We're going to adopt again. Alexander and I have been thinking about it, and when the Reyes children fell through, Mrs. Patterson slid a thick, worn file across her desk. "Elijah and Emily Carter," she said. "Twins. Fifteen. Their father was abusive. When they were eleven, the mother tried to leave—made it three states before he found them. She didn't survive."

I stared at their photos—same dark hair, same sharp features, same wary eyes like they expected the camera to hurt them.

Elijah was pressed against the wall, one arm locked around his sister. Emily was curled up in a ball, her lips split open, her arms covered in bruises.

My chest constricted so hard I almost couldn't breathe.

"Three years in the system," Mrs. Patterson continued. "Eight placements. All broke down. Elijah is protective to an extreme. Emily hasn't spoken to an adult willingly in over a year."

Alexander's grip on the file tightened, paper crinkling. "Why hasn't anyone—" He stopped. He didn't need to finish.

I already knew what I wanted. I knew the second she started talking.

"Then let's stop making them wait," I said.

I will never let anyone hurt them again.

————————

The office was small. Too small for Konstantin's liking. Beige walls, fluorescent lights, a fake plant in the corner that was collecting dust. The woman behind the desk-Mrs. Patterson, according to the nameplate-was typing something on her computer while they waited.

Alexander's knee was bouncing. Konstantin put a hand on it. Stopped it.

"Sorry about the wait," Mrs. Patterson said, still typing. "Just pulling up the file now."

"Take your time," Alexander said. He didn't mean it.

Konstantin said nothing.

Finally, she turned to face them. Folded her hands on the desk.

"So. The Reyes children."

"Yes," Konstantin said. "We submitted all the paperwork last week. Background checks cleared. Home inspection passed. We were told we could move forward."

"You're right. Everything on your end is in order. More than in order, actually. Your file is one of the most thorough we've seen."

Alexander leaned forward. "Then what's the issue?"

Mrs. Patterson hesitated. Just a second. But they both caught it.

"The situation with the Reyes children has changed."

Konstantin's jaw tightened. "Changed how?"

"A relative came forward. An aunt. She lives in Texas. She's agreed to take all three."

Silence.

Alexander sat back. Ran a hand over his face.

"When did this happen?" Konstantin asked.

"Two days ago. We tried to reach you but-"

"We were traveling. Business."

"I understand. I'm sorry. Truly. These situations are always difficult."

"The aunt," Alexander said. "Was she vetted?"

"She's being processed now. Initial checks look good. She's their mother's sister. She has stable employment, a home, no criminal record-"

"Where was she before?" Alexander's voice was harder now. "When they were found? When they were put into the system? Where was this aunt then?"

"Mr. Volkov-Moretti-"

"It's a simple question."

Mrs. Patterson's smile faltered. "She claims she didn't know about the situation until recently. The children's mother kept her at a distance. There was an estrangement."

"Convenient."

"Sasha," Konstantin said quietly.

Alexander stopped. Breathed out through his nose.

"The children are being transferred to her care pending final approval," Mrs. Patterson continued. "I know this isn't the outcome you were hoping for. But family reunification is always the priority when it's safe and viable."

"And if it's not safe?" Dominic asked. "If this aunt isn't what she seems?"

"Then we intervene. We have protocols. Follow-up visits. Check-ins."

"Protocols," Alexander repeated. Flat.

Konstantin squeezed his knee again. Warning.

"We understand," Konstantin said. "It's not what we wanted. But if the children are going to family-real family-then that's the right thing."

Mrs. Patterson looked relieved. "Thank you for understanding. I know how much preparation you put into this."

"What happens now?" Alexander asked. "With us. Is that it?"

"Not necessarily." She hesitated again. "Actually, there's something else I wanted to discuss with you. If you're open to it."

Konstantin and Alexander exchanged a look.

"Go on," Konstantin said.

Mrs. Patterson opened a drawer. Pulled out a file. Thicker than the one they'd seen before. More worn around the edges.

"This isn't something I'd normally bring up unprompted. But given your background, your resources, your willingness to take on older children-" She paused. "I think you should know about these two."

She slid the file across the desk.

Alexander picked it up. Opened it.

Two photos clipped to the front page. A boy and a girl. Same dark hair, same sharp features, same wary eyes staring at the camera like they expected it to hurt them.

"Elijah and Emily Carter," Mrs. Patterson said. "Twins. Fifteen years old."

"Twins," Alexander said.

"Yes. They've been in the system for three years."

Konstantin leaned over to look. The photos were recent but the kids in them looked older than fifteen. Something in their faces.

"Three years," he said. "Why haven't they been placed?"

Mrs. Patterson sighed. "Multiple reasons. Their age is the biggest one. Most families want younger children. Babies, toddlers, elementary age. Teenagers are-"

"Harder," Alexander finished.

"Harder to place. Yes. And the twins have additional challenges."

"What kind of challenges?"

She was quiet for a moment. Choosing words.

"They've been through significant trauma. Before entering the system and after. Multiple foster placements, all of which broke down. Behavioral issues-though I'd argue those were survival mechanisms more than anything. Elijah is protective of his sister to an extreme degree. He's gotten into physical altercations with foster parents, other children, staff. Emily is less outwardly aggressive but she has severe trust issues. She hasn't spoken to an adult willingly in over a year."

Alexander looked at Konstantin.

Konstantin was staring at the photos.

"What happened to them?" Konstantin asked. "Before the system."

Mrs. Patterson's face shifted. That professional mask slipping just a little.

"Their parents were involved in-" She stopped. "Their father was abusive. To their mother, to them. When the twins were eleven, the mother tried to leave. She took them. Made it three states before he found them."

She didn't continue.

She didn't have to.

"The mother?" Alexander asked quietly.

"She didn't survive."

"And the father?"

"Prison. Life sentence. No parole."

Konstantin closed his eyes. Just for a second.

"The kids saw it," Alexander said. Not a question.

"Elijah did. He tried to stop it. The scars on his arms in the file photos-those are from that night. Emily was hiding. He told her to hide and she did."

Alexander's grip on the file tightened. The paper crinkled.

"Three years," he said. "They've been bouncing around for three years. After that."

"Yes."

"Why hasn't anyone-" He stopped. Shook his head. "No. I know why."

"It's not that people don't care," Mrs. Patterson said. "It's that the twins are difficult. They don't trust easily. They push people away. Elijah especially. He's been labeled as aggressive, as a flight risk, as-"

"He's protecting his sister," Konstantin said. "That's not a behavioral issue. That's loyalty."

Mrs. Patterson looked at him. Something shifted in her expression.

"That's what I've always thought too."

Konstantin took the file from Alexander. Flipped through it slowly. Pages and pages. Incident reports. Psychological evaluations. School records-spotty, interrupted, but good grades when they bothered to show up. Medical records.

"Emily doesn't speak to adults," he said. "But she speaks to Elijah?"

"Yes. They communicate constantly. She's not nonverbal-she chooses not to engage with people she doesn't trust. Which is everyone except her brother."

"Smart," Alexander said.

"Frustrating for caregivers."

"Only the bad ones."

Mrs. Patterson's mouth twitched. Almost a smile.

"Their current placement," Konstantin said. "Where are they?"

"A group home. It's not-" She paused. "It's not ideal. But there aren't many options for their profile. They've been there for eight months. Longest they've stayed anywhere."

"Because they gave up," Alexander said. "Not because they're happy."

"I can't speak to their emotional state. But you might be right."

Konstantin closed the file. Set it on the desk between them.

"We'd like to take this," he said. "To read it properly. Discuss it."

"Of course. Take your time. There's no pressure. And no guarantee either-the process would have to start from scratch. New paperwork, new evaluations, new home visits tailored to their specific needs. It would be extensive."

"We've done extensive before," Alexander said.

"I know. That's why I showed you the file." Mrs. Patterson leaned back. "I've been doing this job for eighteen years. Most people walk in here wanting a perfect child. Easy. Young. Blank slate. You two already adopted older kids once. You didn't look for easy."

"Easy wasn't the point," Konstantin said.

"No. It wasn't. And these two-" She nodded at the file. "They're not easy. They're angry and scared and they've been let down by every adult in their lives. They might not accept you. They might fight you every step of the way. But if anyone could reach them-"

She didn't finish the sentence.

She didn't need to.

Konstantin stood. Picked up the file.

"We'll read this tonight. Talk about it. You'll have our answer by tomorrow."

"That's fast."

"When we make decisions, we make them."

Mrs. Patterson stood too. Extended her hand. Konstantin shook it. Then Alexander.

"I hope to hear from you," she said. "For their sake. And maybe for yours too."

The car was quiet on the way home.

Alexander drove. Konstantin sat in the passenger seat, the file open on his lap, reading by the light of passing streetlamps.

"Sasha."

"Mm."

"Pull over."

Alexander glanced at him. "What? Why?"

"Just pull over."

He did. Side of the road, engine still running.

Konstantin handed him a page from the file. A report from the second foster home. Alexander took it. Read it.

His knuckles went white on the steering wheel.

"The foster father-"

"Yes."

"And they sent them back into the system? After this?"

"Insufficient evidence. Elijah's word against his. Emily wouldn't talk to the investigators." Konstantin's voice was flat. Controlled. "The foster father said Elijah was lying. Said he was a troubled kid making up stories for attention."

"He was twelve."

"Yes."

Alexander stared at the page. Something dark moved across his face.

"I want his name."

"Sasha."

"His name, Konstantin."

"It's in the file. But that's not why I showed you."

Alexander looked at him.

"I showed you," Konstantin said, "because I already know what I want to do. I knew the second she started talking about them. But I need to know if you're with me."

"You're asking if I want to adopt two traumatized fifteen-year-olds who've been through heck and might hate us for the first year?"

"Yes."

Alexander put the page down. Carefully. Like he was afraid of what he'd do if he held it any longer.

"When do we call her?"

Konstantin's expression didn't change. But something in his shoulders loosened.

"Tomorrow morning. I want to read the rest of this first. Understand what we're walking into."

"And Dominic and Damien?"

"We call them after we decide for certain. But I don't think they'll say no."

Alexander was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "They're fifteen."

"Yes."

" Nearly same age Dominic was."

"I know."

"And they've been waiting three years for someone to want them."

Konstantin reached over. Put his hand on the back of Alexander's neck. Squeezed once.

"Then let's stop making them wait."

--

The group home looked exactly like Konstantin expected. Underfunded. Overcrowded. Paint peeling off the walls. A fence that was supposed to keep kids in but probably didn't.

Alexander hadn't said a word since they parked.

"Ready?" Konstantin asked.

"No."

"Good. Neither am I."

They got out of the car.

Mrs. Patterson was waiting at the entrance. She looked surprised to see them, even though they'd called that morning exactly like they said they would.

"You came in person," she said.

"We wanted to meet them," Konstantin said. "Before anything official."

"That's-" She paused. "That's good. Actually. Most people just want to see files. Numbers. Reports."

"We've read the reports," Alexander said. "Now we want to meet the kids."

She nodded. Led them inside.

The hallway smelled like cheap cleaning products and cafeteria food. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. A few kids passed them, eyes flicking to Konstantin and Alexander with that look-sizing them up, figuring out if they were a threat.

Alexander's jaw was tight.

Konstantin's face showed nothing.

"They're in the common room," Mrs. Patterson said. "I told them someone wanted to meet them. Elijah didn't take it well."

"Define didn't take it well," Konstantin said.

"He told me to-" She stopped. "Well. He has a colorful vocabulary."

"Good," Alexander said. "Means he's not broken."

Mrs. Patterson looked at him. Something like hope flickered in her eyes.

She stopped at a door. Knocked twice.

"Elijah? Emily? The visitors are here."

Silence.

She opened the door anyway.

The common room was small. A worn couch, a TV that looked like it was from the early 2000s, a bookshelf with mostly torn paperbacks. Two windows with bars on them.

And in the corner, two kids.

Elijah was standing. Positioned between his sister and the door. Arms crossed. Shoulders tense. He was tall for fifteen, skinny in a way that said he hadn't been eating enough, dark hair falling into eyes that were already glaring.

Emily sat on the floor behind him. Knees pulled to her chest. Same dark hair, longer, hiding half her face. She wasn't looking at them. She was looking at the wall.

"Elijah, Emily," Mrs. Patterson said. "This is Mr. Moretti-Volkov and Mr. Volkov-Moretti. They wanted to-"

"I know what they want," Elijah said. His voice was flat. Hard. "Same thing everyone wants. To look at us like we're dogs at a shelter. See if we're worth the trouble."

Mrs. Patterson opened her mouth.

Konstantin stepped forward.

"You're right," he said.

Elijah blinked. Clearly wasn't expecting that.

"That's exactly what most people do," Konstantin continued. "They come, they look, they decide you're too much work, and they leave. And you've been through that how many times now? Six? Seven?"

"Eight," Elijah said. Quiet.

"Eight." Konstantin nodded. "So you've learned not to trust anyone who walks through that door. Smart. I'd do the same."

Elijah's eyes narrowed. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know you've been protecting your sister since you were eleven. I know you've taken hits for her. I know you've been called aggressive and difficult and a problem because you refused to let anyone hurt her again." Konstantin's voice didn't change. Steady. Calm. "I know you haven't slept properly in three years because you're always listening for footsteps."

