The moment I learned the board had handed the Marketing Director position to Christian, I knew my three years of blood, sweat, and sleepless nights had just been flushed down the drain. He was Meredith’s golden boy—the one who got away, the ghost she’d spent our entire five-year marriage chasing. When the announcement went live, Christian found me in the breakroom. “If I were you, Adam, I wouldn’t have even bothered submitting my name once I knew he was in the running,” he said, his voice dripping with faux-sympathy as he leaned against the counter. “After all these years, you of all people should know. Even with that ring on your finger, I’m still her first choice.” I looked at him, my mind spinning, trying to calculate how many times I had already lost to him since he returned from Paris. Was it last month on my birthday, when Meredith blew off our dinner to take him hiking? Or the anniversary before that, when she abandoned me at the restaurant because Christian texted her saying he was “having a panic attack”? … I couldn’t remember. The losses had blurred into a dull, continuous ache. All I knew was that I had spent three years killing myself for this promotion. Christian knew it. Meredith knew it. After five years of marriage, I had foolishly believed she might let me win just once. But I was still the runner-up. I looked at my wife standing across the open-plan office, her sleek posture radiating the cold authority she always wore like armor. Suddenly, the fight drained out of me. I didn’t want to compete with Christian anymore. More than that, I realized I couldn’t keep gambling my entire future on a woman who didn’t love me. When the results officially posted, the office erupted into whispers. There was pity, there was sighing, but absolutely no one was surprised. After all, from the very first day Christian had been parachuted into the company, everyone knew he was personally protected by the CEO. The CEO, who also happened to be my wife of five years: Meredith Kingsley. I had waited three years for the Director’s chair. During those three years, I had worked myself to the bone. I secured over twenty million dollars in new investments, streamlined our entire distribution pipeline, and single-handedly brought in fifteen percent of the firm’s annual revenue. To prepare for this review, I had practically lived in my office, losing thirteen pounds in a single month from sheer exhaustion and stress. But the moment Christian walked into the department, his polished leather oxfords clicking softly on the hardwood floor as he trailed half a step behind Meredith, I knew. Once again, I had lost before the game even started. On the private, invite-only Slack channel, my coworkers were dissecting the decision in real-time. [Marketing-Gossip] UserA: Told you guys. The whole interview process was a farce. It was decided months ago. UserB: Seriously. Everyone knows Christian was personally escorted into the building by the Ice Queen herself. I’ve worked at Kingsley Enterprises for six years, and I’ve never seen Meredith look at a human being with that much warmth. UserC: Breaking news! I heard from HR that Meredith has been secretly married for five years, and her husband actually works here! UserD: Wait, does that mean Christian is her husband? UserE: Duh. Why else would she fast-track him to Director after two weeks? UserF: Am I the only one who feels terrible for Adam? He literally built the entire Q3 strategy. He lost like fifteen pounds working on this. UserG: Why feel bad? Christian’s the husband. Power couple rules. UserH: Wait, is Adam in this channel? I stared at the screen, completely numb. This wasn’t new. Since Christian came back, I’d been playing the role of the invisible man. The first time was at the Kingsley family Thanksgiving. Christian arrived uninvited, a tragic puppy look on his face because he “didn’t want to spend the holidays alone.” There weren’t enough chairs at the main table. Meredith hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then she looked at me, her expression perfectly smooth, and said, “Adam, go find a seat at the back. Let Christian have yours.” She sat him down next to her at the head table, while I was squeezed into a corner near the kitchen door with distant cousins I’d never met. Even her aunt leaned over and whispered, “Meredith hasn’t changed. Christian is always her priority. No one else stands a chance.” I hadn’t wanted to fight him. I just wanted to feel like I belonged. I left my VP role at a top-tier consulting firm in our second year of marriage just to join Kingsley. I wanted to be in her orbit. I started from the ground up, built a stellar record, and wanted nothing more than a single nod of approval from her. Just one. But when that promotion list was posted, she delivered a resounding slap to my face. The Director seat was gone. And the five years I’d spent waiting for her to love me? I decided I didn’t want them anymore. My phone buzzed. It was Meredith. “Why aren’t you home yet?” her voice was clipped, impatient. I said nothing. Tonight, I simply didn’t have the words. “Adam? Did you lose your tongue?” “I’m at the office.” She went silent for a moment, perhaps registering the exhaustion in my voice, realizing I was hurting over the promotion. “Wait for me in the garage. I’ll drive you.” Normally, she’d remind me of her golden rule: No office romances, keep it strictly professional. She never let me ride in her car to work. But tonight, she didn’t say it, and I was too exhausted to argue. It was past 1:00 AM anyway. The office was empty. Except for me, the loser of the day, no one would see us. I took the elevator down. It shuddered and died on the sixth floor—a total power outage. I dialed Meredith. No answer. I texted her. No reply. With my battery at two percent, I opened Instagram. Christian’s latest post stared back at me. ‘The universe rewards the dreamers. Thank you to my favorite CEO for celebrating my new chapter until midnight and making sure I got home safe.’ Underneath was a picture of Meredith’s profile, her hand resting on the leather-wrapped steering wheel of her Porsche. Eventually, the building engineers pried the doors open and helped me climb out. “Good thing you hit the emergency call button,” the guard said, offering me a water bottle. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t have known where to look.” I thanked him, a strange sense of peace washing over me. I had saved myself. I checked into a boutique hotel nearby and slept like a baby. I was done trusting her to rescue me. I arrived late the next morning. I plugged in my phone and opened a blank Word document to draft my resignation. Toby, the junior analyst at the next desk, leaned over. “Adam, the boss has been pacing around our department all morning. She looks terrifying. Did she and Christian get into a fight?” I offered a faint, tired smile. “Probably.” In three years, Meredith had only visited my desk twice. Once on my first day to warn me to keep our marriage hidden. The second time to introduce Christian. “This is our new hire. Show him the ropes. Take care of him,” she had said. The softness in her eyes back then was something I’d never seen directed at me. I kept typing. Suddenly, a shadow fell over my desk. It was Meredith. “Where were you last night? You ignored my texts. Do you even care about this family?” I didn’t look up from my screen. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.” Once my resignation cleared, I was going to file for divorce. We could each go our separate ways. She flinched, expecting me to argue, but my quiet compliance threw her off. “Let’s get dinner tonight,” she said, her voice dropping a fraction. “Consider it… a compensation.” Compensation. I stopped typing. Was it compensation for the stolen promotion? Or for leaving me in a broken elevator? I looked up at her and smiled gently. “No, thanks.” She stared at me, stunned. She wasn’t used to hearing no from me. “Suit yourself,” she snapped, turning on her heel and marching away. Toby slid his chair over. “Dude, you are a legend. Rejecting the CEO? But honestly, everyone knows you earned that Director spot. Handing it to a kid who barely knows how to run a pivot table is insulting. Wait… is that a resignation letter?” He stared at the screen, horrified. “Just because of the promotion?” I looked at him and smiled softly. “No, Toby. Because of a thousand other things.” I took the printed resignation form to her office. I pushed the door open to find Christian lounging in her leather chair, watching a stand-up comedy special on her monitor. It was the same show I had watched in our living room months ago, before Meredith walked past, sneered, and said, “Mindless trash, Adam. If this is your level of taste, I’m deeply disappointed.” I had shut the TV off in shame. But here was Christian, playing it on full volume. He waved a hand at me, smug. “Hey, Adam. Meredith went to grab me an iced latte. Do you need something?” I looked at him, and for the first time, I didn’t feel a sting. I felt pity. Pity for the younger version of myself who had let these petty mind games tear him apart. I turned to leave, but the door swung open. Meredith stood there holding two coffee cups. She froze, looking from me to Christian, a frown pulling at her brow. Then she seemed to realize something. “Did you change your mind about dinner? I’ll send you the address. I booked your favorite—” “Meredith,” I interrupted, holding out the document. “I need your signature.” I added, “Don’t worry, I’ll get out of your way as soon as you sign.” She took the pen, hesitating. “Is this all you wanted?” I nodded. Her jaw tightened. For the first time, she was sensing my utter indifference. “Meredith, can I have my latte? The ice is melting,” Christian whined from her chair. She blinked, distracted. She quickly scribbled her name on the line and handed it back. “Wait for me in the garage after work.” She didn’t wait for my answer. She was already busy opening Christian’s straw. I took the paper and walked out, my chest feeling lighter than it had in years. Behind me, I heard Christian’s voice: “What dinner? Tonight is that exclusive album launch party! You promised you’d go with me…” I cleared out my desk. A mug, an ergonomic cushion, a mouse pad… and a six-inch silver picture frame. Inside was a selfie of me on my first day at Kingsley, looking bright-eyed and full of hope. I popped the back off. Hidden behind the selfie was our marriage certificate photo. She was sitting straight, staring forward. I was tilting slightly toward her, trying so hard to close the distance. I threw the frame, the certificate, and the photo into the trash. I pulled out my phone and deleted myself from the company Slack channels. The gossip group was going wild. Wait, did Adam really resign? He was the only one holding this department together. I feel sick. Who cares? Nepotism wins. Christian is the boss’s favorite. Does anyone know what Christian likes? I want to slide into his good graces so I can take over Adam’s desk. Toby tapped my shoulder. “Don’t look at it, Adam. It’ll just make you miserable.” “I’m not miserable,” I said. “I’m cured.” I tapped ‘Leave Channel’ and closed the app. Christian walked in, holding his latte. He smirked when he saw my packed box. “Are you actually quitting, Adam?” He let out a soft laugh. “I guess some people are just built for the climb, and others… well, you tried. But you can’t compete with me. Meredith handed me your dream on a silver platter because to her, you’re just a legal obligation. I’m her heart.” I didn’t answer. I picked up my box and walked past him. His words had lost their power to wound me. I took a cab home and packed my bags. My phone buzzed with a reservation confirmation. ‘7:00 PM. The garage. Don’t forget.’ I ignored it. Another text followed: ‘Christian wanted me to go to the album launch, but I said no. I chose you tonight.’ I stared at it, a dry laugh escaping my throat. Five years. I had spent five years begging for a single crumb of priority, and she only gave it to me when I was already halfway out the door. I blocked her number, deleted her contact, and cleared our chat history. At 7:00 PM, as she was sitting in her Porsche in the dark garage, I was heading to JFK with my suitcases. ‘Are you off work? I’m waiting for you.’

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My husband’s family was living in the brownstone my parents bought me, yet they had the audacity to treat me like some uncultured hack whose only talent was collecting rent. The breaking point didn’t come with a scream or a shattered plate. It came on a Tuesday, when my brother-in-law needed a car for a date. My husband tossed him the keys to my BMW and told me to take the city bus to the grocery store. Bored, swaying on the transit line, I opened the old, handed-down iPad my husband had relegated to me. What I found wasn’t just a screen full of inappropriate texts. It was a group chat titled: Operation: Upgrade. My brother-in-law: “Bro, when are you getting her to sign that duplex over to me? My fiancée’s mom is breathing down my neck.” My mother-in-law: “What’s the rush? Let your brother drain the rest of her trust fund first, then we can throw the dead weight out.” My husband: “Relax. I’ve got her completely trained. She reports to me before she even buys groceries. She’s too dumb to make waves.” Watching the city blur past the smudged glass of the bus window, the afternoon sun suddenly felt blindingly sharp. They wanted to strip me for parts? Fine. Let me show them what this “uncultured hack” could do when she decided to tear the whole house down. … 1 The bus lurched violently, sending a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach. My knuckles were white as I gripped the overhead rail, my other hand clutching the dented iPad adorned with a fading Peppa Pig sticker. Trent had given it to me when he upgraded. “Babe, you don’t really work, you just stream shows anyway,” he had said smoothly. “This is plenty for you. I need the new Pro for my client pitches.” I had believed him. Just like I believed him when he said, “Let Kyle borrow the Beemer for a few days, he needs to look good for this girl.” And what was the reality? I was currently pressed against a damp window like a sardine, while his slacker younger brother, Kyle, was driving my 5-Series. I knew this because Kyle’s location on social media showed him at the most expensive rooftop club downtown. The caption? “Bro and SIL’s car is my car. We ride.” I took a shaky breath and woke up the iPad screen. I had meant to open Netflix, but my thumb ghosted over the messaging app. Trent’s account was still logged in. Pinned at the very top was a chat with a celebratory little rocket ship emoji: Operation: Upgrade. Members: My husband, my mother-in-law, my brother-in-law. Noticeably absent: Me. The messages populated rapidly, scrolling down the screen like a series of physical slaps to the face. Kyle: “Seriously Trent, when is Georgia signing over that rental property? My future mother-in-law is acting like I’m a peasant. No house, no wedding.” Helen, my mother-in-law: “Have some patience! That stupid cow is wrapped around your brother’s finger. Once he liquidates the rest of those investments her dad left her, we can toss the dead weight to the curb.” Dead weight. The words pricked at the backs of my eyes like tiny glass shards. I had been married to Trent for three years. I came into this marriage with a fully paid-off brownstone, two lucrative rental properties, and a seven-figure portfolio. And Trent’s family? A dilapidated farmhouse two states over and a brother who treated employment like a contagious disease. I had ignored my parents’ warnings. I thought Trent had potential. I thought he was an honest, hardworking man. Turns out, I really was the “stupid cow.” Trent’s reply popped up. “Relax, guys. She does whatever I say. I told her to buy Maine lobster for dinner tonight. She thinks it’s for our anniversary, but it’s actually to celebrate Kyle’s engagement. She’s so gullible, she buys whatever narrative I feed her.” Helen replied with a crying-laughing emoji. “Make sure you have her open that vintage Bordeaux, too. But don’t let her drink it, it’s a waste. Rent collectors only need tap water.” Kyle: “Hey bro, her BMW is getting a little miles on it. Once we get the house, make her buy me a Porsche, yeah?” Trent: “Done. Once we bleed her dry, I’ll buy you a private jet if you want.” I stared out the window at the passing storefronts. The sunlight was so agonizingly bright it bleached the color from the world. I didn’t cry. Instead, a strange, breathless laugh escaped my throat. The older woman sitting next to me shot me a nervous sideways glance and inched away. I opened my banking app. A quarterly rental deposit had just cleared. Fifty thousand dollars. The numbers were beautiful, crisp, and bold, but the blood pumping through my veins felt like ice water. Strip me for parts? Bleed me dry? Alright. If they thought I was just a vulgar woman who only knew how to collect checks, I would show them what happened when a vulgar woman decided to burn the fucking house to the ground. I didn’t get off at the upscale seafood market. I stayed on the bus until the end of the line, got off at the industrial district, and walked into a wholesale disposal market. It was the place where vendors dumped the wilted greens and the gray, foul-smelling, dead seafood nobody wanted. 2 When I walked through the front door carrying a dripping black trash bag, the three of them were sprawled across my living room couches, the TV blaring. The laughter was deafening. The moment Helen saw me, her smile snapped shut like a trap, replaced instantly by her trademark sneer. “Where have you been? Trent is starving!” Kyle was practically horizontal, a leg tossed over the armrest, peeling a mandarin orange and letting the rinds drop onto my Persian rug. “Hey Georgia, where’s the lobster? I want the garlic butter kind.” Trent pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, walking toward me with that practiced, sickeningly sweet smile. “You work too hard, babe. On our anniversary, too. It kills me to make you cook.” I sidestepped his outstretched hands and dropped the bag onto the dining table. Thud. A thick, putrid scent immediately bloomed in the air. Trent pinched his nose. “God, what is that smell?” I untied the plastic bag and dumped the pile of gray, lifeless shrimp and slimy, brown-edged lettuce into a glass bowl. “They were out of lobster,” I said, my voice perfectly level. “But I saw these shrimp and thought, hey, what a steal! Dead meat is still meat, right? It was seventy percent off.” All three of their faces turned the color of week-old bruised fruit. Helen lunged forward, pointing a trembling finger at the blackened shells. “Georgia! Are you feeding us garbage like we’re stray dogs?! Didn’t Trent tell you to get lobster? You sit on all that cash and you feed your own family dead shrimp?” I moved to the sink, slowly washing my hands, turning wide, innocent eyes on Trent. “Mom, that’s not fair. Didn’t Trent say last night that we need to tighten our belts to help pay for Kyle’s wedding? I thought I was being financially responsible. Live shrimp are twenty bucks a pound, these were two. The money I saved on dinner will buy Kyle a carton of cigarettes.” Trent’s face went rigid. He loved playing the “noble, unmaterialistic intellectual.” Throwing his own “budgeting” rhetoric back in his face was like forcing him to swallow a mouthful of sand. Kyle slammed the rest of his orange down on the glass coffee table. “Are you doing this on purpose, Georgia? You literally own buildings, and you’re nickel-and-diming us? Whatever. Just Venmo me five hundred bucks. I’m meeting the guys for drinks later and I’m not looking broke in front of them.” In the past, whenever he asked, I’d casually transfer a thousand or two just to keep the peace. Now? I dried my hands on a towel, walked right up to Kyle, and held out my palm. “Actually, Kyle, perfect timing. The gas tank on my car must be empty by now. I checked the premium gas prices today, it’s about a hundred to fill up. You reimburse me for the gas you’ve burned this week, and then we’ll talk about your allowance.” Kyle froze. Helen froze. Trent stopped breathing. The silence in the room was thick and suffocating. Kyle’s eyes bulged. “Are you insane? You want me to pay for gas to drive your car?” I offered a bright, hollow smile. “Business is business, right? Plus, that car is my pre-marital asset. Letting you drive it for free is already a favor; you expect me to subsidize your joyrides, too? I’m just a vulgar businesswoman, Kyle. I don’t understand all this ‘family loyalty’ stuff. I just understand ledgers.” Trent couldn’t take it anymore. He whipped out his wallet, pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill, and slammed it onto the dining table. “Georgia, when did you become so agonizingly transactional? You reek of money! Where is the generous, loving woman I married?” I picked up the bill, held it up to the recessed lighting to check the watermark, and slid it into my back pocket. “I guess I’m a product of my environment. Living with you guys, I’ve had to learn how to count my pennies.” I turned back to the kitchen, swept the rotting shrimp into a boiling pot of water, and tossed in a handful of cheap table salt. “Sit tight, guys. Anniversary dinner is almost ready.” Behind me, I heard Trent’s harsh, whispered hiss: “Mom, Kyle. Shut up and endure it. Don’t ruin the long game. We just need to get the deed to the house first.” Watching the murky water bubble and froth in the pot, a cold, sharp smile touched my lips. 3 No one touched the bowl of dead shrimp at the table. Except me. I peeled them with meticulous care, chewing the rubbery, flavorless meat. It tasted like victory. Trent poked at his white rice, exchanging loaded glances with his mother. Finally, Helen set her chopsticks down and began to perform. She dabbed at her dry eyes with a napkin. “Oh, I just can’t sleep at night… Kyle’s fiancé’s family is demanding a house in the city limits. With our family’s background, how could we ever afford that?” Trent jumped in on cue. “Mom, don’t stress. We’re a family. Kyle’s problems are my problems.” He turned to me, his eyes swimming with a manufactured, calculating depth. “Babe… look. That duplex you own in the Heights is just sitting there empty between tenants anyway. What if… we just transfer the title to Kyle for a little while? Just to keep up appearances?” There it is. My heart gave a cynical little thump. Outwardly, I widened my eyes in perfect confusion. “Transfer the title? But that’s my pre-marital property.” Trent reached out and grabbed my oily hand, masking his wince of disgust. “Babe, just temporarily. Once Kyle gets married and