1 Fifteen years ago, the brutally mutilated corpse of a stranger was discovered in the center of my bedroom. My parents, fueled by a sickening sense of righteous fury, pointed their fingers at me. They swore to the police that I was the killer. My twin brother sobbed uncontrollably, begging me to just confess and spare the family any more pain. My wife, the CEO of a rising tech firm, handed me divorce papers before the blood on my floor had even dried. I was convicted and thrown into a maximum security prison. The victim’s family paid off the inmates. They crushed my vocal cords, leaving me with a raspy croak. They shattered the bones in my arms and legs, making sure they healed crooked. I endured that absolute hell for fifteen agonizing years. On the exact day I was finally released, my ex-wife and my twin brother were waiting for me at the prison gates. They were both wearing matching platinum wedding bands. My brother looked at me, his face twisted in an expression of deep, exaggerated pity. “Brother, you have finally paid for your sins. From now on, we will take good care of you.” The prison guard standing next to me placed a heavy hand on my crooked shoulder, his voice thick with condescension. “Your brother and his wife are Saints for taking you in. Make sure you turn over a new leaf and actually try to be a human being this time.” A cold, hollow smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. Because fifteen years ago, the person who butchered that stranger and left the body in my room wasn’t me. It was my twin brother. … Before I could even take a full breath of free air, a swarm of aggressive journalists, led right to me by my brother Lucas, completely surrounded us. Flashbulbs exploded like mortar fire, blinding me. “Mr. Vance, you brutally murdered and mutilated an innocent person, yet you only served fifteen years. Did your early release have anything to do with the massive financial influence of your sister-in-law, CEO Olivia Cross?” “The victim’s family has publicly stated they want you dead. Do you have a response?” “In the last fifteen years, have you felt even a single shred of remorse for the monster you became?” They surged forward like a pack of starving wolves, shoving heavy microphones so close they nearly chipped my teeth. The chaotic, overlapping shadows instantly dragged my mind back into the suffocating nightmare of the prison yard beatings. Pure survival instinct took over. I threw my arms over my head and scrambled backward, but my badly healed leg gave out, and I crashed hard onto the concrete. “Don’t… please don’t hit me…” In the middle of the ensuing chaos, my ex-wife Olivia pushed her way through the mob, using her body as a shield to block the rabid reporters. “My husband’s brother was convicted of manslaughter, and he has served his full sentence. There was absolutely no financial bribery involved in his release. If you vultures continue to harass him, my legal team will bury you in lawsuits!” Her icy, corporate authority finally made the journalists back off. They dispersed, grumbling in disappointment. Only then did Lucas step forward. He knelt down, offering me a hand with a face plastered in fake concern. “Brother, are you okay? Thank God I asked Olivia to come with me. I am so, so sorry. I had no idea the press would track us down…” Olivia wrapped her arm around Lucas’s waist, pulling him close, her voice dripping with soft reassurance. “This is not your fault, Lucas. Do not blame yourself.” I slapped his outstretched hand away. Gritting my teeth against the shooting pain in my leg, I struggled to stand up under my own power, forcing my permanently hunched spine as straight as I possibly could. “Keep your fake sympathy to yourself!” In front of these two monsters, I refused to look completely broken. I dragged my bad leg, limping stubbornly toward the sleek black SUV waiting by the curb. Lucas squeezed in right next to me in the backseat. He deliberately rested his hand on his knee, letting the sunlight catch the massive diamond on his ring finger. His tone was coated in an artificial layer of guilt, but the sheer, gloating triumph in his eyes was blinding. “Brother, Olivia and I actually got married fifteen years ago. When you went to prison for murder, my health took a massive downturn. She proposed to me so she could legally take care of me.” He let out a sharp, dramatic gasp, covering his mouth as if he had just realized his mistake, and offered me a sheepish smile. “But do not worry, brother. Olivia and I already talked it over. You can live in our guest house. After rotting in a cell for a decade and a half, even if you used to be a genius, there is no way you can survive on your own now.” “Lucas!” Olivia snapped, cutting off his relentless gloating. She caught my eye in the rearview mirror, her voice immediately softening. “Your brother just got out of prison. Let him rest.” Lucas let out an annoyed, petulant sigh and turned away. I turned my head, staring blankly out the tinted window as the city skyline blurred past. My mind was dragged unwillingly into the past. Fifteen years ago, I was a shark. I was the top venture capitalist on the East Coast. Desperate entrepreneurs literally threw briefcases of cash at my feet, begging for a fraction of my attention. When Olivia launched her tech startup, every single dime of her initial capital, and every bridge loan that kept her afloat, came directly from my personal accounts and my aggressive market maneuvers. She used to grip my hands, her eyes shining with pure worship, swearing that she would spend the rest of her life protecting me. Promising I would never suffer a single injustice as long as she drew breath. But fifteen years in a concrete box completely incinerated my genius. The brutal beatings shattered my nerves and left me hollow. The brilliant, high-stakes world that used to bow to me had locked its doors and thrown away the key a long time ago. When the SUV finally parked, I looked up at the sprawling estate, and for a split second, my brain short-circuited. The ‘guest house’ Lucas had so generously offered me was actually the massive, custom-built mansion Olivia and I had designed as our marital home. My parents rushed out of the front doors. They completely ignored me, swarming Lucas, checking if he was tired, asking if the drive was stressful. I stood off to the side, a complete stranger, watching their sickeningly sweet family reunion. Olivia popped the trunk and grabbed my single, battered duffel bag. “Mom, Dad. Julian is home.” My parents froze. The warm smiles vanished instantly. They turned to look at me, and identical expressions of pure, visceral disgust twisted their faces. My father spat on the manicured grass. “Olivia, I told you not to bring this psychopathic butcher back to our house!” My mother crossed her arms, glaring at me like I was a disease. “Exactly. Just having him stand in the driveway makes the air feel polluted.” A dull, delayed ache throbbed in my chest. For twenty-something years, my parents were meticulously, obsessively fair. If they cut an apple for us, they made sure Lucas and I got pieces that were measured to the exact millimeter. I truly believed they loved us equally. It wasn’t until the blood hit my bedroom floor fifteen years ago that I realized that ‘equality’ was nothing but a delusion I had built to survive. Lucas grabbed their arms, leaning in affectionately. “Mom, Dad, brother just spent fifteen years in a cage. Do it for me, okay? Just tolerate him.” My parents let out identical, heavy scoffs and turned their backs on me. Dinner was a silent, agonizing affair. Afterward, I was escorted to a tiny, windowless storage closet at the back of the property. I stared at the bare, splintered sheet of plywood propped up on milk crates that they called a bed. I didn’t say a word. Late that night, I curled into a tight ball on the hard wood. I couldn’t sleep. In the cell block, the shot-caller made sure I suffered. He paid the night shift inmates to stare at me. The second my eyes closed, the heavy steel-toed boots started raining down on my ribs. “Knock, knock.” I violently flinched, my heart slamming against my ribs. It took several agonizing seconds for my brain to process that I wasn’t in the block anymore. Listening to the persistent knocking, I slowly dragged myself off the plywood. I opened the door, saw who was standing in the shadows, and my hands instantly balled into fists. “What the hell do you want?” Olivia looked at me, her face painted with deep concern. “It is your first night out. I was worried you couldn’t sleep. I just came to check on you.” My voice was like cracked ice. “Get out. Take your fake pity somewhere else.” She just looked at me, an indulgent, almost patient expression on her face. It was the exact same look she gave me sixteen years ago. The night I walked into our bedroom and found her and Lucas entirely naked, tangled up in our sheets. I lost my mind. I screamed until my throat bled. She just stood there, shielding Lucas’s naked body with her own, letting me break everything in the room. When I finally collapsed from exhaustion, she looked at me with that exact same patient, soft expression. “Lucas and I just had too much to drink. Nothing happened. You are overreacting.” The face from my nightmares perfectly overlapped with the woman standing in front of me now. She reached out, her soft fingers wrapping around my scarred wrist. Her thumb stroked my ruined skin, sending a wave of absolute revulsion crashing through my body. “Do not touch me!” I yanked my arm back violently, but she held on tight. “Julian, you are the only man I have ever loved. I only married Lucas because he threatened to cut your family off. Our marriage is purely on paper…” I let out a harsh, barking laugh. “Really? You took care of my family by taking my brother to bed? Lucas practically bragged at dinner that you had a miscarriage with his kid.” Olivia stepped forward, aggressively trying to force her way into my personal space. “Julian, it isn’t what you think! I have been waiting for you to come home for fifteen years! I promised I would protect you!” I shoved her hard in the chest, stumbling backward. “Are you that desperate? You want to sleep with a crippled ex-con? Or do you just get a sick thrill out of playing both brothers?” Her eyes filled with theatrical tears. “Julian…” “What the hell is going on here?!” Lucas’s shrill, furious scream echoed down the dark hallway. He stomped toward us, flanked on both sides by my parents, who were glaring at me like I was a rabid dog. Olivia quickly stepped away from me, rushing to Lucas’s side, whispering frantic apologies into his ear. Lucas shoved past her, marching right up to me, and drove a vicious backhand across my face. “You ungrateful bastard! I bring you into my home out of the kindness of my heart, and on your very first night, you try to seduce my wife?! She belongs to me now!” “Have you absolutely no shame?!” I swallowed the warm metallic taste of blood pooling in my mouth and spat on the floor. “I didn’t touch her.” Seeing his face twist in rabid paranoia, a dark, vindictive urge flared up inside me. I smirked, letting my raspy voice drop. “But even if I did, I learned the trick from you.” “The very first time I brought Olivia home to meet the family, didn’t you put on my favorite pajamas and sneak into the guest room while she was sleeping?” Ever since we were children, Lucas was obsessed with stealing whatever I loved. The night I brought Olivia home, he didn’t even try to hide his intentions. He aggressively threw himself at her. Back then, Olivia actually had a spine. She explicitly rejected him and chose me. When my parents tried to sweep his disgusting behavior under the rug to keep the peace, she was the one who stood her ground, demanding they hold him accountable. But somewhere around our third anniversary, Olivia’s moral compass shattered, and she started drifting into Lucas’s bed. My father stepped forward and slapped me so hard my head snapped to the side. “Are you still spewing this venom?! Olivia already proved that night was a misunderstanding! Why are you so obsessed with destroying your brother!” My mother wrapped her arms around Lucas, pulling him close like a terrified toddler. She shot a venomous look at Olivia. “He is a convicted murderer! Why couldn’t you just write him a check and let him die on the streets?! Why did you bring this psychopath back to terrorize our family!” I pressed my hand against my burning cheek and let out a broken, raspy laugh. “A murderer? I am not the one who killed that man.” My parents froze completely, the color draining from their faces until they looked like corpses. My father’s voice violently trembled. “What… what the hell are you talking about?” Ignoring the agony shooting through my shattered legs, I locked my knees and stood up perfectly straight, burning the sheer, naked panic on their faces into my memory. “Lucas was the one holding the knife. If the two of you hadn’t used your status as my parents to commit perjury and block my legal counsel, I never would have…” Olivia smoothly stepped between us, her voice calm but laced with a lethal, undeniable threat. “Julian, you have already served your time. There is absolutely no point in digging up old delusions.” “Lucas lost his temper tonight, and I apologize on his behalf. Stop spinning these wild conspiracy theories. Get some rest. We will leave you alone.” She grabbed Lucas by the bicep, her grip tight enough to bruise, and practically dragged him and my parents down the hall. The second the heavy door clicked shut, my knees buckled, and I slid down the rough wood until I hit the floor. The adrenaline evaporated, leaving me drowning in a cold, suffocating sweat. But I knew one thing for certain. If I collapsed now, I was dead. For the next week, my parents treated me like I was completely invisible. Olivia would occasionally shoot me intense, lingering glances across the dining room, while Lucas stopped trying to bait me after realizing I was utterly unresponsive to his gloating. I finally let myself breathe. The uneasy truce gave me the exact window of silence I needed to start digging into the buried evidence from fifteen years ago. Until one afternoon, as I limped past the heavy oak doors of the study, I heard my father’s furious voice leaking through the wood. “Olivia, I know you still feel guilty about Julian. But the boy is a complete psychopath! He refuses to accept his reality, and now he is plotting to frame Lucas!” My mother immediately chimed in, her voice shrill with panic. “If we hadn’t tipped off the police fifteen years ago, the jury would have given him the lethal injection! We did everything we could to save his life! We owe him absolutely nothing!” Lucas’s voice was shaking. He played the victim perfectly, pouring gasoline on an open fire. “This is all my fault. I never should have married you, Olivia. Julian has every right to want me dead.” My mother slammed her hand on a desk. “Olivia, what exactly are you planning to do with that monster?” A suffocating, heavy silence hung in the room for a long time. Finally, Olivia’s cold, calculating voice cut through the tension. “Mom, Dad. Do not worry. I will permanently resolve the situation.” I pulled my hand away from the oak door, lowered my eyes, and silently walked away. I was not ready to detonate the bomb yet. I needed just a few more days to gather the shrapnel. But I never anticipated they would strike with such lethal speed. As I walked out of the physical therapy clinic downtown, a crushing blow slammed into the back of my neck. The world instantly went black. When I finally regained consciousness, a thick, filthy blindfold covered my eyes. A foul-tasting rag was jammed so far down my throat I couldn’t even gag. “Brother, if we actually go through with this, aren’t we just as evil as the monster who butchered our mother?” a young woman’s voice trembled in the darkness. “Shut your mouth! That psychopath butchered mom in cold blood, and the corrupt justice system let him out after fifteen years! I will not let him breathe the same air as us! Plus, the guy paying for the hit is dropping ten million dollars into our laps!” The blindfold was violently ripped off. A man with a jagged scar running down his cheek grabbed my jaw, his fingers digging painfully into the bone. I quickly scanned the dimly lit, cavernous space. The girl who was crying earlier was nowhere to be seen. The scarred man patted my cheek mockingly before ripping the filthy rag out of my mouth. “You are seconds away from burning in hell, and you still have the nerve to look around?” I forced my racing heart to slow down. “If this is about the money, I have an encrypted offshore account in Geneva…” Before I could finish the sentence, a heavy steel-toed boot slammed directly into my stomach. The agonizing pain folded me completely in half, but the man didn’t stop. He viciously kicked my ribs over and over again. “This isn’t about your dirty money! Because of you, our mother bled to death! Because of you, our father abandoned us, and we grew up eating out of dumpsters! You destroyed our lives!” He stood over me, panting heavily. He grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head back, forcing me to look at him. “But God is good. Someone wrapped you up with a bow and dropped you right in my lap so I could finally get justice for my mother.” “I swear… it wasn’t me…” Another brutal punch smashed into my mouth. The metallic taste of blood flooded my throat. “Shut up! Murderers don’t get to speak!” He shoved the filthy rag back into my mouth, took three steps back, and pulled a heavy black detonator from his jacket. “The explosives are homemade, but they pack enough punch to turn you into red mist.” No! I finally found the thread that could unravel the last fifteen years! I couldn’t die in this rotting warehouse! I thrashed like a wild animal. The heavy industrial zip ties sliced through my skin, grinding against the bone, but they wouldn’t snap. The digital beeping of the timer echoed off the concrete walls. Every single beep felt like a sledgehammer hitting my chest. Three… Two… One… BOOM! A blinding wall of fire and a supersonic shockwave of pure agony ripped through the air. Tears of absolute, burning rage rolled down my cheeks. Just as my consciousness began to shatter, a dark figure tore through the wall of flames. The figure threw themselves over me, shielding my body from the blast wave. And then, the agony completely vanished into the dark.

