After watching my A-list actor husband star in a steamy, R-rated thriller with a rising starlet, I accepted an invitation to join a divorce reality show. My best friend patted my shoulder with a loud laugh. “Doing PR for your husband’s new movie again? You’re going all out for this!” Everyone thought this was just playful banter between the entertainment industry’s ten-year model couple. They all tried their hardest to play matchmaker and “help” us reconcile on the show. The man who was notoriously quiet and never understood romance clumsily but earnestly prepared surprises for me on camera. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to please me, at the end of every episode, I selected the “Still Want a Divorce” option. Even the audience couldn’t stand it anymore, flooding the internet with comments saying I didn’t deserve him. It wasn’t until the season finale, seeing my unwavering insistence on divorce, that his eyes turned red. He dropped to his knees right in front of me. “Chloe, I have never done a single thing to betray you. Why won’t you give me one more chance?” I smiled. “Alright. I’ll give you three chances.” “Three questions. If you can answer just one of them correctly, I will drop the divorce.” Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief, including Ethan himself. After all, when it came to knowing me, if Ethan ranked second, no one would dare claim first. But after I asked the very first question, everyone was dumbfounded. 1. “In the third year of our marriage, my cravings suddenly changed.” “That year, what was my absolute favorite fruit?” Hearing the question, the tense audience in the studio immediately relaxed. Ethan looked like a massive weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He even shot me a confident smile. “Chloe, this is way too easy. Want to swap it for a harder one?” I shook my head and wrote my answer on a card, handing it to the host. “Just answer the question.” Ethan’s pen flew across his whiteboard. In less than two seconds, he was done. When he flipped his board around to reveal the word “Apples,” a wave of relief washed over the crowd. In the observer’s booth, Olivia Hayes—this year’s hot favorite for Best Actress—laughed and teased, “It looks like Chloe is just throwing a little tantrum with Ethan. She might choose ‘divorce’ every episode, but her heart is clearly still tied to him.” “You two are really making us and the audience part of your little roleplay, aren’t you?” I ignored her passive-aggressive teasing. I simply looked at a brimmingly confident Ethan. “Are you sure that’s your answer?” Ethan’s lips curled up. He leaned back in his chair, all his previous tension completely gone. “Chloe, back then, there were times we could barely afford to eat. But you would rather skip buying groceries just to buy apples. If it wasn’t because you loved them, why else would you do it?” “We even got into a huge fight over it.” “Besides, when it comes to anything regarding you, I couldn’t forget it even if I tried.” When those deeply affectionate, captivating eyes locked onto me, the studio erupted into deafening cheers. I stared at the face I had once loved so desperately. Without saying a word, I slowly turned to the host. The host, who had been swooning over our “romance,” smiled sheepishly. She quickly pulled out my answer card, fully intending to announce Ethan’s victory. But as her eyes scanned the card, she froze. A flash of pure shock crossed her eyes. “Mr. Vance, you…” “You got it wrong.” 2. In an instant, the studio went so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The confident smile on Ethan’s face stiffened. But having weathered countless PR storms, he quickly regained his composure. “Chloe, you aren’t doing this on purpose, are you?” “I remember photos of you buying apples went viral back then. Your fans even nicknamed you the ‘Apple Beauty’.” “Not to mention, you were slicing apples at home every single day. The whole house smelled like apples. How could I possibly remember it wrong?” In the audience, Ethan’s super-fans began to defend him. “Exactly! During an interview back then, you even said you were super interested in fruit farming and wanted to plant your own apple trees! If that isn’t loving apples, what is?!” “Chloe, you’ve already made things so difficult for Ethan in the previous episodes. Could you stop pushing your luck?” I ignored their aggressive questioning and calmly asked, “Ethan, do you remember what happened that year?” Ethan let out a cold chuckle. “Of course I do.” “I offended some powerful people and was practically blacklisted by the entire film industry. If you hadn’t stayed by my side and encouraged me, I probably never would have gotten the chance to make my comeback.” “That’s why I can’t figure it out. We survived those brutal days together, so why do you want to walk away from me now?” His eyes grew dark, carrying a profound, indescribable sorrow. The cameras and fans frantically snapped photos of his “vulnerability.” I remained ice-cold. “Yes. Because of some drama, you offended an A-list director and couldn’t get a single role for over half a year.” “Until a low-budget, indie arthouse film approached you. They wanted you to play a mute orchard farmer who falls in love with a city girl, only to be abandoned by her.” “Honestly, you can barely even find that movie online anymore. But that specific role is what laid the groundwork for your massive comeback.” “It was because that niche indie film got critical acclaim that you were able to return to the big screen and book the blockbuster that made you the massive star you are today. Do you remember all of that?” My voice grew quieter as I spoke. The grief I tried so hard to mask began to bleed through my words. Yet Ethan still looked entirely confused. “What does that have to do with your question?” I looked up at this man—the man who claimed to know everything about me, yet had completely erased the reality of our past. I let out a bitter laugh. “Did you forget that when that role was offered to you… you didn’t want it?” “You didn’t want to stoop so low as to play a rural farmer. You wanted to reject the script outright.” “I was the one who forced you to take it. I was the one who went out every day to buy apples and saplings. I spent hours in our backyard researching how to plant them, studying the differences between apple varieties, and writing notebooks full of research.” “Those notes became the foundation of your character research. I was the one enduring the blistering sun and pouring rain. But in the end, you were the one who got all the fame and glory!” Years of deep-seated resentment made me want to scream, but my rational mind forced the agony down. Ignoring my grief, Ethan maintained his eerie calm. “Okay, so? What was your favorite fruit?” I looked up at him. I was so used to him casually brushing past my pain. I said flatly, “Green tangerines.” Hearing that answer, Ethan suddenly laughed. Even Olivia, sitting in the observer’s booth, couldn’t help but interject. “Chloe, it’s a known fact that you hate sour things.” “Look, even if you feel like you sacrificed a lot for Ethan back then and want some payback now, there’s no need to tell a self-contradictory lie, is there?” The entire studio’s gaze bore into me, but I didn’t feel an ounce of pressure. I just said calmly, “You’re right. So what exactly do you think caused my cravings to change so drastically?” I looked at Ethan and caught a fleeting, subtle flash of guilt in his eyes. I smiled. I stopped looking at him and shifted my gaze to Olivia, who had been gunning for me all night. “Because back then, I was already pregnant.” 3. Under the shocked gasps of the entire studio, Ethan lost his composure. He clearly hadn’t expected me to reveal this. His voice was laced with panic and shock. “Chloe, you never told me…” “Second question.” I coldly cut off his interrogation. “What is my favorite movie?” This question was a trap. Over the years, whenever I was asked this in public interviews, my answer was always different. But they all shared one common trait: my answer was always “Ethan’s next movie.” When he first made his comeback, it didn’t make much of a splash. It was me who willingly burned my own public goodwill, constantly bringing him up in my interviews, using every glowing adjective in the dictionary to hype up his movies just to get the public curious about him again. Later, a paparazzi happened to catch a video of him visiting me on set. Despite coming from an elite family and looking flawlessly glamorous, when I tossed my half-eaten lunch box at him, he ate my leftovers without a hint of disgust. After that video leaked, Ethan was instantly crowned the entertainment industry’s “Ultimate Good Husband.” Suddenly, offers for “perfect husband” roles came flooding in, many from top-tier directors. But he politely declined them all, citing one single reason: I would get jealous. So, in the public eye, I became the obsessed, insanely jealous wife, while he was the brilliant talent whose career was being held back by his overwhelming love for me. Thinking of the past, I gave a self-deprecating laugh. I looked quietly at Ethan, waiting for his answer. “Roman Holiday.” Ethan looked incredibly confident. “Chloe, I know I’m right about this one. I read your diary.” “You wrote that you and I were like the main characters in Roman Holiday, just in reverse.” “You also wrote that it was your favorite movie, but it had your least favorite ending.” “Actually, I’ve always wanted to tell you: we will never be separated like the characters in that movie. I’ve been using my actions to prove that status and background are illusions. Our love can overcome anything.” “So why… why won’t you just give me a chance?” He suddenly buried his face in his hands. This man, who never showed weakness to the public, now looked so fragile that even his hair seemed to weep. But I just watched him and said slowly, “You’re right. That was my favorite movie.” Ethan’s head snapped up, the sorrow in his eyes instantly replaced by overwhelming joy. “But that was in the past.” “My favorite movie now is Breaking the Cocoon.” Hearing those words, the shock in Ethan’s eyes was instantly swallowed by deep, undeniable guilt. In a fraction of a second, every single pair of eyes in the studio darted straight toward Olivia Hayes in the observer’s booth. Because everyone knew that Breaking the Cocoon was marketed as a movie based on the real-life love story between me and Ethan. Yet the male and female leads were played by Ethan… and Olivia. 4. “Chloe, what is that supposed to mean?” Olivia shot up from her seat, looking flustered and defensive. “Ethan and I were just professional co-stars. You two are having marital issues; there’s no need to drag me into the mud!” “Besides, you were the one who dropped out of the role citing ‘health reasons.’ The production team had no choice but to beg me to step in at the last minute to save the project.” “I’ve already faced enough controversy over this movie. If you’re still this insanely jealous, I suggest you lock your husband in the house and never let him leave. Otherwise, he’s going to have to interact with women when he steps outside. Wouldn’t that just kill you?” The audience began whispering aggressively. Even the live stream chat was overwhelmingly on Olivia’s side. “Is Chloe crazy? She’s throwing shade at an actress who literally just did her job?” “Ethan is so unlucky. He actually fell in love with a woman whose jealousy knows no bounds. The fact that he hasn’t divorced her yet proves how much he loves her.” “Why do the good guys always end up with the worst women? I loved their chemistry in Breaking the Cocoon. Too bad Ethan got married so young. Sigh.” “Just divorce her already! It’s exhausting to watch. What kind of man could possibly satisfy a toxic drama queen like Chloe?” While the audience murmured and Olivia fumed—almost storming off the set if the producers hadn’t stopped her—Ethan maintained his facade. He looked like a man utterly exhausted by my antics, yet still desperately trying to hold onto his gentle patience. “Chloe, whatever is going on between us, let’s not drag innocent people into it, okay?” “I don’t want a divorce. But I am so, so tired. I’ve given you full access to my phone. I itemize every single expense just so you can interrogate me about it.” “If I’ve done all of that and you still refuse to believe I’m innocent, I don’t know how else to defend myself.” I didn’t even bother engaging with his lies. “You got the second question wrong.” “Now, for the final question.” “Host! I request a recess!” Olivia angrily interrupted me. I didn’t shut my mouth like she wanted; instead, I kept my eyes locked directly onto Ethan. “What is the most unforgettable anniversary gift you ever gave me?” After getting the green light from the director, the host walked over with a forced smile to physically intervene. “Chloe, we’re pausing the recording for a break. Let’s save the last question for the second half.” “You must be exhausted. Why don’t you take this time to rest…” “It was the fireworks display I prepared for you last year,” Ethan answered rapidly. “Yes. And no,” I immediately replied. Ethan laughed, a sound born of pure frustration. “Stop torturing me. Tell me, how is it ‘no’?” A tragic, chilling smile crept onto my lips. The tears I had been fighting back finally breached my defenses, streaming down my face. “Ethan, do you really not know?” I suddenly reached up and unzipped my elegant evening gown, letting the fabric drop. The second my bare skin was exposed to the studio lights, a collective, horrified gasp echoed through the room. 5. Seeing that everyone had gotten a crystal-clear look, I immediately pulled my dress back up. Without another word, I headed straight for the dressing room. I knew my goal had been achieved. Once this episode aired, there was absolutely no way Ethan could refuse my demand for a divorce. But just as I turned to leave, Ethan grabbed my arm. He hugged me fiercely from behind, crying, his voice trembling like a child who had just lost his favorite toy. “No, Chloe, you never told me about this.” “I thought you were just mad at me back then, which is why you ignored me for months. I didn’t know you…” If this were a few years ago, hearing this kind of pathetic, remorseful confession would have moved me to instant forgiveness. But today, I simply peeled his hands off me and said calmly, “Enough, Ethan.” “Your acting is incredible. But I am no longer your leading lady. You don’t need to put on a performance for me.” “I’ll see you at the lawyer’s office in a week to finalize the papers. If you refuse to sign, I will gladly explain the answers to those last two questions to the entire world.” “You wouldn’t want to see your precious career burn to the ground, would you?” Feeling his grip loosen, I walked away without looking back and entered my private dressing room. I had barely sat down when the door was shoved open. I thought it was Ethan, coming to grovel and beg. But when I turned around, I saw Olivia Hayes—the face that had made me sick to my stomach so many times I had fantasized about taking us both down together. Seeing me sitting there, calm and collected, she sneered. Her sharp red acrylic nails dug into the palms of her hands. I thought she was going to hurl threats or passive-aggressive insults at me. But the very first thing she said, her voice tight with suppressed rage, was: “Name your price.” 6. For a second, I was stunned. Seeing my silence, she scoffed, walked over, and unapologetically dropped onto the sofa, staring at me with lazy arrogance. “Chloe, drop the act. You retired from acting years ago. You suddenly causing a huge scene, demanding a divorce, and going on a reality show… it’s all for money, isn’t it?” “I’ve already done my research. After your mom died, your family’s financial situation was a disaster. I heard your grandmother and younger sister are bedridden with a severe illness. Their medical bills run into the millions.” “Back in the day, you emptied your entire savings to fund Ethan’s comeback. But once he got famous, he kept an iron grip on the finances. So while you look glamorous to the public, you’re actually completely broke.” “Since you only came on this show to extort money to pay for your family, let’s make a deal. I’ll give you eight million dollars, after taxes. The only condition is that you withdraw from this show immediately. Deal?” Staring at Olivia’s brazen, entitled face, I smiled faintly. “Why not add a clause that requires me to divorce Ethan?” “After all, you only came back to the States for him, didn’t you?” Olivia’s face darkened. She laughed coldly. “So what if I did?” “He and I were engaged originally! We dated for years! If his family hadn’t gone bankrupt back then, causing my snob of a father to force us apart, I never would have lost him.” “If we’re talking about who came first, you are the homewrecker.” “I admit, after I came back and we shot that movie, we did have a physical relationship for a while. But so what?” “I never badmouthed you to him. I never pressured him to divorce you. Our fling was strictly contained to the filming period. We were just ‘set spouses’. I didn’t actually destroy your marriage.” “But look at you. Instead of trying to improve your own career, you act like a bitter, nagging housewife, obsessing over these trivial things. Don’t you find it pathetic?” Olivia was getting more and more worked up. She only stopped when Ethan, who had walked in unnoticed, let out a low growl: “Shut up!” Seeing Ethan’s face looking like murder, she scoffed, turned on her heel, and stormed out. The door slammed shut. I looked at the man standing just a few feet away—a man I had once loved with everything I had—and smiled calmly. “You heard her. She offered eight million to buy me out. What about you, Mr. A-List?” “I’ll give you a discount. Five million, plus the signed divorce papers, and I won’t leak a single word.” “You make more than that on a single commercial. Why be so stingy?” Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose, looking displeased. “Chloe, I told you. As long as you drop the divorce, I will transfer every single asset I own into your name.” “I didn’t want to use dirty tactics. You forced my hand, over and over again!” I watched him quietly. I didn’t even have the energy to laugh anymore. Married for ten years. My husband had just won Best Actor at an international film festival, pulling in tens of millions in endorsements. Yet, aside from a few hundred dollars of grocery money in my pocket, I had absolutely zero savings. Who would believe that? But it was the absolute, unvarnished truth. After a long, silent standoff, Ethan sighed and pulled me into his arms. “The recording for the show ends today. I promise you, none of the footage from today will ever see the light of day.” “Your body… I’ll find the best doctors in the world to fix it. As long as you stop bringing up divorce, I will cover your grandmother and sister’s medical bills in full.” “Chloe, believe me. Even if I did things in the past that hurt you, even if I played around… it meant nothing. It was never my intention to hurt you.” “From now on, I will love you and spoil you a thousand times more. I will never let you suffer another grievance.” “Stop making a scene, okay?” I didn’t struggle. I just stood there, letting his final sentence echo in my mind. Stop making a scene. It seemed that after every massive blowout, he would use those exact words as the final verdict. As if every tragedy in our marriage was just a solo tantrum thrown by me. Starting with my “outburst,” and ending with my “apology.” But this time, I truly refused to play along. No matter how moving his performance was, I remained as cold and unyielding as a stone. “Ethan. From the very beginning to this exact moment, I only have one demand.” “Divorce.”