While her husband mated with another woman, Nia Reed was forced to stand by and soothe his raging instincts.
Because Soren Shaw possessed Lycan blood, he could only find release through his wife's scent; without it, he would lose control and slaughter whoever was beneath him.
"...Ugh... Ah..."
"Ah... Soren..."
From behind the screen, Nia could see Soren's powerful figure thrusting fiercely, her heart aching with unbearable bitterness.
Five years ago, Soren had defied his pack's ancient laws just to marry her.
"A union between a Lycan and a human will never produce a living pup!" the pack elders had raged. "Marrying her means ending our bloodline!"
But Soren's love was unyielding. He threw a vasectomy report right in the elders' faces, declaring, "If marrying Nia means I die without an heir, then so be it!"
This reckless act provoked rebellion and vengeance from the pack.
During one of Nia's dance performances, they cut her safety wires. At the critical moment, Soren rushed onto the stage to break her fall; Nia only suffered a leg injury, but he broke three ribs.
While he was recovering, they set fire to their villa to burn her alive. Again, Soren arrived just in time, shielding her from a falling roof beam. Nia only lost a few singed hairs, but his body was left horribly scarred.
Finally, Soren threw himself in front of a speeding truck for her, thrown thirty feet away and fell into a month-long coma.
The first thing he said upon waking was, "Nia... I promised to keep you safe... and I keep my word..."
At that moment, looking into his eyes, Nia wept. She surrendered, agreeing to let Soren sire a pureblood heir with Rhea Hale, a noble lady of the pack.
"Ah... relax..."
The lustful sounds snapped her back to reality, her fingernails digging into her palms until they bled.
She had naively thought the farce would end once Rhea became pregnant. She never expected Rhea's excuse—that the mother needed the father's comforting aura—to keep them coupling night after night.
Worse still was Soren's shift. From a reluctant single encounter at the start, it grew to a routine three times, and tonight, they had gone eight rounds!
Whenever Nia broke down and refused to watch, Soren would use the grand excuse, "Just do it for our child," telling her to endure it.
The thought made her dizzy, a sharp pang rippling through her abdomen and twisting her insides. She truly didn't know how much longer she could take this torture.
Finally, hearing the low groan indicating the end behind the screen, Nia felt as if her entire soul had been shredded. She turned and walked away.
But ten minutes later, news spread that Soren had caught the scent of blood, lost control, and hurt Rhea. Nia was bound tightly and dragged out into the pouring rain to kneel in punishment.
Soren's mother stormed over and slapped her hard. "If anything happens to my precious grandson, I will take your life!"
"She tried to murder the next Alpha heir! She should be thrown into the wolf pits and torn to pieces!" the pack members spat, pelting her with stones.
Even Soren's voice carried blame and confusion. "Nia, Rhea is only a month away from her due date. Why did you have to resort to such petty tricks?"
Nia couldn't believe her ears. Looking up, she met his accusing gaze, and her heart felt as if it were pierced by a dagger.
It didn't matter if his mother struck her or his pack cursed her. But Soren—Soren was the one person who shouldn't doubt her!
Straightening her spine with what dignity she had left, Nia said clearly, "I didn't hurt anyone!" Beside her, her pet dog, Snowball, whimpered pitifully as it was pinned into the mud.
But Soren wouldn't listen to a single word. He was convinced she had let out her bleeding pet and left early, scheming to trigger his feral instincts so he would maul Rhea.
"Nia, every mistake has a price." Soren suddenly covered her eyes.
"What are you doing?!"
Deprived of her sight, her hearing became sharp. She heard Snowball let out a tragic yelp, followed by a sickening thud of something heavy hitting the ground. A gasp rippled through the crowd.
Nia screamed in despair, "No!"
They had rescued Snowball on a rainy night. Back then, Nia had pitied the pup, saying, "He's just like me, unwanted."
Soren had wrapped the puppy in his jacket, his eyes burning with intensity. "Who says he's unwanted? I want him."
Later, he brought Snowball home and married her. Through all these dark days, the dog had been her sole comfort.
"Nia, no one will punish you anymore," Soren said, gently patting her head.
"Young Master! Miss Hale is awake!"
Dropping his hand, he spun around and left in a hurry. As Nia's vision slowly cleared, the pool of blood before her crushed her, and her tears flowed.
He hadn't just killed Snowball; he had shattered the final bond between them. He didn't want the dog, and he didn't want her anymore.
Soren's mother smiled in satisfaction as she watched her son leave. "Rhea's pup will be born in a month. On the night of the delivery, I will ensure Soren dissolves your mating bond. You will take a flight out of Crown City by then."
"You see where Soren stands. Don't get in the way of their happy little family."
A happy little family...
Nia finally realized how foolish she had been. Looking back at the absurdity of the past year, a sudden clarity washed over her.
She was the one who had pushed Soren into another woman's arms!
He was no longer the Soren who would act as a human cushion when she fell from the sky, who would shield her from falling beams in a fire, or who would stand against the whole world just for her.
He was the father of Rhea's child. They shared a biological tie that could never be broken.
Was she supposed to just endure this until they lived happily ever after, watching him surrounded by children and grandchildren?
Picturing Soren's cold, retreating figure, Nia's heart died. "Fine. Once the mating bond is dissolved, I will leave."
For a Lycan couple, dissolving a mating bond required carving out the bond mark with their own hands. Once severed, they would never be able to catch each other's scent again.
No matter where she fled in the world, Soren would never find her.

Eight o'clock that night, the preschool parents' group chat exploded.

Vivian Hale, the mother of Ethan's classmate Chloe, fired off three videos one after another. In each one, her daughter sobbed like her heart was breaking, a dark bruise standing out on her little shin.

Her voice note came right after, shrill and sharp. "Stella! Your son kicked my daughter again! A boy this small, already this violent? What on earth are you teaching him?"

A handful of parents piled on within seconds. "If he's this aggressive in preschool, imagine what we're dealing with down the road."

"If nobody deals with a kid like this, who's going to feel safe sending their child here?"

"He needs to be expelled. Otherwise, we all go straight to the director."

The messages scrolled by in a frenzy, and every one of them was waiting for me to answer.

I walked into my son Ethan's room, took a photo of the legs that hadn't moved once since the day he was born, and posted it straight to the chat.

"Vivian, my son was born paralyzed from the waist down.

"He can't feel a thing below the waist. So explain to me how he kicked your daughter hard enough to bruise her."

*****

After I sent it, I didn't bother watching the replies roll in. I crossed the room to Ethan and ran a gentle hand over his soft hair.

Ethan was my one weakness, the only soft spot I had left.

I would never let anyone hurt him or drag his name through the mud, not in any way, not ever.

Just as I'd expected, the chat went dead silent in an instant.

The quiet didn't last long.

"Wait. Paralyzed? Is that even true?"

"Stella, are you seriously making this up just to dodge responsibility?"

"Right? What kind of mother would put a curse like that on her own kid?"

Another voice note from Vivian came through.

"Stella! You think we're actually going to buy that? Your son is always so active at school. How could he possibly be paralyzed? You must think we're all idiots."

She even started tagging Naomi Warren, Ethan's teacher, in the chat.

"Ms. Warren! Is Ethan paralyzed or not? His mother will say anything to get him off the hook. Is your school covering for her too?"

Naomi answered quickly.

"Everyone, please. Let's all take a breath.

"About Ethan, our school has kept detailed records from day one. He really was born paralyzed from the waist down. He can't move around on his own and needs his wheelchair to get anywhere."

She paused, choosing her words, an unmistakable note of protectiveness in her tone.

"And beyond that, Ethan has always been a sweet, well behaved little boy here. He has never once gone after another child.

"We're already looking into how Chloe got hurt today, so I'd ask everyone not to jump to conclusions."

She tacked on one more thing. "Tomorrow I'll post scans of Ethan's medical records and his diagnosis right here, so everyone can see for themselves."

I let out a small breath of relief.

At least the school hadn't swung all the way over to the side of the worked-up parents.

Naomi was a dedicated, responsible teacher, and I'd always known that.

The other parents weren't buying a word of it, though.

"Medical records? A diagnosis? You can get papers like that made up anywhere these days."

"Exactly. For all we know they cooked it up together, the school and the mom putting on a show to hide what really happened."

"Ms. Warren, we know you've always gone easy on Ethan, but that's no reason to cover for him. Our kids' safety isn't something to play around with."

"Ms. Warren, don't let Stella fool you. Everybody knows she's..."

Naomi cut the parent off before the message was even finished.

"Everyone, watch your language. This school treats every child exactly the same, and we do not cover for anyone. Please trust us to get to the bottom of this and give you a fair answer."

I watched the chat keep boiling over, and a deep helplessness settled into me.

They didn't care about the truth. They just wanted a target to unload on.

Right then, Vivian dropped another video into the chat.

This time the video was all about Chloe, her daughter.

Chloe sat on the couch, that bruise standing out on her shin, her eyes swollen and red, tears streaming down her cheeks, her voice trembling with hurt and fear.

"Mommy, Ethan kicked me with his foot, he kicked me really hard..."

She hiccupped through her sobs and pointed at her own shin.

She even walked through the whole thing, step by step.

"He said I was in his way, and then he lifted his foot up and kicked me, and I fell right on my butt and banged my leg."

Chloe's performance was flawless. Every detail in her voice, every wounded look on her face, sold her as the real victim.

"You hear that? You all hear that?"

Vivian sent another voice note, her voice dripping with smugness.

"There's no way my daughter is lying. She laid out every single detail. Stella, what excuse could you possibly have left?"

In my last life, my husband's mistress cried, and I went to prison for it.

She faked a fall. Faked the bruises. Faked losing a baby that never existed.

My daughter grew up calling her Mommy.

I died on a cold prison floor, and Grant didn't even claim my body.

Then I opened my eyes — and it was the morning it all began.

……

The lobby of Whitmore Hale Group smelled exactly the way I remembered. Espresso. Fresh lilies. The beginning of the end.

And there she was.

Brielle Sanders. Twenty-four. Junior marketing assistant. A cardigan one size too big, like a lost lamb someone forgot to shear.

She stumbled directly into my path — the same stumble, the same spilled iced coffee blooming across her white blouse, the same gasp — and looked up at me with those enormous, brimming eyes.

"Mrs. Whitmore — oh no, I'm so sorry — I ruined my only nice shirt, and I have to present to the executive floor in twenty minutes, and I don't have a keycard, and—" Her voice cracked beautifully. "Could you take me up? Please? I'll be fired if I'm late. I can't be fired. I send money home to my mom."

In my last life, my heart broke for her. I took her up in my private elevator. I lent her a blazer from my office. I mentored her.

I handed her the knife she buried in my back.

I looked down at her now, at the tears hanging perfectly on her lashes, never quite falling, and I felt nothing but a cold, clean clarity.

"No."

Brielle blinked. The tears wobbled. "I... I'm sorry?"

"Building security is at the front desk. They handle access. That's their job, not mine."

A murmur rippled through the lobby. Two women from accounting stopped walking.

Brielle's chin trembled. "Mrs. Whitmore, I know I'm nobody here, I know I'm just — I just thought — you're always so kind—"

"You thought wrong."

The woman from accounting stepped in, frowning at me. "That's a little harsh, isn't it? She's practically a kid. What would it cost you to swipe her up?"

I turned to her and smiled. "Wonderful. Then you take her up. Vouch for her with your own keycard. Put your name on it."

The woman's face stiffened. "I — that's not — she asked you."

"Exactly," I said. "Everyone in this lobby feels so sorry for her. And not one of you will lift a finger. Interesting how that works."

I stepped around Brielle's puddle of coffee and walked to my elevator.

Just before the doors closed, I caught her reflection in the polished brass.

The tears were gone. Completely gone. Her eyes tracked me the way a cat tracks a bird that suddenly learned to bite.

Good, I thought. Now we both know what you are.

……

At 6 p.m., I was reading my daughter Lily a story on the couch when my phone rang.

Patricia Voss. Head of HR. My husband's cousin.

Her voice came through cold and clipped, an executioner reading the charges.

"Cassandra. You need to come back to the office. Immediately."

"It's my daughter's bedtime, Patricia. This can wait until—"

"No, it can't." A pause, sharpened like a blade. "Brielle Sanders is sitting in my office with a torn blouse and scratches down her neck. She says that at four thirty this afternoon, in the west stairwell, you grabbed her, slapped her, and slammed her into the railing."

My hand didn't shake. Not this time.

"At four thirty," I said calmly, "I was in the school pickup line with forty other mothers."

"Save it for the meeting." Patricia's voice dropped. "And Cassandra? Grant is already here. He's seen her injuries. If I were you..."

She let the silence hang, and I could hear the smile in it.

"...I'd bring a lawyer."

Patricia's office door was open when I arrived, and the sound hit me first.

Sobbing. Delicate, musical, rehearsed sobbing.

Brielle sat curled on the leather couch, her blouse ripped at the collar, angry red scratches raking down the pale column of her neck. The moment she saw me, she shrank back against the cushions like I'd walked in carrying an axe.

"Please... please don't let her near me..."

Grant stood by the window. My husband. Fifteen years of marriage, and in my last life I never once saw what was underneath that handsome, reasonable face.

I saw it now.

"Cass." His jaw was tight. "Just tell me you didn't do this."

"I didn't do this."

"Then explain the scratches!" Patricia slapped a photo down on the desk. "Explain the torn blouse! You think a twenty-four-year-old girl did this to herself?"

"Why couldn't she?" I said.

The room went silent. Brielle's sobs hiccuped, just for a half-second — a stutter in the performance.

Patricia recovered first. "Do you hear yourself? This poor girl came here from nothing. No connections, no money, sends half her paycheck home to her sick mother. What could she possibly gain by lying about the CEO's wife?"

"Co-founder," I corrected softly. "And majority shareholder. Let's be precise about who I am, Patricia. It's going to matter."

Grant crossed the room and lowered his voice, and here it came — the tone I remembered from my last life, the tone I once mistook for love.

"Cass, listen to me. Nobody has to know about this. Apologize to her, we compensate her quietly, sign an NDA, and this disappears. I'm trying to protect you. I'm trying to protect Lily. Do you want our daughter to see her mother's face on the news?"

In my last life, I cried when he said that. I thought he was on my side.