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1 My mother came to Chicago for heart surgery, but my husband, Danny, flat out refused to be her attending surgeon. “I am up for Chief of Surgery this year. What if someone reports me for favoring my own family?” He was the top cardiothoracic surgeon in the hospital, a recognized genius with a scalpel. Yet as his wife, I had to beg him on my knees to save my own mother. My heart ached as I supported my parents’ weight. I glared at him. “You cannot even help us get a hospital room?” He frowned. “Your parents are from a ranch in Montana. They could be carrying livestock bacteria. I cannot risk the safety of my other patients.” My dad awkwardly hid the hand stitched shearling coat he had spent months making for Danny behind his back. His face flushed with deep embarrassment. My eyes turned red with fury. Just as I opened my mouth to yell at him, Danny’s phone rang. His tone instantly melted into something incredibly soft. “Carol, do not panic. I already got Eleanor a private room. I will handle her surgery personally in three days.” Eleanor was the mother of his childhood sweetheart, Carol. My dad let out a heavy sigh. “Sadie, maybe your mom and I should just head back. Taking medication at home is fine too.” I watched Danny hurriedly walk away to find Carol and her mother. My mind was made up. “We are doing the surgery. And I am getting a divorce.” I found them near the VIP ward. Danny was gently supporting Eleanor’s arm. His voice held a tenderness I had never received. “Take it slow, Eleanor. The bed is all ready for you.” Tears pooled in Carol’s eyes. “Danny, I am so sorry for the trouble. Thank God we have you.” Danny reached out and softly patted her hair. “Do not be silly. Your problems are my problems.” “I will do the valve replacement myself to keep the risks absolutely minimal.” Eleanor patted his hand. “You are so busy, yet you still take care of me.” Danny quickly shook his head. “Please do not say that. If Carol had not moved to Europe back then, I would be your son in law right now. I still keep the sweater you knitted for me.” I watched them laughing and talking like a real family. My fingernails dug so hard into my palms that the skin broke, but I did not feel a thing. My dad wiped the corners of his eyes. “Sadie, this is our fault. We should never have come. These big city hospitals have strict rules. It is perfectly normal for people to look down on us.” My mom nodded in agreement. “Your dad is right. I will just skip the surgery. My chest pain is nothing new anyway. I can tough it out for a few more years.” “Please do not fight with your husband over my stupid illness.” I grabbed her calloused hand, my voice choking up. “Mom, this has nothing to do with you.” “It is just that in his eyes, I am not worth the effort.” I had been married and living in Chicago for six years. My parents never once asked to visit. I knew they missed me enough to lose sleep, but they were simply too scared to impose. During our second year of marriage, my mom carried a heavy cooler of fresh lamb and sat on a freezing Greyhound bus for thirty hours just to see me. She arrived in the middle of the night and sat outside our apartment door until dawn, too terrified to knock and wake us up. When Danny finally saw her, his brow furrowed in deep annoyance. “Why didn’t she call ahead? This is just creating chaos.” He complained the lamb smelled too gamey. He turned right around and threw it into the apartment dumpster. Last year, my dad mailed us a box of his homemade smoked cheese. Danny opened the package, looked disgusted, and tossed it aside. “Is this even sanitary? I am not getting food poisoning from this.” He then took the beef jerky my mom made from scratch and fed it to Carol’s dog. I never told my parents any of this. I could not bear to let them know their pure love was being trampled on. I used to scream and cry about it. Every time, Danny would apologize and tell me not to be so overly sensitive. But the next time, he would do the exact same thing. I endured it for six years. I got so used to swallowing the pain that I convinced myself this was just how he was. But seeing him shower Carol’s family with endless devotion while treating my parents like toxic waste was a massive wake up call. I suddenly realized my entire six year marriage was a pathetic joke. Danny walked Carol and Eleanor toward their VIP room. As they passed us, my dad forced a polite, eager smile. “Danny…” Danny stopped in his tracks. He corrected my dad with ice in his voice. “Call me Dr. Danny.” It was as if my dad was not his father in law, but just some ignorant stranger breaking hospital protocol. The smile froze on my dad’s face. “Dr. Danny, I just wanted to ask about Sadie’s mom…” Danny kept a blank, strictly professional face. “Wait for your turn to be notified. And stop wandering the halls.” He turned around and continued escorting Eleanor. Carol shot me a filthy look. “What is that smell in the hallway? It smells like a barn.” Before I could even curse her out, my mom panicked and took two steps back, terrified that she actually smelled bad. I wrapped my arm around her shaking shoulders. She was still trying to defend him. “Doctors have lots of rules. Your dad and I just lack manners.” The tears finally broke free and spilled down my cheeks. I was done trying to warm up a heart made of ice. I pulled out my phone and called my best friend Brooke. She mentioned before that her uncle was a director at this hospital. When she heard what happened, her voice shook with sheer rage. “Is your husband completely out of his mind? His own mother in law needs heart surgery, and he gives a VIP room to some other woman’s mother?” “Sadie, stay right there. I am on my way.” Ten minutes later, Brooke marched down the corridor in her heels. A middle aged man in glasses followed right behind her. “Uncle Warren, my best friend’s mom needs cardiac surgery. Can you please check if there is a bed available?” Dr. Warren flipped through his clipboard and nodded. “A double room just opened up in the East Wing. I will schedule the surgery myself. There is a top specialist from Boston doing a visiting residency here this week.” Before I could even say thank you, my dad’s eyes welled up with tears. He wiped his rough hands on his jeans repeatedly before daring to shake the doctor’s hand. “Thank you, doctor. Thank you so much.” Brooke saw his nervous posture and spoke with absolute sweetness. “Do not thank us, sir. Sadie’s parents are my parents.” “Some people are just blind and heartless. It has nothing to do with you two.” She raised her voice slightly so it echoed down the hall. “Unlike a certain doctor who wears a white coat but acts like a total scumbag.” With the room sorted, Brooke had to rush back to her office. I told my parents to rest in the new room while I went down to the cafeteria to buy them food. When I came back with the takeout containers, I froze. My dad was crouching in the hallway, scrambling to pick up scattered belongings. My mom stood against the wall, her shoulders hunched in deep shame, her eyes completely red. A snooty woman standing in the doorway was loudly complaining. “They should not let hicks from the ranch stay in this wing. Who knows if they have parasites.” My dad nodded profusely while grabbing his things. “I am so sorry. We are packing up right now.” He looked up at me and forced a painful smile. “It is fine, sweetie. We were bothering the other patients.” My mom turned her face away and quickly wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Danny was standing right there, arms crossed, watching them with cold indifference. He did not say a single word to defend them. My blood turned to ice. It felt like a giant hand was crushing my heart. Just as I charged forward, Carol covered her nose and spoke in a shrill voice. “There are all sorts of tick borne diseases out in the country. Who knows what kind of bacteria they brought in.” “Dr. Danny did not even dare give them a room. If they infect a patient, who is going to take the blame?” My lips trembled with absolute fury. “Carol, shut your damn mouth!” She widened her eyes in fake innocence. “Sadie, I am just reminding everyone to be careful about infections.” “Dressed like that, it is no wonder people misunderstand. You are really embarrassing Danny.” I saw red. I raised my hand and shoved her hard. Carol stumbled backward and hit her shoulder against the wall. “I give you a friendly warning, and you get violent?” Danny immediately reached out and steadied Carol. He glared at me, his voice sharp and commanding. “Sadie, are you done throwing this tantrum?” “Your parents should have some self awareness! Stop causing trouble for everyone else!” My dad hunched over and gently pulled my arm. “Sadie, let it go. It is my fault.” My mom swallowed her sobs and whispered, “Let’s just leave. We are making people hate us.” I looked at Danny’s self righteous, arrogant face and let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Danny, I want a divorce.” His face darkened. “Sadie, stop acting crazy. You assault someone and then threaten me with divorce?” When I did not answer, he looked away, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “If this is just about getting a room…” He pulled out his phone and made a quick call. “Add an extra bed in the six person ward on the third floor.” He hung up and looked at me like he was doing a charity case. “You have your bed. Figure out the surgery yourselves, and stop calling me biased.” Carol smiled triumphantly. “Danny has gone above and beyond. Just because you are married does not mean you can leech off him for everything.” I held my mom’s freezing hand and spoke with dead calm. “Do not worry about us, Dr. Danny. We already hired a real specialist. Go back and serve your precious Eleanor.” The surgery was a complete success. My mom recovered incredibly well. The six person ward was way too noisy, so I signed the early discharge papers and brought my parents back to my apartment. I cleaned out the guest room and went to the grocery store to buy ingredients for a rich chicken stew. My mom laid in bed, watching me run around the apartment. “Sadie, do not exhaust yourself.” My dad squatted on the balcony, soaking up the afternoon light. “The sun in Chicago just does not feel as warm as the sun back home.” That quiet, peaceful atmosphere shattered the second Danny walked through the door. He came in from work and immediately stared at the faded canvas sack my dad left by the wall. “Are you turning my apartment into a clinic? I just bought a brand new mattress for that guest room. If your mom’s incision leaks onto it, how is anyone supposed to sleep there?” I heard rustling coming from the guest room. My parents were frantically packing their things. A year ago, I would have cried and screamed at him for saying something so cruel. But now, I felt absolutely nothing. When a heart turns completely cold, there is no energy left to argue. “I paid half the down payment on this place. If you do not like looking at them, you can pack your bags and leave.” Danny stared at me in total shock. He never expected me to talk back like that. He threw his briefcase onto the sofa and stormed into his study without another word. The next evening, I came home from work to find Carol sitting on my living room sofa, flipping through channels with the remote. Eleanor was drinking the chicken stew I had spent hours making for my mother. “Oh, you are home? Danny was worried about us, so he told us to stay here for a few days so he can monitor my recovery.” Carol arrogantly barked an order at my dad. “Hey, your bag is in the way. It is filthy and smells bad.” My dad quickly scrambled to his feet, grabbed the canvas sack, and hauled it into the bedroom. Danny frowned at the scene but kept his mouth shut. I tolerated those two women for three torturous days. On the fourth night, Carol suddenly started sobbing, her eyes turning red. “The jade bracelet my dad left me before he died is missing! I left it right on the coffee table. Where did it go?” Eleanor rubbed her daughter’s back to comfort her, but her glaring eyes locked onto my parents like daggers. Danny stayed quiet for a long moment. He rubbed his temples and looked straight at my dad. “If you saw it, just hand it over. Carol will not press charges.” My dad froze in absolute shock. “We did not see anything.” Carol cried harder, looking like a fragile victim. “We are the only ones here! You cannot possibly think my own mother stole it.” My mom’s hands shook violently as she opened the canvas sack. She started pulling everything out, item by item. Washed clothes. Prescription bottles. Things piled up on the floor until the bag was completely empty. “We might not be as rich as city folks, but we do not steal,” my mom said, her voice breaking. Danny let out a heavy sigh. “Carol, didn’t you want that new diamond bracelet from Tiffany’s? I will take you to buy it tomorrow.” “Sadie’s parents just do not know any better. Do not hold it against them.” He still believed they were thieves. He genuinely thought he was being generous by letting it go. My dad kept his head down. He had no idea what to do with his hands. This old rancher, who had lived on the plains his whole life, a man who never shed a tear even when he was thrown from a wild horse, now had red, watery eyes. I picked up my phone and booked a suite at the best hotel down the street. “Mom. Dad. Pack everything.” “We are not staying here anymore. This place is disgusting.” Ever since I married Danny, he constantly complained about how hard he worked to provide for us. I felt bad for him. Even though I made a great salary as a television host, I never spent money recklessly. But all the money I saved was being blown on Carol. Since he wanted to play it like this, there was no reason to save his face anymore. Carol glared at me, humiliated and angry. “What exactly do you mean by that, Sadie?” “Your parents are petty thieves! The only reason I am not calling the cops is out of respect for Danny!” I completely ignored her pathetic lies and looked dead into Danny’s eyes. “My parents are honest, decent people. You are not worthy of making them prove their innocence.” Danny’s face went rigid. A flash of panic hit him as he stepped toward me. “Sadie, where are you going this late at night?” “Stop acting out. Just come back inside.” Right at that moment, Carol’s anxious voice rang out. “Danny, my mom’s chest hurts! Please come check on her!” Danny stopped dead in his tracks. He turned his head to look at Eleanor on the couch. The door slammed shut behind me, completely severing his hesitant gaze. Once I got my parents settled into the hotel, I called my lawyer. “Mr. Davis, please draft a divorce agreement for me.” For the next few days, Danny did not call me once. Carol, on the other hand, posted on social media three times a day, making sure to tag me in the most obnoxious way possible. There was a picture of Danny carrying shopping bags for them at the mall, with Eleanor trying on gold rings and smiling from ear to ear. There was a photo of him wearing an apron in the kitchen. The caption read: Someone said my mom needs iron after surgery, so he cooked personally. And then there was a picture of two hands intertwined on a walking path. The wedding band on Danny’s finger had been replaced with a matching couple’s ring he bought with Carol. I set my phone face down. My stomach churned with violent nausea. He always claimed he only saw Carol as a little sister. I was pretty sure they were much more than that. Six years of marriage. Did he ever actually love me? My chest hurt so badly I could barely breathe. All the memories I had intentionally buried came rushing back to the surface. The time I ran a fever of a hundred and four degrees. I called him for help, but he was at Carol’s apartment fixing her plumbing. He told me to just take an Advil. I took an Uber to the emergency room by myself. Danny never sent a single text to ask if I was alive. He treated my parents like poor beggars looking for a handout, unworthy of stepping foot in his home. But he treated Eleanor like a queen, giving her his absolute best. The phone screen went dark. I stared at my own pale reflection in the glass and suddenly realized how pointless this all was. Loving the wrong person was fine, as long as you walked away in time. I let out a long breath, turned to my parents, and gave them a real smile. “I already submitted my transfer request to the network. They approved it. I am taking the anchor job back home in Montana.” “I am flying back with you tomorrow. I will take care of you for the rest of my life.” I took the finalized divorce agreement from the lawyer and went back to the apartment to pack my final things. The second I pushed the door open, the sound of loud laughter and clinking glasses filled my ears. The dining table was covered in expensive catering and a massive, custom tiered birthday cake. Eleanor sat at the head of the table, cutting the first slice. Danny was leaning down to pour wine into Carol’s glass. When she turned her head, her nose brushed playfully against his jaw. They shared a deeply intimate smile. Their mutual friends were sitting around the table, laughing and teasing them. “Danny used to play house when we were kids. He always said he was going to be Carol’s prince charming.” “When Carol decided to stay in Europe, Danny was so heartbroken he just settled and married whoever was available.” So that was the truth. I was just a placeholder he used out of spite. Eleanor smiled warmly. “Danny, Carol, you two really need to cherish each other from now on.” They looked like a perfect, happy family. I was just the intruder crashing the party. Danny finally noticed me standing there. He awkwardly dropped his hand from Carol’s shoulder. “Why are you back?” I forced out a freezing smile and slapped the divorce papers onto the table. “Sign it.” Carol looked at me with pure disgust. She leaned in close to my ear and whispered viciously. “Two shameless old beggars raised a little bitch. Who are you putting on this dramatic show for?” “If you really wanted to divorce him, you would have done it already. Do not try to scare us with some stupid piece of paper.” Hearing her insult my parents was the last straw. I grabbed a full glass of red wine from the table and splashed it directly into her face. Danny’s face twisted in absolute rage. He raised his hand and slapped me across the cheek. “Sadie, what the hell is wrong with you!” “Today is Eleanor’s birthday banquet. If you want to act like a lunatic, get the hell out!” My cheek burned, instantly swelling and going numb. A metallic taste flooded my mouth. Hurried footsteps echoed from the entryway. My parents rushed in, completely out of breath from rushing over. My dad saw the red handprint on my face instantly. His eyes went furious as he stepped firmly in front of me. “Danny, how could you hit her?” A guest standing nearby asked out of curiosity, “Danny, who are these two?” Before I could even speak, Danny answered in a dead, monotone voice. “Just some former hired help.” My fingertips went ice cold. “Danny, what kind of hired help spends three months hand stitching a winter coat just for you? What kind of hired help takes a thirty hour bus ride in the freezing cold just to see you, and is too terrified to even knock on your door?” The living room fell completely silent. You could hear a pin drop. My dad pulled weakly on my sleeve. “Sadie, stop. We are just an embarrassment.” I patted his hand to comfort him, my eyes locked onto Danny like a predator. “For six years, you took my endless patience as your given right. You took my parents’ pure love and stomped it into the dirt.” “Danny, you absolutely disgust me.” The guests exchanged wildly uncomfortable looks. Someone muttered, “Did he say hired help? Because they sound exactly like his in laws.” “Now that you mention it… Danny never did have a wedding…” Carol’s eyes immediately turned red. She delicately wiped her wine stained face, pretending to cry. “Sadie, why do you have to humiliate everyone like this?” Eleanor clutched her chest, faking a sudden weakness. “Stop fighting. It is our fault. Carol and I will leave right now.” Danny barked at me in furious defense. “Your parents have no manners, and you decide to act just as classless?” “If you have something to say, say it in private! Why make a joke out of us in front of everyone!” He opened his mouth to keep yelling, but I raised my hand and threw the thick stack of divorce papers directly into his face. The pages scattered everywhere, raining down onto the floor. I looked at his stunned, open mouth and spoke every word with lethal precision. “Danny, we are getting a divorce!”

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1 Each winter after my amputation, I could not bear the cold. Stewart would pause his empire to take me to a private island. On nights when phantom pain left me shaking, he knelt by the bed for hours, kissing the scar on my stump until I calmed. Our circle called him devoted, a saint for staying with a broken woman. I believed losing my leg had at least bound me to love. Three years ago, his childhood friend cut my rope on an Alpine peak. Stewart wept all night, then destroyed her family by morning. After that, no one in New York dared cross me. On our fifth island winter, a storm woke me to an empty bed. On crutches, I reached a half-open door down the hall. Windy was there, the woman who should have been begging on the streets. Stewart held her close, voice thick with care. Do not cry, baby. It is only thunder. She pouted, hitting his chest. You spend every day with that pathetic cripple. I am sick of hiding. He kissed her tears away. Sweetheart, just a little longer. I will stay with you tonight. Windy leaned back into his chest, her fingers playing with the buttons of his silk pajama shirt, her voice dripping with disgust. “You actually kiss that hideous stump every night? Doesn’t it make you want to throw up?” The tropical storm lashed against the French windows, a relentless, deafening roar that drowned out my ragged breathing. I should have turned and walked away, but my remaining foot felt nailed to the floorboards. Stewart let out a soft chuckle. “Gemma is like a piece of shattered porcelain right now. If I don’t handle her with kid gloves, how is she supposed to stay quietly in her wheelchair?” Windy rolled her eyes. “But how much longer do we have to play this game?” “The foundation for disabled youth goes public next month. As our primary brand ambassador, she has to stay on her pedestal until the IPO is secured.” “But you give her those heavy sedatives every single day. What if they end up killing her?” Stewart’s voice remained flat, completely devoid of emotion. “The doctor said the dosage is safe. It just keeps her quiet and compliant.” I bit down on the back of my hand, sinking my teeth deep into my flesh until the metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth. He had told me they were vitamins. Two white pills every morning to boost my immune system. He had been so incredibly gentle, cupping my cheek with his warm palm, whispering like he was coaxing a child. “Be good, Gemma. Take these, and the pain will go away.” Three years ago, when I first woke up from the amputation surgery and saw the empty space where my right leg used to be, I had lost my mind. I screamed, thrashing and smashing everything within arm’s reach. When Stewart rushed into the hospital room, I was raising a heavy metal lamp, ready to hurl it. Without a second thought, he dropped to his knees right onto the shattered glass covering the floor. Shards sliced deep into his skin, staining his trousers crimson, but he didn’t even flinch. He just wrapped his arms around me, holding me in a death grip. He kissed my forehead over and over, his voice raw. “Gemma, I will be your right leg from now on. I swear I will never let anyone hurt you again.” I had wept until my body went limp, believing that no matter how dark my life got, this man would always be my shield. What a joke. A wave of intense nausea hit me, rising hot in my throat. I slowly released my hand, staring at the deep, purple crescent of teeth marks bruised into my skin. Inside the room, Windy was still whining. “Stay with me tonight. She took her pills, she won’t wake up anyway.” Stewart didn’t answer, but the rustle of clothes and Windy’s soft, pleased giggles spoke louder than words. Thunder shook the corridor. Using every ounce of strength I had, I stabilized my crutches, dragged my remaining leg, and retreated silently into the dark bedroom. I spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled, agonizing sounds from the next room until dawn broke. By morning, the rain still hadn’t let up. The door creaked open, and Stewart walked in carrying a glass of warm water, his eyes reflecting the same gentle warmth he had shown me for years. “Awake already, Gemma?” He sat on the edge of the mattress, helping me sit up and placing a plush pillow behind my back. Then, he shook two white tablets from a bottle into his palm and held them to my lips. “The storm must have triggered your joint pain last night. Take your vitamins.” I stared at the pills, motionless. Stewart’s brow furrowed with concern. “Come on, sweetheart. The doctor got these specifically to help you feel better.” I didn’t argue. I opened my mouth, let the dry tablets rest under my tongue, and took a small sip