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The sky fell. One second, I was at a victory party, soaking in the compliments of my peers. The next second, I woke up in an unfamiliar restroom, a searing pain tearing through my lower abdomen. Splash— A gush of warm liquid rushed out from between my legs. My legs gave out, and I barely managed to stay standing by gripping the sink. Meeting the eyes in the mirror, my entire body went rigid! The woman who had her uterus removed due to an ectopic pregnancy… I had become her! 1 “No… how is this possible?” “Maya? Are you okay?” A woman forcefully pushed the door open from the outside: “The doctor said you can’t get agitated! Your stitches will burst!” She reached out to support me, but I instinctively blocked her: “Prosperity, democracy, civility, harmony…” My temples throbbed wildly. “Blood! Why is there so much blood!” The woman cried out in alarm, catching my swaying body. My vision began to shake and darken; the voices in my ears faded in and out. I was half-carried, half-dragged back to the bed, my pant legs freezing cold against my skin. “Lie down quickly, Maya, you need to pull yourself together. Don’t scare Mom!” Collapsed on the bed, I kept replaying the scenes from before. As the plaintiff’s lawyer, I attended a victory party after winning the second-instance trial. On the way back, I was in a car accident. But how could I wake up in the body of the defendant? “Where’s my phone?” The woman hurriedly pulled a phone from her pocket and handed it to me. But when I lit up the screen, I realized I had no idea what the passcode was. Just then, the phone rang. It was Liam. My client. “Listen here, return that engagement money right now! I’m telling you, I need that money urgently, and I won’t accept any excuses!” A buzzing filled my ears: “Liam?” “What?” “Where are you?” The person on the other end paused for a second before reacting: “Heh, wanted to see me make a fool of myself? Sorry to disappoint.” When he spoke again, his tone carried undisguised smugness: “Not only am I perfectly fine, but Attorney Vance is fine too.” Attorney Vance. My heart plummeted. “Where is he?” “Sitting right next to me. Just a mild concussion.” A sudden, sharp thought flashed through my mind: “Stay away from him!” “What?” He clearly didn’t care: “Stop putting on an act for me. Let me tell you, this is karma! Even God couldn’t stand you. Giving you an ectopic pregnancy—your life is ruined!” It felt like something exploded in my brain. “Shut up.” “Ah—!” Almost simultaneously, a scream came through the receiver. It was Liam! I threw off the covers and tried to get out of bed, but a tearing, heavy pain instantly shot through my abdomen. “Maya! What are you doing?!” The woman next to me grabbed my arm tightly: “You just had surgery, you can’t move around!” “I need to see Liam.” “What?” The woman’s eyes went wide: “Are you crazy? He did this to you, and you still want to go near him?” I grabbed a coat and draped it over my shoulders, my legs trembling uncontrollably: “If I don’t go right now, someone is going to die!” That woman is occupying my body right now. It’s the perfect time for her to get revenge. And this idiot chose this exact moment to bring up the ectopic pregnancy. He really had a death wish! I rushed to the door, the cold wind hitting me, making me shiver violently. Looking down, I saw a large patch of dark red on my pants; I hadn’t even had time to change. Every passerby gave me strange looks. I rushed to the side of the road to hail a cab, but every car that approached noticeably hesitated before speeding away. No car would stop. “Maya!” The woman was about to catch up to me. I grabbed a shared bike off the street, hopped on, and pedaled furiously toward the hospital. As long as she hasn’t crippled him, I’ll find a way to get her out… My phone rang again. My heart tightened. Trembling, I pulled it out and answered. Heavy panting came from the other end. It was my own voice: “Maya?” I tried to keep my voice steady: “Don’t do anything stupid! Intentional assault carries a minimum of three years.” “Heh…” 2 A low chuckle came through the receiver: “I already have nothing left. Do you think I’m afraid of going to jail?” My heart hammered in my chest. I lowered my voice: “Do you want to… truly take him down?” The other end fell dead silent. “What did you say?” I seized every second, pedaling furiously: “Even though we lost the second instance, I have a way to make him pay a hundred times over for everything he’s done.” The person on the other end didn’t answer. Through the receiver, I could faintly hear the chaotic sounds of scuffling and shouting. A few seconds later, that familiar voice finally spoke: “Come bail me out at the police station.” “Fuck!” The tires screeched against the pavement. I quickly turned around and rushed toward the police station. But the moment I turned around, my entire body suddenly froze— The bike seat, the side of my leg, the pedals… dripping dark red trailed all the way. All the pedestrians stopped and stared at me in shock. At the hem of my pants, blood was still dripping onto the ground, drop by drop. A girl nearby, looking pale, nervously offered me a sanitary pad: “Miss… you, you should take care of that first. Where are you going… let me take you.” I shook my head, my vision already starting to go dark. I absolutely could not let myself get a criminal record for assaulting my client. “Miss!” The girl stepped forward and caught my swaying body: “You’re bleeding so much, you’re going to pass out on the way!” “To… to the police station… hurry…” Before I could finish, darkness swallowed everything. In my hazy state, it felt like I was falling into a long nightmare. Hands rummaged through my abdomen, digging and pulling, before raising a mass of bloody flesh and dangling it in front of my eyes: “Look, this is your uterus. Now, you’re worthless.” “No—!” I woke up with a start, cold sweat soaking my back. The IV drip swayed before my eyes. The girl was keeping watch beside me. I grabbed her wrist: “Where am I?” “In the hospital. Don’t be afraid.” She quickly comforted me: “You lost too much blood and passed out. The doctor said you’d be in danger if you didn’t get a transfusion.” I shot a look at the clock on the wall— It was over. Three hours had already passed. I threw off the covers, reaching to pull out the IV needle, only to find I had been changed into a clean hospital gown. The girl pressed my hand down firmly, her eyes red: “Miss, no matter what happened, nothing is more important than your life! Losing a uterus doesn’t matter, but if your body gives out, then you truly lose everything.” I opened my mouth, my throat tight. This feeling… is it guilt? I slowly leaned back against the pillow and set the IV drip to its maximum speed. It was too late. Once the news of the intentional assault spread, my career would be completely over. By the time I arrived at the police station, it was completely dark. On the bench in the mediation room, I saw “myself.” Sitting quietly, head bowed. Hearing footsteps, “he” looked up. The moment our eyes met, tears rolled down my face without warning. I looked away and handed my ID to the police officer. “Where is Liam?” The officer opened the report: “Liam has been assessed as having minor injuries. He has explicitly demanded compensation; otherwise, he will not rule out pressing criminal charges.” I nodded, walked over to Maya, pulled the phone from her pocket, and texted my fiancée: “Sienna, it’s me. I ran into a bit of trouble here and I’m at the police station. I need you to come bail me out.” Immediately after, a message popped up: “Arthur, we’re over. The way you handled this case showed me your true character. I can’t fathom whether I’d end up like another Maya in the future. Don’t contact me again.” 3 “Fuck!” I stared at the screen, finding it unbelievable. It was just an ordinary lawsuit. How did it become a reflection of my character and her future? “Sienna, don’t be like this. Come get me out first, and I’ll explain everything in person.” But the message I sent vanished into the void. I paced back and forth anxiously. The movement made my wound ache, and cold sweat beaded on my forehead again. A woman’s body is such a hassle, getting dizzy and lightheaded so easily. Without a guarantor, the process couldn’t proceed. Was I really going to spend the night in a holding cell? Out of options, I walked to a deserted corner outside the police station and used Maya’s phone to call Liam. He answered after just one ring. The undisguised smugness in his voice came through the receiver: “If you want to talk about money, save your breath. The court has already ruled, and there’s nothing you can say to change that.” “Liam,” I cut him off: “Come over here and sign the settlement agreement to release Arthur. He’s willing to give you $100,000 privately, off the books.” “What?” The person on the other end was clearly taken aback: “Arthur? What’s your relationship with him? Today he lunged at me like a mad dog, constantly shouting about your innocence… Did you buy him off with your body a long time ago?” I pressed hard against my throbbing temples: “Shut your filthy mouth.” “If you want the money, come sign right now. The offer expires.” Without giving him a chance to speak again, I hung up. The night wind was freezing, making me shiver all over. But I knew with Liam’s greedy nature, he would definitely come. Walking back to the mediation area, I looked around and slowly sat down on a bench near the corner. Unconsciously, I inched a little closer to Maya. She seemed to notice and looked up at me: “How do you plan to turn this around?” I let out a deep sigh: “This battle was fought wrong from the very beginning. Fighting it within the framework of marriage law is essentially admitting that you are a defective product. The judge only looks at your residual value.” “Then… what should have been done?” She looked at me, confused. “The right path is to sue for personal injury compensation. You permanently lost an organ due to a pregnancy-related illness. In legal terms, this is an irreversible impairment of bodily integrity. This isn’t an engagement money dispute; it’s a personal injury claim.” “The first step should be to apply for a forensic medical assessment. The loss of a uterus or fallopian tubes constitutes at least a level-seven disability, perhaps higher. This isn’t just a rating; it’s the legal classification of the injury you suffered.” “And then what?” “Then, we file a lawsuit based on disputes over the right to life, body, and health. In the compensation claim, besides medical expenses, lost wages, and disability compensation, the most important part is compensation for mental distress.” I looked at her: “What we can claim on this new battlefield will far exceed that ridiculous engagement money. What was lost before was just an argument over property; what we need to win back now is your human dignity.” Her eyes slowly widened as she looked at me in disbelief. But I didn’t dare hold her gaze. Because I wasn’t really helping her. I was helping— Myself. 4 Just before dawn, Liam finally arrived. When I woke up on the bench, I found my own overcoat draped over me. Under the supervision of the police officer, the two signed the settlement agreement. “Arthur” was released on the spot. Liam stopped in front of me, grabbing my collar: “The engagement money! Return it to me right now!” I looked at the man behind me: “Give it to him.” After receiving the money, Liam’s gaze shifted back and forth between the two of us. He spat hard on the ground: “Ptui! You filthy couple. And the gold jewelry! Give it to me right now too.” “I don’t have the jewelry on me. I’ll give it to you in a few days.” Liam sneered: “Cut the bullshit! Give me the cash equivalent!” “What’s going on here?! Are you trying to start a fight in a police station?!” Just then, the duty officer walked over briskly. Liam immediately let go, instantly putting on a fawning expression. “Officer, we just finished dealing with everything.” Then he glared at me viciously: “If you don’t return the gold within three days, I’ll apply for mandatory enforcement.” With that, he strutted away. Watching his arrogant retreating back, I instinctively clenched my fists. The next second, a dull ache shot through my abdomen. The man noticed something was wrong and stepped forward to support me: “Do you want to go to the hospital? You look terrible.” “No.” I forced the words out: “To the forensic medical assessment center. Right now.” She was visibly taken aback: “You… don’t you need to rest for a bit?” “No need.” “While the blood is still fresh, the wound is new, and the physiological responses to pain and blood loss are at their peak—this is the most direct evidence to show the medical examiner.” While hailing a cab, I gave rapid instructions: “When you fill out the authorization form later, the assessment items must be written in two lines. Line one: Loss of uterus and fallopian tubes resulting in bodily organ defect. Line two: Permanent loss of related reproductive functions.” She frowned: “Is there a difference?” “A world of difference.” The taxi arrived, and I pulled the door open, painfully climbing in: “If you just write ‘organ loss’, they might just stamp a level-seven rating on it according to the standards. But by adding ‘permanent loss of function’, they’ll factor in all the sequelae.” The figures of people in front of me began to blur. I pinched my thigh hard to stay awake. “When we get to the hospital, go to the psychology department first for an evaluation. Tell them I have severe insomnia, suicidal thoughts, a physiological aversion to the opposite sex, and am completely unable to work. That way, the chances of getting a diagnosis of severe depression or PTSD are highest.” “I want everyone to understand that what was removed wasn’t just a piece of flesh, but a woman’s entire future.” She was silent for a long time. Then, tears rolled down her face without warning. I wanted to reach out and do something, but my fingertips stopped just as I lifted them. I didn’t have the right. Her current predicament was entirely my doing. “Arthur,” she suddenly spoke: “Do you regret it?” My breath caught. Yes. I regretted it a long time ago. “…Fortunately,” “Heaven gave me a chance to make amends.” A bizarre car accident caused top lawyer Arthur Vance—who had used the “useless uterus” argument as a weapon to win his case—to swap souls with Maya, the victim whose uterus he had personally destroyed. Forced to live in each other’s bodies, the two form an alliance of revenge amidst extreme displacement and pain. Using top-tier legal intellect, they launch a comprehensive reckoning—legal, social, and personal—against the abuser, ultimately achieving the ultimate judgment on self and justice in the process. 5 After getting out of the car, she carried me securely in her arms. How should I describe it? It was very strange. Carrying myself. Next, Maya moved into my house and took care of me meticulously. It allowed me to see another side of her. Gentle, considerate. And quite a good cook. Even standing amidst the ruins of her life, she could still manage everything perfectly. I take back what I said before. Losing a uterus does not mean a life is ruined. An excellent woman will not let a setback obscure her brilliance. In two weeks, we finally got the forensic assessment certificate. Due to the removal of the uterus and bilateral fallopian tubes, the reproductive function is completely lost, constituting a level-nine disability. Furthermore, the endocrine environment has been fundamentally destroyed, requiring long-term replacement therapy, accompanied by severe post-traumatic stress disorder. Excellent! This battle was basically half-won. I began the next phase of operations. Using the identity of his ex-girlfriend, I sent Liam a legal notice: Submitting the assessment results and the compensation claim together, giving him fifteen days to negotiate, demanding $800,000 in compensation. Maya looked at me, confused: “What if Liam simply ignores it?” “Then we apply for a medical malpractice assessment.” “At the time, aside from removing your uterus, was there really no other option?” “If they say there was, but didn’t adequately inform you, then the hospital should share the liability with Liam.” “If they say there wasn’t, that this was the only chance for survival, yet Liam used this disaster to commit secondary social murder against you—degrading your personhood, plundering your assets, and even negating your value…” “That… is ironclad proof of his character assassination against you.” 6 As expected, Liam scoffed at the legal notice I sent. He even sent me a middle finger emoji in the chat window. “Fucking $800,000? Look at yourself, what part of you is worth $800,000?! Let me tell you, you’re not getting a dime. Hurry up and send the gold back!” My rationality crumbled instantly. I grabbed the phone: “Sienna, handle this case for Maya. Name your price.” A few seconds later, the screen lit up. “?” “Arthur, is your brain damaged from the crash? You represented Liam to take down Maya, and now you want me to represent Maya to take down Liam? What kind of twisted game are you playing?” I took a deep breath and typed, word by word: “I was too narrow-minded before. I thought she only lost an organ. Now I realize she lost her entire future. The assessment report says level-nine disability and severe depression. She doesn’t deserve this kind of ending, so I want to correct this mistake.” The ‘typing’ indicator lasted for a long time. “Send me the address.” Half an hour later, Sienna pushed open the door to Starbucks. She looked around and saw that I was the only one there. “I’ve read the assessment report. Level-nine disability, severe depression with PTSD. So what is your claim?” “Dispute over the right to life and health, claiming continuous personal injury by Liam, and seeking compensation for mental distress.” Sienna’s fingers paused over her keyboard for a moment. “Ms. Maya, your approach to this claim is very professional.” “Prolonged illness makes one a doctor.” I scratched my neck awkwardly. “Is that so? What is your relationship with Arthur now?” The air was quiet for a few seconds. “No relationship. Maybe he just… feels guilty.” “Guilty?” Sienna let out an extremely faint smile: “I’ve known him for seven years. The word ‘guilt’ is not in his dictionary.” With that, she put away her tablet and pulled an authorization agreement from her briefcase: “Using this as the entry point gives us a very high chance of winning.” “Secondly, all my female friends have only cared about one question lately: when will justice finally arrive?” “Tell Arthur that the best thing he can do right now is disappear completely. Because every time he shows his face, he reminds everyone that he played a part in putting you where you are today.” I picked up the pen, my fingertips trembling uncontrollably. I never thought that such a small case would lead me to lose everything. Losing respect, losing love. “Do you still hate him now?” My hand paused, and the pen fell onto the table. “I don’t know.” I heard my own voice: “Right now, I just want to get back what’s mine, and then move forward.” Sienna put away the agreement. When she reached the door, she looked back at me. That look made me inexplicably guilty. “What do we do next?” The person behind me slowly stepped forward. I looked out the window; Sienna’s car had already driven away. “We go prepare for the next step.” “What step?” “Securing the evidence of his character assassination.”