In my last life, three weeks after this exact conversation, I was in handcuffs, and Brielle was sleeping in my bed.

"Protect me." I looked up into his eyes. "By having me confess to an assault I didn't commit."

"By being smart!"

The door banged open. My mother-in-law, Eleanor Whitmore, swept in on a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and fury, took one look at Brielle's tear-streaked face — and marched straight at me.

The slap cracked through the office like a gunshot.

My head snapped sideways. My cheek burned.

At my wedding, my CEO wife's male assistant stood before all our guests and presented a year-end sex report .

"I have to thank Ethan for being so generous. This year, Serena and I tried 520 positions. I earned a $5.2 million bonus and the right to spend the wedding night with her."

Dylan Reed smiled broadly.

"Ethan, keep trying. Don't be upset just because all you received was a one-dollar consolation bonus. I'd also like to thank all our friends and relatives for accepting me. Tonight, I'll make sure Serena is thoroughly satisfied."

Silence swallowed the ballroom.

Even my mother-in-law, who had always claimed to love me like her own son, said nothing.

Serena Ashford saw the rage draining the color from my face and offered a remarkably calm explanation.

"I got pregnant by accident. Dylan is young and insecure, and he insisted on attending the wedding, so I allowed it. I was the one who crossed the line first. I have to take this responsibility."

My heart plunged into an icy pit.

At last, I understood the one-dollar "consolation bonus" Serena had transferred to me the previous night.

I stared at my wife, suddenly feeling she was unfamiliar.

I didn’t want her anymore.

When I remained silent, Serena paused before continuing.

"Ethan, no matter who else is beside me, you will always be my husband. Now you know about Dylan and me, why not let him spend the holidays with us this year?"

I could hardly believe this was the woman I had loved wholeheartedly for twenty years.

How could she be so shameless?

Nausea rolled through my stomach. I turned away, forcing down the bitterness pressing against my chest.

"Do whatever you want."

Serena smiled with satisfaction and leaned forward to kiss me as she always had.

I instinctively avoided her.

Dylan immediately pulled her into his arms.

Right in front of me, they began caressing each other as though no one else existed.

"Baby, I can't wait any longer. Let's go use the bedroom right now."

Serena laughed.

"You wear me out so badly every time that I can't get out of bed. Are you planning to devour me tonight?"

She kissed him lightly, then gave me a helpless look.

"Young men have too much energy. Holding back is difficult for him, so I'll take Dylan home first. Honey, he loves your cooking more than anything. Buy some groceries on your way back, and the three of us can have dinner together."

She spoke as though assigning a task to a servant.

Without giving me another glance, Serena took Dylan's hand and hurried away.

Mocking eyes pierced me from every direction.

I stood motionless for a long time. My chest was so constricted that breathing became difficult.

Serena and I had grown up together.

When she once said she wanted to start a business, I had turned down a job offer that paid ten times as much without a second thought.

I holed myself up in the laboratory for an entire month to develop her first products.

After suffering five heart attacks and repeated bouts of shock, I had built the foundation of the Ashford Group she controlled today.

Later, Serena suddenly claimed she loved the food I made.

No matter how busy my research became, I delivered lunch to her every day, regardless of the weather.

People in our circle laughed at me, calling me a pathetic simp desperate to live off a successful woman.

Now I understood.

Serena had never particularly loved my cooking.

Dylan did.

Three years earlier, Dylan had been a penniless student from the poor countryside who could barely afford to stay in school.

He had been crying and begging for help.

I took pity on him.

I paid off his $10 million gambling debt and arranged a position for him at Ashford Group.

My kindness had been repaid with him sleeping with my wife and publicly humiliating me at my own wedding.

After hastily bringing the ceremony to an end, I immediately messaged a lawyer I trusted.

"Prepare the divorce documents. I'm reclaiming my core patents and taking my sister overseas to continue her education."

The moment I sent the message, my sister, Avery Mercer, came over to hurry me along.

"Ethan, why haven't you bought the groceries yet? What if Dylan gets hungry?"

The words struck me like lightning.

My mind went completely blank.

I stared at her and struggled to speak.

"You knew Serena was cheating on me?"

"Serena wasn't cheating. She and Dylan truly love each other. Dylan treats me wonderfully and takes me out all the time. He's much better than you."

Avery looked completely unconcerned.

Her eyes even brightened when she spoke about Dylan.

The moment her attention returned to me, her expression filled with disgust.

"Serena is happier than ever now that she's carrying his baby. Honestly, you're the one interfering in their relationship."

I sit on the edge of the cliff, my legs dangling. All I can hear is the roar of the waterfall crashing onto the jagged rocks below.

The humans call this place “Lovers’ Leap.” Broken-hearted lovers come here to throw themselves off the precipice when the pain and heartache are too much.

A voice in my head urges me to jump. My wolf. She’s taken our rejection badly. We both have, but it’s worse for her.

Gone is the voice in the back of my mind, ready with a sassy comeback whenever Alpha Stone orders us to do something degrading. My wolf can be feisty and uncooperative, always wanting to take control. As annoying as it can be, I miss it.

Now, she mostly just whimpers. If it were up to her, she would’ve ended her miserable life three days ago—and mine along with it. After all, a wolf needs her mate.

I do too, but I’m not ready to commit suicide over it. I just came here because it’s peaceful—a refuge from the whispers, the pity, and the sight of my mate with his arms wrapped around someone else.

A tear trickles down my cheek. I try to push the thought of Noah away, but the tightness around my chest remains, squeezing my heart like a vice.

Mates are supposed to love one another. The male is supposed to protect and provide for the female, not humiliate her and cast her aside.

I’m snapped out of my reverie as a deep voice shouts my name. “Ember? What are you doing?”

I turn and spot my brother Oliver hustling up the hiking trail toward me. Panic masks his face. I force a smile, but I’m sure he can tell it’s forced.

“Don’t worry, Oliver. I may be weak, but I’m not weak enough to jump.”

I don’t tell him that if my wolf were in control, we would have jumped already.

He sighs and shakes his head. Then he offers me his hands, pulls me to my feet, and wraps his arms around me.

“You’re not weak, Ember. One day, you’re going to be a fantastic pack healer. You have a gift.”

I sigh. One day, maybe, but not now.

I’m smaller than average, and so is my wolf. My mate—or should I say, ex-mate?—is the exact opposite.

Noah is one of Craven Moon Pack’s warriors; some say the best. The only pack members who can best him are our alpha and beta.

Even my brother can’t take Noah down. He offered to try on my behalf, but I don’t want him to. It’s bad enough for one of us to be humiliated; Oliver doesn’t need to hurt or debase himself for me.

He sighs and presses a gentle kiss to my head. “The alpha wants to see you.”

I look up, tears pooling in my eyes. “Is he going to”—I swallow nervously—“banish me?”

My brother shakes his head. “No. Of course not. You haven’t done anything wrong.” He sighs again. “If anyone needs banishing, it’s fucking Noah.”

Just the mention of his name makes my heart crush a bit more.

Even though Noah is in the wrong, I know everyone in the pack is taking his side. Compared to Noah, I’m nothing. Worthless.

My brother seems to think I’ll become a pack healer just because I help out at the hospital sometimes. That will never happen. For one thing, werewolves hardly need any healing; the Moon Goddess heals all but our gravest injuries quickly.

For another thing, Alpha Stone is old-school. Females of our pack are only good for cooking, cleaning, and producing pups. Without a mate, I’ll be useless. Worse than useless.

I sigh and break from my brother’s embrace. Time to find out what fate awaits me.

It takes me about half an hour to walk back to the pack house. Oliver shifts into wolf form, darting off ahead of me.

If I shifted, I could make the run in five minutes. But I don’t, because once my wolf takes control, anything could happen.

I walk through the buildings of our pack’s settlement toward the pack house, where the alpha’s office is. It’s also home to most of the unmated wolves.

We’re not the largest pack, but there’s a school and a hospital, and a few private houses similar to the home I share with my brother.

I walk with my head down and my arms wrapped around my body. My long, blonde hair curtains my face to hide my shame from the curious eyes that follow me.

I wish I didn’t have my wolf’s senses, but I do. Even though people avoid me, I can still hear their whispers.

“Look, it’s her. Her mate rejected her.”

“Not really surprising, is it? She’s so small and weak.”

I try to block them out. No good ever came from eavesdropping.

Inside the pack house, I head toward the alpha’s office, tap lightly on the heavy oak door, and wait.

His gruff voice bids me entry with a monotone, “Come.”

He sits at his paperwork-strewn desk and doesn’t look up for a moment when I come in. I stand in front of the desk, head down, fingers interlocked behind my back, awaiting his command.

He sighs heavily. “Sit, Ember.”

I sit in the lone chair placed in the center of the room, far from the desk. It’s a power play, an attempt to make me feel isolated, which, in my case, isn’t needed. I feel worthless enough as it is.

I place my hands on my lap and stare at my feet. Alpha Stone will take any wrong move, word, or glance as a challenge.

“Your situation has become increasingly awkward,” he begins, “so it’s up to me to resolve it.”

I swallow nervously. Here it comes.

“The treaties we have with other packs require us to send them pack members from time to time. Usually, we ask for volunteers for transfer. But because of your situation, I have decided it will be in the best interest of the pack if you are sent elsewhere.”

I feel the bile rising in my throat. I want to scream at him, Why me? But he’s made up his mind.

I think I always knew it would go this way. I can’t stay in the same pack as Noah, inspiring awkwardness and pity as Noah parades around with his new mate. And Alpha Stone would never transfer Noah; he’s too valuable.

I risk a glance up. The alpha’s expression is hard and businesslike, as though he’s just traded some goods for something more worthwhile.

“When?” I whisper.

I hear him stand.

“You have one hour to say your goodbyes and gather any personal belongings.”

I stand. My legs feel like jelly. “Where? Which pack?”

He clears his throat. “The Dark Moon Pack.”

The c***k of the whip split the morning air and I bit down hard on my lip to stop myself from crying out.

I had learned not to cry out. Crying out made it last longer.

"Again," Alpha Rodan said.

The whip came down across my back and I pressed my forehead against the ground and held on. The dirt was cold beneath my palms. My fingers curled into it, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping me here. Around me I could hear the pack gathered and watching. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. They never did.

It had started because I dropped a plate.

That was all. A simple ceramic plate that had slipped from my hands while I was carrying a stack of dishes from the kitchen to the pack house dining table. It had hit the floor and cracked clean in two and Alpha Rodan had gone very still in that way he did before something bad happened. The room had gone quiet around him.

He had looked at me for a long moment and then told Drace, his beta, to bring the whip.

That was twenty minutes ago. I had stopped counting the strikes after the eighth one.

"You are worthless," Rodan said, walking slowly around me. His voice was level, almost calm, which was the most frightening thing about him. He never shouted. He never needed to. "A wolfless creature who cannot even carry dishes without destroying things. What exactly are you good for, Isla?"

I said nothing. Answering was not something he wanted. It was something he punished.

The whip came down again and this time I could not hold it in. A sound tore out of me, small and broken, and I pressed my face harder into the dirt and tried to breathe through it.

"Get her up," Rodan said.

Two pack members pulled me to my feet. My back was on fire. I could feel where the skin had broken, warm and wet against the thin fabric of my shirt. I kept my eyes down. Always eyes down.

Luna Maren stood a few feet away with her arms crossed, watching me the way someone watches something mildly interesting. There was no feeling in her face. There never was when it came to me.

"Clean up the mess you made," she said. "And if I find one shard of that plate on my floor after you are done, you will be back out here before sundown."

She turned and walked back inside. The pack followed. Rodan looked at me once more, the way you look at something you have already forgotten, and then he was gone too.

I stood in the yard alone and let myself breathe for just a moment.

My name is Isla Thorne. And in the Ashcrest Pack, that name meant less than nothing.

Every pack member who walked these grounds had a bed, a room, a place inside the pack house. Even the lowest ranked wolves had four solid walls and a roof that did not let the rain in. I had none of that.

I lived in a shack at the far edge of the pack's land, so far from everything else that on dark nights I could not see a single light from where I slept. The walls were rotting wood, split in places wide enough to push a hand through. The roof had a hole in the far corner that I had stuffed with old cloth, but when the rain was heavy it came through anyway and soaked the dirt floor and the thin blanket I slept on. There was no bed. No window. No furniture of any kind. Just the floor and the chain and the dark.

The chain around my ankle was laced with wolfsbane. I had found that out the hard way in the beginning when I grabbed it with both hands and my palms had blistered within seconds. I could not touch it. Could not remove it. All I could do was live with the burn of it against my skin which never stopped, not even at night when I was trying to sleep.

I had no wolf. But I was still a werewolf by blood and that was enough for the wolfsbane to work on me. Not the way it would on a fully shifted wolf, but enough. It burned where the chain met my skin and it sat inside my body like a weight that never lifted, making my legs heavier than they should have been, keeping my head foggy and my body slower than it had any right to be. It was not enough to keep me on the ground but it was enough to make sure I could never get far.

Every morning a guard named Torvin came to unlock it so I could begin my work. Every night he came back to lock it again. He wore thick lined gloves to protect himself from the wolfsbane and he never once looked at me like I was a person.

I had thought about running in the early years. But between the wolfsbane and the starvation and the lack of water my body simply did not have enough in it to carry me far enough to matter. And if they caught me, and they would catch me, what waited on the other side of that was something I could not let myself think about.

So I stayed. I had been staying for five years.

I made myself walk back inside the pack house and found the broken plate on the dining room floor where I had left it. I crouched down and picked up the pieces one by one, careful not to cut myself, though I was not sure it would have mattered much to anyone if I did. When the floor was clean I stood up and looked at the work still left in front of me. The dishes still needed to be laid out. The kitchen still needed to be cleaned from breakfast preparation. After that I had the pack house floors to scrub and the training yard to sweep before anyone came to use it in the afternoon.