of water. “Good girl.” He smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear before turning around to draw the heavy curtains. The moment his back was turned, I spit the dissolving pills into my palm, curling my fingers into a tight fist. But as the curtains parted, Stewart seemed to sense something. “Gemma, you’re awfully quiet today.” He spun back around, his sharp gaze locking onto my face. Before I could react, he stepped forward, grabbing my chin with a firm grip and forcing my head up. “Did you actually swallow them?” His eyes searched my mouth. “Open up. Let me see.” My heart missed a beat. I obediently parted my lips, showing him an empty tongue. Stewart stared for a long, tense moment before the suspicion in his eyes slowly melted away. He released my chin, his thumb lightly tracing my cheekbone. “Get some rest. I’ll bring your breakfast up.” The door clicked shut. I opened my sweaty palm, staring at the semi-dissolved sedatives. Unclasping the silver locket around my neck, I slipped the wet chalky remains inside and snapped it shut. When the rain finally cleared, the island was bathed in brilliant sunshine. Stewart decided it was a perfect day for a walk, pushing my wheelchair down to the private beach. The ocean breeze swept over my face, but looking out at the endless waves, my heart felt like a graveyard. “You must be thirsty. I’ll grab you some fresh juice from the pavilion.” Stewart parked my wheelchair under the shade of a large umbrella and walked toward the resort bar. A few minutes later, a server in a resort uniform approached, placing a tall glass on the small table beside me. “Your juice, Miss.” The voice made my entire body lock up. I looked up to find Windy looking down at me, her lips curved into a smug, mocking sneer. A distance away, Stewart turned and saw us. His expression darkened instantly. He marched over, stepping directly between us, his voice a low, furious hiss. “What are you doing out here?” “What is she doing here, Stewart?” I asked, keeping my voice dead and cold. Windy’s reaction was instantaneous. Her eyes welled with tears, and she dropped to her knees. “Please, Gemma, I beg you, just let me live!” She wept so pitifully that several nearby hotel guests began to whisper and point. “Three years ago, you ruined my family because of a misunderstanding! I’ve been hiding on this island, washing dishes just to survive. I know I made mistakes, but why won’t you let me have a fresh start?” Every word was designed to paint me as a bitter, vengeful heiress who was abusing her power to keep a poor girl down. My body began to shake, a violent, involuntary reaction to the trauma of seeing her. Stewart noticed. He dropped to one knee, placing his hand over my trembling knee with the perfect amount of pressure, just as he had done a thousand times before. “Gemma,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Deep breaths. Focus on me. You’re safe.” I couldn’t speak. I just stared at Windy. My mind flashed back to that freezing day on the mountain. The howling wind, my fingers turning blue as I clung desperately to the icy ledge, suspended over a deadly abyss. Windy had stood above me, looking down with a vicious, mocking grin. Then, she had raised her heavy boot and stomped hard on my frozen fingers. “Go to hell, Gemma.” For five years, that face had haunted my nightmares, waking me up drenched in cold sweat. And every time, Stewart would pull me into his chest, kissing my hair, whispering, “It’s over, darling. She paid for what she did.” But the truth was, the “price” she paid was being kept safe right under his nose. In a sudden burst of rage, I shoved Stewart away, forced myself up onto my left leg, and threw my weight forward. My hand cut through the air, landing a resounding slap across Windy’s face. The force spun her head to the side, and a thin trickle of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth. She stared at me, wide-eyed with shock. The beach fell dead silent. The warmth in Stewart’s eyes vanished completely, replaced by a cold, sharp irritation. He grabbed my arm, forcing me back into the wheelchair, his brow furrowing deeply. “Have you lost your mind?” I looked up at him. “I’ve lost my mind?” Stewart exhaled a long, heavy sigh, his face filled with profound disappointment. “She has already suffered. She lost everything, Gemma.” “Look at you now. You’ve become bitter, vindictive, and cruel.” “Don’t let your obsession with revenge turn you into an ugly monster.” I stared at his righteous, hypocritical face. Three years ago, he swore he would make her pay with her life. Today, he called me a monster. I didn’t argue. I simply brushed his hand off my arm and turned the wheels of my chair, pushing myself back toward the villa. Behind me, Windy’s whiny voice drifted over the sand. “Stewart, it hurts so bad…” “Shh, it’s okay,” Stewart’s voice was infinitely tender. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” I didn’t look back. I only felt that even under the blazing sun, the world had never felt colder. By nightfall, a category-four hurricane made landfall. The wind shrieked, throwing sheets of rain against the reinforced glass, cutting off all power and communication to the island. At two in the morning, I tumbled out of bed. Without the sedatives, the brutal combination of withdrawal and phantom limb pain hit me all at once. My stump was spasming violently, and sweat soaked through my nightgown. I desperately needed water, but my body refused to cooperate. My hand trembled as I reached for the glass pitcher on the nightstand, sending it crashing to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. As I fell, the jagged glass sliced deep into my palms, and blood pooled onto the floor. Just then, the door swung open. Stewart and Windy stood in the doorway, wearing matching silk pajamas. In the flashes of lightning, they looked like a perfect, mocking portrait. Seeing the blood and glass, Windy’s eyes lit up with malicious glee, and she rushed forward. “Oh my gosh, Gemma! Are you okay? Let me help you!” She knelt beside me, her voice dripping with fake concern. Stewart turned back to the hallway to grab the first-aid kit. The second his back was turned, Windy’s worried expression shattered. She reached out, her fingers wrapping around the sensitive skin of my stump, her manicured nails digging mercilessly into my flesh. “You were so brave this afternoon on the beach, wasn’t you?” “Look at you now, crawling on the floor like a pathetic, filthy dog.” In a blind panic of pain and adrenaline, I swung my arm, shoving her away with all my might. “Ah!” Windy let out a theatrical shriek, throwing herself backward directly onto the pile of shattered glass. The sharp shards sliced into her forearms, and blood seeped through her skin. Clutching her arm, she looked toward the door, tears streaming down her face. “Stewart, it hurts…” Stewart rushed back into the room, holding the first-aid kit. Without casting a single glance in my direction, he scooped Windy up in his arms, his face pale with worry as he inspected her cuts. Once he saw they were merely superficial, he slowly turned his gaze to me. “I let it slide this afternoon because I thought you were just emotional,” he said, his voice trembling with a quiet, lethal rage. “But she was just trying to help you, and you did this. Gemma, how long are you going to keep acting like a rabid animal?” Windy clung to his chest, trembling. “Stewart, I’m scared… she’s going to hurt me again…” Stewart’s gaze drifted down to my right leg. He gently set Windy aside and walked over, stopping right in front of me. “Since you can’t seem to control yourself, you need to learn how to sit still.” With a blank, robotic expression, his hands reached down to the quick-release buckle of my prosthetic leg. My eyes went wide, and I clawed at his hands. “Stewart! No! Don’t you dare! Leave it alone!” Click. With cold precision, he unlatched the prosthetic and pulled it away. He was stripping away my last shred of dignity, ripping it from my body like a trophy. I bit my lip so hard it bled, my voice a raspy whisper. “When the storm passes, I’m going back to New York.” Stewart let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Gemma, your trust funds and foundation accounts were frozen yesterday. Do you honestly think anyone in your family is coming to save you?” “You can’t even walk out of this room. Just be a good girl and stay put.” He wrapped his arm around Windy and walked out, locking the heavy mahogany door from the outside. I collapsed onto the bloody, glass-strewn floor. I sat there in the dark for a long time, and then, a low chuckle escaped my lips. The chuckle turned into a laugh, until tears streamed down my face. My parents had no other children. When I was ten, I had begged them for an older brother because I was lonely. To make me happy, they had adopted twelve-year-old Stewart from an orphanage. He became the golden heir of the family, my rock, my protector. Then my parents died in a car crash, and shortly after, I lost my leg. One by one, Stewart had forced my uncles and senior executives out of the family firm, seizing total control. He had explained, “Gemma, they’re greedy vultures. I’m just protecting your legacy.” How incredibly naive I had been. I had been blind to the monstrous ambition hidden beneath his gentle smile. My family was gone. But so what? I was still alive. And as long as I was breathing, that was enough. The next morning, the hurricane began to weaken. Stewart had to leave early to deal with a corporate PR emergency at the resort’s business center. The bedroom door clicked open, and Windy walked in. She sauntered over to the nightstand, raising her foot to kick my untouched glass of water to the floor. It spilled everywhere. “Thirsty? Why don’t you lick it off the floor?” she sneered, looking down at me. I didn’t answer. I just stared at her, my eyes flat and emotionless. Windy stepped closer, let out a dry laugh. “Do you seriously think you’re still the high-and-mighty princess of the family?” “Gemma, tell me… do you really believe I was the one who ruined your leg?” My gaze sharpened. Seeing my reaction, her grin widened. “I was hanging off that cliff by a thread myself. How on earth would I have had the strength to kick you off?” She leaned down, her breath hot against my ear. “It was Stewart. He paid one of the guides to slice your backup safety rope before we even started the climb.” My pupils dilated. “You really are a pathetic fool.” Windy laughed, savoring my silent horror. “Your parents’ fatal crash, your useless stump… it was all orchestrated by the ‘brother’ you loved so much. You brought this on your family.” “You’re lying,” I choked out, my voice raw. No matter how much Stewart might have hated me, my parents had raised him as their own. They had showered him with love. How could anyone be that cold-blooded? “If you’re trying to turn me against him, you need a better lie,” I sneered. “Believe what you want.” Windy stood up, humming a tune as she turned to leave. She was so blinded by her own triumph that she didn’t notice the spare phone slipping out of her pocket and landing softly on the thick rug, right beneath the edge of my blanket. Late that night, the rain started pouring again. When Stewart opened the door, I was already back in bed, eyes closed, pretending to be in a drug-induced slumber while trying to stop my body from shivering. He walked over and tucked the blanket around my shoulders. Moments later, he stepped out onto the balcony, leaving the sliding door slightly ajar. Through the howling wind and rain, I heard him speaking to his assistant on the phone. “I don’t care how much that bastard in Australia is asking for! Pay him whatever it takes to keep his mouth shut!” Stewart’s voice had lost all its warmth. It was razor-sharp and cold. The assistant must have said something on the other end. Stewart let out a vicious laugh. “The man is a greedy pig.” “Remind him that he was the one who physically cut Gemma’s rope on that mountain. I only provided the funds; his hands did the deed.” “If this goes south, I have a dozen ways to clear my name. He doesn’t. Tell him to choose his next words very carefully.” The call ended. Only the sound of the wind remained. In the dark room, I pressed my hand against my mouth, tears flowing silently down my face. It was true. The man who had held me and cried, the man who swore to be my right leg, was the very monster who had pushed me into the abyss. My entire life had been a carefully constructed lie, and I had played the fool perfectly. But as the grief washed over me, a strange, cold clarity settled in my mind. Taking advantage of the rumbling thunder, I pulled out the spare phone Windy had dropped. With trembling fingers, I dialed a number I knew by heart. The call connected instantly, and a man’s anxious voice came through the speaker. “Gemma? Thank God! The island’s been dark for two days. Are you safe? Did Stewart…” “Tristan,” I interrupted, my voice flat and steady. “Find the lead guide from our Alps expedition three years ago.” “I need the forensic analysis of that cut rope.”

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1 The night the earth shook, the master beam snapped with a sound like a gunshot, pinning me beneath the bed frame. I lay in the dark, suffocating under the weight of plaster and splintered wood, with only my right hand free to claw at the air. When my father rushed into the ruins, I screamed for him to save me. But he scooped up my little brother first, then spun back around to search the crumbling closet for the boy’s stuffed bear. I told him my leg was crushed, that the blood wouldn’t stop flowing. He only yelled back at me through the dust: “Can’t you just wait until I get Toby somewhere safe?” By the time the rescue crew dug their way to me, my chest had stopped moving. Three days later, he stood before the television cameras, holding my brother tight. He told the reporter, “In the face of tragedy, my only thought was to protect my children.” It was only after the cameras stopped rolling that he finally looked around and asked, “Where’s my oldest? Tessa should have made it out on her own, right?” The volunteer stood in silence for a long time before placing my student ID in his hand. It was only in that quiet, devastating moment that the truth finally settled in my chest. The children he wanted so badly to protect had never included me. … “Mr. Robert, this belongs to your daughter.” The volunteer slid the card into a clear plastic bag and held it out. My father had just stepped out of the media tent. A temporary press pass was still clipped to his dusty jacket, and Toby was cradled in his left arm. Toby held the freshly cleaned teddy bear tight against his chest, whining into our father’s shoulder about being hungry. Robert’s hand hovered in the air, hesitant. A second later, he looked down to rummage through his duffel bag. “Don’t cry, buddy. Daddy’s looking for some crackers.” The volunteer’s hand remained raised, waiting. Inside the plastic sleeve, my ID was smudged with gray ash. In the photo, my hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, and I was smiling so hard my eyes crinkled. Robert pulled out a crushed pack of pastries, tearing it open and handing it to Toby. Toby took a bite, then stuffed the wrapper back into Robert’s pocket. “Barnaby wants some too.” Robert whispered softly, his voice full of patience. “The bear isn’t hungry, sport. Daddy will give him a nice bath later.” The volunteer spoke up, her voice cracking slightly. “Mr. Robert, the search and rescue team found your daughter’s backpack under the debris of the townhouse.” Robert’s head snapped up. His face went entirely pale. “That’s impossible,” he said, his words coming out in a defensive rush. “She’s always been fast. She ran track at school. She probably ran straight to one of the emergency shelters with her classmates.” The rescue captain stood nearby, his hard hat caked in gray soot. “We mapped the layout, sir. It was the small bedroom right next to the master suite.” Robert cut him off immediately. “You have the wrong room.” “My daughter is seventeen. She isn’t a toddler.” “When the shaking started, she would have known how to hide, how to run, how to call for help.” I floated just above the fractured concrete slabs, watching them speak. The sleeve of my school jacket was still snagged on a rusted piece of rebar, fluttering gently in the cold wind. That same hand had reached out toward the doorframe, my fingernails scraping against the floorboards until they bled, leaving dark, desperate streaks on the wood. Right beside those marks, a pair of brand-new wool socks lay buried under the dust, the price tag still attached. The tag bore a date: my father’s birthday. A few journalists who hadn’t left yet noticed the tension and began hoisting their cameras again. “Mr. Robert, is your oldest daughter still unaccounted for?” Robert pulled Toby closer, taking a step back into the shadow of the tent. “Please, don’t run any stories yet,” he muttered, his voice dry and raspy. “She’s probably just terrified and hiding somewhere. If she sees her name on a casualty list, she’ll panic.” The volunteer’s brow furrowed. “Sir, the personal effects have already been verified by our team.” Robert’s voice suddenly turned sharp, echoing across the plaza. “I said, don’t run the story!” Toby flinched at the shout, bursting into loud, frightened tears. “Daddy, Barnaby is dirty!” Robert instantly dropped his head, pouring bottled water onto a napkin and gently wiping the stuffed bear’s ears. He moved with such careful, delicate precision. As if the toy could actually feel pain. The volunteer swallowed her frustration. “Mr. Robert, we need you to come to the temporary morgue to identify the body.” Robert kept his eyes on the toy. “As soon as I get Toby settled in a shelter.” I floated right beside him, looking down at the bear. The night of the earthquake, he had gone back into the collapsing house a third time just to find that toy. When his boots clattered past my bedroom door, I had screamed his name until my vocal cords ruptured. But he never stopped. When Gran arrived at the edge of the ruins, her cane was gone, and she was missing a shoe. She grabbed the nearest volunteer, her voice trembling as she gasped out my name. The moment the volunteer opened her mouth, Gran’s knees buckled. She dragged herself over to my father, grabbing his sleeve with a desperate, shaking hand. “Where is my Tess?” Robert tried to shield Toby from her grasp. “Mom, please, calm down.” Gran’s hands shook so violently she could barely hold on. “Why didn’t you bring her out with you?” Robert looked away, his expression twisting into irritation. “It was complete chaos in there.” “I had to grab the baby first. She’s practically an adult, she should have known how to get out.” Gran stared at him in disbelief for two agonizing seconds, then brought her palm down hard against his arm. “She is your daughter, you idiot! It doesn’t matter how old she is!” Robert stumbled back half a step, his pride wounded in front of the onlookers. “Stop making a scene here!” “I only have two hands! How many people do you think I could carry at once?” “Is it a crime that I got my baby boy out first?” Gran’s eyes filled with tears of pure rage. “Saving your son wasn’t the mistake.” “Your mistake was going back inside for a stupid stuffed animal while you left your daughter to die without even looking at her!” The surrounding crowd fell into a suffocating silence. Toby started whimpering again, and Robert immediately patted his back. “Don’t listen to Gran, buddy.” “Daddy’s here. You’re safe.” A rescue worker approached, carrying my dusty backpack. The zipper had been sheared off, and my textbooks were spilling out of the tear. A small envelope slipped out, landing in a puddle of muddy water. Written on the front in neat, careful handwriting was: Happy Birthday, Dad. Robert bent down to pick it up. But Gran beat him to it, snatching the card and clutching it tightly against her chest. “Don’t you touch it.” Robert froze. Gran glared at him, her voice dripping with ice. “You don’t deserve it.” 2 The lights at the emergency shelter stayed on all night. Robert carefully laid out a soft fleece blanket for Toby, placing the stuffed bear right next to his pillow. Toby complained that the floor was too hard, kicking the blanket away in a tantrum. Without hesitation, Robert took off his heavy winter coat and tucked it under his son’s head for extra padding. Over the crackling PA system, a volunteer began reading the names of the confirmed deceased. When the voice reached our neighborhood, Robert reached out and turned the dial, muting the audio. Gran sat in the far corner of the gym, cradling my muddy backpack, using her sleeve to wipe away the dirt over and over again. But the mud was baked into the fabric, and soon her sleeve was soaked with dirty water, yet she kept rubbing. When my homeroom teacher, Ms. Adler, arrived, her hair was a tangled mess and she was clutching a stack of student records. The moment she saw the backpack in Gran’s lap, her eyes welled with tears. “Just yesterday, she asked me what color socks men usually prefer,” Ms. Adler whispered. Gran held the bag tighter. “What did she say?” Ms. Adler knelt down beside her. “She said her dad’s birthday was coming up, and she wanted to buy him a pair of nice, warm socks.” “She was worried black would be too boring, but she thought gray would get dirty too quickly.” Robert’s hands paused for a moment. Then, his lips curled into a strained, dismissive chuckle. “She always loved playing those little mind games.” “She’s probably just hiding out somewhere, waiting for me to get frantic.” Ms. Adler looked up at him, her expression hardening. “Mr. Robert, Tess was never that kind of child.” Robert’s face went cold. “How long have you even known her?” “I’m her father. You think you know her better than I do?” I floated near the edge of the blanket, watching Toby push the stuffed bear into Robert’s face. “Daddy, Barnaby is scared.” Robert’s face softened instantly into a warm smile. “Daddy’s here, sport. There’s nothing to be scared of.” Before I died, I had screamed for him dozens of times. But his footsteps had only hurried past me. Not once had he paused for my voice. A volunteer from the rescue team arrived to inform the families that they could go to the temporary morgue to identify their loved ones. Gran gripped her cane, trying to stand. But Robert stayed seated, holding Toby. “Toby won’t let me go.” “I’ll have to come by later.” Gran turned slowly, staring at him. “Your flesh-and-blood daughter is lying on a cold table, and you say ‘later’?” Robert’s brow furrowed. “Toby just survived a collapse. He can’t handle any more trauma right now.” Gran was so angry she couldn’t even form words. Ms. Adler gently supported her elbow. “I’ll go with you, ma’am.” Robert let out a soft breath of relief. “Thank you, Ms. Adler. I appreciate it.” Gran spun around, her eyes blazing. “Robert! Do you honestly think because someone else is willing to do the hard work, you get to stop being a father?” Robert’s expression soured. “Mom, do you have to poison every single word?” “You think I’m not hurting?” Gran let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Hurting? If you were actually hurting, you would have looked for my girl!” Robert didn’t answer, turning back to his son. I followed Gran and Ms. Adler to the temporary morgue. Rows of white sheets lined the cold gymnasium floor. When Gran reached the third row, her knees finally gave out. Ms. Adler caught her just in time. A worker slowly pulled back the sheet, revealing just a corner of my face. Gran dropped to her knees, her breath catching so hard she couldn’t even sob. Ms. Adler covered her mouth, her eyes locking onto the faded red thread tied around my wrist. “It’s her.” Gran had given me that red string two years ago for protection. Robert had called it cheap and embarrassing, telling me to take it off before I made a fool of myself. But I had never taken it off. Gran took my hand in hers. It was entirely cold. She pressed her cheek against my icy fingers, her voice a broken whisper. “My sweet girl. Gran is here.” She pulled out her phone and dialed Robert’s number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. “Mom, what is it?” Gran could barely draw enough air into her lungs to speak. “Come and see your daughter. One last time.” Through the receiver, I could hear the loud, cheerful sounds of a cartoon playing in the background. “Mom, stop trying to scare me.” “I really can’t leave Toby right now. He’ll get upset.” Gran’s voice shook. “You still don’t believe me?” Robert lowered his voice, sounding exasperated. “Mom, you’re getting older, and you’re letting these rescue workers get into your head.” “Once I get Toby to sleep, I’ll come down and sort this out.” Gran screamed, her voice cracking under the strain. “She is lying right in front of my eyes!” The line went dead silent for a brief second. Then Toby’s voice drifted through the speaker. “Daddy, I want my juice box.” Robert answered immediately, “I have to go.” The call clicked off. Gran held my hand, her body shaking as she wept in silence. “My sweet child. I wish you hadn’t been so good, so quiet.” “The quiet ones always suffer the most…” Ms. Adler turned away, her shoulders shaking. I stood beside them, reaching out to wipe the tears from Gran’s wrinkled cheeks. But my fingers passed right