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Arthur’s little secretary broke my favorite teacup. Furious, I punished her by making her act as my maid for the day. In retaliation, she turned around and climbed into Arthur’s bed, sending me photos to show off. “Mrs. Sterling, what makes you think you’re guaranteed to be the lady of the Sterling house forever?” “I’m younger and prettier than you. Who gets the last laugh is still up in the air.” I slapped her so hard she ended up in the hospital with tinnitus. Three days later, Arthur punished me by forcing me to kneel and apologize to his little secretary. Looking at the hickeys on his neck, I rewarded him with a slap too. Arthur touched the red mark on his face and chuckled. “Mrs. Sterling.” “It seems you have plenty of energy. How about I cut off your allowance? Let’s see how you throw your little princess tantrums then.” He exiled me to the suburbs for six whole months. Six months later, Arthur finally remembered me. He arrived at the villa door, acting like he was bestowing a great favor, and asked if I had learned my lesson. Carrying a designer bag, I had just stepped out of my boyfriend’s luxury car. I met Arthur’s shocked, slightly red eyes. My boyfriend laughed. “Mr. Sterling, if you won’t take care of your wife, she’ll just find someone else who will.” 1 Oliver thoughtfully opened the car door for me. “Chloe, remember to get a good night’s sleep tonight. I’ll pick you up tomorrow to go to the art exhibition.” I nodded, keeping my eyes straight ahead as I walked toward the villa. “Chloe!” Arthur’s exasperated voice rang out. With bloodshot eyes, he stepped forward and grabbed my wrist. “How can you be so cheap?” “I told you to reflect on your actions in the suburbs for six months, and this is how you reflect?” His eyes seemed to shoot fire as he looked back and forth between me and Oliver. “I was wondering why you didn’t send me a single message these past six months.” “Turns out you found another man to keep you a long time ago.” “Two-timing me. Are you that cheap?” I wasn’t angry; I just let out a soft sneer. “And what about you, Mr. Sterling?” “When we remarried, didn’t you promise to cut ties completely with Mia?” “Yet you’re still stringing her along, two-timing me.” “What right do you have to insult me?” We were just the pot calling the kettle black. We were exactly the same. Arthur was choked, unable to speak. But men never reflect on their own actions. Even when they’re in the wrong, they just look for another angle to attack you. For instance, he insulted my lowly background. “Back then, you couldn’t even afford to go to school. You couldn’t even scrape together $100 for monthly living expenses.” “Chloe, don’t forget, if I hadn’t funded your college education, if I hadn’t married you and given you resources and status, how could you possibly be where you are today?” His furious tone made him sound like a rabid dog. But I just looked at him flatly. “Even without you, relying on myself, I would still be exactly where I am today.” To me, men were just a stepping stone. That man could be Arthur, or it could be someone else. It made no difference. This was a truth I only understood after divorcing and remarrying him. The first divorce happened because Arthur cheated. Just like a cliché plot from a trashy CEO romance novel. He fell in love with his young, pretty secretary, Mia. At a cocktail party, the two of them ended up rolling around together, clothes disheveled. And just like every other woman in that situation, I threw a crazy fit, grabbing anything I could find and throwing it at them. Arthur, however, silently shielded Mia. He stared at me like I was insane. “Chloe, are you done throwing your tantrum?” “Look at yourself right now. You look like a shrew. Aren’t you embarrassed?” With red, swollen eyes, I screamed hoarsely. “Arthur, I’ve been with you since I was 18! Now that you have everything, you cheat on me. Have you no shame?!” Arthur sneered lightly and grabbed my wrist. “If you had any shame, you wouldn’t have given yourself to me when you were 18.” That single sentence completely shattered all the love I had for him. This man, whom I had loved so deeply I felt drunk on it… For the first time, he made me feel alienated, made me feel it wasn’t worth it. I couldn’t tolerate a single grain of sand in my eye, so I demanded a divorce. Arthur agreed very readily. After signing the divorce papers, he mockingly said to me, light as a feather: “Chloe, if you can’t survive out there, come find me. I might just give you a chance to remarry me.” Three months after the divorce. I searched all over Seattle for a job, but no one would hire me. In that moment, I finally understood Arthur’s words. I understood what he meant by “if you can’t survive.” At the same time, the projects Arthur was handling couldn’t proceed without me. Taking what we both needed, we remarried. At the time, I specifically warned Arthur. “Tell your little secretary to get lost. Keep her out of my sight.” “Otherwise, don’t blame me for being ruthless.” But she intentionally provoked me. If she wasn’t spilling water on my documents, she was breaking my teacup. I was just keeping things professional, punishing her according to office rules. But Arthur got angry. He punished me by exiling me to the suburbs to reflect for six months, and I obeyed. But now, why is Arthur the one getting so exasperated? I let out a cold laugh. “If there’s nothing else, please step aside, Mr. Sterling.” “I’ve been on dates all day. I’m very tired and need to go inside and rest.” Arthur gripped my wrist tightly. “Weren’t you so obsessed with me?” “Didn’t you use to check up on me every few days? Why don’t you care anymore?” He frowned, completely baffled. “Chloe, how did you turn into this?” 2 I paused. Was I the one who changed first? I turned my head to look at Arthur. “Mr. Sterling, is your memory failing you?” “You were the one who said that after we remarried, if you cheated even once, the marriage was automatically annulled.” “It was you who continued messing around with Mia after we remarried, and I generously chose not to make a fuss about it.” How dare you push your luck? And what’s this about checking up on you? That felt as distant as a past life. I had long since felt it was beneath me to do something like that. I looked at Arthur flatly, then shook off his hand. I even flicked imaginary dust off my sleeve where he had touched me. Seeing my actions, Arthur’s face instantly darkened. Oliver chuckled, proactively stepping between us. “Mr. Sterling, it seems Chloe doesn’t really want to see you. You should go back.” Arthur clenched his fists and glared at him. “This is between husband and wife. What right do you have to interrupt?” “Chloe.” Arthur frowned. “I came today to bring you back. My relationship with Mia isn’t rekindled.” “She’s only acting as my secretary temporarily. I’ll have her transferred in a few months.” “I told you this when we remarried.” “What happened before was a mistake. Mrs. Sterling, there will only ever be you.” I froze for a moment, looking down, wanting to laugh. “Mr. Sterling, you don’t need to explain this to me.” After all, before we remarried… Arthur was the one who disdained explaining things the most. If he slept with someone, he slept with them. He didn’t need excuses or reasons. Even when I caught him in the act, he was so self-righteous, saying casually: “Mrs. Sterling, you’re late.” “If you had come a little earlier, you might have caught a live show.” Because of his dismissive attitude, Mia never took me seriously. She intentionally broke my cups, ruined my clothes, and even secretly sold my designer bags for cheap. Relying on Arthur’s indulgence. She knew she wouldn’t be punished. So her behavior escalated day by day. Right now, looking into Arthur’s incredibly sincere eyes, I almost couldn’t resist throwing the provocative photo Mia sent me right in his face. And telling him coldly: “She already sent me pictures of you two in bed. What else is there to deny?” But I didn’t. I didn’t throw the photo. And I didn’t say the words to shut him down. I was too lazy to bother. I sighed, “Arthur, go back. I’m living a very happy life right now.” “Even though I haven’t seen you for six months, the upside is that my boyfriend is pretty great.” “Oh, right, how did you describe that little secretary of yours before?” I smiled mockingly. “A life assistant by day, a bed assistant by night.” “This boyfriend of mine is also very competent.” With every word I spoke, Arthur’s face turned a shade greener. Watching me hook my arm through Oliver’s, walking into the villa together like a perfect couple… “Chloe, you’re doing this on purpose!” The veins on the back of his hand bulged. He grabbed a rock from the ground and hurled it at Oliver. Oliver couldn’t dodge in time. The rock hit him squarely on the head, bright red blood streaming through his fingers. In that instant, my expression changed. “Oliver!” I frantically supported him and pulled out my phone to call an ambulance. “Hold on, I’m taking you to the hospital right now.” I didn’t spare Arthur a single glance. Arthur, however, let out a desolate, cold laugh. “Chloe, stop acting.” “You love me so much, how could you possibly fall in love with another man?” “Even if you put on a great performance,” “I’ll never believe it.” 3 My movements froze as countless fragmented memories drilled into my brain. The reason Arthur was so certain I wouldn’t fall for another man… Was because there was a precedent. I remembered back when Arthur first cheated on me and betrayed me. To make me make a mistake, He hired men to seduce me into cheating. He threw check after check in the faces of those male models. “Whoever can make Chloe fall for him,” “Gets this $1,000,000 check.” Those male models fought over it like madmen. They approached me like crazy. They even reported my every move, every single detail, back to Arthur. However, I was completely unaware of all this. I thought those men were “prey” I had carefully selected myself. But without exception, every single one was sent by Arthur. They used every trick in the book to seduce me. Every time the relationship was about to progress to the next step, I found myself unable to continue. “I’m sorry, I just can’t do this.” I grabbed my bag and fled in panic. I could only hastily break up with them. And every time I returned home… I was greeted by Arthur’s cold sarcasm. “Mrs. Sterling, did your recent little boyfriend fail to please you?” “Seems he wasn’t dedicated enough. Tsk, tsk, he zoned out while kissing you, and he wasn’t forceful enough either.” “Want me to find you a different one?” In that moment, I felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over me. I felt subjected to absolute humiliation. “You’re stalking me?” Arthur laughed, completely unbothered. “Not stalking. Those little boyfriends were sent by me to serve you in the first place.” “The facts prove, Mrs. Sterling, that you really do love me.” “You love me so much that—” “You won’t even let any strange man near you.” I completely broke down, frantically demanding to know why Arthur would do such a thing. But he just watched me go crazy with absolute calm, even gently stroking my hair. “Mia is my little princess. She can’t leave me right now, and I don’t want to cut ties with her.” “Mrs. Sterling.” “Why don’t we just maintain an open marriage? Wouldn’t that be nice?” “You can keep up appearances in public and continue being Mrs. Sterling.” “And I can love whoever I want.” “For this, I was even generous enough to personally select little boyfriends for you. I’ve done everything I could, haven’t I?” Hearing those words back then, I thought it was completely absurd. But now. I could casually throw those exact words back at him. But when it was his turn to hear them… Why did Arthur get red eyes and become so furious? He even ran up to me to play the role of the deeply devoted husband. My thoughts returning to the present, I watched the blood pooling on Oliver’s head and my gaze turned cold. “Arthur, please get out of the way.” “You injured my boyfriend. Right now, I need to focus on treating him. I’ll settle the score with you later.” It was too late to wait for an ambulance. I helped Oliver into the car and buckled his seatbelt. “Oliver, hang in there a little longer.” “I’m taking you to the hospital.” With that, I got into the driver’s seat with practiced ease, turned the steering wheel, and the car’s engine roared to life. The mocking smile froze on Arthur’s face. He stared at me in shock. “Chloe, you… when did you learn how to drive?” I ignored him. For the past six months, he only cared about traveling the world with his little secretary. He had no idea how I was living my life. He had never truly understood me. I slammed on the gas, and the car sped away. “Chloe, if you dare drive away with that man today, we are completely finished!” But his voice was drowned out by the rising dust. Blown away by the wind. Impossible to hear. 4 The bleeding on Oliver’s head was stopped. The doctor required him to stay in the hospital for three days for observation, so I sat by his bed to keep him company. Even while asleep, Oliver called my name. “Chloe, don’t hurt Chloe.” My heart softened, and I held his hand. For the past six months, Oliver had been pursuing me. But I was a hard-hearted woman. I only ever held his hand, delaying any further progress. Even if I didn’t say it, Oliver understood. He would always look at me gently and say, “Chloe, I know the time isn’t right yet.” “I’m willing to wait.” “I will wait until the day you willingly accept me.” He brought me back this time, and we unexpectedly ran into Arthur at the villa entrance. I blurted it out, using him as a shield by calling him my boyfriend. Seeing Arthur so furious did give me a slight sense of satisfaction. But I also felt bad for using Oliver. I went back to grab some change of clothes for him, and picked up a couple of outfits for myself while I was at the villa. But as soon as I opened the door, something felt wrong. Someone was inside. Looking up, I met Arthur’s gaze from the sofa. “Finally decided to come back?” Arthur sneered, “That little boyfriend of yours isn’t hurt that badly. He’s not worth you looking so forlorn.” I froze in place. “None of your business.” I turned to go to my room, but Arthur grabbed my wrist and pinned me against the wall. “How far have you progressed with that man?” “Did you do it?” He stared at me coldly, his eyes like he was assessing prey. I suddenly laughed. “So what if we did? So what if we didn’t?” “Mr. Sterling, this isn’t something you should be worrying about.” “Didn’t you say it’s nice to maintain an open marriage like this?” I intentionally leaned close to his ear, smiling provocatively. “He… his body is much better than yours. He’s better than you in every way.” Arthur’s face instantly darkened. “Liar.” He suddenly went crazy, viciously pinning me into the corner. “Mrs. Sterling, we haven’t seen each other for six months, but your mouth is still as stubborn as ever.” “Are you acting this jealous because Mia sent you another message?” “After being lonely for six months, I think you must have missed me a lot.” He leaned in to kiss me. But I turned my face away, shoved him hard, and slapped him with a backhand. “Arthur, control your actions.” “Don’t act like a rabid dog in heat.” It was truly laughable. I was already disgusted by his touch because his body was dirty. Yet he thought I was acting out of jealousy. Arthur’s face was knocked to the side by the slap. He held his cheek, refusing to look up at me. Perhaps his male ego had taken a beating. He coldly scrutinized me for a long time. He dropped the line, “Chloe, you’ll regret this,” And stormed off. Soon, my phone started buzzing continuously. Without even looking, I knew it was provocative photos and messages from Mia. Arthur got mad and went looking for his little secretary again. Over the past six months, every time they hooked up… Mia would send messages to provoke me, like she was reporting back to me. I was sick of looking at them. I didn’t even open them; I just deleted them and drove to the hospital. When I arrived at the room, Oliver was already awake. He only smiled when he saw me. “Chloe, you’re finally back. I’ve been looking for you.” “Oliver,” I took a deep breath, “I’ve made up my mind. I accept your pursuit. I will be your girlfriend.” Oliver looked at me, surprised, seeming somewhat shocked. After a long time, his eyes filled with heartache again. “Chloe, I hope you’re not sad.” Oliver cupped my face, his eyes so gentle they seemed to sparkle. “It doesn’t matter to me if we have a title or not.” “As long as I can see you, I’m perfectly content.” I smiled and shook my head. “But this time, I want a divorce.” I didn’t want to waste any more time with Arthur. Before we remarried, I was the one pretending to be strong. I thought that as long as I held on long enough, Arthur would eventually change his mind. Even though Arthur had shown sincerity. Saying he would absolutely never bring Mia in front of me again. And that he would never have any ambiguous relationship with her again. But I knew that if the boy cried wolf too many times, no one would believe him. I didn’t believe that a man who loved sneaking around with his secretary… Could truly cut ties completely and become loyal. What’s more, the messages and ambiguous photos Mia had sent countless times over the past six months explained everything. Countless times, I felt a nausea like swallowing a dead fly stuck in my throat. As long as I stayed in this marriage… I would have to keep feeling that nausea. But now, I wanted to let Arthur go, and let myself go too. So, the day before Oliver was discharged… I proactively asked to meet Arthur at a coffee shop. He was at Disneyland with Mia. Upon receiving the message, he immediately ditched the little secretary to come meet me. But he put on a haughty act. “Mrs. Sterling, I knew you couldn’t keep up the act anymore.” He lifted his chin, revealing an expected smile. “Speak up. What are your terms this time?” “As long as you ask, I’ll give you a way out…” Looking at the faint lipstick mark still visible on the collar of his white dress shirt… “Arthur.” I said calmly, “Let’s get a divorce.”

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“What’s one plus one?” My older brother suddenly asked me from the back seat as we sped down the highway. I hesitated. “It’s…” Before I could finish, my mother exploded in rage, turning around and slapping me hard across the face. “I have a master’s degree from an Ivy League! Your father has a PhD!” “Your brother is a math prodigy! And you hesitate to answer what one plus one is?! You are completely useless!” My cheek burned like fire, but the terror in my heart hurt worse. I cried and shook my head. “Mommy, please don’t be mad. I’m not useless! My brother told me…” But my mother refused to listen. The car slammed to a halt on the shoulder, and she shoved me out the door. “You’re a defective mutant! You don’t deserve to sit in the same car as us! Get out and walk back!” I ran after the car, crying and begging, but my parents drove away with my brother. Suddenly, a massive truck roared toward me. I felt my body become incredibly light. I floated all the way to my parents’ car and told them: “Mommy, Daddy, I’m not useless. My teacher called me a little artist. She said everyone is good at different things!” 1 “A child’s stride is usually between 1 and 1.5 feet.” “I did the math. It’s exactly 3,000 steps from here to the next rest stop.” “This is your punishment. I’m doing this to push your limits, so a slow child like you can finally fit into this family.” After my mother said that, she turned around and got back into the car without a second thought. I chased after her, panicking. “Mommy, please don’t leave me!” The window rolled down just enough for her to toss out a small, boxy camera. “This is a body cam. It’s recording. Don’t you dare try to cheat and stop counting.” “Stay safe and only walk on the emergency shoulder.” With her final instructions delivered, the window rolled up, sealing me outside. I watched helplessly as the car sped away. The taillights grew dimmer and dimmer until they completely vanished into the dark night. “Mommy, it’s so cold.” The weather lady on the radio said it was 14 degrees Fahrenheit today. But Mommy forgot to give me my coat. I dejectedly held up the little camera, looking into the lens. “Mommy, I’m not useless.” “I’m the best drawer in my whole class. My teacher said everyone is good at different things.” But the camera didn’t talk back. I sniffled, trying my hardest not to cry, and started counting. “1… 2… 3…” But it was so freezing. Every breath I breathed out looked like ice. I counted slower and slower, and my steps got smaller and smaller. By the time I reached 1,000, my legs felt like two heavy boulders. I tripped over something in the dark and fell hard to the ground. A sharp, piercing pain shot through my knee. My whole body hurt. I cried into the camera lens, apologizing: “Mommy, I’m sorry. Lily hurts so much. I just need to rest for ten numbers.” In our house, we played number games all the time. If you won, you got a prize. If you lost, you got a punishment. My brother always won the prizes. I always lost. So Mommy would punish me for ten numbers. Ten smacks on the hand, or ten smacks on the bottom. I used to think ten numbers took forever. But right now, they went by so, so fast. When the ten numbers were up, I struggled to stand back up. I dragged my legs, moving inch by inch. The blood from my knee soaked through my pants, and every step was agonizing. I gritted my teeth. I just had to take 1,970 more steps, and then I could go to Grandma’s house. Grandma and Grandpa were waiting for us to eat our New Year’s dinner. But my body was getting colder and colder. Huge white flowers started blooming in my vision. I cried to the camera: “Mommy, I don’t think I can walk anymore.” Mommy didn’t answer. Suddenly, blinding, piercing lights approached from behind me. Without realizing it, I had stumbled into the middle of the highway. When I woke up, I realized my body had become incredibly light. 