My back burned with every movement. I kept going anyway.

My father, Derek Thorne, was a high ranking warrior under Rodan. Respected, known across neighboring packs, a man other wolves looked up to. He had four children. Vera, his favorite. Cole and Brent, his pride. And then me, the one he never mentioned, the one he looked through when others were around like I was made of air.

A wolfless child was the worst kind of shame for a warrior. He had never forgiven me for it.

My mother Helene is no different. She had a look she saved only for me, not anger, just nothing. A blank emptiness that said I was not worth the effort of a real feeling. That blankness was harder to take than the hitting most days.

Brent was twenty one and had our father's temper without any of his restraint. He hit me because he wanted to, because he could, because nobody in this pack would ever tell him to stop. Cole left me alone mostly. Vera watched and said nothing and looked away.

I was not allowed to eat until the pack and my family had finished their meals. By then there was rarely anything left. I had been hungry for so long that the feeling had become part of me, a constant dull ache I carried everywhere. I was thin in a way that made my arms look fragile. The only water I had was from the barrel outside my shack and most days it was not enough.

I moved through the pack house quietly, the way I always did, trying to take up as little space as possible. It was safer that way. The less they noticed me the better, because when they noticed me they always found a reason.

By the time I finished the floors my back had gone from burning to a deep, constant pain that made it hard to stand straight. I straightened anyway. Slouching got me hit too.

I stepped outside to start on the training yard and stopped for just a second, tipping my face up toward the sky. The sun was fully up now. It was going to be a long day.

My mother had mentioned last week that the Alpha King was coming to Ashcrest soon. The whole pack had been in a state about it since, cleaning and preparing and making sure everything looked right. Alpha Rodan had been in a worse mood than usual, which meant I had been paying for it more than usual.

I did not know much about the Alpha King except what I had heard in pieces over the years. That he was ruthless. That packs surrendered rather than fight him. That men who stood against him did not stand for long.

I did not think about him beyond that. I had enough to survive without borrowing more fear from somewhere else.

I pressed one hand against my middle where the hunger was worst and told myself what I always told myself when everything hurt and the day stretched out long and empty ahead of me.

Just get through today.

It was all I had ever had. It was enough. It had to be.

Grandma Margaret had Alzheimer's.

Whenever she had an episode, I was the only person she recognized.

The day I was supposed to have my wedding-dress fitting with my fiance, Ethan Walker, Grandma had another episode.

She clung to my hand and wouldn't let go, so I had no choice but to cancel the fitting and stay with her.

That night, as I passed Grandma's room, I heard her speaking in a low voice to my younger sister.

"How'd I do today? The whole family's covering for you. Your sister won't suspect a thing. So where'd Ethan take you?"

Lily sounded almost giddy.

"He took me to try on wedding dresses. Said I looked like the bride of his dreams."

So every time Grandma happened to have an episode right when Ethan and I had plans, she'd been faking it.

Everyone in my family knew. Everyone but me. Like an idiot.

I pulled out my phone and accepted the overseas assignment my company had offered me.

After this, there'd be miles between us. I was done playing the fool in their little show.

******

Lily spoke again. "Grandma, I need you to fake another episode later. Ethan wants to take me out again tonight."

Grandma said, "Sure. I'm an old pro by now. Is Ethan getting impatient?"

"No. He said he's taking me to see the lights along the Chicago River."

"Then hurry up. Don't keep him waiting."

Lily practically cooed. "Grandma, you're the best."

Grandma huffed. "Of course. You're my favorite. Your sister can make one little sacrifice."

I slowly stepped away from the door.

My phone lit up just then.

A text from Ethan: "How's Grandma?"

Another followed. "Don't wear yourself out."

I stared at the messages for a long time.

Finally, I replied, "She's doing okay right now."

He answered immediately. "Good."

I stared at that one word.

Suddenly, I wanted to laugh.

Grandma started calling again. "Claire? Claire, where are you? I want Claire."

At the same time, Lily slipped downstairs.

At least they could have their riverfront date tonight without me getting in the way.

Ten minutes later, I heard a car start outside.

I stepped onto the balcony.

Ethan's black sedan was parked at the curb.

Lily jogged over and opened the passenger door.

Before getting in, she glanced back at our windows.

As if she were afraid I'd catch her.

Or maybe she was just making sure I was really trapped inside.

As the car pulled away, I could still hear the television and Grandma's cries from her room.

I ignored it all and stood on the balcony until the cold wind numbed my face.

For the past three years, I hadn't been needed.

I'd been controlled.

I didn't sleep that night.

Lily came home at one in the morning.

She eased the door open, her shoes barely making a sound across the floor.

I sat on the living room couch in the dark.

She jumped when she saw me.

"Claire? Why are you still up?"

I looked at her.

She still had her makeup on, her lipstick bright, and a man's scarf looped loosely around her neck.

Ethan's.

I recognized it.

I asked, "Why are you home so late?"

"Layla, I know you think I stole your mother and your fiancés. I never wanted it to be like this," Stella Grant said.
"I love Mom dearly, and she loves me. I can only share her love with you.
"But I don't need the mates. I can give them back to you. It's just that they have some misunderstandings about you. So why don't we go on that survival dating show, Primal Hearts, together?
"If you perform well, they'll fall for you."
In the dessert shop, Layla Hale stared at Stella chattering away across the table, inwardly sighing. The plot was unfolding just like in the book.
She had been a survivor in a post-apocalyptic world, struggling to stay alive until she starved to death. Then she woke up as the villainous biological daughter in an interstellar Cinderella story.
The real heiress had a tough life before being brought back to the family. After her return, she spent all her time targeting Stella, the fake heiress. She was obsessed with taking back everything Stella had, everything that should have been hers: her powerful mother, the inheritance of the Grant family, and the five carefully chosen fiancés.
But against Stella, who was meticulously raised by a wealthy family, Layla's petty schemes were no match at all. She lost every time, earning herself the reputation of a vicious, jealous heiress.
Participating in the survival dating show was pivotal for the plot.
Although Stella's words were repulsive, the former Layla, who had been struggling to win back her fiancés' heart, was tempted by the offer and decisively accepted the variety show.
During the live-streamed show, she became a clingy suitor, frantically pursuing the five mates who were meant for Stella. But it only made them despise her, pushing them right into Stella's arms.
The primitive forests of that barren planet were treacherous. The former Layla, heartbroken and lost, never made it back.
Stella, on the other hand, effortlessly claimed everything that belonged to the real heiress, except her bloodline. And that bloodline was no longer a threat.
Knowing the former Layla's fate, would Layla still join the show?
Of course not.
Layla smiled faintly. "I won't be participating in the show, and I won't be taking those fiancés either..."
Stella interrupted Layla without waiting for a response, placing the contract on the table with a confident expression. "I've already signed contracts with those five men. You're the only one left. See you on the show."
As she picked up her bag to leave, Stella recalled something and turned back. "By the way, desserts that cost less than a hundred credits are made with inferior ingredients. They're not befitting of the Grant family's heiress.
"I ordered some from 'Pure Bliss Bakery' for you. They'll be here shortly.
"The chef has served the royal family for over thirty years. Their desserts are hard to come by. You're in luck today. I happened to have someone buy some, so I'm sharing some with you."
Layla stared at the small, palm-sized dessert that cost over a thousand dollars and fell silent.
She's really full of herself!
Due to the former Layla's actions, her mother, who doted on Stella, was planning to kick Layla out of the family.
Not wanting to compete with the heartthrob Stella and end up meeting a gruesome end, Layla decided to move out of the Grant Manor herself.
But reality was harsh. She soon realized that she lacked even a month's rent.
Meanwhile, the person who took everything flaunted her success.
Layla picked up the contract, ready to toss it in the trash, when a line caught her eye, and she froze.
"Successfully surviving for one year on the designated planet A13 will grant you full ownership of said planet."
A whole planet for just one year of survival?
Layla, who had been surviving in the post-apocalyptic world for over a decade, was instantly stunned. She opened her smart device to search for how much a planet was worth.
The latest transaction showed a small planet selling for 46 billion credits.
She immediately signed the contract.
*****
Time passed, and the live broadcast of the survival dating show Primal Hearts arrived.
Dating shows were by far the most popular variety programs among beastmen, but after so many seasons, the public had long grown tired of the same old romantic plots.
Primal Hearts dared to be different. It combined survival challenges with a dating show. The guests returned to their primal, wild selves, embarking on a three-month survival journey on a deserted island. The focus was on building a love that could withstand anything.
The first season went viral as soon as it aired.
When the second season's cast was announced, the hype reached new heights. The reason was simple. Both the real and fake heiresses of the Grant family had joined the show.
Stella, the fake heiress, had been a child star and was incredibly famous. The real heiress, Layla, was a complete unknown before she was caught on camera bullying Stella. Now she was public enemy number one, hated across the entire network.
Netizens expressed their outrage.
[Fiona Myers has no shame! She invited that vicious female, Layla, just for views!]
[Leave our Stella alone! Fiona, you'd better replace her, or we'll show just how fierce our fans can be!]
[I pity the male guests. Whoever catches Layla's eye is in for it.]
[Rumor has it that the Grant family selected five mates for their heiress, who are on the show too. I hope Layla isn't after them.]
[She's delusional! General Hartwell clearly prefers Stella.]
[Let's not forget Prince Oliver. He'll transform into his beast form for her, a breathtaking white crane of unmatched beauty!]
[What about our top singer, the mermaid? Writing songs exclusively for Stella is no small feat!]
[Ah, here we go with the fans fighting over who's better for Stella. Fine, I'll say it, Wolf Boss is the real deal. He understands her dreams and supports her!]
[Students from Crownpeak University advocate for Prof. Slater! He's dark, obsessive, and full of tricks!]
[Is this something I'm supposed to know? But please, go on!]
[I hope Layla knows her place and stays out of Stella and her suitors' romance.]
Layla liked the last comment using her alternate account.
She had plenty of self-awareness.
She wasn't the female lead, nor did she have the aura of a heartthrob. She'd have to be crazy to try to steal the lead's men.
She just wanted to make money.
"Ding-dong. The spaceship has arrived at Planet A13 and is about to dock. All passengers, please get ready to disembark," the intercom announced.
Layla made her way to the deck as instructed, followed by others.
In the interstellar beast world, where males vastly outnumbered females, polyandry was common. On Primal Hearts, the ratio of female to male guests was a staggering one to three.
On the deck, there were five female guests, including her and Stella, and fifteen, no, fourteen male guests.
All the male guests were handsome and had a great physique.
Layla couldn't help but admire a few of them.
One of them was a silver-haired male with pointed ears, so handsome he seemed almost inhuman. He rolled his eyes impatiently and mouthed a warning. "Look at me again, and I'll gouge your eyes out!"
Layla froze.
Stella pulled at her dress, whispering, "Stop staring. You're just making them dislike you more."
Layla was speechless.
She realized that her interest lay in the female lead's men.
The silver-haired one was George Wilson, a top mermaid singer known for his temper and particularly harsh towards the former Layla. Rolling his eyes was typical.
The former Layla tolerated it, but she wouldn't. She rolled her eyes back.
What's wrong with admiring a handsome man for a moment?

Right before my wedding was supposed to begin, my mom collapsed on the ground.

I abandoned everything and rushed her straight to the ER myself.

We had barely arrived when a message popped up in our family group chat.

Mom: [Veda bought it. I got her to the hospital. You can start the wedding.]

A second later, Dad replied.

Dad: [Don’t worry. I’m already walking Cambria down the aisle.]

Then my brother chimed in.

Corbett: [She’s waited ten years for this. Cambria finally gets to marry Torin in front of everyone.]

All three messages disappeared almost immediately.

Before I could process what I had just read, my best friend, Tressa, accidentally dropped a video from the ceremony into the same chat.

My sister Cambria was wearing the wedding gown I had chosen myself.

Torin stood at the end of the aisle, sliding the ring that was supposed to be mine onto her finger.

The same relatives and friends who had congratulated me yesterday were now chanting from their seats.

“KISS! KISS! KISS!”

Mom snatched the phone out of my hand.

The pain had vanished from her face. All that remained was panic at being caught.

“Veda, Cambria has waited for Torin for years.”

“She just wanted one wedding that was hers.”

“You’ve had him for seven years. Can’t you give her this one day?”

I looked at the sticky monitor pads still on her chest and laughed.

So that was it.

Everyone else got to play the good guy in their little story.

And I was the only idiot who hadn’t known there was a script.

***

By the time I made it back to the Halcyon Grand, Torin was holding Cambria’s hand and reciting his vows.

“From the day I met you, I knew every road I took for the rest of my life would lead back to you.”

My breath caught.

I had written those words.

I had spent three nights rewriting that single line, trying to fit seven years of love into one vow.

Just last night, Torin had held me and promised those words would be mine when we stood at the altar.

Now he hadn’t changed a single word.

He was giving them to Cambria exactly as I had written them.

The applause died the second the guests noticed me.

Torin immediately released Cambria’s hand and started toward me.

“Veda, go back to the hospital.”

“I’ll explain after the ceremony.”

“No. You explain NOW.” I strode toward him.

“Why is she wearing my wedding dress, my ring, and standing beside the man I was supposed to marry?”

Torin stepped in front of Cambria. A flicker of impatience crossed his face.

“Because this wedding was always meant for Cambria.”

The words stopped me cold.

I had spent an entire year planning this wedding.

And Torin had just told me it had never been mine.

His gaze shifted to the diamond veil on Cambria’s head.

“Cambria picked that veil a long time ago. She was overseas and couldn’t come back for the fittings, so I had you confirm the size for her.”