the ink is dry on the marriage certificate, he’ll transfer it right back to you. It’s just a loophole. We’re just trying to outsmart his snobby mother-in-law.” Kyle leaned in, his face shining with sycophancy. “Yeah, Georgia, I just need to borrow the deed for a few days. Once I’m married, I’ll pay you back ten times over. I’ll take such good care of you.” Take care of me. Right into bankruptcy. I slowly pulled my hand from Trent’s grip and pulled a tissue from the box, blotting my lips. “I mean… I suppose it’s not impossible.” The eyes of all three Osborns lit up like wolves spotting a bleeding deer. “But…” I furrowed my brow, chewing my lip anxiously. “I can’t seem to find the physical deed.” Helen panicked. “What do you mean you can’t find it? Are you just holding out on us?” She actually lunged across the table, reaching for my leather handbag resting on the spare chair. I snatched the bag away, pulling it to my chest. “Mom, relax. It might be in my safety deposit box, or maybe my parents have it. I can just go to the county clerk and request a replacement.” Trent exhaled a heavy sigh of relief. “Great. That’s perfect. We’ll go to the clerk’s office first thing tomorrow.” I added softly, “But, since we’re transferring ownership, you guys will need to cover the transfer taxes. And… business is business. Kyle needs to sign a promissory note, heavily notarized.” Helen exploded. “A promissory note for family?! Georgia, you’re treating us like criminals! Do you think we’re trying to rob you?” I looked at her face, twisted and ugly with greed, and felt absolutely nothing. I pulled out my phone, pretending to check my banking app. “Well, the rental market has been terrible lately. Two tenants just broke their leases. Money is tight, and frankly, I’m stressed. Giving away a million-dollar asset without a paper trail? That makes my stomach hurt.” Beneath the table, Trent kicked his mother’s shin. He forced a tight, placating smile. “Fine. If a promissory note makes you feel safe, we’ll do it. Babe, as long as you’re helping my brother, whatever you want.” Beside my plate, the iPad screen lit up silently. Operation: Upgrade. Trent: “Stay calm. The dumb bitch is caving. I’m taking her to the clerk tomorrow to do a direct gift transfer. Once we’re there, I have a buddy who works the desk. We’ll make sure the promissory note accidentally doesn’t get filed.” Helen: “Exactly. Just get the name changed. Once it’s in Kyle’s name, there’s nothing she can do to get it back!” I glanced at the glowing screen, then picked up my water glass and took a slow sip. Tomorrow? Tomorrow, I had a very special gift planned for them. 4 First thing the next morning, the Osborn family deployed in full force. Trent and Helen flanked me on either side like secret service agents, terrified their million-dollar mark might bolt. Trent had even worn a tailored suit, looking every bit the successful, upstanding citizen. The county clerk’s office was a sea of humanity. Trent had somehow managed an appointment. He dragged me straight to the window. The clerk didn’t even look up. “Nature of business?” “Property title transfer,” Trent answered eagerly. “Spousal asset being gifted to a sibling.” The clerk paused, giving us a highly suspicious look. It wasn’t every day you saw someone so desperately eager to give away prime real estate. “ID? Both parties need to sign in the presence of the notary.” Trent slid the pre-prepared documents across the counter toward me, shoving a blue ballpoint pen into my fingers. “Sign it, babe. Quick. I’ll take you out for a nice lunch right after.” Kyle was hovering behind us, rubbing his hands together, his eyes practically vibrating as they locked onto the property address on the paper. I gripped the pen. My hand started to shake. Then, it trembled violently. Trent’s voice tightened. “Babe, why are you shaking? Just sign the line!” Suddenly, I dropped the pen. I grabbed my stomach and let out a blood-curdling shriek. “Oh my god! My stomach! It’s killing me!” The scream echoed against the high ceilings of the municipal building. Every head in the waiting room snapped toward us. I purposely let my knees buckle, collapsing to the linoleum floor. As I fell, I ‘accidentally’ tipped my oversized handbag upside down. Clatter. Lipstick, a compact mirror, my keys… and three crumpled, harshly folded sheets of A4 paper spilled out across the floor. Trent reached down to help me up, but his eyes caught the bold red lettering stamped across the top of those papers. [URGENT: NOTICE OF MARGIN CALL AND DEFAULT] [TOTAL OUTSTANDING DEBT: $3,000,000.00] [FINAL CURE DATE: TODAY] The blood drained from Trent’s face so fast he looked translucent. His hand snapped back from me as if I were radioactive. He picked up one of the papers, his voice vibrating with a reedy panic. “Georgia… what… what the hell is this?” Sitting on the dirty floor, I let the tears flow. It was an Oscar-worthy performance of pure, pathetic despair. “Trent, I’m so sorry… I didn’t know how to tell you.” I gasped for air, clutching at his pant leg. “A few months ago, this guy at the club convinced me to leverage my portfolio into crypto futures. The market crashed. I was liquidated. Not only is all the cash gone, but I took out loans from some… really bad people to try and cover the margin.” Gasps rippled through the onlookers in the lobby. “That duplex?” I sobbed loudly. “It’s already leveraged to the hilt. With the compounding interest, I owe three million dollars.” Helen stumbled backward, nearly taking out a stanchion. “What? Three million? The house… the house is worthless?!” I lunged forward, grabbing Kyle by the wrist in a death grip. “Kyle! You’re my favorite brother-in-law! I’m completely out of options! If we transfer the title to you right now, it’s perfect! You take the house, and the three million dollar debt transfers to your name too!” I looked up at him with wild, unhinged eyes. “Just sign the paper, Kyle! Take the debt! I’ll work for you for the rest of my life to pay you back!” Kyle looked at me like I was a demon dragging him to hell. He thrashed wildly, trying to break my grip. “Get off me! I’m not taking your fucking debt! Mom! Trent! Get her off me!” He was stronger than me. He yanked his arm free with such force I slid across the floor. Without a backward glance, Kyle bolted for the exit, slipping on the polished floor and losing a loafer in the process. He didn’t even stop to pick it up. Helen snapped out of her shock, pointing a trembling, enraged finger at me. “You vicious bitch! You were trying to ruin my son! We don’t want your cursed house! Keep it!” She practically sprinted after Kyle. Trent stood there holding the fake collection notice, his face cycling through horror, rage, and profound disgust. He looked down at me, and the mask was entirely gone. There was no fake love, no greed. Just revulsion. “Georgia, how could you be so unbelievably stupid?” I sat on the cold floor, watching him turn and march out of the double doors, leaving me behind. I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. The corners of my mouth twitched upward. That collections notice? I made it on Canva and printed it at FedEx for eighty-nine cents. 5 The temperature in the apartment was sub-zero when I got home. It was no longer a negotiation; it was a tribunal. Trent sat in the center of the sofa, arms crossed, staring at me like a convict. “Three million. How are you going to pay it?” I huddled in the corner of the loveseat, my hair intentionally messy, keeping up the damsel-in-distress act. “Trent, you have about two hundred thousand in your personal savings, right? Can we use that to hold them off? And if we sell your car, that might buy us another month.” Trent shot up from the couch, instinctively clutching his pockets. “Don’t you even think about it! That is my hard-earned money! You dug this grave, Georgia, you lie in it! You are not dragging me down with you!” Helen chimed in from the kitchen doorway, her voice dripping with venom. “Exactly! You reckless, spoiled brat! Marrying you was the worst thing that ever happened to this family. Trent, do not give her a dime. That money is for Kyle’s wedding!” I looked at their ugly, distorted faces, my heart completely detached. This was ‘family.’ The moment the ship hit an iceberg, they weren’t just fighting for the lifeboats—they were trying to use my body as a raft. I slowly pulled my phone from my pocket and answered an incoming call. I made sure to tap the speaker icon. The voice on the other end was gruff and menacing. (It was an out-of-work actor I’d hired for fifty bucks). “Georgia! You miss the payment today, we’re coming to your husband’s office tomorrow. We’re hanging banners. We’re slashing tires. We’re going to your mother-in-law’s place next. We will make your whole family bleed!” I wailed into the phone. “Please, no! Leave my husband out of it, he doesn’t know anything…” I hung up. Trent and Helen looked like they were going to vomit. Trent’s thumbs were flying furiously across his phone screen. I glanced down at the iPad resting on my lap. Trent: “This is a disaster! The crazy bitch got involved with the mob. If they show up at the firm, I’ll lose my partnership track!” Helen: “Divorce her! Now! Cut all legal ties! Do not let her attach this debt to us!” Kyle: “Bro, hurry up, before these thugs try to seize the cash for my wedding.” In the living room, Trent took a deep breath, trying to smooth his features into something resembling calm. “Georgia, sleep in the guest room tonight. I can’t listen to you cry. It’s giving me a migraine.” Without waiting for an answer, he marched into the master bedroom and locked the door. That night, through the thin drywall, I listened to the muffled sounds of Trent tearing the bedroom apart. When I woke up the next morning, I noticed the expensive tabletop sculptures, my jewelry box, and three bottles of high-end liquor were gone. He was quietly transferring ‘his’ assets. I pretended not to notice. Wearing an old, pilled oversized t-shirt, I boiled a pot of cheap instant ramen and sat at the dining table, slurping it loudly. As Trent headed for the door, suit crisp, briefcase in hand, he shot me a look of pure, unadulterated loathing. “Eat. That’s all you know how to do. I hope you choke on it.” The door slammed behind him. I put down my chopsticks, surveying the half-empty, chaotic apartment. My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number, carrying a profile picture of a very young, very blonde woman. Her display name was “Brianna.” This was Trent’s junior analyst. His mistress. The text was brief and arrogant: “Heard the broke housewife finally went under? So, when are you signing the papers? Trent says he’s leaving you for me, and I refuse to be a stepmom to your debt.” Ah. So Trent had wasted no time running to his true love for comfort, selling her a sob story about his ruined wife. Well, if she was so eager to take my place, I’d be happy to give her a push.

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My husband was a kept man, and for a long time, he was beautifully, impeccably behaved. He knew his place, kept his head down, and maintained an ironclad boundary when it came to other women. I had curated him to be the perfect accessory to my life. Until the night I saw him step in to drink a glass of whiskey on behalf of his new, bright-eyed female assistant. I didn’t make a scene. I didn’t even raise my voice. But that night, I had ten cases of twenty-five-year-old Macallan delivered and stacked right in front of him. “Drink,” I told him, my voice as cold as the ice he didn’t get. “Since you enjoy playing the white knight so much, let’s see how much you can stomach.” A man who crosses the line is a liability. If he can be broken back into obedience, I’ll keep him. If not, he’s easily replaced. 1 The moment I stepped off the red-eye, I went straight to the charity gala. I was exhausted, my mind still running through the logistics of a multi-million-dollar acquisition, but duty called. What I didn’t expect to see when I walked into the VIP lounge was my husband, Wyatt, pinned against the vanity while his new assistant, Maisie Calloway, adjusted his Tom Ford silk tie. Her hands lingered entirely too close to his collarbone, her fingers brushing his neck. The look passing between them was thick, heavy with a silent, simmering tension. I cleared my throat. Wyatt didn’t even flinch. He smoothed his jacket and offered me a seamless, practiced smile. “Virginia, darling, you’re finally here. Everyone’s in the ballroom waiting for your opening remarks.” I didn’t look at him. My eyes drifted to Maisie. She quickly lowered her gaze, but the Loro Piana cashmere overcoat draped over her shoulders—an expensive piece that definitely didn’t align with an entry-level assistant’s salary—screamed of his touch. At the dinner that followed, Wyatt had arranged for Maisie to sit directly beside him. The head table was reserved exclusively for executive leadership. She was entirely out of place, a small, fragile bird among hawks. I remained silent, sipping my sparkling water. Wyatt, ever the charming host, leaned forward to introduce her to the board. “Maisie is a recent graduate. She’s still finding her footing, so I hope everyone here will show her some grace.” A few of our regional vice presidents, sensing an opportunity to play along, raised their glasses to toast her. Maisie shrank back, looking overwhelmed. Before the glass could touch her lips, Wyatt stood up, smoothly taking the crystal tumbler from her hand. “Maisie has a severe alcohol intolerance,” Wyatt announced, his voice laced with protective warmth. “She can’t drink. I’ll take this on her behalf.” He downed the neat scotch. Then another. And another. Eight consecutive shots of high-end liquor, swallowed without a single blink. He looked down at her with a soft, triumphant smile. Maisie’s eyes welled with tears, reflecting the amber glow of the chandeliers. “Mr. Barlow… Wyatt… please stop. Alcohol is so bad for you. I don’t want you hurting yourself because of me.” She lowered her voice to a fragile whisper that carried perfectly across the quiet table. “If others don’t care about your health, I do.” The executives at the table froze. A heavy, suffocating silence descended over the crystal and silver. Nobody dared to breathe. They all slowly turned their eyes toward me, waiting for the storm. I set my glass down, the sharp clack of crystal on marble echoing like a gunshot. I looked at Wyatt. “In all the years we’ve attended these dinners, Wyatt, I don’t recall you ever stepping in to drink for me.” Wyatt stiffened, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second before he recovered. “Maisie is just a kid, Virginia. You’re different. You don’t need protecting.” Maisie immediately began to panic, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry! This is all my fault! If Mrs. Rodney wants me to drink, I’ll drink!” She reached for a decanter of heavy red wine, her movements clumsy, her face contorted in a display of martyrdom so theatrical it made my stomach turn. She wanted everyone at the table to think I was a monster, a cruel corporate queen bullying a helpless girl. Wyatt gently caught her wrist, his touch lingering. He took the decanter from her hand and drank it straight down. I smiled, a cold, empty curve of my lips, and didn’t say another word until the gala ended. When we finally returned to our penthouse, the living room was already occupied. Ten wooden crates of twenty-five-year-old Macallan sat stacked on the herringbone floor. Wyatt, still flushed from the alcohol, looked confused. “Are we hosting a late-night meeting with the board?” “A bottle of Macallan 25 costs upward of three thousand dollars,” I said, leaning against the doorframe. “You seem to have developed a sudden, passionate love for drinking. I’m just making sure you’re well-supplied.” The flush drained from his face, leaving him dangerously pale. He swallowed hard, then stepped toward me, opening his arms to wrap me in a back hug. I didn’t give him the satisfaction. I stepped aside, letting him stumble slightly. Wyatt forced a soft laugh. “Virginia, are you jealous? Come on, don’t be like this. I promise you, I won’t step in for Maisie again.” I raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Why do you think I allowed you to marry into my family, Wyatt?” I asked, my voice flat, devoid of any warmth. “Because you were supposed to be safe. Because you had boundaries. You were clean. That was your only value.” I took a step closer, my eyes drilling into his. “If you’ve forgotten where the lines are drawn, I have no problem replacing you. You have one hour to finish those bottles. Consider it a lesson in discipline.” Wyatt’s jaw tightened. His lips trembled, and his fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. I didn’t waste another breath on him. I turned my back and walked into my master suite, locking the double doors behind me. An hour later, the housekeeper knocked gently to report that Wyatt was violently ill, vomiting on the bathroom floor. I didn’t look up from my iPad. Another hour passed. The housekeeper reported he was shaking on the floor, dry-heaving bile, drifting in and out of consciousness. I didn’t care. Only when the report came that he had completely lost control of his bodily functions did I finally raise a single finger. “Call an ambulance. Have them pump his stomach.” In the days following that night, Wyatt’s devotion to me seemed to double. He became more attentive, more tender, anticipating my every need. I almost believed he had actually learned his lesson. Until my executive assistant forwarded me a screenshot of Maisie Calloway’s private Instagram account. 2 [Thank you, Mr. CEO! I promise I’ll work twice as hard!] The photo featured Maisie smiling brightly in front of my newly purchased estate in the Hamptons. They were hosting a chaotic, rowdy country barbecue on the pristine grounds. My custom-commissioned Italian marble sculptures were splattered with grease and charcoal. The rare Japanese maples, which I had spent a hundred and fifty thousand dollars importing, had been chopped down and thrown into a crude fire pit as firewood. My grip on my phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. I dialed Wyatt’s number immediately. “Why is Maisie Calloway at my Hamptons estate? Give me an explanation. Now.” There was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line. “Virginia… Maisie’s family came up from the South to visit her,” Wyatt said, his voice hesitant, pleading. “They didn’t have a place to stay, and a backyard barbecue is a big tradition for them. I just thought… we have so many empty properties, and that estate is just sitting there…” “You have exactly one hour,” I cut him off, my voice dangerously quiet. “Get them out of my house, clean up the mess, and make sure they never set foot on my property again.” “Virginia, please. Maisie worked so hard to get out of her small town. She’s just a girl, she doesn’t know any better. You don’t have to be so heartless—” I hung up. I had no interest in listening to his excuses. Wyatt was the sole heir to a failing, second-tier family business when I met him. If I hadn’t agreed to the marriage, his family name would have been dragged through bankruptcy court years ago. I had built Rodney Enterprises into a global powerhouse, handed him the title of CEO, and given him a life of absolute luxury. I had given him dignity. But he seemed to have forgotten a fundamental truth: everything he owned, everything he was, existed solely because I allowed it. What right did he have to offer my sanctuary to another woman? For the next hour, my phone remained dead silent. No texts, no calls. It was a pathetic attempt at a silent protest. I didn’t care to play his games. When the hour mark hit, I pulled up the security feed of the Hamptons estate on my laptop. Maisie and her relatives had moved inside the mansion. The carefully curated, minimalist interior was completely trashed. In the master suite, a group of children—clothed in muddy shoes—were jumping on the custom four-hundred-thousand-dollar Swedish mattress, leaving black, filthy footprints all over the delicate silk sheets. I let out a soft, cold laugh. I shut my laptop, grabbed my coat, and signaled my assistant. “Get the car.” Thirty minutes later, I walked through the double doors of the estate, flanked by my legal team and a private security detail. “Mrs. Rodney,” my assistant said, holding a tablet. “After a preliminary assessment, the total property damage, including structural cleaning, restoration of the gardens, and replacement of bespoke furniture, comes out to twenty million dollars.” I tossed the itemized invoice onto the grease-stained coffee table. Maisie sat on the sofa, looking up at me like a cornered deer. “Mrs. Rodney… I’m so sorry,” she whimpered, tears immediately pooling in her wide eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t have that kind of money…” She looked helplessly at her relatives, who were busy wiping barbecue sauce from their faces. Sensing trouble, they immediately began backing toward the exit. “Maisie, you told us this was your house,” one of her aunts muttered, glaring at her. “We didn’t know you were using someone else’s place to show off.” “Yeah, this has nothing to do with us. We’re leaving. We’ve got a flight to catch.” Within minutes, they had abandoned her, disappearing out the front door without looking back. Maisie fell to her knees on the ruined rug, sobbing. “Mrs. Rodney, please. I made a mistake. I can’t pay this back. Please don’t do this to me.” I looked down at her, utterly unimpressed. Who was she putting on this performance for? Poverty is not an excuse for property damage. “Fine,” I said, my voice cutting through her tears. “Then you can explain it to a judge. In this state, twenty million in malicious destruction of property carries a minimum sentence of five to ten years.” A sharp, screeching sound of tires echoed outside. 3 Wyatt burst through the front door, rushing straight to Maisie and pulling her up from the floor. “Are you okay? Did she touch you?” I didn’t waste time. I had my lawyer read the damages aloud to Wyatt. Wyatt looked at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Virginia, she’s practically a child. She made a mistake. There’s no need to ruin her life over this.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Besides, it’s just twenty million. You make that in a day. You don’t need the money.” “Just twenty million?” I echoed, a thin smile playing on my lips. “If it’s such a trivial amount, perhaps you’d like to pay it on her behalf?” Wyatt’s jaw went slack. He looked at Maisie, then down at the invoice, his lips parting but no sound coming out. He didn’t have twenty million dollars of his own. Every cent of his personal allowance was drawn from my accounts. “I… that’s not what I meant,” he stammered. I didn’t bother listening. I turned on my heel and walked out to my waiting town car. Wyatt cast one last, lingering look at Maisie before running after me, sliding into the backseat just as the chauffeur closed the door. “Virginia, listen to me,” Wyatt pleaded, reaching for my hand. I pulled it away before he could touch me. “This isn’t Maisie’s fault. It was her family. And that estate… you’ve never even spent a night there. I thought it was just sitting empty…” “The entire estate will be stripped, sanitized, and refurnished. The bill will be charged directly to your personal account,” I said, looking out the window. “What I choose to leave empty is my business. You have no authority to touch my assets. Know your place, Wyatt.” He let out a heavy, defeated sigh. A suffocating silence filled the car. As we neared the city, I reached over and ripped the matching leather monogrammed key fob—the one we’d bought during our honeymoon in Paris—off his key ring. I rolled down the window and tossed it into the rushing wind of the highway. “This is your final warning, Wyatt,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Keep your hands, your eyes, and your charity away from other women. I have given you two chances. If there is a third…” I turned to look him dead in the eye. “…I will throw you out with the rest of the trash.” He swallowed hard, staring at his bare key ring. “I understand,” he muttered. At that exact moment, my phone rang. It was the Director of Human Resources. “Mrs. Rodney, I’m calling about Maisie Calloway. She made a critical error on the Q3 logistics contract—she entered the wrong decimal, which is going to cost the firm ten million dollars in lost revenue. Standard protocol dictates immediate termination, but given her… connection to Mr. Barlow, I wanted to check with you first.” I looked at Wyatt, who was watching me with an anxious, desperate intensity. I spoke into the phone, my voice steady and unyielding. “Terminate her immediately. No severance.” Rodney Enterprises belongs to me. Since when did a kept husband get a say in how I run my empire? “Virginia… was that about Maisie?” Wyatt asked, his voice shaking. “Did something happen?” Not even two minutes had passed since my warning. And here he was, actively stepping back onto the ledge. 4 “She’s fired,” I said flatly. “Fired? By whom? On what grounds?” Wyatt’s voice cracked, rising in pitch. “By me.” I watched his face contort with panic, and a wave of cold amusement washed over me. I really shouldn’t have expected anything more from him. He was, at his core, a weak man. Wyatt tried desperately to rein in his emotions, taking deep, shaky breaths. “Virginia, please. Give her one more chance. Everyone makes mistakes. If she’s fired, how is she supposed to pay back the damages for the estate?” Concern. Panic. Utter desperation. All of it, for her. “She isn’t getting another chance,” I said, my voice like iron. Suddenly, Wyatt’s phone lit up. It was Maisie. He answered on speaker, his hands trembling. “Wyatt… thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” Maisie’s voice sobbed through the static, fragile and broken. “But now that I’ve lost my job, I have no way to pay Mrs. Rodney back. My family is calling me a failure… I can’t do this anymore. I don’t have the strength to keep living.” “Maisie? Maisie!” Wyatt screamed into the phone. “Don’t do anything stupid! Where are you?” The line went dead. Wyatt’s eyes dilated with sheer terror. He turned to me, his face pale, his composure completely shattered. “Maisie can’t leave!” he yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at my face. “Her life is just starting! You can’t push her to the edge like this! Virginia, are you listening to me?!” The gentle, obedient, soft-spoken husband I had spent years grooming was gone. In his place was a wild, desperate animal. I looked at him, feeling nothing but a profound, cold disappointment. I closed my eyes. He had officially used up his third chance. “Virginia! Are you even human?!” he roared, shaking my shoulder. “A girl’s life is on the line, and you’re sitting there playing games? If anything happens to Maisie, I swear to God, I will make you pay!” He took one deep, ragged breath, shoved the car door open while we were stopped at a red light, and sprinted into the rain. I didn’t tell the driver to stop him. I didn’t feel anger. Only a deep, clean sense of finality. I opened my laptop and emailed my general counsel. “Draft the divorce papers. Standard terms. He gets nothing. Have them ready by tomorrow morning.” Wyatt didn’t come home that night. He didn’t call. The daily love-letter videos he usually posted on his public social media accounts—his favorite way of showing the world how devoted he was to his wealthy wife—went dark. He was done pretending. And so was I. The next morning, I was woken up by a frantic call from my HR Director. “Mrs. Rodney… I am so sorry, but I have to tender my resignation. Thank you for your years of mentorship, but I must move on. I wish Rodney Enterprises the absolute best.” I sat up, my brow furrowing. Before I could even respond, my phone began to buzz repeatedly. The Chief Financial Officer. The Chief Operating Officer. The Head of Global Marketing. One by one, the executive team I had hand-built over the last decade was resigning. Three of my five executive vice presidents had already walked out the door. Wyatt was orchestrating a coup. He had spent the night firing my loyalists and clearing the board. I dressed in my sharpest suit, drove to headquarters, and walked straight toward the main boardroom. Through the glass walls, I saw Wyatt standing at the head of the table, presiding over an emergency management meeting. And standing right beside him, in the seat reserved for the Executive Vice President, was Maisie Calloway. A title that carried a twenty-million-dollar salary. My blood turned to ice. He really thought that playing husband had given him ownership of my empire. I kicked the heavy oak doors open. The room fell dead silent as I walked straight up to Wyatt and slapped him hard across the face.

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During our dinner party, Robin Hale snatched my fiancée’s phone, swiped twenty thousand dollars for a luxury watch, and stuck his tongue out at me. “Your fiancé is so rich, Lara,” he purred, looking directly at me. “He won’t mind a little pocket change. Besides, what’s yours is mine anyway.” The entire table fell dead silent. Everyone was waiting for me to either blow up in a rage or play the generous gentleman and laugh it off. Instead, I reached into my leather briefcase, pulled out a digital voice recorder and my ultra-thin laptop, and adjusted my gold-rimmed glasses. “A twenty-thousand-dollar unauthorized transaction meets the threshold for grand larceny,” I said, my voice cutting through the ambient restaurant noise. “And since you say ‘what’s hers is yours,’ let’s clarify. Is this corporate embezzlement, or is it an illegal transfer of assets under an undocumented sugar-baby arrangement?” I tapped the screen of my laptop. “By the way, I just recorded your statement about her money being yours. Under state property law and Aegis Group’s corporate charter, I am officially initiating an immediate freeze on all of Lara’s corporate-linked assets.” I looked up, meeting his smug, boyish gaze. “Enjoy the watch, Robin. The food in federal prison is free. You can eat to your heart’s content.” Lara’s face turned an ugly, mottled shade of green. “Victor, it was a joke! Are you seriously trying to ruin my life over a joke?” I pressed enter on my keyboard. “I’m a forensic auditor, Lara. In my ledgers, there are no jokes. Only bad debt.” 1 My phone buzzed in my palm. The notification from Chase popped up on the lock screen: Transaction approved: $20,000.00. I set my chopsticks down on the porcelain rest and looked across the table at Lara. She didn’t look back. She was leaning over, carefully peeling a tiger prawn and placing it into Robin’s bowl. Robin was twirling Lara’s iPhone around his finger. The screen was still glowing, displaying the checkout confirmation page of a Swiss watchmaker’s website. He caught me looking, stopped the phone, and waved it in my direction with a lazy, triumphant grin. “Hey, Victor. I’ve had my eye on this piece for months. Lara said you’re way too cheap to understand fashion anyway, so she figured I should help her spend some of her money to keep up appearances.” There were eight people sitting around the circular mahogany table—all of them Lara’s high-society “sisters” and prospective business partners. The clinking of silverware stopped. Every eye darted between me, Lara, and Robin, waiting for the fallout. In the corner of the room, one of Lara’s friends let out a sharp, amused snort. Lara wiped her fingers on a linen napkin, finally deigning to look at me. “Victor, don’t be a killjoy. Robin is just a kid at heart. It’s just a watch. It’s not like our family is hurting for cash.” I didn’t answer. With deliberate, unhurried movements, I unzipped my briefcase. I took out my voice recorder and pressed the side button. A tiny, blood-red LED light began to blink. Then, I opened my laptop, typed in my secure password, and let the system boot up. My movements were fluid, mechanical, and entirely devoid of heat. Robin’s smug grin faltered slightly. He leaned closer to Lara, draping half his weight over her bare arm. “Lara, look at him. Who brings a laptop to a private dinner party? Is he seriously going to balance his checkbook right now? He’s completely ruining the vibe.” Lara’s brow furrowed, and she slammed her chopsticks onto the table. “Victor, turn off the professional brain for once. This is a private gathering. Put those damn toys away.” I ignored her. My fingers flew across the keyboard. I opened Excel, created a new document, and titled it: Lara Pierce – High-Risk Unauthorized Outflows Memorandum. I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose and stared directly at Robin. “A moment ago, you stated that what is Lara’s is yours, correct?” Robin lifted his chin, trying to regain his swagger. “Yeah, I did. Lara and I grew up together. That’s called a real connection. I wouldn’t expect a guy who only lives in spreadsheets to understand.” I nodded slowly. “Good.” I turned my gaze to Lara. “And you agree with that sentiment?” Lara waved her hand dismissively. “Robin is like a younger brother to me. What’s wrong with him spending some of my money? You’re my fiancé, Victor, but you act like a landlord. Have some dignity. Stop being so incredibly petty. It’s embarrassing.” I hit enter. The cursor on my screen blinked steadily. I spoke into the room, my voice flat, measured, and perfectly pitched so the recorder would capture every syllable. “Under federal and state law, any officer of a corporation who utilizes corporate-linked accounts for unauthorized personal transactions—or permits third parties to do so—commits corporate embezzlement. The threshold for criminal prosecution in this state is five thousand dollars. This transaction is four times that amount.” I leaned back. “Lara’s card is directly tied to the primary operating account of Aegis Group.” I looked at Robin. “You are not an employee of Aegis Group, yet you just executed a twenty-thousand-dollar personal purchase using their capital.” My eyes drifted back to my fiancée. “You are the CEO and founder, Lara. I am your Chief Risk Officer. You have knowingly authorized a non-employee to divert corporate funds for luxury consumer goods.” I paused, letting the silence stretch until it became suffocating. “If we do not classify this as embezzlement, the only other legal classification under IRS guidelines is an undeclared, taxable gift under a non-marital personal relationship. In other words, a sugar-baby arrangement.” I watched the color drain from her face. “Aegis Group is in the final, critical week of its pre-IPO audit. A twenty-thousand-dollar discrepancy with zero legitimate business purpose will force the audit committee to red-flag your financial compliance. The IPO will be dead in the water before Monday morning.” 2 The dining room became a tomb. The woman who had snickered moments ago froze, her wine glass suspended halfway to her lips. Lara’s face flushed a deep, violent crimson. She scraped her chair back so hard it screeched against the marble floor, standing up in a fury. “Victor! You are out of your mind! This is a personal matter between me and Robin! Who the hell do you think you are, bringing criminal charges into this? Embezzlement? Prison? Are you so desperate for control that you have to ruin my life just because I showed someone else a little affection?” On cue, Robin’s eyes welled with tears. They fell in perfect, heavy drops down his smooth cheeks. “Victor… why are you doing this to me? I just wanted a nice watch… Lara was just being sweet to me. If you’re mad at her, take it out on me. Don’t ruin Lara’s business.” Sobbing softly, he buried his face in Lara’s shoulder. Lara wrapped her arms around his back, stroking his hair while glaring at me with pure venom. “You owe Robin an apology right now, Victor! Do it, or this wedding is off!” I saved the Excel document. I closed the laptop lid with a soft click. I turned off the recorder and slipped both items back into my leather bag. Then, I stood up. “Whether we get married is a personal decision,” I said calmly. “But whether your corporate ledgers balance is a matter of law. And on that, I have the final say.” I picked up my coat. “Twenty thousand dollars. If it isn’t returned to the corporate account within seventy-two hours, I will personally hand over the forensic file to the Financial Crimes Division.” I turned my eyes to Robin, who was peeking at me from behind Lara’s shoulder. “I have your verbal confirmation of asset-sharing on tape. Under Aegis Group’s bylaws and the supplementary clauses of our prenuptial agreement, any high-risk personal relationship that threatens the financial stability of the firm gives me the unilateral authority to initiate an asset freeze.” I pulled out my phone, unlocked it, and dialed a number on speakerphone. It rang twice before a professional voice answered. “Private Banking, this is Michael.” “Michael, this is Victor Ward. I am reporting a high-risk security breach on the Aegis Group corporate operating account ending in 7788. Under my authority as Chief Risk Officer, I need you to place an immediate administrative freeze on all non-payroll disbursements.” “Understood, Mr. Ward. Initiating the freeze now. You’ll receive confirmation in thirty seconds.” Lara’s phone vibrated instantly. She stared at the screen, her eyes wide with shock, before looking up at me as if she were seeing a stranger. “Victor… you didn’t.” I smoothed down the lapels of my tailored suit jacket. “There are no jokes in my department, Lara.” I turned and walked out of the private dining room. Behind me, the sound of a heavy crystal wine glass shattering against the wall echoed down the hallway, followed by Lara’s shrill, panicked scream. “Victor! You’re going to pay for this!” On Monday morning, I sat in the glass-walled office of the Chief Risk Officer at Aegis Group. Before me lay a mountain of corporate reimbursement vouchers. The heavy glass door was shoved open. Robin strolled in, wearing denim shorts that barely reached his thighs and holding an iced matcha latte. He walked past my secretary as if he owned the building. Behind him, our accounting manager, Sarah, hovered with a pale, terrified face. “Mr. Ward… I’m sorry. He insisted on coming in, and I didn’t know…” I didn’t look up from my desk. I held a limited-edition, custom-gold Montblanc fountain pen, circling a series of irregular numbers on a ledger. “Leave us, Sarah.” Sarah fled, pulling the door shut behind her. Robin didn’t hesitate. He hoisted himself up and sat right on the edge of my polished mahogany desk. He set his condensation-dripping latte directly onto a stack of original tax documents. The cold moisture immediately began to seep into the heavy paper, smudging the black ink into a gray blur. I stopped writing. I looked up. Robin swung his legs back and forth, the toe of his designer sneaker coming within inches of my face. “You’re really pathetic, you know that, Victor?” he said, taking a slow sip from his straw. “Freezing Lara’s cards? She had to borrow gas money from her friends this morning. Do you have any idea how humiliated she was?” He reached down, trying to grab the pile of reimbursement receipts under my hand. “And these. The billing department said you’re refusing to sign off on them. They’re just clothes, Victor. Lara told me it falls under ‘corporate image consulting.’” I kept my hand firmly on the documents, slowly pulling them out of his reach. I held up the top voucher. “Agent Provocateur,” I read aloud. “Sheer silk men’s briefs. Three sets. Four thousand five hundred dollars.” I looked up, locking eyes with him. “The memo lines read: Office Supplies.” The silence stretched. “Tell me, Robin. Which department utilizes sheer silk underwear as ‘office supplies’? Do I need to write a disclosure in our SEC filing explaining that the CEO’s office requires specialized adult entertainment equipment to function?” Robin didn’t even blink. He slowly ran a hand through his carefully styled hair, pulling it back to reveal a dark, purple bruise on his neck. A fresh hickey. He was displaying it like a trophy. 3 “Oh, come on, Victor. Don’t be so stiff,” Robin sighed, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Lara is under a lot of pressure running this company. If I help her destress in her private office, don’t I deserve a little ‘uniform allowance’? Think of it as a contribution to corporate wellness.” He reached out, his fingers wrapping around the barrel of my Montblanc pen. “This is a nice pen. Let me borrow it.” I didn’t let go. He gave it a sudden, violent yank. The sharp edge of his designer silver ring caught the back of my hand, tearing the skin. A thin line of crimson blood began to bead on my knuckle. The pen slipped from my grip. Robin pulled off the cap and immediately began dragging the gold nib across my pristine mahogany desk. He drew a crude, childish cartoon of a turtle, then scrawled my name across its shell: Victor. “See?” Robin giggled, spinning the pen between his fingers before slamming the delicate gold nib onto the hard edge of the desk. Clack. Clack. The gold nib split down the middle, the delicate tines bending outward like a broken fan. A twelve-thousand-dollar piece of custom craftsmanship, ruined in a second. I looked at the bent gold nib, then at the defaced desk. I pulled out my phone. I took a clear, high-resolution photo of the drawing on the desk. Then, I took a photo of the bloody scratch on my hand. Robin rolled his eyes. “Click, click, click. That’s all you do. What are you going to do, run to Lara? She doesn’t care about your little tantrums, Victor.” The heavy glass door swung open again. Lara stepped in. She took one look at the wet ring on the tax documents, the split pen, and the scratch on my hand, but her expression didn’t soften. Instead, she glared at me, her voice sharp with annoyance. “Victor, why are you harassing Robin again? He just came down to get my signature on some documents, and you corner him in your office?” Robin instantly slid off the desk and threw his arms around Lara’s waist, burying his face in her neck. “Lara! He was yelling at me!” he whimpered, his voice trembling with practiced vulnerability. “He said the underwear I bought was… was disgusting and cheap. But you’re the one who told me you liked it…” Lara rubbed his back, her eyes burning as she stared at me. “Victor, I’ve already reviewed those vouchers. I authorized them. A company of this size shouldn’t be micromanaging a few thousand dollars. If word gets out that Aegis Group can’t even cover basic lifestyle expenses for its executives, we’ll look weak to the underwriters.” I tapped the stack of receipts. “This isn’t just underwear, Lara.” “We have twenty thousand dollars in luxury spa memberships, fifty thousand in boutique hotel suites, and five thousand dollars in premium organic pet food for Robin’s French bulldog.” “And every single transaction has been routed through corporate accounts labeled as Office Supplies or Client Entertainment.” “This is tax fraud, Lara. It’s the intentional falsification of business records to evade federal taxes.” Lara stepped forward, snatched the entire stack of receipts out from under my hand, and ripped them in half. Then she ripped them again, showering the torn white scraps over my head like confetti. “There,” she sneered, her lips curving into a cold smile. “No receipts, no fraud. Stop trying to choke me with your audit textbooks, Victor. This company has my name on the door, not yours. If you can’t fall in line, you can pack your bags and get out.” Robin clapped his hands, giggling like a schoolgirl. “So cool, Lara! This dusty old man needs to go back to school anyway.” He tossed the ruined Montblanc pen into my wastebasket with a dismissive shrug. “Garbage pen anyway. It doesn’t even write as smoothly as a dollar-store ballpoint.” I looked down at the trash can. That pen was the last gift my grandmother gave me before her mind faded into dementia. I bent down, retrieved the pen, and carefully wiped the coffee grounds off the polished black resin with a clean tissue. I placed it in my breast pocket. Then, I opened my desk drawer and pulled out a fresh document. It was titled: Revocation of Financial Signatory Authority – Executive Board. I didn’t show it to Lara. I slipped it into my briefcase. I looked at her, my voice quiet, completely stripped of emotion. “You can rip up the paper receipts, Lara. But the digital ledger remains in the banking portal. The transaction history is locked on the server.” “You didn’t just destroy paper.” “You destroyed your own safety net.” Lara rolled her eyes, wrapping her arm tightly around Robin’s waist as they turned toward the door. “You’re delusional, Victor. Come on, Robin. Let’s go buy you something nice to wash off the smell of this office.” As they reached the door, Robin turned back. He raised his hand, flashed me his middle finger, and mouthed: Loser. 4 By December, the air in Chicago was biting, but the grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel was stiflingly hot. It was Aegis Group’s annual winter gala. Hundreds of employees, institutional investors, and local journalists filled the space, their laughter echoing beneath the massive crystal chandeliers. Lara sat at the center of the head table. As her fiancé and co-founder, my namecard was placed to her right. But tonight, that seat was occupied by Robin. In fact, he wasn’t even sitting in the chair. He was draped over Lara’s lap like a spoiled pet, wearing a skin-tight silk suit that left nothing to the imagination. He held a crystal coupe of champagne to her lips, tilting it so quickly that a thin stream of amber liquid spilled down her chin and dripped onto his collar. Lara threw her head back and laughed, licking the drop from his skin while the table cheered. “Now that’s what I call executive perks!” a venture capitalist laughed. “Lara and her little brother are certainly close!” another whispered behind a manicured hand. I sat at a secondary table near the back of the room, cutting my filet mignon with slow, mechanical precision. The whispers and pitying glances from the surrounding tables drifted over me like a cold draft. I didn’t look up. I chewed, swallowed, and kept my eyes on my plate. Suddenly, Robin reached into Lara’s clutch and pulled out a heavy brass object. It was the official corporate seal of Aegis Group. It was supposed to be locked in the secure safe in my office, but Lara had brought it to a drunken gala to show off. Robin grabbed a linen napkin and pressed the seal into the wax on a decorative candle, then stamped it onto the white tablecloth. Thump. Thump. Thump. “This is so cool!” Robin giggled, slurring his words. “Lara, let me borrow this for a few days. My shell company needs a corporate guarantor for a quick bank loan. With this stamp, I can get a million-dollar line of credit by tomorrow morning!” Lara, her cheeks flushed red with alcohol, waved her hand grandly. “Take it! Take whatever you want, baby! My company is your company. You can stamp it on your chest if you want!” The table went quiet. Several senior vice presidents looked down at their plates, their smiles turning stiff. Our finance director, a man with three kids and a massive mortgage, looked at me with sheer panic in his eyes, silently begging me to intervene. I set my fork down. I dabbed my mouth with my napkin. I stood up, walked across the crowded ballroom, and stopped directly in front of Lara. I held out my hand. “Give me the seal.” Robin quickly tucked the heavy brass stamp inside his silk jacket, pressing it against his bare chest. He gave me a mocking, challenging look. “Why should I? Lara gave it to me. If you want it, Victor, you’ll have to come in and get it yourself.” Lara leaned back in her chair, her eyes glassy as she stared up at me. “Victor, what is your problem? It’s the holidays. Don’t start your hall-monitor routine now.” “Robin is just playing around. He doesn’t know anything about corporate law. He’s not going to do anything dangerous. Stop always assuming the worst of people.” I looked down at her. “The corporate seal has binding legal authority. He just openly stated his intention to use it to secure an unauthorized loan for an entity with zero business relation to Aegis.” “That is bank fraud.” “And you, in front of fifty witnesses, have just authorized the illegal transfer of corporate authority.” Lara slammed her fist onto the table, rattling the crystal glasses. “It’s not fraud, it’s an investment! Robin is helping me expand our portfolio! You don’t know a damn thing about growth!” “Look at you, Victor! You dress like a funeral director, you act like a warden, and you have the personality of a wet cardboard box. If I were you, I’d have jumped off a bridge years ago.” Robin laughed, pulling the cold brass seal from his jacket. He pressed it hard against a blank sheet of hotel stationery that was lying on the table. “Look, Victor. I stamped it. Now all Lara has to do is sign her name, and I’m a millionaire.” Lara snatched a gold Cartier pen from her purse. Without reading the paper, she scrawled her looping signature across the bottom of the blank, stamped page. “Signed! I’ll sign whatever you want, Robin! You deserve it!” I pulled out my phone. I took a crystal-clear video of the signed, stamped, blank contract. I panned the camera to capture Lara’s arm wrapped around Robin’s waist, and then focused on the corporate seal in his hand. Lara realized what I was doing and lunged across the table to grab my phone, but she was too drunk. Her heel caught on her gown, and she tumbled back into her chair, nearly taking the tablecloth with her. Robin pointed a finger at me, his voice cracking. “That’s harassment! You’re violating our privacy!” I slipped the phone back into my pocket. “There is no expectation of privacy in a public ballroom, Robin.” “Lara, remember tonight.” “It’s the last time you’ll ever enjoy a party like this.” Lara picked up her champagne glass and threw it at me. The golden liquid splashed across the chest of my charcoal suit, dripping down like a cold, wet stain. “Get out! Get the hell out of my sight! You disgust me!” I didn’t wipe the champagne off my chest. I turned around to face the ballroom. Every conversation had stopped. Hundreds of employees were staring at us in stunned silence. I raised my voice, my tone clear, cold, and carrying to every corner of the room. “To the corporate finance department: effective immediately, all non-payroll disbursements are suspended pending an emergency audit.” “To the legal department: document the unauthorized use of the corporate seal tonight. Prepare for potential third-party liability litigation.” I looked back at the head table. “Enjoy your dinner, everyone. This may be the last meal Aegis Group’s corporate account ever pays for.” I walked out of the ballroom, the sound of my leather soles echoing on the marble floor. Behind me, Lara’s voice rose in a shrill, hysterical shriek. “You’re fired, Victor! You hear me? The wedding is off! I don’t need you! Nobody needs you!”

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The night I walked into our bedroom, my eyes swollen raw from crying at my grandmother’s funeral, I found my husband and my best friend tangled together on our bed. Their skin was slick and flushed, their breathing heavy and rushed in the dark room. The confrontation died in my throat before I could even draw breath. Instead, a surreal, glowing stream of text began to scroll directly across my field of vision, like a live-chat feed running over a broadcast of my own life: [Naomi really loves Davis. In her past life, she literally died for him. Thank God he got a second chance at life—it’s finally not just a one-sided crush!] [But Davis traded the lives of his wife’s unborn twins just to get this second chance. Isn’t that a little psycho? Ella just lost her babies, and now her grandma is dead. This is brutal.] [He did it to pay Naomi back! Besides, those weren’t even his babies. He never even touched his wife. He literally hired some random guy to get her pregnant so he wouldn’t have to deal with her. Honestly, genius.] My world fractured. The room spun, the air turning to ice in my lungs. Before I could process the horror of what I was reading, Davis pulled a sheet over them, shielding Naomi protectively in his arms. “It was me,” he said, his voice devoid of any guilt. “I’m the one who pushed for this. I didn’t want Naomi to have to hide in the shadows anymore, but she was the one who didn’t want to hurt you. If you don’t make a scene, you can keep the Fitch name. You’ll still be my wife.” As I stood there, the translucent text kept scrolling, detailing the wild, obsessive things he had done in this “reborn” life to repay Naomi. It was so absurdly cruel that it crossed the line into comedy. I wiped the hot tears from my face, a cold, mocking laugh bubbling up from my chest. “No, thank you,” I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my knees. “Let’s get a divorce. I’m letting you both go.” 1 Davis paused, his hand freezing on the shirt he was pulling over his shoulders. “Are you sure about that?” Naomi immediately slipped out of bed, throwing on a silk robe. She dropped to her knees right in front of me, tears streaming down her face—the perfect picture of fragile, tragic innocence. “Ella, I’m so sorry. I lost my mind for a second. Please, just pretend this never happened. I’ll disappear, I swear. You love him so much… it shouldn’t end like this because of me.” My eyes burned as I stared down at her. Without a word, I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face. “I loved him, yes,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “But I loved you too. And you still crossed the line and ruined everything.” For ten years, she had watched me pine after Davis. She was the one who bought me tissues, who yelled at the sky that Davis was blind for not seeing my worth. On my wedding day, she had grabbed his collar and threatened to ruin him if he ever broke my heart. I thought our friendship was a fortress. I thought we were a trio against the world. Now, the woman who had held my hand at the altar was the one in my bed. Davis’s face contorted with rage. He lunged forward, grabbing the heavy, glass-framed wedding portrait from the nightstand and throwing it directly at me. “Ella, how dare you touch her!” The heavy frame shattered against my forehead. A sharp, hot pain bloomed instantly, and a drop of blood, warm and thick, rolled down my face, splitting over the bridge of my nose like a red tear. Six months ago, he had knelt on a bed of rose petals, kissing my hand like I was his entire universe. “Ella, I love you,” he had shouted, loud enough for the photographers to laugh. “I will protect you forever.” Six months. That was all it took for “forever” to turn into shattered glass and blood in my eyes. Davis seemed briefly stunned seeing me bleed, but his face quickly hardened back into a cold, defensive sneer. “Think about it carefully. If you divorce me, you have nothing. The house, the car, the bank accounts—they’re all mine. You don’t even have a job. How are you going to survive?” He was right. For three years, I had shrunk myself to fit his life. He said he hated women who were always out in public, so I resigned from my firm. He said he hated strangers in his space, so I became his maid, his cook, his laundress. He said he despised needy women, so when my appendix nearly burst, I drove myself to the ER in the dead of night, biting my lip so I wouldn’t call him. I thought I was becoming the perfect wife. But the glowing text in front of my eyes kept updating, rewriting my reality with every second: [Davis knew Naomi wouldn’t just accept handouts, so he secretly pulled strings to get her a high-paying, low-stress job. She didn’t even have to interview; she was hired on the spot.] [Last time Naomi had a 102-degree fever, Davis canceled a major board meeting to stay by her side all night, wiping her sweat and feeding her water. He was more attentive than a private nurse.] [He literally traveled back in time to make things right with Naomi. She died for him in his past life; of course he’s going to give her every ounce of his tenderness now.] I laughed. I laughed until my stomach cramped, until my whole body shook. He wasn’t incapable of love, or tenderness, or care. He just didn’t have any of it for me. I met his cold gaze, my resolve hardening. “Don’t worry about how I’ll survive. I’m divorcing you, Davis. It’s over.” I pulled my suitcase from the closet and began packing my few belongings. Davis’s brow furrowed in irritation, while Naomi’s weeping grew louder. She clutched his arm, her voice trembling. “Davis, don’t agree to this. It’s my fault… Ella just lost her grandmother, she’s fragile right now. She’s just speaking out of anger…” At the mention of my grandmother, Davis’s eyes flickered toward my bleeding forehead and swollen eyes. For a fraction of a second, I thought I saw a shadow of guilt, but it was quickly swallowed by disgust. “What does her grandmother’s death have to do with you?” Davis said, gently wiping Naomi’s tears. “She’s only crying because of the inheritance. Her grandmother left the family cottage to someone else, not her. Do you really think she’s mourning?” I froze, a sweater slipping from my hands. My grandmother had loved me more than life itself. She had told me a thousand times that the old family cottage was my safety net. “No matter who you marry, Ella, you will always have a place that belongs to you. That is your retreat.” The scrolling text flared up again: [Just because Naomi mentioned she loved the cottage, Davis had his lawyer friend alter the grandmother’s will. Ella got absolutely nothing. Talk about devotion.] [That’s nothing. Naomi said funerals are depressing and bring bad luck, so Davis literally banned Ella from attending the wake. He even paid people to spread rumors that Ella was an ungrateful granddaughter who wouldn’t even stay by her grandmother’s side. Ella had to threaten suicide just to get to the funeral.] [To keep Naomi happy during the grandmother’s final days, Davis literally locked Ella inside the house so she couldn’t say goodbye, all while he was taking Naomi on a weekend getaway to cheer her up.] A loud roar filled my ears, and my mind went completely blank. The night my grandmother passed, I had been clawing at the front door, desperate to go to the hospital. But Davis had held me back, wrapping his arms around me, telling me the doctors said she was stable. He had told me to rest, promising he would stay by her bedside so I wouldn’t have to worry. I had slept that night feeling so incredibly grateful for his kindness. But he wasn’t at the hospital. He was with Naomi, creating beautiful memories, while my grandmother drew her last breath alone. “Davis Fitch! It was you, wasn’t it?” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. The blood from my forehead had reached my lips, hot and metallic. “You locked me in! You kept me from saying goodbye to my grandmother! Did you forget how good she was to you?” I wanted him to feel a shred of remorse. I wanted him to remember. “I didn’t forget,” Davis said, his voice dropping into a chilling, dismissive register. “When my first start-up failed and I was broke, she fed me. She gave me a warm place to stay and lent me her life savings to keep me afloat. But so what? Those cheap little favors were just her and your way of feeling important. I never asked for them.” The sheer, monstrous ingratitude broke something inside me. I lunged forward, swinging my hand toward his face. Davis didn’t even flinch. He stood there, his eyes filled with bored annoyance. But before my palm could connect, Naomi let out a piercing shriek and threw herself between us. My hand struck her cheek. She was fragile, and the force of the impact sent her stumbling backward. The back of her head cracked sharply against the edge of the wooden vanity. Naomi whimpered, her face turning pale as a thin line of blood began to seep through her hair. Davis completely lost his mind. He rushed to her, scooping her into his arms with a terror I had never seen in him. “Naomi! Naomi, look at me. I’m here. Where does it hurt? I’m taking you to the hospital right now.” His voice shook, his eyes rimmed with sudden, genuine tears. I stood frozen, watching his panic. A memory, cold and sharp, cut through my mind. A few weeks ago, when I was losing our twins, hemorrhaging on the cold operating table, the doctors had issued critical condition notices twice. I had been terrified, my hand gripping the nurse’s arm, begging to see my husband. But Davis had only stood outside the OR for two minutes. He had asked the doctor, “She’s not dead, right?” and when they said no, he hung up his phone and drove three hours through a storm to be with Naomi because she had a mild cold. At the time, I couldn’t understand how the man who used to put band-aids on my paper cuts had become so utterly indifferent to my life. Now, the truth was laid bare. He hadn’t changed. He just reserved all his warmth for someone else. Davis violently shoved me aside as he lifted Naomi. The sudden movement sent a sharp, agonizing pain blooming through my lower abdomen, and I stumbled, warm blood dripping onto the bedroom floor. Davis paused for a second, looking at the blood on the floor, but Naomi let out a soft groan, and he immediately turned and ran out the door, leaving me behind. I stared at the empty doorway and let out a quiet, hollow laugh. The last lingering shred of my love for him died in that silence. I packed my bag, placed the signed divorce papers on the kitchen counter, and walked out into the cold night. The next morning, I dragged my weak, aching body to my grandmother’s cottage. The lock had been changed. I didn’t care. I grabbed a brick from the garden and smashed the glass pane of the back door, reaching in to unlock it. But when I stepped inside, the breath left my lungs. The cottage was unrecognizable. My grandmother’s antique wooden furniture had been dragged into the yard and smashed into kindling. The framed photographs of us that used to line the hallway were torn to pieces, scattered across the floor and covered in muddy boot prints. Naomi’s modern, colorful luggage and clothes were piled high in the living room. And in the corner of the yard, lying in a pool of dried, blackened blood, was Rusty. Rusty, the golden retriever who had protected me for twelve years, who had slept at my grandmother’s feet, lay completely still. His throat had been brutally slit. My knees gave out, and I fell heavily onto the gravel, a bitter, metallic taste rising in my throat. My grandmother was gone. And now, the only creature left who welcomed me home was gone too. “You’re just in time.” Naomi walked out of the house. The fragile, weeping victim from last night was gone; her face was twisted into a cold, triumphant sneer. She walked slowly toward me, looking down at me as I huddled in the dirt. “Ella, are you still too stupid to get it? I’ve hated you from the very beginning. You had a grandmother who adored you, and a husband who worshipped you. And me? I had nothing. So I decided to take your man, destroy your babies, take your house, and crush everything you ever loved under my heel. I had Davis change the will. I had the dog killed. I told him to keep you from your grandmother.” I trembled violently, my eyes hot with blood and tears. “Grandmother was so good to you! How could you be this evil?” “Good to me?” Naomi spat, stepping forward and grabbing a handful of my hair, forcing my face up. “She was never my family! She only looked at you. Her ‘kindness’ was just charity, and it made me sick.” She suddenly let go of my hair and threw herself backward onto the gravel, scraping her palms and ripping her clothes. At that exact moment, the front gate clicked open, and Davis walked in. Naomi’s face transformed instantly. Tears welled in her eyes as she whimpered, crawling toward him. “Davis… Ella is just upset… if hitting me makes her feel better, let her…” Davis didn’t even look at me. He scooped her into his arms, his chest rising and falling with anger. He turned a freezing glare toward me. “Ella, haven’t you thrown enough tantrums?” “This is my grandmother’s house!” I screamed, pushing myself up from the dirt. “It belongs to me!” “Belongs to you?” Davis took a step forward, shielding Naomi. “The will is legally binding. The cottage belongs to Naomi. Your grandmother willingly named her as her beneficiary. You have no right to cause a scene here.” “Willingly?” My voice cracked, a hysterical laugh escaping my throat. “You know exactly what you did! You took everything from me for her! Do you even have a conscience?” My words only seemed to make him colder. Naomi whimpered against his chest. “Davis, as long as we’re together, I can bear anything. Let’s just give her the house. I don’t want you two fighting because of me.” Davis looked down at me, his eyes devoid of any humanity. He turned, walked into the house, and emerged a moment later carrying a small, ceramic urn. My grandmother’s ashes. He held it high, hovering it over the concrete steps. “The cottage stays with Naomi. But if you kneel down, beg Naomi for forgiveness, and admit you tried to illegally take this property, I’ll give you the ashes.” He paused, tilting the urn slightly. “Otherwise…” I froze, the air leaving my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. How could they do this to her? “Ella! What on earth are you doing?” I turned to see my Aunt Abigail rushing through the gate, having heard the commotion. But instead of helping me, she looked at my bleeding face with deep disappointment. “Ella, stop being so difficult! Your grandmother left the house to Naomi because Naomi was the one who actually stayed and took care of her. Just apologize and take your grandmother’s ashes. Stop causing a scene!” Naomi let out a soft sigh, patting Aunt Abigail’s hand. “Don’t blame her, Auntie. Ella was always so busy with her own life. I was happy to care for grandmother. I never expected her to leave me the house…” Davis gave me a chilling, expectant look. “I’m waiting, Ella.” I closed my eyes. The gravel bit into my knees, but I didn’t care. To let my grandmother rest in peace, I would surrender every last shred of my dignity. I bent my knees and sank to the ground. I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against the sharp stones. Once. Twice. Three times. The stones cut into my skin, and the pain in my abdomen flared so intensely that my vision went black at the edges. Above me, I heard the faint click of a camera. Naomi had pulled out her phone, recording my bloody, desperate humilation. Within minutes, she had uploaded the video online with a caption: Ungrateful granddaughter tries to steal family estate, attacks the rightful heir, and holds grandmother’s ashes hostage. The internet did the rest. Within twenty minutes, the video went viral. A crowd of neighbors and passersby, fueled by self-righteous fury, began gathering outside the gate. They pushed into the yard, shouting insults, throwing trash, and pulling at my clothes. “Heartless bitch!” someone yelled, throwing a plastic bottle that struck my shoulder. “You don’t deserve to live!” Through the chaos, I saw Davis standing on the porch, his arm wrapped tightly around Naomi, keeping her safe from the crowd. Naomi snuggled closer to him, a small, satisfied smirk playing on her lips before she looked up at him with faux concern. “Davis, do you think she’ll hate me?” Davis’s face remained impassive. “She’s too stubborn. If she doesn’t learn her lesson today, she’ll never learn to respect you.” I lay in the dirt, the pain in my abdomen screaming, my forehead bleeding, my body covered in bruises. The world was slipping away. I was suffocating under the weight of their cruelty. Just as my eyes began to close, a shadow fell over me. The crowd’s shouting suddenly died down, replaced by a tense, heavy silence. A pair of strong arms slipped under my knees and back, lifting me effortlessly from the cold ground. A deep, commanding voice cut through the silence, vibrating with a terrifying, quiet rage. “You want to die for touching what’s mine?”

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It took me three years of bleeding in front of a screen to take the company’s account from zero to ten million followers. My boss’s response was to look me in the eye and slash my revenue cut from ten percent to point-one percent. “We’re reallocating the funds to buy trending pushes for Kenzie,” he told me. “You’re the brains behind the scenes. You know how this industry works. It’s time to pass the torch.” Kenzie leaned against his shoulder, her lip gloss catching the light. “Don’t be mad, babe. Honestly, at your age, you’d be lucky to get a job bagging groceries.” Three months ago, she was the receptionist. I was the one who held her hand and taught her how to structure a hook, how to edit to the beat of trending audio, how to manipulate an audience’s emotions in sixty seconds. Now, she was wearing a designer dress I couldn’t afford, using the exact corporate buzzwords I taught her to laugh in my face. I didn’t say a word. I just turned around, walked back to my desk, and opened the creator dashboard. One thousand, two hundred videos. Select All. Delete. 1 “Talia, have a seat.” Derek slid a manila folder across the polished oak of his desk, tapping the cover with his index finger. “Take a look at the compensation adjustments for this quarter.” I flipped it open. Page one. My name. Revenue share: 10% → 0.1%. I stared at the ink for five dead, silent seconds. “Derek, is this a typo?” He leaned back in his leather executive chair, crossing his legs with the casual grace of a man who held all the cards. He gave a breezy little laugh. “No typo.” “The company is pivoting to push Kenzie as the main face. She’s young. The demographic responds to her aesthetic. Her metrics are spiking faster.” My fingers gripped the edge of the folder. The paper dug into my skin, my knuckles turning bone-white. “I built this account from a dead URL to ten million followers.” “Three years,” I said, my voice dangerously level. “Twelve hundred videos. Pitching, scripting, lighting, shooting, editing—every single frame was me.” Derek waved his hand, swatting away my labor like a gnat. “I’m not denying your contribution, Talia. But the market shifts. That deep-dive lifestyle content you do? Engagement dropped fifteen percent last month.” “Because you slashed my production budget to zero!” “Budget has to go where the ROI is.” The look in his eyes shifted then. He wasn’t looking at a founding partner. He was looking at a power tool that had worn out its motor. “Look, Talia, you’re thirty-two. You don’t have Kenzie’s camera presence. The comment sections are begging for her. This whole influencer game has a shelf life, and you know it better than anyone.” He picked up a gold-plated pen and circled the 0.1% at the bottom of the page. “The margins we save on you are going straight into Kenzie’s promotional pushes. You’re our behind-the-scenes hero. You need to know when to step aside for the greater good of the brand.” I didn’t speak. He took my silence for submission. “You’ve got a year left on your contract,” he continued, his tone softening into faux-paternalism. “Just ride it out comfortably. Put your head down, do the back-end work, and when the time comes, I’ll write you a glowing letter of rec—” The heavy glass door swung open. Kenzie strutted in, balancing on four-inch Louboutins, holding an iced Americano. “Your coffee, Derek~” She placed the cup perfectly by his right hand, her manicured fingertips grazing the back of his knuckles. It was a fraction of a second. But I saw it. She turned to look at me, her eyes curving into perfect, innocent crescents. “Oh, Talia, don’t look so down! Derek is really looking out for you. Being behind the camera is so much less pressure.” She shifted her weight, leaning just a fraction closer to Derek’s personal space. “Besides, let’s be real. At your age, it’s not like the job market is exactly begging for you, right? You’d probably end up bagging groceries or—” “Kenzie,” Derek murmured softly. But the corner of his mouth was twitching upward. He wasn’t stopping her. He was enjoying the show. Kenzie covered her mouth, stifling a giggle. “Oh my god, I’m totally kidding. Don’t take it to heart, babe.” I looked at her. Three months ago, on her first day, she didn’t even know how to import footage into Premiere Pro. I was the one who sat beside her, teaching her the hotkeys. I gave her my proprietary script templates. I showed her how to use the exact BPM of a track to trigger a dopamine hit in the viewer. Just last week, I’d checked the backend analytics. The “viral” pitch Kenzie had presented to Derek—The Solo Girl’s Sanctuary: 100 Habits—was line-for-line Idea #37 from the master content vault I had built three months prior. She used to stand behind my chair while I typed them out. I thought she was taking notes. She was just taking. She took it, pitched it to Derek, and he praised her for it. “This feels so fresh, Kenzie. Way better than the stale stuff Talia’s been pushing.” I hadn’t said anything then. Looking back, the rot had started long before today. “Hello? Earth to Talia?” Kenzie waved a hand in front of my face. “Zoning out much?” I pulled my gaze away from her and locked eyes with my boss. “Derek,” I said, my voice stripped of all emotion. “I will ask you one last time. Is this compensation structure final?” He took a slow sip of his Americano. “It is.” Kenzie chimed in, “You know what they say, babe. The smart ones know when to adapt.” “Okay.” I stood up. “Then let me show you what adapting looks like.” 2 I walked out of his office and back to my desk in the bullpen. The dozen or so people in the open-plan office were all aggressively staring at their monitors, pretending they hadn’t heard a thing. But the air was thick with their sideways glances. I sat down. I woke up my iMac. I typed in the master password for the creator dashboard. The main page of Curated Living loaded. Ten million followers. The profile picture? I took it. The bio? I wrote it. Below that, a grid of one thousand, two hundred video thumbnails stretched endlessly down the screen. I knew the anatomy of every single thumbnail. Video #1: Filmed in my cramped studio apartment with my iPhone. It was raining that afternoon, the natural light was garbage, and I used a $15 ring light from Amazon to illuminate my face. I recorded it seventeen times. It got three views. Video #100: Finished rendering at 4:00 AM. My hands were physically shaking when I hit ‘Publish’. That was the video that went viral. We gained half a million followers in forty-eight hours. Derek texted me: “Great work. Get us to five mil and we’ll talk equity.” We hit five million. The equity never materialized. Video #800: A summer outdoor shoot. It was a hundred and five degrees on the pavement. I was carrying the tripod, the Sony rig, and the mics by myself. I threw up twice from heat exhaustion, went home, and edited until 3:00 AM. By Video #1000, the account crossed eight million. Derek took the entire office out for an omakase dinner to celebrate. Everyone except me. “Talia’s deep in the edit,” he had told them. “Let’s not break her flow.” I ate a cup of instant ramen at this exact desk. Twelve hundred videos. Behind every single one was a graveyard of 3:00 AMs, cold sweats, fevers, and the solitary weight of hauling camera gear through hundreds of miles of city blocks. I moved the cursor to the ‘Creator Tools’ tab. Clicked. ‘Content Management.’ Select All. Twelve hundred checkboxes turned blue simultaneously. A warning dialogue box violently popped up on the screen: Are you sure you want to delete all selected content? This action is permanent and cannot be undone. My hand hovered over the mouse. It wasn’t hesitation. It was grief. These pixels were my lifeblood. Three years of my actual life, given form. But they were trapped in a shell that didn’t belong to me anymore. When we launched the page, the company was nothing but a disorganized startup. The account was registered under my personal phone number, my personal Social Security number. Derek always said we needed to sit down and transfer the ownership to the LLC. He just kept “forgetting.” Actually, he didn’t forget. He just didn’t think it mattered. He looked at me—a thirty-two-year-old woman with bills to pay and family relying on her—and thought I was tethered to this desk forever. He thought I was nothing without the platform he graciously allowed me to build. He really thought that. I took a breath. A deep, lung-expanding breath. And I clicked Confirm Delete. A shriek shattered the quiet of the bullpen. “SHE’S DELETING THE VIDEOS!!” I hadn’t even heard Kenzie creep up behind me. Her voice was shrill enough to crack the glass partitions. Chairs screeched as the entire office stood up. Derek’s door flew open. He bolted out. “What the hell is going on?!” Kenzie pointed a manicured finger at my monitor, the blood draining entirely from her face. “She deleted them! All of them! Over a thousand videos! They’re gone!” Derek crossed the room in three massive strides. He hit my desk just in time to see the progress bar. Deleting… 87%… 92%… “Talia! Are you out of your fucking mind?!” He lunged over my shoulder, clawing for my mouse. I slammed my hand over his wrist, my grip like a vice, and shoved his arm back. “Do not touch my machine.” “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?! Do you know how much capital is tied up in those videos?! The brand deals! The ad roll-outs! We have three massive sponsored posts going live next week!” The progress bar hit 100%. Deletion Complete. One thousand, two hundred videos. Vaporized. The grid vanished. There was nothing left but a barren white screen. A ghost account with ten million followers, staring into a void. 3 Derek’s hands were violently trembling. He stared at the blank profile, the color draining from his face until he looked like a corpse in a tailored suit. “Do you… do you even comprehend that the three-hundred-thousand-dollar campaign with Lumina Beauty drops on Tuesday?” he choked out, his voice cracking. “The contracts are signed. The advance is in the bank. Where is the deliverable? It’s gone!” “Do you know we have Aura, Vesper, Blanc—half a dozen premium brands lined up? You can’t fulfill a single one! Do you know what the breach-of-contract penalties will do to us?!” I calmly stood up and slung my tote bag over my shoulder. “Derek, these sound like fantastic questions for Kenzie.” Kenzie had practically collapsed into a rolling chair, her lips trembling so hard she couldn’t form a syllable. “Didn’t you just tell me her metrics are spiking?” I asked, keeping my voice soft, clinical. “Didn’t you say she was the future of the brand?” “So let her handle it.” “Let her script it, let her shoot it, let her carry the brand deals. You’ve got ten million followers waiting for her.” Derek’s mouth opened and closed like a suffocating fish. Finally, he found his voice. “That account is company property! You had no legal right to nuke our assets! I will bury you in court!” “Do it.” I pulled my iPhone out of my pocket and tapped the screen. “The two-factor authentication? My phone number. The tax ID? My SSN. I dare you to find a single piece of paper in your filing cabinets that proves the LLC owns this IP.” He froze. Three years. For three years he had meant to change the admin rights. And he never did, because he thought I was a loyal, aging dog who would never bite the hand that fed her scraps. “Talia!” His tone violently shifted. The rage dissolved, replaced by a raw, naked terror. “Don’t do this. Let’s not be impulsive. Sit down. We can talk about the revenue split! I’ll amend it! Ten percent—no, fifteen! Just sit down!” “Thirty seconds ago, you said it was final.” “I was wrong, okay?!” I turned my back to him and started walking toward the exit. As I reached the glass doors, I stopped and looked back at the bullpen. A dozen coworkers stood frozen by their desks like mannequins in a department store. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. In three years, none of them had ever spoken up for me, either. I locked eyes with Derek one last time. “Remember what this room looks like right now, Derek.” “A ten-million-follower account is a body, but the content is the heartbeat. You tried to rip the heart out, and all you’re left with is a rotting carcass.” “So you go take that carcass to Kenzie, and you pray she knows how to perform a transplant.” “If she even knows how to hold the scalpel.” I pushed open the door and walked out. Behind me, I heard the crash of Derek throwing something against the wall, followed by the muffled sound of Kenzie sobbing. The moment the elevator doors slid shut, I collapsed against the steel wall. My legs were shaking. It wasn’t out of fear. It was the realization that three years of my life were truly, irreversibly gone. It felt like I had just taken a knife and hacked off my own arm. But that arm had been attached to a body that was poisoning me. It was never truly mine to keep. So be it. I knew how to grow a new one. 4 I walked out of the office lobby and stood on the sidewalk for ten full minutes. I didn’t call an Uber. I didn’t start walking toward the subway. I just stood there, letting the city noise wash over me. When the wind hit my face, I suddenly felt incredibly, impossibly light. A profound lack of gravity. I hadn’t felt this way in thirty-six months. Then, my phone started buzzing violently. The industry group chats were detonating. “What the hell is going on with Curated Living? The entire grid is wiped?” “Our campaign is supposed to run on that page next week!” “The PR reps are screaming in the brand chat—” “Who did it?” “Rumor is the creative director behind it went rogue and nuked the whole thing.” “Holy shit. Legend.” I swiped the notifications away, hailed a cab, and went straight to my apartment. Once home, I took a scalding hot shower. I put on my favorite oversized sweatpants, made a cup of tea, and sat down at my desk. I plugged in my external hard drive. Three years of raw footage. Every single master script, the entire B-roll library, my proprietary hook-formulas, my lighting diagrams—it was all there. I didn’t steal this on my way out. I’ve backed up my files every single night since day one. Not because I was paranoid or plotting a coup. But because this wasn’t just “content” to me. It was my craft. I opened the app and created a new account. I didn’t use a clever brand name. I just used my name: Talia. For the bio, I typed one sentence: Spent three years building a 10M empire behind the lens. Now, I’m stepping in front of it. Then, I recorded my first video. I didn’t set up the Sony rig. I didn’t bother with a mic. I just propped my iPhone against a coffee mug on my desk and hit record. For three minutes, I just talked. I talked about grinding in the content machine for three years, single-handedly carrying the creative weight of a massive platform. I talked about the algorithms I cracked, the burn-out I survived, the exact psychology of pacing a video to retain viewer attention. I never mentioned Derek. I didn’t name the company. I just spoke with the quiet, lethal authority of a woman who knows exactly what she is talking about. I hit publish, turned my phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’, and fell into bed. For the first time in three years, I went to sleep before midnight. When I woke up the next morning, I had seventy-three unread text messages. The first was from Joanna, the VP of Marketing at Lumina Beauty. “Talia, I heard you walked. Technically our contract is with the LLC, but between you and me? We only signed because of you. Without your creative direction, we’ve already sent their legal team a cease and desist. When the dust settles, let me take you to lunch. I have a new rollout I want you leading.” The second was from Mark, my main equipment and studio supplier. “Hey T. Derek sent that girl Kenzie to deal with me this morning. She practically demanded our floor-bottom wholesale rate right out of the gate. I told her that rate was a favor to you, and asked who the hell she was. She hung up on me. Total amateur hour. If Derek thinks she’s taking your place, he’s out of his mind.” The third was from Josh, the junior editor who sat two desks down from me. “Talia, I put in my two weeks today. Derek is literally having a meltdown, smashing keyboards. Kenzie has been crying in the bathroom for an hour. The phones are ringing off the hook from sponsors and no one knows how to put out the fires. If you’re starting your own thing… please take me with you.” I read the texts, walked into the kitchen, and put some water on to boil for oatmeal. While I was stirring the pot, I opened the app to check my new account. My raw, unedited desk video? One hundred and twenty thousand views. The top comment, pinned by the algorithm: “Wait… is she the mastermind behind Curated Living?!” The replies underneath it were a landslide. “Omg that makes sense why all their videos just disappeared!” “Wait, she did all that by herself??” “Followed instantly. I’m only here for her anyway.” I locked the screen and took a bite of my breakfast. There was no rush. 5 By day three, my personal account hit one million followers. On that exact same day, Derek received his first formal lawsuit. It was from Lumina Beauty. The contract was for $300,000, explicitly guaranteeing specific deliverable dates and engagement thresholds. With an empty account, he had nothing to submit. They demanded a full refund of the advance, plus penalty fees. Total damages: $600,000. Then came the second letter. Then the third. Within a week, six major brands filed against him. The total combined damages exceeded four million dollars. I had negotiated every single one of those deals. The brands didn’t care about a shell company called ‘Curated Living.’ They cared about my eye, my conversion rates, my integrity. Derek started calling me like a manic ex-boyfriend. Thirty missed calls a day. I let every single one ring out into the void. On the fourth day, he tried calling from Kenzie’s number. I picked up. “Hello?” “Talia!” It was Kenzie. Her voice was completely unrecognizable. Gone was the saccharine, vocal-fry arrogance from the office. She sounded choked, thick with tears and panic. “Derek said you took all the brand contact sheets! And the suppliers won’t even reply to my emails—can you… please, can you just send over the handover documents?” “Kenzie, what was it you told me the other day?” Dead silence on the other end. “You said at my age, I’d be lucky to get a job bagging groceries.” “I—I was just joking…” “The handover documents are in my head, Kenzie. I can’t email them. Why don’t you ask Derek if he has them in his?” “Talia, please—” I hung up. On the fifth day, Derek was waiting by the security gate of my apartment complex. When I stepped out of my Uber, I genuinely almost didn’t recognize him. He was unshaven, his eyes sunken into dark, bruised hollows. His expensive dress shirt was wrinkled, like he’d been sleeping in his office chair. The man who had casually crossed his legs and told me to ‘step aside’ just five days ago was now leaning heavily against a concrete pillar, his posture completely broken. “Talia.” His voice was a rasp. “I can’t fix the brand deals. They won’t talk to me. You have to call them. Tell them it’s a misunderstanding, ask them to waive the breach penalties.” “They know you. They’ll listen to you.” I stopped a few feet away, clutching my iced coffee, just looking at him. “Derek, five days ago you sat in your plush office and told me the 0.1% was final.” “I’ll give you twenty percent now! Thirty percent! Just come back to the office!” “You told me I was aging out. You told me I couldn’t compete with Kenzie.” He ground his teeth together, the veins in his neck bulging against his collar. “I was wrong, okay?! I made a mistake! Just come back, name your terms, write your own contract.”

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My best friend was in a frantic rush to get out of town for some corporate retreat, and right before she bolted, she dumped her six-year-old kid—whom she’d had with a serpent shifter—on my doorstep. It just so happened to coincide with a brutal hundred-degree heatwave and a massive power outage. I was practically panting like a dog, sweat dripping down my neck. But then I looked at the little guy standing next to me. He was practically radiating cold air, blinking those huge, innocent eyes. I couldn’t help myself. I leaned down and pinched his chubby cheeks. “Tony, sweetie, your auntie is about to melt into a puddle. Can you cool me down a little?” The kid looked absolutely shocked. But then, with a soft poof, he shifted into his true form. A chubby, snowy-white, blissfully chilly little snake, coiling himself obediently around the crook of my neck. I thought I’d just hit the jackpot—the ultimate, free, portable AC unit. But before I could even fully enjoy the bliss, a few glowing, translucent lines of text suddenly flashed across my vision: [Oh my god! Is she insane? She’s literally cooling off in the waiting room of Hell!] [Does she seriously think that’s just a cute little garden snake? That is the nephew of the pureblood Frost Dragon King!] [She’s dead. She’s so dead. The Alpha Frost Dragon is arriving in exactly three seconds. Run, girl, run!] My breath caught in my throat. Before I could even untangle the “AC unit” from around my neck… The locked front door was blown entirely off its hinges by a terrifying, concussive force. But before the intruder could even take a step or unleash his wrath, the little “white snake” around my neck bristled in pure outrage. Two tiny, pure-white dragon horns sprouted from his head, and he let out a fiercely defensive, high-pitched squeak: “You let all the hot air in! I worked so hard to get Auntie cool!!” ······ 1 The weather this year was downright demonic. We were on our seventh straight day of triple-digit heat warnings. Outside, the asphalt was so hot you could have fried a strip of pork belly directly on the sidewalk. I was sprawled out on my living room floor, praying my ancient, rattling window unit AC would hold out long enough to keep me alive. Suddenly, my front door was pounded so hard it shook the drywall. I pulled it open to find my best friend, Sabrina, drenched in sweat. She shoved a massive suitcase through the threshold, dragging a neat, pale little boy by the hand. Her words tumbled out like rapid-fire artillery. “Peggy! You’re my savior! I will literally owe you my life!” “Corporate just called. I’m being sent to a mandatory, locked-down, off-site training retreat. My train leaves in twenty minutes and if I miss it, I’m fired.” “Please watch Tony for a few days!” I stared blankly at the kid. He looked about six, dressed in a ridiculously sharp little suit. Sabrina was always a bit of a chaotic storm. I knew she’d married a serpent shifter, but I had no idea their kid was already this big! Before I could ask a single question, she was already sprinting backward toward the elevator like her pants were on fire. “He’s… complicated! His father’s family is incredibly strict and controlling!” “He snuck out to visit me for a few days—whatever you do, do not let them find out he’s with you!” With that incredibly vague, terrifying warning, the elevator doors slid shut. I turned around. The little boy and I stood in the entryway, staring at each other. The brutal heat from the hallway leaked through the crack of the door, but… it was the strangest thing. This kid had just walked in from a hundred-degree inferno, yet there wasn’t a single bead of sweat on his forehead. In fact, I could feel a faint, cool aura radiating from him, like standing in front of an open freezer. “Hi, Auntie.” His voice was soft, clear, and oddly solemn. He was beautiful—like a porcelain doll. But his eyes—an incredibly rare, pale silver with sharp, slit-like vertical pupils—watched me with a wariness that didn’t belong on a six-year-old’s face. His tiny hands gripped his shirt hem so tightly his knuckles turned white. He took a small step backward, as if expecting me to reject him. I couldn’t help but laugh. I reached out and grabbed his tiny hand. Oh my god, the sensation. It was like pressing your palm against a block of rare, polished jade pulled straight from an ice bath in the dead of July. Pure, blissful, deep-chill perfection. “Tony, right? Come on in. It’s way too hot out there. Let’s get you some ice-cold watermelon!” I pulled him into the living room. He seemed entirely unprepared for a human this aggressively welcoming; his small body went rigid, and a soft, rosy flush crept up his pale ears. “…Okay,” he murmured. After rolling his suitcase into the guest room, I finally had a moment to look at him. The kid had movie-star genetics. He sat on my thrifted sofa with the posture of a little prince, and honestly, my dying window AC suddenly felt redundant. Within a two-foot radius around him, the air was crisp and perfect. “What do you usually eat?” I asked, pulling out my phone to order delivery. Tony held the spoon I’d handed him, sitting perfectly upright. “I’m not picky. Raw meat or ice cubes are fine.” My thumb froze over the screen. Raw meat? Ice cubes? Alright, shifter biology could be pretty hardcore, I knew that. But my apartment wasn’t some Neanderthal cave. I quickly opened a grocery delivery app. “No raw meat, buddy. Parasites. How about some fresh salmon sashimi, some sweet chilled scallops, and cold noodles? Sound good?” Tony blinked, his silver eyes shimmering with slight surprise. Clearly, nobody usually consulted him on dinner. He nodded softly. “Yes, please.” 2 For the next two days, Tony was an absolute angel. No crying, no tantrums, no messes. He ate on schedule, slept on schedule, and even took his own baths—though he took them exclusively in ice-cold water, leaving the bathroom smelling like a winter morning. On the third afternoon, I was curled up on the sofa with my laptop, frantically hammering out a freelance writing deadline. Suddenly, a heavy, rhythmic thudding echoed from the hallway. It wasn’t just one person. It was the synchronized, light-footed march of trained men. Definitely not my neighbors. Then, a violent, demanding knock shook my front door. Bang! Bang! Bang! “Who is it?” I called out, peeking through the peephole. Standing in the corridor were three burly men in tailored black suits and dark sunglasses, radiating pure, lethal menace. The leader had faint, iridescent scales tracing the back of his hand. I kept the deadbolt locked and asked coldly, “Can I help you?” The leader’s voice was a low, commanding rasp. “Open the door. Hand over the young master.” My stomach plummeted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You have the wrong apartment.” “Don’t play games, human,” the man snarled. A suffocating pressure—the heavy, instinctual aura of a powerful predator—seeped through the wood of the door. “I can smell him.” “Kidnapping the heir of our house is a death sentence. Open up now, and we might leave you in one piece.” Kidnapping?! I let out a sharp, angry laugh. These thugs had the audacity to break into a residential building and accuse me of kidnapping? “Kidnapping my ass!” I snapped, throwing the heavy deadbolts into place and grabbing the high-voltage taser I kept by the door. “I’m watching him for my best friend! Who the hell are you to roll up to a civilian apartment acting like you own the place?” “If you don’t back away from my door in three seconds, I’m calling the Shifter Registry Board. Let’s see how they handle rogue enforcers threatening humans in broad daylight!” The men outside clearly hadn’t expected a human woman to have this much backbone. The leader rattled the doorknob, finding it completely sealed. One of his subordinates leaned in, whispering, “Sir, there are cameras all over this hallway. If we breach the door and the human SWAT shows up, it’s going to be a PR nightmare. We can’t explain that to the boss.” “Now that we’ve confirmed the boy is here, we should report back first.” The leader growled, pressing his face close to the wood. “You got lucky today, human. Sleep with one eye open.” Their heavy footsteps quickly faded down the hall. A cold sweat broke out across my back. I leaned against the door, listening intently until I was absolutely sure they were gone. Only then did I let out a shaky breath and turn around. Tony was standing in the doorway of the guest room. His silver slit-pupils were fixed on the door, his tiny fists clenched so hard his arms trembled. The air around him was so cold I could see my own breath. “Auntie…” he whispered, his voice trembling with a complex mix of fear and guilt. “Aren’t you scared? They came to drag me back.” I walked over and gently ruffled his icy hair. It felt like soft silk kept in a refrigerator. “Of course I’m scared,” I admitted honestly. “My knees are practically shaking.” I gave him a reassuring smile. “But they’re not taking you from me. Your mom trusted me with you, and I don’t break my word.” Tony stared at me, his eyes wide. Then, slowly, he leaned his head forward and rubbed his cool cheek against my palm, murmuring, “Thank you, Auntie.” “One day, I’ll protect you, too.” 3 After that night, Tony and I became inseparable. The kid was just incredibly starved for affection and safety; once his walls came down, he was sweeter than sugar. But on the third afternoon, the universe decided to test me. It was 2:00 PM—the absolute peak of the heatwave. The sun was a blinding, white-hot laser beam beating down on the city. Then, a dull clunk echoed from the kitchen. My laptop screen went black. The window AC clattered to a halt. The comforting hum of the refrigerator died. A blackout. I cracked the window open, and within seconds, the neighborhood group chat on my phone was blowing up. A major substation transformer had literally exploded under the power demand. Repairs would take at least five to six hours. No AC in a hundred-degree weather. I was going to die. In less than twenty minutes, the apartment became a stifling, ninety-five-degree sauna. Sweat poured down my neck, plastering my t-shirt to my skin. I collapsed onto the sofa, panting like a stranded fish. Just as I was about to pass out, Tony walked out of his room. He was still wearing long sleeves and pants, completely dry, with a visible, misty white frost rolling off his shoulders. The moment he stepped close, the temperature around the couch dropped by at least ten degrees. I rolled my head over like a dying zombie, staring at my personal, beautiful little cooling unit. A wild, desperate idea took root in my brain. He stood there, radiating pure frosty bliss, blinking those huge, silver eyes. I swallowed hard and reached out, pinching his soft cheek. “Tony, sweetie… Auntie is literally about to evaporate. Can you… cool me down a bit?” Tony froze. His silver pupils dilated in pure, unadulterated shock, as if I’d just asked him to commit high treason. “But… but my true form is weird,” he stammered, blushing blushing. “It’ll scare you.” “Don’t be silly! Baby snakes are adorable! Smooth and chilly! Please, Tony, saving a life is a holy act. I’m literally going to cook in here!” I put my hands together, begging him with the most pathetic, heat-stroked eyes I could muster. Tony bit his lip. He looked at me, likely remembering how I’d stood up to those scary men for him, and finally capitulated. “Okay… just, don’t scream.” With a soft poof, the beautiful little boy vanished. In his place on the sofa lay a plump, snowy-white, incredibly chubby little snake. 4 “Oh my god! Look at you! You’re gorgeous!” My eyes lit up. I scooped up the chilly little serpent and draped him right over my collarbones, wrapping him around my neck. The freezing temperature pressed against my carotid artery, instantly sending a wave of absolute, heavenly relief straight to my brain. I let out a long, blissful groan and sank back into the cushions. “Tony, you are literally my savior. This is heaven.” The little white snake let out a tiny, resigned flick of his tongue. He was stiff at first, but slowly, he relaxed, coiling himself comfortably around my neck, even shifting his weight slightly so he wouldn’t press too hard on my throat. With my exclusive, organic, limited-edition AC unit secured, I spent the afternoon in absolute comfort. I ate semi-melted chilled grapes and scrolled through offline novels on my phone. The little snake lay perfectly still, enjoying the quiet. But then, a strange glitch occurred. A series of glowing, semi-transparent text lines—looking exactly like a live stream chat—began scrolling across my field of vision. [Oh my god! Is this girl suicidal? She’s literally chilling in the jaw of death!] I rubbed my eyes. Great. I was finally hallucinating from the heat. But the comments kept cascading down like a digital waterfall. [LMAO! She actually thinks that’s just a cute little garden snake?] [Look closer, girl! That’s a pureblood Frost Dragon! The actual royal bloodline of the northern shifters!] [Oh, she’s so dead. Dorian Hale, the Alpha of the Frost Dragons, has the worst temper in the entire supernatural underworld.] [He’s been tearing the city apart looking for his runaway nephew. He’s going to turn her into an ice sculpture and shatter her into a million pieces!] [High alert! The Alpha is literally three seconds away. RUN, SISTER, RUN! Or your ashes are going to be swept into a dustpan!] The smile froze on my face. Frost Dragon? The Alpha’s nephew?! I looked down, my body stiffening. The “little white snake” around my neck was currently blowing a tiny, sleepy spit bubble. Suddenly, the enforcer’s words from earlier clicked in my brain: “Kidnapping the young master is a death sentence.” He wasn’t some ordinary serpent shifter’s kid. He was the runaway royalty of the most terrifying, lethal shifter clan on the planet. A cold dread gripped my chest. Before I could even reach up to untangle the “AC unit” from my neck… The front door was blown off its hinges with a deafening crash! Boom! The heavy steel-reinforced door slammed onto the hardwood floor, sending up a cloud of plaster dust. Standing in the threshold was a tall, imposing man radiating an aura of absolute death. Silhouetted against the dim hallway light, his silver slit-eyes burned with a promise of utter destruction. But before he could even take a step or make a threat, the little white snake around my neck bolted awake. He bristled, two tiny, pearlescent dragon horns popping out of his head, and shrieked in pure, childish outrage: “You let all the hot air in! I worked so hard to get Auntie cool!!”

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1 On our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband abandoned me on a rain-drenched street corner in the middle of a torrential downpour. He had more important things to do, like watching the anniversary fireworks with his first love. When I called to confront him, his voice carried nothing but cold irritation. Instead of an apology, he sent me a link to a ninety-nine-cent trial service. “Glinda, get a grip on reality,” his text read. “If my parents hadn’t insisted on marrying a quiet, easily managed doormat, do you honestly think a girl with a fishmonger father would ever set foot in the Goldblum estate?” “If you’re so lonely, here is a ninety-nine-cent virtual boyfriend. You can talk to him all month.” “I bought this to keep you entertained. Next time you want to cry, do it to him. Stop ruining my night with Gemma!” Behind the screen, I could picture his sneer, discarding me like a stray dog begging for scraps. But I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just quietly tapped the link. After adding the contact on the app, I typed with numb fingers: “What does a ninety-nine-cent monthly subscription actually get me?” I expected automated sympathy or cheap platitudes. Instead, the reply came instantly, presenting a stark, ice-cold menu: [99¢ Premium Service Package (Promo Code: First Month Free)] [1. Assist client in liquidating and transferring illicit pre-marital assets, ensuring the cheating husband is left penniless.] [2. Systematically dismantle the mistress’s reputation, leaving her completely blacklisted in high society.] [3. Provide a secure offshore tax haven to guarantee your legal claim to the entire Goldblum fortune.] “Who… who are you?” The freezing wind bit into my cheeks, but my eyes remained glued to the screen. My fingers trembled over the keypad. A random virtual chatbot found on a discount app? How could he make such absurd promises of destroying the city’s newest tech tycoon and transferring Goldblum assets? The other side didn’t answer. Three seconds later, an image popped up. It was a high-resolution wire transfer slip. A transaction from two weeks ago, routed through an offshore account. The sender was my husband, Garrick Goldblum. The recipient was an offshore real estate agency. The memo line read: [Gift for my beloved wife, Gemma Lin. Final payment for the Malibu Cove Villa.] “Beloved wife.” A dry laugh escaped my throat. I had given up my graduate studies for this man. I had lived on instant ramen for a year, pulling all-nighters to sketch designs that secured his company’s first investments. Now that Goldblum Holdings was a multi-million-dollar empire, he was using our hard-earned money to buy a beachside estate for his childhood sweetheart, calling her his “beloved wife.” The cold numbers on the screen woke me up from a five-year dream. [Take your time to think. Do not act rashly until you have established your leverage.] That was the last message. The chat fell silent. I didn’t reply. I simply turned around and walked back to the mansion that supposedly belonged to Garrick and me. The next morning. The click of the electronic lock echoed from downstairs. Garrick walked in, his designer jacket draped over Gemma’s shoulders. She was clinging to his arm, looking fragile and small. When she spotted me sitting on the living room sofa, she shrank back with practiced vulnerability. “Garrick… is Glinda mad at me? I’m so sorry. The fireworks last night were just so beautiful, and I got a bit tipsy. I didn’t mean to drag you away from her…” “Why would she be mad? She doesn’t have the right to be,” Garrick cut her off, walking over to the sofa. He looked down at me, his voice sharp with command. “Glinda, Gemma is pregnant. The doctor said she’s extremely delicate and needs absolute peace. The master bedroom gets the best sunlight, so pack up your things today. You’ll be moving to the maid’s quarters on the first floor.” I gripped the armrest of the sofa. Pregnant? He truly didn’t care about appearances anymore. If this had been yesterday, I would have thrown a tantrum, smashing the glass on the coffee table. But now, all I could see was the eighty-million-dollar wire transfer. I stood up. “Fine. I’ll move.” Garrick blinked, visibly caught off guard. A flicker of irritation crossed his face. “What kind of mind game is this?” he sneered. “Don’t think playing the quiet victim will make me feel guilty. Glinda, remember who you are. Without me, a fishmonger’s daughter is nothing in this city. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll make sure Gemma is comfortable!” I ignored him and walked into the master bedroom. I pulled out my suitcases and packed my clothes, books, and our wedding memorabilia. No tears. No drama. While they were downstairs eating breakfast, I pulled out a micro-camera I had bought at a convenience store the night before. Stepping onto a chair, I carefully hid it inside the smoke detector on the ceiling. I linked it to my phone, securing the live feed in an encrypted cloud drive. [Camera is live,] I texted the mysterious number. The response was prompt: [Patience. Let them expose themselves. Gather every piece of evidence showing him stripping marital assets. Remember, a hunter must play dead before drawing the net.] I locked my phone and dragged my bags down to the tiny service room. On the nightstand lay my hand-drawn drafts for Goldblum Holdings’ upcoming product line. I stared at them for a second, then tossed them straight into the trash. From this moment on, the Glinda who loved Garrick was dead. 2 On my third day in the service room, Garrick’s mother, Eleanor, arrived. She immediately pinched her nose as she entered the house. “Eleanor, what a lovely surprise! Please, sit down,” Gemma chimed, scurrying over with a freshly sliced fruit platter. “Oh, my sweet girl, don’t strain yourself!” Eleanor fussed, guiding Gemma to the sofa before turning a glaring eye toward me as I poured water in the corner. “Some useless hens can’t even lay an egg, yet they expect my pregnant daughter-in-law to wait on them?” “Glinda, is this how your dirty fishmonger father raised you? Dirt remains dirt, no matter how much gold you wrap it in!” I squeezed the glass in my hand, staring back calmly. “I’m finalizing the blueprints for next week’s corporate bid. I don’t have time for this.” “Oh, Eleanor, don’t be angry with Glinda,” Gemma sighed, rubbing her eyes with mock sadness. “She stays up all night drawing. It’s so hard on her. I just wanted to help look at her sketches, but I must have clumsy hands…” The front door swung open, and Garrick stepped inside. Seeing Gemma’s teary eyes, he rushed over and pulled her into his arms. “What happened? Who upset you?” “No one… I was just being careless…” Gemma sniffled against his chest. Eleanor scoffed. “Who else could it be but that ungrateful stray you took in? Gemma was only trying to help, and she gets treated like garbage!” “Garrick, I’m telling you right now, Goldblum’s reputation cannot be dragged down by a low-class street rat. Take her cards and car keys. Every single one.” Garrick frowned, walking over to me with an outstretched palm. “Hand them over.” That included the joint account card he had given me on our wedding day, which actually held my salary from working at his company. I pulled the card and the car keys from my pocket and tossed them onto the table. Garrick’s gaze drifted to the glowing computer monitor behind me. It showed the core design sketches I had spent three months perfecting for the upcoming international luxury bid. “Not bad,” Garrick muttered, turning to Gemma. “Gemma, aren’t you attending the anniversary gala as our chief designer next week? This is perfect. We’ll put your name on these blueprints. It’ll give you the perfect spotlight in front of the board.” I looked up, my eyes locking onto his. I had tolerated the financial abuse and the humiliation of moving into the service room, but now he wanted to steal three months of my sweat and blood to prop up his mistress? “That is my design!” I lunged for the computer to pull the external hard drive. “Garrick, don’t you dare!” “Get off!” Garrick shoved me back hard. I lost my balance, my forehead striking the sharp corner of the desk. A sharp sting followed, and warm blood began to trickle down my face, dripping onto the hardwood floor. I held my bleeding forehead, staring at him. Garrick flinched slightly at the sight of the blood, taking a half-step back, but he quickly recovered his cold composure. “Glinda, let’s get one thing straight. Everything you eat, drink, and wear comes from my pocket. Even your miserable life is funded by me!” “You work in my company, using my resources. Anything you draw belongs to Goldblum Holdings. Consider it paid for. Don’t push your luck.” With a swift yank, he pulled the USB drive from the port, wrapped his arm around Gemma’s waist, and headed for the door. “Come on, Gemma. Let’s go pick out your gown for the gala. We shouldn’t let this mess ruin our day.” Over Garrick’s shoulder, Gemma looked back at me, her lips curling into a triumphant smirk. The house fell dead silent. I leaned against the wall, letting the blood drip slow and heavy onto the floor. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was the mystery contact: [Does it hurt?] [Let them steal it. It’s a gold-plated death warrant.] I wiped the blood from my brow with the back of my hand. What Garrick didn’t know was that I had embedded custom timestamps and hidden digital watermarks deep within the source code. I opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a backup drive. Let them take it. I wasn’t just going to make them spit it back out. I was going to destroy them. 3 A week later, the Goldblum Group hosted its fifth-anniversary gala and new product launch. The grand ballroom of the Regent Hotel was packed with the city’s elite. Tonight, Garrick was set to unveil the design under Gemma’s name and secure billions in venture capital. I had no gown. Eleanor had ordered the maids to throw all my clothes into the incinerator. Instead, she had tossed a catering uniform at me that afternoon. “If you still want a roof over your head, you’ll work the floor tonight. Keep your head down, do your job, and keep your mouth shut.” I stood near the edge of the ballroom, dressed in a cheap vest and slacks, holding a tray of champagne. In the center of the room, Garrick stood with Gemma, who wore the Goldblum family heirloom, a rare pink diamond necklace known as the Heart of the Ocean. They were bathed in the adoring gaze of the crowd. “Thank you all for coming,” Garrick announced, raising his glass to Gemma. “Tonight is not only a celebration of our company’s journey, but also the debut of our brilliant chief designer, Gemma Lin. She is not only incredibly talented, but she is also carrying the future of the Goldblum legacy…” The crowd erupted into applause. I watched them silently. “Oh look, isn’t that the current Mrs. Goldblum?” a group of socialites whispered, walking over to my corner with their wine glasses. “Please, she’s the catering maid now. A street rat can wear designer shoes, but she’ll always smell like the fish market.” “Exactly. Can’t even keep her husband, lost her career, and now she’s serving drinks to the woman who replaced her. How pathetic.” “If I were her, I’d have jumped off a bridge by now. Some people have no dignity.” I ignored the venom, standing perfectly still. The phone in my pocket vibrated twice. [Showtime. I’m in position.] My palms grew sweaty. I was ready. Just then, Gemma detached herself from the crowd and glided toward me, holding a glass of red wine. “Glinda,” she said, her voice dripping with sweet poison, loud enough for those nearby to hear. “You shouldn’t be working like this. Garrick was just angry. Please, go rest. Seeing you like this breaks my heart…” She reached out to grab my arm. Before her hand even made contact, she twisted her wrist, splashed the dark wine all over her white designer gown, and threw herself backward onto the floor with a dramatic gasp. “Ah! My baby! Glinda, why would you push me? If you hate me, take it out on me, but please don’t hurt my child!” She clutched her stomach, whimpering on the carpet. Instantly, a crowd gathered. “Gemma!” Garrick pushed through the onlookers, his face pale as he scooped her into his arms. He stood up, spun around, and delivered a brutal slap across my face. The force of the blow spun my head to the side, the sharp metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. “Glinda! You psycho!” Garrick roared. “If anything happens to Gemma or the baby, I will personally destroy you!” The guests began to murmur in disgust. “How malicious! Pushing a pregnant woman?” “That classless woman is just consumed by jealousy.” “Garrick should have divorced her years ago!” I wiped the blood from my lip with my thumb. My hand slipped into my pocket, gripping the backup USB. “I didn’t push her,” I said, looking Garrick dead in the eye. “You dare lie!” Eleanor pushed through the crowd, pointing a manicured finger at me. “If you didn’t push her, did she trip herself? Security! Hold this crazy bitch down!” 4 Two heavy-set security guards grabbed my shoulders, pinning my arms behind my back. “Let go of me!” I kept my spine straight, looking directly at Garrick. “There are security cameras everywhere. Pull up the feed, and let’s see who the real actress is.” “The cameras are undergoing maintenance tonight!” Eleanor spat. Of course they were. It was a setup designed to ruin me publicly. “Garrick…” Gemma whimpered, clutching her chest. “My ring! Garrick, the diamond! The pink diamond is gone!” Gasps rippled through the ballroom. “What?!” Eleanor shrieked. “It was right on your neck a second ago! You were the only one near her, Glinda! You thieving little rat, you stole our family heirloom!” Eleanor lunged forward, clawing at my catering vest. Pinned by the guards, I couldn’t move. With a dramatic flourish, Eleanor pulled a glittering diamond ring from my pocket, letting it clatter onto the floor. The room fell silent before erupting into a chorus of insults. “Oh my god, she actually stole it!” “Assaulting a pregnant woman and stealing jewelry. She’s not just pathetic, she’s a criminal!” “Trash is trash. You can’t wash away that kind of filth.” I stared at the ring on the carpet. A cold laugh bubbled up from my chest. To get rid of me, they had resorted to the most cliché, desperate setup imaginable. “What are you laughing at? We caught you red-handed!” Garrick’s voice trembled slightly as he took a half-step back. He snatched a thick folder from his assistant and threw it right at my face. “Glinda, between the assault on a pregnant woman and the theft of a fifty-million-dollar heirloom, you’re looking at a lifetime behind bars!” Garrick picked up a microphone, his voice echoing through the ballroom. “But out of respect for our past, if you sign this divorce agreement and post a public confession admitting to your crimes, I won’t call the police.” He looked down at me, smug and entirely certain of his victory. He was convinced I would beg. He thought I couldn’t survive without him. I looked down at the document. The terms stripped me of every dime and saddled me with millions in shared marital debt. As the guards loosened their grip, thinking I was defeated, I wrenched my arms free and picked up the papers. “That’s more like it,” Garrick sneered. “Sign it, and get out of my sight…” I ripped the contract in half, then tore it into shreds, throwing the confetti right into his face. “I don’t need your mercy. Call the cops,” I said. “But before they get here, maybe the guests would like to see a different kind of show.” I pulled out the USB drive and walked toward the grand projection console. “Stop her! Grab that drive!” Garrick yelled, his face suddenly pale. Several security guards rushed toward me. I slotted the drive into the console, my finger hovering over the enter key. With one press, Gemma’s fake pregnancy, the plagiarized blueprints, and Garrick’s money-laundering schemes would be broadcast to the world. Just as my finger descended, the heavy double doors of the ballroom were slammed open. The chatter ceased instantly. Every head turned toward the entrance. A line of black-suited bodyguards marched in, forming a human corridor. Then, a man walked through. The entire room went dead quiet. The man scanned the room with cold, piercing eyes. I stood at the console, my hand frozen, staring at the intruder. Garrick’s face drained of color. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor. “You…” Garrick gasped, his voice shaking violently. “How are you alive… You’re supposed to be dead…”

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We were right in the middle of being intimate when my husband of ten years abruptly pulled away. “Honestly, I find this incredibly boring. You are just tedious.” The very next second, he walked straight to the guest room without looking back. When I stood outside his door, crying and begging him to open it, my son was busy pouring the warm bedtime milk I had prepared for him down the sink. “Daddy doesn’t like Mommy, so Archie doesn’t like Mommy either.” Late that night, entirely crushed by despair, the woman chose to hang herself in the study. But I am a top tier system host, born with an absolute deficit of empathy. When I took over the body, the System told me I had one wish. I pondered for a long time before speaking with icy calm. “I want to have some class.” So that very night, I did not go crying to my husband’s door again. Instead, I graced the biggest nightclub in the city with my presence. 1 The next day. Covered in a chaotic mosaic of hickeys in various shades of lipstick, I watched with great interest as Dillamond paid my bail with a face like thunder. [Ahhhhh! You stupid host, what the hell were you doing at the club last night!] [The male lead’s affection meter just dropped into the negatives! We are going to be obliterated at this rate, you jerk!] I ignored the noisy voice that had been buzzing in my head all night. Carefully, I adjusted the Burberry plaid silk scarf around my neck. I reached out and patted Dillamond’s broad, tailored shoulders. “Thanks. Whatever the fine is, I will wire you double later.” Dillamond’s spine jolted violently beneath my palm. He turned his face with great difficulty, gritting his teeth as he growled at me in a low voice. “Keep your voice down. Do you think it is glorious for Mrs. Lockwood to get caught soliciting female escorts?” I brushed it off, casually borrowing an excuse he used to give me all the time. “Nothing even happened between us.” “Stop being so paranoid.” Dillamond shook off my hand in disgust and strode ahead. “True. What could a woman like you possibly do to them anyway? You just wanted to get my attention.” A woman like me? Dillamond suddenly curled his lips into a smirk, turning back with a hint of cruel amusement. “I get it. Just because I said you were boring last night, you wanted to sneak out and learn a few tricks from other wo…” The rest of his sentence died in his throat. As his eyes swept over my entire figure, he suddenly jumped back as if stung by a hornet. He did not even bother to pick up his favorite designer sunglasses that had slipped from his face and clattered onto the pavement. He just frantically reached out, his hands trembling as he touched my waist. “Sylvia, are you insane? What did you do to yourself?” “What are these rock hard ridges on your stomach?” I shook my head and sighed to the System. “Look.” “Look at how interested he is in me now.” System: [?] [Care to repeat that? Does this look like normal romantic interest to you!] I let out a helpless, breathy laugh. Then, effortlessly, I caught Dillamond’s hands as he tried to feel further down. I pressed my long, slender knuckles against his lips, which were flushed red from agitation. I spoke with dripping indulgence. “Be good. There are too many people around, do not make a scene.” “I know you like it. Wait until we get home, and Daddy will let you take your time and look all you want.” After a burst of chaotic static in my brain, the System let out a roar of absolute despair. [What the hell are you talking about! Did the original host’s hanging cut off the oxygen to your brain too?] [And why are you acting like the dominant CEO! Dillamond is the actual male lead of this book!] I absentmindedly planted a soft kiss on the corner of Dillamond’s mouth to soothe his growing restlessness while replying to the System. “Who made the rule that there can only be one male lead? I have heard of a genre called double male leads.” Right as the System and I were deeply debating why romance novels could not have two alpha male leads, Dillamond finally snapped out of his daze and violently broke free from my grip. He frantically wiped his mouth, gagging, his eyes red as he roared at me incoherently. “Get away from me, you freak! This is disgusting. You belong in an asylum. I want a divorce!” I looked at him with profound disappointment, as if watching a street urchin throw a tantrum. “You are being entirely too unreasonable. You know I prefer my partners to have some dignity.” “I will give you some time to cool off.” Then I slipped into his Porsche parked by the curb. Without a shred of hesitation, I slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The System instantly started screaming in my head again. [Who is the one that needs to cool off!] [Did you not see the male lead looking like he was about to wet himself? How are you supposed to win his heart now that you are acting like a macho man!] [Turn the car around right now and apologize to him sincerely! Tell him you will never go to a nightclub again!] Just as the System’s pitch reached a piercing high C, a sudden notification chimed. [Book’s Abuse Satisfaction Value +20] 2 The System’s screaming abruptly changed its tune. [Wait, what?] I curled the corners of my lips into a faint smile. “I am the main character too, am I not?” “I am perfectly capable of abusing others to make myself feel good.” I left Dillamond stranded on the sidewalk and drove back to the Lockwood estate with zero guilt. As I walked through the door, the usually quiet house was echoing with sharp, piercing wails. My eight year old son, Archie, was currently burying his face in my mother in law’s chest, crying as if his heart had been shattered. “I do not care, I want Auntie Lily to be my mommy!” “Mommy is mean and bad. She never takes me to play with other kids like Auntie Lily does. Archie hates the mommy we have now.” His pale little face, which looked exactly like a miniature version of Dillamond, was completely red from sobbing. My mother in law, her heart aching, kept wiping the teardrops from his cheeks. “Do not cry, my sweet boy. Grandma will tell Daddy to bring Auntie Lily home to marry him, okay?” As she coaxed him, her own anger flared up. “If Dillamond had not been so young and blind back then, insisting on marrying Sylvia, there is no way she could have scammed her way into our family.” “Look at Lily. She is so much better. Young, beautiful, and a PhD graduate. She would be a million times better at raising a child than this useless housewife.” “When Dillamond gets back, I am going to convince them to divorce immediately!” Archie did not understand the heavy words, he just kept hiccuping. “Thank you, Grandma. Archie loves Grandma the most.” The System was pacing anxiously in my head. [Why is this little brat turning on you? The original host used to love him more than her own eyes.] [Host, hurry up and butter up this vicious mother in law. If the male lead really marries the side character, we are totally screwed!] I slightly narrowed my long, sharp eyes, shooting a dangerous glare at the crying child. I reached out with a long arm, hauling him into my embrace by his collar, and warned him in a low, husky voice. “You spineless little thing. How can a son of Sylvia shed tears so easily?” Seeing me, the deep disgust on my mother in law’s face froze into shock. “Sylvia, what the hell are you wearing? Are you trying to get yourself killed looking like some androgynous freak?” “Children do not lie. If you are unlikable, do not take your anger out on Archie!” I ignored her completely, offering my son a merciful promise instead. “By the end of this year at the latest, I will give you a few younger brothers to keep you company.” Archie froze for a few seconds. Then, terrified tears instantly flooded his eyes again. “Archie does not want brothers!” “Mommy promised Archie would be Mommy and Daddy’s only favorite child!” He looked toward his usually doting grandmother out of habit, begging for help. But upon hearing the words younger brothers, my mother in law was practically ecstatic. She brushed Archie off with a half hearted pat. “Archie, you are still too young. When you grow up, you will understand the benefits of having brothers.” “When your little brothers are born, you have to let them have their way. You need to learn how to share and never bully them.” Archie’s little face went deathly pale, and he started wailing even louder. My expression gradually turned freezing cold. I raised my hand and slammed it viciously onto the solid mahogany coffee table. “Did you not just say you wanted lots of kids to play with you? Now that I am actually going to give you brothers, why are you throwing a fit?” “Crying constantly, changing your mind every five seconds. You do not have my last name, and you do not even look like me. Why should I waste my time raising a useless child like you?” “Shed one more tear, and you will stand in the corner of the study for half an hour.” Archie stared at me in pure disbelief, then opened his mouth and howled as if his lungs were tearing apart. “Mommy is mean! Bad Mommy, ugly Mommy! Get out of my house! I want Auntie Lily to be my mommy!” I stood right where I was, my eyes as cold as if I were training a disobedient dog. “Are you done crying?” “You can sleep on the floor of the study tonight.” I grabbed the wrist of my mother in law, who was trying to rush forward to comfort him, pinning it down hard. “Do not bother playing the saint. If you love serving a prince so much, go give birth to one yourself.” “Your husband was a very generous man in his youth. If you look hard enough, you might even find a few of his illegitimate kids to bring home.” 3 I dropped like a nuclear bomb, equally traumatizing everyone in the room. The System was already jumping up and down in sheer panic inside my brain. [It is over! Host, your life is totally over!] [Great, just great. You managed to deeply offend the two people the male lead cares about the most in one breath. Let’s just pack up our bags and hit the reset button.] I remained completely unbothered. I grabbed Archie by the collar and marched him all the way into the study. I forced him to stand right in front of the noose that was still firmly bolted to the ceiling. Only then did I raise my eyes, looking at that thick hemp rope, which still bore faint, dark red stains. “Last night, you poured out the bedtime milk I warmed for you, did you not? You said you only wanted to eat things made by Auntie Lily.” Archie stiffened his neck, shivering violently in fear, yet stubbornly refusing to look at me. I lowered my head, looking at him with a sliver of genuine pity. “As you wish.” “The love you so deeply despised will never be given to you again.” “Stand here and think about it. Consider it our final goodbye.” Archie did not get the comfort he imagined. He had no idea why his mother had suddenly become so bizarre and icy. Looking utterly pathetic, he tentatively reached out, trying to hug my leg. “Mommy, Archie knows he was wrong.” I remained entirely impassive. “You already did the thing you are sorry for, so keep your apologies to yourself.” He was sorely mistaken if he thought I would act like that pitiful woman. She would have melted into a puddle of forgiveness at the first sign of a half hearted apology. Not me. Ignoring the teary eyed child, I walked into the master bedroom and dove into the soft, luxurious mattress. In the dead of night, someone pounded urgently on my door. “Sylvia! Archie is having febrile seizures from a high fever! Get up right now and take him to the hospital!” It took me a long moment to process the noise before I slowly sat up. My hands patted around the nightstand. I easily pulled out a brand new pair of industrial earplugs. Dillamond used to wear these all the time. Because he detested the sound of my light breathing and the faint rustle of my pajamas when I slept. Once I put them in. Archie’s crying and the chaotic panic of the Lockwood household instantly vanished. They worked wonderfully. Forgive everything before you sleep, hold all grudges when you wake up. When I opened my eyes again, I felt incredibly refreshed. But it seemed someone else was the one holding a grudge. I was gently biting off a strand of pasta, enjoying my morning intermittent fasting routine. Suddenly, Dillamond’s cold, impatient voice echoed from the top of the stairs. “Lily is returning from abroad today. Give me the car keys, I am picking her up from the airport.” I paused my chewing. “Archie was hospitalized last night. He relies on Lily the most. From today onward, I am having Lily move in to keep him company.” “Sylvia, do not say I did not warn you. The crazier you act, the faster whatever feelings I have left for you will disappear.” “That girl is not like you. I sponsored her education, and she just graduated and entered the real world. If you dare to use your disgusting, underhanded tricks on her…” He tapped his fingers lightly against the stair railing, looking down at me with ruthless indifference. “I would not mind letting her become Archie’s actual mother.” I remained silent, meeting his gaze. The System was already losing its mind. [Dead dead dead! We have officially entered Nightmare Mode!] [Who told you to play crazy and ruin all your relationships! You stupid host, are you trying to destroy me?] The moment Dillamond turned his back to leave. I finally stood up, staring at him without blinking. “I think, between us, we should at least have a fair competition.” Dillamond looked as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. A mocking sneer touched his lips. “You? You think you can compete with Lily?” “Stop making a scene, Sylvia. Just sit quietly in your position as Mrs. Lockwood. Is it not better to just take the money and forget about love?” “This is the biggest concession I am willing to make, and it is only because you gave birth to Archie.” I watched Dillamond’s arrogant, aloof silhouette. I shook my head in regret. Who said I was competing with Lily for the title of Mrs. Lockwood? I picked up the phone from the table, which had been buzzing continuously from last night all the way to this morning. Slowly and methodically, I replied to Lily’s message. [Okay, I accept your confession.]

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Monday morning. I was standing in the conference room, waiting for our new intern to finish photocopying a contract. The irritating whir of the paper shredder finally ground to a halt. She turned around, cradling a massive pile of paper confetti in her arms, looking at me as if expecting a gold star. My eyes zeroed in on the remnants of the paper. It was the original copy of the thirty-million-dollar contract we had just signed. My blood pressure instantly spiked to a stroke-inducing level. “Are you out of your damn mind?!” Her lower lip quivered, and massive crocodile tears immediately pooled in her eyes. “I… I didn’t know. You are being too mean.” Right at that moment, a string of glowing pink text suddenly floated through the air right in front of my eyes. [The CEO is angry! He definitely thinks our baby girl is so clumsy and cute!] [This is such a unique way to get his attention! She didn’t shred paper, she shredded the walls around his heart!] [So sweet! The domineering CEO is falling for his clumsy little wife!] Domineering CEO? Walls around my heart? Cute my ass! That was a thirty-million-dollar deal I spent six months negotiating! And I need these floating idiots to open their blind eyes. I am a female Vice President! 1 “VP Wright, look!” Bella held up the overflowing wastebasket with a proud smile. “Nobody has used that shredder in days. I was worried it might rust, so I shredded all the papers on the desk to keep it running.” “Aren’t I so thoughtful?” I stared at the bucket of destroyed documents, feeling the blood rush straight to my temples. “Are you completely out of your mind?!” Bella shrank back, her eyes turning red. She bit her lower lip and looked up at me through her lashes. “I… I was just trying to help…” she whimpered, her voice dripping with fake innocence. “You are so fierce, you terrified me.” Another string of glowing pink text materialized out of thin air, scrolling rapidly across my vision. [Wow! The CEO looks so hot when he’s mad! Is he just trying to cover up how fast his heart is beating for her?] [She didn’t just shred a contract, she shredded his defenses!] [Is this the legendary enemies-to-lovers trope? I am living for this!] I froze right where I stood. Through the translucent text, I could still see Bella’s pathetic, pouting face. The conference room door swung open. Mr. Harrison from Apex Dynamics had arrived early for our meeting. His polite smile completely vanished the second he saw the floor covered in shredded paper and Bella clutching the wastebasket. “VP Wright,” Mr. Harrison said, his gaze darting between me and the crying intern. “What exactly is going on here? Where is the contract?” I forcibly swallowed my boiling rage. “Mr. Harrison, my apologies. There has been a slight accident…” “VP Wright!” Bella let out a high-pitched shriek and dove right behind me. She grabbed fistfuls of my tailored suit jacket, pressing her body flat against my back. “Mr. Harrison, please don’t blame him! It is all my fault, I was just too clumsy. VP Wright was just disciplining me…” She shivered dramatically behind me, her fingers wrinkling the expensive fabric of my jacket. Given our current posture, Mr. Harrison was absolutely going to think we were engaging in some sort of twisted workplace roleplay. Mr. Harrison’s face turned dark. “VP Wright,” he said, his tone turning to ice. “I was under the impression that you were a professional.” “I had no idea your private life was so colorful that you needed to bring it into the boardroom for entertainment.” He turned on his heel and stormed out. Thirty million dollars. Six months of my blood, sweat, and tears. I had literally been hospitalized three times for exhaustion and revised the proposal over a dozen times for this project. Now, it was all gone. “VP Wright…” Bella peeked out from behind my back, holding up a cup of boba tea. “Please don’t be mad. Have something sweet to calm down, okay?” She tried to shove the sickeningly sweet drink into my hands. I should have just thrown it right in her face. The pink comments went absolutely wild. [Look! His hand is trembling as he takes the tea! He is so emotional!] [He loves her so much! Even after losing thirty million, all it takes is a cup of milk tea from his baby to calm him down!] [This is pure indulgence! This is a CEO’s true love!] I looked at Bella’s innocent face, then looked at the brain-dead comments floating in the air, and suddenly let out a cold, hollow laugh. 2 The next morning, we held an executive debriefing. The conference table was packed with directors. Declan Cross, our CEO, sat at the head of the table, flipping through the damage report with a face like thunder. I stood in front of the projector screen, my back perfectly straight, analyzing our contingency plans point by point. “The legal team at Apex Dynamics has given us a forty-eight-hour grace period. For the new clauses, I will…” The door banged open. Bella pranced in carrying a tray of black coffees. She wasn’t wearing her corporate uniform. Instead, she had changed into a tiny pink slip dress with a hemline that barely covered her upper thighs. Declan’s brow furrowed into a deep V, but he didn’t say a word. “You all worked so hard!” Bella chirped, her voice airy and overly sweet. “Freshly brewed coffee to wake everyone up.” She bypassed several senior directors and made a beeline straight for me. Seeing that walking disaster in pink approaching, I immediately took a half-step back. “VP Wright, you have been talking for so long. Your throat must be so dry, right?” I didn’t take the cup. I just stared at her. “Put it on the table.” “Oh, come on, just take it. I brewed it especially for you…” She shoved the cup forward. Somehow, her left foot tripped over her right, and she pitched forward. The scalding coffee flew out of her hands and splashed directly onto my lower half. My suit trousers were instantly soaked. Acting on pure reflex, I raised my hands and shoved her away before she could plaster herself against me. “Ah!” She fell sideways, her short skirt flipping up. She clutched her elbow, tears instantly spilling from her eyes. “I am so sorry… I am sorry, VP Wright. I wasn’t trying to seduce you… Please don’t touch me like that in here…” Dead silence fell over the conference room. Over a dozen pairs of eyes stared at Bella’s exposed underwear. Then their gazes shifted to my crotch, which was currently dripping with hot coffee. Finally, they looked at my hands, which had just pushed her away. Someone awkwardly coughed and looked down. Others exchanged subtle, knowing glances. The pink comments danced across the air. [Wet shirt play! So spicy!] [He is panicking! He felt so bad seeing his baby fall!] [He only pushed her away because he was afraid he couldn’t control his urges if she touched him!] [And look where he got wet… Hehehe!] “Rowan!” Declan slammed his hand on the table. “What the hell are you doing?!” All he saw was me shoving a crying girl to the floor. I didn’t bother wiping the stain. I didn’t even dare to move my legs. “Declan, she just threw boiling water on me.” “You were clearly trying to grab me… your hands were everywhere…” Bella hugged her knees, shivering like a leaf. “VP Wright, we are in the office. There are people watching…” Her words made absolutely no sense, but they successfully cemented the dirty rumor. Declan threw his files onto the table. “Get out.” He pointed at the door. “Rowan, go clean yourself up. Bella, you leave too.” I grabbed my folder and practically sprinted to the restroom. Locking myself in a stall, my hands shook as I unbuckled my belt. The inner skin of my thigh was an angry, blistering red. Outside the stall, I could hear hushed whispers. “Did you hear? VP Wright just sexually harassed the new intern right in the middle of the boardroom.” “I knew it. He uses his executive status to act all proper, but since he’s a guy, you know he plays dirty behind closed doors.” “That poor intern was crying so hard. I heard she spent the night in his office a few days ago…” I didn’t go to the hospital. I needed a new proposal drafted within forty-eight hours. I blindly smeared some burn ointment on my leg, wrapped it in gauze, changed into my backup trousers, and marched back to my office. At eleven o’clock. I finished inputting the final set of core data. All I had to do was run it through the modeling software, and the risk assessment would be complete. I hit the Enter key. My screen flickered. The monitor went pitch black. Three seconds later, the screen lit up again. But it wasn’t my desktop. It was a bright pink loading screen. Right in the center, in bold, cursive font, read: Love Simulator: The Domineering CEO’s Personal Secretary. The system threw up a fatal error. My hard drive light blinked frantically before dying completely. Every single file, including my local backups, was wiped clean. “Surprise!” Bella bounded into my office holding a tiny cupcake, not even bothering to knock. “VP Wright, I saw how hard you were working, so I specially installed a stress-relief game on your computer! Are you surprised?” 3 I slowly turned my head to look at her. “You touched my computer?” “Yeah!” Bella blinked her big, innocent eyes. “This game is super fun! Once you max out the affection meter, you unlock…” “Get out.” Bella froze. “VP Wright?” “Get the hell out of my office!” She stumbled back in terror, dropping the cupcake onto the carpet. Tears immediately flooded her eyes. Her mouth scrunched up. “Why are you yelling at me… I was just trying to be nice…” Pink text literally bounced in the air around her. [Our clumsy beauty is so cute! She just wants him to have a healthy work-life balance!] [Who cares about a bunch of boring data when he has his baby’s love?] [He looks so hot when he’s mad! He’s just using anger to hide how flustered she makes him!] [Kiss her! Press her against the desk and kiss her right now!] I stared at the floating words, the veins in my temples pulsing violently. “Boring data?” “That is the livelihood of hundreds of employees for the next month! It is something a brainless idiot who only thinks about being in heat could never comprehend!” I pointed directly at the door. “Disappear from my sight right now. HR will be contacting you tomorrow.” Bella’s expression stiffened. The very next second, she suddenly pitched her voice an octave higher and burst into screaming sobs. “VP Wright! Last night in your office, you clearly told me you loved how clumsy I was!” “You said I was like a little kitten! You even… you did all those things to me on the sofa… How can you just pull up your pants and pretend you don’t know me today?!” The CFO and several coworkers who were working overtime suddenly appeared at my door. They saw my face pale with absolute fury, while Bella huddled in the corner, shaking like a victim. “Rowan, this is…” The CFO adjusted his glasses, looking extremely uncomfortable. Bella wailed even louder. “I won’t leave! I gave my body to you, you can’t just throw me away! I don’t care about a title, I just want to stay by your side…” There were no security cameras inside the private offices. And I had been the only one pulling an all-nighter last night. My coworkers exchanged loaded glances, looking me up and down before turning their pitying eyes to Bella. “Rowan, this is really too much,” the CFO shook his head, turning to walk away. “You young men really need to watch your professional boundaries.” The pink comments scrolled at lightning speed. [Abuse your wife now, chase her in the crematorium later!] [10/10 execution! The rumors are locked in, he can never escape her now!] [Tonight is the perfect time to take him down!] [Sleep with him tonight! Once the rice is cooked, the domineering CEO will never be able to leave his baby!] The victory gala was held at the Grand Hyatt. Relying entirely on a proposal I had written by hand overnight, I managed to salvage the Apex Dynamics contract. To save face and show off our success, Declan invited over a dozen media outlets to the event. Bella was there too. She didn’t have an invitation, yet she was standing in the crowd wearing a plunging lace dress cut all the way down to her navel. I changed locations three times, and she followed me with a wine glass three times. Finally, in a secluded corner of the lounge, Bella blocked my path and offered me a glass of champagne. “VP Wright,” she said, pushing the flute toward me. “Drink this as an apology, and we can wipe the slate clean. Deal?” Several guests nearby turned their heads to watch. I took the glass but didn’t drink. “Too scared to drink it?” Bella leaned her body against mine. “Afraid I poisoned it?” I sidestepped to avoid her touch. Turning my back slightly, I dumped the champagne straight into the soil of a potted money tree, then raised the empty glass to my lips and tilted my head back. Five minutes later, my stomach began to burn. The chandeliers overhead blurred into glowing halos. The chatter of the crowd faded in and out. I pinched my thigh hard, but I couldn’t feel any pain. Whatever she used was incredibly potent. “Are you drunk, VP Wright?” Bella whispered right into my ear. “Let me help you.” She shoved me down a quiet corridor and into a private VIP suite, locking the door behind us. I collapsed heavily onto the leather sofa. Standing in front of the coffee table, Bella entirely dropped her innocent victim act. She reached up and violently ripped the collar of her dress. The lace tore with a loud rip. Then she messed up her hair and used her own fingernails to scratch harsh red lines down her arms. I couldn’t force a single sound past my lips. “System,” she muttered, staring at the empty air. “Has the item taken effect?” Pink comments exploded across the ceiling. [High-grade synthetic aphrodisiac deployed! You got this, Host!] [Forced love! Right here! So exciting!] [The villainous male side character has been immobilized. Please initiate the victim protocol immediately!] Bella suddenly unleashed a bloodcurdling scream. “Help! No, VP Wright, please! I am a decent girl!” She threw herself onto me, using her half-naked body to pin me down. She grabbed my paralyzed hand and forced it onto her chest. Crash! The door was kicked open. Declan, Mr. Harrison, and a swarm of reporters flooded the room. From their angle, all they could see was me pinning Bella to the couch. My face was flushed red, and my hand was aggressively grabbing her chest. Bella sobbed so hard she could barely breathe, desperately shoving at my shoulders. “He threatened me… He said if I didn’t obey him, I would fail my probation…” Declan stormed forward. “Rowan!” He pointed a shaking finger right in my face. “Look at what you have done!” He turned around and yelled at the security guards. “Call the police! Call them right now!” I opened my mouth to defend myself, but all I could do was gag on my own stomach acid. Bella shrank back and buried her face into Declan’s chest. In the blind spot where no one else could see, she tilted her head to look at me. The corners of her mouth curled up into a bright, victorious smile. The pink text completely flooded my vision. [Congratulations, baby! The villainous male side character has been eliminated!] [Now you are the terrified little bunny in the CEO’s arms!] [This is what happens when you mess with our clumsy beauty!] Right before my vision went completely black, I heard those five words echo in my mind. Villainous male side character. So I was nothing more than a stepping stone meant to add flavor to the male and female leads’ romance. I tried to raise my hand to rub my pounding forehead, but I was met with the sharp clatter of metal. My right wrist was yanked back. A pair of silver handcuffs locked me securely to the metal bedrail. Sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed was a female police officer in full uniform, staring at me coldly. “Awake?” The officer snapped her notepad shut. “Rowan Wright. You are under investigation for attempted sexual assault and workplace harassment. Given your medical condition, you are under supervised residential surveillance here at the hospital.” Heh. I closed my eyes. Villainous male side character. The entire foundation of Bella’s master plan relied on the core assumption that I was a “man.” Because I was a “CEO,” I was supposed to spoil her. Because I was a “male executive,” I was supposed to harass her. Because I was the “villainous male side character,” I was supposed to force myself on her. That so-called System had gotten my gender completely wrong. And Bella had never once bothered to question it. That was their fatal flaw. My phone was resting on the nightstand. The screen was lit up, bombarded with push notifications. Famous Corporate Executive Sexually Assaults Intern. A Beast in a Suit! The Dark Private Life of VP Wright. Survivor Bella Speaks Out: I Just Wanted to Do My Job. I didn’t even need to click the links to know the comment sections were praying I rotted in prison. People were probably already throwing red paint on my front door. “Officer.” The female cop looked at me coldly. “Save your breath for the interrogation room.” “The burn on my thigh needs a fresh dressing,” I said, slowly pushing myself up. “Also, I want to request a blood test.” The officer frowned. “A blood test?” “I was dosed with a heavy sedative last night. The residue should still be in my system. And…” I paused for a second. “I want to request that you personally conduct a preliminary physical examination on me, right here in this room.” “Check for what?” “Check my biological sex.” The officer froze. Her eyes scanned my face, completely bewildered. “What are you talking about? Your ID says…” “My ID says I am a woman,” I interrupted her. “But Bella, the media, and everyone outside this room seem to think I am a man.” The officer opened her mouth, but no words came out. She stood up, took three quick steps to the bed, and sharply drew the privacy curtain closed. Five minutes later. The curtain was pulled back. The officer’s face was rigid, a mixture of utter shock, deep embarrassment, and rising fury. “I will get a doctor in here to draw your blood immediately,” she said, her tone entirely stripped of its previous hostility. “And I will report this to my superiors right away.” I leaned back against my pillows, staring up at the blinding fluorescent lights. “Officer, I want to report a crime.” “Defamation, malicious framing, and poisoning with a dangerous substance.”

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