Jessica gestured to her friends. They closed in on me again, grabbing at my clothes, shoving their phone cameras right in my face. My cries of pain and humiliation only seemed to fuel their amusement. Before I could process what was happening, someone grabbed the broom from near the entrance and swung it hard, hitting me across the back. I tried to fight back, to push them away, but I was outnumbered and weak. I squeezed my eyes shut, overwhelmed by shame and helplessness. I heard a sharp intake of breath, then the whistle of the broom swinging down again. But instead of hitting me, someone threw themselves in front of me, taking the blow. I twisted my head. It was Sarah, her face pale. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. I shoved her away forcefully. “What kind of act is this now?!” I yelled, tears finally breaking free and streaming down my face despite my anger. Jessica snatched the broom back, her face contorted with rage, and lunged at me again. The blow landed hard. I choked, spitting a spray of blood onto the floor. Suddenly, one of the household staff, an older woman, rushed over. She bowed slightly, wringing her hands. “Miss, please, please stop hitting her!” Jessica grabbed the woman by her uniform collar. “You better think carefully who you’re crossing,” she hissed. “You piss me off, and you won’t have a job here much longer.” The housekeeper looked at me with pity, then clutched something in her pocket – her phone? – and scurried back towards the main house. Just then, a sleek Aston Martin pulled up to the front entrance. The first person out was Jessica’s fiancé, Brandon Prescott. He respectfully opened the back door. A man in his sixties, radiating authority and vitality despite his age, stepped out. Arthur Prescott. Jessica saw them and immediately switched gears, pressing a hand to her mouth in mock fragility. “See?” she whispered loudly to her friends. “That’s the father of my child. The sole Prescott heir.” Her friends oohed and aahed, showering her with more fake praise. She glided towards Brandon, pausing beside me to shoot me a venomous look. “You just wait,” she whispered. “Brandon won’t let you get away with this.” She practically collapsed into Brandon’s arms, dabbing at dry eyes. “Honey, you came just in time! They almost killed me and the baby!” Brandon’s chest puffed out. He glared around furiously. “Who dared touch you?” he roared. Jessica burrowed her head into his chest, a tiny, triumphant smile hidden from his view. She clutched her stomach, leaning heavily on him. “Brandon,” she whimpered, “my stomach hurts so much.” Her friends immediately pointed at me. “It was her! She pushed Jessica to the ground!” Brandon’s icy gaze fixed on me. He strode over and planted his foot firmly on my shoulder, pinning me down. “Who the hell gave you the nerve?” he growled. His presence was overwhelming, radiating power and menace. Behind him, the older Mr. Prescott tapped his cane impatiently on the ground. His voice was stern, commanding. “Brandon! What is this behavior? Right at the entrance?” Brandon shot me one last glare before reluctantly removing his foot. Jessica immediately turned to the grandfather, playing the victim again. “Grandpa, she almost killed your great-grandchild!” Mr. Prescott patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll make sure justice is served. But we have more important matters to attend to right now.” A strange feeling washed over me. I struggled to lift my head, meeting Mr. Prescott’s eyes. My voice was hoarse. “Did you invite me back here just so I could be publicly humiliated?” The moment the words left my mouth, Mr. Prescott’s cane slipped from his grasp and clattered onto the stone pathway. His face went slack with shock. He stumbled towards me, his body trembling. He knelt, peering closely at my bruised and bloody face. Then, he gasped and collapsed backward, sitting heavily on the ground. “M-Ma’am,” he stammered, his voice choked with disbelief. “Ma’am!” Brandon quickly picked up the cane and rushed to his grandfather’s side, helping him up. “Grandpa? What’s wrong?” Mr. Prescott snatched the cane back and, without warning, swung it hard against Brandon’s legs. Brandon yelped and buckled, falling to his knees right in front of me. “You blind fool!” the old man roared. Then, Arthur Prescott, head of the Prescott dynasty, bowed his head low before me, his shoulders shaking. Tears streamed down his face. “Ma’am,” he choked out, “it’s my failure… my failure in raising him… letting this animal hurt you… Punish me, Ma’am. Whatever you see fit… I won’t object…”

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The day I was supposed to leave for my study abroad program, my stepsister, Ashley—the one everyone thought was the real heiress until the truth came out—showed up at the airport out of nowhere. She threw herself on the ground in front of me, banging her head on the floor, begging. “Chloe, please! I did what you said! I went up to that godforsaken cabin in Appalachia, I dealt with those creepy mountain hermits, all ninety-nine days! Can I have the study abroad spot back now? Please?” My boyfriend, Ethan, the campus golden boy, immediately ripped up my plane ticket. Trip canceled, just like that. Then he arranged for me to be taken deep into the remote Appalachian wilderness – the real deep woods, miles from anywhere. No phone, no contact. He wanted me to experience what he thought Ashley had gone through, but worse. I survived out there for three years. Three years of being treated like an animal by the feral men who lived off the grid. They used me… used me until I barely felt human. I even lost a baby out there, a stillbirth brought on by the horror. The day Ethan finally showed up in a helicopter to get me, I overheard him on the radio, talking to someone back home. “Yeah, I know Ashley lied,” he said, his voice tinny through the speaker. “She never went to Appalachia, never saw any ‘hermits.’ But if I didn’t play along, she wouldn’t have gotten that scholarship slot. Besides, Chloe… she’s the actual daughter, the one inheriting everything. Missing one semester abroad? It’s nothing to her in the long run.” He paused. “Look, once I get her back, I’ll propose. I’ll make it up to her.” My heart turned to ice. I strapped on an emergency parachute I found stashed away, wrenched open the cabin door, and jumped. “I’m not going back,” I screamed over the wind. “Just leave me here in the mountains!” Ethan lunged, grabbing my hand, his face a mask of panic, begging me to come back. … The roar of the helicopter blades was deafening, the wind tearing at my ragged clothes. I instinctively tried to duck behind a tree, but Ethan grabbed my wrist, hard. His face was tight with anger as he dragged me towards the chopper, not caring as branches scraped my skin raw. “Didn’t you cry and beg me to come get you? What’s this stunt now?” His angry voice triggered something deep inside me. Almost automatically, out of pure muscle memory from the past three years, I dropped to my knees in front of him, ready to beg for mercy. Ethan froze, his expression darkening. “Chloe, for God’s sake! It’s been three years, haven’t you learned anything? Do I have to force you to leave?” I looked up at him blankly. The name ‘Chloe’ sounded strange, unfamiliar after so long. Out there, they didn’t use my name. They called me… things. Treated me like property, something to use whenever they felt the urge. At first, I fought back. Used sticks, rocks, anything I could find. But fighting only earned me worse beatings, bites… They tied me up with the livestock sometimes. When winter hit hard, they treated me like emergency rations, taking pieces… drinking my blood. Their needs were constant, brutal. Hours of torment, every single day. Afterwards, I’d often be bleeding, my whole body aching like I’d been run over by a truck. Months into it, I delivered a stillborn baby. It looked like a tiny infant, but… the memory is a blur of pain and horror. Ethan gave me a rough shove, his patience clearly gone. Without thinking, I pulled off my tattered jacket, exposing myself. When he just stood there, staring, I instinctively reached for his belt buckle. He shoved me away violently, his face turning purple with rage. “Chloe! Have you lost all sense of decency?!” he yelled. “Just three years! Have you forgotten what shame even is?” His shouting stunned me. I pressed myself against him, desperate. “I’m sorry! Whatever you want, I’ll do it!” That seemed to ignite his fury. He grabbed my throat, his eyes blazing. “Chloe, when did you become so… cheap?” His fists clenched, his teeth grinding. It terrified me. Images of the men in the woods flashed through my mind – the beatings, the violation. I scrambled backwards, shaking, my face paling. “Don’t hit me! Please, don’t hit me! I’ll do anything, just don’t hit me…” My voice was thin, trembling. “Whatever makes you happy, I’ll do it.” The terror washed over me, suffocating me with helplessness. He squinted, studying me with suspicion, but anger quickly took over again. “Stop acting!” he snapped. “I know you hate me for leaving you in this hellhole, but playing the victim won’t work!” “Weren’t you always so high and mighty? Looking down your nose at everyone? Now look at you, acting like a bitch in heat!” He sneered, a cruel twist to his lips. He wasn’t wrong. Before all this, I was proud, maybe even arrogant, thanks to my family’s name and money. I expected the best, even in a partner. Ethan had seemed perfect then. But after three years of being treated like less than human in those mountains, pride was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I remembered when I first got stranded. I frantically called Ethan on the cheap burner phone I’d had, begging him to help me. But the call connected, and I heard a woman’s soft sobbing. Ashley. “Ethan,” she sniffled, “are you sure about this? Leaving her out there… isn’t it too much?” Then Ethan’s cold voice. “You’re too soft, Ash. After everything she did to you? You’re still defending her.” “I’m just teaching her a lesson. When she finally admits she was wrong, I’ll bring her back.” Ashley sniffled again. “Maybe we should just forget it? I already forgave her, really.” “She ruined your reputation, almost cost you everything! What she did… she’ll pay for it, tenfold,” Ethan growled. “Baby, stop crying now, we’ve got better things to do…” I clutched the phone, listening in horror as the sounds turned intimate, unmistakable gasps and moans filling the silence. My world shattered. Soon after, the phone died, cutting off my last link to the outside world. “Chloe, I’m warning you,” Ethan snarled now, pulling me back to the present. “My patience is running out.” He hauled me to my feet and shoved me into the helicopter. “Enough with the drama. Come home. But if you ever try to hurt Ashley again, don’t think I won’t throw you right back into this wilderness!” 