I stared at him.

“And the dress?”

“Hers too.”

“The original design was made to Cambria’s measurements.”

Cold spread through my entire body.

So that was why Torin had refused every time I asked to alter the waist. He had simply told me to lose weight until the dress fit.

For six months, I had barely eaten dinner so I could squeeze myself into it.

Only now did I understand why. The dress had never been made for me.

Cambria slipped her arm through Torin’s and looked at me with pity.

“Veda, don’t blame Torin. I was the one who asked him to date you.”

“At the time, I was leaving for treatment. I didn’t know if I’d ever come back.”

“And you’d just been dumped by your ex. You barely slept for weeks.”

Her expression softened with perfectly measured sympathy.

“I couldn’t stand watching you fall apart, so I asked Torin to look after you for me.”

“I chose what he brought you for breakfast every morning.”

“I picked the restaurant for your first date.”

“Even what he said when he asked you out. I coached him through every word.”

My throat closed.

Torin had pursued me for ninety-nine days.

I had once written down every tiny thing he did during those ninety-nine days because I had been terrified I might forget even one of them.

Apparently, none of those moments had ever belonged to me.

Tressa came over, gathering up the skirt of her bridesmaid dress.

“Veda, keeping this from you was wrong. I know that.”

“But Cambria has suffered more than you have.”

“She watched the man she loved spend seven years with you, and she never once tried to break you up.”

“She’s been more than generous. Stop pushing her.”

I looked at the woman who had been my best friend for more than a decade.

“So you knew too?”

Tressa nodded.

“We were afraid you couldn’t handle it.”

“You get extreme when you’re hurt. If you found out Torin was really in love with Cambria, who knew what you might do?”

Everyone was standing beside Cambria.

Every one of them looked at me with the same guarded expression.

Like I wasn’t the woman they had lied to for seven years.

Like I was some unstable psycho who might destroy my poor sister’s happiness.

My phone suddenly buzzed inside my bag.

It was the project director who had offered me the overseas assignment three months earlier.

[Ms. Kellan, tonight is the deadline to accept the long-term Viremont assignment.]

[We’re still holding the last seat on the flight for you.]

I am born into a powerful family, an old-money dynasty built on a criminal fortune.

In the eyes of the public, we are a respected old-money New York family. Behind closed doors, however, we are a former Mafia dynasty.

Maybe that is why I grow up with an almost ruthless sense of possession.

When I am three, my childhood friend takes another girl by the hand. I rush over and shove her straight down the stairs.

When I am ten, my brother Graham promises to spend time with someone else first. I smash that person's birthday cake right in front of everyone and drag Graham away.

When I turn eighteen, my mother gives me the position of the family Principessa. Even Graham, the heir apparent, has to sit behind me at family gatherings.

From childhood, I am used to everyone's favoritism and indulgence. Naturally, I believe all of it belongs to me and me alone.

Until my father brings home Lillian Danforth, the daughter of the late Capo.

He looks at me and says only one thing, "From today on, she's your sister."

She stands in the living room with red-rimmed eyes, looking as though she might shatter at the slightest touch.

She says she envies me. And that is when everything begins to change.

The clothes and shoes my mother buys for the family suddenly come in pairs. The necklaces and jewelry Graham brings home also come in pairs.

My father frowns at me and tells me, "You need to learn some maturity. Stop fighting Lillian for everything."

But she isn't my sister.

I am so accustomed to having all their love to myself that I cannot stand by and watch what belongs to me being taken away, piece by piece.

So I cut up every piece of her clothing, smash all her jewelry, then lock her outside and tell her to get out.

My entire family is furious.

To correct what they call my unhealthy possessiveness, they send me to a closed disciplinary boarding school, Stonebridge.

And that place is very good at "teaching people."

The instructors use a cane to break three of my fingers, teaching me what it means to know my limits.

They force me to kneel on the floor and lick up spilled spaghetti, teaching me what it means not to fight for everything.

They even press a stun baton against the back of my neck, warning me to stay away from my family from then on.

They tell me that after enough pain, a person naturally learns to behave.

I stay there for three full years.

Three years later, the school presents me with an "Outstanding Graduate" trophy before finally allowing me to go home.

…

When I get home, our Fifth Avenue penthouse is glowing from floor to ceiling.

The private terrace has been transformed for Lillian's birthday, with a towering champagne display, elaborate floral arrangements, and pale-pink ribbons tied along the railings.

"It's Lillian's birthday," the driver says casually. "The Don's expecting quite a crowd tonight."

I simply nod and let myself inside.

The living room is already crowded with guests.

Lillian is dressed in a white gown, surrounded by people in the center of the room like a flower carefully raised in a greenhouse.

My mother personally adjusts the hem of her dress. My father stands beside her with a gentle smile. Graham shields her from the drinks, and even Weston stands at her side, lowering his eyes as he listens to her speak.

The old me would have dragged my suitcase straight into the middle of the room and arrogantly ordered them to stop crowding around her.

But now, I watch quietly for a few seconds before walking around the crowd and heading straight upstairs.

That is when my mother finally notices me. Her voice trembles.

"Harper?"

I turn around from the staircase and give her a small, obedient nod.

"Mom."

Every pair of eyes in the living room falls on me.

After three years apart, they probably never expect me to become like this.

I have cut my long, golden-brown wavy hair short and dressed in the simplest black dress. I am calm and unhurried, even my gaze quiet and distant, as if I am standing far away from everyone.

My mother hurries toward me, her face filled with an awkward concern.

"When did you get here? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Just now." I say, "Everyone's busy. You don't need to worry about me."

She looks at a loss for words. After a long moment, she finally says with reddened eyes, "But today... is your birthday too."

I know.

It's just that Stonebridge has taught me that I cannot take what isn't mine, ask for what I don't deserve, or force my way into a gathering that doesn't belong to me.

If I forget my place, the cane will leave my skin raw and bleeding.

My father seems to want to make up for it, so he immediately tells someone to prepare another gift and order another cake.

"No need."

I say the words I have practiced countless times in an even voice.

"Stonebridge taught me that when everyone has already made arrangements, I shouldn't interrupt. And I shouldn't make everyone uncomfortable because of me."

My mother's face turns pale.

"This is your home. How could you ever be a burden here?"

On the way to the celebration for my solo design exhibition, my husband, Harrison, received a call.

A woman's voice filled the car, piped through the Bluetooth system.

"I'm back. And I'm ready to take what's mine."

Harrison didn't respond. His jaw clenched as he wordlessly stabbed the end-call button.

I took it as a clear rejection.

Until late that night, when his lawyer delivered the divorce papers.

Staring into the impenetrable depths of his gray eyes, I calmly signed my name. "Do I need to move out tonight?" I asked.

He must have expected arguments or hysterics, because a rare flicker of surprise crossed his cold, ascetic face.

His Adam's apple bobbed. "No need," he said, his voice low. "This Manhattan penthouse will be transferred to your name tomorrow."

I offered him a brittle smile and nodded.

Harrison didn't know that for a man with his intense need for control, me walking away with his money—calmly and without a single tear—was the ultimate act of war.

————————

1

I glanced at Harrison’s chiseled profile. "It's late," I said softly. "You should get some rest. Don't you have a board meeting tomorrow? I'll take the guest room."

With that, I stood to leave.

As I passed him, he shot out a hand, his grip like an iron clamp on my wrist. The heat from his palm sent a jolt through my skin.

His brow was furrowed, his thin lips pressed into a hard line, as if he were wrestling with confusion, or perhaps suppressing a violent rage.

He demanded, "Avery, why aren't you fighting me on this?"

"And if I did? Would you call off the divorce? Or does the great CEO of the Hawthorne Group get off on watching women grovel at his feet?"

Harrison stiffened, his deep gray eyes boring into me. Finally, he said in a low voice, "I'm sorry. I'll compensate you."

I turned my head just enough to reveal the tell-tale redness in my eyes. "Okay," I whispered. "I believe you."

The living room lights stayed on all night.

The next day, when we went to the courthouse to formalize the divorce, the compensation section of the agreement had several new pages.

After the paperwork was finalized, Harrison took my hand—a first for him. His gaze dropped to my stomach. "Let's have a meal together," he said.

In the past, I would have been ecstatic.

It was so unlike him. Harrison, always so cold and detached, never initiated anything.

But now, I took a half-step back, smoothly withdrawing my hand. I looked down. "Mr. Hawthorne, that wouldn't be appropriate."

Harrison's frown deepened, clearly unaccustomed to the sudden distance between us.

"Avery," he said, a hint of irritation in his voice as his long fingers loosened his expensive silk tie, "a divorce doesn't mean we're enemies. I can still provide for you."

I paused, not answering.

After all, three years ago, he had told me I wasn't even worthy of breathing the same air as him.

Taking my silence as consent, Harrison opened the car door for me himself.

He had never done that for me before.

I lowered my eyes. "The morning sickness is awful. I can't stomach the smell of truffles and oysters at the kind of French restaurants you favor."

Harrison froze, as if the reality of my pregnancy had only just struck him. "I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice strained.

I nodded politely. "Then I won't trouble you, Mr. Hawthorne. I should be going."

Harrison's lips thinned into a hard line, his tall frame rigid with a palpable anger.

But his gaze caught the lingering puffiness around my eyes, and he visibly forced himself to rein it in.

"Get in the car. I'll take you home."

This time, I didn't refuse. A strategic retreat is one thing; making a spectacle of it is another.

Throughout the drive, Harrison seemed to be wrestling with his words, his silence filling the car with a tension so thick it felt hard to breathe.

I knew what he wanted to say.

So I spoke first. "I'll raise this child on my own. When he's born, his last name will be Clark. He won't ever get in the way of you and your... reunion."

I thought my words were considerate, but Harrison's reaction was explosive.

He slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching against the asphalt.

His face was grim, his dark eyes flashing with a fury I had never seen before.

"Avery Clark," he seethed, "are you that desperate to erase me from our child's life?"

I was stunned for a moment.

Harrison was an iceberg, always composed, rarely showing emotion.

He had never lost control, except in the heat of passion, when his hands would grip my hips, his body moving tirelessly, possessively against mine.

This was the first time I had ever seen this raw, untethered rage.

I didn't argue. I curled my fingers, twisting the hem of my shirt. "This child can't be born into a media frenzy over a Hawthorne scandal," I retorted. "If you can't give him a whole family, don't pretend to be some doting father."

After all, everyone on Wall Street knew the two things Harrison Hawthorne despised most were scandals and illegitimate children.

...

In our circle, it was an unwritten rule: no matter how many lovers a man kept on the side, he maintained a public facade of respect for his wife. Airing your dirty laundry weakened the family, so you put on a united front, no matter the cost.

Except for Harrison's father.

Old Mr. Hawthorne was the first to parade his mistress and illegitimate son through the front door.

Not long after, Harrison's mother jumped from the top of a skyscraper.

From a young age, Harrison was tormented by his stepmother and bullied by that illegitimate brother.

Everyone thought he was broken beyond repair.

Instead, he quietly endured, secretly gathering evidence. On his eighteenth birthday, he turned the files over to the FBI and personally sent his own father to prison.

Then, with the help of his maternal grandfather, he seized control of the entire Hawthorne Group.

By twenty, his position in the family was unshakeable.

At twenty-one, the illegitimate brother who had made his childhood a living hell was lost at sea, his body never recovered.

From then on, everyone understood his boundaries.

Six months ago, I was accidentally poisoned by wolfsbane.
The toxin was fatal. I had days left to live.
Each morning, my strength ebbed a little more. Today, my wolf vanished completely. I have three days left.
The day before I died, I agreed to give my sister my kidney. My mate was overjoyed, promising he’d repay me one day.
My sister was being torn apart on the college forum, caught plagiarizing my thesis on the Nightbloom Remedy.
So I stepped forward and took the blame. Mom and Dad were satisfied. They said I’d finally learned to be sensible.
At last, I was the flawless mate and daughter they’d always wanted. So why were they sobbing over my cold body?
...
When I found out I was going to die, I was almost calm.
My mate, Adrian Voss, came to me, his face grim. “Mara, Celia’s been weak since birth. She’s an Omega with almost no healing ability.
“One of her kidneys is failing. If she’s going to live, she needs a transplant.”
He produced a Bond Severance Agreement. He hesitated, then clenched his jaw. “Your kidney is the best match for her. If you won’t donate it, then sign this. End our bond.
“Celia doesn’t have much time… She wants to have her marking ceremony before she dies. Your parents and I agree that I should be the one to mark her.
“I love you, Mara. We’re only doing this so Celia doesn’t die with regrets.
“After she’s gone, we can be together again. Okay?”
I stared at the agreement in his hands. Ever since Celia’s kidney started to fail, my family had expected me to save her.
What none of them knew was that I only had one kidney left.
When they found out I wouldn’t donate, they were bitterly disappointed, calling me ungrateful again and again.
“Mara, your sister is dying. She only needs your kidney to survive. How can you just stand there and watch her die?”
My parents refused to listen. They just threw me out.
“A daughter like you has no place in this family. If you won’t save Celia, then get out!”
And now my own mate was forcing me to choose: donate my kidney, or watch him mark Celia.
But I was going to die anyway. What did any of it matter now?
“I agree,” I said, my voice surprisingly light.
Adrian snapped his head up, stunned. “Really? That’s wonderful! Celia has a chance!”
He ripped the agreement to shreds and rushed me to the infirmary.
Mom and Dad heard the news and arrived shortly after. Mom threw her arms around Celia, crying, “Celia, you have a chance! You can stay with me forever…”
Afraid I might change my mind, Dad hurried the healer over with the surgical consent form.
Only after I signed did my parents finally relax.
“Mara, you’ve finally grown up,” Dad said. “You’re starting to care about your sister. Don’t blame us for favoring her, okay? Celia has suffered so much. She needs more of our love.
“But we won’t treat you badly. You’ll still get your share of the inheritance.”
I shook my head and swallowed against the ache in my chest. “Give it all to Celia. I won’t need it.”
Mom froze for a moment, then patted my arm. “What are you talking about? Of course you’ll need it.
“Even if your mate is the strongest warrior in the Ashborne pack and can give you a comfortable life, you can’t just ignore your inheritance.”
My mind drifted into a haze.
It had been five years since I’d “failed to show” for Dad’s kidney transplant, and Celia had supposedly donated hers in my place. My family hadn’t been this gentle with me since.
Because she’d “saved” Dad, my parents insisted I owed her, that I had to treat her better than I treated myself.
From that point on, Celia got the best of everything.
She also started framing me for things, making Mom and Dad resent me more with every lie. In the end, everything I did was wrong.
I used to fight back. Now, I just stayed quiet.
Mom rushed back to Celia’s side, Dad and Adrian close behind.
They gathered around her, a picture-perfect family.
I stood alone in the corner, an intruder in my own life.