2 Since I was so light, I caught up to my parents’ car really fast. They were taking a break at the rest stop. The table was covered in delicious food. Mommy was gently trying to get my brother to drink some hot water. “It’s freezing outside, Leo. You have to drink something warm.” My brother took a reluctant sip. I swallowed hard. I really, really wanted a sip of hot water too. “Mommy, I want some too.” I begged timidly, but Mommy didn’t react at all. She fed my brother water and peeled fruit for him. It was like she couldn’t even see me. I choked back my sadness. Suddenly, my dad checked his watch and frowned. “We’ve been at this rest stop for an hour. Why isn’t Lily here yet? Do you think something happened?” My heart leapt. Daddy finally remembered me! “Daddy, I saw a really big truck, and I was too tired to run, and the truck…” I tried to shout it as loud as I could. But Mommy just sounded annoyed. “Arthur, it’s only a mile and a half. It’s not that far.” “If it were Leo, he would have run here ages ago.” “She’s been lazy and manipulative since she was born. This is exactly the kind of physical discipline she needs!” My brother nodded in agreement. He wasn’t just a math genius; he was super athletic too. “She’s already dumb. If she doesn’t exercise, she’s gonna be a sickly burden to us later,” he sneered. My brother made fun of me all the time. That math question in the car was just a trap to laugh at me. Usually, I just grinned at him like an idiot and didn’t get mad. He was my big brother, after all. But this time, I was actually angry. I yelled at him, “No I’m not! You’re a big meanie!” If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have been kicked out of the car in the dark. My dad hesitated. He looked out the window at the thick fog, but then his brow relaxed. “A mile and a half takes an adult about 20 to 35 minutes to walk. Factoring in the environmental conditions, it makes sense that a kid would take a bit longer.” Hearing my dad say that made my chest feel tight. I was always getting sick. I got winded just walking a few blocks on a normal day, let alone taking 3,000 steps in freezing temperatures without a coat. But they seemed to forget all of that. They decided to keep waiting. They waited for another whole hour. Even my brother got impatient. He threw a tantrum, demanding that my dad start driving. Just then, a couple walked into the rest stop. Their conversation interrupted my brother’s whining. “We specifically left at 4 AM to avoid traffic, and we still got stuck.” “That accident back there was horrific. They said the person’s brains were completely crushed. And it was just a little kid…” Hearing that, my dad flinched violently. My mom looked slightly panicked. She quickly pulled out her phone. Seeing the little dot on the GPS map still moving, she let out a massive sigh of relief. Then, her panic morphed into fury. “That camera I bought her doesn’t just record, it has a built-in GPS.” “Look! She’s moving way too fast to be walking. She definitely put on a pathetic act and hitched a ride with a stranger! She is so disobedient!” “We’re not waiting for her anymore. We’re leaving right now. If she’s so smart, she can have whoever she scammed drive her all the way to her grandparents’ house!” Hearing this, I panicked. “Mommy, no!” “I didn’t! That’s an ambulance! I didn’t hitch a ride!” But Mommy couldn’t hear me. She zipped my brother’s coat up tight and dragged my dad back to their car. I cried as I floated after them. The sound of ambulance sirens seemed to be getting closer and closer, but my dad floored the gas pedal and took the exit ramp off the highway. The car quickly arrived at my grandparents’ house. I happily tried to jump into my grandparents’ arms, but I phased right through them. 3 I loved New Year’s more than anything. I always got to see Grandma and Grandpa. But right now, I was so, so sad. My tears wouldn’t stop falling. Grandma rushed to the back seat and helped my brother out. Then she peered back into the car. “Where’s Lily? Why isn’t Lily in the car?” “Grandma, I’m right here!” I sobbed, tugging at her sleeve. My mom answered irritably, “She hitched a ride with someone else.” “Anyway, it’s freezing out here. Leo was in the car forever, he’s cold and starving. Shouldn’t you be worrying about your grandson?” My mom’s words instantly shut Grandma up. She glanced at my dad. Seeing him nod in agreement, she sighed and stopped asking questions. “Okay, okay. I made sweet rice balls! Let me go boil them for you.” Bowls of steaming hot sweet rice balls were brought to the table. The delicious smell filled the room. My dad, my mom, and my brother ate happily. I held my stomach, wanting to cry but having no tears left. Walking for an hour in the cold had made me so tired and hungry. And Grandma’s handmade rice balls were my absolute favorite. “Lily loves sweet rice balls the most. I saved a special batch just for her. I’ll boil them as soon as she gets here.” Grandma smiled, standing up and looking out the window again and again. I sniffled. I couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst into tears. After everyone finished eating and Grandma cleared the table, she still didn’t see me. She couldn’t help but ask my parents again. “Why isn’t Lily here yet? Who did she catch a ride with? Why didn’t you guys just drive together?” The living room went dead silent. My dad hesitated. “She should be here soon. Real soon.” His hesitant answer only made my grandparents more confused. “If she caught a ride with someone, just call them and ask! She’s been gone so long, how can you two not be worried at all?” My dad pushed his glasses up his nose, looking at my mom. My mom opened her phone, clearly annoyed. My grandparents stretched their necks to look, and I floated over to look too. She frowned. Seeing that the little camera’s GPS tracker was very close to the house, she said: “Relax. She’ll be here in five minutes.” My grandparents wanted to see the screen, but my mom immediately locked her phone. “Since we’re all here, I need to have a serious talk with you two.” “Lily is starting first grade soon. You can’t keep spoiling her. It’s going to ruin her future.” My mom’s tone was incredibly strict. I hid behind Grandma, terrified. Mommy only loved smart kids. She was always so soft and gentle with my brother. But I was too dumb. Mommy was always mad at me. Once, I got a 59 on a math test, and she slapped me so hard my face stung for hours. “Are you even my biological child?! How can you be so stupid?!” “You messed up basic addition and subtraction?! What is inside that head of yours?!” To make me better at math, she created crazy study schedules for me. I had to study advanced math, stuff my brother learned. If I didn’t understand it, she hit my palms with a ruler. Grandma couldn’t stand seeing me hurt and always tried to defend me. She tried again now. She whispered, “Eleanor, I don’t think you should push a child this hard. Lily is still so young…” Before she could finish, my mom aggressively cut her off. “Mom, do you have any idea that Lily hesitates when asked what one plus one is?!” “When Leo was her age, he was already doing third-grade algebra!” Grandma went pale and fell silent. In the corner, my brother snickered quietly. I rushed forward frantically to explain. “Mommy, I didn’t hesitate because I didn’t know! It was Leo!” “Leo told me that one plus one doesn’t equal two!” Even though I didn’t understand why, when he asked me the question again in the car, I hesitated because I was confused. But my mom couldn’t hear my explanation. “Look at this. Isn’t this Lily’s coat?” 4 My dad and grandpa had gone to get the luggage from the trunk. They found my coat. Grandpa held it up, looking completely confused. “I thought you said Lily caught a ride with someone? Why is her winter coat in your car?” My dad frowned, looking utterly bewildered. “Eleanor, when you made Lily get out of the car, you didn’t give her her coat?!” My mom panicked, her eyes darting around the room evasively. “I… I forgot.” “And Lily is old enough to know better! She didn’t even grab her own coat.” Hearing my mom blame me, I curled up into a ball, feeling incredibly wronged. Mommy forced me out of the car. She didn’t give me a chance to grab anything. The biting, agonizing cold seemed to hit me all over again. Even though the heater was blasting in the living room, my ghostly body couldn’t stop shivering. “What?!” “You kicked Lily out of the car on the highway?!” Grandpa’s voice skyrocketed as he demanded answers. Grandma clutched her chest. “Are you insane?! It’s 14 degrees outside! You left a six-year-old child alone on the highway?! How could you do such a monstrous thing?!” “If… if something happened to her…” My mom aggressively cut Grandma off. “Nothing happened to her! I told her to walk on the emergency shoulder. She’s perfectly safe!” To reassure Grandma, she pulled out her phone again. “Look, Lily’s GPS tracker is still moving. She’s fine.” But my grandparents didn’t believe her. They demanded to drive out to the highway to find me. I cried and shook my head, sobbing in heartbreak. “Grandpa, Grandma, Mommy, Daddy… Lily is already here. Please don’t fight…” Suddenly, my brother ran into the room. He looked like he had discovered a hidden treasure. “Mommy, look what I found in her bag!” I looked at the piece of paper in his hands, terrified, and tried to snatch it away. But my mom grabbed it first. She looked at it like it was the ultimate proof of her righteousness. She pointed the paper at my grandparents and yelled: “What is this?! You two are such great grandparents! Spoiling her and letting her rot!” “Thank god I raised Leo myself. Look at how brilliant he is! Ranked number one, perfect scores in math, every private middle school is fighting to recruit him!” “And Lily? She’s completely useless! A failure that you two spoiled into garbage!” Her words stabbed into my heart, one by one. The paper was a drawing I made of our family. My brother and I were holding hands, and our parents were holding ours. We all had massive smiles on our faces. I titled it: A Happy Family. “What kind of future is drawing going to give her?! I want both my kids to get into Ivy League schools! That’s the only way they’ll succeed in life!” With that, she grabbed my drawing and moved to rip it in half. I threw myself at her, begging. “No! Mommy, please don’t!” “I’ll be good! I’ll study really hard! I promise I’ll never draw again!” A second later, my mom ruthlessly tore the drawing into tiny, jagged pieces. Her face was twisted in anger as she screamed at my grandparents: “Do you have any idea how brutally competitive society is right now?! A college degree means nothing anymore! If you keep babying her, how is she going to survive when she grows up?!” My grandparents’ faces drained of color. They looked to my dad for help. My dad pushed his glasses up his nose. “I agree. Lily needs to focus on her studies, not waste her limited energy on useless hobbies.” My dad’s words completely broke me. Tears streaming down my face, I slowly floated higher into the air. Mommy, Daddy, I’m sorry I’m not a good kid. Please don’t be mad. Leo will make you proud… The doorbell suddenly rang. My mom walked over to answer it, muttering: “It’s definitely Lily. I told her to walk 3,000 steps, I bet she didn’t even walk one!” But standing outside were two police officers. They were holding a crushed, bloodstained little camera and a photograph of a car wreck. “Excuse me, what is your relationship to the child holding this camera in this photograph?”

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The end of the world didn’t arrive with a bang, but with a sound much more intimate. Every night, there is a scratching at the door. Those who open it simply vanish. No one can explain how this catastrophe began, nor does anyone know if there will ever be a morning where it ends. 1 It is exactly midnight, and the thing outside is getting louder. I’ve constructed a fortress on my bed using a weighted blanket and a duvet—a psychological barrier, if nothing else. I check my phone. Twelve percent battery. In a night without electricity, that glowing bar is the closest thing I have to a companion. Iris: You really don’t want to know what it is? A notification slides onto my screen. It’s from my girlfriend. Well, “girlfriend” is a loose term. It started a week ago. The scratching woke the world up. Everyone who opened their doors to investigate disappeared into the dark. The government collapsed within days; the grid went down; cities became isolated islands. We were left with the “Self-Rescue” protocol. Every night, I hear weeping. Every night, someone’s resolve breaks, they open the door, and they are gone. The scratching continues until 5:00 AM. Then, as if a switch is flipped, humanity falls into a collective, comatose sleep. We wake up with the night’s terror wiped from our memories. The world functions: traffic flows, baristas pour coffee, the stock market ticks. But at 11:00 PM, the memories crash back in. The terror returns. The missing people are remembered. And at midnight, the scratching begins again. Our reality has been cleaved in two: The Day: violently normal. Humans and machines obeying the algorithm of life as if the horror never happened. The Night: a silent void, filled only with the sound of claws on wood and the agonizing choice of whether to turn the handle. It took three nights for the survivor groups to figure it out. The announcement went out in the “Last Stand” group chat: “Residents, do not listen to the voices. Do not open the door. Repeat: DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR.” Those who leave never come back. Walk out, vanish. So, we stay in. I met Iris in a sub-group called “Apocalypse Survival Guide.” It was full of twenty-somethings, pragmatic science majors, and burned-out cynics. Our admin was a Ph.D. candidate in Nuclear Physics at MIT who rarely spoke, except to talk someone off a ledge. I was explaining to a frantic user why this wasn’t an elaborate prank or “performance art.” Iris chimed in. We clicked. Iris: We don’t know when we’ll die. We should probably date. I’ve never had a boyfriend before. Maybe it was the crushing nihilism of the chat room, but I hesitated for a second, then agreed. Iris: I bet a lot of girls like you, right? I gave a vague, non-committal answer. I’ve never dated anyone, but I didn’t want to be the guy who died a virgin andalone during the apocalypse. User_A: Is it aliens? Or did Cthulhu finally wake up? User_B: We’re screwed. Might as well end it now. At least I can choose how I go. User_C: Why? Can’t we fight back? User_B: …If it’s cosmic horror, fighting is useless. It always ends in tragedy. Iris: What are they talking about? She DM’d me. Me: Just a literary trope. Basically, the idea that the entity is so powerful that human resistance is futile. Iris: But in stories, isn’t there always a hero? Someone who suffers and sacrifices but eventually leads civilization to a rebirth? Me: Umm… usually. But cosmic horror is different. Or, look at it this way: If a hero leads humanity to a rebirth, is the civilization that rises from the ashes still human? Iris: Wow. That’s deep. My roommate, a guy who changes girlfriends like he changes socks, once told me: “When a girl says ‘That’s deep,’ she means ‘I have no idea what you just said, but I like you.’” Me: Did you buy the supplies? I changed the subject. I’d told her to stock up on first-aid kits, lithium batteries, bleach—the works. Iris: Of course! I always listen to my boyfriend. She sent a photo of a cramped storage closet overflowing with gear. See? I can barely close the door. Iris: So… you really aren’t curious about what’s outside? Me: Curious? Yes. But I’m terrified of dying. The most honest answer I could give. 2 The thing is, I don’t just hear scratching anymore. “Holden. Get out here. If you don’t come out, you’re going to die.” I’ve heard this voice every day for two years. It belongs to the guy who sleeps in the bunk above me. My best friend, the charismatic heartbreaker, Davis. Davis, usually I’d kill to hear you ramble about nothing. But for three nights straight, the moment the scratching starts, he’s out there at 12:00 AM sharp, repeating the same mantra. Come out. Or die. But tonight feels different. The scratching is softer, more frantic. And out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see something dart past the window. “Holden! Get out here! Before it’s too late!” Too late? What happens then? I don’t know what Davis is right now. Dead? Alive? Something in between? Do all the people who vanish end up as voices on the other side of the door? My door is an old solid wood slab with a heavy deadbolt. No peephole. No chain. To see him, I have to open it. My window faces east. I inch toward it, peeling back the curtain a fraction of an inch. Moonlight spills in—thin and pale—but the world outside is an impenetrable blur. My phone screen lights up, startling me so bad I nearly drop it. Iris. Iris: Holden… sobbing emoji …my best friend got taken. I know this happens every night, but reading her grief makes it real. Iris: Why didn’t she listen? Why did she go out? You go out, you die. Why did she do it?! “Holden, come out! Seriously, man, you’re running out of time!” Davis is screaming now. I feel a sudden spike of irritation. I don’t know how to comfort a crying girl over text, and Davis yelling in the hallway is ruining my focus. “You keep saying the same thing over and over! What are you? If you’re really Davis, tell me how the hell I’m supposed to comfort a girl!” The scratching stops instantly. Silence. Shit. Did I just say a trigger word? I crawl out of my blanket fortress, phone forgotten, and creep toward the door. Total silence. It’s as quiet as the grave. Iris: Holden? Are you there? My battery is red. I wish I could call you. I’m about to type back when a voice speaks from the hallway. Not screaming. Just talking. “Holden. You’re behind the door, right? Listen to me.” “When you comfort a girl, listen first. She might not want a solution; she just needs to vent. Then… give her a hug. Or send a hugging bear sticker. Or the rabbit patting the bear’s head.” What kind of psychological horror movie is this? It’s 1:30 AM. My maybe-dead-maybe-demon best friend is giving me dating advice through a locked door? Iris: Holden?! She’s desperate for a response. Me: I’m here. I pause, scroll through my sticker pack, and send the cartoon rabbit patting the bear’s head. “Holden. It’s me, Davis. I’m not dead. But if you don’t come out, I will be.” “How do I prove it’s really you?” I steady my breathing. I’m exhausted. The nights are draining the life out of me. “Remember my ex? The Music major? The one with the violin?” Everyone knew Davis dated the Music department’s golden girl. That’s public knowledge. “She came to our dorm to dump me at the start of the semester. She accused me of cheating. I denied it. You even vouched for me.” True. But also, not a secret. “I did cheat.” His voice is clear. Steady. That arrogance I know so well. You son of a bitch. “Holden, you snore. You talk in your sleep. You mumbled about…” Ding-ding-ding-ding. An incoming voice call. Iris. I thought she had no battery? “Holden!” “Holden!” They speak at the exact same time. The name I’ve carried for twenty-one years suddenly sounds alien. “Who is that?!” “Who is that?!” 3:00 AM. Separated by one door and one screen. Outside, the voice of my best friend. On the phone, the voice of the girl I’ve loved for three days. Iris sounds soft, terrified, bewildered. The silence stretches from the phone, fills the room, and bleeds through the door. A minute later, she hangs up. Dead battery? Or fear? Me: Iris? No reply. “Davis?” I whisper. Silence from the hallway. Then, the scratching begins again. Soft at first, then louder, joining a chorus of scratching sounds coming from the apartment next door, and the one below. Just like every other night. 3 At 5:00 AM, the world resets. But something has changed: I remember last night. I passed out from exhaustion and didn’t wake up until 9:00 AM. I bolt upright, heart hammering. Sunlight filters through the blinds, mocking me. Holy shit. The terror of the night hits me in a wave. I remember everything. I scramble to the window and rip the curtains open. The aggressive sunshine gives me a momentary hit of courage. Then I freeze. Along the edges of the window frame, there are gouges. Deep scratches, like a wild animal—or a person with very sharp tools—tried to get in. Bang! Bang! Bang! I scream. I haven’t even reached the door when my phone buzzes. “Holden! Open up!” It’s Brody, a guy from my calc class. I live off-campus in a studio because of my insomnia, but he crashes here sometimes. I open the door. He pushes past me. “Dude, where have you been? You promised to help with the club fair today!” Right. The Robotics Club meet-and-greet. I promised to be the face of the operation. “If you don’t show, the president is gonna eat us alive. You know the freshmen are only coming to see you.” He looks fresh. Rested. Like he gamed until midnight, slept like a baby, and woke up ready to seize the day. Am I the only one? “How was your night?” I ask, testing the waters. He looks at me weird. “Fine? Won ten ranked matches in a row.” “Did… did the power go out for you?” “Maybe? I slept through it if it did.” “You didn’t hear anything? Like… scratching?” “Scratching? Like a cat? Or…” He raises an eyebrow, grinning lewdly. “Or did you have a guest over?” “I just didn’t sleep well,” I say, deadpan. “Right, right. Hey, maybe you’ll find a girlfriend among the fresh meat today.” I ignore him. “Did you see Davis today?” “Davis? He’s in Boston for the competition, remember? Man, you really are out of it. You drove him to the airport.” Bullshit. I know he went to the competition. But how do I tell Brody that Davis spent the entire night clawing at my door? I follow him to the campus center, my mind racing. I need to check on Iris. Previous days, I’d wake up and the horror would be gone. Erased. Daytime: Normal. Nighttime: Hell. This is the first time the two worlds are bleeding together. I find a corner in the club room and pull out my phone. Nothing. The “Survival Guide” group is gone. Iris’s chat history is gone. I search my contacts. Fifty-seven friends. Three groups. They don’t exist. Around me, students are laughing, setting up banners, eating donuts. They look so happy. For the first time, their happiness makes my blood run cold. I hide behind a curtain in the corner, grab a notepad and a pen. When my mind is chaos, I write.

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My girlfriend is an heiress—old money, ivory tower, the kind of wealth that feels like a physical barrier. We were together for seven years, and in all that time, she never bought me a single gift. When she finally accepted my proposal, she made me return the diamond ring I’d spent three years saving for, calling it “tacky.” Then, standing outside the courthouse to get our license, she backed out, claiming the thirty-dollar filing fee was a “waste of money” and we should just forget it. Then she turned around and married her childhood sweetheart, the boy-next-door from her exclusive gated community. She threw an engagement gala that took over the Waldorf Astoria, a display of decadence that lit up the entire city skyline. My sister, Annie, had just undergone a heart transplant. The stress of the news—the betrayal—sent her into a fatal rejection episode. I knelt at my girlfriend’s feet, begging her to give me back the seven years of salary I’d deposited into her account for “safekeeping.” I needed it for Annie’s ICU bills. She looked at me like I was a stranger. Clinging to her new husband’s arm, she told the guards she didn’t do “charity work for obsessed fans” and had me thrown out into the snow. I watched Annie die on New Year’s Eve, the sound of her final breath drowned out by the celebratory fireworks echoing over the Chicago River. I handled her funeral alone. Then, I accepted a lead developer role at a tech giant in Houston—an olive branch I’d ignored for years out of loyalty to a woman who never loved me. When I went back to our apartment to grab my passport, she was there, fresh from visiting her in-laws, looking radiant. She thought I was playing a game of emotional chicken. For the first time in seven years, she was “generous.” “Stop acting,” she said, her voice airy and dismissive. “Your sister is fine. Tell you what—I’ll throw you a pity wedding later this year. Let the girl have her moment of vanity. I know you people love to feel important.” She didn’t know that from the moment Annie’s heart stopped beating, I had already decided I was done with her forever. 1 I had just reached for my passport when a slender, manicured hand snatched it away. “What are you looking for so intently? You didn’t even notice I was home.” Serena had just walked in. The tip of her nose was flushed from the Chicago wind, her designer coat still dusted with light snow. When she realized it was my passport, her playful smirk vanished, replaced by a sharp, impatient knit of her brows. “A passport? Really, Nathan? Are you trying to stage an international exit now? I already told you, Derek’s family was breathing down his neck. The marriage license was just to get them off his back. We’ll get a quiet annulment in a few months. It’s a business move.” I didn’t look at her. I reached out and pulled the passport back with a cold, steady hand. She flexed her freezing fingers, looking surprised. Usually, the moment she walked through the door, I’d be there with a warm towel, a hot tea, and a barrage of questions about whether she was cold. Today, I was ice. She stepped in close, standing on her tiptoes to drape her arms over my shoulders. The smell of expensive perfume and the freezing outdoors hit me as she forced me to meet her eyes. “Nathan, you’re being so dramatic. Do you have any idea how many people from the Board were at that gala? If word got back to my mother that I was seeing someone like you, we’d both be ruined. I did this for us.” I let out a jagged, self-deprecating laugh. To her, I wasn’t a partner. I was a toy she was embarrassed to show her friends. I pried her hands off me. She lunged back in, her cold fingers grazing the deep bruise on my cheekbone. She giggled, though there was no warmth in it. “Ouch. Those security guards were a bit rough, weren’t they? They ruined my handsome guy’s face. Don’t worry, I’ll dock their pay.” This was her routine. Whenever I was truly hurting, she’d use this toxic blend of playfulness and “protection” to make me forgive her. It wouldn’t work this time. Seven days ago, at her engagement party, the guards had beaten me in the alley behind the hotel on her orders. “A gutter rat trying to eat caviar,” they’d sneered. “Mr. Vanderbilt and Miss Montgomery are a match made in heaven. You’re nothing.” Passersby had pointed and laughed, filming the “beggar” crying for money from a socialite. My dignity had been stripped bare in the street. Seeing that I still wasn’t cracking, Serena pulled out her final card. She produced a small, pink velvet hair clip with a bow and shook it in front of me. “For Annie. And stop using her surgery to lie to me and get my attention. It’s beneath you.” Annie. My only living relative. She’d been born with a congenital heart defect. She had just finished her transplant surgery, and her only wish was to see me and Serena officially married. Instead, she saw the news of Serena’s marriage to Derek Vanderbilt on a hospital TV and collapsed. The doctors told me we needed another ten thousand dollars for emergency stabilization and post-op care. I spent New Year’s Eve calling every contact I had, begging for a loan. I was blocked, mocked, or told I was “bad luck.” While the city cheered for the new year, thirteen-year-old Annie slipped away. Now, I was truly alone. Thinking of her pale face made my heart feel like it was being crushed by a vice. I didn’t take the clip. “Serena,” I said, my voice sounding like gravel. “We’re—” Through. The word was on the tip of my tongue, but she cut me off. “Fine, fine. I get it. You’re probably short on cash after the holidays.” She tapped her phone and sent me a notification. A two-hundred-dollar transfer. “Consider that for Annie’s ‘supplements.’ No need to write me an IOU for this one.” It was pathetic. She was so terrified I was a gold-digger that she insisted on “managing” my salary, giving me a meager allowance after “approving” my expenses. Every time she gave me a dime of my own money, she made me sign a promissory note. After seven years, I was technically “in debt” to her for thousands. I used to think she was just “fiscally responsible” because of her upbringing. I’d indulged her, thinking it was a quirk of the wealthy. But her frugality only applied to me. She had no problem buying Derek a limited-edition Ferrari or a multi-million dollar condo in Aspen. It made the front page of the tabloids every time. Where the money goes, the love follows. I hit ‘decline’ on the transfer and sent it back immediately. “I don’t need it. Not anymore.” Serena finally looked at me, her expression shifting from annoyance to a strange, frustrated pity. “Not enough? Fine. I’ll give you the wedding. We’ll do a ceremony. It’ll give your sister something to brag about to the nurses. You two really are cut from the same cloth…” Vain. That was the word she always used. I’d spent seven years being told that wanting a normal life—gifts, dates, a public acknowledgement of our love—was “low-class vanity” and a “grasp at her fortune.” “There’s no need for a wedding,” I said. “We aren’t a couple.” Serena’s face hardened. The mask of the playful girlfriend dropped, revealing the cold heiress underneath. Just then, there was a knock at the door. Serena shot me a warning look and went to open it. The next second, her voice turned into a melodic, high-pitched chirp. “What are you doing here?” I looked over. Derek was standing in the doorway, wearing a designer parka that perfectly matched Serena’s. He reached out with practiced intimacy and ruffled her hair. “Hey, princess. The guys are at the club and they want to see their ‘new sister-in-law.’ Come spend the day with me.” His eyes drifted past her to me, a calculated, taunting smirk on his lips. “Nathan. You don’t mind, right? You seemed pretty cool with everything at the gala.” As he spoke, he laced his fingers with Serena’s, purposefully flashing their matching platinum wedding bands. Serena’s eyes sparkled as she looked at him. “He doesn’t mind,” she said quickly. “Of course I’ll go. I owe you one for the public spectacle anyway.” She grabbed her handbag, ready to vanish. After two steps, she seemed to remember I existed. She let go of Derek’s hand, walked over, and kissed the corner of my mouth. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “This is the last time. After today, I’m all yours.” But Serena, there is no “after today” for us. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand as I watched them disappear down the hall, their laughter echoing in the elevator. I turned back to the desk and picked up the resignation letter I’d already printed. 2 It was the first Monday after New Year’s. The office was buzzing with the usual post-holiday gossip. As I walked in, my colleagues huddled in small groups, their snickers following me like a bad smell. “Can you believe Nathan actually showed up? The guy has no shame. Kneeling in the snow at the gala, begging Miss Montgomery for money? Pathetic.” “He’s been acting like he owns the place just because he’s been her lapdog for seven years. My dog begs for treats with more dignity. He’s finished.” I walked past the vitriol, my face a mask of indifference, and entered the HR office. The HR director, a woman who had always looked at me like I was a smudge on her shoe, didn’t even look up. “The application is in. Once Serena signs off, you can clear your desk. Just so you know, given the ‘incident’ at the gala, there will be no severance.” I nodded. “I understand.” I turned and walked out without a second thought. The sun was setting early, casting long, bruised shadows over the city. The streets were filled with couples and families, clinging to the last bit of holiday magic. And then there was me. A crushing wave of loneliness hit me. My only family was gone. My career of seven years was over. My lover was a ghost. I walked the familiar path between the office and the apartment—a route I’d taken thousands of times. Memories began to bleed through the cracks of my composure. I was sixteen when my parents died in that wreck. The “charitable” relatives swooped in like vultures, picking the estate clean and leaving me with nothing but a month-old baby sister. Years later, six-year-old Annie met Serena at a hospital fundraiser where Serena was volunteering for the cameras. Annie took to her instantly, calling her “big sister.” That was how we started. I was just a college student then, working three jobs to keep Annie fed and her meds paid for. Serena stepped in. She’d watch Annie, send me updates, and hold me when I broke down over the mounting medical bills. Back then, she told me she’d never leave. She told me she loved me more than her own life. She used to hold my hand in public, even when I was wearing thrift-store clothes, and tell everyone, “This is my boyfriend. Isn’t he perfect?” But slowly, the poison of her mother’s voice took over. She started looking at me with suspicion. She began to fear I was after the Montgomery estate. She demanded I hand over my paychecks so she could “protect” her assets from being “commingled.” Her control became absolute. If I asked for five dollars for a pack of cigarettes, she’d interrogate me for an hour. Then, three months ago, Derek returned from London. She bought him a Bentley that same day. She spent fifty thousand dollars on a digital billboard in Times Square that read: Welcome Home, Derek. That was the first night she didn’t come home. When I finally found her, she was drunk, clinging to Derek’s arm, slurring about how he had “put a toy ring on her finger when they were five” and promised to marry her. I was cold to the bone. When she sobered up, we had a screaming match. I asked her who she really wanted. She told me I was overthinking, that I was “insecure,” and that if it weren’t for Derek’s family, I’d never have even had the chance to breathe the same air as her. Then Derek posted a status saying he was “ready to settle down.” Serena came to me that night and asked me to marry her. I was a fool. I was so happy, so relieved that she had “chosen” me, that I got down on one knee. What a joke. I realized I’d walked blocks past my destination. Up ahead, a familiar noise drifted from a high-end lounge. “Go on, Serena! A dare is a dare! Derek is waiting!” I saw her through the glass. She was surrounded by their elite social circle. She closed her eyes and shouted at the top of her lungs: “I, Serena Montgomery, have only ever loved Derek Vanderbilt!” She said it three times, her voice growing louder and more certain with each repetition, drawing stares from everyone on the sidewalk. Then, blushing like a schoolgirl, she buried her face in Derek’s chest. Derek wrapped his arms around her, smug and triumphant. The crowd began to chant: “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Serena hesitated for a heartbeat. Derek tried to play it off. “Easy, guys, she’s shy—” Before he could finish, Serena grabbed his tie and pulled him down into a kiss. It was deep, desperate, and hauntingly sincere. When they pulled apart, she didn’t close her eyes. She stared at him as if trying to memorize his soul, her face glowing with a happiness I hadn’t seen in half a decade. “I… I tripped,” she muttered, her ears turning red, trying to regain her composure. Then, hurriedly: “It’s late. I have to get home. My mom will be expecting us for dinner.” Love is the hand that wants to touch but pulls back out of fear. Watching her with him, I realized she was never afraid of me. She just didn’t care enough to be. We were barely twenty feet apart. The winter wind tore through my coat, grinding what was left of my heart into dust. Serena turned to leave, head down against the cold, and walked straight into me. She looked up, and her pupils shrunk in shock. 3 “I’m… I’m sorry… I…” I cut her off. “It’s fine.” I turned away and pulled out my phone to call an Uber. Behind me, I heard the whispers of her friends. “Is that him? Serena, isn’t that the guy who was begging for money at your party? The stalker?” “Check your purse, Serena. He probably swiped your wallet when he bumped into you.” Serena said nothing. She let the slander hang in the air, her silence a confession. When I got back to the apartment, I went to pay for the ride. A notification popped up from my travel app: Your standby flight from Chicago to Houston is confirmed. Departure tomorrow, 3:00 PM. Please check in. I screenshotted the confirmation and sent it to the HR director at the tech firm in Texas. Within seconds, he replied: Nathan, we’ve been waiting for you. See you tomorrow! A small weight lifted from my chest. I grabbed my pre-packed suitcase and headed for the door. I couldn’t spend another second in this museum of failed expectations. I ran into Serena in the foyer. She frowned, slamming the door shut behind her. “Where do you think you’re going?” Derek followed her in, his voice dripping with faux-concern. “Nathan, man, don’t overreact. Serena was just playing along for the sake of the family’s reputation. Don’t start a fight and walk out over a game…” I didn’t even look at him. “Serena, we’re done. I’m leaving.” Serena looked like she was about to yell at me for being “jealous” again, but the finality in my voice made her flinch. “Leaving? Because of one kiss during a game? Nathan, don’t you want the wedding anymore?” She actually thought a “pity wedding” was still a threat she could use. In the past, I would have dropped to my knees and begged for her to stay. Now, I just smiled. “Serena, there is no ‘us.’ Why would there be a wedding?” “No ‘us’?” Her face flushed a deep, angry red. “That’s not what you said when you proposed a month ago! You said you’d protect me forever. You bought me a ring!” She started digging through her Birkin, looking for the ring as if to throw it in my face. “Don’t bother,” I said quietly. “You took that ring to a pawn shop and sold it for twelve hundred dollars. You used the money to buy Derek a silk tie for your first date.” In seven years, every gift I’d ever scraped money together to buy her—jewelry, watches, books—had ended up on eBay or at a consignment shop. She told me they were “too cheap to wear in her circles” and that I shouldn’t be “sensitive” because she was “hers.” I used to think her pragmatism was cute. Now, it was just grotesque. She didn’t hate the gifts; she just didn’t value the man who gave them.

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The Rolex box was empty. On the black velvet lining, there was nothing but a faint, circular impression—a ghost of the heavy metal that had rested there for decades. Twenty million dollars. It was a legacy piece from my grandfather, one of only three in existence globally. I pulled up the security footage from the living room on my phone. I scrolled through the timeline until I hit yesterday afternoon, 2:17 PM. Madeline opened the safe. She didn’t hesitate. She lifted the watch box, slid the timepiece into a signature Tiffany-blue gift bag, and tucked it under her arm. Just before she stepped out the door, she glanced down at her phone. The notification on her screen caught the light. A name I knew all too well, though I’d spent months trying to convince myself I was being paranoid. Dominic. I took a screenshot of the frame and moved it into my encrypted folder. Then, I pulled up my contacts and tapped the name labeled “James – Legal.” 01 The phone rang twice before he picked up. “Adrian? It’s late.” “James, I need a consultation. If one spouse disposes of the other’s separate pre-marital property without consent, how does the law categorize that?” There was a heavy silence on the other end for three seconds. “What’s the valuation?” “Twenty million.” Another silence, longer this time. “Don’t tip your hand yet,” James said, his voice dropping into a professional, steady register. “Find every shred of documentation you have—titles, purchase receipts, certificates of authenticity. Secure the footage. Don’t delete a thing before you see me.” “It’s all in my home safe.” “Good.” I could hear him scribbling something. “Adrian, listen to me. If she ‘gifted’ it to a third party, we can sue for its return. But if she claims it was a ‘loan,’ things get murky. We need to be surgical about this.” “I understand.” I hung up and sat on the bay window seat in our bedroom, pulling my knees to my chest. I stayed like that for a long time, watching the rain streak against the glass, until the sound of the front door lock clicked. Madeline was home. It was 11:40 PM. She drifted into the room wearing a blush-pink Chanel dress, her heels clicking softly, damp from the street. I smelled the wine first. And then, beneath it, a trace of something cold and sharp. An expensive cologne. It wasn’t mine. “Still up?” she asked, tossing her keys onto the marble vanity. I looked at her, my voice flat. “Where’s the watch from the safe?” She stiffened. It was a micro-expression, gone in less than a second, but I caught the flicker of guilt before it was smoothed over by her usual practiced composure. “Oh, that,” she said, walking to the mini-fridge and pulling out a bottle of Fiji water. “I lent it to Dominic for a few days.” Lent. “Lent?” “He has an investors’ gala the night after tomorrow. He needed to look the part,” she said, twisting the cap and taking a long swallow. “Dominic’s latest real estate venture is worth three hundred million. He specifically asked to partner with us, Adrian. You know what this deal would mean for the firm. It’s a career-maker.” I felt my fingernails bite into the palms of my hands. “That watch belonged to my grandfather. It’s a family heirloom.” “I know that. I’m not giving it away.” She set the water down and finally met my eyes, her expression shifting into one of mild annoyance. “Two days, maybe three. He’ll give it back the moment the gala is over. Why are you being so tense?” She stepped toward me, reaching out to brush a stray hair from my forehead. I took a step back. Her hand froze in mid-air. “Adrian, don’t be small-minded about this. Think of the big picture.” Small-minded. The words felt like a needle being driven into a nerve. “Did you even think to ask me before you touched my things?” “I called you yesterday afternoon. You didn’t pick up.” I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the logs. Between 2:00 PM and 3:00 PM yesterday, there were no missed calls. Not a single one. “Madeline,” I said, turning the screen toward her. “You never called.” She glanced at the screen, her face remaining a mask of cool indifference. “Then I must have misremembered. It’s just two days, Adrian. Stop making a scene out of nothing.” Making a scene. I didn’t say another word. She showered, climbed into bed, and was asleep within three minutes. Her breathing was rhythmic and steady, as if her conscience was as clear as the Manhattan skyline after a storm. I lay beside her, staring at the ceiling. At 1:30 AM, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen illuminated the dark room. I turned my head. Dominic: [Got the watch. It’s stunning. Thank you, babe.] Not “Thank you, Madeline.” Not “Thank you to the firm.” Thank you, babe. Followed by a heart emoji. I didn’t touch her phone. Instead, I picked up mine and went to Dominic’s Instagram. His latest post was from twenty-three minutes ago. A carousel of nine photos. The first was a close-up of a man’s wrist resting against a black velvet tablecloth. The watch was unmistakable. The rose-gold casing, the star-dusted dial. My grandfather had it commissioned by a master watchmaker for his seventieth birthday. One of three. Serial number 003. On the back, I knew there was a line of German text in delicate script: Für meinen einzigen Stern. To my only star. The caption was a single word: [Captivated.] It had 247 likes and 36 comments. I screenshot the post. Then I turned off my phone and closed my eyes. Madeline shifted in her sleep, her arm draping heavily over my waist. It felt like a lead chain. 02 The next morning at 10:00 AM, I was sitting in the appraisal lab at the auction house. I’d been holding a jeweler’s loupe for twenty minutes, but I hadn’t processed a single facet of the diamond in front of me. My colleague, Miles, pushed the door open. “Adrian, man, you have to see this.” He shoved his phone in front of my face. It was a post on a high-end lifestyle blog. The handle was @Dominic_Stone_Official. The image was a high-res macro shot of a watch. My watch. The caption read: [Just received an incredible gift. A custom Rolex, one of only three in the world. Collectors know what this represents. Some gestures can’t be measured in dollars.] Received. Gift. Not a loan. “Whoa, isn’t that piece worth like twenty-five million on the open market?” Miles’s eyes were wide. “Who is this guy’s benefactor?” I set the loupe down. My hands were perfectly still, but inside, I was vibrating with a cold, sharp clarity. “Do me a favor, Miles. Dig into that account. Find out everything he’s been posting for the last six months.” “Wait, for real? Okay, you got it.” Miles was the firm’s social media strategist; he lived for this kind of digital sleuthing. Fifteen minutes later, a folder landed on my desk. Dominic Stone, 31. Managing Director at Obsidian Capital. High social media presence, frequent attendee of charity balls and private equity mixers. The last page was a photograph. At a winter gala three months ago, Dominic was wearing a forest-green Hugo Boss tuxedo. Standing beside him, in a crimson Dior gown, was Madeline. Her hand was tucked firmly into the crook of his arm. The date on the photo was November 14th. That was the night Madeline told me she was pulling an all-nighter at the office to finalize the quarterly reports. She’d told me not to wait up. I opened my calendar and marked that day with a small, red dot. “Adrian? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “I’m fine, Miles.” At noon, I took a cab back to our apartment. My father was in Florida for the winter, so the place was empty except for the housekeeper. I went into the study, opened the floor safe, and pulled out a manila envelope. Inside was the complete provenance of the watch: the limited-edition certificate from Rolex, the Geneva Seal certification, the original purchase contract from my grandfather, and the notarized deed of gift he’d signed before he passed. Donor: James Alexander Sterling. Donee: Adrian Sterling. Property: Rolex 7130R-001 (Serial 003). The red notary seal was embossed six years ago. The day my grandfather gave me that watch, he held my hand with a grip that was surprisingly strong for his age. “Adrian,” he’d said, “this was the last gift your grandmother gave me. No matter what happens in this life, never let it go. It’s not just a timepiece. It’s the weight of a lifetime of promises.” I scanned the deed into my phone and put the original back in the safe. As I was heading for the door, the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, stopped me. “Mr. Sterling, your father-in-law stopped by a few days ago. He was asking where your father’s jewelry collection was kept. I didn’t let him into the study, of course.” I froze. “When was this?” “Last Thursday. He kept asking about that jade set your father owns. He was quite insistent.” Last Thursday. Madeline took the watch on Wednesday. My hand tightened on the doorknob until the wood groaned. 03 When I got home that evening, Madeline was in the living room on a call. Seeing me, she lowered her voice, whispered, “I’ll call you back,” and hung up. “Adrian, perfect timing. I wanted to talk to you.” She patted the cushion beside her, gesturing for me to sit. I remained standing. “Dominic is incredibly impressed with the project proposal,” she said, her voice light and airy as she crossed her legs. “We might sign the framework agreement as early as next week. See? I told you it would only be a couple of days—” “He posted on social media calling it a gift, Madeline.” Her legs uncrossed. Her smile faltered. “What?” I handed her my phone. She stared at the screen for five seconds. A small frown appeared between her brows, then vanished as quickly as it had arrived. “He’s just posturing, Adrian. People in his position need to maintain an image. Calling it a gift sounds better for his brand. I have it under control. The moment the contract is signed, I’ll get it back.” “Madeline, it’s a twenty-million-dollar heirloom. You don’t ‘have it under control’ when it’s on another man’s wrist.” She stood up and walked to the kitchen island to pour a glass of wine. “Can you please try to have some perspective? This is a three-hundred-million-dollar deal. What is one watch compared to that? When this closes, I’ll buy you something even better. Whatever you want.” Something better. There were only three in the world. What could possibly be better? The doorbell rang. Madeline went to answer it. “Dad? What are you doing here?” My father-in-law, Arthur, walked in wearing a cashmere overcoat, his hair perfectly coiffed. He was carrying a thermal container. “Madeline told me you were feeling a bit… stressed lately,” he said, setting the container on the dining table and giving me a pointed look. “I had the cook make some sea bass. Good for the nerves. Sit down, let’s eat.” For the nerves. “Arthur,” I said, my voice steady. “Madeline took my grandfather’s watch and gave it to another man.” Arthur opened the container, steam billowing out. “Madeline told me about that. It’s just a loan for business purposes, Adrian. You’ll get it back. Don’t be so sensitive.” “It’s not a two-hundred-dollar trinket.” “I know what it’s worth,” Arthur said, spooning the fish onto a plate and sliding it toward me. “But Madeline is doing this for the family business. She’s worked incredibly hard to get where she is. As her husband, shouldn’t you be her biggest supporter?” “It was my grandfather’s legacy.” “The man is gone, Adrian. Are you really going to tell me a piece of metal is more important than your wife’s future?” My breath hitched for a second. Arthur didn’t seem to notice. He kept talking. “Besides, you’ve been part of this family for five years. We’ve provided everything—the clothes, the cars, the lifestyle. Has Madeline ever mistreated you? It’s one watch. Is it really worth causing this much drama?” Madeline sat at the table, silent, staring into her wine glass. I looked at her, but she refused to meet my gaze. “Arthur,” I said, picking up the plate and setting it back down. “When you went to my father’s house last Thursday and asked where his jade collection was… did Madeline send you?” Arthur’s hand paused for a fraction of a second. Then he shrugged. “I was just checking in on things. Family looks after family.” “That jade belongs to my father. It is not, and will never be, part of our marital assets.” “You see?” Arthur turned to Madeline. “Your husband is interrogating me like I’m a common criminal. Madeline, are you going to let him talk to me like this?” Madeline finally spoke. “Adrian, just drop it. Dad is just looking out for us.” Looking out for us. From the beginning, not one of them had asked for my permission. “Madeline,” I said, standing up. “I’m saying this one last time. Get the watch back. You have three days.” She sighed, a long, weary sound. “Fine, fine. I’ll talk to Dominic. Happy?” As Arthur was leaving, he patted my shoulder with a patronizing heavy hand. “Don’t be so petty, Adrian. Look at your own father—he’s been married to your mother for decades and never started a fight over ‘things.’ Be a bigger man. That’s how a marriage lasts.” The door clicked shut. I stood in the foyer, staring at the cooling sea bass. Three days. I gave myself a deadline. 04 Three days passed. The watch didn’t return. Madeline claimed Dominic was out of town on a business trip and would return it next week. Next week. Always next week. I didn’t argue. Instead, I did something else. On Friday afternoon, I used a burner phone to call Dominic’s assistant. I identified myself as a senior associate from a major auction house and requested a private meeting for Monday at 3:00 PM to discuss a “portfolio expansion.” Monday. Dominic’s office was on the 52nd floor of a glass-and-steel tower in the Financial District. The receptionist, a young woman in a sharp blazer, led me into a sleek conference room. “Mr. Stone will be with you momentarily.” I waited ten minutes. The door opened. Dominic was even more polished in person than in his photos. His hair was jet black, his suit a deep navy, his shoes Italian leather. And on his left wrist sat the Rolex. My eyes lingered there for two seconds. He noticed. “Hello. You’re from the auction house?” He sat down opposite me, crossing his legs with an easy, practiced grace. “Adrian Sterling.” His expression didn’t flicker at first. “And what can I do for you, Adrian?” I slid my business card across the table. He picked it up, glanced at it, and set it down. “Adrian,” he repeated the name, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “That name sounds familiar.” “I imagine Madeline mentioned it.” The air in the room seemed to solidify. “Madeline?” His smile deepened, becoming something sharper, more predatory. “You know her?” “She’s my wife.” The conference room went silent for exactly three seconds. Dominic tapped his fingers twice against the mahogany table. “No wonder the name rang a bell.” He looked down at the watch on his wrist, making no move to hide it or take it off. “Are you here to ask for it back?” “I’m here to reclaim my property.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me with a look of pure, unadulterated condescension. It was almost pity. “Mr. Sterling, let me give you some advice.” He stood up, adjusting his cuffs to reveal even more of the watch face. “In this world, once something is given away, you don’t get it back. That goes for watches. And it goes for people.” I stared at his wrist. The back of the watch was against his skin, but I knew what was etched there. Für meinen einzigen Stern. “Dominic,” I said, standing up to meet his height. “The serial number on that piece is 003. The Geneva Seal certification number is GS-2017-0389. The movement sequence is PP240-81726. All of that is recorded in my deed of ownership.” His eyes shifted. Just for a heartbeat. Then the mask of composure returned. “You’re a fascinating man, Adrian.” He picked up his phone. “But honestly, this is a conversation you should be having with your wife, not me. Are you even sure you understand the state of your own marriage?” He turned and walked out, his leather soles echoing with a steady, arrogant rhythm against the marble floor. I stood in that empty room, listening until the sound of his footsteps vanished. Are you even sure you understand the state of your own marriage? The question felt like a nail being driven into my skull. On the cab ride back, I pulled out my phone and accessed the records for Madeline’s secondary credit card.

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After I died. The memorial service arranged by my only friend was smashed to pieces. Haters stood in front of my mourning hall with selfie sticks, livestreaming the wreckage. They kept muttering how “satisfying” it was. The chat rolled by in a synchronized wave of venom: Is the bitch finally dead? Good riddance. Meanwhile, my ex-husband had chartered a luxury yacht off the coast of Cabo. He and his new lover raised their champagne glasses, celebrating for seven days and seven nights. To the world, it seemed my early death was nothing short of poetic justice. Until one day, my diary was made public. Only then did everyone realize. In my entire, miserable life, I had only experienced a fleeting moment of true happiness. 1. On a hit prime-time special, the host suddenly pivoted to a question entirely off-script. “Cole, your ex-wife recently passed away from an illness. How are you feeling about it?” Cole, Hollywood’s newly minted A-lister, let out a cold scoff. “I don’t feel anything. I heard her memorial was trashed. Honestly? Good for them.” The host lowered her gaze, a faint smile playing on her lips. “You wouldn’t mind talking a bit more about your ex-wife, would you? Her passing is generating a massive amount of traction.” If a network tried to capitalize on anyone else’s recent death, they would be crucified. But they were capitalizing on mine. And the entire internet didn’t care. Cole shrugged, adjusting his designer lapel. “Ask whatever you want.” “I’m curious,” the host said. “Everyone says Harper was a toxic, irredeemable woman. So… why did you marry her in the first place?” The leading man fell silent. He probably couldn’t even remember the answer himself. The host gave a light, dangerous laugh. “We actually happen to have Harper’s diary right here. You wouldn’t mind if we shared it with everyone, would you?” Cole’s lips curled into a sneer of pure disdain. “Can someone with a high school diploma even string a sentence together for a diary? Read it. I don’t care.” When the slightly worn, faded notebook was opened on the jumbotron behind them. The entire studio froze. The handwriting was meticulous, elegant. It looked nothing like the frantic scrawls of the lunatic the media had painted me to be. The host smiled. “Then let me read it.” October 3, 2020 I’m getting married today! Who’s the groom? My Cole, of course. Who else would I ever want to marry? And who else would he ever dare to marry? If he dared, I’d chop him into tiny pieces. We’ve walked side by side for six years. Today, I finally get to marry the boy I fell in love with at eighteen. Diary, you have no idea how nervous Cole was when he slipped the ring on my finger. The tips of his ears were burning red, and his eyes welled up in seconds. They say a man’s tears are a woman’s ultimate weakness. It’s true. My smile has been permanently glued to my face all day. But, Diary, I’m not afraid of you laughing at me. When Cole got drunk at the reception and collapsed into my arms, I was the one crying the hardest. He pressed his face into my neck and mumbled, “Harper, I love you. I love you so much. Thank you for being my wife.” But the truth is, I’m the one who should be thanking Cole. Because of him, for the very first time in my life, I belong somewhere. At the wedding, Cole’s mother hugged me. When she wrapped her arms around me, the back of my throat burned. It was the first time in my entire life an elder had ever hugged me. So this is what a mother smells like. Growing up in the foster system, bouncing between group homes, I never knew what a hug was. For kids like us, it didn’t matter how well-behaved we were; nobody was coming to hold us. When we cried, we just lay on the padded linoleum floor. In school, teachers always praised us foster kids for being so quiet. But the truth was, we were quiet because we learned early on that our tears would never be answered. And the “good” kids were the ones nobody loved enough to notice. So, we learned to bury our emotions alive. It wasn’t until I met Cole that I learned I could just be myself. And that someone could still love me. Now, I finally have a home with Cole. We are dead broke. But things will get better. I looked at him today and sighed, telling him this was the happiest moment of my life. He pulled me into his chest, looking so fiercely protective. “What do you mean ‘moment’? We’re going to be happy every single day from now on.” Getting married is wonderful. I have someone by my side. I have a family. I am never going to be alone again. Oh, right! Attaching a wedding photo. It’s small, just a standard print. I’m wearing a thirty-dollar tulle dress I bought off Amazon, and Cole is wearing the only decent suit he owns. We look incredibly plain, but we have the brightest smiles. Cole promised me. Once he makes it big, he’s going to take me to the beaches of Maui to shoot proper wedding photos. The host finished reading and took a deep, audible breath. No one had anticipated that the “vicious” Harper shared memories like this with Cole. The ink on the page practically bled with youthful adoration and playful sweetness. Anyone with eyes could see the profound, unadulterated happiness I felt back then. Sweetness that has already soured is the most lethal kind of heartbreak. Cole stared blankly for three full seconds. These memories had been locked away in the darkest corners of his mind for years. There was a time when marrying me felt like he had conquered the world. Even he had forgotten that. The internet chat was equally bewildered. This was oceans apart from the venomous, calculating Harper they had been fed. “Wait, reading this… she sounds exactly like a sweet, normal girl in love.” “Fake, right? There’s no way someone like Harper wrote that.” “Wow, I didn’t know Harper was a foster kid. Guess that explains why she had no class.” The host turned her sharp gaze to Cole. “When you got married, it sounds like you two were blissfully happy.” Cole snapped out of his trance, suddenly letting out a self-deprecating laugh. “She… she used to be a decent person. It’s a shame you can know a person’s face, but never their heart.” The host smiled, a razor edge beneath her warmth. “Perhaps. Let’s move on to the second page, then.” “To be honest, I’m quite curious myself. What exactly happened to turn Harper into the unforgivable sinner everyone despises?” 2. January 6, 2021 Diary! I’ve been so busy doing background extra work lately, I’ve neglected you. Sorry about that. I’m back to ramble. Tell me, how does a person make big money? What if I take ten bucks a day and buy lottery tickets? The catering truck on set charges ten dollars for a hot meal. If I skip dinner, I save ten bucks. What if I hit the jackpot? Diary, I don’t want to rely on lottery fantasies. But I am just so desperate for money. And I can’t ask Cole. He’s already buckling under the pressure. He’s shooting night scenes every single day, and during the day, he’s editing videos as a freelancer to scrape by. He is so exhausted, yet he always puts on this relaxed face and tells me, “Your husband isn’t tired at all.” It shatters my heart into a million pieces. Never mind. I’ll figure it out myself. (Photo attached: Cole asleep, looking like a tired angel.) Whenever I feel like there’s no hope left, I just look at this picture. The host stopped reading and looked up. “Cole, I have to ask. Did you know Harper was this desperate for money back then?” Cole shook his head defensively. “I was her husband. If she needed money and didn’t tell me, she must have been doing something shady to get it.” “Though, it makes sense why she did all those filthy things later on. For a paycheck, she’d stoop to anything.” The host sighed softly, and continued to read. 3. January 10, 2021 Diary. My best friend passed away. We spent over a decade together in the foster system. And she just left me. All because we couldn’t come up with fifty grand for the experimental surgery. I told her I would find a way. I told her just to hold on a little longer. Even if I had to deliver food twenty-four hours a day, I would save her. But while I was on set doing extra work, she signed a DNR and pulled her own IVs. She left me a voicemail. She said, “Harper, we were thrown away since we were babies. Most of us don’t have good health anyway. Making it to 25? I’m already thrilled.” “Don’t cry for me, Harper. Maybe in heaven, I’ll run into the parents who dumped me.” “I’m going to give them a piece of my mind.” “You and Cole, you have to be happy.” “Oh, and remember to get your checkups. People as poor as us can’t afford to get sick.” I cried until I couldn’t breathe. I was so close. Just a little more time, and maybe I could have earned it. Diary. Tell me, why is the world so cruel? Today on set, I heard the costume department saying the lead actress’s handbag was worth fifty grand. One purse. One purse could have bought my best friend’s life. Writing this, it suddenly made me think of someone else. When I was little, I had another friend in the group home. She had the prettiest name. Madeline. She had a round face and eyes that turned into perfect little crescents when she smiled. Out of all of us ghosts, she was the only one practically bursting with life. She was so bright that when we were eight, a wealthy family adopted her. When we said goodbye, I was so genuinely happy for her. But she came back a year later. She was skin and bones. She never smiled anymore. And the worst part was, she couldn’t speak. She wrote it down for me. For a year, she had lived in absolute hell. Her adoptive father was terrified she would tell people what he did to her at night. He strangled her so brutally she suffered permanent vocal cord damage. She was completely mute. I ran to the facility director, begging for help. He beat me half to death. The director took a massive payoff from the wealthy family and buried the whole thing. Madeline didn’t last long after that. She took her own life. And now, my other friend is dead from an illness. It feels like there are hardly any of us foster kids left. Diary, I want to pour all of this out to Cole so badly. But when I look into his exhausted, smiling eyes… Forget it. I’ll wait until things get better. I won’t add to his burdens. Goodnight, Diary. I hope I wake up tomorrow to news about an audition. The host’s voice trembled slightly as she finished. The chat lit up. “Wait, she needed the money to save a friend’s life?” “Holy shit, what kind of group home is that?! Someone call the FBI.” “Feels like a PR cleanup to me. But you can tell Harper was intensely jealous. Why else would she fixate on a $50k handbag?” The host let out a long breath, turning to Cole. “Cole, did you know your wife was short fifty grand? You were both twenty-five at the time. Did you really not have any savings?” Cole’s pupils contracted. His jaw worked for a moment before he spoke. “In 2020, we had saved up a hundred grand together. I promised her I’d buy her a nice gold necklace…” “But then, toward the end of the year, my mom got seriously ill.” “It drained every single penny we had…” “After that, she never brought it up. So I never bought the necklace.” Cole lowered his eyes, his voice trailing off. The comments flew across the screen. “So Harper drained her entire life savings to save her mother-in-law, and had nothing left for her own friend?” “What are you talking about? They were married. That’s what family does.” “If they still had that money, her friend might have lived.” Actually, Cole didn’t tell the whole truth. Cole’s mother had excellent Medicare and private insurance. Most of the medical bills were fully reimbursed a month later. But when that money came back, I never saw a single dime. When my friend was dying, I debated it for days before finally swallowing my pride and begging my mother-in-law for a loan from the reimbursement money. Instead, I was viciously degraded. “Marrying a worthless stray like you was the greatest charity my son could ever give.” “And you have the audacity to ask me for money?” “You’re just an orphan. You have nobody to back you up anyway.” I had stood frozen in her living room. There was a ringing in my ears. This was the same woman who, at our wedding, had tearfully claimed she saw me as her own daughter. Now, her face was twisted in absolute disgust. I didn’t have a grand wedding with Cole. Just a small dinner with friends. I didn’t get an engagement diamond, nor a dowry. In the end, I didn’t even get basic human respect. It was only later I learned the truth. Once the ring is on the finger, the mask comes off. Especially for a girl like me, who had no family to stand behind her. The grievances omitted from my diary were a hundred times worse than what Cole ever knew. 4. The host offered a bitter, almost mocking smile. “So, the reason Harper had no money… was because she gave it all to save your mother?” The phrasing was surgical. The internet was already spiraling into a heated debate. People were starting to sense the cracks in the narrative. The chat moved too fast to read. Cole’s face stiffened. He instinctively tugged at his collar. “That’s true. And if she… if she hadn’t done all those disgusting things later on, I absolutely would have paid her back.” His voice rose, trying to anchor himself in his own righteousness. The host chuckled dryly. “Is that right?” “Then let’s keep reading.” “Let’s see exactly how Harper ‘changed’.” 5. May 20, 2021 Diary! Great news! I passed the audition! I booked the fourth lead on HBO’s massive new drama, ‘Smoke & Mirrors’. It’s my first time ever being on a prestige set! But when I ran home to share the joy with Cole… I found him sitting on the edge of the bed, looking utterly defeated. When he saw me, his eyes filled with guilt. “Harper, you know how we said we’d put a down payment on a house next month? I don’t think we can.” “I bombed my audition. They don’t even want me for a bit part.” “I think I’m stuck doing background work again.” His eyes were red. He looked entirely lost. In that moment, I suddenly remembered four years ago. When we first moved to Los Angeles. He had stars in his eyes. He was so fiercely passionate about his future. But now, the relentless rejection was grinding his soul into dust. My heart ached so badly. I held him, rocking him, promising him that everything would be okay. I swallowed the news of my own casting. Maybe the condos we were looking at weren’t that great anyway. Maybe my role isn’t as glamorous as I think it is. Maybe something better is waiting. Me? I have never doubted my Cole. He is so incredibly talented. Sooner or later, he is going to be the brightest star in the sky. As the host read this. The screen flooded with question marks. Cole’s expression completely froze. Because everyone knew the truth. The actress who played the fourth lead in Smoke & Mirrors became an overnight sensation. Years ago, a blind item leaked that I was originally cast in the role. But the entire internet mocked me, claiming I paid a PR firm to plant a fake rumor to make myself look relevant. Nobody ever realized. I was one breath away from becoming a star.

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Harrison didn’t realize I had stopped asking for his opinion until the silence had already hollowed out our relationship. When my firm offered me a relocation package, I signed the dotted line before it even occurred to me to mention it to him. When my best friend’s wedding invitation arrived specifying a “plus-one,” I RSVP’d for one and wrote her a massive check myself. Even when it came to my upcoming surgery. I booked the consultation and reserved the hospital bed entirely on my own. When Harrison, a doctor himself, finally found out, his brow furrowed in that familiar, clinical way. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Give me your chart. I’ll make the arrangements.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could overthink them: “I can handle it myself. I don’t want to be a burden to you. Thank you, though.” The moment the sentence hung in the air, we both froze. Because barely half a month ago, I was still the woman he dismissively called his “suffocating dependent.” Half a month ago, I would text him relentlessly just to ask which dress I should wear on a date, or what I should order for lunch. 1 “You’re rushing into surgery tomorrow?” My attending physician handed my chart back, a distinct note of confusion in his voice. “I thought Dr. Cole was getting back from his conference soon. You could easily wait a few days so he can be here with you…” “It’s fine,” I interrupted softly. “It’s my own business. I can handle it myself.” The doctor looked utterly bewildered. After all, within these hospital walls, I was famously known as the delicate, high-maintenance girlfriend. Even for a minor headache or a low-grade fever, I used to cling to Harrison, begging for his attention. The moment I stepped out of the clinic doors, I nearly collided with a familiar silhouette. Harrison had one hand wrapped around the handle of a sleek carry-on suitcase, looking like he had marched straight from the airport terminal to the hospital wing. And right behind him, like a permanent shadow, was Mia. Over her white medical resident coat, she was draped in a black cashmere overcoat—the exact coat I had bought for Harrison for our three-year anniversary. Harrison’s eyebrows snapped together the second he saw me. “What are you doing here? …Are you sick again?” Again. The practiced impatience in that single word hit me like a physical blow. He looked at me not like a partner, but like a nuisance desperately awaiting triage. He snatched the medical chart from my hands, his eyes scanning the lines of text before he shifted seamlessly into his commanding tone. “I have obligations tomorrow.” “This procedure isn’t urgent. Push the surgery to next week, and I’ll come sit with you.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could overthink them: “I can handle it myself. I don’t want to be a burden to you. Thank you, though.” The sheer, icy politeness of my response made Harrison falter. After all, the old me used to act like the world was ending if I got a paper cut, running to him for kisses and comfort. The old me would bombard his phone with mirror selfies, demanding he pick my outfit. From what we were having for dinner to the major crossroads of my life. I consulted Harrison for everything. Now, I was facing down a surgical procedure without a flinch, completely alone. If we hadn’t literally bumped into each other in the corridor, my boyfriend wouldn’t have even known I was going under the knife. I reached out and snatched my chart back, my hand accidentally catching the edge of a small pharmacy box he was holding. It clattered to the linoleum floor. The label was glaringly clear. It was a box of birth control pills. “Don’t overthink this, Stella.” Harrison bent down to retrieve the box, his voice dripping with that infuriating, professional detachment. “Mia suffers from severe dysmenorrhea. This is a standard prescription to manage the cramps.” Mia pulled the cashmere coat tighter around her small frame, her voice a reedy, panicked whisper. “I’m so sorry, Stella. Dr. Cole was supposed to go straight home. It’s all my fault for being so useless. The pain was so bad I couldn’t even stand, so I had to bother him to come help me get my meds.” She paused, looking at me with wide, painfully innocent eyes. “I just wish I could be as fiercely independent as you are, Stella. Then I wouldn’t have to make Dr. Cole run around exhausting himself for me.” I remembered a time I was doubled over in abdominal pain, texting Harrison to ask which department I should register for. What did the youngest Deputy Chief of Neurology at Boston General say to me? He said, I don’t know. When I cried about him brushing me off, he had pinched the bridge of his nose, looking at me with the sheer exhaustion of a parent dealing with a destructive toddler. “It’s a basic hospital directory, Stella. Can’t you just Google it?” “You are a grown woman. Can you please act like an adult? Stop relying on me like a helpless dependent.” “I am not your father. It is not my job to teach you basic life survival skills.” It was almost morbidly funny. To his girlfriend, words were a precious currency he refused to spend. But for his junior resident, he was willing to personally escort her to the pharmacy. Anyone walking past would assume Mia was the woman he loved. If this were the past, my temper would have ignited. I would have caused a massive, tearful scene right there in the hallway. But today, I just let out a quiet “Oh.” My voice was a flat, unmoving line. “Pills alone won’t fix it. You should really massage the pressure points on her stomach, hold her while she sleeps tonight, and make sure her hands and feet stay warm.” Mia’s face instantly burned crimson. “Stella, I didn’t mean it like that…” My genuine, albeit deadpan, medical advice was immediately read by Harrison as petty jealousy. His voice dropped to sub-zero. “Are you still throwing a tantrum? Is this just because I didn’t report my business trip to you?” Half a month ago was his birthday. I had worked insane overtime hours to earn a comp day, spent an entire afternoon cooking a massive feast from scratch, and picked up a custom-made gift I’d ordered months in advance. I waited until past midnight. He never came home. It was only when I saw Mia’s Instagram story that I found out Harrison had flown to Europe for an international medical exchange program. When I called him, he brushed it off as if I were overreacting to the weather. “It’s just a work trip, Stella. I didn’t see the need to hold a committee meeting about it.” “Birthdays happen every year. Career-defining grants don’t. I thought you were mature enough to understand priorities.” “Don’t you have your own life to worry about? Why are you always obsessively tracking my schedule?” The suffocating weight of my accumulated disappointment had finally shattered the dam. I remembered screaming into the receiver: “Harrison, in this grand list of your priorities, am I always going to be the absolute last? Am I the easiest thing to discard?” In the face of my hysterical heartbreak, Harrison simply said one sentence before hanging up on me. “You are not thinking rationally right now. We will discuss this when I get back.” 2 Once I was rational, I signed the corporate relocation agreement. My director hesitated, holding the paperwork. “Stella, this transfer means moving halfway across the country. A change this massive… you really should discuss this with your partner. You have a life here. Don’t make a decision this big on an impulse.” I signed my name with a fluid, unbroken stroke. “There’s no need.” The last time I was job hunting, I had brought two competing offers to Harrison, laying out the pros and cons, desperately wanting his input. He had barely glanced at the papers. “It’s your life, Stella. Don’t make me be the one to decide your path.” And yet, when Mia was applying to medical schools, he sat with her for hours, patiently guiding her through the applications until she was admitted to the top program in the country, officially becoming his protégé. Harrison loved to tell me I wasn’t independent enough. He despised how “clingy” I was. When I would excitedly chatter about something funny that happened at work, he would pointedly put on his noise-canceling headphones and turn on a medical podcast, rendering me entirely invisible in our own living room. When I was running late and begged for a ride to the subway, he would flatly refuse, insisting that his morning schedule could not be derailed by my poor time management. When I asked to join him and his friends for drinks, he would lecture me on the importance of building my own social circles. For years, I convinced myself that Harrison was just naturally aloof. That his coldness was a baseline, and that through sheer devotion, I would eventually become the exception. Then Mia walked into his life. She was the daughter of an old family friend, entrusted to Harrison to “look out for.” I thought he would find her irritating. Instead, he took on the role of her protector without a second of hesitation. I never imagined that she would be his exception. When Mia complained about her roommates, Harrison validated every single grievance. When she randomly craved a viral pastry on a Tuesday afternoon, he drove across the city to deliver it to her. When she started her rotations at his hospital, he proudly introduced her to his colleagues: “This is my junior. Look out for her.” Whenever I picked a fight over this glaring double standard, he would look at me with profound disappointment. “She is a child, Stella. Are you a child too?” “I look out for her out of a sense of duty. Are you seriously jealous of a familial obligation?” “Look at her age, then look at yours. Why don’t you start competing with actual infants while you’re at it?” But the “child” he spoke of was only three years younger than me. All the pathetic little excuses I had built for him over the years—it’s just his personality, he’s just stressed at the hospital, he just hates neediness—they all shattered into a million jagged pieces the moment I saw the boundless well of patience he possessed for someone else. It was fine. Once I finished my surgery tomorrow and boarded that flight, Harrison Cole would no longer be my problem. 3 My best friend Tess knew about the surgery and specifically took time off work to come stay with me. “You better have the guest room gleaming! Prepare to welcome your gold-medal caretaker!” she had joked on the phone. I laughed into the receiver. “I deep-cleaned it twice, and I bought that new linen set you liked. I promise you’ll sleep like a—” The moment I pushed open the front door of my apartment, the words died in my throat. The pristine, brand-new bedding I had so carefully arranged was crumpled and shoved onto the floor. The guest room was overflowing with unfamiliar boxes, and a massive, five-foot-tall teddy bear was sprawled across the mattress. It looked exactly like a dog marking its territory. The sound of the front door unlocking clicked behind me. A soft, bubbling laugh drifted into the hallway. “Dr. Cole, thank you so much for taking me to that restaurant. The food was incredible.” “All my bad mood from being isolated by my roommates is totally cured!” Harrison froze when he saw me standing in the hallway. He cleared his throat, his tone instantly shifting back to neutral. “Mia had a falling out with her roommates. She can’t stay in the dorms, so she’s moving out.” “She hasn’t secured an apartment yet, so she’s crashing in the guest room for a few days.” A dark, bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Harrison, I told you a week ago that Tess was coming to stay in that room.” Harrison blinked. The flash of genuine surprise across his face told me everything I needed to know. He had completely forgotten. When I had asked him about it a week ago, his voice had been dripping with annoyance. “Just handle that kind of trivial stuff yourself. Stop asking me for permission for every little thing, it’s exhausting.” Harrison’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry…” he muttered, his voice dropping. He lifted a sleek, branded paper bag in his hand, his tone softening into the cadence one might use to soothe an irrational toddler. “The restaurant we went to today is exactly your aesthetic. I’ll take you there this weekend.” I glanced at the gold-foiled logo on the bag. It was the exact restaurant I had practically begged him to take me to for months. He had always claimed he was too swamped with surgeries to waste an evening on overhyped food. I took the paper bag from his outstretched hand, turned around, and dropped it straight into the kitchen trash can. The breath Harrison was about to exhale hitched in his chest. Mia instantly squeezed past him, her voice small, trembling with manufactured guilt. “Stella, I’m so, so sorry. It’s my fault. I can just squeeze into the bed with your friend, I don’t mind at all…” I let out a sharp laugh. I walked straight into the guest room, grabbed Mia’s crumpled bedsheets and that absurd teddy bear, and kicked them hard out into the hallway corridor. Mia gasped, her eyes immediately welling up with tears. “Stella, those are my things for tonight… What am I supposed to do now?” I gave her a slow, chilling smile, gesturing toward the master bedroom. “You can go squeeze into bed with Harrison. I don’t mind at all.” Mia’s face flushed a violent, blotchy red. “If you don’t want me here, just say it! Why do you have to humiliate me like this?” Acting as if she had just been dealt a lethal insult, she choked out a sob, turned on her heel, and ran down the hallway. Harrison didn’t chase after her. He just stood there, glaring at me. “Stella, you know she’s clumsy and a bit childish. She didn’t ruin your things on purpose.” “If you didn’t want her staying here, you could have just used your words. I would have booked her a hotel. There was absolutely no need to maliciously target her twice in one day.” The smile fell from my face. “This is our home. You brought an outsider to live here. Didn’t it occur to you that you should discuss that with me?” Harrison’s frown deepened, staring at me like I was a lunatic making unreasonable demands. “Mia is being actively bullied and ostracized at her school. She is going through an emotional crisis. I thought my girlfriend would have at least an ounce of human empathy, but your first instinct is to bicker with me over a lack of communication.” “Furthermore, she was only going to be here for two days. It was a temporary, emergency arrangement. Do we really need to convene a summit for something so trivial?” “Just like how Tess is coming to stay—you didn’t need my explicit permission for that.” The old me would have heard those words and impulsively invited a male friend to crash on our couch that very night, just to see if his progressive, detached logic held up. But the new me just nodded slowly. “You’re entirely right. There really is no need to discuss it.” If we were operating on those rules. Then moving halfway across the country and breaking up with him probably didn’t require a discussion either. 4 “You should go book Mia that hotel room.” I held the front door open for him, a picture of perfect hospitality. Then, I walked into the bedroom, hauled my suitcase onto the bed, and started tossing my clothes inside. He clearly wasn’t satisfied with my lack of an emotional meltdown. He strode in and grabbed my wrist. “She is an adult, Stella. She can book her own hotel.” “More importantly, why are you suddenly packing? Where are you going?” I wrenched my arm out of his grip. “Don’t you have your own life to worry about? Why are you always obsessively tracking my schedule?” Harrison flinched. He recognized his own venom being spat back at him. A heavy silence filled the room. “Not telling you about my trip to Europe… that was my mistake,” he said softly, a rare concession. “From now on, I will keep you updated on my itinerary.” “Tomorrow, I have to go to the university. Mia’s conflict with her roommates escalated, and the dean is demanding a meeting with her family. Her parents can’t fly in time, so I have to go act as her proxy.” “Push your surgery to the day after tomorrow. I will go with you.” It seemed that in the grand hierarchy of Harrison’s life, I was still squarely at the bottom. I looked at him calmly. “I don’t need you there. It makes no difference to me whether you’re present or not.” Harrison genuinely seemed to believe I just didn’t understand the logistical value of his presence. He sighed, explaining it to me like I was slow. “Stella, I can pull strings to get the best specialists. I can interpret the pathology reports for you. At the absolute bare minimum, I can wait in the pharmacy lines so you don’t have to.” Whatever response I was about to give was cut off by his phone ringing. Mia’s tearful, terrified voice pierced the quiet room.

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During the weekly wrap-up, the new intern suddenly switched the projector to my attendance record. The eyes of the CEO and the entire company locked onto me in an instant. The intern, Madison, tilted her chin up with a smug grin and slammed a stack of photos onto the mahogany conference table. “Nate, I’m reporting her. She’s been using the company’s luxury vehicle to pick up her kid every single day. It’s a blatant misuse of company assets for personal gain. I move for immediate termination!” Nate’s face turned as dark as a thundercloud. I looked at this ambitious intern with a flicker of genuine pity. She was so desperate to climb the ladder she hadn’t noticed the rungs were made of glass. The “company car” she was referring to? That was my Rolls-Royce Cullinan. A three-hundred-thousand-dollar piece of machinery. For the sake of closing deals and keeping the firm’s image afloat, I had let the company use it for free for two whole years. 1 The silence in the room was absolute, the kind of heavy quiet that precedes a storm. The central AC was humming at a steady sixty-eight degrees, but a chill crept into my bones that had nothing to do with the temperature. It was the coldness of human nature. In the photos, the black Cullinan gleamed under the streetlights, parked in front of an elite private preschool. The angles were sharp, intentional—capturing me leaning down to lift my daughter, her small arms around my neck, with the last four digits of the license plate clearly visible. Madison leaned her hands on the table. Her face, young and flush with the misplaced zeal of a “corporate crusader,” burned with a self-righteous fire. She looked at me as if I were a common thief caught with my hand in the vault. “Nate, according to the Employee Handbook, company vehicles are strictly for business use. As a senior executive, Ms. Mercer shouldn’t just be setting an example—she should be the standard. Instead, she’s turned our most expensive client-facing asset into her personal nanny-cam on wheels. School runs, grocery trips, weekend getaways. It’s all here.” Her voice was crisp, echoing off the glass walls. She clicked to the next slide, revealing a detailed Excel spreadsheet. “I’ve done the math. Between the commute and the school runs, she’s putting an extra twenty-five miles on the odometer daily. Between the fuel consumption of a V12 and the depreciation, we’re looking at thousands in hidden costs every month. And that’s not even counting the billable hours she’s stealing from the company driver.” She turned to the head of the table, Nathaniel Cross. Nate. Nate was my college classmate. He was the founder of this firm. In the early days, when he couldn’t even cover payroll, I was the one who dipped into my savings to keep the lights on. Later, when we needed to project an image of success to land the big fish, my five-year-old BMW didn’t cut it. Without a second thought, I brought in the Cullinan I’d bought myself as a thirty-fifth birthday present—a car I’d owned for less than a month. I told him back then, “Take it. Use it. We need the clients to see we’re already in their league.” That “temporary” favor had lasted two years. I paid for the gas. I paid the insurance premiums. I covered the maintenance. Sometimes, when the driver was overwhelmed, I even drove to JFK myself to pick up VIPs. Everyone in this building knew that car was mine. Or at least, they should have. But looking at Nate now, there was no defense in his eyes. His brow was furrowed, his fingers drumming rhythmically on the table—a nervous habit he had whenever he was weighing his own interests against someone else’s. “Diana.” Nate finally spoke. His voice was low, coated in a professional coldness that felt like a slap. “The evidence Madison provided… is it true?” I stared at him, my heart skipping a beat. Is it true? Two years ago, when he begged me for the car to save face, he said, “Diana, I’m so sorry to ask this of you. As soon as we’re in the black, I’ll buy you a brand-new one.” One year ago, when the cash flow dried up, I used that car as collateral for a bridge loan so he could pay his staff. He told me then, “Diana, this car is the company’s lifeline. It’s your badge of honor.” And now, he was asking me if it was true? I scanned the room. George, the sales manager, had used that very car last week to pick up his mother-in-law from the hospital, bragging on Instagram about “company perks.” Now, he kept his head down, intently studying his legal pad. Sarah from HR, who asked for the keys every other month “for supplies” but really just wanted to cruise with her boyfriend, was looking at me with a sneer, as if I were a white-collar criminal. It turns out that in the face of profit, kindness isn’t just cheap—it’s invisible. “What do you think, Nate?” I asked. My voice was calmer than I expected. Nate avoided my gaze. “The photos speak for themselves. Diana, you’ve been with us since the beginning, and we’re friends, but a policy is a policy. We have to separate the personal from the professional. That’s a fundamental principle.” He paused, a look of grim determination settling over his features. “Here’s how we’ll handle this. You’ll hand over the keys immediately. From now on, the vehicle will be managed strictly by the administration department. Additionally, the finance team will calculate the fuel and depreciation costs Madison outlined and deduct them from your next paycheck.” Madison’s lips curled into a triumphant smirk. She looked like a cat that had finally caught the prize canary. “Thank you, Nate. That’s very fair. Also, I think a formal apology in front of the whole staff is necessary. This kind of behavior rots company culture.” Nate hesitated, glancing at me briefly before nodding. “We’ll skip the speech. A company-wide memo detailing the disciplinary action will suffice.” A company-wide memo. A docked pay. Confiscation of my own keys. I looked at Nate’s familiar face and realized I didn’t recognize him at all. It was my car. But I didn’t argue. I didn’t scream. I didn’t reach into my bag, pull out the title, and throw it in his face. Because I saw the naked ambition in Madison’s eyes, and I saw the calculated greed in Nate’s. She wanted to use me as a stepping stone; he wanted to seize the chance to finally claim the “company limo” as his own, permanently turning my generosity into his asset. Two years is a long time. Long enough for people to develop the delusion that what they’ve been allowed to use actually belongs to them. “Fine,” I said. I stood up, reached into my bag, and pulled out the heavy, leather-bound key fob. I placed it gently on the conference table. The thud it made was small, but it felt like a gavel coming down. “There are the keys. I accept the memo.” I looked at Nate, a slight, knowing smile touching my lips. “I hope this car brings the company all the luck it deserves.” Nate clearly hadn’t expected me to fold so easily. He blinked, a flash of relief—and then greed—crossing his face. “I’m glad you understand, Diana. It’s for the good of the firm.” Madison snatched the keys off the table, gripping them tight as if they were a golden ticket to the C-suite. “See, Diana? If you’d just been honest from the start, it wouldn’t have come to this.” I looked at her with pure pity. She didn’t realize what she was holding. She thought she’d snatched power. In reality, she had just grabbed a live grenade. One that was about to blow this company to pieces. 2 The memo hit everyone’s inbox thirty minutes later. The subject line was a serrated blade: Disciplinary Notice Regarding Misuse of Corporate Assets: Operations Director Diana Mercer. It detailed my “crimes” with surgical precision: the long-term unauthorized use of the firm’s flagship Cullinan for personal errands, picking up children, and shopping trips. It cited a “severe breach of asset management protocols” and “conduct unbecoming of leadership.” I sat in my office, listening to the murmurs drifting over the cubicle walls. “Unbelievable. She always acted so high and mighty, but she’s just another cheapskate skimming off the top.” “Right? A Cullinan? That’s a four-hundred-thousand-dollar car. Using it as a minivan? Some people have no shame.” “Do you think she actually thought Nate wouldn’t notice? Even he doesn’t drive it that often.” “Madison really did us a favor. It’s about time someone cleaned house.” I took a sip of my coffee. The bitterness coated my tongue, but it couldn’t touch the coldness in my chest. The door swung open without a knock. Madison walked in, clutching a clipboard. She didn’t just walk—she marched. “Diana, Finance finished the audit. Based on the mileage logs over the last twenty-four months, you owe the company one hundred twenty-eight thousand dollars in fuel, maintenance, and depreciation.” She slammed the paper onto my desk, looming over me. “Nate already signed off on it. You have three days to settle the balance, or it’ll be liquidated from your year-end bonus and equity dividends.” I picked up the sheet and scanned the numbers. They were incredibly thorough. They had even counted the miles I drove to the dealership for the car’s scheduled maintenance as “personal use.” “One hundred twenty-eight thousand,” I mused. “You’re quite the mathematician, Madison.” “I’m efficient,” she snapped. “I know you’re bitter, Diana. But these are the rules. You enjoyed a lifestyle you didn’t pay for. Now, the bill is due.” “Enjoyed?” I leaned back in my chair, looking her dead in the eye. “Do you have any idea what the insurance on that car costs annually?” Madison hesitated. “The company pays it, obviously.” “No. I do. Fifty thousand a year.” “And the maintenance?” “Also me. Over ten grand a service.” “Well… that was your choice! You’re the one who drove it!” Madison stammered, her logic beginning to fray. “Do you even know who brought that car into this office two years ago?” “Who cares? It belongs to the company now,” Madison said, waving her hand dismissively. “Don’t try to deflect. Pay the money. The keys are in my possession now. If you need a car for work, you’ll have to submit a formal request form. I’ll be the one approving it.” She would be approving it. An intern who had been here less than ninety days was going to approve the Operations Director’s travel. The sheer absurdity of it was almost cinematic. “Understood.” I picked up a pen and signed the confirmation slip with a flourish. “I’ll settle the debt.” Madison snatched the paper back, a look of pure, unadulterated triumph on her face. “Smart move. Oh, and Nate told me to tell you: we have a massive client coming in next Monday. He specifically requested the Cullinan for his transport. Make sure you clear out all your personal junk. I don’t want the client seeing car seats or teething toys. It’s embarrassing for the firm.” “Will do.” I agreed so quickly it almost startled her. Madison turned and walked out, her heels clicking against the floor like a victory drum. I watched her go, then pulled out my phone. I checked my bank balance—more than enough—and then dialed a number I had saved under “Legal.” “Hey, Robert? It’s Diana Mercer.” “Yes, I need to consult on a few things. Illegal seizure of private property, back-payment of unauthorized expenses, and potential fraud.” “Evidence? I have everything. Every wire transfer, every service receipt, every insurance binder from the last two years. All in my name.” I hung up and opened my bottom desk drawer. I pulled out a thick manila folder. Inside were the original documents for the Rolls-Royce. The sales contract. The title. The tax certification. And there, in bold ink under Registered Owner, were two words: Diana Mercer. Two years ago, I had “loaned” the car to Nate to help him look the part of a successful CEO. He’d offered to sign a lease agreement—twenty thousand a month. I had said, “Don’t worry about it, Nate. We’re partners. Keep the cash in the business until we’re stable.” We never put it in writing. I thought it was a gesture of loyalty. Now I realized it was just a weapon I’d handed him to use against me. If they wanted to play by the book, if they wanted to “settle accounts,” then we were going to count every single penny. I stood up and walked down to the executive garage. The Cullinan was sitting in the CEO’s reserved spot. Madison was there, directing two junior assistants as they swarmed the car. “Throw these floor mats out, they’re hideous,” she barked. “And this charm hanging from the mirror? Toss it. It looks like a kindergarten project.” “Check the trunk. Clear out any personal boxes. We don’t want their private clutter in here.” Those “hideous” mats were custom-ordered leather, worth eight hundred dollars. The charm was a lucky tassel my daughter had made me with her own hands. The boxes in the trunk contained high-end gift sets I’d bought with my own money for our upcoming client gala. I stood behind a concrete pillar, watching them like scavengers, throwing my belongings onto the dirty garage floor and stepping over them. Madison even climbed into the driver’s seat, gripped the steering wheel, and took a selfie. I saw her post it to her Instagram story a second later. Caption: New whip. Hard work pays off. Keep grinding! #CEOEnergy #GrowthMindset I looked at the post and tapped the heart icon. Keep grinding, Madison. I hope you enjoy the ride. Because this car is temperamental—she only listens to her real owner. 3 The next morning, the HR Manager called me in. “Diana, given the severity of the policy violation, the firm has decided to temporarily suspend your operational authority.” The HR manager, Brenda, was in her late forties and we’d always been on good terms. Now, she wouldn’t even meet my eyes. “Nate feels it’s best if you step back from active accounts this week to… reflect. You’ll be handing over your current projects for the transition.” “Handing them over to whom?” “Madison.” I arched an eyebrow. “To an intern?” “Nate says Madison has shown ‘extraordinary integrity’ and a ‘keen eye for oversight.’ The board—well, Nate—is fast-tracking her to Operations Manager to help shoulder your workload.” Fast-tracked. I see. She used my “corpse” as a ladder to a management title. A hell of a trade for ninety days of work. “Understood.” I went back to my office. Madison was already there, sitting at a makeshift desk they’d squeezed in next to mine. She was wearing a sharp power suit, her hair slicked back into a tight bun. She looked the part, I’ll give her that. “Diana,” she said, dropping the ‘Ms. Mercer.’ Her tone held zero respect. “Nate wants me to take over the client files. Specifically the Beaumont account. He’s coming in Monday, and I need to be lead on the prep.” Arthur Beaumont. Our biggest client. The man who provided sixty percent of our annual revenue. I had landed him two years ago, specifically because I showed up to our first meeting in that Cullinan. Beaumont was a man of old-school tastes. He cared about presentation. He’d run his hand over the leather seats and said, “Ms. Mercer, a car tells you everything about a person’s attention to detail. I think we’ll do great things together.” Now, Madison wanted him. “The files are on the shared drive. Help yourself,” I said flatly. “I’m sure there are details not in the files,” Madison said, leaning in. “What are his preferences? What tea does he drink? Any allergies? Golf handicap?” I looked at her hungry, desperate face. “He drinks Da Hong Pao tea. He’s allergic to shellfish. And he loves golf—usually plays at the club in Westchester.” I told her the truth. Mostly. He did love that tea. He was allergic to shellfish. But what I didn’t mention was that Arthur Beaumont absolutely loathed young people who pretended to know more than they did. He despised “performative excellence.” “Got it,” Madison scribbled in her notebook. “Thanks. Oh, and I’ve given the car keys to Old Joe, the driver. Nate said from now on, that car is strictly for VIPs like Beaumont. It stays locked in the garage otherwise.” “Sounds like a plan.” That afternoon, I drove to the Rolls-Royce dealership. “Ms. Mercer! Good to see you,” the service manager greeted me warmly. “Everything okay with the Cullinan?” “It’s fine,” I said, pulling a spare key from my purse. “I need a full diagnostic run remotely, and I want to upgrade the GPS and anti-theft software. Specifically the remote-kill switch.” “Of course. Did you bring the vehicle in?” “No,” I smiled. “But someone will be bringing it in soon. Very soon.” The manager looked confused but nodded professionally. “Whatever you need. The car is in your name, Ms. Mercer. We only take orders from you.” I walked out of the dealership into a gray, overcast afternoon. I took an Uber back to the office. As we pulled up to the curb, I saw the Cullinan gliding out of the garage. Old Joe was driving. Madison was in the passenger seat, chatting animatedly. In the back, Nate was leaning against the headrest with his eyes closed, looking every bit the high-powered executive. They were off to a lunch meeting with a new prospect. The window rolled down as they got stuck at the red light next to me. Madison saw me standing on the sidewalk, waiting for my ride. She leaned out, a smirk plastered on her face. “Hey, Diana! Waiting for a bus?” She gave a mock-sympathetic pout. “Sorry about this, but Nate has a big meeting and we needed the ‘company’ car. It’s a scorcher out here—maybe you should just head home early and play with your kid.” Nate opened his eyes and looked at me. His expression was a messy cocktail of guilt and arrogance. “Just expense the Uber, Diana,” he said, before rolling up the tinted glass. The black beast roared away, splashing a puddle of dirty rainwater onto the hem of my skirt. I stood there, watching the taillights disappear into traffic. Expense the Uber? Nate, you forgot one very important detail. The gas card for that car is linked to my personal Amex. Right on cue, my phone buzzed. A notification popped up: Spent $185.50 at Shell Station #402. Using my car, burning my gas, to go to their meetings, all while mocking me for being on foot. The audacity of these parasites was truly breathtaking. I took a deep breath and called my bank. “Yes, hello. I’d like to report a stolen gas card.” “That’s right. Freeze it immediately. No more transactions.” Then, I opened the Rolls-Royce remote-access app on my phone. The screen showed the car moving East at 45 mph. My finger hovered over the Remote Engine Lock button. I hesitated for a second. No. Locking it now was too easy. I wanted to lock it at a moment they would never, ever forget. I closed the app and hailed another taxi. “Driver, take me to the best commercial real estate office in the city.” “You got it, ma’am.” If we were settling accounts, we were going to talk about the building, too. The office we were currently in? It was a floor in a boutique building downtown that my father had left me. When Nate started the company, he couldn’t afford a prestigious address. I let him have the space at half the market rate. The lease was a “gentleman’s agreement,” renewed annually. And it just so happened to expire this coming Monday. Madison wanted “efficiency”? Let’s see how efficient they are when they’re working out of a Starbucks. 4 The next few days were remarkably quiet for me. Madison, on the other hand, was frantic. She was trying to manage my entire department while simultaneously planning the “Grand Welcome” for Arthur Beaumont. She treated the Cullinan like her personal trophy. She had Old Joe wash it three times a day. She flooded her social media with selfies from the backseat, her captions dripping with smugness: “Status isn’t just a title, it’s an environment.” “Heavy is the head that wears the crown, but the leather seats help.” Dozens of coworkers liked her posts, calling her a “rising star” and “the future of the firm.” They had no idea she was playing with matches in a room full of gasoline. Friday evening, while I was home helping my daughter build a Lego castle, my phone rang. It was Nate. “Diana, where are you?” He sounded stressed. “At home. Why?” “The gas card isn’t working. Joe went to fill up for the weekend, and it said ‘Card Frozen.’” “Oh, that,” I said casually. “That card is in my name. I thought I lost my wallet earlier, so I reported it stolen and canceled all the cards.” “You…” Nate choked back a frustrated sound. “Well, un-cancel it! We need the car for the Beaumont pickup on Monday morning!” “I can’t do that over the phone, Nate. I have to go to the branch in person with my ID. They’re closed for the weekend, and honestly, I’m pretty booked with ‘reflecting’ on my behavior.” “Diana! Are you doing this on purpose?” Nate’s voice rose an octave. “Just because of that fine? Are you really being this petty? If we lose Beaumont, the whole company is in jeopardy. Do you want that on your conscience?” “Nate.” I cut him off, my voice like ice. “First, it’s my personal card. I manage it how I see fit. Second, why is the company using my personal card for fuel anyway? Doesn’t the ‘administration department’ provide the driver with a corporate card?” Silence on the other end. The company did provide a fuel allowance. But I knew exactly where that money went—it went into Nate’s pocket to cover his country club dues, and Joe just used my card because I never complained. Until now. “Fine, Diana. Fine,” Nate spat. “The company will cover the gas. Don’t expect to use a single company resource moving forward.” “Understood, Nate.” I hung up and looked out at the city skyline. This was only the beginning. Sunday night, I made copies of all my receipts. I pulled out the lease for the office space. It was black and white: Lease expires October 31st. That was tomorrow. If they didn’t sign a renewal—which they couldn’t, because I hadn’t sent them one—they would be trespassing by noon. I sent a quick text to my real estate agent: “Bring the new prospective tenants by tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM sharp.” “You got it, Diana. That floor is hot. I have a hedge fund willing to pay double the current rent.” “Perfect. Anyone but the current tenant is fine by me.” I poured myself a glass of red wine. Tomorrow was going to be a masterpiece. Beaumont was coming for an inspection. The real estate agent was coming for an eviction. Madison was coming for her “big break.” And I was coming for everything they owed me. I took a piece of paper and began to list the numbers. Cullinan Purchase Price: $320,000. Sales Tax & Registration: $28,000. Two years of Insurance: $100,000. Maintenance & Repairs: $80,000. Two years of Fuel: $60,000. Office Rent Deficit: $1,200,000. Unpaid Loans to Nate: $500,000. Total: $2,288,000. And that was just the money I could prove. It didn’t count my blood, my sweat, or the connections I’d handed Nate on a silver platter. I looked at the number and laughed. I had spent over two million dollars to raise a pack of wolves. They didn’t just forget to thank me—they tried to eat me. One hundred twenty-eight thousand dollar “fine”? Tomorrow, I was going to make them vomit up every cent they’d ever taken from me, with interest. 5 Monday morning, 9:00 AM. The office was buzzing with an electric, nervous energy. Madison was dressed in a pristine white power suit, her makeup flawless. She stood by the entrance like a soldier awaiting inspection. Old Joe had the Cullinan idling at the curb, the paint polished so bright it hurt to look at. Nate was in his best charcoal suit, obsessively checking his Rolex. “How far out is Beaumont?” “He just landed,” Madison replied, her voice trembling slightly with excitement. “Joe is heading to the park entrance now to escort his motorcade in.” It was a matter of etiquette. Beaumont’s security detail would park at the main gate, and our “corporate” car would bring him to the door. “Joe! Go!” Madison shouted. Joe nodded, climbed into the driver’s seat, and pressed the Start button. Nothing happened.

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