2 I knew Ethan was my only ticket out of this nightmare, so I didn’t resist anymore. I just shut down. He frowned, clearly disgusted, and waved over the paramedic traveling with them. “Check her out. I want to see if she’s really hurt or just putting on a show.” He glared at me. “Chloe, I’m warning you, don’t think playing pitiful will get you off the hook.” “You will apologize to Ashley. Properly. Or I swear, I’ll kick you out of this helicopter mid-air. You don’t want another three years out there, do you?” The mere thought sent a violent tremor through my body. I huddled, shaking like a leaf. But when the paramedic approached, I flinched away violently, clutching my ragged jacket, refusing to let go. He was rough, ripping the fabric, pulling out clumps of my hair in the process. I hadn’t bathed properly in years, living in filth with animals. As my clothes came off, a foul stench filled the small cabin. My body was exposed – a roadmap of scars from whips, bites, and God knows what else. My lower body was almost entirely covered in ugly, raised scars. There wasn’t an inch of smooth skin left. Even the paramedic looked stunned, his hands trembling as he tried to examine me. “Mr. Thompson,” he said hesitantly, “Ms. Vance’s injuries are severe. She needs immediate hospital treatment.” Ethan’s eyes were cold, dismissive. “She’d do anything to get my sympathy,” he cut the paramedic off impatiently. “Don’t fall for her little pity party.” The paramedic shut his mouth, but his eyes held a flicker of pity as he looked at me. Ethan pinched his nose against the smell and tossed a spare jacket at me. “Three years, and you haven’t learned a thing. Still resorting to cheap tricks like faking injuries.” He scowled. “Don’t try any funny business. I’m not soft-hearted like Ashley.” His icy stare felt like a threat. Misinterpreting it, convinced he was about to hit me, my body reacted on instinct. I scrambled towards him, pressing myself against his legs, trying to appease him the only way I knew how anymore. I felt Ethan’s body go rigid. His neck flushed red with fury. He ripped me off him, his voice tight, teeth grinding. “Chloe! What is wrong with you? You’re acting like a bitch in heat!” My eyes were blank. I felt no shame, only fear of the blow I expected to follow. Seeing my lack of reaction seemed to infuriate him even more. “You almost destroyed Ashley’s life! And you have the nerve to stand there playing dumb?” He grabbed my arm. “Let’s go! You’re going to apologize to her. Now!” He dragged me into the main cabin area. Ashley was sitting there, pretending to read a book. The moment she saw me, she unbuckled her seatbelt and rushed over, bursting into tears. Her eyes, full of fake sympathy and pity, scanned my ruined appearance. “Oh, Chloe! Sister! It’s all my fault,” she sobbed, clinging to me. “If Ethan hadn’t been so determined to stand up for me, you wouldn’t have suffered out there in the wilderness.” She dabbed at her eyes. “He wouldn’t let me come get you, you know. I wanted to, so badly!” She choked back another sob, burying her face in her hands. Seeing my numb, unresponsive state, a flicker of triumphant satisfaction crossed Ashley’s face before she could hide it. As soon as Ethan stepped away to talk to the pilot, her mask dropped completely. “Those rescue messages you kept trying to send Ethan?” she whispered venomously, a smirk playing on her lips. “I deleted every single one. He never saw them.” Her eyes glittered with malice. “So, tell me, dear sister, how did it feel? Being ‘entertained’ by those charming mountain men?” I stared at her, disbelief warring with the dawning horror. Why? Why would she do this to me? Before I could even form the question, Ashley suddenly slapped herself across the face. Hard. She immediately started crying again, clutching her cheek, looking utterly pathetic and wronged. “Sister, I know you blame me!” she wailed, just loud enough for Ethan to hear. “Hit me, yell at me, I deserve it! But did you have to hit my face? I have that performance next week! Are you trying to ruin my career too?” Ethan spun around at the sound. Seeing the red mark blooming on Ashley’s cheek, his face hardened instantly. He strode over and backhanded me across the face, sending me sprawling to the floor. My head exploded with white noise, a loud ringing in my ears. “Chloe, are you insane?!” Ethan roared. “If you won’t learn your lesson, then I’ll teach it to you myself!” He ripped the silver chain from around his neck, wrapping it tightly around his knuckles. He clenched his fist and started walking towards me, his face a mask of cold fury. 3 Half of Ethan’s face was lost in shadow, making him look terrifyingly like the men from the woods. Their faces swam in my memory – eyes gleaming with predatory light, tearing at my clothes while I screamed, lashing me with thorny branches just to watch me bleed. My terrified cries only seemed to excite them more. Like a cornered rabbit, I scrambled behind a seat, trembling uncontrollably. “Don’t hit me! Don’t hit me! I’m sorry! I know I was wrong!” Driven by pure terror, I ripped off the jacket he’d given me, kneeling on the floor and instinctively arching my back, presenting myself in the degrading way they had trained me to. Ethan’s face contorted with disgust and rage. He kicked me hard, sending me tumbling sideways. “Have you got absolutely no shame left?!” he yelled, his voice cracking. Of course, I knew shame. But could shame feed me in the wilderness? Could it stop those brutes from beating me? He grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back and slamming it against the armrest of the seat. Again. And again. Sticky warmth trickled down my forehead, blurring my vision with blood. Pain flared through me. Looking up at Ethan’s furious, contorted face, tears finally started to well in my eyes. I remembered when we first got together. He wouldn’t let me suffer the smallest discomfort. He took care of everything, even silly things like putting on my socks for me before we went out. I used to tease him, asking if he was trying to turn me into a helpless doll. He’d sworn then, so sincerely, that he didn’t care if I became helpless; he’d happily spend his life devoted to me. But everything changed when Ashley appeared. She stole my parents’ affection, then she stole the man who claimed to love me. And then she orchestrated three years of hell for me in that wilderness. The paramedic from the front cabin rushed back and pulled Ethan off me before he could do more damage. Ethan glared down at me, breathing heavily, and let out a scornful laugh. “Don’t think playing dead will save you.” He spat the words out. “You made your mistakes, and you will pay for them. Don’t think you can trick your way out of it.” He dragged me towards the back where the paramedic had his equipment set up. But the sight of the examination table and the metal instruments sent a fresh wave of panic through me. I started screaming, fighting him. Ethan cursed and slammed me down onto the narrow bed, holding me there while the paramedic tried to examine my legs. It felt just like before. Those men in the woods, tying my arms and legs with vines, spreading me out like an animal sacrifice for their amusement. In the winter, they loved stripping me naked and forcing me to crawl in the snow, bleating like a sheep. If I moved too slowly, they’d whip the soles of my feet raw with thorny sticks. My screams were like fuel to their cruelty. Sometimes they used sharp rocks, other times rough, splintery branches… inside me. They wouldn’t stop until I was barely conscious. Slowly, piece by piece, they had broken me, tamed me like a wild animal. I learned not to fight back, just to endure, hoping it would lessen the pain. “Are you faking this, or are you really sick?” Ethan growled, pinning me down. “The doctor will find out.” My body wouldn’t stop shaking, which Ethan clearly took as a sign of guilt. “If I find out you’re faking,” he hissed, his face close to mine, “I’ll make you regret it!” His sudden shout terrified me. I tumbled off the bed, scrambling to his feet, banging my head on the floor, begging for mercy. When he didn’t immediately strike me, I dared to reach out, touching his pant leg, looking up with pleading eyes, trying to appease him. He seized my wrist, his grip like iron, threatening to crush the bone. “I knew it! You are faking!” he snarled. “You’d even pull this crap just to get me to forgive you!” Pain shot up my arm, cold sweat breaking out on my skin, but I only dared to whimper softly. Ethan flung my hand away, but his voice softened slightly, surprisingly. “Look, I know you nearly ruined Ashley’s life. I know you’re scared I’ll punish you, so you came up with this ‘crazy act’ routine.” He took a breath. “Just let the doctor check you out. Apologize properly to Ashley, and… I’ll still treat you like my wife.” He pulled me back onto the bed. Ignoring my desperate cries, he and the paramedic worked together, strapping my arms and legs down securely. The paramedic examined me for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he stepped out, his brow furrowed, looking grim. “Mr. Thompson, the results are in…” Ethan was instantly alert. “Well? Is she faking?” “Sir,” the paramedic said slowly, choosing his words carefully, “Ms. Vance has suffered severe psychological trauma… PTSD. That explains her… erratic behavior.” He hesitated. “And the scars on her lower body… they’re consistent with… with bite marks. Human bite marks, sir. Torn flesh.” He swallowed hard. “There’s also severe internal tearing and infection… consistent with repeated, brutal sexual assault…” The words hit Ethan like a physical blow. He just stood there, frozen, staring towards the curtained-off bed where I lay, his face utterly stunned, disbelieving. 4 “How could she…” Ethan whispered, his voice barely audible, filled with dawning confusion. He seemed to be questioning everything. But then, just as quickly, a cynical laugh escaped him. “Chloe’s always been manipulative. She’s too calculating to let herself get really hurt.” His voice hardened again. “This has to be another act. A desperate ploy to make me feel guilty.” He ripped back the curtain separating the examination area, his eyes narrowed, sharp as knives. “If I find out you lied to me about this, Chloe…” His words died in his throat as he saw me. Really saw me. I lay there, exposed on the narrow bed. The lower half of my body was a ruin of scar tissue, purpled and white, completely covering the skin. The edges of some scars clearly showed the jagged pattern of teeth marks. Near my inner thighs, the skin was raw, inflamed, weeping a mixture of blood and greenish pus. Even Ethan, with his anger and coldness, couldn’t help but recoil, sucking in a sharp breath. The sight was horrific. “How…? How did this happen?” he stammered, looking genuinely shaken. “I just left you in the mountains for three years. That’s all! And I told that park ranger, Mike, to keep an eye on you, make sure you were basically okay! How could you end up like… like this?” The Appalachian backcountry is vast and dangerous. Even experienced hikers with full gear get lost or injured. Sending me out there alone, a city girl with nothing… what did he think would happen? And as for the ranger… Mike… Just then, the walkie-talkie on Ethan’s belt crackled to life. “Mr. Thompson? Hey, uh, why’d you take that little piece back with you?” The voice was rough, familiar. Chillingly familiar. Static hissed, but I knew that voice instantly. It belonged to Mike, the ranger Ethan had supposedly told to “look after” me. He was the one who’d zap me with a cattle prod whenever I got too close to the edge of the territory, trying to find a way out. Once, I fell to my knees, begging him to just get a message to Ethan for me. He just grinned, showing yellow teeth, and unbuckled his belt in front of his buddies. “Maybe if you take real good care of me and the boys first,” he’d leered, “I might think about it…” I tried to run, but his men surrounded me. They dragged me into a dark shed… I was bleeding heavily when they finally let me go. Mike’s voice now, on the radio, was laced with a slimy attempt at camaraderie. “Mr. Thompson, sir, you told us to give that hot little thing some ‘special attention,’ make her learn her lesson, right? Me and the boys, we put in a lot of effort, yes sir.” He chuckled darkly. “She was a feisty one at first, I’ll give her that. Bit one of my guys bad, even after we broke a couple of her fingers.” He laughed again. “But she’s real obedient now. Real well-trained. Does whatever you tell her. Been real… fun having her around.” The walkie-talkie crackled with Mike’s self-satisfied laughter. His ugly, leering face floated in my mind’s eye, refusing to leave. The color drained from Ethan’s face. His hand holding the radio started to tremble. “You… you did what?” His voice was a strangled whisper. “Sir?” Mike sounded confused. “Wasn’t that the plan? You said she framed Miss Ashley, deserved whatever she got out here, left to rot?” Ethan lowered his voice, speaking into the radio, but his eyes were ice-cold, staring into nothing. “Actually,” he said, almost to himself, “I knew Ashley was lying. She never went to Shennongjia, never saw any wild men.” He took a shaky breath. “But if I didn’t go along with it, Ashley wouldn’t get that study abroad spot. And Chloe… she’s the real heiress, set for life. Missing one little trip abroad means nothing to her.” He sighed, a ragged sound. “Forget it. Once I get her back home, I’ll propose. Marry her. I’ll make it up to her then.” My head snapped up. I stared at Ethan’s back, the tiny spark of hope I hadn’t even realized I was holding onto instantly extinguished. It wasn’t just negligence. It was deliberate. Calculated. While everyone was distracted by the radio conversation, I moved. Quick and silent. I grabbed the emergency parachute pack I’d spotted earlier, fumbled with the straps, pulled it on. With every ounce of strength I had left, I threw open the helicopter door. Ethan whipped around, his eyes wide with terror. “Chloe! What are you doing?!” My heart felt like a lead weight. With a final, desolate look back, I jumped. “I’m not going back!” I screamed into the wind shear. “Just leave me in the mountains!”