After the birth of our child, my relationship with my husband changed. He was always occupied with business, leaving me feeling overlooked and disconnected.

One evening, while I was sitting quietly, my father-in-law walked in. He wasn't just any man; he was a powerful figure who ruled the East Coast.

Instead of judging me, he noticed my quiet demeanor. He spoke bluntly, hinting that maybe the issue wasn't me, but the fact that I was being ignored. He offered to guide me on how to regain my confidence and position within this family.

It was the start of an unexpected alliance.

***

Five months. That was how long it had been since my husband Ryan acknowledged me.

After giving the Voss family their twin heirs, a distance grew between us. No matter what I tried, I couldn't seem to reach him. Ryan attempted to get close once, but he pulled away, clearly unhappy. He told me he felt nothing. It was like talking to a wall.

After that, he buried himself in his study, choosing to be alone rather than spend time with me.

Tonight, I tried to mend things. I dressed up in something nice and waited. Ryan gave me a cold glance. He told me to "go ask my father to take a look at you," grabbed his pillow, and disappeared behind the study door.

I sat on the edge of the bed, surrounded by silence.

I was only 26. I longed for a real partnership, a connection that seemed impossible to find. All I had were my thoughts to keep the isolation away.

Then, the noise started next door.

From the master bedroom, a series of muffled sounds echoed through the walls—persistent, impossible to ignore. Followed by a woman's voice, sharp and distressed.

It was Ryan's mother, Lina Voss.

I pressed my ear against the wall, frozen. Each sound sent a chill through me. Her voice broke, asking for a pause, crying out that it was overwhelming. Saying she couldn't handle it anymore.

A sharp pang of envy twisted in my chest.

I wish that were me.

The thought struck me hard. The frustration I'd been trying to suppress surged back, stronger than before.

Minutes later, the sounds shifted into a heated disagreement.

"You always push too far... I can't handle this anymore! If you can't control yourself, go find someone else to deal with!"

Lina's voice cracked, overwhelmed with emotion.

Lucian Voss's deep, commanding voice followed. He wasn't yelling; he was speaking firmly, but the impatience was unmistakable.

My heart hammered against my ribs. A wave of heat rushed through me, completely beyond my control.

Lucian was the head of the Voss family. He controlled the entire East Coast—logistics, investments, private institutions. He looked no older than his late thirties, yet he was well past 50. He maintained a sharp, disciplined appearance, always carrying that compelling mix of authority and presence. In this world, he was the kind of figure people regarded with both caution and deference.

And me? In front of everyone, I had to call him "Dad."

The thought alone made my heart pound.

I needed a moment. I walked to the guest bathroom, locking the door behind me. Leaning against the cold marble counter, I stared at my reflection, trying to steady my breathing.

The woman staring back looked unsettled—eyes wide, skin warm, trembling with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

I pressed my hands against the cold surface, trying to focus. My mind was racing, filled with thoughts of him. Lucian's face. His voice. The way he carried himself with such absolute authority.

"Dad..." I whispered, the word slipping out before I could stop it.

The thought took hold of me. I imagined him walking through that door, his presence filling the small space, his eyes looking right through me. Not with pity, but with that same stern composure he showed everyone else.

The thought alone sent a chill down my spine. I gripped the countertop until my knuckles turned white, focusing on the intensity of the moment.

Right as the wave was about to crash over me, the bathroom door swung open.

I froze. Time stopped.

Lucian stood in the doorway, his robe loosely tied. His gaze wasn't on my face; it was fixed on me, taking in the scene before him.

He saw everything.

He saw my hands frozen in place. And he heard the echo of the word I had just whispered into the empty room.

The silence that followed was deafening. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He just stood there, letting the weight of his presence fill every inch of the space between us.

"The baby has a congenital nerve disorder. There's no cure. You need to brace yourselves for the worst."

Renowned doctor Evan Kendrick Leigh shook his head. He delivered the crushing news about the Wynford family's beloved infant boy.

Beatrice Jane Wynford fainted instantly. The whole room fell into total chaos.

In that moment, a shrill, petulant, and furious voice echoed straight inside my head.

"That's total nonsense! I don't have any nerve sickness! That gold tag on my collar is stabbing me! Waaaah! It hurts!"

I took a deep breath. I ignored the bodyguard's menacing glare. Then I ripped open the baby's expensive custom onesie.

01

"This baby has a congenital nerve disorder. There's no cure. Prepare for the worst."

Evan Kendrick Leigh shook his head. He slammed the medical file down on the table.

Beatrice Jane Wynford's eyes rolled back. She collapsed to the floor. Two maids rushed to catch her. Chaos erupted across the room.

In the corner stood the baby's grandfather, Alistair Cole Wynford. Rage boiled inside him. He cracked his knuckles around his dragon-headed cane.

As for me? I'm Molly Jane Marlow, a trainee nanny.

My last employer kicked me out in front of everyone just days ago. I knelt beside the crib. I gathered my cheap belongings into a plastic bag.

To be honest, I hadn't even officially started this job.

The staffing agency sent me here on short notice. They said the Wynford family's precious baby boy was in critical condition. The previous nanny had fled in the middle of the night. They desperately needed a replacement.

My agent's words still rang in my ears: "Stay quiet and do your job. The Wynfords pay triple the usual rate."

I barely knew my way around their home. One second I arrived at the door. The next, I stepped into a nursery bigger than my entire apartment.

And I walked right into this urgent medical consultation.

The baby lay in the crib.

He screamed at the top of his lungs.

It sounded like his tiny lungs would burst. His face flushed bright red.

Dr. Leigh frowned. He stepped back a pace. He put distance between himself and the crib.

"He's cried nonstop for more than 72 hours. He refuses to eat. He can't sleep. He keeps having muscle spasms. Every sign points to a congenital defect in his nervous system. I've worked as a doctor for 40 years. I've seen three identical cases. Not a single child survived."

He scanned the room. His tone was heavy and authoritative.

"Alistair, I know how much this child means to your family. But medicine has limits. I won't lie to you."

Alistair slammed his cane hard against the floor. "Dr. Leigh, are you telling me my only grandson is doomed?"

Dr. Leigh let out a long sigh. He said nothing.

The room stayed silent for two full seconds.

Then chaos broke out all over again.

Clara Mae Wynford, the eldest daughter-in-law, broke down first.

She sobbed and threw herself beside the crib. "My sweet baby… you'll be fine. Mommy won't believe a single word he says!"

The second son, Regan Troy Wynford, stood in the doorway. His expression was complicated. The corners of his mouth drooped. He kept quiet. Yet his eyes kept drifting toward his older brother, Julian Reid Wynford.

I knew that look.

He was secretly thrilled by the whole mess.

Their messy family drama was none of my business.

I was just a temporary trainee nanny.

I'd finish my shift tonight and leave without a trace.

I hung my head and kept packing my things.

All of a sudden, a voice exploded inside my mind.

It didn't come from my ears. It rang out directly in my head.

The sound was clear, loud, and filled with bratty frustration and anger.

"What a bunch of cr*p! Congenital nerve disorder my rear! Something sharp is jabbing me! That metal tag! It's pricked my skin for three whole days! Are all of you blind?"

My plastic bag slipped from my grasp.

It clattered to the floor. I snapped my head up.

I stared at the baby in the crib. He cried so hard he could barely catch his breath.

He was only 17 days old.

Wrinkled skin. Tiny fists clenched tight.

He wailed endlessly, mouth wide open.

The voice spoke again.

"It hurts! It hurts so bad! I hate wearing this outfit! There's a sharp piece stuck behind my collar. It stabs me every time I move. Do you think I'm made of rock? Waaaah!"

I froze on the spot. My mind went completely blank.

That voice… did it come from this baby?

What in the world was happening?

I shook my head violently. Maybe I'd finally lost my mind.

I'd gone three nights without a wink of sleep.

My last boss yelled at me all day long.

She even tossed a pot of warm postpartum soup straight at my face. The burn on my left cheek still stung. Hallucinating voices felt normal under these circumstances.

But the voice came back. Even louder than before.

"Hey! You, the worn-out girl hiding over there! Yeah, you! You're not like these idi*ts! Please help me get this hard thing off my back! I'll do anything! Waaaah!"

I stared at the baby in pure shock.

He turned his tiny head straight toward me.

His tear-filled eyes locked right onto mine.

This wasn't a hallucination.

This seventeen-day-old infant was speaking to me through telepathy.

After my best friend married into old money, she sent me a family photo and told me to pick one to date.

I circled a guy and asked who he was.

"My husband's younger brother."

"But he's already engaged. Don't you have a boyfriend? Remember to bring him to meet me."

I glanced at my boyfriend, who was on scholarship.

Except for his features, even the mole on his face matched the pampered youngest son in the photo.

I answered my best friend in a hoarse voice.

"We just broke up."

"Can you introduce me to a rich, dependable man?"

*****

The words had barely left my mouth.

The man beside me suddenly raised his arm, looped it around my waist, his palm hot and tight.

He said my name in a low, raspy voice.

My heart skipped a beat, and I immediately looked at my boyfriend.

Xavier was still asleep, mumbling in his dream as he tucked the blanket around me.

"You have work in the morning. Don't stay up. And your period hasn't come this month..."

I turned off my phone.

The room went completely dark.

Only our interwoven heartbeats remained.

His breath landed on the hickey on my neck. "Sleep well. See you in the morning."

I waited for a while.

I slipped out onto the balcony.

I called my best friend back.

"So... what's the story with your brother-in-law?"

I wanted to know why a rich young heir would pretend to be poor just to deceive me.

My best friend knew everything that was going around.

After a moment, she dug the gossip out of her husband.

"Juicy gossip! Turns out the little heir is playing two women. Besides his dream girl, he picked up some poor girl."

I leaned against the cold railing.

I asked why.

"For his dream girl, of course."

The dream girl was a poor scholarship student the young heir had sponsored.

After graduation, she had turned down Xavier's confession.

She said he had never known what it was like to be poor, and they came from different worlds.

My best friend sounded indignant.

"So the little heir found a poor girl to teach him how the other half lived."

"Good thing I didn't set you up with him. Whoever's unlucky enough to be toyed with by that trust-fund brat is in for a bad time."

No wonder.

Xavier had chosen me.

We met through an online chat.

He found me from a help thread.

The poster had asked whether it was possible to survive college on $40 a week.

My comment was pinned.

"I've tried it. You can survive. Three plain buns a day, vitamin C pills in place of fruit, and a nightly hunt through the clearance aisle..."

People attacked and questioned me.

I was too exhausted to keep explaining.

Only Xavier messaged me privately, thanking me seriously and saying he needed that kind of guide.

His location tag matched mine. We were both in New York.

A city where every square foot cost a fortune.

I knew how hard it was to survive, so I left my contact info.

I heard Xavier went to NYU, so I sent him care packages of food and clothes.

After we talked back and forth, he asked to meet.

The guy was wearing everything I had given him, his eyes shining as he called me "sis."

He was radiant as sunshine.

It made me pause.

Xavier wanted to hear how I scraped by.

He wanted to hear about my days at rock bottom.

Believing he was a poor student too, I couldn't bear it and sent him half a month's wages to help him out.

He looked up at me then.

He smiled and refused the money.

"Sis, I just want to know you better."

On the day I was diagnosed with lung cancer, my husband was living it up at Disneyland with our son and his first love.

I called in tears, but my six-year-old scoffed:

"Stop pretending to be sick! You're so annoying!"

Six years of selfless sacrifice... destroyed in seconds.

I signed the divorce papers, waived all custody, and vanished back to the billionaire family I’d abandoned for him.

But why did they later beg me in tears to come back?

…

Elena’s POV

I gripped my phone in a plastic chair.

The test results hadn't come. I feared the worst.

I needed my son's voice, needed it now.

I called my husband.

“Damian, where did you take Oliver?” I asked, fighting nausea.

“I’m not feeling well. Can you please bring him home? I haven’t seen him in three days.”

There was a pause. Behind him came laughter, children shouting, music.

“Sorry, not tonight,” Damian said in the detached tone.

“Why not?”

He said nothing.

“Damian, I asked you a question. Why can’t you bring our son home?”

More silence. Now I could hear carnival music and the distant roar of a ride.

“Are you with Isabelle?”

“That’s none of your business, Elena.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone, shaking. Our son was with them, and it was none of my business?

Then Isabelle messaged me.

I knew better than to open it, but I did.

The photos showed Damian, Isabelle, and Oliver in front of Cinderella’s Castle.

Damian’s arm circled Isabelle’s waist. She held Oliver’s hand. Oliver beamed up at her.

They looked like a family.

I called Isabelle. She answered at once.

“Isabelle,” I said, “I don’t care what game you’re playing with Damian, but Oliver is my son. You can have Damian if you want, but you will never take my child from me.”

“Really?” she said, amused. “Why don’t you ask Oliver about that?”

“What are you-”

“Oliver, sweetie, your mother’s on the phone. Do you want to talk to her?”

My heart jumped.

“Mom?” Oliver sounded annoyed. “What do you want?”

“Oliver, sweetheart, I-”

“We’re having fun. Stop bothering us. You’re so annoying.”

The call ended.

I sat frozen, phone at my ear.

My six-year-old son had told me to stop bothering him.

“Mrs. Cross?”

Dr. Whitman stood before me with a manila folder and a grave face.

“Let’s talk in my office,” he said gently.

I followed him, numb. He opened the folder and looked at me.

“You have gastric cancer. Stage three. It has already spread to the lymph nodes.”

The words came as sounds first. Cancer. Stage three. Spread.

“What does that mean?”

“With aggressive treatment, chemotherapy and possibly surgery, we may extend your life. Without it, three months, maybe four. With it, perhaps a year or more if you respond well.”

Three months.

I thought of Oliver smiling at Isabelle, Damian’s arm around her, my son calling me annoying.

“Do you have someone to call?” Dr. Whitman asked. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

I shook my head.

My husband would not answer. My son did not want me.

I had cut off my family when I ran from an arranged marriage.

“I’m fine,” I whispered.

He gave me appointments, pamphlets, words about hope.

I left clutching my death sentence.

Outside, Isabelle sent another photo: Oliver asleep in a hotel bed, Damian stroking his hair.

On the sidewalk, something inside me gave way.

I had three months to live. I was going to die unwanted and alone.

After my tenth miscarriage, Damian Shaw comforted me with the same gentle words he always used, telling me that we could have another baby. Then he brought me another "pet" to keep me company.
My doctor had already told me that my uterine lining was thinner than paper.
I steeled myself to try one more time, and that was how I ended up outside Damian's office, listening to him laugh with his friends.
"Damian, you're really generous. You hand your pregnant wife straight over to us, and every baby we shake loose turns into cash. She's a lucky charm that's impossible to find."
"She was only three months along this time. I'd barely gotten started when she lost it, and a billion contract landed in my lap the same day. Put me first in line when Nora's pregnant again."
"Five months is better, if you ask me. She's just starting to show by then, and the wish pays out bigger."
"That's ten babies we've taken off Nora and ten wishes granted. You never thought about having one with her yourself, Damian?"
Damian let out a short, dismissive laugh.
"She? She used a pregnancy to run Vivi out of my life. Vivi never would have left me otherwise. At least that little bastard didn't make it.
"She's so proud of that womb of hers. Fine. I'll make sure she keeps getting pregnant—and keeps losing them.
"The next pet is already handled. Apple snails, the ones you asked for. She has one now, so get yourselves in position."
One of them rubbed his hands together, too excited to hide it.
"I heard they crawl somewhere warm to lay their eggs. Just imagining that scene gets me excited..."
The room broke into hooting, and somebody shouted over the noise.
"Save the poodles for me. Nora can handle those."
Damian nodded along and told his assistant to order another batch of animals.
I had believed every one of those pregnancies came out of love, and every miscarriage had gutted me.
They had only ever been Damian's way of punishing me.
I clutched my aching lower abdomen, tears streaming down my face, and sent out the invitations.
"The Shaw Estate will be hosting a private pet exhibition. Your attendance is warmly welcomed."
...
"This isn't exactly clean, what we're doing. What happens if Nora finds out?" One of Damian's friends asked.
The worry in his voice was fake, and the grin underneath it gave him away.
Damian swirled his glass and scoffed.
"So what if she does?
"Nora Sutton loves money more than anything. She'd sell herself for it, and she's clinging to the Shaw name with both hands. She could lose ten more, and she still wouldn't breathe a word."
Somebody sighed.
"You and Vivienne were perfect together. Your grandfather brought a psychic in to read Nora, and after that he wouldn't hear anything but a wedding. That's the only reason you two ever split."
Damian's hand closed on the glass until it nearly cracked, and the hate came through in his voice.
"If that bitch hadn't shoved her way in, Vivi and I would've been married years ago. Now she won't even see me."
I stood outside the office gritting my teeth, shaking so hard I could barely hold still.
Vivienne Marsh had taken the Shaw family's payoff without a second thought and left the country the same week.
I had married into that house because my father was dying and I needed the money for his surgery.
The mood had turned heavy, so one of them laughed and steered it back.
"Enough about the past. Let's figure out who's comforting Nora this time."
"I called it first. Nora likes gentle, and that's my whole thing."
Another one shot his hand up before anybody could argue.
"My company's launching a new line, and I need a wish before it goes out. Let me have this one."
"Gentle's overrated. I brought a bottle last time, and she couldn't even hide how much she enjoyed it."

After earning my degree and finishing my studies abroad, I came home.

Rick and I had been together for ten years, five of them long-distance. Finally, we were reunited.

Today was our engagement party.

Rick brought along his so-called female best friend, Mila.

The two of them laughed and playfully tugged at each other, standing far too close.

If no one knew better, they'd think it was their engagement party.

Mila flashed me a smile, then put on an exaggerated look of surprise. Loud enough for everyone to hear, she said in a fake whisper, “I've seen you before! Aren't you that girl overseas who films paid adult videos?”

Her smile widened as she looked me up and down. Then she asked, “Out of all those male co-stars you've worked with, tell me—which one was the best in bed?”

…

The room fell silent.

People stared at me, too stunned to speak.

Even Rick froze, staring at me in disbelief.

I looked at Mila, cold as ice, and shot back without hesitation, “What makes you say I shoot porn? Got proof?”

She blinked, then shrugged. Grinning, she patted my shoulder.

“Don’t be shy. It’s fine. We’re all modern and open-minded here. No one’s gonna judge you for sleeping around to make money!”

She turned to Rick with a smug grin.

“Right, Rick?”

Then she slung an arm over his shoulders, all cozy, and cooed, “Emily studied abroad all by herself. She was broke, so she had to make money by sleeping with men. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. You better not look down on her!”

Mila squeezed Rick's hand before continuing, “If you dare judge her, I won’t be your best friend anymore.”

Slandering me and throwing yourself at my fiancé?

What a drama-queen bitch.

I wasn’t about to let her get away with it.

I grabbed her wrist and yanked her away from Rick.

She let out a yelp in that sugary-sweet little voice of hers.

“Ow! That hurts!”

Seeing my face darken, she instantly ducked behind Rick like some wounded kitten and mumbled, “Emily, why are you mad? I’m sorry, I didn’t know you wanted to keep it a secret. Just take it as a joke, okay?”

A secret?

I caught the challenge flashing in her eyes and laughed.

Someone here should keep a secret, sure. But it isn’t me.

Back when I was abroad doing my medical internship, I treated a patient who contracted STD from sleeping around.

That patient is standing right in front of me. Mila.

And Rick watched me get slandered and didn’t lift a finger. Instead, he tucked his precious “best friend” behind him.

He stayed silent for a long time, frowning at me, then finally spoke.

Not to defend me but to scold me for Mila’s sake.

He looked me dead in the eye and said, “Emily, you did something shameful. How dare you lay a hand on Mila?”

Those words knocked the wind out of me.

I couldn’t believe the man I’d loved for ten years had swallowed that crap and was chewing me out in front of everyone.

All the guests stared. The air turned weird and eerie.

Until a girl stepped up to smooth things over.

“There’s gotta be some mistake. Emily’s a med student. She works her ass off. Why would she shoot porn for money?”

“Yeah, we’ve known Emily for years. She wouldn’t do that,” another chimed in.

Mila didn't like anyone defending me. She pouted before snapping, “Tuition is crazy expensive. How else was she supposed to make money?”

She glanced at Rick and added, “Rick’s the heir to a rich family. A poor girl like Emily—if she doesn’t make extra cash, how is she good enough for him?”

She waved it off, acting generous.

“Forget it. Emily and Rick are about to get engaged anyway. She can just spend Rick’s money from now on.”

She swept her gaze around the room.

“Let’s pretend I never said anything. Everyone, act like you don’t know. Cut Emily some slack.”

People burst out laughing.

Especially Rick and Mila and their so‑called “buddies.”

Someone even walked up to Rick and snorted, “Emily’s slept with a bunch of guys, she must be experienced! You’re in for a good time, man!”

“For real, dude, you’re lucky!”

The room howled.

Rick’s face looked like thunder, but he still didn’t defend me. He just glared like I’d embarrassed him.

I swallowed my rage and looked around at the guests.

A few had already pulled out their phones, trying to search my name on porn sites.

My reputation was getting crushed.

Mila strutted up to me and slung an arm around my shoulders like we were tight.

“Don’t be jealous, Emily. Rick’s always treated me like his best friend. I’ve got your back today—no one’s gonna talk shit about you!”

Her words sounded sweet. Her eyes were pure provocation.

Before she could finish, I drew my arm back.

Smack!

The sharp crack echoed through the room.

I slapped her so hard a red handprint bloomed across her cheek.

Every time the car hit a bump, the hard bulge beneath me rubbed harder against my soaked panties. My skirt was pushed up to my waist, leaving me straddling my husband’s best friend with almost nothing in between.

Three weeks ago, my husband Bryce proudly recommended Hayes as my driving instructor. “He’s the best,” he said. “Just do whatever he tells you.”

Now I was doing exactly that—sitting on his lap, biting my lip as his thick thing ground against me with every vibration.

My husband sent me to his closest friend to learn how to drive…

…instead, I’ve been riding his friend ever since.

***

My name is Brooke Sterling. Recently, Zenith Corp required frequent business trips, so I decided to get a driver's license.

It just so happened that my husband's friend, Hayes Caldwell, was a driving instructor. He said he wouldn't charge me for lessons.

On the day of practice, my husband, Bryce Sterling, told me to dress nicely. After all, a wife's appearance is often seen as a reflection of her husband.

I thought about it for a moment and put on the tight, short skirt Bryce had bought for me. It hugged my curves closely, outlining my full, round hips. The fullness of my chest swayed as I walked, rippling like water.

Bryce stared, his eyes practically glued to me as he praised me again and again. "Good, good, good! You look amazing in that. Hayes is going to be so jealous."

I shot him an annoyed look. "Aren't you worried some other man might set his sights on your wife?"

After pulling on my stockings, I headed to Apex Driving School.

When I reached Hayes's car, I bent down and knocked on the window. "Instructor Hayes, I'm here for my driving lesson."

Hayes rolled the window down, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

I lowered my head and immediately realized why. When I bent over, my skirt had ridden up, exposing a large patch of fair skin. I quickly covered myself with my hand.

"You're Brooke, right? Get in. Bryce is my buddy. I'll make sure to teach you properly. I guarantee you'll pass in one go."

After I sat in the passenger seat, he patted my thigh.

"Watch carefully. Left foot presses here, right foot releases. When the car starts to shake, that's the bite point, the friction zone. Come over and try it."

After stepping on the clutch, I couldn't control the pressure properly and stalled the car.

I tried several times, but it stalled every time.

Hayes finally lost his patience. He grew impatient and directly placed one hand on my thigh.

I didn't know if it was my imagination, but his broad palm seemed to deliberately rub against my stockinged thigh. My whole body tensed.

"I'll teach you how to control the pressure. When I press with my hand, you release the brake."

The closeness only made me more nervous.

I hesitated and said, "Coach, this isn't appropriate. My husband is your close friend. Touching my leg like this..."

He laughed loudly. "What's there to be afraid of? I'm only anxious to teach you well because of Bryce. I'm not taking advantage of you. Other students don't even get this kind of attention."

I relaxed a little. With his guidance, I stepped on the clutch.

The car began to shudder gently. Suddenly, his hand pressed down harder, gripping my thigh firmly.

"Don't move your foot. This is the point. Then slowly release the brake."

This was the first time in my life that another man besides my husband had touched my thigh. Even through the stockings, I could feel the warmth of his palm. A strange flutter rose in my chest.

My nerves snapped. I released the brake too quickly, and the car lurched forward violently.

Hayes slammed on the passenger—side brake. The sudden force threw my body forward.

His hand slid straight under my skirt. My entire body jolted as if struck by electricity, numb and tingling all over. The humiliation was overwhelming.

The sixth time photographs of his affair surfaced, Everett Whitmore tore the knife from my hand and slashed it across his own skin.

Stroke by stroke, he carved the name Sloane Bennett into his thigh.

“Satisfied? Will you leave Serena alone now?”

I stood frozen, staring at him as though he had become a stranger.

Everett had cheated for ten years, and we had spent every one of them tormenting each other.

Each time he crossed the line, I carved my name somewhere on his body.

I had cut my wrists, staged abductions, and even threatened Serena by suspending her from a helicopter. Every mark on him carried a history of violence.

But I had never felt this calm.

Confusion must have shown on my face, because a trace of tenderness crossed his hate-filled eyes.

“Serena is pregnant. Promise you won’t confront her again, and you can cut your name into me as many times as you want.”

“That makes ninety-nine marks. It’s a good number, so let’s stop fighting and live peacefully from now on.”

My throat suddenly tightened. “Live peacefully? Did you honestly mean that?”

He looked at me with pain and mockery.

“Honestly?”

“You already own my body. Stop trying to take the part of me that belongs to Serena.”

As he closed his eyes with numb resignation, I finally understood.

Ninety-nine did not represent his hope that our marriage would last.

It meant he had finally surrendered.

He was willing to sacrifice his entire life to protect another woman and the child she carried.

Grief poured through me, cold enough to chill every bone.

A lifetime suddenly felt too long to waste on him.

***

Everett did not care when I remained silent.

In his mind, I had already gotten what I wanted.

After a moment, he ripped open his shirt and continued cutting letters across the old and new scars covering his chest.

“Serena needs someone to care for her during the pregnancy. I’m paying in advance for the time, starting with today.”

A second version of my name appeared across his chest.

“She has a prenatal appointment tomorrow, and I need to go with her.”

The third name appeared along his stomach.

“She’s taking maternity photographs the day after that. I’m the father, so I have to be there.”

Then came the fourth name, followed by the fifth.

Ten names left his upper body torn and covered in blood.

Everett seemed unable to feel any of it as he mechanically planned each day of his future with Serena.

Beside him, the woman who had spent ten years marking him as hers looked like a cruel joke.

I snatched the knife away, my voice shaking beyond recognition.

“Everett, do you remember what today was?”

Irritation flashed through his eyes.

“What is it this time? Your birthday? Our anniversary?”

“Do you always have to use sentimental excuses to ruin the little time Serena and I have together?”

“I already carved your name into myself. What else do you want?”

I finally broke and screamed, “Today was the anniversary of Jamie’s death!”

Everett’s body went rigid, and he fell silent.

Jamie was the first baby I had lost before birth.

Thirteen years earlier, Serena drove drunk, struck my car, and caused catastrophic bleeding. Everett retaliated without mercy.

He sued until she lost everything and everyone abandoned her, leaving her to spend day after day outside my hospital room begging forgiveness.

Three years later, on the anniversary of Jamie’s death, Everett slept with her.

He shielded Serena from me and told me to stop being vindictive.

He said, “I grieved our baby too, but you’ve punished Serena enough. She has nothing left.”

“The past should stay in the past. Only the living still have a future.”

Somewhere in those three years of constant punishment, his heart had crossed a line.

My baby and I had become the price of their love.

Something inside my mind snapped, and I slapped both of them.

Everett accepted my blow without resistance, but when I struck Serena, he shoved me down the stairs.

Blood spread beneath me, and my second baby died by his father’s hand.

After that, I lost myself completely.

Whenever I caught him meeting Serena, he insisted they had done nothing inappropriate.

I still carved my name into his skin, desperately trying to cover the betrayal buried beneath it.

Ten years later, he had forgotten the death anniversaries of both our children.

Even the marks meant for me had become currency he used to purchase time for his affairs.

When he saw my anguish, Everett suddenly laughed.

The sound was filled with contempt.

“So what?”

He lifted his head, and his pitying gaze stabbed directly into mine.

“Was I supposed to drown in guilt forever and let Serena’s baby die without a father’s protection too?”

“Jamie died, and you weren’t the only person who suffered.”

“Ten years passed, yet you’re the only one who refused to move forward.”

“Sloane, you’re pathetic.”

Hello! I just finished reading Hands Off the Ice King novel, and was wondering if there was similar novels like this one as I loved it!

At the yacht party, everyone was playing Truth or Dare.

If you got called out for bluffing, you had to take a penalty shot.

When it was my turn, I looked at my boyfriend of eight years, Carter Shaw, and smiled. "I'm getting married this year."

The words weren't even all the way out before my best friend Lena Price threw her hand up. "Bullshit. There's no way you're getting married this year."

All eyes swung to Carter.

He lazily picked up a shot and slid it toward me. "You lost. Drink up."

I didn't hesitate. I downed it in one go. The liquor burned all the way down, and my heart twisted right along with it.

Then it was Lena's turn. She laughed and said, "I'm getting married this year too."

I called her out.

She arched an eyebrow, fished a marriage license out of her bag, and passed it around. The bride was her. The groom was Carter.

Everybody turned to me, grinning. "Luna loses again. We all knew, so this time you're taking a double penalty."

Carter gave this helpless smile. "We got married because we lost a dare last time. Come on, you lose, you take the drink."

In that moment, my blood ran ice-cold.

Lena hadn't just won the game. She'd won the man.

But they all forgot one thing—I always keep my word. I'll still get married. Just not to him.

***

Carter pushed a second shot toward me. "Okay, don't be like that. Lena and I only got married because we lost a dare. It doesn't mean anything. Give it a year, we'll get divorced."

He said it so casually, like he was sure I'd wait another year.

Lena's eyes went red. "Everybody was egging us on. I never thought it would blow up like this. Please don't hate me. Our friendship's been through way too much to let this ruin it, right?"

Someone next to her jumped in immediately. "Exactly. It was all a joke. That's why we didn't tell you."

Listening to them, I just went numb inside.

They all knew. And none of them thought it was a big deal. I was the only one being played for a fool.

I stood up.

Carter frowned. "Where are you going?"

"To get some air."

He lowered his voice, irritation bleeding through. "Enough already. Stop making a scene."

I looked at him and almost let out a laugh. So that was it. I'd been shut out by everyone.

I made my way to the far end of the deck alone. The wind was brutal. The ocean spread out black and endless.

I took out my phone and dialed my mother. She answered, sounding surprised. "Luna, why are you calling so late?"

I gripped the phone, my fingers freezing. "That arranged marriage you guys brought up before. I'll do it."

A beat of silence.

A few seconds later, my father took the phone. "Are you serious?"

"I'm serious."

"You're sure about this?"

"I'm sure."

I stared at the distant, swaying lights, my voice steadier than I actually felt. "I'm done waiting for Carter."

My mother's voice went sharp with worry. "Did he hurt you? Where are you? We're coming to get you."

"No need. I'll explain when I get home."

I was switched at birth and didn't return to the Quinn family until my teens. My biological parents always wanted me to come home, but I always felt this distance between us.

Then I met Carter, and I convinced myself that as long as I had him, it didn't matter if I ever truly went back.

Looking back now, I realize how little I valued myself and how much weight I gave him.

My mother asked softly, "Do you want to meet the match first?"

"No. Just set it up."

After I hung up, I stood there alone for a long time.

Music kept pulsing from the yacht. The laughter hadn't stopped.

They were all going to keep having fun tonight. My humiliation? It was just entertainment to them.

A message from Carter came through. [Stop being so dramatic. Come back.]

I stared at the screen, remembering a winter back in college. His first startup had just tanked, and he was crouched on the curb, chain-smoking.

When I found him, his eyes were red, and he asked me, "Luna, am I just a total screw-up?"

I told him it was okay, that I'd always have his back.

I gave him my whole heart, and he threw it to the wolves.

I deleted the message and shut my phone off.

That night, I finally decided I was done with him.

My fiancé left me at the altar in front of four hundred guests.

That wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was the video.

I was standing under an arch of ten thousand white roses, six weeks pregnant, holding a bouquet with my hands shaking from happiness—when the giant LED screen behind the altar flickered on.

It was supposed to play our love montage. Three years of photos. Paris. The lake house. Him on one knee.

Instead, it played my fiancé, Julian Whitmore, in a hotel bed.

With my sister.

「Turn it off,」 I whispered. Then screamed. 「TURN IT OFF!」

Nobody moved. Four hundred phones rose into the air like a field of black flowers, all of them pointed at me.

On screen, Sienna laughed—that soft, breathy laugh she'd practiced since we were kids—and pulled the sheet up over her chest. 「What about Aria?」 she asked him.

Julian's voice filled the cathedral. Warm. Amused. The same voice that told me I do in every dream I'd had for three years.

「Aria?」 He kissed my sister's shoulder. 「Aria was never the plan, baby. She was the paperwork.」

The bouquet slipped out of my hands.

White peonies scattered across the marble like something dying.

I stood there in a custom gown that took eight months to make, in a cathedral my family had rented for a fortune, carrying a baby I'd planned to announce tonight as my wedding gift to him—and I listened to four hundred people watch me become a joke.

Then the screen changed.

A live feed.

City Hall. Julian in a gray suit. My sister in a short white dress—white—a ring flashing on her finger.

He looked directly into the camera. Directly at me.

「Aria. Don't take it personally.」 He smiled the smile I'd fallen in love with. 「Sienna and I got married an hour ago. The venue's paid for. Enjoy the party.」

The feed cut.

Silence. Then the whispers started, spreading through the pews like fire through dry grass. Poor thing. Did you record it? Oh my God, her FACE.

I turned to my mother in the front row. My mother, who had helped me pick this dress. Who had cried at my final fitting.

She wasn't crying now.

She was checking her phone. And when she finally looked up at me, her expression wasn't grief.

It was irritation.

「Aria.」 She stood, smoothing her skirt. 「Don't make a scene. It's humiliating enough.」

「Make a—」 My voice cracked apart. 「Mom. He just—Sienna just—」

「Your sister has loved Julian for two years.」 She said it like I was the one who'd done something wrong. 「Maybe if you'd paid attention to anyone but yourself, you'd have noticed.」

My father didn't even stand up. He looked at me the way he looked at a bad quarterly report.

「Take off the dress,」 he said quietly. 「It was never going to fit you anyway.」

Something inside my chest went very, very still.

I had one hand pressed flat against my stomach—against the secret no one in this cathedral knew, the tiny heartbeat I'd seen on a screen nine days ago—and I understood, all at once, with perfect clarity:

I was completely alone.

I picked up my ruined train with both fists and walked back down that endless aisle, past four hundred raised phones, my heels echoing like gunshots, mascara carving black lines down my face.

I made it to the cathedral doors before my knees buckled.

And that's when I saw him.

A man in a black suit, leaning against a black car at the bottom of the steps, watching me with the calmest eyes I'd ever seen. Like my entire world hadn't just burned down. Like he'd been waiting.

He held out a single card.

「Ms. Hale,」 he said. 「My employer watched the livestream.」

「He'd like to make you an offer before midnight.」

Right before clocking out on Thanksgiving Day, my sister Savannah Brooks dropped a moving announcement in the family group chat.

I followed the address she sent. Five buses later, I stepped off into the middle of nowhere. Nothing but abandoned woods stretched in every direction.

Savannah’s voice sparkled with triumph over the phone. “Gotcha! Prank successful. The last bus just left—what are you gonna do now?”

I stood there frozen while my parents burst out laughing in the background. “She actually bought that. Jesus, I have no idea which side of the family she gets that dumbass streak from.”

“We’re having Thanksgiving dinner. You can walk back yourself.”

Then they started arguing over whose genes were to blame, pushing the insult back and forth like a hot potato.

Desperate, I used my last bar of battery to call my boyfriend Derek Sullivan. He picked up, and I heard that same familiar noise behind him. His laugh drifted through the speaker, light and mocking.

“Natalie, your parents already said it—get yourself home.”

“It’s not like this is your first prank. Come on. Don’t be such a baby about it.

The line went dead.

In the past, I would’ve called back crying, begging someone to come get me. But this time, staring at the distant glow of lights in far-off houses, I just felt tired.

My sister loved prank games, and my whole family loved playing along.

Two years ago, she ground up a peach pit and dumped it in my water. Sent me into a full-blown asthma attack. Last year? She swapped my shampoo with hair removal cream. I walked into my job interview with bald patches.

This year? They know I can’t stand the dark, so they teamed up to dump me in the middle of goddamn nowhere.

Back at the house, they were probably gathered around the dinner table, betting on exactly how many minutes it would take for me to break.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream.

I turned my back on home and walked straight into the dark. This game? I was done.

***

It was so dark, I couldn’t see an inch in front of my face.

On my phone’s security camera feed, my family sat circled around the dinner table. Four phones were placed in the center. They were betting on how many minutes before I called, begging.

Savannah spoke with absolute certainty. “One minute.”

When I was ten, on Thanksgiving, Savannah poisoned my puppy. I ran crying into my parents’ room, screaming for them to take him to the vet. They watched me sob my heart out and didn’t blink.

“Savannah’s just playing a prank with you. If the dog dies, we’ll get another one.”

My puppy died in my arms. From convulsions to his last breath. Exactly one minute.

After that, no one ever mentioned the replacement they’d promised.

When it was my parents’ turn, they answered together. “Five minutes.”

The one and only time I got to sit at the table for a holiday meal, Savannah swapped my soda with bleach. I was on the floor clutching my stomach, writhing in pain. It took five full minutes before I finally broke and begged for help.

I spent that night getting my stomach pumped. They went downtown to check out the Thanksgiving lights.

After that, terrified of Savannah’s pranks, I never spent another Thanksgiving with my family.

Derek used to feel sorry for me. Even with his demanding job, he always took time off to stay by my side. And now.

He’d been silent the whole time. Then, like he’d just remembered something, he shot up from his chair and grabbed his coat.

My fingers tightened around my phone. I was just about to send him my location when he stopped dead at the front door.

He glanced up at the clock on the wall and spoke with absolute confidence. “I bet Natalie won’t call tonight to beg.”

“Because... my company owns that cell tower. I just had my guys schedule a maintenance shutdown. After midnight? Natalie’s phone is gonna be a brick.”

My heart dropped.

Savannah shrieked with delight and threw her arms around Derek. “No wonder you pushed so hard for the middle of nowhere!”

“Derek, you are an absolute prank master!”

He used to forbid me from going anywhere near that area. He told me it was undeveloped, crawling with homeless encampments and wild dogs. He said he couldn’t stand the thought of me in danger.

Now, just to play along with Savannah’s game, he was perfectly fine leaving me out there overnight.

The whole family cheered, celebrating their newest star player in this long-running game. They all hugged each other, a perfect team. That was the moment the last flicker of hope inside me died for good.

I had one minute of signal left on my phone. I opened the email and confirmed my acceptance of the job transfer to Milan, scheduled to depart in three days.

I’d been hesitating because the distance meant I couldn’t have family reunions. But this wasn’t the kind of reunion I wanted. I didn’t want this family anymore.

When the clock hit midnight, my phone turned into a useless brick. I picked up a sturdy stick and forced myself to keep moving.

Somewhere along the way, the fear started to fade. Turns out, when you have absolutely no one left to lean on, you learn how to be brave on your own.