through her. 3 The next morning, Robert took Toby to the distribution center to claim their emergency supplies. The relief workers were checking names against a master database. When the worker reached my name, Robert’s head snapped up. “Tessa Robert?” Robert stepped forward. “I’m her father.” The worker flipped through the pages. “The death has been confirmed. We have paperwork here for funeral assistance and state aid.” Robert took the pen, but his hand froze before he could write. “Mark her as missing for now.” The worker looked up, surprised. “The family has already identified the body, sir.” Robert pushed the clipboard back across the desk. “There’s been a mistake.” “She’s only seventeen. She can’t be gone.” The worker stared at him in silence for a few seconds. “Mr. Robert, please cooperate with the process.” Toby saw another little boy holding a plastic toy car and began tugging on Robert’s sleeve. “Daddy, I want one too.” Robert turned away from the desk instantly. “Alright, buddy. Let’s go get in line for one.” The worker called out after him. “Mr. Robert, we need your signature on the death certificate.” Robert tossed the clipboard under a stack of supply boxes. “Give me a minute.” He spent ten minutes waiting in line just to get a cheap plastic car for Toby. Toby ripped the packaging open immediately, dragging the toy through the dirt. The clipboard with my death certificate lay crumpled under the weight of the heavy cardboard boxes. Gran arrived at the center, her cane clicking sharply against the gravel. She held a duplicate copy of the certificate. “Sign it.” Robert stepped in front of Toby, shielding him. “Don’t do this in front of the boy.” Gran slapped the paper against his chest. “How long are you going to keep pretending?” Robert’s temper flared. “I am not pretending!” Gran screamed. “Your daughter is dead! Do you hear me? She is gone!” Robert roared back. “I know!” “But the child who is still alive has to come first!” The busy plaza fell dead silent. Toby stopped playing with his car, looking up at his father with wide, confused eyes. The anger drained from Gran’s face, leaving it hollow. “She’s dead, so she doesn’t matter anymore?” Robert’s mouth opened, but no words came out. “That’s not what I meant.” Gran forced the paper into his hands. “That is exactly what you meant.” I watched as the cardboard box slipped from the table. Toby’s freshly washed teddy bear tumbled into the dirt. My death certificate slipped from Robert’s grip, landing in a muddy puddle. A heavy boot stepped right on top of it. Ms. Adler knelt down to retrieve it, her fingers instantly caked in dark mud. She smoothed out the wet paper, her voice trembling. “The school wants to set up a small fund in her name, and we’d like to hold a memorial service.” Robert’s first instinct wasn’t to ask about the details. He asked, “Is the memorial absolutely necessary?” Ms. Adler froze. Robert looked down at Toby. “Toby’s still having night terrors. A service like that… it’s going to mess with his head.” Gran raised her hand to strike him again. But this time, Robert blocked her arm. “Mom, enough.” “I’m exhausted.” Gran stared at him, her eyes burning. “Exhausted?” “What do you have to be exhausted about? Your daughter is dead!” Robert’s face flushed red. “I told you, it was chaos in there!” Ms. Adler gently took the damp paper from Gran. “I’ll handle the arrangements at the school, ma’am.” Gran tucked the certificate into her coat pocket. “If he won’t go, I will.” “If he won’t claim her, I will.” She stumbled as she turned to leave, and Ms. Adler quickly caught her. Robert stood there in the dust, lifting Toby into his arms. Toby whispered, “Daddy, is sissy dead?” Robert stiffened. “Don’t listen to them, buddy.” Toby persisted. “Then where did she go?” Robert shoved the plastic toy car into Toby’s hands. “Just play with your car.” I stood behind my father, a cold, bitter laugh bubbling up in my chest. My entire life, I had been brushed aside with that exact same phrase. “Just play with your things.” When I had a fever, he told me to stop being dramatic. When I won an academic award, he told me not to show off. When my leg was pinned under a heavy beam, he told me to stop rushing him. And now that I was dead, he told my brother to ignore the truth. 4 The temporary memorial was set up in a corner of the school gymnasium. The white drapes fluttered in the drafty room. Gran had placed my school ID on the table, alongside my backpack and the birthday card. My classmates lined up to lay white flowers on the table, some of them crying so hard they had to be supported by friends. Ms. Adler placed my nameplate at the front of the altar. It read: Tessa Robert, Class of 2026. I floated near the altar, watching the package containing the new wool socks rest beside my backpack. Finally, Robert arrived. He stood near the double doors, holding Toby. Toby was still clutching that stuffed bear. Robert didn’t even step inside before calling out to Ms. Adler. “Can we wrap this up quickly?” “Toby is really uncomfortable in places like this.” Ms. Adler’s hands trembled as she laid down a flower. “Mr. Robert, this is Tessa’s memorial.” Robert frowned. “I know that.” “But I’m here, aren’t I? What more do you want from me?” Gran stood up from her chair by the altar. “Pay your respects.” Robert didn’t move. Ms. Adler offered him a white chrysanthemum. He didn’t take it. “Tess was always the sensible one.” “She would understand why I had to protect her little brother first.” A quiet sob broke out among my classmates. A boy from my class couldn’t hold back anymore, stepping forward. “She spent weeks saving up to buy you a birthday gift!” Robert turned a cold gaze toward him. “What do you kids know about real life?” “When disaster strikes, if I don’t protect the youngest, what kind of father would I be?” Gran stepped closer to him. “Bow.” Robert’s face darkened. “I am her father.” “You expect me to bow and beg my own child for forgiveness?” The gymnasium fell into an oppressive silence. Ms. Adler gently set the chrysanthemum on the altar. “No one is asking you to beg, Mr. Robert.” “We just want to give her a dignified send-off.” Robert let out a harsh laugh. “Dignified?” “Parading her death like this… that’s what’s truly undignified.” Gran pointed a trembling finger at him. “Shut your mouth.” Toby suddenly broke away, running toward the altar. He snatched the birthday card, folding it quickly into a paper airplane. “Watch it fly!” I lunged forward to stop him, but my hands swept through empty air. The thick cardstock was creased and ruined. Gran rushed to grab it. “Toby, put that down!” Frightened by her sharp tone, Toby burst into tears. Robert lunged forward, shoving Gran away with a heavy shoulder. “It’s just a piece of paper! Why are you screaming at a child?” Gran lost her balance, crashing against the side of the altar. My backpack fell to the floor. The package of brand-new socks slid out, rolling across the floorboards. The price tag, with his birthday written on it, lay exposed under the lights. Robert bent down and picked up the socks. He stared at them. Everyone in the room held their breath, waiting for him to say something. Instead, he muttered, “She always did things like this… just to make me feel guilty.” Ms. Adler gasped. “Mr. Robert!” Gran clutched the edge of the table, her body shaking with rage. “She loved you enough to think of your birthday even when she was dying.” Robert squeezed the socks in his fist, his expression twisting into frustration. “If she loved me so much, why couldn’t she be more understanding?” “The house was collapsing, the baby was screaming, and I was alone!” “She was seventeen! Why couldn’t she just hold on a little longer on her own?” As those words left his mouth, several of my classmates broke down. A girl cried out through her tears. “Her leg was crushed under a beam! How was she supposed to hold on?!” Robert glared at her. “Were you there?” “Who are you to say I didn’t try to save her?” Gran lunged forward to retrieve the birthday card, but Toby scrambled behind Robert, thrusting the crumpled paper into his pocket. Robert raised his hand, intending to tear the card to pieces. “Stop using these things to guilt me.” Just then, the heavy double doors of the gym were pushed open. The rescue captain walked in, carrying a dusty bodycam device in his hand. “Mr. Robert.” “We recovered the audio log from your daughter’s final fifteen minutes.” Robert’s hand froze. The weeping in the gymnasium died down instantly. Toby clutched his bear, hiding behind Robert’s leg. Robert stared at the device, his throat dry. “What is that supposed to mean?” The captain pressed play.

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1 I managed to buy a severely wounded merman at a bargain price. The seller warned me that he was incredibly stubborn: he refused to sing, and he wouldn’t shed a single tear. Yet, as I looked at the merman currently humming a soft tune and crying at the slightest provocation, I couldn’t help but wonder if they had sent me the wrong creature. Later on, he kept plucking his own scales and presenting them to me, looking incredibly anxious, as if he couldn’t stand being near me. Once his wounds healed, I drove him to the shore and released him into the wild. But the merman burst into tears: Giving you my scales was a courtship ritual! Courtship! For heaven’s sake, you didn’t release me, you abandoned me! … He was a terribly battered creature. The shipping crate was far too small for his frame. He was curled up in a pitiful ball, his hands bound tightly behind his back with heavy leather straps. A cheap plastic muzzle was fastened over his face, and a bright yellow tag was punched through his webbed ear, stamped with his serial number: 531. His silver tail, which must have been magnificent once, had lost all its luster, the scales dull and chipped. After confirming the delivery, I signed the electronic receipt. From this day forward, he was mine. As I reached out to lift him from the crate, his eyes snapped open, and a low, warning growl rumbled from his chest. Those ice-blue eyes were filled with absolute defiance and sharp hostility. I froze for a moment, my mind drifting. The color of his eyes was identical to the merman I had met once when I was a child. That was why, when my best friend Serena sent me the discount link, I had purchased him without a second thought. I quickly cleaned his shallow cuts, and the moment I unbuckled his restraints, he scrambled out of my hands and dove straight into the indoor pool. I had already prepared the water, adjusting the salt levels to match the ocean. I pulled a fresh slab of salmon from the refrigerator, walked over to the edge of the pool, and said simply, “Eat.” He swam closer, slowly rising from the water, and reached his hand out toward me. If I had known anything about marine biology, I would have recognized that this was a classic predatory stance. Unfortunately, I only realized this when a sharp, stinging pain sliced across my forearm. My silver beaded bracelet snapped under the pressure, the beads scattering into the water. Luckily, my reflexes were quick enough that I managed to pull back, escaping with only a shallow scratch. A tiny bead of crimson welled up on my skin, dripping into the pool and blooming like a red flower in the water. The merman’s nostrils flared. He stared at the dissolving blood, completely still. Looking at his stunned expression, I wondered if he hadn’t meant to hurt me. Perhaps human skin was simply too fragile compared to what he was used to. I let out a soft sigh, went to patch up my arm, and decided it was finally time to read the digital manual the seller had emailed me. Mermen and humans do not share a language; communication requires extreme patience. Mermen can survive on land, but they require regular skin hydration and must supplement their diet with extra freshwater. This species is naturally hostile. The success of domestication varies wildly by individual. For the owner’s safety, we highly recommend keeping them in a glass enclosure during the initial stages. Direct physical contact is not advised. Some mermen possess the ability to shift their tails into human legs. The shop is not responsible if your merman escapes using this method. Should you choose to view your merman as a romantic partner, there is no reproductive isolation between our species. Please note: a merman’s physical strength and endurance far exceed those of an average human. And that was it? Frustrated, I opened the chat window to contact customer support, sending over my order number. The representative replied almost instantly. Hello, dear customer! As stated on the product page, this particular specimen is a clearance item. He refuses to sing, refuses to communicate, and refuses to produce pearls. He has a highly antisocial personality. We only recommend him as a budget-friendly companion for the bedroom. We do not accept returns or refunds if your complaint is about his lack of singing or pearl production. I typed back: I was scratched by the merman. Do I need to worry about contracting Vibrio vulnificus? The representative replied: Don’t worry, dear! All our specimens undergo thorough medical sterilization before shipping. I thought about it, then added: I tried feeding him raw salmon, but he won’t touch it. Does he have a specific diet? Support: Theoretically, they can eat anything humans eat. He might just be stressed by the new environment, or perhaps he doesn’t like it raw. Try cooking it! Cooking it? Do wild mermen carry stoves around in the ocean? Though skeptical, I asked: How well-done should it be? After a short pause, the representative replied: Tiny thinks medium-rare should do the trick! I stared at the screen. Who is Tiny? Is she a marine expert? The screen flashed: Oh, dear, Tiny is just me! (sending love) Unable to find any gourmet recipes for marine life on the internet, I simply seared the salmon in a pan until it was slightly pink in the middle. Walking back to the pool, I used a pair of chopsticks to pick up a piece, chewing it slowly in front of him. “It’s safe to eat,” I said. He floated up to the edge, the water pooling around his collarbones. He kept his head lowered, water dripping from his thick eyelashes, as his hands slowly broke the surface. Only then did I see what he was holding: the broken beads of my silver bracelet. He had recovered every single one of them from the bottom of the pool. He gently deposited the silver beads into my open palm, offering me a sweet, timid smile. He looked like an entirely different creature from the wild beast of earlier. I stared at him, thinking that Tiny was actually right: he really did prefer his salmon seared. “Thank you,” I said, offering a soft smile. He gave his silver tail a happy swish, looking quite pleased with himself. After putting the beads aside, I picked up the chopsticks again and held a piece of salmon in front of him. He looked at me, making no move to take it with his hands. Instead, he tilted his head up and parted his lips, waiting for me to feed him. I leaned closer, placing the fish in his mouth. The next second, his eyes went wide. He scrambled backward through the water, his eyes turning red instantly. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, his throat moving as if he wanted to spit it out but was too afraid to do so. Tears welled up in his eyes, finally spilling over his cheeks. A shower of round, perfect pearls clattered into the water. I blinked. The relationship between land and sea had suddenly become incredibly tense. “What’s wrong?” I grabbed his chin, gently forcing him to look at me. “Open your mouth.” He looked at me pitifully, slowly parting his lips and sticking out the pink tip of his tongue. A merman’s mouth was structured slightly differently from a human’s, possessing a strange, exotic beauty. The tip of his tongue was slightly red. He had burned himself. I stared at him. The seller had claimed he never cried, but he seemed incredibly delicate to me. Perhaps the sensation of heat was entirely foreign to him, which was why he had reacted so dramatically. I waited for the rest of the salmon to cool completely before feeding him again. This time, he seemed to enjoy it. Once he finished, my gaze fell on the yellow tag in his ear. I had fully intended to release him back into the wild once his wounds healed, so there was no real need to give him a proper name. Still, I hated referring to him as a number. “Caspian,” I said, looking into his eyes. “From now on, your name is Caspian.” He tilted his head, likely not understanding the words, but he swam closer to the edge, resting his chin on the tiled deck and looking up at me. “Caspian?” So he could speak. I remembered the manual mentioning that mermen needed freshwater intake. I brought over a glass of water, but he turned his head away in disgust, refusing to drink. I had to message support again. Tiny explained that in the wild, mermen obtained their freshwater from the bodies of live prey. If the fish wasn’t completely fresh, they would suffer from mild dehydration. Because they only associated water with salt water, they would never willingly drink fresh water from a cup. Realizing the issue, I went to the freezer and scooped a cup of ice. I poured the ice cubes into my palm, holding them out to him. Caspian swam closer, his hands rising from the water. But instead of taking the ice, he gently wrapped his cold fingers around my wrist. Holding me in place, he leaned down, carefully picking up an ice cube with his lips. His soft lips brushed against my palm, sending a slight tickle up my arm. Crunch, crunch. The sound of him crushing the ice between his sharp teeth was incredibly crisp and clear. He seemed to love it, the cold temperature bringing him instant comfort. A single ice cube remained in my palm, slowly melting from my body heat. The cold water began to trickle down the lines of my hand. Seeing this, as if loath to let any of it go to waste, Caspian leaned down again. He extended his tongue, licking the water clean from my palm. Then, following the trail of moisture, his lips pressed a soft, cold kiss against my forearm. Because of the ice, his mouth and tongue were freezing against my warm skin. My fingers twitched. Finally, he took the last piece of ice, his eyes narrowing in pure bliss. I handed him the rest of the cup, and he finished every single cube. “Do you like it, Caspian?” I asked. He tilted his head, processing the question for a long time. Suddenly, a look of realization washed over his face, and he flipped backward, diving deep into the pool. When he emerged, he held a handful of shimmering pearls, dropping them one by one into the empty cup. “Like?” He pointed to the glittering pearls, then to his own bright, ice-blue eyes, looking at me with intense anticipation. “Like?” His silver tail swished gently beneath the water. I gently shook the cup, the pearls clinking against the glass. Did he think “like” referred to things that were bright, beautiful, and cold, like the ice, the pearls, and his own eyes? It seemed he hadn’t quite grasped the human definition of the word. Seeing the hope in his eyes, I slowly shook my head. “No, that’s not what it means.” Caspian’s face fell, and his silver tail drooped listlessly beneath the surface. Over the next few days, I began teaching him simple vocabulary. “Vi, vi, an,” Caspian practiced, pronouncing each syllable of my name with careful precision. I smiled, nodding. “Yes. I am Vivian. And you are Caspian. Cas, pi, an.” He didn’t repeat his own name. Instead, he murmured mine again. “Vi, vi, an.” A happy ripple went through his tail, and he swished it back and forth. “Vivian. Vivian.” I let out a soft sigh. His communication skills were currently below those of an average sheepdog. Since Caspian could move around on land, and he constantly tried to climb into my bed, I ended up ordering a specialized hydrogel mattress for him. The surface was cool, soft, and slick to the touch. When you pressed your hand into it, it would leave a deep impression before slowly bouncing back. I called Caspian over, lying down on the gel mattress to show him how to use it. “This is your bed.” I stood up, gesturing for him to try. He reached out a finger, touching the cool surface. The moment his finger sank into the gel, his eyes lit up. He dragged his entire body onto the mattress, burying his face in the cool material, his tail shivering with pure delight. Then, he looked up at me, shifting his tail to make a small, circular space on the mattress. He patted the empty space with his tail, urging me to join him. “No, thank you,” I declined. “I have my own bed.” The hydrogel mattress was far too soft for a human; it offered zero lumbar support, making me feel like I was sinking into a swamp. I went to my own bed, assuming I would finally get a peaceful night’s sleep. But when the lights went out, I felt a shadow looming over me. I opened my eyes to see Caspian standing by my bedside, looking down at me like a giant, obedient puppy. I tried to reason with him. “You have your own bed now. Go sleep over there.” He tilted his head, pretending not to understand a word, his silver tail swishing silently in the dark. He seemed to believe that every flat surface in the house belonged to him. Sighing, I pulled back the covers. “Fine. Get in.” Without a second’s hesitation, he slithered onto the mattress, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist. He rested his chin on the crown of my head, his long tail curling around my legs to lock me in place. He let out a deep, satisfied sigh. Did he truly not understand me? Or did he simply choose to understand only the things he wanted to hear? Still, his scales were smooth and cool against my skin, acting like a perfect, natural cooling pad. I let him stay. I don’t know how many hours passed before I was jolted awake by a sudden, intense heat. I opened my eyes to find that the cool, soothing merman had turned into a literal furnace. His cheeks were flushed red, his mouth slightly parted, his lips a dark, swollen crimson. Sensing that I was awake, he pressed his hot body even closer, his tail wrapping tightly around my thighs. “Let go, Caspian. You’re boiling,” I said, shoving at his chest without a shred of gratitude for his earlier service. He refused to budge. He cupped my face with his burning hands, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my cheek. Then, he took my hand and pressed it flat against his chest. Beneath the hot skin, his heart was hammering at a frantic, terrifying pace. He looked down at me with watery, pathetic eyes, looking as if he were about to burst into tears at any second. “Vivian…” His voice was thick and raspy. Finally, a lightbulb went off in my head. I wrapped one arm around his waist and the other under his tail, lifting him off the bed. Caspian looked momentarily stunned by the princess-carry. But he quickly accepted his new position, resting his heavy head against my collarbone and nuzzling his face into my neck. I carried him over to the indoor pool. And threw him straight in. The manual had clearly stated that mermen could survive on land, but they required regular hydration. His high body temperature and raspy voice were obvious signs of severe dehydration. In the water, Caspian stared up at me with utter betrayal in his eyes. Seeing that I remained unmoved, he began to swim in frantic circles, churning the water into a froth. See? He was clearly dehydrated. The moment he hit the water, he was so happy he was doing laps. Eventually, Caspian retreated to the furthest corner of the pool, turning his back to me as he silently began to weep pearls. I nodded in satisfaction. Ah, tears of joy. The next morning, before I was fully awake, I felt a cool hand gently playing with my fingers. Opening my eyes, I looked down toward the floor. Caspian was lying on the hardwood floor beside my bed. He was holding my hand up, twisting my fingers between his own. The floor around him was covered in a thick layer of shimmering pearls, and he was glaring up at me with a look of pure resentment. I had no idea how long he had been lying there. I sat up on the edge of the bed, feeling a headache coming on. While the pearls were incredibly valuable, there was currently no safe place to put my feet. I could already see the slipping hazard. I used my foot to clear a small patch of floor. “Clean these up, Caspian. Every single one.” His expression became even more miserable. By the time I finished my morning routine and prepared to leave for work, he was still on his hands and knees, picking them up one by one. I ended up working much later than expected. When I finally unlocked the front door, the apartment was completely dark. As I flipped the light switch, I froze. Every single container, bowl, glass, and vase in the house had been filled to the brim with shimmering, high-quality pearls. I stared at the sparkling piles. What had he done? Had he secretly sold my house while I was gone? I finally found him on his hydrogel bed. He had dragged my heavy duvet down from the bedroom, wrapping himself in it like a cocoon, leaving only the very tip of his silver tail exposed. Scattered around him were several sweaters and shirts I wore regularly. I stared at the mess. I actually needed to wear those clothes, and he was using them to build a nest. Beside the bed, a glass cup piled high with pearls began to slide. A single pearl rolled off the top, clattering onto the floor.