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Last time around, I blew up my life for Ethan Vance. I torched the bridge with my parents, all for him. But when I was the one lying in a hospital bed, eaten up by pain, what did he do? He took the emergency fund my parents left me – my lifeline – and used it to bankroll his side piece. Then, I opened my eyes again. This time, I ran straight into my parents’ arms. And I pulled out every single receipt, every bill for the car, the condo, everything I’d bought for Ethan over the years. “You’ve got three days to pay back every cent. Or I’ll see you in court.” Feeling sorry for a guy like him was the start of my nightmare. Spending money on him? That cursed my whole damn life. I proved that the hard way, with my own stupid existence. But I got a do-over. I’m back. Back to the day the debt collectors came knocking. Bang, bang, bang. “Chloe! Chloe, open up! Come on, Chloe!” The pounding on the door was relentless. I knew it was my boyfriend, Ethan. But no matter how hard he hammered on that door today, there was no way in hell I was opening it. Because I knew who was with him. Three guys he owed money to. Big money. Ethan had secretly taken out a predatory loan, some serious high-interest crap, and now he couldn’t pay it back. He’d told the loan sharks his girlfriend was Chloe Ashford, daughter of the Ashfords, the richest family in Westbridge. He assured them I could cover his debt. But I’d already cut ties with my parents to be with him. The day I walked out, I didn’t take a dime. The only reason we weren’t broke was because I’d been selling off my designer bags. Last time, I panicked. Worried about him, I opened the door. The collectors barged in, couldn’t find any cash, and decided they’d take one of Ethan’s legs instead. But right as the blade – yeah, a blade – came down, Ethan shoved me forward. Just like that, I lost my leg. Disabled for life. Later, Ethan swore up and down he was just terrified, that he didn’t mean to do it. And I believed him. Like an idiot. I thought, I took this hit for him. He’ll cherish me now, love me more. I couldn’t have been more wrong. After my parents died in that accident, he took every penny they left me and spent it on his mistress. Without a leg, I was trapped, useless in a hospital bed. Losing my parents on top of that crushed me. I was drowning in grief. And the man I gave up everything for? He wasn’t there comforting me. Oh no. He brought his little fling to my bedside, bold as brass, just to rub it in my face. I’ll never forget that day. Ethan had his arm around her waist; she was snuggled up against him. So cozy, so in love. They looked sickeningly perfect together. Tears streaming down my face, I choked out, “Ethan, how could you do this to me?” He looked at me with pure disgust. “Look at yourself, Chloe. That empty pant leg? You probably scare people just going outside. Do you have any idea how gross it feels when I accidentally touch that stump in bed at night?” “I’ve got a car, a condo, money in the bank now. I can get any girl I want. Why would I stay tied to some disgusting cripple?” “Look at the cheap crap you’re wearing! Look at your face – all sallow and worn out. What part of you is good enough for me anymore?” I stared at him through my tears. At the face that once seemed so bright, so warm, the face that promised me the world. Same face, same person. How did it turn into this? You hate my empty pant leg? You think it’s disgusting? Did you forget why I’m like this? It was because of YOU! You hate my tired face, my cheap clothes? Did you forget I used to drop hundreds on a single bottle of face cream? That I had so much allowance I practically burned it for fun? I was that girl, the heiress. I gave it all up… for you! Ethan cleaned out the inheritance my parents left me. Didn’t leave me a cent. No money meant no medical care. The hospital kicked me out. No money meant my leg injury got worse, infected. I dragged myself around on that stump until I literally starved to death under a highway overpass. Remembering all that… fresh tears streamed down my face. How could I have been so stupid? But after the crying stopped, I clenched my fists. This time? Things would be different. No more mistakes. Without me, his little human shield, things went down differently this time. The loan sharks took one of Ethan’s legs instead. Clean off. They snarled a warning – pay up in a month, or they take the other one – then left. When I finally opened the door, he was lying in a pool of his own blood, howling in agony. Neighbors poked their heads out, drawn by the noise. Some were already recording videos, probably posting them online. I put on my best shocked act, rushing towards him, screaming through fake tears. “Ethan! Oh my god, what happened? Don’t scare me like this!” “Help! Somebody help!” A kind soul nearby called 911 and got an ambulance on the way. I played the part of the terrified, helpless girlfriend, hiding my face, sobbing uncontrollably. By the time the paramedics arrived, Ethan had passed out from the pain. I looked down at his leg. Or where his leg used to be. It was gone. Completely. Heh. A cold little smile touched my lips. This time around, you get to see what life’s like with only one leg, Ethan. The loan sharks hadn’t messed around. Ethan’s leg was totally severed. The doctors said there was zero chance of reattachment. That meant Ethan Vance was going to be hopping through life on one leg forever. Looking at his empty pant leg, I felt a satisfaction so deep it was almost peaceful. Ethan’s injuries were severe; the doctors wanted to move him to the ICU for intensive monitoring. I shut that down immediately. My reason? We didn’t have that kind of money. Just stick him in a regular room, give him some basic meds, that’s it. Because that’s exactly what he told the doctors when I lost my leg. Thanks to him, my injury didn’t get treated properly right away, which led to terrible infections later. I was just returning the favor. An eye for an eye, or in this case, a leg for a leg. Being hospitalized meant needing 24/7 care and a whole bunch of follow-up bills. I wasn’t spending another dime on Ethan. I made one phone call – straight to his parents’ place back in whatever rural town he crawled out of. Soon enough, his white-haired mother showed up, looking frantic. First, she threw herself onto his hospital bed, wailing dramatically for a good while. Then, she turned on me, face contorted with rage, and lunged. “How could you let this happen? How did you take care of my boy? Why isn’t it your leg that’s gone? Why did my son lose his leg? Was it you, you little tramp? Messing around, breaking up someone’s marriage, and their wife came after you and hurt my Ethan instead? I told him you city girls were nothing but trouble!” Hah. A cold laugh escaped me. “Whether I wrecked a marriage or not, I know the truth. But what I do know for sure is that your son took my money to pay for his mistress!” Last time, after I lost my leg for Ethan, I asked him to call his mom, see if she could come help take care of me for a bit. Her response then was pretty similar to her reaction now: “She probably cheated on someone and got caught by the wife! That’s why they chopped her leg off! You expect me to go take care of a shameless woman like that? What would people say? I’d never live it down!” Because of her, I got labeled a homewrecking slut at the hospital back then. Not this time. I wouldn’t let them trash my reputation again. Hearing me accuse her precious son of cheating, Ethan’s mom went ballistic. She clawed at me. “You little liar! What nonsense are you spewing? My son is a Princeton graduate! A respected manager at a big company! How dare you spread rumors about him? I’ll call the cops on you!” I grabbed her wrist, twisted it, and shoved her hard. She stumbled and fell to the floor. “Go ahead. Call them. Let’s see who gets arrested – me or you. I’ve got proof. You don’t. That makes your little outburst slander. Enough to get you locked up for a few weeks, easy!” She plopped down on the floor and started throwing a tantrum, wailing like a banshee. “Who says I don’t have proof? My son’s leg is the proof!” “It’s all your fault, you shameless hussy! My son’s like this because of you!” Her screeching was loud enough to bring doctors and nurses running. She pointed a trembling finger right at me, making sure everyone could see. “Everyone, look! Look at this shameless woman! She’s the reason my son lost his leg! My poor baby! I raised him from nothing, scraped by to give him everything! How am I supposed to live now, an old woman like me?” I just watched her, cold and detached, as she put on her show. Go on, I thought. Make a scene. The bigger the better. Let everyone see exactly what kind of trash Ethan Vance really is. I pulled out my phone and started recording her. “Every word you’re saying right now? I’m recording it. This is evidence of you slandering me. Keep going. I guarantee that by the time Ethan wakes up, the whole world will know his mother got herself arrested. Let’s see who ends up embarrassed then – you or me.” Ethan’s mom loved her ‘precious boy’ more than anything. The thought of embarrassing him shut her up instantly. She stopped screaming but glared at me with pure, venomous hatred. I didn’t stick around the hospital any longer. I went straight back to the condo Ethan and I shared, packed my things, and went home. Home to my parents. Ethan clawed his way out of poverty, a scholarship kid from some forgotten town in the mountains. He claimed it was love at first sight with me, pursued me relentlessly. It happened during a time when I was constantly fighting with my parents. They were suffocating me with rules. Ethan brought excitement into my life. Being with him, I did things, saw things I’d never experienced in my sheltered twenty years. I fell hard, completely lost myself in him. My parents hated it. They said he was just after my money. But I was blinded, totally irrational. I chose Ethan, even if it meant cutting off my parents. I broke their hearts. They died in that accident before I ever got the chance to make things right, to even see them again. Seeing me walk back through the door stunned my parents. I threw myself into their arms and just sobbed. “Mom, Dad, I was wrong. I’m so sorry. But please, believe me, I see Ethan for who he really is now. It’s over between us. Completely. Forever.” I sent Ethan one last text message – “We’re done.” – then blocked his number, deleted his contact, and stepped back into my life as Chloe Ashford, heiress to the Ashford fortune. Since I’d blocked him, he used someone else’s phone to call me. “Where the hell did you go? I’m in this mess, and you just disappear instead of taking care of me? Don’t forget, I lost my leg because you wouldn’t open the damn door! Get your ass back here right now and pay these hospital bills!” Listening to his entitled ranting, the way he automatically blamed me, I just laughed coldly. “You lost your leg? Serves you right. And you expect me to come back and wait on you hand and foot? Are you kidding me? Don’t have a mirror? Find a puddle. Take a good long look at your own disgusting self.” I hung up after that satisfying little tirade. Without me, his meal ticket and scapegoat, he could rot in the gutter for all I cared. This time, he’d stay there. Predictably, Ethan got kicked out of the hospital soon after for not paying his bills. Just like what happened to me in my previous life. What I didn’t expect was that when he couldn’t reach me, he’d actually show up at my family’s estate. There he was, slumped in a wheelchair outside the main gates, his mother beside him clutching a bunch of shabby bags. The two of them looked utterly pathetic against the backdrop of our sprawling mansion.

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The first time my real parents, the Sterlings, the richest couple in the state, came to get me, their long-lost daughter, Tiffany – the girl who’d been living my life – set out to destroy me. She was a master manipulator, sweet as pie to your face but pure venom behind your back. She twisted everything, convincing Mom and Dad I was some kind of jealous, vindictive monster. She spread rumors at school until nobody would talk to me. Then, for her own sick gain, she set me up, drugged me, and handed me over to some predator, making sure the whole world knew. My life hit rock bottom. I didn’t survive it. But she did. She basked in Mom and Dad’s love, got into a top college, had the perfect future laid out for her. Then I opened my eyes. I was back. Back to the day Mom and Dad pulled up to that rundown shack to take me home. And there she was, Tiffany, waiting on the porch of the Sterling mansion with a practiced, welcoming smile. This time, I smiled back. Oh yeah, this life? I was going to play her game. I was going to beat her at it so badly, she wouldn’t know what hit her. 1 “Move it! Get this floor clean, or no dinner for you tonight!” My foster mother – the woman who’d raised me, if you could call it that – cracked the switch against my back. I gripped the rag tighter, scrubbing the filthy floor, my whole body shaking so hard I could barely stay upright. I bit down on my lip, trying not to cry out. That only made her hit harder. The switch whistled through the air, each strike sending jolts of pain deep inside me. “Get away from her! Don’t you touch my daughter!” Suddenly, a man burst in, shoving my foster mother aside. It was him – my real father. He knelt, pulling me up gently, his eyes full of pity. “Chloe? Are you okay?” My face was streaked with dirt and tears. I looked up at him, letting my voice tremble. “Am I dreaming? Are you… are you really my mom and dad?” That did it. My father’s face crumpled, and he pulled me into a hug, sobbing. My real mother, who’d been hovering near the door, finally came closer, her eyes brimming with tears. My foster mother shrieked in anger, raising the switch again. A police officer who had come with my parents quickly stepped in, blocking her. “Ma’am, that’s enough. Let’s go.” I followed my real parents out of that hellhole and back to my real home – the Sterling estate, a sprawling house in the city’s most exclusive neighborhood. And there she was, waiting by the massive front door. Tiffany. The architect of my previous demise. She wasn’t even their real daughter. She belonged to the trash who’d raised me, the ones who’d abused me for years. But some twisted scheme had put her here and me there. My fists clenched. As soon as Tiffany saw Mom, she rushed over, grabbing her hand. “Mom! You must be exhausted! That awful place… the roads are probably terrible, and those people looked so rough. You poor thing, you must have been terrified.” Mom shook her head, clearly touched. “I’m okay, sweetie. Don’t you worry.” Tiffany threw her arms around Mom, tears welling up. “Mom, I missed you so much while you were gone!” “I missed you too, baby.” They hugged like nothing else mattered, like I wasn’t even standing there. I cleared my throat softly. “The roads are pretty bad out there,” I said, my voice quiet and hoarse. “Full of potholes. I used to fall down all the time walking them. Sometimes… sometimes people would throw rocks at me. They called me… called me trash they found on the side of the road. I walked roads like that for ten years.” Mom let go of Tiffany, turning to me. Her eyes were filled with guilt and a fresh wave of pain. They’d spent one afternoon there and couldn’t stand it. I’d lived it. Dad choked up. “Chloe… honey, Dad will buy you a Rolls-Royce. Brand new. Wherever you want to go, a driver will take you.” Tiffany’s face paled instantly. “Dad! You said that car was going to be mine!” Dad frowned. “You already have a perfectly good car, Tiffany. Don’t be selfish.” She bit her lip, looking genuinely hurt. Okay, her current car wasn’t a Rolls, but still. She forced a smile. “Dad’s right. Sorry, Chloe. Let’s go inside.” She reached for my hand. I instinctively pulled back, looking down at the floor, saying nothing. She froze, her eyes widening slightly before instantly filling with tears. She looked so wounded, so rejected. Classic Tiffany. I knew she was secretly thrilled. Another chance to make me look bad. Sure enough, she started sniffling. “Do… do you hate me, Chloe? Do you think I stole your place? I’m so, so sorry. Maybe… maybe I should just leave. I’ll pack my bags…” She sniffled dramatically, making a show of turning to leave, clearly expecting someone to stop her. No one moved. I slowly held up my hand, showing the raw, slightly bloody scrape on my palm from scrubbing the floor earlier. “My hand’s bleeding,” I whispered, looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes. “I didn’t want to get blood on your pretty dress, Tiffany. Did… did I do something wrong?” I lowered my head again, shoulders slumping, the picture of shame and misery. My clothes were torn and filthy, practically falling apart, a stark contrast to her expensive-looking designer dress. Dad’s face turned thunderous when he saw my hand and heard my explanation. “Tiffany! Chloe is clearly injured, and you tried to grab her hand like that? Are you really welcoming her home? Apologize to your sister! Now!” Tiffany flinched, her body trembling slightly. Her eyes flashed with resentment, but she choked out a barely audible, “Sorry.” Heh. Last time, she’d pulled a similar stunt right at the door, making Mom and Dad feel sorry for her, promising they’d never neglect her. I was left standing there, alone and awkward, the outsider, the joke. This time? The tables had turned. 2 Tiffany mumbled her apology. As we walked inside, I shot her a tiny, knowing smile that only she could see. I saw the vein throbbing in her temple. While I was showering and changing into some clean, albeit borrowed, clothes, she cornered me. “Listen here, Chloe,” she hissed, dropping the sweet act entirely. “You lowlife piece of trash belong back in that dump. Don’t think for one second you can come back here and take my place!” She leaned in close, her voice dripping with menace. “Mark my words, I’ll have you thrown out of here within three months. You’ll never set foot in this house again!” I just smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, Tiffany. The only one leaving will be you. I hear your real parents miss you terribly.” Her face went chalk-white. She knew exactly what her biological parents – the Grimeses – were like. Being their unwanted daughter from birth meant she knew the kind of monsters they were. “Oh, by the way,” I added casually, reaching for the cheap burner phone I still had. “I think I have your mom’s number here somewhere. Should I give her a call right now? Arrange a little mother-daughter reunion?” I started scrolling through contacts. Tiffany let out a strangled gasp and practically tripped over herself running out of the room. All bark, no bite. Pathetic. Once I was settled in my new room – which was bigger than the entire shack I grew up in – I sent an email to my twin brother, Ethan. Get home. Now. Last time, Ethan was the only one who was ever truly on my side after I came back. He’s brutally honest, says whatever he thinks, which made him easy pickings for Tiffany’s games. She’d framed him for things, complained constantly until Mom and Dad thought he needed discipline and shipped him off to boarding school. With him gone, Tiffany had free rein, and my life became even more isolated and miserable. I was too scared, too beaten down, always trying to keep the peace, not wanting to upset Mom and Dad further. And she exploited that weakness until she destroyed me. Not this time. Ethan showed up the next day. The second he saw me, his face lit up, and he swept me into a huge hug. “There she is! My real sister! Look how much you look like me! Way better than that imposter.” I hugged him back tightly. It was so good to see him. Last time, things went downhill so fast, I never got a proper chance to connect. I didn’t waste any time. I laid out my plan – how Tiffany operated, how she’d tried to ruin me, and how this time, we were fighting back together. He grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “About time someone saw through her act! Seriously, Chloe, I was worried you’d fall for her Miss Innocent routine just like Mom and Dad.” Trust me, I knew better. Last time, I had fallen for it initially. “Ethan, we gotta wise up,” I said firmly. “We play her game, use her tactics against her. We gotta be the ‘green tea,’ so the real ‘green tea’ has nowhere to go.” Ethan pumped his fist. “I’m so in! All those years at boarding school? I basically majored in spotting manipulative BS. I’ve been waiting for payback!” Mom and Dad weren’t thrilled Ethan had just shown up without permission and wanted to send him right back. I immediately put on my best pleading face, explaining how I’d just met my brother and desperately wanted time to get to know him. It worked. Ethan got switched to attending his school as a day student. The house felt a little more alive now. Showtime. 3 Dinner time. Tiffany was glued to Mom’s side on the sofa, whispering something that made them both laugh. Mom reached out and affectionately patted Tiffany’s head. It was a picture of pure maternal bliss. My brother came clattering down the stairs, took one look at the scene, and immediately threw an arm around my shoulders as I sat watching TV nearby. “Oh, my poor, dear sister!” Ethan declared loudly, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Seeing your own mother looking so happy with the fake daughter… it must break your heart! After all those years separated, you finally come home, only to sit here all alone! How lonely you must be!” I took my cue, letting out a choked sob. Big, fat tears started rolling down my cheeks. I looked small, fragile, utterly helpless. Mom’s smile vanished, replaced by guilt. She quickly beckoned me over. “Chloe, honey, I’m so sorry. Mommy wasn’t paying attention. Come, sit here with me.” Tiffany’s face tightened, but she reluctantly started to shift over. Ethan wasn’t having it. He physically pulled Tiffany out of her spot next to Mom. She whined, instantly playing the victim. “Ethan, what are you doing? I just wanted to sit with Mom!” “Who are you calling Ethan like you know me? Don’t call me your brother,” he scoffed. “Look at your face, look at mine. We don’t look alike from head to toe. My real sister is standing right here!” He pulled me forward. “And let me tell you, sis,” he continued, his voice rising with indignation, “while you were suffering, getting beaten, probably coughing up blood at her parents’ place, she was here living like a princess! Eating the best food, wearing designer clothes! And now she can’t even stand you sitting next to our own mother? Where’s the justice in this world?!” I covered my face, my thin shoulders shaking with silent sobs. His words hit Mom and Dad like a physical blow. Mom immediately pulled me into her arms, murmuring apologies. Dad’s eyes were red-rimmed. “Chloe,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “you’re our daughter. We’ll make up for all the suffering you endured. We promise. No one will ever hurt you again.” Tiffany watched us – the real Sterling family, finally together – her expression twisting into an ugly mask of jealousy. It was practically radiating off her. But she quickly smoothed her features, forcing a smile. “Mom, Dad, let’s just eat, okay?” We moved to the dining table. Tiffany was all smiles again, sweetly serving Dad and Mom food. Meanwhile, Ethan piled my plate high with all of Tiffany’s favorites – shrimp scampi, the best cut of steak, lobster mac and cheese. Tiffany didn’t take long to snap. “Ethan! I haven’t even had a bite yet!” Ethan sighed dramatically. “You’ve been impersonating my sister for ten years, Tiffany. You’ve eaten more fancy food in this house than most people see in a lifetime. My real sister,” he gestured to me, “barely had enough to eat out in that shack. It breaks my heart!” Tiffany’s complaint died in her throat. Her lower lip trembled. Here it comes, I thought. The waterworks. “Waaaah!” But the sobbing wasn’t coming from her. It was me. I suddenly burst into loud, gut-wrenching sobs, tears streaming down my face. Tiffany stared, completely thrown off. The tears she’d been summoning vanished from her eyes. I took a bite of steak, still sobbing. “It’s… it’s so good,” I choked out between cries. “I haven’t eaten food this good in ten years! Back at the… the Grimeses’ place… I only got scraps, maybe some thin soup. Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad.” Ethan jumped right back in. “Waaah! My poor sister! So thin, just skin and bones! The real Sterling heiress, suffering like this! And now, finally home, trying to enjoy a decent meal, she gets attitude from the imposter! Oh, why is my sister’s life so tragic!” Mom and Dad looked deeply troubled. They glanced from Tiffany’s healthy, well-fed figure to my gaunt frame. Anyone could see the difference. Their guilt was hitting critical mass. Tiffany panicked, dropping the fake tears act. “I have nothing to do with the Grimeses!” she blurted out. “You are my parents! This is my home!” 4 She looked terrified of being abandoned, and that vulnerability tugged at Mom’s heartstrings. “Tiffany has been with us since she was a baby,” Mom said softly, defending her. “She’s not like those people.” Dad didn’t immediately agree. He looked at me. I was eating slowly, carefully, savoring each bite like it was precious gold. My oversized sleeves made my wrists look impossibly thin. When I felt his gaze, I looked up, a flicker of nervousness in my eyes. “Dad? Tiffany… she’s probably just not used to me being here yet. If she’s upset with me, I understand. It’s okay. As long as our family can just get along…” Dad’s expression softened into deep affection. He looked at me with pride. “Now that sounds like a Sterling,” he declared. “I’ve made a decision. Chloe, I’m transferring 20% of the Sterling Industries stock into your name. And I’m giving you two penthouse apartments downtown, plus a fifty-million-dollar trust fund. Do whatever you want with it – start a business, travel, anything.” The sheer scale of his generosity stunned Tiffany. Her mask of composure finally cracked. Her eyes were wide with disbelief and naked envy. After ten years of being the Sterling princess, her accumulated assets didn’t come close to this. I put on my best shocked-and-overwhelmed face. “Th-thank you… Thank you, Dad. Mom.” Tiffany’s face was practically green. The bitterness in her eyes was impossible to hide. I turned to her, a hint of a smile playing on my lips. “Is something wrong, Tiffany? You’re staring.” She forced her lips into a tight smile. “Nothing. Congratulations… sister.” Across the table, Ethan gave me a subtle thumbs-up. That dinner made one thing crystal clear: while Mom was still blinded by her affection for Tiffany, Dad was more rational, more inclined towards fairness. Thinking back, even last time, Dad had occasionally questioned Tiffany’s behavior when Mom was completely snowed. Deep down, I, his biological daughter, held a different place in his heart. It was only after Tiffany orchestrated event after event to discredit me that he finally lost hope. Tiffany wasn’t the type to take this defeat lying down. Her kind of personality wouldn’t let it go. Sure enough, a few days later, when everyone else was out, leaving just the two of us in the huge house, she made her move. She came sashaying towards me in a floaty white dress, holding a cup of coffee. “Chloe,” she said, her voice sickeningly sweet, “I have this amazing project idea, but I need about fifty million in seed money. Since Dad just gave you all that cash, could you lend it to me?” The nerve! I ignored her, pretending to read a magazine. “I knew it!” she snapped, her voice turning sharp. “All that talk about wanting the family to get along – it was all lies! You’re just a pathetic liar!” I finally looked up, giving her a cool glance. “The family I want to get along with doesn’t include you, Tiffany. Don’t forget, your real name is Grimes.” Her face contorted with rage. I’d hit a nerve. “You’re just like them!” she spat, her voice low and vicious. “Just as low-class, just as dirty! I bet those disgusting Grimeses pimped you out to half the town already, didn’t they? And you still try to act all innocent and pure around here?” My blood ran cold. Without a second thought, I swung my hand and slapped her, hard, across the face. She stood there, stunned for a moment, then her face flushed with fury. She shrieked and threw the hot coffee at me. I dodged it, then calmly picked up my glass of ice water and splashed it right in her face. No more turning the other cheek. Not this lifetime. “You bitch!” she screamed, completely losing it. “I’m going to kill you!” She lunged, claws out, aiming for my neck. Did she really think I was scared of her? I met her attack head-on. Years of hard labor on the Grimeses’ property meant that even though I was thin, I was strong. Way stronger than this pampered princess who’d never done a day of real work in her life. I grabbed a handful of her perfect hair and didn’t hold back. She didn’t stand a chance. I yanked out several clumps, and she started howling like a stuck pig. “Help! Somebody help me!” She scrambled backward, pure terror in her eyes. Just then, we heard the sound of the front door opening. Her face lit up with manic glee, and she started scrambling towards the entrance. I wasn’t letting her get away with framing me. I tackled her, landing on top of her. Instinctively, she grabbed my legs and flung me sideways with surprising strength. Thump! I hit the polished marble floor, hard. And right at that moment, the door swung open. Mom, Dad, and Ethan were home.

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I was the kind of influencer people loved to hate, the one always accused of riding my sister Ava’s coattails. The day Ava Miller won her Oscar for Best Actress, one of her psycho fans skinned me alive. And the last video I ever posted? It got swarmed by her fans. The top comment, liked thousands of times: “Always chasing clout. She should just die already. So gross.” Well, they got their wish. I died. And it wasn’t pretty. 1 My skin arrived at my sister’s place, neatly packed in a fancy gift box. The second she opened it, she screamed, dropping the box like it burned her. “What on earth is it?” My mother rushed in at the sound. Seeing the contents spilled on the floor, she froze too. “Is… is that…?” Ava crouched down, sobbing quietly. “It was a gift from a fan… congratulating me on the Oscar. I had no idea it would be…” Mom took a deep breath, trying to get a grip. “He didn’t… kill someone, did he?” Ava started trembling, nodding almost imperceptibly, like she couldn’t face it. “It’s… it’s Zoe’s skin. Mom, it’s Zoe’s! How could he do this?” “Zoe and I were always so close,” she wailed. “Why would anyone want to hurt her? Mom, what if this is some serial killer? I’m scared!” Hearing that, I almost laughed out loud. Where did Ava get the idea we were close? Every time she did an interview or went to an event, she’d pull that innocent, “Oh, I love this dress too, but my little sister likes it, so I’ll have to give it to her after the show, otherwise…” Otherwise what, she never finished. She’d just cover her mouth, looking all wide-eyed and vulnerable. The whole world thought I was the bitchy younger sister who bullied poor, sweet Ava. Her fans hated my guts, wished me dead daily. And this “serial killer” fan? He just acted out what Ava secretly wanted. Floating there, watching Ava put on a show, clinging to Mom and crying, I saw it. In the split second Mom wasn’t looking, Ava glanced at my skin on the floor, and the corner of her mouth twitched into a smirk. Seeing that fueled my rage. It surged uncontrollably. I wanted nothing more than to materialize right there and tear her apart. Maybe my anger was so strong it created a draft, because my skin seemed to flutter slightly. Ava flinched, genuinely spooked for a second. “Mom, we need to call the police! We can’t let Zoe die like this, for nothing!” Mom started to nod, then stopped, her expression changing. “Absolutely not. We can’t report this. If this gets out, your career is over. And then how will we pay for your father’s hospital bills?” She looked down at my skin on the floor with disgust. “Your sister… always so thoughtless. Causing trouble for the family even in death.” A flicker of hesitation crossed Ava’s face, then she bit her lip, her resolve hardening. “I hope Zoe can forgive us for not getting her justice.” 2 Ava dragged my skin under her bed. My obsession, my lingering consciousness, was tied here now. I couldn’t leave Ava. My spirit drifted, watching her switch back to her worried actress persona for a call with her agent, Brenda. Brenda’s voice on the other end was soothing, promising to handle the… problem… soon. The moment she hung up, Ava’s face changed instantly. Gone was any trace of fear. She scrolled through Twitter, basking in the flood of praise and congratulations, reading aloud the comments insulting me, letting out little giggles. She even got an invite from my underground boyfriend, Liam Carter, asking her to dinner to celebrate her win. “Ava, congratulations on the Oscar. All your hard work paid off,” Liam said, having booked the entire fancy restaurant. Ava accepted the bouquet of roses, her face glowing softly in the dim light, looking shy. “Thank you, Liam. It means so much that you came all this way to celebrate with me. But…” Her gaze dropped. “I just wish Zoe could be here to congratulate me publicly too.” Liam frowned. “Your sister? With her jealousy? She’d just find another way to leech off your fame. You need to cut ties with her, Ava. You’re just too kind.” That was the first time I heard what my own boyfriend really thought of me. Ava quickly jumped to my “defense.” “Oh, Liam, she must have her reasons. It’s probably our fault for not communicating better. She even blocked the whole family.” Liam looked unconvinced. Ava’s expression shifted to worry again. “I hope nothing’s happened to her, Liam. I’m really worried. Her TikTok hasn’t been updated in days. It’s the only way we know if she’s okay.” Her voice cracked, like she was genuinely on the verge of tears for me. Damn, Ava really earned that Oscar. If I wasn’t dead and watching her, even I might have been fooled. And the poor sap sitting across from her? He just scoffed. “What could happen to her? She’s probably staking out the spot where you walked the red carpet yesterday, planning her next copycat stunt.” Liam had reason to say that. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Three years ago, when Ava was first nominated, she tripped dramatically on the red carpet. Every gossip site covered it. #MostBeautifulStumble #ActressAvaTakesATumble. She trended instantly, comments pouring in about her grace even when falling. Me? As just an influencer, I had no business being at the Oscars. But my agency threatened to sue me for breach of contract if I didn’t go and somehow get noticed. Every dime I earned went straight to Dad’s medical bills after his stroke; I couldn’t afford a lawsuit. So, swallowing my pride, I went. On the red carpet, some asshole shoved me hard. I fell right where Ava had stumbled. With my face being somewhat similar to hers, I trended too – but for all the wrong reasons. #DesperateCloutChaser #PlasticSurgeryFail. Countless articles blamed me for Ava losing the Oscar that year. After that, thanks to my agency’s shady tactics, I was constantly framed as “copying” Ava, even when I wasn’t there – they’d just photoshop me into pictures. Worse, I started finding evidence that Ava herself was orchestrating some of it behind the scenes. That’s when Liam, my boyfriend of four years since college, stopped believing me. He started saying my “tactics” disgusted him. No matter how many times I tried to explain, he’d just look at me with disappointment. “I never thought you’d change so much after college, Zoe. You’ve lost your way. With this attitude, you’ll never make it in serious acting. You’ll never have Ava’s artistic integrity.” I had no response. Ava, also a drama school grad, went straight into acting, preaching about her “dream.” Meanwhile, I, with the same training, was pushed by Mom into the influencer grind because it paid faster – becoming fodder for gossip blogs and hate comments. So when I discovered Ava was actively sabotaging me? I couldn’t tell anyone. Who would believe that America’s sweetheart actress was secretly screwing over her influencer sister? I was defenseless, dragged through the mud, branded “the most annoying influencer ever.” 3 Before Liam left the restaurant, he kept reassuring Ava, telling her not to let “people like me” get to her, saying clout chasers always get what they deserve. Ava nodded sweetly, then went back to her busy schedule of endorsements and appearances. Later, scrolling through Twitter, she saw my name trending again. After my death, someone – probably my scummy agency – had uploaded a set of photos to my TikTok account. Photos that looked suspiciously similar to Ava’s latest red carpet shots. Predictably, Twitter exploded with accusations of me copying her again. Ava scrolled through the comments, laughing. She showed her phone to Brenda. “Look at this, Bren. My sister’s agency is still pulling this crap. The comments are brutal.” I floated closer to look. Yep, my name was top three trending again. Honestly, A-list celebrities didn’t trend as often as I did. I should probably thank Ava; without the traffic she generated (even negative traffic), I wouldn’t have made enough to keep Dad in the hospital. My agency never let me disable comments, so I was used to the abuse. I could probably recite the most common insults by heart. Top comment: “Always chasing clout. She should just die already. So gross.” Nobody noticed the photos were obviously doctored. Nobody believed I could actually be innocent. Watching Ava cackle like a cartoon villain, completely unfazed by my actual death, my soul started to tremble, shivering with a cold rage. I remembered my last moments. My agency had forced me to do a livestream. “Leverage the buzz around Ava’s Oscar win,” they said. “Boost your engagement.” The second I hit ‘Go Live,’ the door burst open. A burly guy I didn’t recognize stormed in. He was holding a knife, yelling he was going to peel my skin off. Then I recognized the voice. It was chillingly familiar – the same voice from countless harassing calls, the DMs filled with threats. He was one of Ava’s hardcore fans. An obsessed stalker. I shook uncontrollably, scrambling away, trying desperately to dodge the knife. He grabbed me, his hand clamped around my neck, his face twisted with rage. I fought back, clawing at his hand. He slapped me hard across the face, then grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the floor. “You bitch! You deserve to die! Who gave you the right to copy Ava? To bully her? I’m gonna end you today!” Sobbing, I begged him to stop, pleaded that I’d never bullied Ava. I hadn’t just not bullied her; I’d poured my earnings into getting her roles, paying for her early projects. Before she made it big, I was the one bankrolling her climb, taking bit parts myself just to support her. But my words were choked off as he pinned me to the floor. In the struggle, a keychain fell from his pocket. The little charm attached – a custom design I recognized instantly. It was the one I gave Liam. He snarled, his teeth gritted. “Cut the crap. Ava told me all about you. You’re nothing but a lying, money-grubbing whore.” My heart plummeted. Of course. He came here intending to kill me. He was already convinced I was the villain in Ava’s story. Nothing I said would matter. Ava had painted me as the bad guy, stealing her clothes, her spotlight, even trying to steal her roles. Her fans already wanted me dead. And my own mother? She forbade me from defending myself publicly, worried it would hurt Ava’s “image.” The man slit my throat. As blood pulsed out, he started cutting away my skin. Right up until the end, nobody came to save me. That keychain… that key… did Liam give it to my killer? 4 I kept following Ava. Soon, her new movie came out. It was a hit. The hashtags flew. #MostBeautifulBack #AvaMillersStunningSilhouette Fans raved. “Ava is gorgeous! She really pushed herself for this role!” Even casual viewers were impressed. “I only ever saw her name in headlines, thought she was just famous for being famous. But wow, she can act. I misjudged her.” The accolades piled up for Ava. But nobody knew that the stunning back shot, the graceful dance sequence everyone was praising – that was me. The day they filmed that scene, it required hours in freezing cold water. Ava claimed she was on her period and couldn’t possibly do it. Then Mom called me. She said Ava wasn’t feeling well, couldn’t film. “You’re sisters,” she’d said. “Your backs look identical. Just help her out, what’s the big deal?” She conveniently forgot that I was still recovering from an injury I got during a stupid influencer challenge I’d done trying to earn extra cash. I hesitated for just a second. That was enough for Mom to launch into a tirade about how ungrateful and unsupportive I was. My chest ached. Why did Mom only see Ava’s “sacrifices” and never my struggles? Right after college, I had promising prospects. My professors offered introductions, connections. Acting was my dream – I wanted to create characters that moved people. But then Dad had the stroke. Mom begged me, tears streaming, not to pursue acting. “Go be an influencer, Zoe,” she’d cried. “It’s faster money. A movie takes months, even a year to film, and you don’t get paid until later. How will we survive?” Reluctantly, I signed with the influencer agency. I worked myself to the bone to support the family. I told myself, just hold on until Ava wins her Oscar, until her career is stable. Then, I could finally go back, pursue my own dream. Who knew I’d die before I even got the chance? As Ava’s fame soared with the movie’s success, someone online finally joked, “Ava’s been trending for ages. Where’s her copycat sister Zoe trying to cash in? Did something happen to her?” For a moment, my non-existent heart leaped. Maybe someone would finally realize I was actually gone. Right then, an anonymous account commented under Ava’s official post: “That back isn’t Ava Miller’s. It’s Zoe’s.” The comment section exploded. “Is that Zoe’s burner account? Trying to stir up drama again.” “OMG, just die already, you pathetic leech.” “Something happen to Zoe? Nah, trash like her lives forever. She’s probably hiding somewhere planning her next stunt. Evil lasts.” No matter how much the anonymous account owner insisted they weren’t me, nobody believed them. Amidst the sea of insults, Ava calmly made a phone call. Using her sweetest voice, she negotiated a price: three million dollars. To buy my TikTok account from my agency. Soon, hashtags like #ZoeAccidentallyLikesHateComment and #CloutChaserCaughtAgain started trending, proving to the world that I was still alive and causing trouble. So, it was true. My agency had been in cahoots with Ava all along. They probably celebrated the buyout, completely clueless that their cash cow was already dead.

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On our anniversary, the other woman sent me a picture. Her and my husband, Ethan, in bed together. Not long after, Ethan asked for a divorce. The reason? She was pregnant, and I hadn’t given him any kids. What he didn’t know was, he couldn’t have kids. He was infertile. 1 Honestly, the signs that Ethan was cheating were obvious. I just hadn’t wanted to see them. It started about six months ago. Ethan staying out late, coming home smelling like sickly sweet perfume. Lipstick marks deliberately left on the back of his neck, like a calling card. Whoever he was seeing wasn’t afraid of me finding out. She was practically declaring war. I felt him pulling away. He became dismissive, responding to my ups and downs with nothing more than a tired sigh. “Ethan, what’s going on with you?” I finally asked him one night. “We got through so much tough stuff together,” I pressed, my voice trembling, tears welling up without permission. “Why won’t you talk to me now when something’s bothering you?” For the first time in what felt like forever, Ethan really looked at me. His lips moved, but no sound came out. After a long pause, like he’d made some heavy decision, he pulled me into a tight hug. His hand rested near my neck, and he murmured against my skin. “I’m sorry, honey. Work’s just been insane. I’m just… tired.” He held me tighter. “Tomorrow’s our anniversary. Let me make it up to you, okay? Give me a chance to show you.” I sighed internally but squeezed his hand back. I still believed he’d just lost his way for a bit. That eventually, when he came to his senses, he’d come back home to me. For our anniversary, he booked a table at a rooftop restaurant. The wind cut right through me that night. I watched the clock hands creep past midnight. Fireworks exploded in the distance, brilliant and loud. Then my phone buzzed. A text from him: “Cheers to 5 years with my amazing Ava. Here’s to many more summers together.” My whole body started shaking. When I came back to myself, I realized I was crumpled on the floor, tears streaming down my face. My palm stung – I’d clenched my fist so hard my nails dug in, drawing blood. My phone lay screen-up on the ground nearby. The man who was supposedly looking forward to our next anniversary was currently wrapped in someone else’s arms, looking disgustingly cozy in the picture she’d sent. I knew it then. His future summers wouldn’t include me. 2 I knew the girl. Chloe. She’d started at Ethan’s company about a year ago, and ever since, he hadn’t stopped raving about her. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about her… I knew that look all too well. But I trusted him. We’d dated for two years, married for four. The initial spark had long since faded, worn down by the daily grind of bills and chores. I’d considered the possibility of the “seven-year itch,” but I always firmly believed that no matter what, he’d end up back with me. “She’s so great,” I teased him once, only half-joking. “Aren’t you even a little tempted?” Ethan got genuinely angry. He looked hurt, clamping down on his frustration, like he couldn’t believe I’d doubt our connection. “The company doesn’t need her that badly,” he said stiffly. “If you don’t like her, I’ll fire her. Simple as that.” Relief washed over me. I cupped his face, kissing him, trying to soothe his ego. “I was kidding! The company’s just getting stable, we need good people. You can’t just fire someone for no reason, what would everyone think?” Somehow, word still got out. The next time I dropped off lunch for Ethan, I felt eyes on me. People looked… weird. Before long, a young woman – Chloe – was kneeling in front of me in the hallway, hair disheveled, sobbing. “Ava, please, I swear I’m not trying to break you up! This is my first real job out of college, I need it! Please don’t make him fire me!” Ethan looked furious too. Rumors flew around the office. Morale dipped. Obviously, firing her was off the table now. Instead, I ended up trending online. Hashtags like #GoldDiggerWife #JealousOfCampusBeauty. Apparently, I was the manipulative wife trying to ruin the reputation of some “college It-girl” to keep my husband’s money. Ethan had to issue a public statement, blaming it on corporate sabotage from a rival company, just to quiet things down. But it was only surface calm. I knew people were whispering behind my back, telling Ethan he should divorce me. He shut down anyone who dared say it to his face. Leaning against him later, exhausted, he held me silently, stroking my hair. At that moment, my trust in him soared to an all-time high. But my gut told me this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Chloe wouldn’t just give up. 3 When did things really spiral out of control? It was probably the night Ethan came home reeking of booze, collapsing onto the sofa the second he walked in. I couldn’t even remember how many times this had happened recently. He’d had stomach problems since college. Once the company started doing well, I nagged him constantly – avoid drinking whenever possible. He was groaning, clutching his stomach. I went to get his medication. When I came back, he was face down on a throw pillow. And there it was, bright red against his skin: a hickey. Something inside me snapped. I yanked him upright, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “Ethan. Who were you drinking with?” He waved me away, annoyed. “Business partners.” It felt like tiny needles were drilling into my heart. The sharp pain made my nose sting. I grabbed his wrist as he reached for the glass of water I’d brought. I never expected him to shove me. Caught off guard, I stumbled back, hitting my head hard on the corner of the coffee table. Pain exploded, and suddenly, there was blood everywhere. “What the hell is wrong with you? Can you just leave me alone!” he yelled. Then he saw me, kneeling on the floor, hand pressed to my bleeding forehead. The alcohol haze seemed to evaporate instantly. He scrambled for the first-aid kit, hands shaking. Blood dripped onto my hand, onto the wedding ring he’d placed there years ago. A wave of desolation washed over me. He couldn’t find anything to stop the bleeding and fumbled for his phone to call someone to take us to the ER. That’s when I saw his most recent texts. Pinned to the top. From her. Chloe. “Ethan, u home yet?” “Pretty cool drinking whatever u want w/o someone nagging, right? 😉 ” “My bday tomorrow! If u come, Chloe has a special little surprise for uuuu 😉” Ethan swiped the messages away frantically, turning his back to me while he called for a ride. I laughed, a hollow, broken sound. Tears mixed with the blood streaming down my face. Chloe. Ethan. So intimate. 4 When I came to – or maybe just focused after the stitches – Ethan was beside me, holding my hand. His face was stubbled, haggard. “Ava, I’m so sorry, I…” I cut him off, reaching for my phone and dialing a friend, a private investigator. “Hey, Mark? Need you to check someone out for me. Chloe. Chloe Jenkins.” (Let’s give her a last name). Ethan’s bloodshot eyes widened in shock. He went deathly pale, his lips trembling. He looked like a cornered animal. He gripped my hand tighter, so tight I flinched. He probably didn’t even realize his own strength. “Ethan, you’re hurting me.” Hearing my flat tone, the flicker of hope in his eyes died. He instantly loosened his grip, gently cradling my hand instead, rubbing it softly. “Honey, I messed up. I swear, it’ll never happen again. Please, just forgive me this once, okay? Please?” I’d rarely seen him this pathetic. When we were young, he was the confident, ambitious guy everyone looked up to. After we got married, he was the mature, gentle husband. This desperate man begging for forgiveness… the image flickered, overlaying the face I knew, then separating again. I realized, with a sickening clarity, that I was the only one who hadn’t changed. The man I knew, the man I loved, had been twisted by time into someone I barely recognized. I pushed my phone into his hand, leaning back against the pillows, suddenly exhausted. “Ethan,” I said, my voice weary. “I’m just curious about her. Could you have Mark check her out for me? Please?” His hand, holding my phone, wouldn’t stop shaking. Finally, after a long, searching look, he relayed the message to Mark over the phone. I’d actually done some digging on Chloe before. She wasn’t nearly as innocent as she pretended. Just a little prodding revealed she’d hooked up with quite a few powerful men. Using Ethan’s phone, I sent her a message, inviting her over to our house next week. “Seriously, Ethan?? You’re finally taking me home? Won’t Ava be pissed?” she texted back immediately. I didn’t reply. Ethan looked tortured, covering the phone screen with his hand as if he couldn’t bear it. He buried his face against my side, a silent plea. I just stroked his hair gently. Don’t worry, I thought grimly. The real fun hasn’t even started yet.

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On our wedding anniversary, I overheard my husband talking to our son. “How about we ship Mommy off somewhere remote, and get a new mommy?” “Okay! I like new mommy best!” Standing outside the door, hearing my son’s innocent voice, my blood ran cold. But less than three days later, I saw something utterly terrifying… 01 My husband, the man everyone called a doting dad, crazy about his kid, murdered our son. And I was standing on the balcony of the building across the way, too scared to even breathe. He held Leo by one leg, dangling him out of the fifth-floor balcony window. The dim streetlight from the corner cast half his body in shadow, making him look like some demon straight out of hell, a predatory smile on his face. Leo kicked frantically, begging his dad to let him go. His cries for help seemed to echo faintly across the distance, tearing my heart apart. A sickening thud. Leo fell like a broken kite to the ground below. An involuntary scream ripped from my throat, but I instantly clamped my hand over my mouth. No, if Ethan found out I saw, he’d kill me too. Then there’d be no way to get justice for Leo. But it was too late. Suddenly, Ethan’s gaze snapped towards me. By the moonlight, I could faintly see the smug curl of his lips, the red stains on his hands, as he seemed to count the floors up to my hiding spot. I scrambled back from the balcony railing, shrinking into the corner, trying to disappear into the darkness. But my mom was still in our apartment. Those stains on his hands… could it be…? This was an old mill district apartment complex, the buildings barely thirty feet apart. It was only a five-minute walk from my apartment to this one. Peeking out, I saw the lights in our apartment go dark. I knew he was coming. He knew where I was. A week ago, I’d accidentally discovered Ethan was cheating. The other woman lived somewhere in this same old complex. So, I’d scraped together my savings and rented this place across from our building. Sixth floor. A perfect vantage point to watch everything happening at home. Two days ago, I told Ethan I had to go out of town for work. In reality, I came here to catch him with his mistress, hoping for proof. I never expected to witness… this. A minute had passed. These old buildings didn’t have elevators. If I took the stairs, I’d run right into him. What could I do? Suddenly, my eyes landed on a fire extinguisher in the corner. An idea! I smashed the glass on the fire alarm pull station in the hallway, pitched my voice high, and yelled, “Fire!” Within a minute, the hallway was jammed with people scrambling, pushing to get downstairs. I ditched my jacket and blended into the crowd heading down. Suddenly, a hand gripped my wrist. I looked up. Ethan was staring down at me, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. “What are you doing over here?” 02 Twenty minutes later, fire trucks and police cars rolled into the complex, sirens briefly wailing before falling silent. Residents crowded the courtyard, buzzing about the fire alarm and the potential murder. Through the crowd, I looked towards the patch of grass below our apartment balcony. Police were searching methodically, like a grid search, but there was no sign of anything having fallen, not even a drop of blood. I lowered my eyes, a chill creeping up my spine. Just moments before Ethan grabbed me, I had managed to call 911. I knew he’d find out soon enough it was me. I stood frozen, afraid to move. Because Ethan was watching me, a smile plastered on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. “Honey, why are you shaking? You didn’t happen to be the one who called the cops, did you?” His breath ghosted over my skin, making me shiver uncontrollably. “Or maybe,” he whispered, leaning closer, “you saw something you shouldn’t have?” His voice, usually warm, had an icy edge. It was the same handsome face I knew, but right now, it looked terrifyingly unfamiliar. We grew up together in the same group home, childhood sweethearts. After we got married, he handled everything, big or small. Life felt perfect, especially after Leo was born, filling a void I hadn’t known I had. I couldn’t believe, couldn’t wrap my head around the idea, that this man, my Ethan, had killed our child with his own hands. “I’m just… a little tired,” I stammered. His voice held a hint of laughter, tinged with mock complaint. “You’re not a kid anymore. Where were you running off to play, anyway?” “Let’s go,” he said, his voice softening. “I’ll take you home.” The moment his hand rested on my shoulder, my feet took an involuntary step back. How could he not know I was supposed to be on a business trip? He helped me pack just two days ago. He drove me to the bus station himself. And now he was asking where I’d been playing? My legs suddenly felt weak, like I might collapse right there. 03 He practically dragged me towards our building. The closer we got, the stronger the metallic smell of blood became. Ethan pulled out his keys. The keychain was the same one I gave him when we were dating, a small silver locket. But he fumbled at the lock, trying several keys before finding the right one. None of the first few were even house keys. “Damn, getting old. Can’t even remember which key is which,” he muttered, seemingly talking to himself. But I knew he was saying it for my benefit. Giving me a plausible, innocent explanation. The suspicion in my gut deepened. I stared hard at his back, trying to see past the facade, trying to figure out who this man really was. The last key finally turned, and the door swung open. The stench of blood hit me like a physical blow. I squeezed my eyes shut, terrified of what I might see, terrified of finding my mother… “What are you waiting for? Come in,” he urged from the living room. Taking a deep breath, clutching my phone tightly, I stepped inside. The horrific scene I’d imagined wasn’t there. But the thick, coppery smell was stronger, definitely coming from the kitchen. My eyes kept darting towards the kitchen doorway. I could see a few faint dark droplets on the floor. Trying to act casual, I picked up a glass and walked towards the water cooler, which happened to be closer to the kitchen. As I brought the glass to my lips, my eyes caught sight of something on the kitchen floor – small, fleshy chunks of… something. Two large pots were simmering on the stove, bubbling away. The metallic smell mingled sickeningly with the aroma of cooking meat. Compelled by a morbid curiosity I couldn’t control, I lifted one of the heavy lids. Inside, bones simmered in a murky broth. A few dark, coarse hairs clung to one of them. Black hairs. Looking closer, I saw something bobbing on the surface… it looked horrifyingly like a section of a finger bone. My hand trembled violently. The glass slipped, shattering on the floor. Ethan heard the noise and came over. “Clumsy,” he said, his voice neutral. I scrambled to pick up the shards, slicing my palm in my haste. Blood dripped onto the floor, mingling with the older stains. His footsteps stopped right beside me. I crouched there, trembling, unable to stand up. “Careful now. You hurt yourself,” he said, reaching a hand down towards me. “Get away! Don’t touch me!” I shrieked, waving my phone defensively. “Murderer! What did you do with my mother? What did you do with Leo?!” Ethan just stood there, watching me calmly, but I could see a flicker of something dark and cold in his expression. My bleeding hand clutched a jagged piece of glass, holding it in front of me like a shield. “Ethan, I called the police.” A short, sharp laugh escaped his lips. He said, “Sarah, you really are clueless, aren’t you?” 04 When the police arrived, Ethan was sitting calmly in a chair, just inches away from where I huddled on the floor. “Sarah, the police are here. You don’t have to be scared anymore. Get up off the floor, it’s cold.” He said it gently, but as the officers stepped inside, he immediately positioned himself slightly in front of me, a protective stance. But he called me Sarah. Ethan never called me Sarah. He always called me Dove. Said I was his rare, precious Dove he’d searched for. A pair of worn canvas sneakers appeared in my line of sight. Looking up at the police officer, tears streamed down my face. My voice shook. “He… he cooked my mother. And he threw our son off the balcony. Leo’s dead.” Forensics techs and officers began searching the apartment, meticulously examining every corner. The large pots from the kitchen were emptied into the sink, their contents carefully sifted through. I stood nearby, watching their every move, desperate for any shred of evidence. After about fifteen minutes, a young officer approached, holding something wrapped in an evidence bag. It looked disturbingly like a skull. I recoiled, stumbling backward. He held it out. “It’s a dog’s skull, ma’am. Looks like he was cooking dog meat.” As he said this, he shot a quick, sharp glance at Ethan. A look full of warning. But Ethan loved dogs. He was always feeding the strays in the neighborhood. He would never eat dog meat. The doubt in my mind solidified into a terrifying certainty. Something was deeply, horribly wrong here.

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My new roommate, Tiffany, took one look at my custom-ordered sunscreen and sneered that it looked like something cheap off Wish.com, nine ninety-nine with free shipping. Then she immediately started bragging about her own “limited edition” designer bag. Funny thing is, staring at that familiar purse, I couldn’t help but think… didn’t I toss that exact one in the trash last week? One My name is Chloe Stratton. Daughter of the CEO of Stratton Corp. I’m one of those trust-fund kids trying desperately to fly under the radar. Nobody at college knows who I really am. Today was move-in day. Freshman orientation chaos. I’d politely declined my parents’ and my boyfriend’s offer to hire a moving crew, determined to blend in. Handle everything myself. Haul my own stuff up three flights of stairs. Half an hour later, dripping sweat and gasping for air, I finally got the last box into my dorm room and collapsed onto the floor. “Hey! You! Give me a hand with my luggage. Can’t you see I need help?” A girl dressed head-to-toe in designer labels stood over me, pointing imperiously. I bit back my irritation. “Are you talking to me?” She shoved a massive suitcase towards me, her tone sharp. “Who else? Take this up to 303.” 303? That was… my room number. Was she my roommate? My annoyance cooled slightly. Okay, fine. Helping a roommate was better than starting a fight before classes even began. I grabbed the handle and hauled it upstairs. When I got to the room, the girl was already perched delicately on her chair, watching an older woman unpack her things. Seeing me stagger in, she complained loudly, “What took you so long? I paid you, didn’t I? Is this how you work?” “Uh, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” I said, catching my breath. “I live here too. I’m your roommate.” She wrinkled her nose, looking me up and down with distaste. “You live here?” Seriously? Could this girl be any more judgmental? So I was sweaty and my t-shirt was a little grubby from moving boxes. Big deal. I dropped her suitcase with a thud. “Yeah. Problem?” I turned to start unpacking my own stuff. She stomped her foot and muttered under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear, “Ugh, this school lets anyone in.” Okay, that did it. I spun around, ready to let her have it, but she immediately redirected her anger towards the older woman. “Didn’t I tell you to find someone else to help carry my bags? Where are they?” The woman clenched her fists, her voice carrying a faint, out-of-place accent. “I can manage just fine by myself, dearie. No need to spend extra money…” Dearie? Was this her mom? They didn’t look alike at all. The girl shot me a sideways glance, cutting the woman off. “Fine, whatever. You’re done here, you can go now!” After the woman left, the girl announced loudly towards my side of the room, as if explaining herself to the air, “Ugh, dealing with people like that is such a hassle. Never hiring help from the sticks again.” …Right. Trying way too hard to cover something up. Two That evening, all four roommates were finally settled in. Time for the awkward get-to-know-you introductions. The bossy girl, naturally, went last, clearly wanting the final word. “I’m Tiffany,” she announced, like she was presenting royalty. “My family’s in business. Oh, and I got you guys little welcome gifts! It’s a super high-end brand, really exclusive stuff.” She handed each of us a small bottle of sunscreen. I glanced at it. Never heard of the brand. Looked sketchy. One of the other roommates immediately started gushing, “Wow, Tiffany, thank you! This must have cost a fortune! You shouldn’t have!” I mumbled a quick “Thanks.” Tiffany’s eyes flickered to the plain, unlabeled bottle on my desk. She put on a fake concerned voice. “Chloe, you really shouldn’t use cheap sunscreen, you know? Especially stuff like that, without even a brand name. It’s not like, from Wish or something, nine ninety-nine with free shipping, is it?” Cheap? My skin is super sensitive. This stuff was custom-formulated for me by a specialist dermatologist overseas. That’s why there was no label. “Oh,” I said, deciding she wasn’t worth the explanation. I pushed the bottle she gave me aside. That seemed to fuel her. “Seriously, Chloe, you should listen! Skincare is just as important as having the right bag. Speaking of bags, oh my god, you guys have to see my new limited edition purse! It’ll blow your minds!” So transparent. She just wanted an excuse to show off. Made me think of my own closet full of designer bags, most barely used. I’d actually cleared out a bunch with minor scratches just the other day. Tiffany pulled out the bag like it was the crown jewels. “This is super limited edition. Practically none in the whole world! You can look, but absolutely no touching.” “Wow, Tiffany, you must be loaded! Buying limited editions just like that!” the other roommate fawned. Tiffany beamed, pushing the bag practically into my face. “Chloe, take a look. You’ll probably never see a bag like this again in your life.” Weird. Why did it look so familiar? The nagging feeling grew stronger. Without thinking, I blurted out, “Huh. That looks a lot like one I threw out last week. It wasn’t really limited edition, though. Just, you know, a few thousand bucks.” Tiffany’s face instantly changed. “What are you talking about? Chloe, are you just jealous or something?” Still denying it? “There’s a tiny scratch on the little outer pocket,” I pointed. “And a small tear on the inside lining.” She snatched the bag back, clutching it protectively. “I told you not to touch! It’s my bag, I know what’s on it! It must have gotten bumped during the move today!” The roommate who’d been praising Tiffany suddenly looked awkward. Tiffany stamped her foot again, glaring at me. “Chloe Stratton, you just watch yourself!” Fine by me. She started it. Bring it on. Three Later that week, the university held a freshman mixer event. Tiffany eagerly signed up to perform. She sang some Top 40 hit and got a decent round of applause. “Tiffany, you sing so well! Have you had lessons?” someone asked. Tiffany nonchalantly flipped her hair. “Oh no, I just mess around sometimes. Actually, Chloe is way better!” I nearly choked on my water. She’d been glancing my way the whole time, and this was why. Great. Now everyone was staring at me. My other roommate whispered, “Didn’t you say you didn’t have any talents? Why is she doing this?” I smirked. “Isn’t it obvious? She wants me to make a fool of myself so she looks better.” “So what are you going to do?” I stretched my legs and stood up. “I said I didn’t have any talents because I wanted to keep a low profile. But apparently, someone’s forcing my hand.” Ignoring Tiffany’s smug look, I walked to the center of the circle and gave a little bow. “Okay, don’t laugh.” The music started – a piece I knew well. I let the rhythm take over and started dancing. Slowly, the crowd’s attention shifted. Soon, there were cheers and shouts. Tiffany looked like she couldn’t believe her eyes, gripping her water bottle so hard her knuckles were white. A wave of satisfaction washed over me, and I started singing along with the track. More applause erupted. “Damn, she’s amazing!” “Total queen! Sings, dances, and she’s gorgeous? She’s gotta be our new campus crush!” “Whoa, those moves… you don’t get that fluid without years of practice. We’ve got a pro hiding among us!” They weren’t wrong. Thirteen years of dance. Plus voice lessons, piano, violin, even painting. My mom used to joke we had too much money and time on our hands. But mostly, I did it because I loved it. It was my stress relief. Whenever I felt down, picking up one of my hobbies always helped clear my head. When I finished, the applause was deafening. Even people from other groups had gathered around to watch. Tiffany was left standing awkwardly to the side. She pushed her way through the crowd, putting on a pitiful expression. “Chloe, you were incredible. I guess my singing wasn’t that great after all.” Her damsel-in-distress act immediately caught the attention of a couple of guys. “Hey, you were pretty good too,” one offered. Tiffany’s eyes lit up, clearly hoping for more praise. “But yeah,” the guy continued cluelessly, “compared to Chloe, you’ve got a ways to go. Don’t worry, maybe after practicing for like, ten years, you’ll catch up!” Tiffany’s lip trembled. She glared at him. “You are such an idiot!” she snapped, stalking off. The guy scratched his head, bewildered. “What’s her problem? Was I wrong? It’s the truth! God, some people are so sensitive!” Four My performance kind of blew up. Pictures of me were all over the campus gossip forums overnight. Now I felt like I couldn’t leave my room except to grab food. “Hey, Chloe, is this your boyfriend? The back of his head looks super hot!” My roommate showed me her phone. It was a picture someone had snapped on move-in day of Ethan carrying my bags. Even just from behind, you could tell he had that effortless rich-guy vibe – perfect posture, expensive casual clothes. “Yeah, that’s Ethan,” I admitted, suddenly missing him. Having a boyfriend that good-looking and not being able to kiss him every day felt like a waste. “You guys look great together!” Tiffany snorted from her side of the room, dripping sarcasm. “Guys who look good from the back are usually ugly from the front. Plus, he looks old. And driving a Cayenne? Chloe, honey, are you sure you’re not being… you know… sponsored?” She smirked. “Suddenly makes sense how you’d recognize that bag I have. Old rich guys love spoiling their little playthings.” “Sweetheart, did you hear that?” I was already dialing Ethan’s number, holding the phone out so Tiffany’s voice carried clearly. “My roommate thinks you’re an old man.” Ethan’s indignant, slightly wounded voice came through the speaker. “What? Old? I’m only four years older than you! Who’s the blind idiot calling me old? Baby, that hurts my feelings…” I watched Tiffany’s face flush, enjoying her discomfort. She glared at me, then doubled down. “Well, he is old! An old man with a broke girlfriend – you two are a perfect match!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392169”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel