1 Heavy snow sealed the mountain passes, burying the jagged peaks in deadly white. As the only woman to conquer Deadwood Pass’s seventy-two switchbacks unscathed, I was offered a ten million dollar rescue job. The target was stranded at the ridge’s end. I’d been there before—ten years earlier. My seventeen year old daughter and her friends were paragliding when a sudden storm forced a brutal cliffside landing. Rescue never came in time. My girl froze to death on those merciless rocks. Later, I learned my husband, James, ignored her plight. He spent millions redirecting every helicopter and snowcat to save his first love’s child—who’d only sprained an ankle. That day, I quit my tenured professorship and moved to this frozen backwater, becoming a penniless tow truck driver. For a decade, I ran that lethal highway until every icy curve and drop was etched in my bones. No one else died on my watch. Now my best friend begged me to take this job, slapping the offer on my grease stained table. I glanced at the photo—a face I’d never forget—let out a dry laugh, and dropped my keys. “Not this one.” Jess was still riding the high of a massive payday dropping out of the sky. Hearing my words, she froze, her jaw practically hitting the floor. “Wait, Sarah, are you out of your damn mind? This is ten million bucks!” “We’ve been rotting in this frozen armpit of a town for a decade and haven’t seen a fraction of that kind of cash. And you’re just walking away?” We had bled and frozen together on these roads for years. Jess wasn’t about to let me throw away a winning lottery ticket. She physically blocked the door as I tried to leave the dispatch cabin. “Sarah, wake the hell up. Go splash some freezing water on your face and think about this! Ten years ago, you dragged yourself in here looking like a stray dog. You had nothing. Your ex-husband threw you away like garbage!” “This is your golden ticket! Don’t you want to shove this massive win right in his arrogant face? Make him grovel and beg for a second chance?” I gently but firmly pushed Jess’s hand away from the doorframe. My chest felt incredibly heavy. “I don’t care about getting back at anyone. My mind is made up. Drop it, Jess. I’m going home.” “Sarah!” Frustrated by my stubbornness, Jess was practically sweating despite the drafty cabin, screaming at my back. “Even if you bail on this, you need a damn good reason! I know you. You are not the kind of person who just sits back and watches someone die!” I stopped in my tracks. Slowly, I turned to look at her, my eyes entirely dead. “Maybe I am exactly that kind of person.” Jess’s chest heaved. “We’ve known each other for a decade. Every time the scanner goes off, you never say no. You are always the first one behind the wheel. It doesn’t matter if it’s an avalanche warning or a whiteout blizzard. When the whole crew begs you to stay back, you always say a kid’s life matters more than yours.” “How could you possibly be that cold? Sarah, just tell me why.” “There is no why. Find someone else. I’m not driving.” I pushed the door open. Jess followed me out into the biting cold, violently running her hands through her hair in pure agitation. “The weather up on Deadwood gets worse every year! A few guys tried to run it a couple of winters ago and none of them came back alive. If you don’t go, nobody on this mountain will touch that route.” “Are you sick? Is it your back? Look, I’ll ride shotgun. I’ll handle the winches and the heavy lifting, you just drive.” “You have to give us something, Sarah! The girls in our crew are drowning in debt. They are waiting for a miracle, and you owe them an explanation!” Looking out at the towering, snow-capped peaks in the distance, I asked myself what had kept me coming back to these seventy-two deadly switchbacks that had claimed so many lives. It was my daughter. It was her voice, echoing in my nightmares, crying out for her mom to save her. It was the sheer, desperate will to keep her memory alive. Even when I was bleeding out in a wrecked cab, I forced myself to stay awake. I swore to myself that no other mother in this world would ever have to feel the soul-crushing agony of losing a child. Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I fought back the tears threatening to spill. “I’ll explain it to the crew myself. Just stop pushing me.” Maybe it was the absolute, raw devastation in my eyes that finally silenced Jess. She didn’t try to block my path again. “I don’t get it,” she whispered. “But you’re my girl. I believe you have your reasons. I’ll go talk to the others.” Before I could even reach my beat-up truck in the yard, my burner phone buzzed. It was a number I had spent a decade trying to scrub from my brain. “My wife and I are almost at the base of the mountain. I want to know why you’re refusing the extraction. Is it the money? I can write a check for another ten million right now.” “Or name your price. As long as you pull my daughter off that ridge, I will give you anything you want.” That familiar, suffocatingly arrogant voice pierced right through my eardrum, exactly the same as it was ten years ago. My knuckles turned white around the plastic casing of the phone. “I don’t want anything. I cannot save your daughter.” James didn’t recognize my voice. He began to shout, the polished veneer cracking to reveal a desperate, trembling panic. “You sound old enough to be a parent! Do you not have kids of your own?” “If your child was trapped in a freezing death zone, could you really just sit there and leave them to die?” 2 Leave them to die? A bitter, twisted smile crept onto my lips. Back when I found out James had diverted the entire fleet of helicopters for his first love’s kid, I had screamed those exact words at him. I had screamed until my throat bled, asking him how a stranger’s child could possibly be more important than his own flesh and blood. He was terrifyingly calm. His voice over the phone hadn’t held a single tremor. “I had the medical team analyze their vitals. Sophie has a stronger baseline constitution than Beth, so logistically, we had to secure Sophie first.” “Neither of us wanted anyone to die. It’s a tragedy, but the situation is what it is. I’m grieving too, you know.” He claimed he was grieving, yet the moment I shoved the divorce papers at his chest, he turned around and married his precious first love before the ink was even dry. “The kid up there isn’t your biological daughter, right? If she was your real flesh and blood, would you be doing all this?” James didn’t hesitate for a microsecond. “I don’t care about biology. I raised her. She is my daughter.” “And if she was my biological child? I would liquidate every asset I own and risk my own life to get her down from there.” Before I could even formulate a response, he let out a scoff of pure condescension. “Since you clearly did your homework and know I’m the CEO of Bode Holdings, you should understand that doing me this favor will set you up for life.” “I can bump the bounty to fifty million dollars. People like you couldn’t make fifty million if you worked for a thousand lifetimes.” “If you have half a brain, you’ll grab this ticket out of poverty instead of being a stubborn hillbilly and dragging your husband and kids down with you.” I actually laughed out loud. “You really are Father of the Year.” I had dreamed of my little girl more times than I could count. In the dreams, she always looked up at me with those big, innocent eyes, asking why Daddy didn’t want to save her. Why he picked a friend’s daughter over his own. I could never give her an answer. Deep down, I knew the ugly truth. James never loved me, which meant my child was never going to be his priority. “Fifty million is a hell of a lot of money. But it’s a shame. I don’t need it. Find another driver.” I killed the call and powered off the phone completely. The second I stepped out of the yard, the rest of the crew swarmed me. Rhonda, our grizzled team captain, blocked my path. “Sarah, you can’t walk away from this. Do you have any idea who’s trapped up there? The Bodes. We are dirt-poor mechanics and tow-truck drivers. We cannot afford to piss off billionaires.” Of course I knew. James and Lexi’s fairytale wedding had been plastered all over the national news. A real-life romance that made the internet swoon. Nobody remembered me. Nobody remembered my daughter. “James is Sophie’s stepdad, but he treats her like gold! And he controls Bode Holdings. He practically owns Denver!” “And Lexi Bode? She’s a world-renowned surgeon. People like that can crush us like bugs.” Jess stood there with red eyes, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “On top of that, they did background checks. They found out about Brenda’s kid needing a kidney transplant. Lexi said if you drive the rig, she’ll pull strings at the transplant center. Toby will have a new kidney by next Friday.” Brenda dropped to her knees right in the filthy slush, dragging her sickly son Toby down with her. She looked up at me, absolutely broken. “Sarah. Please. I’m begging you. I’ll kiss the dirt you walk on. He’s my only baby. Please save my Toby.” Toby, his face pale and swollen from the dialysis, wrapped his thin arms around my work boots. “Auntie Sarah… I don’t want to die…” James hadn’t changed a bit. He still knew exactly how to manipulate human weakness. He was still completely devoid of humanity. I stood there in silence. I pulled a crushed cigarette from my leather jacket, lit it, and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into the freezing air. My voice came out like gravel. “Today is my daughter’s death anniversary.” Rhonda rushed to speak. “We know, Sarah, we remember! Once you get this kid down the mountain, we will all go visit Beth’s grave with you.” “Yeah!” Brenda sobbed, snot and tears freezing to her face. “You’ve saved so many kids out here! Just save Toby too! This is the only chance he has left!” Before I could say another word, the deep, aggressive roar of a V8 engine echoed through the canyon. A sleek, matte-black G-Wagon skidded to a halt right in front of us. The heavy door swung open. James stepped out into the mud, his sharp, predatory eyes locking instantly onto my face. 3 Almost immediately, naked disgust flashed across his features. He didn’t recognize me. I hadn’t seen a salon in years. After a decade of brutal mountain winters, I was no longer the radiant, soft-spoken, highly respected university professor he once knew. Right now, I was wrapped in a greasy, peeling leather jacket I hadn’t washed in weeks. My face was weather-beaten, covered in rough windburn and premature, deep-set wrinkles from squinting into snowstorms. Compared to his tailored wool overcoat and pristine Italian leather shoes, I looked like absolute gutter trash. “So you’re the so-called legendary female driver of Deadwood Pass?” He let out a short, mocking laugh. “Do you have any concept of what fifty million dollars is? It could buy your pathetic life a hundred times over.” I didn’t answer. I just took another drag of my cigarette. The passenger door opened. Lexi stepped down into the slush. Her gaze swept over me. She tried to maintain a facade of calm grace, but the elitist superiority practically rolled off her in waves. “My husband’s delivery might be harsh, but he’s stating facts. Your entire crew works yourselves to the bone year-round, and what do you bring in? Maybe thirty grand? Split five ways?” “This fifty million won’t just buy you groceries. It will catapult you into a tax bracket you can’t even comprehend. It’s generational wealth.” “Are you really going to let pride ruin your life?” I gave her a faint smile. “My answer is still no.” “Why? Give me a rational explanation.” “I don’t need one.” James’s patience snapped. He glared at me, his eyes looking like chips of dirty ice. “Bullshit. Every human action has a motive. If you’re refusing, it’s because you think you have leverage to squeeze more out of us!” Lexi’s elegant mask finally slipped, her face hardening. “Look, don’t be greedy. People who bite off more than they can chew end up choking.” “You people reek of cheap booze and desperation. All you want is to climb out of the mud and be somebody, right? I can give you that.” “Cash, status, connections. I can get your husband a cushy corporate job in Denver. Whatever he wants, I can make it happen by making a single phone call.” “And your kid. I can get them into an Ivy League feeder school. Pay for a study abroad program in Europe. I’ll even set up a trust fund for when they get married and have kids of their own.” I chuckled, the sound dry and hollow. “Married and have kids?” Beth had actually talked about that. When she was a little girl, she watched some cartoon where the kids grew up and left the parents behind. She had buried her face in my chest, crying her eyes out. “Mommy, I’m never getting married! That way, when you and Daddy get old, I can just stay with you forever so you won’t be lonely!” Someone in the crew, eager to appease the billionaires, blurted out an answer to James. “Her ex-husband cheated on her, man. And her daughter passed away.” James raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms with a smug, knowing look. “Well, your ex-husband was a smart man. A cold-blooded, heartless woman who’d watch a kid die for leverage? Any random whore off the street would be a better partner than you.” “Walking out on you was the best decision he ever made. And your kid died? Let me take a wild guess. Was it your fault?” My hands balled into tight fists, my nails digging into my palms as I glared at him with pure hatred. James didn’t back down an inch. He sneered, enunciating every syllable. “When your kid was dying, were you acting exactly like this? Stubborn, detached, playing stupid mind games until you literally dragged her to her grave?!” “Shut your damn mouth!” I hissed through clenched teeth. The sheer venom in my eyes was impossible to hide. Lexi stepped smoothly in front of him, playing the diplomat. “Excuse my husband’s temper. But since you’ve been a mother, you should be able to empathize with the absolute panic of parents trying to save their child.” She glanced at her Rolex. “The blizzard hits in exactly thirty minutes. If we delay, the extraction becomes physically impossible, and you’ll be risking your own neck.” “Playing hard to get once is a negotiation tactic. Doing it twice is just arrogant stupidity. Get in your truck. Now.” When I still didn’t move, James suddenly pointed a manicured finger right at Brenda. “You can stand your ground. But what about these friends of yours? The ones who bleed with you? Are you really going to screw them over too?” “You cross me today, and not only will her kid never see a kidney donor, I will personally guarantee that everyone standing in this yard is blacklisted.” His voice dripped with absolute malice. “Unless you can guarantee your families will never get sick, there isn’t a single hospital in the state of Colorado that will admit you. And no company in this city will ever hire you.” 4 Brenda’s face drained of all color. She practically crawled to my boots, her tears running completely dry from sheer terror. “Sarah. Sarah, please. Please, I am begging you on my life. Just say yes.” “Nobody else can drive that ridge! Have some mercy, please look at my boy!” Rhonda’s face was grim. She grabbed my shoulders, letting out a heavy sigh. “The Bodes actually have that kind of power, Sarah. You have to…” I shoved Rhonda’s hands away. I looked down at Brenda and her frail son. In their desperate bid to survive, Brenda had slammed her head against the frozen ground so hard that blood was trickling down her forehead, mixing with the dirt. “I will figure something out for Toby,” I said softly. “But this gig… I really can’t do it. My hands are tied.” Something snapped inside Lexi. She lunged forward, grabbing the collar of my heavy leather jacket, and delivered a vicious, stinging slap across my face. Every ounce of her fake, upper-class grace evaporated. “We called every single rescue outfit in the state! They all said you’re the only freak crazy enough to run this pass, and now you’re telling me your hands are tied?!” “That is a human life up there! You let her die, and you are a goddamn murderer!” I let out a dark laugh. My hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of her expensive, blown-out hair. I yanked her head back and returned the slap, twice as hard. “You’re the goddamn murderer!” James, who had just watched his wife slap me with smug satisfaction, turned purple with rage the second my hand made contact with her cheek. “Get her!” he barked. The massive private security guards he brought swarmed me, slamming me face-first into the filthy, packed snow. James stepped forward, grinding the sole of his designer shoe directly into the side of my face. “You think you can lay hands on my wife, you piece of trash? You want to do this the hard way? Fine. Tie every single one of her friends up. For every minute she refuses to drive, throw one of them off the ravine!” I struggled wildly against the heavy boots pinning me down, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Don’t you dare!” “Watch me,” he growled, pressing his shoe down so hard I could hear my own teeth grinding together against the ice. “This place is off the grid anyway. We’ll just tell the cops your little crew got buried in an avalanche during a heroic rescue attempt. Who’s gonna prove otherwise?” The guards dragged Rhonda, Brenda, and the others toward the sheer drop at the edge of the yard. The first one they pushed to the brink was Jess. Sweat soaked through her winter gear despite the freezing wind. She was absolutely terrified, screaming back at me. “Sarah! Sarah, please! I don’t want to die! I haven’t even seen my boy graduate yet!” My eyes went bloodshot. I stared at my crew, my jaw clenched so tight I tasted copper. Slowly, I turned my gaze up to James’s face. “Pull them back from the edge!” James smirked. He lifted his foot off my face and surprisingly reached down, grabbing my arm to help me up. He even brushed the dirty snow off my lapels with a patronizing smile. It was as if the psychotic billionaire from three seconds ago had never existed. “I’m so glad you’ve come to your senses. I expect you to bring my daughter back without a single scratch on her.” “Because if anything happens to her, my wife and I will get very, very creative with you.” Hearing those words, a raw, manic laughter clawed its way out of my throat. I couldn’t stop. “Is that right? Losing a kid makes you suffer? Really? Because rumor has it, the kid you had with your first wife died too.” James’s eyebrow twitched violently. “You didn’t shed a single tear for her. You finalized the divorce, married the mistress without skipping a beat, and didn’t even bother to go to the morgue to identify your own daughter’s body.” “Do you ever think about her? Does your chest ache? When you wake up in the dead of night, have you ever shed a single goddamn tear for her?” James’s lips began to tremble. For a split second, a flash of genuine, agonizing pain cut through the ice in his eyes. “Who… who the hell are you? How do you know that? Did you… did you know me before?” I spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. “Someone as high and mighty as you? How could gutter trash like me ever know you?” “James, stop! A broke mechanic wouldn’t know us. She’s just reading tabloid garbage. Stop wasting time and get her in the truck!” Lexi grabbed my arm, practically dragging me toward my reinforced tow rig. “Get in the damn driver’s seat!” When I still refused to move my feet, she shrieked at the guards. “Throw the loudmouth off the cliff!” Rhonda screamed until her voice cracked. “Sarah, get in the truck! Are you really going to let Jess die? She’s had your back for ten years!” Jess was ghost-pale, her eyes wide with total despair. “Sarah, why?! At least tell me why before they kill me!” I squeezed my eyes shut. The pain radiating through my chest was so intense my knees almost buckled. “Because if I get up there,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a decade of suppressed venom, “I won’t be able to stop myself from wrapping my hands around her throat and choking the life out of her.” “I can save anyone in this godforsaken world. But I will never save her.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “455108”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Our marketing agency was practically bleeding out, inches away from total bankruptcy. I was the one who pulled us back from the ledge. I spent a month practically living at the office, surviving on black coffee and sheer willpower, until I finally locked down a ten-million-dollar contract that would save all our jobs. Just hours before the official ink was supposed to dry, my phone buzzed. A notification from the company’s main Slack channel. Brittany, our newest intern, had tagged me. [Hey Nicole. No offense, but I’m just curious.] [Did you take a massive kickback on this deal?] [The company is literally failing to make payroll, and you’re secretly lining your pockets. How do you sleep at night?] Within seconds, the typing bubbles from other coworkers flooded the screen. They were backing her up. Okay. Fine. I canceled my morning alarm. I wasn’t going to sign the contract. I was going to drop the entire ten-million-dollar account directly into our little intern’s lap. Let her see exactly how those “kickbacks” taste. 1 I had worked myself to the bone for thirty straight days. When I finally got the verbal confirmation for the ten-million-dollar account, I crawled into bed, ready to sleep for a week. Suddenly, my phone started vibrating off the nightstand. At first, I smiled. I figured the team had heard the news and was losing their minds with excitement. After all, management hadn’t issued a paycheck in two months. This deal meant everyone was finally getting their back pay, plus a massive bonus. I opened Slack, my thumb hovering over the screen, ready to type out a celebratory message. Then I read the chat. My blood ran cold. Brittany, a twenty-one-year-old intern, had publicly tagged me in the #General channel. [@Nicole, no offense at all!] [I just want to know… for a ten-million-dollar account, you must have negotiated a pretty sweet under-the-table cut for yourself, right?] [Every dollar you pocket is a dollar taken right out of our bonus pool.] [Based on what I know about the industry, you’re probably taking home at least seven figures in kickbacks, aren’t you?] My fingers froze over the keyboard. Every ounce of exhaustion vanished, replaced by a spike of adrenaline. Was she actually out of her mind? Did she seriously believe I was embezzling? Earlier that afternoon, right before I left the building, Brittany had cornered me by the elevators. She had given me this sly, conspiratorial wink and whispered something about me securing a “retirement fund” from the client. I was rushing to a final pitch meeting and didn’t have time for her games. I just told her to mind her own business and stepped into the elevator. She took that as a confession. Logically, I didn’t owe a junior intern an explanation. But Brittany was a special case. She was hired under the table, bypassing HR completely. The office rumor mill swore she had deep, personal ties with our CEO. Because of her supposed status, the rest of the desperate, unpaid staff treated her words like gospel. [Wait, seriously? The company is literally drowning and Nicole is skimming off the top?] [I haven’t been paid in eight weeks! Are you kidding me?!] [We all worked on the pitch deck. If she’s taking a secret payout…] We were in the most critical window of the negotiation. If the client caught wind of internal fraud rumors, they would pull the plug instantly. I swallowed my rage, kept my professionalism intact, and typed a response to the entire company. [Every single cent of the project funding is legally bound in the contract and routed directly into the corporate escrow account. I have not received a single dime in personal kickbacks. Do not spread baseless, defamatory rumors.] That last sentence was a direct warning. 2 The Slack channel went dead silent for a few minutes. Slowly, private messages started trickling into my inbox from the core team. [God, sorry Nicole. We just panicked. We know you wouldn’t do that.] [Yeah, we know how hard you’ve bled for this agency. Just ignore her.] [Brittany is just a kid. She doesn’t know how corporate billing works.] My team wasn’t stupid. They knew my character. I let out a long breath, tossed the phone aside, and let the sheer exhaustion pull me under. I had been averaging four hours of sleep a night. I passed out the second my head hit the pillow. The next morning, I walked into the bullpen with a coffee in hand, only to be met with dead silence and averted eyes. I pulled my lead designer, Jenna, into a glass meeting room. When she told me what happened, the floor dropped out from under me. While I was asleep, Brittany had created a new, private Slack channel. She invited everyone in the company. Except me. Jenna showed me the chat logs. Brittany had spent the entire night brainwashing the staff. [I can’t stand watching her play you guys for absolute fools while you’re struggling to pay rent.] [Nicole signed a backdoor deal. The official contract shows one price, but the client is paying her a massive consulting fee on the side.] [I have an inside source.] [She already pocketed a cool million.] [That million was supposed to be our hazard pay. Why are we letting her steal food from our tables?!] Between her untouchable status as the boss’s favorite and the absolute certainty in her tone, the desperate staff swallowed the bait. [What the hell do we do? A million bucks split between us… that’s five figures each.] [I can’t believe Nicole is a thief. Does Richard know?] [Telling the CEO won’t help if we don’t have paper evidence.] [She’s smart. She probably scrubbed the paper trail months ago.] Jenna looked at me, her eyes filled with conflict. “Nicole… I don’t want to believe you’d do this to us…” My heart ached. This was my team. But the agency hadn’t paid us in two months. People were missing mortgage payments. Panic makes people turn on each other. But what was Brittany’s endgame? Was she clinically insane? Regardless of whether the rumor was true, if this leaked outside these walls, our client would drop us like a bad habit. No company wants to work with a vendor under investigation for embezzlement. If the deal died, the agency died. None of us would ever see our paychecks. I had to cut the head off this snake right now. 3 Some things need to be handled in public. I marched out of the glass room and walked straight to Brittany’s cubicle. She was sitting there, sipping an iced latte, a smug little smile on her face. She was expecting me. Before I could even open my mouth, she leaned back in her ergonomic chair and spoke loud enough for the entire floor to hear. “So, Nicole. Does your conscience hurt at all? Stealing the team’s hard-earned money?” I had no idea where she got this psychotic delusion, but everyone in the bullpen had stopped typing. Dozens of eyes were locked on me. They needed an answer. I forced my voice to remain perfectly level. “Every single financial transaction goes through the corporate accounting department. I have absolutely zero private financial dealings with the client. Every wire transfer goes to the agency. Not a single cent touches my personal accounts.” Not to mention, the contract wasn’t even signed yet. Nobody pays a bribe before the ink is dry. Brittany stared at me, letting out a sharp, mocking laugh. “No private dealings? Really?” My stomach did a slow flip. She picked up her phone and tapped the screen. A second later, a notification chimed on every single computer in the office. She had dropped a photo into the main channel. It was a picture of me, taken from a distance, walking out of the client’s corporate lobby. I was carrying a heavy, polished wooden box. The kind used to hold vintage Macallan 25 Scotch. “Look closely, guys,” Brittany announced, her voice dripping with venom. “Nicole doesn’t drink. She hates whiskey. So why did the client’s VP personally walk her out and hand her a luxury liquor box? We’re all adults here. Do I really need to spell out what was stuffed inside that box?” The implication hung heavily in the dead air. Cold, hard cash. The moment the staff connected the dots, the energy in the room shifted violently. The looks they gave me turned from doubtful to downright hostile. 4 The picture was real. But there was no money in that box. I had been running between meetings all day and the heel of my Louboutins snapped cleanly off in the client’s lobby. Their HR director felt terrible. She gave me a pair of company-branded slide sandals to wear home and handed me an empty wooden display box from a corporate gift to carry my broken heels in. Saying it out loud in my head, I realized how incredibly absurd the truth sounded. Seeing my momentary hesitation, Brittany pounced. She slammed her hand on her desk, her eyes lighting up with vicious triumph. “See?! Look at her face! She’s completely speechless because she knows I caught her!” I gritted my teeth and explained exactly what happened with the shoes. Exactly as I predicted, nobody bought it. Even Jenna, who had warned me earlier, looked away, her face hardening with disappointment. Brittany looked me up and down, putting on a highly exaggerated theatrical performance. “Wow. A broken shoe? Really? If you didn’t do it, why are you sweating so hard to invent these ridiculous stories?” She fluttered her eyelashes at me. I finally understood what it meant to be trapped in a kangaroo court. If I explained myself, I was being defensive. If I stayed silent, I was admitting guilt. A sudden, chilling calm washed over me. Playing nice in the corporate world only makes you a target. Brittany felt perfectly comfortable humiliating a senior director because she truly believed she was untouchable. “What exactly is your goal here, Brittany?” I asked softly. I still had her final internship evaluation on my desk. Regardless of who she was sleeping with, I was going to make sure she never worked in this industry again. She pouted her lips and held her hand out to me, palm up. “Spit out the kickback. Distribute it to the team. Do that, and we can sweep this little indiscretion under the rug.” She paused, letting her voice drop into a sickly-sweet threat. “If you don’t… well, I’ll just have to go to the CEO. And corporate fraud carries a pretty heavy prison sentence, Nicole.” 5 A low murmur of approval rippled through the bullpen. They were actually moved. They saw Brittany as some sort of corporate Robin Hood, risking her own internship to fight the evil management for their paychecks. One of the senior copywriters stood up, his face red with stress. “Nicole, just give the money up before the feds get involved. Split it with the floor and we’ll call it even.” “We are drowning here,” another developer chimed in. “I haven’t brought a check home in two months. My wife is threatening to take the kids to her mother’s.” “Brittany is just trying to look out for us…” Wow. Okay. “Fine,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise like glass. “Since you’ve all unanimously decided I’m a criminal, let’s take this straight to the top. Let’s go see Richard.” The sheer injustice of it made my chest physically ache. I knew they were struggling. That’s exactly why I had destroyed my physical and mental health for thirty days straight to land this account. I practically gave myself an ulcer for these people. I didn’t get a single word of thanks. Only a lynch mob. I swallowed hard, fighting the burn in the back of my throat. As I turned toward the executive suites, I caught a glimpse of Brittany’s face. A flash of pure, unadulterated victory crossed her eyes. It was so fast I almost missed it. Half the office trailed behind me as I marched into Richard’s spacious corner office. Before I could even close the door, Brittany turned on the waterworks, spinning her wild narrative to the CEO. “Richard, Nicole took a massive under-the-table payout from the client, and she’s refusing to make the company whole!” Richard leaned back in his leather executive chair. His brow furrowed deeply. His gaze swept over the angry crowd of employees before finally landing on me. His voice was dripping with accusation. “Nicole. Explain the Macallan box.” The absolute lack of hesitation in his voice—the immediate assumption of my guilt—was a physical blow. He knew me. Out of everyone in this building, he knew I had built this agency from the ground up with him. I had never taken a single penny that wasn’t on my W-2. Staring at the hostility in the room, I forced my heart rate to slow. “Richard,” I said, enunciating every single syllable. “Are you forgetting that the contract hasn’t even been signed yet? The client hasn’t wired a single cent to anyone. Brittany’s entire accusation is legally impossible.” I turned slowly, looking every single person in the eye. “Even if I was a corrupt, thieving executive, I would have to wait for the ink to dry and the funds to clear escrow before securing a kickback, wouldn’t I?” “Put yourselves in the client’s shoes. Would you hand over a million dollars in cash to a vendor before the legal documents were even drafted?” The crowded office suddenly went dead silent. A few of the developers shifted uncomfortably, the logical flaw in the witch hunt finally dawning on them. 6 Brittany didn’t miss a beat. She immediately doubled down, raising her voice. “So what?! The only reason they agreed to the deal is because of the pitch deck the team built! Anyone could have walked in there and closed the deal! Why should you get a massive payout while we starve?!” She took a step toward me, a vicious sneer on her face. “You already shook hands on the backdoor deal. You’re just waiting to sign the official papers tomorrow so the client can wire the dirty money to your offshore account!” I stared at her in utter disbelief. The mental gymnastics required to spin reality like that were staggering. But what truly shattered my faith in the company was what happened next. Richard, the CEO I had worked alongside for five years, slowly nodded. “Brittany makes a valid point.” In that exact second, all the exhaustion, the loyalty, and the late nights evaporated. A cold, heavy void opened up in my chest. All the fight drained right out of me. I let out a soft, hollow chuckle. “So that’s how it is, Richard? You, and everyone standing in this room, truly believe I’m defrauding the company?” Nobody said a word. The heavy silence was all the confirmation I needed. The ice in my veins solidified. When I spoke again, my voice was completely devoid of emotion. “Since you all think closing a ten-million-dollar account is so incredibly easy, and since I’m apparently too corrupt to handle it…” I looked right at the intern. “Let Brittany sign the master contracts tomorrow. I wash my hands of this entirely.”

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I spent thirty years battling chronic, agonizing stomach disease—a permanent condition I developed after diving into freezing water to save my drowning husband. Recently, the doctors told me it had mutated. Without immediate surgery, I would die. When my husband, Adam, heard the news, he didn’t come alone. He brought the mistress he had been hiding for decades to visit my hospital room. “Tina, the doctors ran the tests. Chloe is a perfect match. She can donate her kidney to you.” “But she has one condition. She wants a clean divorce. You walk away with nothing, and you give up custody of the kids.” He paused, a complicated expression crossing his face. “Of course, if you don’t agree to that, I could always…” “I agree.” I cut him off instantly, terrified that his mistress would change her mind. Because I wanted to live. I needed to survive to finally experience the freedom I had lost the day I married Adam thirty years ago. 01 The moment the words left my mouth, a dead silence fell over the hospital room. Adam’s expression twisted into something incredibly dark. “You’re willing to abandon your own children just for a kidney?” He let out a cold, sharp laugh. “I had no idea I married someone so heartless.” I didn’t answer. I just looked out the window. Outside, a heavy snowstorm was raging. The snow was so bright it physically hurt to look at. I squinted my eyes, feeling his heavy gaze still burning into the side of my face. I let out a long sigh and finally spoke the truth. “No matter what, Adam, I am actually grateful to you.” He frowned, looking genuinely confused. I turned my head to face him, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. “I’ve been in this hospital bed for a month. I never expected you to be my very first visitor.” “And I definitely didn’t expect you to be the one bringing me good news.” Exactly one month ago. The specialist had walked into my room, his face grim, and handed me the lab results. “Tina, your kidneys are failing rapidly. Your only chance of survival is an immediate transplant.” “You need to notify your family right now. Immediate relatives, especially your children, have the highest statistical probability of being a match.” My hands shook violently as I gripped the medical chart, but I slowly shook my head. My voice was rough as sandpaper. “Forget it. Don’t call him.” The doctor froze, ready to argue with me. I turned my face to the wall, avoiding his eyes. My son, Brian, had just fought tooth and nail to secure a VP position at Adam’s firm. He was managing multi-million-dollar accounts, right at the peak of his career trajectory. I refused to drag him down with my dying body. But late that night, the tiny, pathetic sliver of hope buried in my chest won out. I opened my phone and sent him a text. “Brian, Mom is in the hospital. I’m very sick and I need a transplant. Please don’t worry too much.” I stared unblinking at the screen, terrified I would miss his reply. I couldn’t even remember the last time I saw Brian in person. He hated my guts. Every text I ever sent him vanished into the void, completely ignored. But I thought—I hoped—that maybe, just maybe, knowing I was dying would make him care. I waited. And waited. From sunrise until the sky went black. I unlocked the screen a hundred times. Nothing. Around midnight, shivering in the cold hospital bed, I swallowed my pride and sent one last message. “Brian, can you please come sit with Mom? Just for tonight. I don’t understand any of these machines, and I’m so scared. I don’t know who to ask.” This time, the phone buzzed instantly. Brian replied. I scrambled to open the message. My hands were shaking so badly, and my outdated phone lagged, causing it to slip from my fingers and crash onto the linoleum floor. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks. Through the broken glass, I read his reply. “I’m in a board meeting. Stop blowing up my phone and annoying me.” All the strength completely drained from my body. I let the phone lie on the freezing floor until the battery died. The room plunged into total darkness. The only sound left was the rhythmic, soulless beeping of the heart monitor, keeping me company through the longest night of my life. I sat up for hours until my eyes burned. Finally, I laid back and closed my eyes. I didn’t even have the energy to cry. I survived like that for a month. I lived on agonizing dialysis treatments, waiting for a donor that never came. I watched the other patients in my ward find matches, get wheeled into surgery, and go home to their families. The panic grew every single day. The suffocating terror of my own impending death slowly ate me alive. I knew I was out of time. Driven entirely by the desperate need to survive, I opened a chat history I hadn’t touched in years. I sent a message to my husband, Adam. 02 Adam stood there in silence. A flash of genuine guilt crossed his eyes. “Get some rest. I’ll go talk to the surgical team and fast-track the prep.” As he turned to leave, I finally noticed Chloe. She had been shrinking behind him the entire time, completely silent. Adam stood frozen in the doorway for a long time, staring out into the hallway. She finally reached out and tugged his sleeve. “Adam?” He snapped out of it and looked down at her. “What?” Chloe asked in a quiet, cautious whisper, “Did… did she really agree to it?” Adam nodded slowly. “Yeah. Tina agreed to sign the divorce papers.” But his face was completely blank as he said it. It was impossible to read his mind. Hearing his confirmation, a tiny, triumphant smirk flickered across Chloe’s lips. The next afternoon, Adam returned. He walked into my room holding a thick manila folder. But he didn’t pull the papers out immediately. He stood by the bed, looking down at my sickly, pale face, his expression incredibly complicated. After a heavy silence, he slowly pulled the divorce settlement from the envelope. His voice carried a rare, hesitant edge. “Tina… if you really don’t want to sign this, you don’t have to.” “I can leverage the company’s resources to find another donor. We don’t have to do it this way.” I forced a weak smile, my voice perfectly flat. “Give me a pen. I’ll sign.” He pulled the papers back, refusing to hand them over. “Tina, you’ve been my wife for decades. You built the foundation of this family. You managed the estate flawlessly. You put up with a lot of misery for me.” “The family needs you.” I looked up into his eyes and gave him a soft, genuine smile. “Adam. You don’t need me. You just need a maid who never complains.” His jaw clenched instantly. “I don’t owe you or your family a damn thing. Whatever debts I had when we got married, I’ve paid them back in blood over the last thirty years. Let me go, Adam. I couldn’t even keep the son I raised for twenty years from hating me. I have absolutely nothing left to stay for.” I didn’t wait to see his reaction. I reached out with a trembling, bruised hand and pulled the settlement out of his grip. I uncapped the pen and carefully, deliberately signed my name on the dotted line. Watching me do it, Adam’s knuckles turned white. His face darkened with fury. “Tina, after all these years, do you really feel absolutely nothing for me?!” “Do you really think thirty years of marriage is just a transaction you can write off?!” I looked at him, completely bewildered. “I just signed away my entire life so your little mistress can take my place. What more do you want from me?” “You kept her as a pet for decades. Did I ever scream? Did I ever throw a tantrum? I covered for you with your mother! I killed every tabloid rumor to protect your reputation! I played the perfect, loving wife to the entire world! I have done everything a human being can possibly do for you, Adam! Right now, all I am asking for is my life!” Adam ground his teeth together, letting out a hateful, venomous laugh. “Fine. The perfect, loving wife.” “Don’t come crying to me when you realize what you just threw away.” I stared him dead in the eye. “I will never regret this.” He turned on his heel and slammed the hospital door so hard the walls shook. The noise startled the little sparrows that usually nested on my windowsill. They took flight, scattering into the blizzard. The only living things that had kept me company for the last month were gone. Look at that, Tina. You really can’t keep anything, can you? 03 Suddenly, I had a reason to wake up in the morning. The surgical prep moved at lightning speed. Nurses came in every few hours to check my vitals, running me through the pre-op protocols. I forced myself to eat. I forced myself to sleep. Even when the dialysis left me feeling like I was hit by a truck, I fought through the nausea, desperate to get my body ready for the table. Out of nowhere, Brian sent me a text. “Keep your mouth shut about Dad and Chloe. If this leaks to the press, it will tank the company stock.” “And since you signed the papers, don’t bother contacting me ever again.” Reading his words, I didn’t feel the soul-crushing grief I expected. I just felt a profound, hollow relief. I tapped the text box, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Slowly, I deleted the draft and locked the screen. It was better this way. From this day forward, I had no son. I started planning my life after the surgery. I was going to move to New Zealand. The private stash of money I had saved over the decades was more than enough to buy a small cottage with a garden. I pictured myself watering the flowers in the morning and sitting on the porch in the afternoon sun. But right as I was dreaming of my new life, the door slammed open. My lead surgeon practically sprinted into the room, his face completely pale. “Tina, I am so sorry. Chloe backed out. She panicked about the surgical risks and revoked her consent. She is refusing to give you the kidney.” “What?!” My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t breathe. “Doctor, are you sure?! She swore she would do it! Why would she back out now?!” The tiny flame of hope in my chest was violently snuffed out. The suffocating terror of death rushed back in, drowning me completely. The doctor looked absolutely defeated. “We tried to reason with her. But she completely lost it. She said the thought of going under anesthesia terrified her. She was hysterical. We can’t force her onto the table.” I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and dialed Adam’s number. It rang five times before he finally picked up. He sounded exhausted. “I know why you’re calling. I’m trying to talk her down, but she won’t stop crying. She’s terrified of the complications.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Tina, calm down. The surgeon told me the risks are real. I can’t force Chloe to endanger her own life. I’ll figure something else out. I promise I will save you.” He hung up. I dialed him back instantly. He sent it straight to voicemail. I called again. And again. Nothing. After thirty years of swallowing my pain, I finally broke. The tears spilled over my cheeks, soaking the hospital gown. I was one signature away from living. Why was God torturing me like this? That night, I didn’t sleep a single second. Every tick of the clock felt like a judge reading my death sentence. The physical agony of the failing kidneys combined with the absolute despair in my mind was suffocating. My body started shutting down rapidly. I lost the strength to speak. Adam never called back. He never sent an update. I didn’t have the courage to call him again, terrified he would tell me to give up. I spent every hour staring blankly at the dead leaves blowing past the frozen window. Maybe this was just my karma. Maybe I was always meant to die here. 04 A few days later. The surgeon burst into my room again, this time practically glowing with excitement. “Tina! Great news! The national registry just flagged a perfect match! And her pre-op vitals are incredible! The success rate is through the roof!” I snapped my head up, convinced the lack of oxygen to my brain was causing hallucinations. He kept talking, talking incredibly fast. “She’s a young girl in the terminal ward. She has an incurable disease and only a few days left. She signed a blanket organ donation form, wanting to save whoever she could. And her tissue markers are a near-perfect match for yours! It’s an absolute miracle!” Hearing those words, the dam broke. I sobbed uncontrollably, the tears blinding me. I grabbed the doctor’s hand with both of mine, thanking him over and over again. Thank you to that little girl. Thank you to whoever was looking out for me. The surgery went perfectly. When I opened my eyes in the ICU, the bright, warm morning sun was pouring through the blinds. I laid there in pure shock. I actually survived. After a few days of aggressive recovery, my strength started coming back. I practically begged the nurses to tell me who the donor was. I needed to see her. My surgeon finally caved and wheeled me down to the palliative care ward. “This is her room. Her name is Maya. She’s very weak, but her spirit is incredible.” When my wheelchair cleared the doorway and I saw the girl lying in the bed, my heart completely stopped. The tears instantly flooded my eyes. She looked exactly like her. She looked exactly like the baby girl I lost decades ago. The exact same shape of her eyes. The exact same smile. Even the way she pursed her lips when she breathed… it was identical. Thirty years of suppressed trauma violently ripped through my chest. I buried my face in my hands, sobbing so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. Maya saw me crying. She forced a weak, incredibly gentle smile and slowly reached her hand out toward me. “Please don’t cry, ma’am. I’m so happy I could save you. My time is almost up. Please, just promise me you’ll live a beautiful life for both of us. See the world for me, okay?” I pushed myself out of the wheelchair and stumbled to her bedside, gripping her fragile hand in mine. “I promise. I swear to God I will live for you. I will see everything beautiful in this world. I won’t let your sacrifice be in vain.” Maya smiled. It was the purest, cleanest smile I had ever seen. Like a beam of pure light cutting through the darkest night of my life. 05 I demanded an early discharge. Before I left the hospital, I calculated exactly how much cash I needed for a one-way ticket to New Zealand. I wired every single remaining cent of my life savings directly into the bank account of Maya’s parents. After the transfer cleared, I went back to the palliative ward to check on them. When they saw the deposit, they grabbed my hands, weeping uncontrollably. Maya’s mother wiped her face, her voice cracking as she confessed the truth. “Tina… Maya isn’t our biological daughter. We adopted her years ago. We have a biological son, and we barely make enough to survive. We couldn’t afford the aggressive treatments for Maya when she first got sick. We delayed it for years until it became terminal… I will never forgive myself for failing her.” “Adopted?” A violent chill shot down my spine, freezing the blood in my veins. “Tell me right now. Exactly how old is Maya?” She wiped her nose. “She’s twenty-two. When we found her, she had severe head trauma. She couldn’t remember anything about her past, and the police could never track down her real parents.” I stumbled backward, slamming my shoulder into the doorframe just to stay upright. The room started spinning. A completely psychotic, impossible thought clawed its way into my brain. I took a ragged breath, my voice barely a whisper. “I… I need to ask you for a massive favor. Please… please let me run a DNA test with Maya.” Her parents froze, exchanging a confused look. But seeing the absolute desperation in my eyes, they slowly nodded. The next forty-eight hours were pure psychological torture. I replayed every memory of Maya’s face, comparing it to the toddler I had buried in my mind. The memories I had aggressively repressed for decades came flooding back with terrifying clarity. When the lab finally called, I practically ran down the hospital corridor to grab the envelope. My hands were shaking so violently I almost tore the paper in half. My eyes locked onto the bold text at the bottom of the page.

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I booked a fifteen-thousand-dollar Valentine’s proposal gig. The bride-to-be’s vision matched my own dream exactly, with an outdoor lawn, champagne towers, and a floral castle built from imported roses. Oak trees lined the space, wrapped in fairy lights and hand-drawn heart cards crafted by the groom. By the time we finished, I was drenched in sweat, my hair stuck to my cheeks, my clothes clinging to my back. I sank onto the grass, rubbed my lower back, and sent my boyfriend a selfie. “This is the absolute minimum standard,” I wrote. Connor replied instantly with a tiny saluting dog animation. The speakers flared to life with a soft acoustic song. Before I could slip away, guests pulled off my mask and guided me into the center of the lawn. From the far end, through scattered petals, Connor appeared in a fitted grey suit. My ears buzzed, my thoughts blanked. He dropped to one knee in front of me. “Ella, the proposal you always wanted, I built it for you.” Surrounded by cheers and bursts of confetti, I watched him slide a glittering diamond ring onto my finger, still streaked with black soil from the flowers. Five days later, a formal refund request arrived on my desk. The complaint stated the arrangement was unsatisfactory, the scenery cheap, and the event far below expectations. The client’s name was Connor. 1 “Ella, will you marry me?” I had just stood there staring at Connor. His voice sounded like it was echoing from the bottom of a well, miles away, yet deafeningly close. My boyfriend of seven years was actually proposing? I should have been thrilled. I should have been crying tears of absolute joy. But I had spent the last twelve hours hauling heavy wooden props across a field. My lower back was screaming in agony. My palms were covered in tiny, stinging paper cuts and thorn scratches from arranging thousands of roses. I was makeup-free, sweaty, and smelled like fertilizer. Every single physical sensation made it impossible for me to smile naturally. People were pouring out from behind the floral arches. My best friend was there, along with our entire college friend group. They started chanting, clapping their hands in rhythm. “Say yes! Say yes!” Connor was looking up at me, his smile impossibly gentle and confident. My head was spinning. The bride-to-be with the exact same taste as me was me. I had built my own dream proposal. A tiny voice in the back of my head tried to rationalize it. You built the perfect stage with your own two hands, the man you love is kneeling in front of it, and your friends are here to celebrate. Isn’t this the ultimate fairytale ending? My throat tightened, and my voice cracked. “Yes. I will.” My hands were shaking as I reached out toward him. But then I saw the dark grime shoved deep under my fingernails. Humiliation flared hot in my chest, and I instinctively tried to pull my hand back. He didn’t let me. He grabbed my wrist, firmly sliding the ring into place. Standing up, he pulled me into a tight embrace. The crowd erupted into wild applause and shrill whistles. Camera shutters clicked frantically from every direction. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force myself to just soak in the happiest moment of my life, even if it had ambushed me in the worst possible way. Half an hour later, the venue began to clear out. Connor gently let go of my hand, his face falling into an expression of deep apology. “Babe, the guys at work just hit me with an emergency. I have to head out.” He kissed my forehead. “We’ll invite your parents out to a nice dinner next week and celebrate properly, just us.” Looking into his seemingly sincere eyes, a wave of hollow disappointment washed over me. But I swallowed it down and nodded. “Go handle it. Drive safe.” He turned and practically sprinted away, leaving me standing in the middle of a field with a dozen out-of-town friends. I spent the next hour booking them tables at a nice restaurant downtown, toasted them twice with a fake smile, paid the tab, and rushed back to the venue. When I got back, my assistant Lily was wiping her forehead, her smile awkward and strained. “Ella, it’s your big day. You should be celebrating with your fiancé. We can handle the teardown.” But event production doesn’t work like that. No matter how magical and breathtaking a setup is, once the client gets their perfect photos, it all has to be torn down and packed into trucks for the next gig. We were severely understaffed. If I left, my crew would be stuck here until sunrise. I took a deep breath, bent down, and picked up a heavy coil of binding wire. “If I bail, you guys won’t sleep tonight. Let’s get to work.” I threw myself back into director mode. Amidst the exhausted groans of my crew, we finally stripped the lawn back to bare grass at two in the morning. By the time I parked my beat-up sedan outside my apartment building, it was nearing 4 AM. The living room was pitch black, save for the eerie, flickering blue light of a dual-monitor setup. Connor was hunched in his gaming chair, headset securely clamped over his ears, his fingers mashing the mechanical keyboard in a frenzy. “Mid! Mid lane! Push the damn tower! Let’s go!” The victory banner flashed across his screen. He let out a triumphant whoop, ripped off his headset, and finally noticed me standing motionless in the doorway. “Oh, you’re back?” His tone was incredibly casual, like he was asking if I had picked up milk from the store. “Your massive work emergency was sitting in the dark playing video games?” My voice was hollow, trembling from pure physical and mental exhaustion. He blinked, clearly taken aback, but then his posture stiffened defensively. “Yeah. I promised the guys I’d run some ranked matches tonight. You expect me to just flake on my squad?” A violent tremor started in my hands. The sheer audacity of his words made my blood boil. “You left me entirely alone out there to clean up a massive logistical nightmare, and you came home to play games?” “Clean up what?” He scoffed, standing up. His tone shifted from defensive to flat-out accusing. “Ella, be reasonable for a second. Building sets and tearing down props, isn’t that literally your job?” 2 Your job. Those two words felt like a serrated knife twisting right in my chest. I was so furiously angry I couldn’t even form a syllable. Hot, stinging tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. Seeing me cry, he just rolled his eyes and waved a hand dismissively. “Alright, whatever. It’s not a big deal, why are you being so dramatic? Go take a shower. You reek of sweat, it’s gross.” Without another word, he sidestepped around me and walked straight into the bedroom. I stood rooted to the spot. Watching his back disappear into the hallway, I felt the blood turn to ice in my veins. My phone started buzzing relentlessly in my pocket. It was the massive group chat our friends had made to share photos from the day. I opened it, and a picture loaded on the screen. Connor looked like a million bucks, tailored suit, perfect hair, the absolute picture of a successful gentleman. And right next to him was me. Wearing a faded company polo, my face shiny with grease, strands of hair plastered awkwardly to my neck. If you zoomed in, you could even see a fresh, bloody scratch on the same hand wearing the diamond ring. We looked like we belonged on two completely different planets. Josh: “Can’t believe you two are the first ones to tie the knot! So happy for you guys!” Nate: “For real, Connor texted us yesterday stressing over every detail. Told us to keep it a secret at least three times!” Stella: “Ella, I am so jealous. You bagged such a handsome guy!” A bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips. I couldn’t even begin to explain the sour, suffocating feeling in my chest. Then another message popped up. Tyler: “Man, Connor must have dropped a fortune on that setup. Really broke the bank for our girl Ella!” I stared at the screen. Tyler was right. The invoice for this specific setup was exactly fifteen grand. The Bulgarian roses alone required expedited air freight. The floral castle was a heavy-duty custom build that took my crew two full days to construct. The champagne towers used imported crystal glass. For a couple with our income bracket, that price tag was absolutely astronomical. A second later, Connor’s reply popped into the chat. Connor: “You guys know nothing. Locking Ella down was the steal of the century!” A brief, pathetic warmth flickered in my chest. But then I remembered the cold, dismissive look on his face just moments ago, and the warmth instantly died. I didn’t send a single message to the chat. I tossed my phone onto the counter and walked into the bathroom. As the scalding water beat down on my shoulders, I stared at my dark circles and pale face in the foggy mirror. Then I looked down at the glittering stone on my left ring finger. I didn’t sleep a single minute that night. I dragged myself to the agency the next morning looking like a zombie. Connor didn’t text me once. A sudden, terrifying thought crept into my mind. What if this was exactly what the rest of my life would look like after we signed the papers? Should I break up with him? But how do you just casually throw away seven years of history? I couldn’t forget how, back in college, he ran across town in a blizzard just to bring me my favorite scarf. I couldn’t forget when I was hospitalized with a brutal flu, and he sat by my bed for three days straight, refusing to sleep. I let out a heavy, ragged sigh and pulled up the design briefs for my next client. By the third night of our cold war, I was sitting at my home desk, rushing to finish a rendering. A soft knock came at the door. “Babe, open up, please? I brought that red velvet cake from the bakery you love.” My heart gave a stupid, involuntary flutter, but I kept quiet. “Ella, I know I messed up. I’m so sorry. I was being a total jerk.” His voice was thick with guilt, carrying that familiar, boyish vulnerability that always broke my defenses. I walked over and unlocked the door. Connor was standing there holding a pristine white bakery box. When he saw me, his face lit up with a brilliant, relieved smile. “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me forever.” He gently grabbed my wrist, pulling me out to the kitchen island, and opened the box. “Eat up. I had to hit three different spots before I found a place that still had it in stock.” Watching him hover over me, so eager to please, the glacier in my chest finally began to crack. I picked up a fork and took a small bite. The rich, sweet cream melted on my tongue. It was exactly what I needed. Seeing me eat, he let out a massive sigh of relief and carefully wrapped his hands around mine. “Babe, my brain was totally fried from the screen the other night. I didn’t mean a single word I said.” “I swear on my life, it will never happen again. Okay?” He pulled me into his arms. He smelled like laundry detergent and the faint scent of cedar, the smell of home. All the grievance and fury that had been suffocating me finally found a release. I buried my face in his chest, though I kept my voice dead serious. “Connor, you better mean that.” He raised three fingers in the air, swearing a solemn oath. That night, we slept tangled together, just like we always did. The next morning, I woke up early, kissed him while he slept, put on some light makeup, and headed to the office in a genuinely good mood. I hadn’t even set my bag down on my desk when my boss, Valerie, barked my name from her office. Her face was an ugly shade of purple. She slammed a manila folder onto her desk the second I walked in. “Read it.” I picked up the paper. It was a formal dispute and refund demand. Under the reason for complaint, it clearly stated: Unsatisfactory arrangement, cheap scenery, severely fell short of expectations. Requesting a full refund. The client name at the bottom: Connor. 3 All the blood rushed straight to my head, leaving my fingertips numb. “Valerie, this is impossible. This…” “Impossible? The client is literally sitting in our conference room right now making a scene!” Valerie’s chest heaved with suppressed rage. “Ella, you were the lead director on this account. Now we have a fifteen-grand disaster on our hands. How are you going to fix this?” I gripped the edge of the paper so tightly the edges crumpled. Connor. “Let me go talk to him.” I spun around, practically sprinting down the hall, and shoved the heavy glass door of the conference room open. Connor was sitting at the head of the long oak table, leaning back with one ankle casually resting on his knee. The company’s legal consultant was sitting uncomfortably across from him. He didn’t even bother to look up when I stormed in. “Ah, Ella. Good timing.” “I was just explaining to your boss here that the venue you put together was an absolute mess. The aesthetic was incredibly tacky.” “Half the roses looked like they were bought out of a discount bin, totally wilted. And honestly? Your crew has a terrible attitude. I asked them to move a few things and they acted like I was asking for their kidneys.” He leaned forward, slamming his hand flat against the table. “Fifteen grand for that garbage? Are you guys running a scam here?” He wasn’t yelling, but every single word felt like a rusty nail being hammered into my skull. My entire body was shaking. I could barely stay upright. “Connor, what the hell are you doing?” “What am I doing? I’m exercising my rights as a consumer!” “I paid for a premium service. Do I not have the right to leave an honest review?” “Look, just because we’re engaged doesn’t mean I’m going to give your company a free pass. Business is business, personal is personal.” “The setup was trash. I want my money back. It’s completely justified.” I stared at his face. He looked like a complete stranger. The man who had been holding me tight and whispering sweet apologies just twelve hours ago was currently sitting in my office acting like a shameless con artist. “Bullshit! Connor, you signed off on every single detail of that rendering!” Valerie had hurried into the room behind me. She grabbed my arm, shooting me a frantic look, silently warning me not to curse at a client. But I shook her off. My voice dropped to a freezing, venomous pitch. “Every single flower, every piece of staging, was procured specifically to your exact instructions. You literally hand-drew the neon sign design yourself.” “And now you’re sitting here telling me you hated it?” He let out a short, arrogant chuckle and threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Oh? Is that so?” “I’m the one writing the check. If I say it sucked, it sucked.” He turned to look at Valerie, a smug smirk playing on his lips. “Besides, Ella is my fiancée.” “My proposal setup was built by the woman I proposed to. Why on earth should you people get a cut of that money?” “Process the refund right now, or I’m taking this straight to the Better Business Bureau and dragging your agency’s name through the mud for fraud.” Valerie’s eyes went wide. She slowly took a step back, distancing herself from me. In that split second, all the puzzle pieces snapped violently together. I finally understood what he meant in the group chat. Locking her down was the steal of the century. He had planned to file a chargeback from the very beginning. “Connor!” I glared at him, the name scraping through my gritted teeth. There wasn’t an ounce of shame on his face. Instead, he looked incredibly proud of himself. He leaned back in the plush leather chair, crossing his arms like he was the smartest guy in the room. “Did I say something wrong? You did the manual labor, why should they get the profit!” I was vibrating with rage. Suddenly, he stood up and threw an arm around my shoulder, making sure his voice was loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear. “Babe, it’s fifteen thousand dollars!” “You already said yes. If we get this money back, that completely covers our actual wedding ceremony! You’re the top creative director here anyway, they’ll totally waive the fee as a perk for you!” Valerie hit her breaking point. She pointed a manicured finger right at my face. “Ella, this agency has spent years building your portfolio, and you use us to run a free scam for your boyfriend?!” “How can you be this incredibly selfish?!” 4 Hearing those words, I felt like I had been dipped in liquid nitrogen. A dozen different explanations piled up in my throat, but I couldn’t choke a single one out. The logistics crew had already confirmed my timeline. The massive Valentine’s build was indeed for my own proposal, and I had technically been off the clock for hours during the actual event. I just turned my head and looked at Connor’s familiar face. It had never looked so repulsive. He hadn’t just ruined my memory of getting engaged. He was actively destroying my career. Losing fifteen grand on a single chargeback was a massive hit to the quarterly margins. Valerie’s face was completely drained of color. She refused to even look at me. “Mr. Connor, we have a signed contract for that venue build.” “You were present on-site and verbally expressed total satisfaction with the deliverables. Coming in here days later to demand a reversal is entirely unacceptable. We will not process this.” Connor let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “I only smiled for the cameras to save Ella’s face. You think I wanted to start screaming in the middle of a park?” “Now that the party’s over, you expect me to just swallow the cost of a garbage product?” I was so disgusted I actually laughed. “Connor, if you are this broke, why the hell did you sign the contract in the first place?” “You know exactly what’s in your bank account. Why play the big shot when you can’t even afford the deposit?” I looked at him, my eyes heavy with absolute, unfiltered disappointment. Something about my tone must have struck a raw nerve, because Connor jumped up from his chair like he’d been burned. “Me? Playing the big shot?” “I did all of this for you! To feed your ridiculous ego!” “You’re the one constantly sending me TikToks of these insane, over-the-top, expensive aesthetics! You think I didn’t know you were dropping hints?” “And now I’m the bad guy for trying to look out for us? You were smiling ear to ear that night! You loved the attention!” He pointed a finger inches from my nose, practically screaming. So this was it. After seven years of building a life together, this was how he saw me. To him, I was just a vain, gold-digging burden. The TikToks I sent him, the little jokes about wanting something romantic—all I ever wanted was for him to care enough to try. I just wanted to feel chosen. I took a slow, agonizingly deep breath, forcing down the acidic bile of humiliation rising in my chest. “Fine.” Just one word. “Valerie, authorize the refund.” Valerie froze, opening her mouth to argue, but I cut her off immediately. “Deduct the fifteen grand entirely from my year-end bonus.” “Give him every single cent. Full refund.” Seeing the dead, hollow look in my eyes, Valerie let out a heavy sigh and gave a tight nod. A massive, victorious grin spread across Connor’s face. He looked like a general who had just won a historic war. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. We could have skipped all this drama. Put on something nice tonight, I’m taking you to a steakhouse!” “We’ll throw this money straight into the wedding fund. And hey, you can direct the venue setup yourself again! You can make it look however you want!” I stared directly into his eyes, enunciating every single syllable. “Connor, we are done.” His triumphant smile instantly completely froze. “What are you talking about?” “I’m calling off the engagement. We are breaking up.” I gripped the diamond ring, ripped it off my finger, and slammed it down hard onto the oak table. “Keep the ring. And don’t bother going back to the apartment, because my name is on the lease, not yours.” “Take your blood money and get the hell out of my sight.”

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1 My boyfriend, Blake, got the girl who made my life a living hell a part-time job. When I found out, his face didn’t even twitch with guilt. “She lost her financial aid because of what you did. I’m just helping her out so you don’t have to carry that guilt.” He scoffed, crossing his arms. “Instead of thanking me, you’re interrogating me?” Usually, this was the part where I’d swallow my pride and coax him, begging him not to be mad. But this time, I was just so exhausted. I was done paying the price for her pathetic, innocent victim act. When he dumped that blame on my shoulders, my mind went entirely blank. I couldn’t fathom why the victim was supposed to feel guilty when the bully finally faced the consequences of her own toxic actions. “You really think Ivy getting disciplined by the board and losing her scholarship is my fault?” Blake shrugged off his jacket, tossed it to me, and sprawled out on the couch like he owned the place. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? Because of you, she lost her funding. She can’t pay her tuition. She’s practically being forced to drop out.” He rolled his eyes. “The whole campus is talking about it. Everyone thinks you went way too far.” “And as your boyfriend, it’s my job to clean up your mess.” So his brilliant idea of ‘cleaning up my mess’ was getting her a high-paying gig at the cafe where I worked. He even went as far as draping the jacket I bought for him over her shoulders. It was a joke. A sick, twisted joke. The fabric of the jacket in my hands suddenly felt disgusting. I dropped it right onto the hardwood floor, staring him down with eyes like ice. “Sierra, are you seriously blaming me?” “Yes.” No hesitation. Just pure, unfiltered anger. Blake sat up, tilting his head back to glare at me. “You think I’m just sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong?” “Are you saying you aren’t?” “Fine.” He let out a bitter, sarcastic laugh. “I’m a fucking idiot for trying to do you a favor. Don’t worry. I won’t lift a finger for you ever again.” In the past, whenever he threw a tantrum like this, I’d practically be on my knees, begging him to stay. I’d buy him designer sneakers and expensive hoodies just to smooth things over. Not today. I didn’t care anymore. I bit the inside of my cheek, swallowing down the thick lump of betrayal in my throat. “Good. I hope you keep your word.” Blake’s eyes darkened. He grabbed my wrist and yanked me forward so violently that my shin smashed into the edge of the glass coffee table. A sharp gasp tore from my lips. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You breaking up with me?” “Yeah. We’re done.” It was the first time I had ever said those words to him. He stared at me, his face turning an ugly shade of purple. When he realized I wasn’t going to take it back, he lashed out, kicking the coffee table with brutal force. The glass top shattered. “Fuck you.” He spat. “Don’t come crying to me when you want to get back together. You’re too much drama.” Flying shards of glass sliced into my calves and toes. I bit down hard on my lip to keep from screaming, collapsing onto the sofa as I gasped for air. He walked out, slamming the door behind him. My phone buzzed on the cushions. A text. It was the guy who had tipped me off earlier today. [I saw him leave. Are you… okay?] A cold sweat broke out across my spine. Whoever this was didn’t just know where I was going. They were sitting outside my apartment building right now, watching. My fingers trembled as I deleted the message and blocked the number. But he wasn’t going to give up that easily. A minute later, a text popped up from a completely different number. [He threw the jacket you bought into the dumpster. Can I have it?] [I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be creepy. I just think it’s a waste.] The room started to spin. The pain in my leg was making me nauseous. I managed to call my roommate, Lexi, before the darkness swallowed me whole. When I opened my eyes again, the harsh white lights of a hospital room blinded me. “How are you feeling?” The voice was low, smooth, and oddly familiar. I followed the line of a warm hand resting lightly against my fingertips. My gaze traveled up an immaculate suit to a devastatingly handsome face. Silver wire-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his perfect nose, hiding the dark, swirling emotions in his eyes. Rowan. Lexi’s older brother. What was he doing here? “Lexi went back to grab you some clean clothes. She asked me to keep an eye on you.” “Oh. Then I…” “The doctor said you’ll be fine. You caught a fever from the rain.” His tone was professional, yet strangely gentle. “The cuts on your leg and foot have been cleaned and stitched. Keep them dry.” “Okay. Thank you.” I murmured, shrinking back a little. Rowan and I weren’t exactly close. My only interactions with him consisted of passing along stuff Lexi forgot to bring to campus. To say thanks, he’d occasionally send over premium pastries or expensive little gifts, always making sure there was a portion for me. The silence in the room was suffocating. Desperate for a distraction, I unlocked my phone, only to be hit with another wave of absolute dread. [Did he hurt you?] [Do you want me to teach him a lesson?] Terrified that this lunatic might actually do something violent, I hammered my thumbs against the screen. [Stay away from the people in my life. Stop stalking me.] [You’re sick.] A loud clatter made me jump. Rowan’s phone had slipped from his grip, hitting the linoleum floor. “Rowan? Is everything okay?” He picked it up, the corners of his mouth twitching into a forced, rigid smile. “It’s nothing. Just a little tired, I guess.” He did look exhausted. The edges of his eyes were faintly red. I felt a pang of guilt. He was a busy CEO, and I was just his sister’s roommate. I shouldn’t be wasting his time. “You should head home and get some rest. I can manage on my own.” He didn’t argue. He picked up his leather duffel bag from the floor and headed for the door. Just as he reached the handle, I called out. The bag looked bulky, sitting awkwardly against his broad shoulder. “Hey, do you need a shopping bag for whatever’s in there? It looks heavy.” His broad shoulders went rigid. He didn’t turn around. “It’s just company files. I don’t need a bag. Thanks.” The next text came the following morning. [I’m sorry.] Just that. No context. I felt suffocated in that sterile room, so I decided to take a slow walk down the hall to clear my head. And of course, my luck was garbage. I ran straight into Blake. He was leaning heavily on a crutch, his face bruised in shades of purple and blue, one leg encased in a thick white cast. He was practically hanging off Ivy’s shoulder. Ivy was struggling to support his weight. She looked up, making dead eye contact with me standing right in the middle of the corridor. She raised a single, perfectly plucked eyebrow. Her grip on Blake’s waist tightened. Then, with Oscar-worthy precision, she twisted her ankle and collapsed, dragging Blake down with her. Blake crashed right on top of her, groaning in pain. I dug my nails so hard into my palms that they left crescent-moon indentations. I took a deep, shaky breath, forcing myself to stand my ground. Ivy poked Blake in the ribs, playing the flustered angel. “Blake, get up. Look, it’s Sierra.” Blake froze. He pushed Ivy’s hands away and awkwardly scrambled to his feet, leaning heavily on his crutch. “What happened to you? Why are you hooked up to an IV?” He demanded, looking me up and down. “Who brought you here? Why didn’t you call me?” Then his eyes fell on the thick gauze wrapped around my leg. He instantly looked away, running a hand through his hair, shifting his weight guiltily. I bit down on the soft inside of my cheek, refusing to let my voice shake. “Since when is my life any of your business?” His fleeting moment of guilt vanished, replaced by that familiar, arrogant irritation. He scowled. “Look, you’re sick. I’ll let your little attitude slide.” He sighed like he was doing me a massive favor. “Just apologize to Ivy, and we’ll pretend the breakup never happened. Then I can focus on taking care of you.” I didn’t even want to waste my breath. I grabbed my IV pole, turned my back on them, and started walking away. Suddenly, Ivy lunged forward and grabbed the clear plastic tubing of my IV. “What the hell are you doing?” I snapped, trying to swat her hand away. But before I even touched her, she threw herself backward onto the floor, taking the tube with her. The needle was violently ripped out of my vein, tearing the medical tape right off my skin. Blood spurted instantly, hot and fast, running over my knuckles. I pressed my hospital gown against the wound, but the crimson stain just kept spreading. My teeth clamped down on my bottom lip, but hot, angry tears finally spilled over my cheeks. Ivy looked up from the floor, crying beautifully, like a fragile porcelain doll. “I’m so sorry, Sierra. I swear I didn’t mean to!” She sobbed. “I just wanted to explain that Blake and I aren’t doing anything behind your back! I know I was jealous of you. I know I did awful things, and I’m sorry.” She choked out a perfectly timed gasp. “But I paid for it! I got suspended. I lost my scholarship. Can’t we just… call it even?” Blake didn’t even notice the blood dripping from my hand. He dropped his crutch and pulled Ivy into a protective embrace. “Sierra, stop being such a vindictive bitch!” I had heard those words so many times before, but it still felt like a knife twisting in my ribs. When someone stole my project credit and I fought back, he told me to ‘be the bigger person’. When I was bullied out of my dorm room, he said I just needed to ‘learn how to fit in’. He would always look at me with that disappointed sneer and say, Why do they only pick on you? You must be doing something wrong. Every single time, I had backed down. “I know you care about me, Sierra, but your paranoid delusions aren’t an excuse to hurt people.” Blake sneered. “I’m drawing the line right now. If you want us to work, you apologize to Ivy right this second. Then we drop it.” He reached out and grabbed my bleeding hand, squeezing it so hard that the blinding pain paralyzed me. I couldn’t pull away. “No.” I hissed, glaring at the floor, my vision blurring. Just as my knees were about to buckle, a warm, solid chest pressed against my back. Strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, shielding me completely. A familiar, deep voice vibrated right next to my ear. “I’m sorry. Am I late?” Rowan’s assistant was efficient. Within minutes, the hospital security footage was playing on a tablet in my room. It showed Ivy lunging to grab my IV line in high definition, followed by her pathetic, theatrical dive to the floor. Blake couldn’t defend her anymore. Under Rowan’s icy glare, he was forced to choke out an apology. “You think that’s enough?” Rowan was sitting on the edge of my bed. He placed a hot water bottle on his right palm and raised an eyebrow at me, silently telling me to put my hand on it. I froze, unsure of what to do. He didn’t wait. He just took my uninjured hand and sandwiched it between the warm rubber and his own large, incredibly warm palm. Maybe it was the blood loss. My brain short-circuited, and I completely forgot to pull away. “Sierra…” Blake started, taking a step toward the bed. “Mr. Blake,” Rowan’s voice was soft, but it carried the lethal edge of a loaded gun. “You’re already injured. I suggest you tread carefully. It would be a real shame if you accidentally tripped and shattered every bone in your body. Don’t you agree?” Blake deflated like a popped balloon. He hung his head, awkwardly shuffling toward the door on his single crutch. As he hobbled past Rowan, Rowan’s foot shifted just an inch. A loud thud echoed through the room. Blake hit the floor face-first. I tugged nervously at the hem of Rowan’s immaculate blazer. “Rowan…” I whispered. Rowan let out a low, breathless chuckle. He leaned in, shifting his broad shoulders to block my view of Blake groveling on the floor. His face was mere inches from mine, his warm breath ghosting over my lips. “Can’t I do this, little Sierra?”

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1 When my ex-wife rushed into the emergency room with her childhood sweetheart, who had nothing more than a paper cut, I was in the middle of performing CPR on a patient in cardiac arrest. Seeing that I did not immediately drop everything to tend to her precious Tristan, Hannah threw a tantrum right there in the ER. She immediately filed a formal complaint under her real name, accusing me of medical malpractice and using a personal grudge to withhold treatment. I did not even bother to explain myself. I quietly took off my white coat and accepted the hospital’s suspension. Later that day, Hannah posted a photo of Tristan’s bandaged finger on social media, gloating for all to see. “Only a pathetic, petty man brings personal drama into the workplace. He deserves to lose his white coat. Let this be a lesson.” Five days later, Tristan’s aorta ruptured. He was clinging to life. In the entire state, I was the only surgeon capable of performing the highly specialized repair. On the phone, she was sobbing hysterically, begging me to save him. I cut her off, my voice entirely flat: “I am sorry, Hannah. I am currently suspended. I do not even have the authority to write a prescription. Find someone else.” I hung up on Hannah. The living room was dark, save for a single cigarette burning on the glass coffee table, its orange glow fading in and out. My phone lit up again, her name flashing frantically across the screen. I picked it up and shut it off completely. Then I reached into the drawer, pulled out an old burner phone, and slipped in a backup SIM card known only to a few colleagues in my department. Five minutes later, loud, heavy knocks shook my front door, followed by a violent kick. “Owen! Get your ass out here!” Through the thin wooden door, Hannah’s shrieks of rage mixed with another woman’s desperate crying. I stubbed out the cigarette, stood up, and pulled the door open. Four or five people stood in the dimly lit hallway. Hannah was soaked from the rain, her expensive silk trench coat clinging to her body, making her look utterly miserable. Next to her was Tristan’s mother, shivering and supported by two burly men. “You have got some nerve, Owen! How dare you hang up on me!” Hannah swung her arm, aiming a slap right at my face. I caught her wrist mid-air, blocking her effortlessly, and shoved her back. Her high heels slipped on the wet concrete of the hallway, and she tumbled to the ground. “Are you out of your mind, Owen?” one of Tristan’s distant cousins barked, stepping forward and shoving a finger in my face. “I swear to God, I will tear this piece of shit apartment down!” Tristan’s mother threw herself forward, grabbing my collar. “Dr. Owen, please! I am begging you! My boy is dying! Have some mercy and come to the hospital!” I looked down at her wrinkled hands. Five days ago, in that very ER, those same hands had violently grabbed my arm while I was holding the defibrillator paddles. She had screamed at me: My son is bleeding! Are you blind? “Mrs. Coleman,” I said, peeling her fingers off me. “You have the wrong man.” Hannah scrambled up from the wet floor, her face streaked with muddy water. She tore open her designer purse, pulled out a gold credit card, and flung it at my chest. It bounced off and fluttered to the floor. “There is a hundred thousand dollars on that card,” Hannah said, her eyes bloodshot as she glared at me. “I know you are bitter, Owen.” “That is enough to buy you a decent place. But you are performing this surgery tonight, whether you like it or not.” “Save Tristan, and everything in the past is wiped clean.” I looked down at the muddy plastic card. A hundred thousand dollars. Two years ago, as the hospital’s administrative director, Hannah had personally diverted the last two bags of emergency blood reserved for my little sister. She gave them to Tristan, who had a mild stomach bleed after a night of heavy drinking. Back then, she had looked at me and said, “Don’t be so petty, Owen. It is just your sister’s bad luck that she got caught in a pileup.” My sister Lily was only nineteen. She bled out on the operating table because there was no blood left. A human life, dismissed as “bad luck” in Hannah’s eyes. And now, Tristan’s life was worth a hundred thousand dollars. I stepped forward, grinding the heel of my boot right into the center of the card. “Take your money back,” I said, looking Hannah dead in the eye. “I no longer have a medical license.” 2 Hannah’s face darkened, her teeth grinding. “Don’t use that pathetic excuse on me! My uncle signed that suspension, and I can make him rip it up right now!” She fumbled with her phone and dialed Vice President Richard. “Uncle! Owen is refusing to go! Tell him!” She slapped the phone onto speakerphone and held it up to my face. Richard’s voice boomed through the speaker: “Owen, the board only suspended you to appease the patient’s family. As a doctor, you need to show some grace.” “Tristan is in critical condition. Get back to your department immediately.” “Pull off a clean surgery tonight, and I will have your suspension lifted by tomorrow morning.” I looked at Hannah’s bloodshot, desperate eyes. “Mr. Vice President, the official suspension period is two weeks,” I said calmly into the phone. “If I step into that operating room right now, it is illegal practice.” Richard’s voice rose sharply: “Owen, I am the Executive Vice President of this hospital! If I say you can operate, you can operate! The hospital will take full responsibility if anything goes sideways. Don’t push your luck!” “Fine,” I agreed, nodding slowly. “Send a formal, written directive to my apartment, bearing the hospital’s official seal and your personal signature, explicitly stating that you assume all legal and medical liability. Once it is in my hands, we will talk.” The line went dead silent. Asking a bureaucrat to sign his name to liability was harder than pulling teeth. I pushed her phone away and grabbed the door handle. “Until that document arrives, don’t bother me.” I slammed the heavy door shut. The cursing outside grew louder. Tristan’s burly cousin began kicking the door with brutal force. The old lock groaned under the impact. I walked back to the living room and took a sip of cold tea. The burner phone buzzed. It was Gavin, a senior resident in cardiothoracic surgery. “Owen, they are coming to your place with muscle! Don’t open the door!” “Tristan’s aortic dissection has torn all the way up to his brachiocephalic artery. It is a complete disaster.” “Hannah is losing her mind in the department, trying to force Dr. Bradley to operate.” “Dr. Bradley took one look at the angiogram and said even if we flew in the best specialists from Boston tonight, the survival rate is barely ten percent. He said you are the only surgeon in the state who can pull this off.” I typed back quickly: “Don’t let anyone in your team touch him.” Gavin replied almost instantly with a sigh emoji. “Dr. Bradley would not even let them open the OR doors. He already issued a critical condition notice.” “Hannah’s uncle is rushing to the ER now. I think they are planning to drag you back by force.” I stared at the screen and let out a cold laugh. By force? They really thought they could. Suddenly, the kicking stopped. It was replaced by the high-pitched whine of a power drill. They were drilling out my lock. Two minutes later, the deadbolt gave way with a loud crack. The door was kicked open. Several men in dark suits flooded into the small entryway, blocking any escape. Hannah walked in, stepping over the metal shavings on the floor. A sneer twisted her lips. “Did we really have to do this the hard way, Owen?” “I don’t care if we have to trash this dump of an apartment. Tristan does not have time.” She waved her hand, and two of the hired men grabbed my arms, locking them behind my back. Tristan’s mother rushed in, her eyes red as she shrieked at me. “You heartless bastard! If my son dies, I will make your life a living hell!” I did not struggle. “Using physical force to coerce a medical professional,” I said, looking at Hannah. “You sure know how to dig a grave for your uncle’s career.” Hannah sneered. “Get him to the car. Take him straight to the ER.” 3 I was hauled out of my apartment and shoved into the back of an SUV, sandwiched between two large men. Hannah sat in the passenger seat, frantically coordinating with the hospital over her phone. “Where is Dr. Bradley? Tell him to prep the blood bags! Is the anesthesiologist ready?” The charge nurse’s voice on the other end was trembling: “Hannah, Dr. Bradley said we cannot prep blood or administer anesthesia without a lead surgeon. It is against protocol.” “To hell with protocol! Owen is on his way. Tell them to get ready now!” Hannah slammed her phone shut and whipped around to glare at me. “Listen to me, Owen. If Tristan dies tonight, I will make sure you and everyone you care about pay for it.” I leaned back against the leather seat, watching the streetlights blur in the rain. Two years ago, Tristan was complaining of dizziness in a VIP ward after drinking himself into a mild stomach bleed. Hannah had bypassed all protocols to take the last two bags of O-negative blood from the bank, blood that was flagged for Lily, who was actively bleeding out from a car crash. I had stood in front of Hannah, pleading, arguing, screaming for my sister’s life. She had simply leaned back in her leather office chair, inspecting her manicure, and said, “Tristan is dizzy, Owen. Your sister is not going to drop dead this second. She can wait.” Wait. But Lily could not wait. And now, it was Tristan’s turn to wait. The SUV tore through the storm, pulling into the hospital’s ambulance bay fifteen minutes later. The hired men dragged me through the sliding glass doors and straight to the trauma bay of the ER. The double doors to the resuscitation room were shut. Dr. Bradley stood outside, drenched in sweat, arguing with a group of residents while holding a stack of scans. When he saw me being escorted in by force, he froze. “Owen? What on earth…” Hannah pushed past the crowd and stood in front of Dr. Bradley. “I brought him. Get the OR ready immediately!” Gavin pushed his way through the huddle. Seeing my arms pinned, his eyes flared. “What the hell are you doing? This is kidnapping!” Gavin lunged forward to push the guards away, but Hannah grabbed him by his scrubs. “You had better watch your tone, Gavin. If you want to play hero for him, I will have your medical career ended by tomorrow morning.” Gavin clenched his jaw, glaring at her with pure disgust. Dr. Bradley stepped in, his face dark. “Hannah, Owen is suspended. You filed the complaint yourself.” “He has no privileges, no authority to operate. If he touches a scalpel, the entire department will take the fall.” “I told you, my uncle is taking responsibility!” Hannah screamed, pointing a finger in Dr. Bradley’s face. “You have been here long enough to know what is important. If anything happens to Tristan, you are losing your job as department head!” Dr. Bradley’s chest heaved with anger, but he was speechless. Suddenly, the resuscitation room doors burst open. A nurse, her scrubs covered in blood, ran out. “His pressure is down to sixty! The dissection is tearing downward, and he has gone into V-fib!” Hearing this, Tristan’s mother gasped, her eyes rolling back as she fainted onto the floor. The hallway erupted into chaos. Hannah’s face went white. She lunged at me, grabbing my collar so hard her fingernails dug into my neck. “Do you hear that? Go scrub in! Now!” I let her claw at me, my eyes fixed on the half-open door of the resuscitation room. Five days ago, in this exact lobby. I was in the middle of administering a shock to an elderly patient in cardiac arrest. Hannah had rushed in because Tristan had nicked his finger while peeling an apple. She had literally yanked the plug of my defibrillator out of the wall. “He is just an old man, but Tristan is bleeding!” she had screamed. The old man died right there. Today, fate was playing the exact same joke on Tristan. “Owen!” Seeing me motionless, Hannah let go of my collar, reached into her bag, and slapped a document against my chest. I looked down. It was an eviction and disposal notice for Lily’s ashes from the hospital columbarium. After my sister passed, my parents could not bear the grief and passed away shortly after. I was left alone, keeping Lily’s ashes in the hospital’s private memorial niche while I saved up for a proper burial plot. Since Hannah ran administration and logistics, she had intercepted the renewal notice. “Still refuse to operate?” She sneered, her face twisted in malice, holding the paper inches from my nose. “The lease expired today. You thought keeping your sister’s ashes here made them safe?” “Let me remind you, my department oversees the grounds. One word from me, and since you have not renewed, your precious sister gets cleared out.” She crumpled the paper in her fist. “If you don’t get into that OR right now, I will have her ashes thrown into the biohazard bin and sent straight to the incinerator!” 4 The surrounding doctors and nurses gasped in horror. Gavin cursed aloud: “Are you even human, Hannah?” The two hired guards immediately pinned Gavin against the wall. My eyes burned red. I stared at the stamped notice, my hands clenching into tight fists at my sides. “Well?” she hissed, her eyes dripping with venom. “What is it going to be, Doctor? Your precious rules, or your sister’s final remains?” Just then, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. Richard, the Vice President, arrived with several administrators. “Owen!” Richard roared before he even reached us. “This is an emergency override! Scrub in and operate immediately! I, as the Executive Vice President, will take full responsibility!” I looked at him and let out a cold laugh, standing perfectly still. “Uncle, Tristan is dying!” Hannah shrieked. Richard grit his teeth and turned to the reception desk. “Give me a pen and paper!” Right there on the counter, he scribbled an emergency authorization, stamped it with his personal seal, and shoved it in front of me. It read: In light of the patient’s critical condition, Dr. Owen is authorized to perform emergency surgery. All clinical outcomes are to be managed by the surgical team. I looked at the paper and smiled. A bureaucrat is always a bureaucrat. Even pushed to the edge, he was still playing word games. If the surgery succeeded, his niece’s lover lived, and he would take the credit for a miraculous save. If it failed, I was practicing without a license, and the surgical team would take the fall. Richard waved at the guards. “What are you waiting for? Put the sterile gown on him and get him into the OR!” The two men grabbed a spare sterile gown from the desk and tried to force it onto me. Dr. Bradley stepped forward to stop them, but Richard shoved him back. “Stay out of this, Bradley!” Richard barked. I stood there, letting the gown hang loose from one shoulder. I turned my gaze to the back of the reception desk, where a half-empty bottle of high-proof whiskey sat. Some drunk patient must have had it confiscated earlier. Under the watchful eyes of everyone in the hallway, I broke free from the guards’ grip and grabbed the bottle. I twisted the cap off. Hannah froze. “What are you doing?” Richard frowned. “Go wash your hands and sterilize! Stop wasting time!” I ignored them, raising the bottle to my lips.

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1 My wife is severely obsessive-compulsive about time. In our three years of marriage, our lives have been calculated down to the second. Just because I was a minute late delivering a forgotten document to her office, she ordered me to stand outside the building and reflect on my mistake. I waited in sub-zero temperatures for three hours, only to end up in the hospital with a raging fever, where I stumbled upon her. She was sitting beside a hospital bed, fussing over a young man with a tiny scratch on his knee. This was the son of her “key business partner,” the one she claimed she had to look after. I turned and left. The next day, as she rushed to a crucial bidding meeting, I drove straight into a traffic bottleneck and parked. “Wait as long as you like,” I said. “Isn’t your time cheap anyway?” She said nothing, but the young heir beside her snapped. “Gavin, you’re just Fiona’s driver. You have no idea how important this bid is!” “Letting your petty jealousy ruin her business is pathetic.” I casually lit a cigarette. “Your partnership with Summit is terminated.” Fiona, who always maintained a perfect, elegant public image, lost her composure, stepping out of the car to slam her hand against my window. “Gavin Geller, you have no right to interfere with my business!” I let out a cold laugh. There is no need to keep a woman who does not know her place. I will simply withdraw all my anonymous financial support and find a woman who actually knows how to be grateful. At 4:07 AM, Fiona’s fingertip tapped lightly on my forehead. This was the optimal wake-up time for a husband she had calculated. It was exactly eighteen minutes before she got out of bed, leaving me just enough time to prep her breakfast so it was served at precisely forty-two degrees Celsius. She had severe time-related OCD. In our three years of marriage, seventeen atomic clocks hung throughout our house, calibrated to zero-point-three seconds of accuracy. A “Husband’s Schedule” was taped to the refrigerator. From how many centimeters of toothpaste to squeeze onto her brush, to exactly how many seconds we should hug before she left, everything was highlighted in red. I used to think this was the self-discipline of a successful female entrepreneur. Until 9:21 AM today, when she called me. “Gavin, bring File G-7 to Meridian Tower. Be there at ten sharp.” “A minute early, I’ll wait. A minute late, you stand and wait.” Outside, a blizzard was howling, the temperature dropping to fifteen below. I grabbed the file and bolted out the door. Following her rules, I did not even grab a heavy coat. As soon as I cleared the neighborhood, traffic ground to a halt. A jackknifed semi had blocked the entire intersection, paralyzing the main road. I ran half a mile through the blinding snow, holding the file to my chest. When I reached the lobby of Meridian Tower, the digital clock flashed 10:01. Fiona stepped out of the revolving doors, completely ignoring me, and reached her hand out to her assistant. Then, she finally spared me a cold glance. “Reflect on your mistake right here, Gavin. You leave when I leave.” “Fiona, it’s fifteen below out here.” “Even if it were fifty below, it is the price of your tardiness.” She walked away. I stood outside that building for three hours. First, my toes lost feeling. Then my fingers, ears, and the tip of my nose. Eventually, the line between standing and floating blurred. My throat burned, and every cough felt like a minor explosion in my chest. My buddy, Nate, happened to drive past the business district. Seeing me shivering violently under a streetlight, he immediately pulled over and dragged me into his car. “Gavin, are you out of your mind?!” I could not speak. I just laughed weakly. He rushed me to St. Jude’s Hospital. The ER doctor took my temperature and snapped, “103.6! Another thirty minutes, and you’d be looking at severe pneumonia!” After three hours on an IV drip, my fever broke to 99.5. I wrapped my down jacket tightly around myself and walked toward the inpatient wing. As I passed the third floor, I spotted a familiar silhouette. Room 302’s door was cracked open. Fiona’s back was to the door. She was sitting by the bedside, gently blowing on a spoonful of soup. In the bed lay a man in his early twenties. A tiny band-aid sat on his knee. A mere scrape. Yet he was staying in a private VIP suite. “Careful, it’s hot,” her voice was as gentle as a feather. In three years of marriage, she had never used that tone with me. “Fiona,” the boy whined, tugging at her sleeve. “Do you still have to deliver that bid today?” “No. I had the driver do it.” When she said “driver,” there was not a single second of hesitation. I stepped back, leaning my cold forehead against the hospital wall. Nate caught up to me, looked inside, and gasped. “Is that… Zach? Arthur Coleman’s son?” I closed my eyes. Zachary. The boy she called “the poor, motherless son of a business partner who needs extra care.” Outside the window, the snow kept falling. I turned and walked away. Nate whispered, “Gavin, do you want me to have the Kingsley Group intervene?” “Not yet.” “Why?” “I want to see how far Fiona will play this farce when she has no idea who I really am.” Tomorrow morning at ten, Fiona was scheduled to attend the Metropolis Center for the Metropolis Landmark bidding meeting. An 1.8 billion dollar contract. The prize she had been clawing for all year. She demanded I have the car at the south gate at precisely 9:45 AM. To ensure a thirty-second window of accuracy, she had forced me to practice driving the route seven times over the past week. The next morning at nine sharp, Fiona walked out of her building. She had not come home last night, but she looked immaculate. “I redesigned the route,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat. “Go to 32 Michigan Avenue first. We’re picking up Zach.” My hands tightened on the wheel. “Michigan Avenue? That’s the opposite direction. Going there and then to the Metropolis Center will add at least forty minutes.” “Just do what I say,” she snapped, finally looking at me. “Zachary is joining us today.” “Joining us?” I chuckled. “There are only five pre-qualified bidders: Summit, Apex, Horizon, Crest, and Kingsley. Coleman Group isn’t on the list.” “Their credentials don’t even meet the baseline requirement for a supplier on this project.” Fiona’s expression hardened. “Gavin,” she said coldly. “Since when does a driver analyze my bids?” “I invited Zachary to observe. Is there a problem?” Coleman Group had absolutely nothing to do with the Metropolis project. I knew this better than anyone. But she wanted to bring him anyway. Not for business, but to show everyone who the charming young man beside the great CEO Fiona Campbell was. “Fine,” I said, starting the ignition. “Michigan Avenue it is.” At 9:21 AM, we stopped outside 32 Michigan Avenue. Zachary was already waiting, dressed in a tailored suit, his hair slicked back. He opened the back door and slid in. “Fiona, how is Driver Gavin so punctual today?” Fiona ignored him. I glanced at him through the rearview mirror, shifted gears, and drove. At 9:38 AM, as we approached a narrow construction lane, I slammed on the brakes and parked the car directly across the entrance to the emergency lane. The cars behind us erupted into a chorus of angry honking. “Gavin!” Fiona’s voice pitched high. “What are you doing?!” “Fender bender ahead,” I said, lighting a cigarette. “We wait.” She checked her GPS. The route was completely clear. “Have you lost your mind, Gavin?!” “Fiona,” I exhaled a puff of smoke, “didn’t you say time was precious? Today, we take our time.” “After all, your assistant Zach wants to see you win the bid, doesn’t he?” Zachary leaned forward from the backseat. “Gavin, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea how important this bid is for Fiona today?” I turned to look at him. “Zach, why are you even going to Metropolis Center today?” “Coleman Group isn’t one of the five bidders. You don’t even meet the vendor threshold.” “Are you going as her mascot?” Zachary’s face went white. “Mind your own business!” “I am minding it, on Fiona’s behalf,” I said, tapping the ash from my cigarette. “And as of today, your partnership with Summit is terminated.” Zachary let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Who the hell do you think you are? A driver making decisions for the CEO of Summit Enterprises?” Fiona flung her door open and marched over to my window, slamming her palm against the glass. “Gavin! Get out of the car!” I rolled the window down. “Who the hell do you think you are to terminate my partnerships?!” her voice was trembling with rage. “The annual trade volume between Coleman and Summit is 160 million! Can you afford that loss?!” “You are nothing but a driver who shuttles me back and forth!” She finally screamed the words she had kept bottled up. The blaring horns of the cars behind us echoed in the air. Passersby stared. The refined, elegant image Fiona carefully cultivated for the media lay shattered on the asphalt. I stubbed out my cigarette. “Fiona, you are going to be late.” “Mr. Coleman.” Zachary stepped out and held Fiona’s arm. “Fiona, don’t waste your breath on him! We’ll hail a cab. We can still make it!” Fiona glared at me one last time. “Let’s go!” The two of them flagged down a taxi and sped away. I watched them disappear, the final thread of hesitation in my heart snapping. I started the engine and drove off the ramp. I wanted to witness her downfall with my own eyes. At 10:13 AM, Fiona pushed open the doors of the bidding hall. She was late by exactly thirteen minutes. The presenter paused, and all the evaluation experts turned their heads in unison. In that moment, she was no longer the brilliant rising star of the business community. She was an unprofessional latecomer who could not even manage basic punctuality. I did not enter the hall. I sat in the VIP lounge on the thirty-sixth floor, listening to Nate’s live audio feed. “Gavin, she tried to explain the delay, but the board didn’t buy it.” “Summit’s presentation time was cut to eight minutes.” “Apex’s presentation was perfect. They bid 1.68 billion.” “It’s over. Apex won the contract.” I pulled up my encrypted messaging app. My directive from last night sat quietly on the screen: “Execute the plan. Cap the bid at 1.68 billion. She leaves empty-handed today.” Fiona had no idea. Of the five pre-qualified bidders today, three were shell companies I had quietly established over the past three years. Nested through seven layers of holding companies, the ultimate owner was an offshore trust. She could investigate for a lifetime and never trace it back to me. She also did not know that the anonymous investor who injected twenty million into Summit three years ago, rescuing her from bankruptcy and placing her on the city’s under-forty list, was me. The very man she treated like a chauffeur, whose life she regulated down to the second. At 11:47 AM, the doors of the bidding hall opened. Fiona walked out first, her face as pale as paper. Zachary rushed to her side. “Fiona! How did it go?!” She ignored him, walking straight toward me and stopping. “Gavin,” her voice shook violently. “Apex bid 1.68 billion, which is twenty million below our cost margin. They won.” “Do you know why?” Her eyes began to redden. “Because I was thirteen minutes late.” “The board’s exact words: If Director Fiona Campbell cannot even manage basic punctuality, how can we trust Summit to deliver an 1.8 billion dollar project on schedule?” She glared at me. “You did this on purpose. You blocked me on the highway. You made me late. You ruined this bid.” Zachary quickly stepped in, rubbing her back and acting comforting. “Fiona! I told you! That driver did this on purpose!” “You were so good to him! You made sure his breakfast was exactly forty-two degrees, you made schedules for him, and this is how the snake repays you!” “How is Summit going to make up for an 1.8 billion dollar loss? How are we going to face the shareholders?” Fiona’s tears began to fall. In three years of marriage, it was the first time I had ever seen her cry. “Gavin, did you do this on purpose?” I looked at her tear-streaked face. The face that had looked down at me so coldly every single morning over a stopwatch. I smiled. “What if I did? What if I didn’t?” I pulled a document from my breast pocket and slapped it onto the glass coffee table. “Divorce papers. I had my lawyer draft them last night.” “I was hesitating this morning, but I’m not anymore.” Fiona froze. “You…” “How much money you lost today is none of my business. That 1.8 billion has nothing to do with me.” “I want a divorce. Right here, right now.” “I don’t want a dime. You keep the house, the car. I’m leaving with nothing.” Zachary let out a mocking laugh. “Driver Gavin, you cost Fiona 1.8 billion and now you’re just going to pack your bags and run?” “Fiona, don’t sign! He’s trying to escape liability!” Zachary slipped his hand around Fiona’s waist. “Fiona, this man is dangerous. If he had the nerve to ruin your bid today, who knows what he’ll do tomorrow?” “I should stay with you tonight. It’s not safe for you to be alone.” “What if he regrets signing and tries to take revenge? What if he thinks he has nothing to lose and tries to extort you?” “I need to protect you.” I said nothing. I just looked at Zachary’s hand resting on Fiona’s waist. On his thumb, he wore a jade ring. The exact same ring Fiona had told me she bought as a “small souvenir for a girlfriend” during her business trip last month. Fiona looked at me, expecting me to rage, to plead, to argue. But I just nodded slowly. “Fine. Since Zach is so concerned about your safety, let him go home with you. Sign the papers first.” Zachary urged her, “Fiona, sign it! The sooner we cut ties with this parasite, the better! I’ll take you to the courthouse tomorrow morning!” Fiona grabbed the pen. The tip hovered over the paper for three agonizing seconds. She looked up at me one last time. There was a flicker of panic, a touch of hesitation, and perhaps a sliver of regret. But only a sliver. The next second, she grit her teeth and scribbled her name. The ink was still wet as Zachary snatched the folder. “Signed! Fiona, let’s go!” Fiona slipped the papers into her bag. “Gavin. Nine tomorrow morning, at the courthouse.” “According to your punctuality rule, if you are a single second late, I will make sure you never get this divorce.” She turned to leave. Zachary leaned in close to her ear. “Fiona, I’ll take care of you tonight. Driver, assistant, whatever you need me to be.” He paused, looking back at me with a smirk. “After all, Gavin’s position is officially open starting tonight.” The two of them walked toward the elevators. Fiona never looked back. In that moment, the anger in my chest burned to its absolute peak. But a second later, I smiled. I pulled my phone out and opened my encrypted messaging app. To: Command Center. I typed the first message: “Initiate a full financial audit and liquidation of Summit Enterprises.” “Recall the twenty million anonymous investment from three years ago as a private high-interest loan, principal plus interest.” “Inform all suppliers and vendors by midnight tonight: Fiona Campbell is no longer trustworthy.” Send. An instant reply came back: “Understood, sir.” I stared at the closed elevator doors and typed the second line: “And don’t forget the Coleman Group. Tear them down together.” “The time for reckoning has come!”

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1 I’ve been a lawyer for eight years. I only represent blue-collar workers, and my record is flawless: a hundred percent success rate. Recently, a major publicly traded corporation, currently drowning in a massive class-action lawsuit from its employees, dumped a three-million-dollar retainer on my desk. They were begging me to defend them. Twenty years ago, I faced this exact company in court. Back then, my dad was forced to work three days and three nights straight. His heart gave out from extreme exhaustion, landing him in the ICU. The company flatly refused to cover it as a workplace injury. My family couldn’t afford the astronomical medical bills, and we had to watch him die. When we tried to sue, the CEO used his massive PR machine to smear us in the media. The harassment drove my mother to jump from our apartment building. She died right in front of my eyes. Yet the public blamed us, calling us greedy scammers, while the CEO stood under the camera lights, looking pristine and untouchable. From that day on, I swore I’d clear my family’s name. After law school, I clawed my way up to become the kind of attorney that makes predatory bosses sweat through their expensive suits. My office walls were covered in framed letters of appreciation from families I had saved. So when my managing partner dropped the corporate retainer in front of me, I looked at the familiar logo on the file and smiled. “Looks like I’m about to add another win to my record.” Douglas, my managing partner, was already daydreaming about whether to buy a new Mercedes or a Porsche. When my words finally registered, his face went rigid. “This is three million dollars, Anya! I’ll only take a cut of five hundred thousand, and the rest is yours! You can’t keep being this stubborn because of what happened to your father. You bust your ass for these workers and make pennies. You think I run a charity here?” Douglas had been good to me. When I was a fresh graduate and everyone else shut their doors, he was the only one who gave me a shot. I lowered my head and offered a quiet apology. He only grew more frantic. “Everyone knows you’re a righteous, brilliant lawyer. If you lose just this once, nobody is going to judge you. Honestly, with your talent, if you hadn’t pissed off half the billionaires in the city, you’d be living in a mansion by now. Just look at this as your ticket out of the dirt, alright?” I remembered all the times Douglas had cleaned up my messes. The guilt weighed heavily on me. “I’m handing in my resignation. This case won’t touch the firm.” Douglas nearly lost his mind. “There are thousands of corrupt executives out there, Anya! Do you honestly think you can sue them all by yourself? Even if you win this class-action suit for the workers, what then? They’ll get maybe three hundred thousand dollars each! Why not take the three million? You can quietly donate a chunk of your fee to the victims’ families for funeral costs. Everybody wins!” I looked him dead in the eye, my voice steady. “It’s not about the money.” He yanked at his tie, his face flushed with frustration. “You’re a defense attorney, Anya, not a federal prosecutor! Determining guilt is their job. The world isn’t black and white. It’s about maximizing utility! Those three dead factory workers left behind parents and children. How does dragging this lawsuit out for years help them?” Seeing my resolve remain unshaken, Douglas let out a long, heavy sigh, as if making a monumental sacrifice. “Look, I know how pigheaded you are. If you don’t want to play ball, just call in sick and sit this one out. I promise you, once we secure this corporate payout, I’ll personally fund your little pro-bono crusade for the rest of the year.” A vivid memory flashed in my mind. Twenty years ago in that courtroom, the public defender assigned to my father’s case had worn the exact same expression. Your dad didn’t drop dead on the factory floor, kid. Legally, it’s a nightmare to prove it was overwork. Besides, the company offered five thousand for funeral costs. That’s more than fair. Is that all a human life was? A sum to be calculated, negotiated, and settled? If we had won that case back then, perhaps these three new families wouldn’t be mourning their loved ones today. I forced down the tears stinging the back of my throat. “I’m not changing my mind. No matter how dark this road gets, I’m walking it to the end.” I owed it to those families. And I owed it to the terrified, helpless little girl I used to be. Douglas knew there was no swaying me. He stopped pushing. “Have it your way. Go get the files from Jeff. If this blows up in your face, the firm is washing its hands of you.” He waved off my thanks and picked up his phone to call the corporate client. Before I could finish gathering the files, my phone rang with an unknown number. Even after twenty years, the voice on the other end was instantly recognizable, though slightly raspy with age. “Ah, Counselor. Is the price not right? I admire your talent, Anya. Play ball with me, and I’ll hand you whatever prestige, power, or position you want on a silver platter.” That patronizing, arrogant tone made my stomach turn. “With all your billions, Donald Garrison, why can’t you just upgrade the safety equipment in your factories? Why can’t you just pay the victims’ families what they deserve?” Donald let out a cold, mocking laugh. “How much do you honestly think their lives are worth? Why would I waste my capital on them? You’ve handled enough of these cases to know the truth. Nobody gives a damn when ants get stepped on.” It was the exact same script. Twenty years ago, I had burst into his office, demanding to know why he wouldn’t pay for my father’s ICU bills. His eyes had been filled with nothing but mockery. Your dad was a replaceable gear, kid. Why would I waste precious resources on him? He was a loser when he was alive, and he’s worth even less dead. If you want someone to blame, blame your father for not working hard enough and becoming a burden to his family. Yet, in front of the reporters’ cameras, he had shed crocodile tears, talking about how much he valued his staff and how devastated he was by the loss of such a dedicated employee. I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my skin. “Is your blood somehow blue, Donald? If you look down on your workers so much, where do you get the nerve to steal the fruits of their labor?” His chuckle grew louder, dripping with condescension. “No wonder you’re still broke after all these years. Has pitying the poor ever paid your mortgage? You know who we are. Aligning yourself with us is your only ticket to the upper class. I’ll give you thirty minutes to think about it. I’ll even throw in another million as a gesture of friendship. Otherwise…” Before he could finish his threat, I cut him off. “You’re not in my league.” Back then, Garrison Industries was just a rising mid-sized firm. My dad was their top salesman, pulling in millions in net profit for them every single month. Yet his salary barely covered our rent. When I clutched my father’s ashes, screaming that I would make Donald Garrison pay, the man’s smug grin had been intolerable. Sweetheart, people of your class don’t get to make demands. Today, I handed those exact words back to him. He was so stunned by the rejection that before he could utter a single curse, I hung up. A second letter of a collective groan echoed through the office. “What the hell? Are you kidding me? Our firm’s state registry access just got suspended! We can’t file any court documents!” Douglas emerged from his office, his face pale and grim, looking at me with a heavy silence. “Garrison Industries isn’t a company you play with, Anya. He has an only son, Dominic, and he’ll spend every dime he has to protect him.” Tyler, our new associate, stared with wide eyes. “Wait, the billionaire Garrisons? I heard they have friends in high places everywhere. Didn’t they drive a rival firm’s owner and his family to leap off a building last year?” Richard, a veteran attorney who had worked with me for five years, grabbed my hands, his eyes red. “Anya, I’ve always backed your crusades. But this time, you’re throwing all of us into the fire! My wife just had our baby, and I’ve got a massive mortgage to pay. I can’t lose my license!” Other voices chimed in around the room. “I spent five years studying to pass the bar. I’m the only lawyer in my family…” “My mom is in the hospital, and I still haven’t cleared her surgical bills…” Our firm was small, with only five or six attorneys. Every single one of them came from the exact type of ordinary, hard-working background that Donald Garrison despised. Twenty years had passed, and the man had only grown more ruthless. Douglas squeezed my shoulder, his voice thick with exhaustion. “Even if you win this trial, Anya, that old wolf has a dozen ways to keep his son out of prison and ensure the victims’ families never see a dime. But the colleagues you work with every single day? Their lives will be utterly destroyed.” I grit my teeth, but before I could speak, the glass doors of our office were violently shoved open. Several burly security guards in dark suits filed in, followed by Donald Garrison. He looked around the modest office with absolute disdain, his sharp eyes finally locking onto me. His expression was one of mild irritation, like a king forced to deal with a minor pest. After twenty years, the billionaire was graying and wrinkled, but those cold, calculating eyes remained entirely unchanged. He was exponentially wealthier now, his vintage watch and tailored Italian suit practically screaming old money. I took a step forward, meeting his gaze. “So you’re the attorney trying to drag my company through the mud?” He curled his lip in a patronizing smirk. “I heard you have a flawless record. I only offered you that retainer because I respect competence. This was your one ticket out of mediocrity, girl.” His son, Dominic, trailed behind him, casually lighting a cigarette. “Dad, why are you even talking to this nobody? We own half the city. People beg for our crumbs. Why did we even bother coming here? If she actually wants to try us in court, I’ll personally show her what a real defeat looks like.” It was pathetic. A rotten tree could only yield bitter fruit. A ruthless narcissist had raised an even worse successor. I stared at Dominic’s arrogant face, so similar to his father’s. “Then you’d better prepare your defense, because you’re the one who is going to lose.” Having his pride wounded in front of his father, Dominic snapped. He dropped his cigarette, stomped it out, and pointed a finger directly at my face. “Who the hell do you think you are? You got lucky on a few minor wage disputes and suddenly you think you’re in our league?” Donald raised a hand, silencing his son, though his face remained locked in a tight, artificial smile. “Anya, I’ve looked at your financials. You make maybe a hundred and fifty thousand a year, and you’re carrying credit card debt. I am offering you five million dollars. Distribute a bit of that to your colleagues, and you can retire comfortably today. People in your profession want two things: wealth and prestige. That’s why you represent those worthless factory workers, isn’t it? Take my offer, and I’ll have my media outlets paint you as a brilliant, cooperative legal mind. You’ll be famous overnight. Your future retainers will start at seven figures.” He was absolutely certain I would bend. Which was why his smile turned to stone the moment I whispered, “No.” “Of course, an orphan wouldn’t know any better,” Dominic sneered. “No parents to teach you how the world works. Rejecting a gold mine like this… you’re destined to die in the gutter.” I remembered my father’s words from when I was a little girl. Anya, always remember that every human being is born equal. Walk with your head high. Never look down on anyone, and never let anyone look down on you. A sudden surge of rage washed over me. This bastard had no right to speak of my parents. “I have parents. They were killed by a parasitic corporate thief!” Donald raised an eyebrow, a flicker of cold amusement passing over his features. “Ah, so that’s why you have this little obsession. Well, your parents deserved what they got. If they had any talent, they would have been the ones running a company. Why did they die when everyone else survived? They were useless, and they raised a useless daughter. Honestly, clearing people like that out of the system just reduces the burden on society.” My nails cut deep into my palms. My chest felt like it was going to burst. “Shut your mouth!” Dominic smirked, matching his father’s chilling arrogance. “Is he wrong? You working-class losers are always whining about evil bosses. The truth is, you’re weak, lazy, and can’t handle pressure. When you die, it’s just natural selection.” He stepped closer, looking at me with a sickening smile. “If you ask me, you should go join them in the ground. Weak genes like yours shouldn’t be passed down anyway. You’re just waste.” If Richard and Tyler hadn’t grabbed my arms, my fist would have shattered Dominic’s jaw. Donald cleared his throat, delivering his final ultimatum. “There’s no need to bicker over details. Accept the offer, rewrite your destiny, and give your future children a life of luxury. Your dead parents might actually rest in peace knowing their bloodline finally amounted to something.” He paused, his cold gaze sweeping over my trembling, silent colleagues. “Or, you can cling to your little crusade. But if you do, understand this: every single person associated with you, your colleagues, your friends, will pay the price. I will ruin them all.” Douglas was dripping with cold sweat, pulling me aside, his voice cracking as he whispered, “Anya, please. I’m begging you. We’re a tiny firm. We can’t survive this.” I closed my eyes, my breathing heavy, remaining silent. Donald’s patience finally evaporated. “Fine. If you want to do this the hard way, so be it.” He turned to his assistant. “Have their state credentials pulled immediately. Ensure none of these people ever work in the legal field again.” Panicked cries erupted in the office. The supportive glances of my colleagues instantly curdled into resentment. “Anya, do you really need to destroy our families to satisfy your ego?” “If you were actually as powerful as you think, you wouldn’t be stuck in a small firm like this! Why do you have to play the hero at our expense?” Douglas looked at me, his eyes bloodshot with rage and despair. “I know you want justice for the victims, Anya. But are your colleagues just collateral damage to you? Do you feel even a shred of remorse for what you’re doing to us?” I had seen this exact scene twenty years ago. The single journalist who had agreed to write about my father’s death was threatened by Donald Garrison. Her files were destroyed, and our relatives blamed us for dragging them into the mess. My mother, crushed by the isolation, had given up. But I wouldn’t. I had spent twenty years preparing for this fight. I was not going to break. Donald looked thoroughly pleased with the chaos he had sown. He tipped his chin at me with a smug, cruel smile. “Anya, understand your place. I offered you a hand, but that doesn’t mean you’re important. At the end of the day, you’re just a dog. If you won’t heel, I’ll have to put you down.” The heavy office doors opened again. This time, state investigators in dark windbreakers entered. “Anya Stone, you are under arrest for manufacturing fraudulent evidence and attempted extortion. Your license to practice law is hereby suspended pending trial.” Dominic let out a mocking whistle, looking at my colleagues. “If the rest of you want to avoid sharing her cell, you know exactly what to do.” Douglas glanced at me once before quickly lowering his eyes. The others couldn’t even look me in the face. A quiet voice mumbled, “We’re sorry, Anya. We don’t have a choice.” When questioned by the investigators, my colleagues used their deep legal knowledge to carefully tailor their statements, subtly shifting the blame onto me to save themselves. I was taken to a holding cell. Before leaving the station, Donald looked at my file, a brief flicker of curiosity on his face. “You’ve been remarkably persistent. You aren’t by any chance the daughter of one of my old factory hands, are you?” He shrugged a moment later, indifferent. “Well, I don’t remember. They’re all just faceless poor people anyway.” The destruction of my family was as trivial to him as a passing rainstorm. I glared at him through the bars, my blood boiling. “You and your son are going to burn for this!” He paused, then burst into a hearty laugh. “Every loser who fails to extort me says the exact same thing. But my family has enough wealth to last generations. You should worry about where you’re spending the next ten years, counselor.” He unleashed his media empire on me. Overnight, skewed reports painted me as a corrupt attorney who preyed on vulnerable corporations through fraudulent lawsuits. Douglas visited me once, only to hand me my formal termination papers. He stammered, looking at the floor. “They cleared out your office, Anya. I have a family to feed, so…” “It’s fine,” I cut in gently. “I understand.” I didn’t hate them. They were innocent people trapped in a giant’s path. While I was detained, the families of the factory workers formally withdrew their representation. “The dead are gone, but we still have to survive. We can’t fight them anymore,” they told the press. “The lawyer is locked in a cell. How can she help us? We’d rather take the fifty-thousand-dollar settlement.” But one family remained. A fifteen-year-old girl named Lily. She stood outside the visitor’s partition, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “Anya, their lawyers keep coming to my house, threatening to evict us. I’m so scared. But I can’t let them pretend my mom’s death didn’t matter…” Looking at her, I saw myself twenty years ago. “Don’t be afraid, Lily,” I whispered, pressing my hand to the glass. “I promise you, I will make them pay.” The detective handling my case quietly warned me that I was likely looking at a three-year sentence. Everyone told me to plead out. Lily was so terrified by the constant harassment that she stopped going to school, on the verge of breaking. The night before she was set to sign the settlement agreement, the court unexpectedly expedited my hearing, scheduling it for the very next morning. I was escorted into the courtroom in handcuffs. Donald Garrison sat in the gallery, wearing an expression of absolute triumph. “I wanted to be here in person to watch you break,” he whispered as I walked past. I remained silent. Donald and Dominic behaved with supreme confidence throughout the opening remarks. Everyone in the room assumed the trial was a mere formality before my conviction. Until the prosecutor activated the large presentation screen to display the state’s exhibits. Donald’s smug grin vanished, his mouth hanging open as he froze in his seat. “This is impossible!”

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“And they lived happily ever after.” That was how my story was supposed to end. Like hell we did. The bastard cheated on me. Then he ran my damn company into the ground. On top of that, these annoying, glowing comments have been floating in front of my eyes lately, mocking me day in and day out. [Aww, he doesn’t want you anymore. Poor female lead~] [The goddess on a pedestal turned into a chore in the end~] [Dean: The legendary King of Backstabbing.] I scoffed, turned around, and stabbed Dean to death. 01 When the blade sank in, Dean was still trying to force me to sign. One of his hands pressed down on the transfer agreement, while the other shielded Sienna behind him. Sienna, wearing my necklace, stood behind him. Her eyes welled with tears instantly. “Anna, I swear I never wanted to take anything from you.” Dean frowned. “Anna, don’t scare her.” I glanced at the documents spread across the desk. Equity transfer. Debt confirmation. Change of corporate representative. Every page was beautifully drafted, a perfect execution of my ruin. Three years ago, the epilogue ended at our wedding. He had knelt in the pouring rain, begging for my hand. Eyes red, he had sworn: “Anna, I will love you and only you for the rest of my life.” The comments had wept back then. [He finally realized his mistake.] [Hurry up and take him back, girl!] [The perfect ending. They’re going to be so happy.] I took him back. I married him. I gave him executive control over half the company. I stood before the board of directors and declared that Dean was not only my husband but the person I trusted most in the world. And now, he had used that trust to bleed my company dry. Sienna took a step forward, her voice tiny and sweet. “Anna, Dean is only doing this for your own good.” I looked at the necklace around her throat. Dean had given it to me on our first anniversary. He said the diamond was flawless, just like me. Now it hung on Sienna, sparkling mockingly. The comments began to scroll again. [Why isn’t she signing already?] [Who else does she even have besides Dean now?] [She’s just acting tough. She’ll end up crying and begging him anyway.] I picked up the heavy brass letter opener from the desk. Dean finally looked at me, his voice dropping into a stern warning. “Anna. Stop throwing a tantrum.” I walked over. Sienna’s scream tore through the room as the blade plunged straight into Dean’s chest. He looked down at it, dazed, as if his brain couldn’t process the sight. He grabbed my wrist, dark blood spilling over his fingers. “Anna…” I leaned close to his ear. “Shh.” Dean collapsed, his blood pooling and staining the hem of my shoes. Sienna fell to her knees, sobbing so hard her makeup smeared. The comments paused for a fraction of a second. [???] [She actually stabbed him?!] [The male lead can’t die!] Sirens wailed in the distance. I sat back down in my leather chair, watching Dean’s blood slowly seep into the edges of the transfer agreement. Three minutes later, the blood on the floor shifted. It began to flow backward. Not soaking into the carpet, but reversing, defying gravity, trickling back into Dean’s chest. Sienna’s jaw hung open, her screams choking in her throat. The shattered glass pieces of a fallen cup flew back together. The scattered documents floated off the floor and stacked neatly back on the desk. The wound on Dean’s chest sealed shut. Everything went black. When I opened my eyes, I was standing in my walk-in closet. My phone screen lit up. The date had rolled back three days. Dean hadn’t brought Sienna to force me to sign the papers yet. The sound of running water came from the bathroom. On the vanity sat a strange diamond earring. I picked it up. It was a paved diamond stud, from the same luxury brand as the necklace Dean would later give to Sienna. The comments slowly floated back into view. [Thank goodness the story corrected itself.] [Stop trying to murder the male lead!] [Just be good this time. Ask him nicely whose earring this is.] The bathroom door opened. Dean stepped out, drying his hair with a towel. He froze for a second when he saw me standing by the vanity. “Anna?” I opened my palm. “Whose is this?” He glanced at it, his expression instantly smoothing over. “A client’s wife must have dropped it.” He walked toward me, reaching out to take it. “You’ve been working too hard lately. Don’t overthink things.” I let go. The earring clattered onto the marble floor. Dean bent down to pick it up. I grabbed the heavy crystal vase from the counter and slammed it against the back of his head. The glass shattered, exploding the room with the cloying scent of fresh lilies. Dean collapsed at my feet, his hand still clutching the earring. Blood began to seep through his dark hair. I stared at the digital clock on the wall. Three minutes. It was always three minutes. The world reset. 02 When I opened my eyes again, the calendar had jumped back two weeks. I was sitting in the company conference room. Dean was standing in front of the projector screen, introducing our new brand consultant. Sienna, dressed in a pristine white dress, stood beside him, smiling at me. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Cameli. I look forward to working with you.” Dean’s gaze when he looked at her was incredibly soft, as if he were afraid to break a delicate spell. Back then, I thought it was just a routine meeting. It wasn’t until later that I realized this was the day Sienna infiltrated my company. Dean had claimed she was talented and would be a perfect fit for the marketing department. I believed him. Six months later, she walked away with my entire client portfolio. Now, I sat at the head of the table, slowly closing my folder. Everyone in the room turned to look at me. Dean’s eyes met mine. “Is something wrong, Anna?” I turned to Sienna. “Your resume says you have three years of brand consulting experience?” Sienna nodded. “Yes.” “With which firm?” She named a company. I looked over at the HR director. “Verify it. Right now.” Sienna’s smile faltered, her face pale. Dean frowned. “Anna, you’re making this needlessly awkward.” I met his eyes. “Awkward?” The HR director made the call, sweat beading on his forehead. “Ms. Cameli… that firm says they have no record of a Sienna ever working there.” Sienna’s eyes immediately welled with tears. She looked at Dean. “Dean, I didn’t lie. I just… I used my English name back then…” Dean’s voice turned cold. “Anna, that’s enough.” I let out a soft laugh. “She forged her resume, and you’re telling me that’s enough?” He walked over to my side, lowering his voice. “I brought her in myself. Calling her out in public like this is a direct slap to my face.” I picked up the metal letter opener on the desk. Dean’s eyes twitched slightly at the sight of the blade. It was barely a fraction of a second, so brief he probably didn’t even register it. But I did. He was afraid of blades. Even after a reset, some subconscious terror remained. I stood up. The entire room went dead silent. Sienna took a step back. Dean suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip tightening. “Anna, what are you trying to do again?” He used the word “again.” I looked up at him. “Dean, what do you remember?” His face went entirely blank. The comments flashed aggressively across my vision. [WARNING: Residual memory anomaly detected.] [Initiate immediate overwrite.] [Trigger male lead comforting sequence.] Dean’s grip tightened further. His eyes softened with unnatural speed. “Anna, you’re under too much pressure. Let’s call an end to the meeting. We’ll talk about this at home.” He reached out to pull me into an embrace. In the past, whenever he lowered his head and held me like this, I would always yield. Instead, I flipped my hand and drove the letter opener straight into his abdomen. The conference room exploded into chaos. Sienna screamed at the top of her lungs. The HR director scrambled out of his chair, nearly falling over himself to escape. Dean gripped my shoulders, dark red blood gushing through his fingers. For the first time, genuine terror flashed in his eyes. I stared into his face. “Further back,” I whispered. “Push us back even further.” Three minutes later, the world reset. When I opened my eyes, I was standing outside the company’s finance department. The date had jumped back four months. The door was slightly ajar. Dean sat inside, flipping through the corporate seal registry. The CFO stood beside him, looking hesitant. “Dean, Ms. Cameli gave strict orders. The corporate seal is never to leave the vault.” Dean gave a reassuring laugh. “She’s been so busy lately. I need to review and sign these contracts on her behalf. We’re married. She won’t mind.” I stood outside, listening. In my past life, after the company went under, the CFO had confessed this to me while sobbing. She had tried to stop him. But Dean had dismissed it, saying there shouldn’t be secrets between husband and wife. Back then, I had even defended him. He was just trying to help me. Hearing those words now made my stomach turn. “But Ms. Cameli…” the CFO mumbled. Dean’s tone cooled. “I will handle Anna. Just give me the seal.” I pushed the door open. The CFO’s face drained of color. “Ms. Cameli.” Dean turned, his hand still resting on the ledger. “Anna? What are you doing here?” I walked up to the desk. “Looking for my seal?” He offered a warm, easy smile. “There’s an urgent contract that needs signing while you’re in meetings. I thought I’d handle it for you.” “Where is the contract?” He paused. I held out my hand. “Let me see it.” The smile slowly faded from Dean’s face. “Anna, do you really not trust me anymore?” The comments began to scroll again. [And so it begins. The trust crisis.] [Don’t ruin this, Anna.] [He’s just trying to help you out.] I stared at Dean. At this point in time, he hadn’t brought Sienna into the company yet. He hadn’t signed those ruinous, fraudulent contracts. He hadn’t transferred my clients. But his hand was already reaching for what was mine. “Take your hand off my files,” I said. Dean didn’t budge. “Anna, I don’t like this side of you.” I picked up the solid brass paperweight sitting next to the vault and slammed it down on the back of his hand. The sickening crunch of breaking bones echoed in the quiet room. The CFO gasped, stumbling backward. Dean let out a choked groan, his eyes wide with sheer disbelief. “Anna!” I grabbed the ledger and tore it to shreds, page by page. “Don’t touch what’s mine.” Dean clutched his broken hand, his face pale. The look he gave me was finally laced with hatred. It was a flash of pure venom before some external force suppressed it. His eyes turned red. “We’re married. Why are you treating me like an enemy?” I picked up the spare shears from the vault shelf. “Dean,” I said quietly, “save that speech for the next run.” Three minutes later, I reset again. 03 The timeline jumped back even further. This time, it was our first wedding anniversary. I was sitting in a private dining room at a high-end restaurant. A beautiful cake sat in the middle of the table. Dean was down on one knee in front of me, holding a velvet box. “Anna, our wedding last year was so rushed,” he said, looking up at me. “I’ve felt like I owed you a proper celebration ever since.” He opened the box to reveal a diamond necklace. It was the exact one that would later hang around Sienna’s neck. The comments went wild. [OMG, the first anniversary gift!] [He’s so sweet and romantic.] [Anna was so happy at this moment.] Dean looked up, waiting. “Do you like it?” I didn’t reach for it. The smile on his face faltered. “Anna?” “Who picked this out?” I asked. He blinked. “I did, of course.” “Where is the receipt?” Dean’s brow furrowed. “Why are you asking that all of a sudden?” I snatched the box, flipped it over, and pulled out the small card tucked into the bottom slot. Written on it in elegant, looping cursive was a brief note: Mr. Cameli, I’m sure Ms. Cameli will love it. Signed, Sienna. Dean saw the card. His face shifted. He quickly reached out to snatch it away. “It’s just a note from the jeweler’s consultant.” I pulled my hand back, keeping the card out of his reach. “The consultant’s name is Sienna?” Dean’s voice took on a sharp edge. “Anna, today is our anniversary. Don’t ruin the mood over nothing.” I stared at him. So it had started this early. While I had been busy planning a surprise for our anniversary, he was already having Sienna pick out my gifts. The waiter knocked and entered, carrying a piping-hot tureen of soup. Dean stood up, clearly trying to brush the tension aside. I grabbed the boiling tureen and threw the hot soup directly onto his face and chest. He screamed in agony. The waiter dropped his tray in terror. I didn’t wait for the three-minute mark. I picked up the steak knife from the table and slit his throat. Blood sprayed across the pristine white cake, instantly blotting out the words written in chocolate: Happy First Anniversary. As the world began to dissolve, the comments glitched frantically. [The protagonist’s aggression level is too high!] [Timeline shifting backward further to compensate.] [Attempting to repair residual fear in the male lead.] When I opened my eyes, I was sitting in a bridal suite. It was our wedding day. A stylist was adjusting my veil in front of the mirror. The girl staring back at me in the white gown was beautiful, but she looked like a stranger. Dean stood at the doorway. He looked dashing in his tuxedo, a warm, bright smile on his face. “Anna. Are you ready?” I looked down at my hands. A diamond band sat on my ring finger. On the inner band, a tiny line of text was engraved. I slipped it off and held it close to my eyes. She will forgive him. The next second, the letters distorted into corrupted code. The sharp edge of the metal sliced into my finger, drawing a bead of blood. The stylist gasped. “Oh my, Ms. Cameli, are you alright?” Dean rushed in, grabbing my hand. “How could you be so careless?” His hands were warm. I watched him gently wipe the blood away. In my past life, I would have thought this was a sign of his deep devotion. Now, I looked past him at the mirror. Words were bleeding onto the glass surface. [The wedding node must not be interrupted.] The text appeared and vanished in a flash. I stared at the mirror. Dean looked up. “Anna?” “Did you see that?” I asked. “See what?” I held the ring in front of his face. “This text.” Dean stared at the ring, his expression completely blank. “There’s nothing there.” But the comments were losing their minds. [She can see the text layer!] [Block her vision! Now!] [The wedding node must be completed!] The minister’s voice echoed from the chapel outside. The guests were seated. The flower girls were in position. Everyone was waiting for me to walk down the aisle. Dean’s mother pushed the door open, her face beaming. “Anna, dear, it’s time.” She was smiling warmly, but on the wall behind her, a line of glowing text floated. [The mother-in-law approves of the female lead to enhance the feeling of a perfect family.] I looked back at the stylist. [Bystander praises the bride’s happiness.] I looked at the flower girls. [Symbols of purity and marital bliss.] Everyone had a line of text hovering over their heads. They couldn’t see it, but I could. Dean gripped my hand tightly. “Don’t be nervous, Anna. I’m right here.” He led me out toward the chapel. The red carpet stretched ahead of us. Guests applauded on both sides. With every step I took, words lit up on the floor beneath my feet. [She finally married him.] [After so many misunderstandings, she chose to believe in love.] [They will live happily ever after.] I stood beside Dean at the altar. The minister smiled warmly and asked, “Anna Cameli, do you take Dean to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Dean looked at me. His gaze was steady, but the hand holding mine was trembling violently. He was terrified. Even if he couldn’t see the floating words, his body remembered what I was capable of. The comments rained down on my vision. [Say ‘I do’.] [Say it now!] [The wedding node cannot collapse!] I stared at Dean. “Are you afraid of me?” His adam’s apple bobbed. “Anna… please don’t do this.” I let out a cold laugh. “You’ve said those words way too many times.” The minister froze. Dean’s mother stood up from the front row. “Anna!” I reached up, tore the veil off my head, and let the white lace drift onto the red carpet. The wedding march stopped instantly. I looked the minister dead in the eye. “I don’t.”

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1 During my fourth year with Lucas, I suddenly gained the ability to detect lies. Whenever someone lied, their words would float before my eyes in a vivid, burning red. Honest words, on the other hand, appeared in a stark, quiet black. At first, I thought it was a quirky trick. Until one night, Lucas held me close and whispered, “I will love only you for the rest of my life.” The words flared. A blinding, painful red. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Before leaving the next morning, he kissed my forehead. “I have to work late tonight. Don’t wait up.” Red. I started paying attention to everything he said. “There is no one else.” Red. “Just a text from a coworker.” Red. “You’re overthinking things.” Red. For an entire week, not a single word he spoke to me was black. Until the weekend, when he took a call, stepping out onto the balcony and lowering his voice. “I miss you, too. See you tomorrow.” Black. The only truth he had spoken all week. But it wasn’t meant for me. When Lucas slid the glass door shut and stepped back inside, he brought a draft of cold air with him. He slipped his phone into his pocket with practiced ease, sat down beside me, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” I stared at him. The caring inquiry floated in black. He genuinely cared about my well-being. I bit my lip and asked softly, “Lucas, do you love me?” He smiled without a second of hesitation. “Of course I do. Why are you even asking?” The letters appeared in a deep, heavy black. He wasn’t lying. He really did love me. My chest loosened slightly, and I immediately asked my second question. “But… will I be the only one you ever love?” Lucas kissed my cheek, his voice soft as water. “Of course, sweetheart. Only you.” Red. My heart plummeted. “What’s wrong? You’re acting strange today.” Lucas ruffled my hair, his movements light and effortless, showing not a hint of a guilty conscience. “What do you want for breakfast tomorrow? I’ll make it for you.” He smoothly changed the subject. I lowered my eyes, my eyelashes trembling to hide the bitter sting. “Whatever. Anything you make is fine.” He smiled, getting up to wash. Hearing the shower running, I curled up on the bed. The mattress was soft, bought after three afternoons of searching. Four years ago, he was living in a tiny basement apartment. He had held my hand, his palm burning hot. “Barbie, I’ll make sure we live in a big house and sleep on the softest bed! Every word I say to you is the absolute truth.” Back then, those words would have been black. I fell for his honesty. Now the bed was soft, but the words were red. Next morning, he said, “I have a meeting with a client. Make sure you eat breakfast.” Red. I held my mug tightly. “Okay. Come back early.” He left. I went to fold the blankets and saw his tablet screen was still on, open to his calendar page. Gemma’s birthday, 7:00 PM, Cloud River Bistro. No cilantro, steak cooked medium. I stared at it. He remembered her dislikes, her steak temperature, and booked a restaurant. I flipped to my birthday. Clean. No restaurant, no notes, no preferences. Only a bank transfer with a note: Happy Birthday. I remembered that day. He said there was an urgent project issue. I told myself it was fine, he was busy. But he wasn’t busy; he just wanted to be with someone else. I took a screenshot of the calendar page and saved it to my hidden folder. Later, I met his mother in the courtyard. She was chatting with other elderly ladies. “Barbie! The knee pads Gemma bought me are wonderful. She even took me to the hospital for my checkup. That girl is so much more attentive than you.” Another lady joined in. “Not many young girls are so thoughtful these days.” His mother sighed. “Yes, Barbie, you should learn from her. Don’t be so quiet all the time.” I smiled. “Okay, I will.” Last month, I had bought her knee pads too. She barely looked at them, throwing them on the sofa. “Just leave them there, I already have some.” When I did it, it was expected. When Gemma did it, it was sweet. I squeezed my package, the cardboard digging into my palm. I booked a one-way ticket back home for five days later. Then I texted my mother. Mom, I’m coming home to stay for a while. She replied instantly with a voice message. Really? Wonderful! I’ll clean your room. What do you want to eat… In the recording, she coughed heavily. My eyes welled up. For four years, because Lucas was busy, I barely went home. I guarded a man full of lies and lost the only real love I had. Lucas returned at eleven that night. He brought my favorite dessert and hugged me from behind. “I’ve been so busy lately. I’ll make it up to you.” Red. “Didn’t you want to visit your mom? I’ll go with you once I’m free.” Red. His hands were warm, his voice soft. I shut my eyes and didn’t call him out. Next morning, I noticed a faint red smudge on his collar. It was not my shade. “Who did you meet yesterday? Your collar is dirty.” Lucas froze, then frowned with annoyance. “Who else? I told you it was a client. Barbie, since when did you start checking up on me?” He looked at me, righteous. “I’ve never lied to you. You should trust me.” Red. The red letters floating in front of his upright face were a cruel joke. I said nothing. He got angrier. “We’ve been together four years, and you never used to ask. You’ve changed, Barbie.” I whispered, “Sorry. I was overthinking.” He relaxed, patting my cheek. “That’s my girl. I’m working this hard for our future, aren’t I?” To make up for the morning, he offered to take me to a French restaurant I’d been wanting to try. I got dressed up. Right before we left, his phone rang. “Barbie, I’m so sorry. The client’s proposal has an issue, I have to go.” Red. He didn’t even bother to make up a new lie. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?” He kissed my head and left. I washed my face and made a simple bowl of noodles. At midnight, he came home. He put his phone on the table and went to shower. His screen lit up with Gemma’s social media post. I opened it. It was the restaurant he promised to take me to. Two steaks. Across the table, the man’s wrist wore the watch I gave him for his birthday. Caption: The best meal ever. Thank you, Mr. Lu. I dumped my half-eaten noodles, bowl and all, into the trash. Lucas showered and saw the empty table. “Why didn’t you eat? Not hungry?” “Not hungry.” I turned away. “Fine then.” He didn’t ask further. Next evening, he invited college friends over. Gemma came, smiling sweetly. “Hey, Barbie! Sorry to barge in.” Every compliment she paid me turned red. Not a single black word came from her mouth all evening. In the kitchen, she followed me to cut fruit. She naturally opened the left cabinet to get a glass, opened the drawer for tea. Then she grabbed my apron from behind the door and put it on. She was so natural, as if she lived here. Someone in the living room laughed. “Gemma, you and Lucas are so in sync. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you guys were an old married couple.” Silence. Then someone added, “Barbie, you wouldn’t mind something like this, right? Lucas is so good to you. Don’t be petty, Gemma is just sweet.” Like nails driving into me. Lucas sat right there, saying nothing. Not explaining, not stopping it. I remembered our first year, when a colleague said I wasn’t good enough for him. Lucas’s face had darkened. “Say that again and see what happens.” I had remembered that protective look for four years. Now, he didn’t even blink. After they left, he rubbed his temples. “See, even they think you’ve been off lately.” I stared at my hands. “You’re right. I was too sensitive.” I went to the study, shut the door, and slid down the wall. My eyes burned. That night, I packed. I found an old card from our first year. Every word I say is true, now and forever. I put it in the suitcase with the rest. Next day, Gemma’s private account posted a photo of an old café. He said this is his most important place, and he wanted to bring me here today. It was the place where Lucas confessed his love to me four years ago. The exact same seat. I closed my eyes. Back then, his hands had been sweaty. “I like you.” I knew those words were black. Now, same seat, different girl. Lucas came in, hugging me from behind. “Barbie, why are you standing here?” His phone rang. His mother. He put it on speaker. “Lucas, bring Barbie over for dinner this weekend. Gemma bought some fresh wagyu and brought it over for us. Honestly, Gemma is so family-oriented even without an official title, unlike Barbie. Your taste in friends is so much better than your taste in partners.” Lucas frowned, glanced at me, but didn’t defend me. “Mom, I got it. I’m hanging up.” He dismissed it. “My mom is just like that. Don’t take it to heart.” But Lucas, did you know? Every word your mother said was black. At dinner, the tension was suffocating. He kept putting food on my plate, telling random jokes to maintain the crumbling peace. I put down my chopsticks. “Lucas, what exactly is your relationship with Gemma?” He froze. He put down his bowl, knelt in front of me, cupping my face. “Barbie, I haven’t betrayed you. I swear, you are the only one I love.” A dense, suffocating wall of red text fell over us. His eyes looked sincere, his voice tender, his hands warm. But every single word burned red. “Why have you become like this? You never used to ask these things.” I bit my lip until it went white. I didn’t ask before because I didn’t need to. Now, with everything red, how could I not ask? In the end, I put my hand over his. “Okay. I believe you.” The biggest lie I ever told. Lucas smiled in relief, kissed my forehead. “That’s my good girl.” He hummed a tune and went to shower. I confirmed my flight and texted mom. Arriving tomorrow. She replied instantly. Great! I’ll pick you up! Making pork rib soup, travel safe. I stared at it and sent a single word. Okay. On the last morning, Lucas didn’t go out. He actually made breakfast. “I’ve neglected you lately. I canceled all my plans today. I’m staying home to be with you.” This text was black. He genuinely meant it in that moment. We had a quiet morning. He washed my paintbrushes, and I made coffee. He hugged me. “Let’s do this every weekend, okay?” Red. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. Before noon, his phone rang. Gemma was crying, her voice shaking. But every word she said was red. Not a single truth. Lucas didn’t know. He only heard her begging. He stood at the door, one foot inside, one foot out. He grabbed his coat. “I have to handle something. I’ll be back in an hour.” Red. “You always say an hour.” “I’ll definitely be back before lunch.” Red. The door closed. The eggs on the table were still warm. Soon, the doorbell rang. His mother. “Gemma told me you’ve been checking Lucas’s phone. Don’t you know men hate that? He works so hard, what else do you want from him? Look at Gemma, she never causes trouble. She cooks, cleans, buys groceries for you guys. She looks more like the lady of the house than you do.” My heart went completely cold. So when I wasn’t home, she had been here so many times, using my kitchen, my utensils, wearing my apron. His mother spoke again. “If you force him to break up with you, you’ll be the one crying. He has plenty of options.” I looked up. “You’re right. It’s my fault.” She left, satisfied. The house was silent. I went to the bedroom and pulled out my suitcase. In the study, I printed the screenshots from my hidden folder. I stuck sticky notes on each one, writing his lies. Meeting a client. Sudden dinner plan. Just a coworker. I’ve never lied to you. At the very top, I placed the card from four years ago. Every word I say is true, now and forever. Next to it, I placed the house keys. I dragged my suitcase to the foyer. I looked back at the home of four years. Quiet, unfamiliar. I gently closed the door and didn’t look back. Lucas. Every word you said was true. Once. But not anymore.

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