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1 Graduation trip to the island. My childhood friend, Brody, and my girlfriend, Gwen, took the speedboat first, leaving me behind. They left a post-it note stuck to the cabin door: “Go three hundred yards right of the pier, catch the 2:00 PM ferry. You got this!” But three hundred yards to the right of the pier was nothing but jagged, wave-beaten cliffs. Not a single boat in sight. I called them. Brody was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “Left! Go left! It was just a little test, man. You seriously can’t navigate to save your life.” In the background, Gwen’s voice came through, soft and sweet. “Stop teasing him, Brody. He’s going to panic. We’ll buy him a snow cone when he gets here.” The two o’clock ferry had already sailed. The next one wasn’t until four-thirty. I sat alone on a wooden piling at the dock. The Atlantic wind was howling, biting cold, but it couldn’t blow away the bitter memories drifting back to me. Back in middle school, we went to a concert. They vanished into thin air at an intersection, claiming they wanted to “build my confidence” in taking the city bus alone. I boarded the wrong line twice and ended up at a police station, where an officer had to drive me home. In high school, during our summer camping trip, they left me alone on a hiking trail in the mountains to “teach me how to read cardinal directions.” I wandered around the dense woods until pitch black, only to be rescued by a forest ranger. In college, during a road trip to a neighboring state, I went to use the restroom, and they simply drove off without me. That time, they said it was a test to see if I could read a paper road map. I had to spend half my monthly budget on two long-distance cabs just to get back to campus. Every single time they abandoned me, they claimed it was for my own good. At four-twenty, a white speck appeared on the horizon. The ferry was coming. But I didn’t board. Instead, I walked into the travel agency across from the harbor. “One ticket for the next flight back to Riverton, please.” I might not know the way to find them, but I knew exactly how to go home. “Oliver, where on earth are you?” Gwen’s call came through just as I stepped out of the airport arrivals terminal. The wheels of my suitcase rolled over the asphalt with a dull, rhythmic rumble. “The dock master said the four-thirty ferry docked ages ago. We’ve been waiting here for thirty minutes.” Her voice was still so gentle. There wasn’t a hint of guilt for leaving me alone at a deserted coastal harbor. “Did you get lost again and take the wrong boat?” I stopped walking. Looking at the endless stream of cabs outside the terminal, a bitter laugh escaped my throat. “I didn’t take the ferry.” Silence fell over the line for a second. Then Brody’s loud, mocking laughter erupted in the background. “I told you, Gwen! I bet he couldn’t even find the harbor. He’s probably crying in some alley right now.” “We should have taped that note directly to his forehead instead of the door.” Gwen chided him softly. “Brody, stop.” But her tone held a lingering, indulgent smile. “Oliver, where are you now? Don’t wander off. Send me your location, and I’ll come pick you up.” She spoke with her usual commanding authority wrapped in sweet tolerance. As if the person who had been stranded by their prank was just throwing a childish tantrum. “No need,” I said, opening the door of a yellow cab that had just pulled up. “I went home.” Gwen didn’t seem to process it. “Home? Which home? The cabin or…” “Back to our apartment. In Riverton.” My voice was flat. I gave the driver my address and shut the door. The noise on the other end of the line died instantly. Brody’s laughter cut off. Gwen’s voice dropped, thick with exasperated annoyance. “Oliver, can you stop being so dramatic?” “Brody was just joking around. He wanted you to practice using your GPS.” “Do you have any idea how much effort he put into this? He even bought your favorite mango shaved ice to welcome you, and now it’s completely melted.” “You ran all the way back to Riverton without saying a word. Did you even think about how we would feel?” I watched the streetlights flash past the window. Think about how they felt? Who had ever thought about how I felt? During our freshman year of college, we went to a neighboring city for a convention. On our way back, a heavy rainstorm hit. Brody insisted there was a famous wishing well nearby and dragged Gwen along. They walked incredibly fast, weaving through the crowded streets. Because of my terrible sense of direction, I looked down at my phone for just a second, and they were gone. I stood in the pouring rain for two hours. I couldn’t tell north from south, and my phone got waterlogged and died. Finally, a kind security guard let me use his landline, and I managed to call Gwen. By the time she found me under her umbrella, I was shivering violently from head to toe. Brody stood beside her under the dry canopy, grinning without a care in the world. “Oliver, how can you be so clueless? It’s literally a straight walk down this street.” Tears streaming down my face, I asked them why they didn’t wait for me. Gwen sighed, wrapping her coat around my shoulders. “Oliver, you can’t keep depending on me for everything.” “Brody is right. A burnt child dreads the fire. Next time, you’ll pay more attention to the signs.” Back then, I genuinely believed she was doing it out of love, wanting me to become independent. So I swallowed the bitter pill, along with the high fever that kept me in bed for a week. But now I finally understood. If someone truly loves you, how could they bear to watch you freeze in a downpour just to “teach you a lesson”? “Are you going to say something, or are you just playing mute?” Brody’s voice cut in, sharp with irritation. “It was a harmless joke. You seriously flew all the way home over that? If you can’t handle a little fun, don’t hang out with us.” Gwen took the phone back. “Oliver, I know your feelings are hurt.” “But you’re twenty-five now. You can’t keep acting like a toddler who gets lost on a straight path to a dock.” “You acted too impulsively this time. I’ll give you two days to cool off.” “Once you’ve calmed down, buy a ticket and fly back here. We’ll pretend none of this happened.” She effortlessly pinned the entire blame on me, playing the perfect, long-suffering woman tolerating her childish boyfriend. I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes. “Whatever you say.” I hung up, then slid my phone into airplane mode. Finally, the car fell into a quiet hush. The driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Trouble with the girlfriend, buddy?” I shook my head. “No. Just finally figured out my destination.” The cab pulled up in front of my building. I dragged my suitcase up the stairs. The electronic lock beeped, and the door swung open. The living room was exactly as we had left it before the trip. Gwen’s half-read paperback lay discarded on the couch. On the coffee table sat a half-empty cup of boba Brody had left behind when he came over to mooch a meal two days ago. They were always together, invading every corner of my life under a hundred different pretexts. And I was always the outsider, left behind, mocked, and “trained.” I walked out onto the balcony, staring into the dark night. The wind was chilly against my face, but my mind had never been clearer. Leaving the lights off, I sat in the darkness for a long time. Eventually, I toggled airplane mode off. A dozen unread messages popped up immediately, all from Gwen. The first was an accusation, asking if I knew how expensive last-minute plane tickets were. The second was a warning, telling me to stop trying to get her attention this way. The last one, sent half an hour ago, read: “Brody and I are going out for seafood. If you’re hungry, order some takeout. Don’t expect me to come home and coddle you.” I stared at the text and didn’t reply. Instead, I opened my contacts. My finger hovered over the screen before dialing a number. “Hi, is this the moving company? Do you have availability tomorrow morning?” “He’s probably just trying to bait us into chasing him. Ignore him.” The next morning, I was woken up by a barrage of social media notifications. Brody had posted a photo dump on Instagram. The first slide was a selfie of him and Gwen on the beach. Gwen was wearing an oversized white linen shirt, looking up at him with a helpless, fond smile. Brody was flashing a peace sign, grinning widely under the sun. The caption read: “Vacation is so much sweeter without a fragile crybaby dragging us down.” Mutual friends had flooded the comment section with likes. Someone asked if Oliver hadn’t gone. Brody replied: “Our little prince threw a massive fit and flew straight back to his hometown. No one could stop him.” Gwen had liked the comment. That was their dynamic. No matter what happened, I was always the one in the wrong. The party pooper, the sensitive one, the ungrateful child. I calmly swiped past the post, leaving no like, no comment. Setting my phone aside, I dragged three large moving boxes out of the storage closet and began packing. Gwen and I had been together for five years, living together for three. This apartment was cluttered with the debris of our shared life. I opened the closet. Half of it held my clothes, the other half hers. I took my shirts out one by one, folded them neatly, and stacked them into a box. From the dark corner of a shelf, a small black box tumbled out. I paused, picking it up to open it. Inside was a uniquely designed compass necklace. Gwen had given it to me for my birthday during our sophomore year of college. I remembered how she had tenderly clipped it around my neck, her voice as soft as water. “Oliver, whenever I’m not by your side, this will show you the way.” “You’ll never be lost again.” I had been deeply touched back then, believing this was what real love looked like. Until one autumn, we went hiking. Brody had stared at my necklace, his eyes gleaming, demanding to borrow it. Before I could even protest, he reached out, unclasped it, and slung it around his own neck. We hiked for hours that day. On our way down, Brody suddenly slapped his forehead, claiming he must have dropped the necklace at the rest stop near the summit. I was on the verge of tears, desperate to hike back up and look for it. But Gwen grabbed my arm, stopping me. She said it was getting dark, that the trails were dangerous. It was just a cheap trinket, she argued; she would buy me another one. Seeing my frantic distress, her brow furrowed with annoyance. “Oliver, don’t be so petty. Brody didn’t do it on purpose.” Later, she did buy another one. Only, she bought it for Brody. She claimed Brody felt incredibly guilty for losing mine, so she bought an identical one to make him feel better. As for me? She said, “You already had one anyway. Buying another would just be a waste of money.” I looked at the rusted compass in my hand, the needle frozen and useless. A self-deprecating smile touched my lips. I tossed it straight into the trash can. Some paths couldn’t be navigated with a broken compass. I went back to packing. On the coffee table sat a thick binder of travel itineraries. I had stayed up for three nights straight planning this island trip. Where the best local diners were, which beaches had the most breathtaking sunsets, I had highlighted everything. Gwen had barely glanced at it when I showed her. She scoffed, saying there was no point in planning so much when they could just follow Brody’s lead. She laughed at my poor sense of direction, mocking how I could get lost even with a map in hand. And Brody had giggled right along with her. I had felt a dull ache in my chest then, but I had quietly packed the binder anyway. Now, it was completely useless. I tore the pages to shreds, throwing them into a trash bag along with the herbal tea I had bought to suit her taste and the lavender candles she loved. My phone buzzed again. A text from Gwen: “Did you eat yet?” “I just found this amazing seafood spot. Wish you were here.” “Alright, stop acting out. Send me your location, and I’ll book you a flight back this afternoon.” Every line oozed her condescending charity. She was absolutely certain I was just throwing a tantrum, certain that I couldn’t survive without her. She thought that if she threw me a bone, I would wag my tail and crawl back. I left her on read and taped up the boxes. The movers arrived shortly after. The driver wiped his brow, gesturing to the bulky furniture left in the living room. “What about the big stuff, kid?” “Leave it,” I said, brushing the dust off my hands. “I don’t want any of it.” Anything that belonged to our shared past could rot here. The movers nodded and began hauling the boxes downstairs. I stood in the center of the echoing apartment. Gwen had signed the lease, but I paid half the rent. The photo wall was still there, a collage of our years together. I walked over and ripped the photos down, one by one, until nothing remained but a scarred, bare wall. My phone lit up. A FaceTime call from Gwen. I hesitated for a beat before swiping to answer. “Oliver, how long are you going to keep up this act?” “If you’re done crying, book your ticket and get over here. Brody is starting to feel bad.” On the screen, Gwen was lounging under a beach umbrella. The ocean breeze ruffled her hair, looking effortless and beautiful. Brody was splashing around in the surf just a few yards behind her. Seeing me pick up, Gwen’s tense expression relaxed slightly, though her tone remained patronizing. “I checked the flights. There’s a direct one at three. I sent you the money on Venmo. Go buy the ticket.” She tilted the camera to show a fresh coconut drink on the table. “Brody ordered this for you. He said he wants to make it up to you when you get here.” “See? We’re both giving you a way out. Stop being so stubborn.” I stared at her face on the screen. She looked like a total stranger. This was the woman I had loved for five years. For her, I had spent hours trying to overcome my terrible sense of direction, forcing myself to study complicated navigation apps. For her, I had endured Brody’s endless, snide remarks because she insisted he was like a brother to her. For her, I had dragged my boundaries lower and lower. And she had taken every single concession as her birthright. “Gwen,” I said softly. My voice echoed slightly in the empty room. “I’m not coming.” Gwen’s face hardened instantly. “How much longer are you going to keep this up? It’s been three days. Even tantrums have an expiration date.” “Have I spoiled you so much that you think you can manipulate me like this?” She let out a cold laugh. “Oliver, look at yourself. You can’t even navigate out of an airport without us.” “Are you waiting for me to get down on my knees and beg in front of everyone before you’re satisfied?” I looked at her, the last trace of warmth dying in my chest. “No.” I flipped the camera, aiming it at the taped boxes and the black trash bags littering the bare floor. “I’m moving out.” The screen went completely still.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “519852”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Growing up, my two closest friends gave me endless nicknames. Idiot. Space cadet. Socially inept loser. They swore it was affection, the teasing reserved for those closest to you. During a crucial quarterly presentation, Justin called me an “idiot” in front of my coworkers. The office erupted in laughter while the marketing director frowned. My face burned crimson as I stumbled through the rest of the slides. Afterward, Taylor patted my shoulder. “He didn’t mean it, Lucas. Admit it, you are a little slow.” At a company retreat, Justin mimicked my nervous stutter to entertain the crowd. Taylor laughed the loudest, then saved the video of his impression so Justin could post it later. Last week, I closed a million-dollar deal solo. At the client dinner, Justin raised his glass. “Our resident loser actually closed a deal?” The client’s smile faltered. The next day, they pulled me aside to reconsider the partnership. In my car, Taylor tapped the window and handed me a tissue. “Stop crying. Just make sure he doesn’t drink before clients next time.” Eight years—from high school—I had wanted us to walk this path together. I wiped my eyes, submitted my resignation, and tossed the tissue into her lap. Rolling up the window, I started the engine. Congratulations, “resident loser.” You’ve finally learned how to walk away alone. “Who approved your resignation?” Taylor’s voice came through the receiver, calm and measured, as if she were simply asking what I wanted for lunch. I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear, continuing to pack my clothes into a battered suitcase. “HR did. It went through the standard channel.” “I told you not to make any rash decisions,” she said. After a brief pause, her tone softened slightly. “I can talk to the client for you. I still have a few connections with Mr. Harrison.” I zipped up the suitcase and looked at the one-way ticket lying on the desk. London. Single fare. “Don’t bother, Taylor.” “What are you playing at this time?” Her voice flared with a sudden edge of impatience. “You’ve known Justin long enough to know he talks before he thinks. Is it really worth all this drama?” Was it worth it? A million-dollar deal. Three months of endless follow-ups. Forty-seven emails. Eleven draft proposals. And she was asking if it was worth the drama. “I’m not playing games,” I said, sliding the ticket into the side pocket of my backpack. “I just need a change of scenery.” “A change of scenery? Lucas, you barely squeaked by your basic language exams. Where on earth are you going to go?” I didn’t answer. She let out a heavy sigh, that familiar, patronizing sigh she always reserved for my shortcomings. “Fine. Take a couple of days to cool off. Justin and I will take you out for dinner this weekend so we can talk things through.” “I won’t be around this weekend.” The line went dead silent for a few seconds. “What do you mean?” “My flight is the day after tomorrow.” This time, the silence stretched even longer. I could hear her rustling through her purse on the other end, probably looking for a pack of cigarettes. “Where?” “London. A friend’s firm has an opening. I’m going to give it a shot.” “You…” She sounded choked up, caught completely off guard. “Are you serious?” I caught my reflection in the vanity mirror. My eyes were still slightly puffy, my lips dry and chapped, my overall appearance dull and exhausted. “Entirely serious.” “Lucas,” she said, using my full name for once, her voice dropping into a low, intense register. “Are you just doing this to spite me?” A bitter laugh almost escaped my throat. For eight years, she had always viewed my decisions as nothing more than childish emotional tantrums. “It’s not about spite.” “Then explain it to me. Why are you suddenly packing up and leaving?” Why? Because you and Justin turned my life into a running joke, and you didn’t even realize you were tearing me apart. Because every single step I took to better myself was instantly belittled by his careless words, while you stood by his side, telling me “he didn’t mean any harm.” Because I am finally, utterly exhausted. But I didn’t say any of that. “I just want to see the world.” “By yourself? Lucas, you barely know how to navigate the city on your own.” “I have to go,” I cut her off. “I still have packing to do.” “Lucas…” I pressed the red button, ending the call. The moment my screen went dark, a text from Justin popped up. “Hey man, I heard you quit? What kind of joke is this lol. What are you even gonna do without Taylor and me? Stop throwing a fit. Let’s hang out this weekend, my treat to make it up to you, cool?” I stared at his words, “What are you even gonna do without Taylor and me?”, for a long time. I didn’t reply. I tossed my phone onto the bed and dragged my suitcase into the living room. Then, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Justin standing on the welcome mat. He was wearing an expensive cream-colored knit sweater, his hair perfectly styled, holding a bag of gourmet fruit. “You’re actually packing?” He craned his neck to peer into my apartment, his eyes widening in exaggerated shock. “My god, Lucas. You’re really leaving?” I stepped aside to let him in. He set the fruit down on the coffee table, turned to face me, and to my surprise, his eyes wellled with tears. “Is this because of what happened at the dinner? I told you, I had one too many drinks. You wouldn’t really leave over that, would you…” His voice trailed off into a whisper. He looked down, his fingers anxiously plucking at the hem of his sweater. “What am I supposed to do if you leave?” That was Justin. He always knew exactly when to look fragile. He always knew how to make everyone else believe that I was the bully, that I was the one hurting him. “It has nothing to do with you,” I said. “I wanted this.” He looked up at me, his eyes wet and pleading. “Really? You’re not mad at me?” “No.” “Then… can you stay?” He reached out and grabbed my hand, his manicured nails digging lightly into my skin. “Or at least wait until Taylor gets back? She can help you find another—” “Justin,” I said, pulling my hand away. “My flight leaves at six in the morning, the day after tomorrow.” He froze. A flicker of something dark and cold passed through his beautiful eyes. It was gone so quickly I almost missed it. Then he smiled, reaching up to gently brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead. “Then I’m definitely driving you to the airport.” “No need.” “I have to,” he insisted, looking straight into my eyes. “You’re my best friend.” My best friend. When he said those words, I remembered him calling me a loser in front of the client. I remembered the video of him mocking my stutter, shared and liked hundreds of times. I remembered the sound of Taylor’s laughter echoing in that retreat hall. My best friend. “Whatever,” I muttered. He gave my shoulder a playful punch. “Don’t go forgetting about me over there, okay?” I remained silent. As he pulled away, my phone buzzed on the counter. It was a text from Taylor. “I don’t approve.” Four words. No punctuation. I stared at the screen for two seconds, then locked the phone. 2 After Justin left, I resumed packing. In the deepest corner of my desk drawer, I unearthed a small, rusted tin box. Inside lay the accumulated debris of the last eight years. A birthday card Taylor had given me in sophomore year of high school, reading: Happy Birthday, Lucas. I hope you find your courage. A braided red string bracelet Justin had made, claiming it was our “brotherhood band” and that we’d wear it forever. And photos. Dozens of pictures of the three of us. I was always standing on the absolute edge of the frame, smiling the hardest. I tucked the tin box onto the highest shelf of my closet, right where it was hardest to reach. I didn’t take it with me, but I didn’t throw it away either. At eleven that night, Taylor called again. I ignored it. She sent six texts. I didn’t open them. The seventh was a voice note. My finger accidentally brushed against it, and her voice echoed in the quiet room. “Lucas, you’ve declined my calls six times now. Are you trying to pick a fight with me? If you have something to say, say it. Stop giving me the silent treatment.” The silent treatment. I let out a soft, humorless laugh. Me quietly packing my life away was called “the silent treatment.” But her and Justin publicly humiliating me for eight years? What was that called? A warm, nurturing friendship? I turned off my phone and slept peacefully for the first time in years. The next day was my last in the city. I went to the office to finalize my exit paperwork. My desk had already been cleared. A small post-it note from the guy at the neighboring cubicle was stuck to the bare monitor. Good luck, Lucas. Don’t look back, and I mean that in the best way possible. I peeled the note off, tucked it into my pocket, and headed to HR to sign the final papers. When I stepped out of the elevator, I ran right into Taylor. She stood in the lobby, her expression a complex knot of emotions. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “I came to pick you up.” “I don’t need a ride.” She stepped into my path, staring down at me. “Lucas, can you talk to me like a normal person for once?” “I am talking to you normally.” Her brow furrowed, and she reached out to pat my shoulder, just as she had done a thousand times over the years. I took a step back. Her hand froze in mid-air. “You really are furious,” she said, letting her arm drop. “I already told you, I’ll talk to Mr. Harrison—” “The deal is dead, Taylor,” I interrupted. “Is that really worth quitting your job over?” “Yes.” She took a deep breath, her tone shifting into something softer, gentler. “Lucas…” “Don’t call me that.” She choked on her words. In eight years, I had never cut her off like that. She had grown accustomed to my mild temper, my absolute submissiveness. She was used to me nodding along to whatever she said. “Fine,” she yielded slightly. “Lucas, let’s find a place to sit down and talk.” “There’s nothing to discuss.” “Your flight is tomorrow. You’re going to London entirely on your own. Who do you even know there? You don’t even know how to navigate the city—” “I’ll figure it out.” She wore that look again. The look of an adult observing an unruly, stubborn child who was throwing a tantrum and needed supervision. “Justin has been crying all day,” she said suddenly. “He thinks he’s the reason you’re leaving.” I paused for a second. “Good. He should be.” Taylor’s face darkened. “What is that supposed to mean? You won’t even accept his apology now?” I looked at her. She was always defending Justin. When the deal fell through, it was my fault for not limiting his drinking. When he mocked my stutter, it was because I was too thin-skinned. When I quit, I was blowing things out of proportion. And now that he was crying, her immediate reaction was to come and smooth things over for him. “Taylor,” I corrected myself, keeping my voice steady. “Have you ever asked yourself one question?” “What?” “If Justin had been the one humiliated in front of the client that night, would you have told me to ‘just make sure he doesn’t drink so much’?” She froze. Her mouth parted slightly, but no words came out. I walked past her, pushing open the heavy glass doors of the lobby. The bright afternoon sun stung my eyes. Behind me, I heard her quicken her steps. “Lucas, what time is your flight tomorrow? I’ll drive you.” “No need.” “I’m driving you,” she repeated, a stubborn, unyielding authority creeping into her voice. I didn’t turn around. “Save the ride for Justin.” When I stepped onto the street, I exhaled a long, deep breath. For the first time in eight years, the walk back home felt incredibly short. So short that I wondered why it had taken me so long to take it. Back at the apartment, a bouquet of flowers sat on the coffee table. Sunflowers. My favorite. The card was written in Justin’s distinct, loopy handwriting: Lucas, I’m coming to see you off tomorrow. No excuses. Promise me we’ll be best friends forever. I picked up the bouquet and threw it straight into the trash can. 3 It took three alarms at four in the morning for me to drag myself out of bed. After washing up, I dragged my heavy suitcase out into the dimly lit hallway. When the elevator doors slid open, Justin was already standing inside. He was wearing a casual hoodie, his hair slightly messy, dark circles prominent under his eyes. “You scared me. I thought you were going to sneak down the stairs to avoid us.” He offered a sleepy grin and reached out to take the handle of my suitcase. “Come on. Taylor is waiting downstairs in the car.” I looked at him coldly. “I told you both not to come.” “Oh, stop being like that,” he said, tugging my arm to pull me along. “Who knows when you’ll be back? Let us say goodbye.” Downstairs, Taylor’s car was idling under the streetlamp, the exhaust pluming in the cold morning air. She got out to help lift the suitcase into the trunk, her movements efficient and silent. The drive to the airport was painfully quiet. Justin sat in the passenger seat, while I took the back. Ten minutes into the drive, he suddenly spun around to look at me. “Lucas, make sure you eat properly over there. Your stomach has always been sensitive.” “Yeah.” “And don’t push yourself too hard. You get anxious so easily, and too much stress is going to ruin your sleep.” “I know.” “FaceTime me whenever you miss me. What’s the time difference again… eight hours? When you’re waking up, I’ll just be getting off work—” “Justin,” Taylor interrupted, her eyes on the road. “Let him have some quiet.” Justin stuck his tongue out playfully and turned back around. In the rearview mirror, Taylor’s eyes flicked to mine for a brief second. I looked away, staring out at the blurred streetlights flashing past the window. When we arrived at the terminal, Taylor pushed the luggage cart while Justin slung his arm familiarly over my shoulder. We walked through the airport just like we always did, the three of us side-by-side. Only this time, they had positioned me in the middle instead of the edge. Because this was the final act. At the check-in counter, I finalized my boarding pass. Justin pulled me into a tight, crushing hug. “You jerk,” he mumbled, burying his face into my shoulder, his voice thick with emotion. “Who’s going to let me mess around when you’re gone?” I patted his back twice. “You have Taylor.” He let go, wiping his eyes, and glanced at Taylor as if giving her a cue. Taylor stood a few paces back, clutching something in her hand. She walked over and handed me a brown paper bag. “Some snacks for the flight, and…” She hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Text me when you land.” I took the bag and gave a brief nod. Then, I turned toward the security gate. “Lucas.” She called out behind me. I stopped, but I didn’t turn around. “If you can’t make it work over there, you can always come back.” There was a sliver of uncertainty in her voice, a tiny fracture in her composure. But only a sliver. Because deep down, she was still entirely convinced I would return. She believed I couldn’t survive without them. She had believed that for eight years. I didn’t say a word. I pulled my carry-on forward and walked into the security line. While waiting in the queue, I looked back one last time. In the distance, Justin was talking animatedly to Taylor, gesturing wildly with his hands, looking bright and cheerful. Taylor was looking down at her phone, typing away. They didn’t look particularly heartbroken. They looked the way people do when they send someone off to run a quick errand, expecting them back shortly. I turned my back on them. Gate B12. I found my seat on the plane, buckled in, and opened the paper bag Taylor had given me. Inside was a sandwich, a bottle of water, a pack of mints. And at the absolute bottom lay a post-it note. Written in Justin’s handwriting: Hey space cadet, the real world is terrifying. You won’t last a month before you start missing us. Taylor and I will be waiting at the arrivals gate when you fly home! I stared at the word “space cadet” for a long time. As the plane began to taxi down the runway, I tore the note in half, stuffed it into the seatback air-sickness bag, and closed my eyes. Twelve hours later, my boots touched down at Heathrow. I turned on my phone. Thirty-seven notifications flooded the screen, mostly meme spam and frantic voice notes from Justin. Taylor had sent only one text: Let me know when you arrive. I typed back two words: I’m here. Then, I cleared the chat. My friend, Nate, was waiting at the arrivals gate, holding up a cardboard sign with a terribly drawn stick figure of me. “Welcome to your new life, Lucas.” I dragged my suitcase toward him. The London wind was damp and biting, but as I drew it deep into my lungs, it felt entirely fresh. No one here was going to call me an idiot. 4 During my first week in London, the jet lag refused to let go. Waking up at three in the morning with no hope of falling back asleep, I sat on the bay window of my rented flat, watching the amber glow of the streetlamps below. My phone screen lit up. Justin had updated his social media feed with a nine-photo gallery. Every single picture was of him and Taylor. At a diner, at the theater, walking through a shopping mall. The caption read: Life is so boring without Lucas around. Had to drag this beauty out to keep me company. You owe me for this one, Taylor! In the comments, our old coworkers were already teasing them: “Are you two finally going public?” “The childhood friends-to-lovers arc is finally happening!” “Did Lucas leave just to clear the path for you guys? lol.” Taylor had replied to one comment: Don’t talk nonsense. Justin had replied to the same comment with a blushing emoji. I stared at the screen, my mind blank. It wasn’t jealousy. It was a cold, quiet realization that my worst fears had been confirmed. My departure hadn’t left a void in their lives. It had completed it. Without the clumsy third wheel dragging them down, they could finally slide together naturally. Nate walked in, holding two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. “What are you staring at in the middle of the night?” He glanced at my screen. “Is that your buddy and your childhood girl?” “Yeah.” Nate shoved a mug into my hands. “Put the phone down, man. Your first day of work is tomorrow.” I took a sip of the rich chocolate, the heat burning the tip of my tongue. I set both Justin and Taylor’s profiles to “Mute.” My first day at the new firm was a blur of unfamiliarity. The entirely English-speaking environment, the foreign faces, the brisk pace of the projects, it was overwhelming. During the morning briefing, I struggled to keep up, my fingers aching from taking frantic notes. But nobody called me a space cadet. Nobody mocked my nervous stutter. Nobody looked at me when I completed a task and said, “Wow, look who actually did something useful.” At lunch, a senior analyst complimented a specific data structure I had built into a proposal. It was a completely standard, professional compliment. But I had to look down to hide the sudden sting in my eyes. I worked until nine that night. On my commute home, a message from Taylor popped up. “It’s been a week. How is London? Are you adjusting to the work?” I replied: “It’s fine.” She immediately wrote back: “Justin said you muted his posts. He’s really hurt by that.” I didn’t reply. She sent another: “Lucas, what are you still angry about? He knows he made a mistake.” It was always the same script. Justin was sad, so I was expected to soften. Justin felt bad, so I was expected to forgive. But the million-dollar deal I had lost, the shred of professional dignity I had fought for, the eight years of being their punching bag? None of that mattered. Because I was just Lucas. Easygoing, slow-tempered, harmless Lucas. Lucas never stayed mad. I closed the app, pulled up my project briefs, and spent the train ride preparing for the next day’s meetings. By the second, third, and fourth week, the rhythm of London began to feel natural. My work became smoother. My turnaround time on deliverables cut down by half. Nate commented that I was smiling more. Taylor’s texts, meanwhile, began to shift. They went from weekly check-ins to twice-daily pings, and eventually to a constant stream of messages morning, noon, and night. They started as casual questions but grew increasingly invasive. “Who did you have lunch with today?” “Is that coworker of yours male or female?” “Why aren’t you answering my messages on weekends?” I kept my replies brief, or simply ignored them. In my fifth week, at four in the morning, her contact photo flashed on my screen. A FaceTime call.

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1 On our seventh anniversary, I was locked out of the house I owned. I pressed my thumb against the biometric lock. It beeped three times. Verification Failed. I figured my hands were just too cold, so I typed in the passcode. Incorrect Passcode. A second later, a notification popped up on my phone from the smart lock app. Administrator has deleted user: Evan. Administrator has added user: Jordan. I stood on the porch, listening to the soft footsteps approaching from inside. The door opened. My girlfriend’s assistant was standing there, wearing one of my dress shirts. “Evan, do not misunderstand,” he said quickly. “I have been dealing with a stalker recently. Savannah was worried about my safety, so she let me crash here for a few days.” Savannah walked out of the living room, a frown already forming on her face. “Why are you just standing in the doorway? The wind is freezing. Jordan is already coming down with a cold.” I looked down at the takeout bag in my hand. I had driven halfway across the city just to buy her favorite lobster ravioli. Suddenly, it felt like a pathetic joke. Without saying a word, I turned around and walked toward the elevator. Before it arrived, my front door opened again. Savannah hurried out with a coat and draped it over my shoulders. The movement was completely natural. Just like the countless times over the last seven years when she would take my laptop bag after an all nighter and gently wrap a scarf around my neck. “It is pouring out there. Do not catch a cold.” My fingers twitched. For a split second, my heart almost softened. But then she glanced back toward our door and lowered her voice. “Jordan was really shaken up tonight. Stop acting so cold and hostile. Do not trigger his anxiety.” “Just go sleep at a hotel tonight.” I looked up at her face. I saw exhaustion. I saw deep annoyance. But I did not see a single ounce of guilt. Today was the exact date we moved in together seven years ago. This entire year, she was busy fighting for bids while I was buried in design proposals. We barely had time to sit down and eat a meal together. So half a month ago, I pushed back all my client meetings, booked an exclusive restaurant, and bought her a gift. But at the very last minute, she canceled on me with a single phone call. I could hear Jordan crying hysterically in the background while she told me there was an emergency she had to handle. I believed her. After work, I drove out of my way to buy the ravioli. I figured even if she was busy, we could at least share a warm meal at home to celebrate. I never expected that when I finally got home, my own front door would reject me. And her “emergency” was bringing her male assistant home to live in our house. I looked down at my hands. During our first year living together, I stayed up late finishing a retail space design. I came home at two in the morning, forgot my keys, and fell asleep on the freezing hallway floor waiting for her. I ended up with a hundred and four degree fever. Savannah had rushed back from a construction site, her eyes red with tears when she saw me. The very next day, she spent hours installing that smart lock, holding my hand as we scanned my fingerprint over and over. “From now on, this door only recognizes the two of us.” At the time, I laughed and told her she was being dramatic, but deep down, I was incredibly happy. Jordan’s timid voice drifted out from the apartment. “Savannah, maybe I should just go.” Savannah turned her head, her tone instantly softening into something gentle. “Do not be ridiculous. It is not safe for you out there. You are staying right here.” Her gentleness felt like a tiny, sharp needle pressing directly into my heart. “Evan,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Jordan did not delete your fingerprint on purpose. He just pressed the wrong button on the app.” “What about the passcode?” I asked. She paused for a moment. “I changed it.” “He has a stalker. I changed the code to make him feel safer.” I let out a dry, bitter laugh. “So you went through all that trouble just to keep me out?” Savannah frowned, her patience thinning. “Can you have a little empathy? He is just crashing here for a few days. It is just a fingerprint. Once he leaves, I will add yours right back in.” When I did not respond, Savannah assumed I was finally giving in. She softened her voice. “Just tough it out for one night. I will come pick you up from the hotel tomorrow morning.” I looked straight into her eyes. “Savannah, do you even remember what today is?” She froze. A few seconds later, she actively avoided my gaze. I cleared my entire evening. I booked the restaurant. I bought the gift. On the drive home, I even debated whether tonight was the right time to talk about getting married. But all she said was, “We can make up for the celebration later. Jordan is genuinely terrified right now.” “Evan, please do not make this difficult for me.” “Fine,” I said. Savannah visibly let out a breath of relief. “I am glad you are being reasonable. I will have my assistant book you a room.” “Do not bother.” I pulled the coat off my shoulders and handed it back to her. “I will book it myself.” She did not take the coat. Her face returned to that familiar, soothing warmth. “I have plenty of coats inside, keep that one on. Jordan is in there alone, and since the stalking incident, he panics when he is isolated. I need to go back in. You have always been the mature one, please do not make this harder than it has to be.” I watched her turn and practically jog back to the door. I felt a bizarre wave of absolute calm wash over me. “Do not worry, Savannah. I will never make things difficult for you again.” I dropped the coat straight into the trash can by the elevator. At two in the morning, I knocked on my best friend Liam’s door. He opened it, stared at my rain soaked clothes, and blinked in confusion. “Weren’t you supposed to have an anniversary dinner with Savannah?” I could not form the words. Liam did not push. He just pulled me inside and poured me a hot cup of tea. When I came out of the shower, he was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching me. “Since you are here, I might as well ask. Did you make a decision on the Oak Street Bookstore project?” I gripped the warm mug and went completely quiet. He was asking if I was finally ready to take on a commercial design project as the lead architect under my own name. He had tried to convince me dozens of times over the years, but I always turned him down. Because I always felt like Savannah could not survive without me. In every single project, she drew the skeleton, and I filled in the flesh and blood. When we first started the firm, we didn’t even have a real conference room. We rented the top floor of a crumbling office building. The roof leaked when it rained, the wind howled through the windows in winter, and the printer broke every three days. Once, to meet a deadline, I stayed up for two days straight. When I finally woke up at four in the morning, Savannah’s jacket was draped over me. She was kneeling on the cold floor, carefully picking up all my scattered material samples one by one. When she saw I was awake, she pressed a hot cup of coffee into my hands. “Evan.” She looked at me with fierce determination. “You are the most brilliant designer I have ever met.” “I can build the structure, but you are the one who turns it into a place where people actually want to stay.” As the sun slowly rose outside the window that morning, I felt invincible. That project went on to win a major industry award. Backstage at the ceremony, Savannah held my hand tight and whispered: “One day, we will have our own massive firm. Our names will always be side by side.” So ever since then, I willingly stood in her shadow. When she fell behind on blueprints, I stayed up all night to finish them. When clients demanded impossible last minute changes, I went in to smooth things over. But when we won our biggest award this year, the very first name Savannah mentioned in her speech was Jordan. I was the one who hired Jordan into the firm. But whenever I took him to construction sites, he complained about the dust and the dirt. Six months ago, Savannah took him to a client pitch meeting. He presented the concept deck I had stayed up until three in the morning perfecting. The client praised him for having “raw talent.” After that day, he completely refused to return to my team. He glued himself to Savannah’s side. Now, everyone in the company whispered that Jordan was Savannah’s personal protégé, a rising star she had hand trained. Liam let out a heavy sigh. “You are a full partner at the firm, Evan. You are not Savannah’s accessory.” In the past, I would have laughed it off and changed the subject. But this time, I gave a slow, deliberate nod. “You are right.” I looked up at him. “Tell the client I will be the lead designer for the Oak Street Bookstore.” The next day at noon, I went back to the office to pack up my reference materials. Jordan was standing right next to my desk. He pushed a cup of premium coffee toward me. “Evan, I am so sorry about last night.” “Savannah only missed your dinner because she was helping me look through security footage.” He paused, lowering his voice to sound perfectly innocent. “She told me you were the most forgiving person she knows, and that you would definitely understand.” I slid my documents into my briefcase. “Okay.” Jordan froze. At that exact moment, Savannah walked out of the glass conference room and placed a glass of warm milk on his desk. “Didn’t you say your stomach was acting up? Drink this.” Jordan shot me a timid, nervous look. “Savannah, I think Evan is still mad at me. I tried asking him about the new project, but he gave me the cold shoulder.” Savannah finally turned to look at me, her expression a mix of surprise and irritation. “I thought we cleared everything up last night.” She frowned deeply. “Jordan has barely been on my team for a few months. It is perfectly normal for him to make mistakes or ask questions. As a senior partner, can you stop putting so much pressure on him?” I suddenly found the entire situation utterly ridiculous. He had been at the firm for a full year. Yet somehow, he was now a delicate rookie who required my endless patience. “Just apologize to Jordan, Evan. Do it for me, and we can move past this…” I looked Savannah dead in the eyes. “We are done. I want a breakup.” The entire open plan office went dead silent. Savannah clearly didn’t believe a word I said. She actually let out a short, dismissive laugh. “Evan, why are you being so immature? Do you really think threatening me with a breakup is going to get my attention?” Right on cue, a text from Liam popped up on my screen. [Oak Street Bookstore. Tonight at 7 PM. Let’s lock down the direction.] I typed back: [See you there.] Without sparing Savannah another glance, I picked up my bag and walked out. The following morning, Liam slid the official contract across his desk toward me. “The Oak Street team absolutely loves your portfolio.” I stared at the screen. The highlighted clause read: Project must be led personally by Evan. My finger hovered over the mouse for a long time. For years, I had conditioned myself to put my name behind Savannah’s. Her projects. Her team. Her firm. Liam watched me closely. “Evan, this is your shot.” Just as I opened my mouth to reply, my phone buzzed. It was Savannah. [Where did you save the material boards for the Starlight Plaza project?] [Jordan has to pitch the final design to the developers this afternoon. Send him the master files.] I stared at the two messages and let out a dark laugh. I had been grinding on the Starlight Plaza project for three agonizing months. From the foot traffic flow to the custom lighting grids, I built every single version from the ground up on zero sleep. Jordan did not even know how to read the material index codes. Now that he was officially Savannah’s pet, he had learned exactly how to snap his fingers and demand my finished work. I flipped my phone face down on the desk. I did not reply. By mid afternoon, the main project group chat exploded. The lead developer sent three voice memos in a row. [Who the hell revised this draft?] [I stated explicitly from day one that we do not want this cheap, viral aesthetic. How are we this deep into the timeline and you still do not understand our core demands?] [If this reflects your firm’s level of comprehension, we will immediately reopen the bidding process to other agencies.] Savannah called me almost immediately. I let it ring out. Jordan’s messages started flooding in next. [Evan, I am so sorry. I swear I did not do it on purpose.] [The developers actually listen to you. Could you please just step in and fix this for me?] I ignored him entirely. A few minutes later, Savannah sent a voice memo. Her tone was sharp and commanding. “Evan, stop acting like a child and be a professional. If you want to throw a tantrum at me, fine, but do not hold a multimillion dollar project hostage.” Hearing her voice made me feel oddly at peace. So if I refuse to clean up her mess, I am being unprofessional. But when she blindly handed three months of my blood, sweat, and tears to a kid who couldn’t even read a design brief, she was just giving a rookie a chance. By late afternoon, Savannah showed up at Liam’s office in person. She pushed open the door to the small conference room, saw me sitting there with Liam, and her face went dark with fury. “The Starlight developers are threatening to pull the plug, and instead of fixing it, you are sitting here chatting about some bookstore?” “Since when did you lose all sense of priority?” I calmly flipped the contract to the signature page. “The final, approved master file for Starlight is on the company server. Anyone can access it.” “You put him in charge of the pitch. Let him deal with the fallout.” Savannah’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “He just started managing accounts. It is entirely normal for him to slip up.” “You are a founding partner. What is the big deal about covering for him just this once?” I looked at her blankly. “I absolutely can cover for him.” “But only on the condition that he answers directly to me. I dictate his workload, and I decide if he is competent enough to step into a client meeting.” “You do not get to bypass my authority, throw him into my project, and then expect me to act as his safety net when everything explodes.” Suddenly, Jordan’s timid voice echoed from the hallway. “Savannah, I am so sorry. This is all my fault.” He stood in the doorway, his eyes red and teary, staring right at me. “Evan, I swear I just wanted to help take some of the load off your plate.” Savannah practically spun on her heel to comfort him. When she turned back to me, her voice was absolute ice. “Evan, he is practically having a panic attack from the guilt. Do you really have to be this cruel and vindictive?” In the past, I used to dread the moment she used that cold, authoritative tone with me. But right now? I just found it completely laughable. Liam tapped a pen against the desk and slid it toward me. “Ready to sign?” I picked up the pen. Savannah’s face drained of color. “Evan!” I did not pause for a single second. I pressed the pen to the paper and signed my name with absolute precision at the bottom of the contract. Despite everything, I was still forced into the emergency damage control meeting for Starlight Plaza. The developers demanded a concrete recovery plan by 4 PM. All the senior partners were dialed in. Just before the meeting started, Savannah pulled me aside in the hallway, desperate for me to take the fall. “Jordan is still just a rookie. He made a mistake, and the client ripped into him. Just tell them you were the one managing the files and take the heat for this version. Otherwise, the kid is going to be completely humiliated.” I stayed completely silent. When she realized I was not automatically saying yes, her face stiffened, but she forced a pleading tone. “Evan, you know exactly how critical this contract is for our firm. Please do not do this. Jordan has his whole career ahead of him. Do not sabotage this project just because we are fighting at home.” “Just consider this a personal favor to me. Please.” She reached out, trying to grab my hand, slipping into her old habit of acting affectionate to get what she wanted. I dodged her hand entirely. Looking at her now, she felt like a total stranger. Over the years, through countless brutal projects, she had worked herself into the hospital with stress ulcers, yet she had never once begged anyone for help. I used to cover for her because I loved her. But now, she was throwing away her pride and begging me just to protect her little assistant’s fragile ego. I refused. Savannah ran the afternoon meeting as the project director, and Jordan was forced to present. My name had been scrubbed completely from the participant list. As soon as the meeting started, Jordan was visibly shaking. When he got to the centerpiece installation for the atrium, his hand slipped on the trackpad, and the screen flashed back to the exact same rose gold rendering the client hated yesterday. The lead developer’s face turned stormy. “I explicitly stated this morning that we are not moving in this direction.” “What exactly is going on at your firm?” Jordan stood frozen in sheer terror. Savannah immediately stepped in, her voice cold and professional. “Switch presenters.” An associate quickly grabbed the laptop, and they barely scraped through the rest of the meeting. When it was finally over, Savannah cornered me by the elevators. Her eyes were exhausted, her voice dripping with profound disappointment. “Evan, did you really have to push things this far?” I looked at her. “What are you talking about?” “Jordan couldn’t find the correct files. Why didn’t you organize the folders properly before you handed them over?” I stared at her in utter disbelief. “The master files are exactly where they always are on the server. The naming conventions are crystal clear.” Savannah’s eyes hardened into a glare. “So you are saying this entire disaster is one hundred percent his fault?” I really wanted to ask her Who else’s fault would it be? But I suddenly realized arguing with her was completely pointless. Instead, I just said, “I am a partner at this firm. I am not his personal secretary.” Word spread through the office like wildfire. The rumor was that Savannah and I were going through a toxic breakup, and I intentionally sabotaged Jordan’s files to ruin a massive account out of pure jealousy. Eventually, the board of partners decided to temporarily remove me from the Starlight project entirely. Savannah was appointed to take over all client communications. When the decision was announced, Liam actually laughed out loud in the boardroom. I just nodded calmly. “Understood.” After the meeting, I packed up all the blueprints, material indexes, and meeting minutes for Starlight and handed them directly to the operations manager. Then I grabbed my bag and headed out to meet the owners of the Oak Street Bookstore. Just as the elevator doors started to close, Savannah sprinted forward and slammed her hand against the sensor, forcing them back open. She was out of breath. She reached out, trying to gently touch my arm, her eyes softening into that familiar gaze. “Evan, just treat this as a few days of vacation. Once you cool off, I will clear everything up with the board and bring you right back onto the team. When this is all over, we can go home and celebrate properly. I will even book the most expensive restaurant in the city.” I looked at her face. I saw the exact same features of the girl who used to wait outside my dorm for hours, blushing furiously as she asked, “C… can I have a crush on you?” I gave her a small, polite smile. I reached over, pressed the ‘Close Door’ button, and watched her face slowly disappear behind the sliding metal. Savannah. I am never coming back to the Starlight project, and I am never coming home.

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I once babysat for my best friend, and she destroyed my life. In my past life, she claimed an emergency and begged me to watch her toddler. I agreed. An hour later, the child fell off my couch and slipped into a coma. When she rushed to the hospital, she broke down completely, screaming that it was all my fault. Overnight, I became the jealous villain who resented her happy family. Her parents blocked the entrance, livestreaming the ordeal to force me into paying. They coerced me into signing away my future to cover his lifelong medical bills. I was dragged into her miserable existence, spending every day at the hospital caring for him. Feeding him. Changing his bandages. Bathing him. While she pocketed my money, she cursed me daily. “You are pure evil. Why aren’t you dead yet?” She dragged me through hell for eight agonizing years. Only when my mind shattered and my heart gave out did I learn the truth. She had deliberately fed the child adult sedatives to set me up. When I opened my eyes again, she was shoving the toddler into my arms. “You’re my best friend. Watch him for me?” I stepped back and slammed the door. “Who is your best friend? If you can’t care for a kid, don’t have one.” 1 I leaned against the closed door as a flood of memories rushed into my brain. I clearly remembered the day my spirit finally broke and my body gave out from the exhaustion. Before my vision faded, I heard her and her mother arguing in the hospital corridor. “Mom, what are you afraid of? I fed him those sedatives myself. I controlled the dosage perfectly. He won’t die, the worst case is just a little brain damage! Greg isn’t his real dad anyway. His biological father took off ages ago. Now we can just let Stella play the guilty fool and fund his life forever!” From outside my apartment door, Harper’s perfectly disguised, anxious voice pulled me back from my past life. “Stella, what do you mean by that? Aren’t we best friends for life?” “Did something happen to you? Please do not scare me like this.” I looked through the peephole and saw Harper standing in the hallway. Her face was caked in heavy makeup, and she was squeezed into a low cut, sequined bodycon dress. The suffocating stench of her cheap perfume practically seeped through the cracks of the door. In her hand, she was dragging her two year old son, Toby. Everything was exactly the same as that cursed night eight years ago. “Stella, are you okay? If you do not open the door right now, I am calling the cops.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, forcing my racing heart to calm down. Seeing her pull out her phone through the peephole, I let out a heavy sigh and yanked the door open. The second she saw me, Harper immediately shoved the toddler toward my chest. She spoke at lightning speed, slapping on a pathetic, pitiful expression. “Stella! Oh thank god you are fine. I honestly thought you were having a mental breakdown and was about to dial 911.” “Listen, I have an urgent client meeting right now. Can you please watch the baby for a bit? I will be back so soon! I am begging you, you are the only person in the world who treats me right!” If this had been my previous life, my soft heart would have caved, and I would have taken the boy. But this time, I just stared at her with absolute ice in my eyes and took a deliberate step backward. Toby grabbed at thin air and stood frozen in the hallway. I looked her up and down, my gaze lingering on her six inch stiletto heels. “What kind of client needs you to dress like you are heading to a nightclub?” Harper’s face dropped. Her eyes darted around nervously before she instantly switched back to playing the victim. “Stella, what are you talking about? It is strictly business! Aren’t you my best friend? Why is it so hard for you to just do me a simple favor?” “I already told you, I am not your best friend.” I locked eyes with her and repeated myself slowly. “If you do not have time to raise a child, you never should have given birth to one.” Without a moment of hesitation, I slammed the door shut. The heavy thud completely severed her stunned expression and her vicious cursing from my world. “Stella, you absolute psycho! Fine, do not help me! Let’s see how smug you are tomorrow!” Listening to the sharp clacking of her heels stomping furiously down the hallway, I turned around, pulled out my phone, and ordered two high definition hidden cameras with night vision. Having known her for years, and being a licensed psychotherapist myself, I knew exactly how her twisted mind worked. Once she set her sights on a goal, she would never pivot. Since I refused to take the bait tonight, she would definitely find another way to abandon the child and leave. This time, I wanted to see exactly how she planned to put on her little show without me playing the fall guy. 2 The next morning, I arrived right on time at the psychotherapy clinic where I worked. The moment I slipped on my white coat, the neighborhood app group chat exploded. Because Harper and I lived in the same building, right above and below each other, plenty of the residents knew who we were. “Did you guys hear? The toddler from the third floor had a terrible accident last night. He is in the ICU!” “Oh my god, what happened?” In the group chat, Harper sent three consecutive voice memos, each a full minute long, filled with hysterical, gut wrenching sobs. “If it wasn’t for Stella, my baby would never be in this condition!” I stared at the screen, genuinely confused. I never even opened the door for her after that first interaction. How on earth was she pinning this on me? To uncover the truth, I immediately pulled up the app linked to the hidden cameras I had rushed to install around my doorway last night. The footage on the screen sent a cold sweat straight down my spine. After I locked her out last night, Harper didn’t actually leave. She stood right in front of my door, smacked the wood twice, and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Stella, I brought the baby over for you!” Then, the most terrifying thing happened. From the empty hallway, my own voice echoed with crystal clarity. “Okay, just leave him at the door. I am in the shower right now, I will open the door and grab him in a minute!” The tone, the pitch, the exact cadence of the words. It sounded exactly like me. In the video, Harper put on a brilliant theatrical performance, yelling back, “Okay, I am leaving now! Hurry up and grab him when you are done!” With that, she turned on her heels and strutted away without looking back once. The two year old boy stood awkwardly in the eerily quiet hallway for a few minutes. Terrified and alone, he slowly wandered toward the stairwell. A few moments later, the sickening, heavy thuds of a small body tumbling down a flight of concrete stairs echoed off camera. In the group chat, Harper continued her performance. “I had a massive emergency last night, so I brought my son upstairs to her. She told me herself that she was in the shower and to leave him at the door! She said she would grab him! Even if she changed her mind, how could she just leave a baby stranded in the hallway and let him fall down the stairs!” “Why is my life so cursed? How did I end up with such a cold blooded, backstabbing friend!” Brenda, the nosy neighbor from down the hall, was the first to fire shots. “What a complete sin! When I got up to get water last night, I actually heard Dr. Stella say she was coming out to get the baby! If you promised to watch the poor child, how could you just lock him out?” The scandal fermented rapidly. My college roommate, Sarah, tagged me in our alumni group chat. “Stella, this is pure evil. You promised to babysit and then just left the kid to die? Harper constantly praises you, and this is how you repay her?” Harper, sensing she had the crowd in the palm of her hand, immediately started steering the narrative. “Honestly, I should have seen her true colors ages ago. You guys do not know this, but she constantly brings different people back to her apartment. Men, women, total strangers. She refuses to get married or have kids because her private life is completely degenerate. She probably had a lover over last night, faked being in the shower to make me leave the baby, and just watched my son get hurt on purpose!” The group chats instantly boiled over. The public outrage caught fire like dry grass, and the flames engulfed me in seconds. Reading the filthy, degrading insults flashing across my screen, I let out a cold laugh. As a clinical psychotherapist, the people I brought to my apartment were severely depressed, highly vulnerable patients who required extreme privacy. To protect them, I had converted my spare bedroom into a strictly confidential trauma therapy room. Yet in Harper’s mouth, this became ironclad proof that I was a promiscuous degenerate. That afternoon, the glass doors to my clinic were shoved open violently. Harper’s parents, accompanied by a pack of aggressive relatives, stormed into the lobby. In my previous life, these were the exact same people who used crocodile tears and moral blackmail to force me into signing my life away. “Stella, you murderer! Get out here right now!” Martha dropped right onto the floor of the clinic lobby, throwing a massive, theatrical tantrum. Robert held up his smartphone, shoving the camera lens aggressively into my face. “Look at this, everyone! This is the face of pure evil! She looks like a professional, but behind closed doors, she is a monster who leaves babies to die!” Penny, my young assistant, cowered behind the reception desk. “Dr. Stella, should we call the police?” “No rush,” I said smoothly, adjusting the collar of my white coat. In psychology, there is a concept called group polarization. When a mob is drowning in high running emotions, the more you try to defend yourself, the more they believe you are lying. You have to wait until they are screaming at the top of their lungs, drunk on their own self righteousness. Only then, when you smash the ironclad evidence directly across their faces, will they truly understand what it means to be ruined. 3 I walked right up to Martha. “Are you done screaming? This is a medical clinic, not your personal circus. If you do not want to be arrested for trespassing, get out.” Martha froze for a split second before dialing her shrieks up to eleven. “Listen to her, everyone! Look at her attitude! My poor grandson is fighting for his life in the ICU, and she refuses to even apologize! Stella, you are going to pay for this! You are going to cover every single medical bill, or we will riot in here every single day until you lose your license!” Looking at their greedy, salivating expressions, everything suddenly made perfect sense. It didn’t matter if I had helped her in my past life, or if I had rejected her in this one. Their ultimate goal was always the exact same. Extortion. I smiled pleasantly directly into Robert’s camera lens. “Be my guest. I will wait for your lawsuit.” By the third day, the situation escalated into total chaos. Harper somehow hired a shady PR agency to package the incident into viral clickbait, pushing it straight to the top of the local trending charts. The headlines were wildly inflammatory. [SHOCKING! Promiscuous Female Therapist Jealous of Best Friend’s Happy Family, Leaves Two Year Old to Die in Hallway!] In the viral video, Harper wore zero makeup, looking pale and completely devastated as she sat on a hospital bench. She cried beautifully for the camera. “I do not blame her for refusing to help. I only blame myself for being blind enough to treat a venomous snake like a sister.” “My baby’s brain was deprived of oxygen. He might never walk again. But what about her? She is still sitting in her luxury clinic, taking money from innocent patients.” The moment the video dropped, the internet went rabid. Someone splashed bright red paint across the glass doors of the clinic, spray painting the words “Tramp” and “Murderer.” All of my client bookings were canceled. Extremists even dug up my personal phone number, sending me death threats around the clock. “Trash like this doesn’t deserve to be a doctor!” “Bringing random people home every night, who knows what kind of sick stuff she is into. Disgusting!” “She said men and women, right? Gross.” The clinic owner couldn’t handle the pressure anymore and called me into his office. “Stella, we deeply respect your clinical expertise, but this public relations nightmare is just too massive. How about we put you on administrative suspension for now?” I quietly packed my personal belongings without arguing. A suspension was perfect. It gave me all the free time I needed to finally pull the net closed. That evening, I went back to my apartment. Harper’s husband, Greg, sent me a massive paragraph of text. In my previous life, Greg was a genuinely good, clueless guy. Harper played him like a fiddle. He truly believed the incident was just a tragic accident. In the end, to pay for the medical bills, he drained his savings and took out massive loans. His text message tonight was dripping with exhaustion and fury. “Stella, I always thought you were a decent person. Harper can be a little demanding sometimes, but Toby is innocent! You were right inside the apartment. If you had just opened the door to check, if you had just reached out a hand, my son wouldn’t have tumbled down those stairs. You are a woman too. Do you have no soul at all?” Reading his message, a cold, sharp smile curled on my lips. Tumbled down the stairs? Harper and her mother really spun a magnificent fairytale. I opened my laptop and created a master folder. Inside, I dropped the photos I had collected over the last few days of Harper grinding on different men at various nightclubs. Next, I added the official, legally filed medical logs of the desensitization therapy I conducted for my severe depression patients at my apartment. Then, I grabbed a flash drive, drove straight to the hospital, and secured the final, most crucial piece of evidence. Everything was in place. Now, all I needed was an audience. 4 Day four. The final day of Toby’s supposed critical window. Harper brought her parents, Greg, and a massive swarm of clout chasing streamers armed with selfie sticks to ambush me right outside my apartment building. They had calculated exactly when I would come downstairs to grab my mail. The second I stepped out of the lobby, a dozen blinding ring lights and camera lenses were shoved aggressively into my face. “Stella! The murderer finally shows her face!” Martha lunged forward, clawing the air, aiming straight for my hair. I stepped smoothly to the side, letting her stumble past me. Harper hid against Greg’s chest, hyperventilating as she sobbed. “Stella, I do not even want your money anymore! I just want you to go to the hospital, look my son in the eye, and say you are sorry. Just one simple apology.” The surrounding neighbors and streamers roared in righteous fury. “Absolutely shameless! She ruined a child’s life and acts like nothing happened!” “Look at her, chat! This is the degenerate therapist! We are going to ruin her career today!” Greg glared at me with bloodshot eyes, his voice completely raw. “Stella, you owe us an explanation right now! We do not care if you bring shady people home to sleep around, but the fact that you let my son fall down a flight of stairs out of pure jealousy means you are sick. How do you even sleep at night!” Facing the screaming mob, I didn’t panic. I didn’t shake with fear, and I certainly didn’t drop to my knees to beg for mercy like I did in my past life. Dressed in a sharp, perfectly tailored suit, I kept my spine completely straight. I swept my calm, icy gaze across every single person in the crowd. Finally, my eyes locked onto Harper’s pathetic, tear stained face. “You all want an explanation?” I pulled a compact megaphone from my bag. My voice cut through the chaos with piercing clarity. “Number one. You accuse me of bringing random men and women home to sleep around. These are the official medical documents I filed with the police precinct yesterday. Every single person who enters my apartment is a clinically diagnosed patient bound by a strict medical nondisclosure agreement.” “Because you clout chasers decided to spread malicious rumors and dox their identities for views, two of my severely depressed patients suffered major clinical regressions. Harper, acting as their medical proxy, I have officially filed a massive lawsuit against you for severe privacy violations and criminal defamation!” The crowd went dead silent for a fraction of a second. Harper’s theatrical sobbing caught violently in her throat. “Number two,” I continued, giving her absolutely no room to breathe. I stared directly into Greg’s eyes. “Greg, you just said your child fell down the stairs?” Greg blinked, stunned. “Harper said he lost his balance while waiting for you to open the door.” “Is that right?” I let out a sharp laugh and held up a stack of official hospital records. “Then why does the emergency room toxicology report state that your child had a massive overdose of adult strength sedatives in his system? Furthermore, the security footage from the complex clearly shows Harper getting straight into a Porsche right after abandoning him.” “And finally, why did the forensic scan of Harper’s laptop show a deepfake AI voice cloning software used to mimic my exact voice?” I held my phone to the microphone. The fake recording of my voice echoed across the courtyard, matching the timeline perfectly. The crowd erupted. Every single camera lens violently whipped around, zooming in on Harper and Martha, whose faces had drained of all color. Greg looked like he had been struck by lightning. He stared down at the trembling woman in his arms. “Is she telling the truth? You fed our son sedatives? Where the hell did you go?!” Martha was equally pale. She clearly knew the plan, but she never expected it to be caught on tape. “No! No, Greg, listen to me! It is a deepfake video! She faked the evidence!” Harper shook her head frantically, desperately lunging forward to snatch my tablet. I took a step back, watching her completely shatter. The real show was just getting started. “There is one last piece of business. Since everyone is already gathered here, we might as well lay all the cards on the table.” I paused for dramatic effect, giving Greg a look of profound pity before dropping the ultimate bomb. “Greg, before you let your wife’s family extort me for cash, as an unbiased third party, I highly suggest you do something first.” My voice wasn’t particularly loud, but in the tense silence, it felt like a gunshot. “Go to the hospital and check his blood type. Or better yet, run a paternity test.” “See if the boy fighting for his life in the ICU actually has your DNA.”

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After catching my husband cheating with a financially struggling student, I live-streamed the affair and filed for divorce on the spot. Julian Carter dropped to his knees, stabbed himself through the abdomen with a knife, and begged for my forgiveness. “I’ll never betray you again. Please, give me one more chance.” I touched the swell of my belly, where new life grew, and my heart softened. I said yes. But on our wedding night, he erased every trace of my identity and forced me to become the lowliest servant in the Carter household. “Chloe jumped to her death because of you. You’ll spend the rest of your life atoning for her!” After six months of torture, I lost the will to live. Desperate, I climbed to the roof to jump. Yet halfway up, I glimpsed two entangled figures through a window. Julian Carter was holding the woman who was supposed to be dead, locked in a passionate embrace. “Darling, I’ve been ‘dead’ for half a year. I’m tired of playing games.” “Good. Tomorrow, I’ll restore your status and make you my wife.” I clenched my fists. I’m done playing along with this charade. 1 As I dragged myself up to the second floor of the massive five story villa, I suddenly saw two figures entangled in the glass conservatory. “When are we finally going to tell her the truth? I am so sick of being your secret little mistress.” “Be patient, baby. We can do it whenever you want.” The man responded with raw passion. The sight of his back swaying back and forth made my heart physically ache. Suddenly, my cloudy, chaotic brain cleared up. Memories I had lost came flooding back. I am not the maid of the Carter family. I am Julian Carter’s partner of six years. I am his legally wedded wife. Our happy days lasted right up until the afternoon I caught him in bed with another woman. For months, our lives devolved into total chaos. We fought, we screamed, and we tore each other apart. Until the day Chloe threw herself off a building and died. That was when Julian completely lost his mind. He put on a brilliant performance, playing the deeply remorseful husband, begging me on his knees to remarry him. But on the very night we signed the papers, he erased every trace of my identity and locked me in the basement of his villa. “From now on, you are the lowest piece of trash in the Carter household. I am going to make you pay for her life with your blood!” He ignored my desperate pleas and forced a memory altering drug down my throat. For the last six months, I genuinely believed I was a worthless slave working to pay off a massive, unforgivable debt. I lived in absolute misery. I bit my lip so hard the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. “What the hell are you doing standing around? Go prepare dinner right now!” The head maid glared at me, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and violently dragged me down the stairs. In this house, my status was lower than the dirt on their shoes. “Tonight we have flown in fresh sweet shrimp for Madam,” I said, bowing deeply, keeping my head completely lowered. Chloe, covered in fresh hickeys, lazily opened her eyes. “Why aren’t you serving me on your knees today?” My blood ran cold. For the last six months, every single day, I had to carry their plates from the kitchen and crawl on my knees to serve them. “I am sorry. I forgot.” I had no way to contact the outside world. I had to swallow my raging fury and force myself to drop to my knees at her feet. With a sharp crash, the porcelain plate shattered right next to my ear. Chloe kicked me hard, sending me sprawling directly into the jagged shards. “You have zero manners. Beg for forgiveness!” I twitched in pain. “I am… I am so…” Now that my memory was back, the words physically refused to leave my throat. “Why is she acting up tonight?” Julian gave me a suspicious, razor sharp look. His dark eyes scanned me, trying to see right through my pathetic facade. “Up her dosage before bed.” “Understood, sir.” The newly hired butler bowed respectfully. With my skin bleeding from the broken porcelain, I served them their meal while they ate in absolute luxury. “Analyze all of these and give me the breakdown.” Julian tossed a thick stack of corporate contracts onto the floor in front of me. “Just like before. You are only allowed to analyze them. Do not memorize anything.” I nodded submissively, but my stomach churned with violent disgust. Even though he hated me this much, he still needed to use my brain to run his empire. I flipped through the pages, frantically memorizing every single clause, loophole, and project detail. When Julian first married me, it was precisely because of my intellect. “I love a partner who can fight alongside me. I love your fire and your brilliance.” He used to be completely obsessed with me. Our wedding was so extravagant it felt like he was announcing his love to the entire planet. “Are we hosting the lawn wedding here tomorrow night? If you need anything, just tell Stella to get it ready.” Chloe snuggled deeper into Julian’s chest. A cheesy romantic drama played on the massive TV. “Yeah! I want to wear her custom wedding dress, and I want her diamond ring!” “You have to transfer this villa to my name, and the lawn decorations have to be top tier!” “Of course, baby. Everything is yours now.” My pen stopped moving. I had heard those exact same promises a million times before. For years after our wedding, we were insanely in love. I thought I had secured a lifetime of romance and partnership. Until he dragged my dignity through the mud for a broke college student. “I sponsored your education for seven years. I saved you from human traffickers. And this is how you repay me?” I had screamed at them, staring at the two bodies still tangled together in my marital bed, feeling like I was dying. “Do not you dare touch her! If you make a scene, get the hell out of my house!” 2 His warm, devoted eyes had turned completely to ice. He wrapped his arms protectively around the girl, acting like I was a monster about to slaughter her. “Julian told me he was sick of you. I only sacrificed my own body to help you keep your husband.” The once timid, pathetic girl poked her head out from under the covers and gave me a victorious, mocking smile. “You absolute bitch!” I lunged forward and slapped her across the face. An instant later, a much harder, more vicious slap cracked across my own cheek. Julian looked at me with pure disgust. “I pursued her! Chloe is completely innocent. Do not you dare insult her!” He hit me so hard I coughed up a mouthful of blood. Then, more blood started pouring from my nose. Julian had completely forgotten that I had a mild blood clotting disorder. A single injury took me weeks to recover from. “Ah! Blood! I am so scared!” The flicker of guilt that had just appeared in Julian’s eyes instantly vanished, replaced by furious anger the second Chloe started trembling. “Go find a doctor right now! Are you trying to scare her to death looking like a corpse?!” The man who used to tear up whenever I got a tiny paper cut had completely transformed into a brutal stranger. I used the hidden camera on my necklace to record the entire scene and live streamed it directly to the internet, announcing our divorce to the world. “I am exactly this kind of woman. Do not worry, Julian. I will hate you for the rest of my life!” I thought that was the end of us. But instead, he grabbed a kitchen knife and plunged it straight into his own stomach. “I still love you! I was just looking for a cheap thrill.” “Please do not be this cruel to me. We promised we were going to spend our lives together.” He collapsed into a pool of his own blood, begging me. My heart softened. Even if I didn’t want him anymore, I couldn’t bear the thought of my unborn child growing up without a father. So, right before he lost consciousness, I agreed to remarry him. But on the night of our remarriage, just as I was about to tell him I was pregnant… He forced my jaw open and poured a glass of heavily drugged liquor down my throat. “I erased every trace of your existence. I completely control your family’s company, and they are about to declare bankruptcy.” As sheer terror filled my eyes, he gave me a terrifying, psychotic smile. “You cyberbullied Chloe until she jumped off a building. Did you honestly think I would ever forgive you?” “From now on, you are the lowest slave in the Carter family. You will spend the rest of your miserable life paying for your sins!” I hated them both, but I never once wanted Chloe dead. I never believed a pathetic affair was worth someone losing their life, but Chloe was gone. That split second of shock was all Julian needed to pin me down and force the drugs into my system. And then, I endured six months of absolute, grinding hell. “Hurry up and wash Madam’s feet!” The maid grabbed my dangerously thin arm and dragged me in front of Chloe. A massive wave of humiliation drowned me. For the last six months, I had lost my memories. I genuinely believed I was a psychotic killer who had murdered her family. I used to kneel on the floor crying, begging her for forgiveness. When she threw glass vases at my head, I would willingly look up to take the hit. “I can do it myself. I know she still hates me…” Chloe put on a pathetic, wounded expression, covering her face as if she were crying. Julian’s face darkened. “Who gave you permission to stand while talking to Chloe?” He demanded coldly. The maid immediately kicked the back of my knees, forcing me to the floor. “Apologize! Or I will force you to drink Ms. Chloe’s dirty footwater!” I knelt on the floor, staring at the maid who used to bow to me, now treating me like absolute garbage. Without money, power, or an identity, any random nobody could crush me. A bucket of freezing, dirty water was dumped over my head. I couldn’t stop myself from gagging. “She just hates me!” Chloe screamed, fake crying as she wildly scratched at Julian’s chest. “She threw up! It is disgusting! She is so dirty!” Julian looked down at me with zero emotion. “If she is dirty, go wash her.” Several people dragged me away, forcibly stripped me naked, and scrubbed my skin raw with dry, heavy bristle brushes until I bled. They forced more drugs into my stomach, triggering waves of violent vomiting that felt like a medical stomach pump. Eventually, I dragged myself back to the basement, completely broken. Just a second before I passed out on the cold concrete, a pair of strong hands caught me. “Miss.” 3 I let out a weak, barely audible groan. The newly hired butler took off his glasses. A pair of deep, incredibly bright eyes looked down at me. “I am so sorry. You have suffered so much.” Last week, the old butler couldn’t handle the sheer cruelty of my torture anymore and quit. The man who replaced him seemed like just an ordinary, efficient worker. Julian had absolutely no idea that this man was my only remaining lifeline. He was one of the impoverished students I had sponsored years ago. He was the one who had secretly swapped my memory altering drugs. He was the reason I was finally awake. “We are leaving tomorrow night. I promise you, I will make them pay.” Shannon’s eyes were practically boiling with hatred. The sheer intensity of his emotion stunned me for a second. An instant later, his face returned to total calm. “I brought medicine. Let me apply it for you.” I had zero strength left in my body. I had to let him carefully treat my wounds. Halfway through, the sound of loud, aggressive moaning echoed from the ceiling. I almost forgot. Every single night, Julian and Chloe aggressively slept together in the master bedroom directly above me. When I had no memories, I used to pray they would hit me harder. I even handed Julian the knife to punish me. But Julian always hesitated. “What the hell is wrong with you! She explicitly said she wants to be punished! Did not you stab yourself for me?” Julian’s eyes darted away nervously. “Stella has a blood clotting disorder. I cannot…” “Are you still pitying her?!” Chloe stamped her foot in a massive rage, turning to storm out. Julian dropped the knife and chased after her. After that, they changed their strategy to mentally break me. They reduced the physical torture and started aggressively making out in front of me at every possible opportunity. “It is honestly pathetic. They actually think this hurts my feelings.” I said with a mocking laugh. “Memories or not, I would never want trash like him back!” “I know. Get some sleep.” Shannon replied in a deep, soothing voice, gently covering my bloodshot eyes with his hand. Right before I drifted off, I felt a soft, gentle kiss brush against my hair. But in the middle of the night, a horrifying nightmare seized me. The sounds of desperate, agonizing screams echoed in my mind. I woke up gasping for air, drenched in a cold sweat. I pushed open the heavy basement door and crept silently upstairs. “Stella’s parents are still fighting back? Then torture them too.” “Just do not kill them. I do not care if you break their legs or cripple them.” Julian’s laptop was open. On the screen was a live feed of my parents screaming in agony. “You have no soul! We gave you everything to build the Carter Empire, and this is how you repay us?!” “Where is my daughter? Did you kill her?! Answer me!” Julian didn’t answer. He just gave a cold, sinister laugh. The next second, the sickening crackle of a stun gun echoed from the speakers. My parents let out the exact same agonizing screams I had heard in my nightmare. “Hit them harder.” “…Heart condition? Shove pills down their throats and keep hitting them. I own the best private hospitals in the city. They won’t die.” “That is what they get for trying to kidnap Chloe. If they keep resisting, they will die before they ever see Stella again!” Listening to my parents’ desperate sobs, the blood in my veins turned to liquid fire and rushed straight to my head. Without thinking, I kicked the door open, grabbed a massive porcelain vase, and smashed it directly down onto his skull. “Die! Go to hell!” I screamed like a complete maniac, smashing the heavy base into his head over and over again, until a maid snuck up behind me and swung a metal baseball bat directly into my spine. I collapsed to the floor, vomiting blood, gasping heavily through a crushed throat. “Drink this, and by tomorrow, you won’t remember any of this.” Julian’s forehead was pouring blood, but his voice was smooth and hypnotic like a demon’s. He forced a bitter, burning chemical down my throat. I bit my lip so hard I almost tore it off, desperately trying to stay awake, but the darkness dragged me under. 4 First thing in the morning, Chloe dragged me into the massive walk in closet. Her silk robe was half open. She forced me to my knees on the floor. Then, standing directly in front of my own custom wedding dress, she pulled Julian toward her. “Look. Doesn’t doing it right here make it feel like I am the one you married?” Julian’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before pushing her against the dress. I remained kneeling perfectly straight, handing them a condom at the exact right moment. When they finally finished, I handed them a warm, damp towel to clean themselves. “She is a total vegetable now.” Chloe giggled maliciously. “She didn’t even blink. Does this mean she is completely broken? It is no fun anymore.” In the beginning, my body’s lingering instinct to love Julian made me absolutely lose my mind when they touched each other. I would cry, scream, and smash everything in the room, only to be dragged away and locked in solitary confinement like a psychotic animal. Now, even when they were inches away from my face, I stared blankly at the wall. “Should we give her the antidote?” Chloe rolled over, wrapping her arms around Julian’s neck. “Let her fully understand what we are doing to her. Think she would die from pure anger?” Julian panted heavily, not answering immediately. A few moments later, he started moving against her again. “We are getting married tomorrow. Why do you care about her?” “She only exists to pay off her sins. Who cares how she feels?” The woman laughed, completely satisfied. She wore the wedding dress stained with their fluids and slipped the diamond ring that used to belong to me onto her finger. “Look at you, Stella. You had all the money and power in the world, and now you are literally under my feet.” “I was actually grateful when you saved me. But why did you have to show me how incredible the high life is?” She flicked her wrist, and a leather riding crop cracked across my back. I violently twitched in pain. “Why do you get to have absolutely everything, while I have to beg on my knees just for the scraps you throw at me?” “So I decided to just take what is yours.” “Oh, by the way. Your baby? I whipped it out of you. Julian doesn’t even know.” She smirked with pure, concentrated evil. I couldn’t stop my body from trembling. The first time I suffered morning sickness near Chloe, she threw a massive tantrum. To calm her down, Julian handed her a bamboo cane. She was only supposed to leave a few red marks, but the second she saw the slight curve of my stomach, she lost her mind. “Why do you still have a safety net! I am going to destroy you so you can never crawl back!” She swapped the bamboo cane for a spiked leather whip and lashed it directly into my stomach. The sheer, agonizing pain actually shattered the amnesia drugs for a few moments. I lunged at her like a wild animal and bit down on her hand with all my strength. I almost tore a chunk of her flesh off before the maids rushed in and injected me with heavy horse tranquilizers. The romantic orchestral music started playing. The wedding banquet officially began. The two of them walked arm in arm down the aisle. I trailed right behind them, crawling on my bleeding knees. This was a new game Chloe had invented five minutes ago. She wanted me to be her kneeling bridesmaid. “I am finally marrying you.” Julian spoke to Chloe, but his eyes flicked down to look at me. I stayed completely dead eyed, showing zero reaction. He stared at me for a long time, his lips moving slightly. In the end, he didn’t say anything. He just held Chloe’s hand and walked out to the venue. The lawn was packed with elite guests, all cheering for the newlyweds. I watched them toast, exchange serious vows, and share an intimate kiss. “Oh, right. Today, I want to publicly thank the woman who made my true love possible. I would like to invite her to speak.” Chloe’s eyes glinted with pure malice. She held the microphone and whispered down at me. “You can start repenting now.” When my memories were blocked, that exact phrase was the trigger for my brainwashing. I was supposed to drop to the floor sobbing, confessing my horrific sins, declaring I was worthless trash who didn’t deserve to breathe. I was supposed to beg them to punish me and beat me in front of everyone. She hated me that much. Locking me up and erasing my identity wasn’t enough. She wanted to turn me into her permanent, degraded toy. I slowly turned my head to look at Julian. His eyes immediately darted away, his head turning to avoid my gaze. A moment later, he grabbed Chloe’s hand. “Just say it, Stella. Do it this one last time.” “You deserve to confess your crimes in front of everyone anyway.” He genuinely thought I was still drugged out of my mind. But this morning, Shannon had given me the antidote. I let a soft, ghostly smile touch my lips, crawling forward until I was right at their feet. Under the confused and disgusted gazes of hundreds of guests, I spoke softly. “I was wrong. I refuse to offer another pointless apology. Today, I will follow Chloe’s instructions and eliminate my sins completely.” “I will use my own life to ensure you two stay together forever.” I slowly pulled off the heavy winter coat they had forced me to wear, exposing a body completely covered in horrifying, blood soaked lacerations. And then, while Julian stared in absolute, frozen horror, I threw myself directly off the top floor balcony of the villa. As I plummeted toward the ground, staring up at the sky, a man’s hands suddenly appeared over the railing. He reached out desperately, clawing at the empty air, trying to grab me. But he caught absolutely nothing.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “519847”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel