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The queen bee of our school watched *Terrifier* and got this brilliant idea. She wanted to know what it felt like to be hunted by a real killer. Connor grew up on my block. He didn't hesitate. He grabbed a few guys from the locker room and knocked me out cold. They used fake blood and Halloween props. Turned me into a monster. Their little gift for Harper. "Relax. It's just a prank. She's tough. She'll be fine." "Besides, she does whatever I say. She'll play along." I woke up with my face painted into something unrecognizable. Industrial zip ties cut into my wrists and ankles. Silver duct tape sealed my mouth shut. Then they shoved me in front of Harper. She screamed. Then she grabbed a steel folding chair. The kind they stack in the auditorium for school assemblies. She swung it into me. Once. Twice. Three times. More than a dozen. My bones shattered. My face caved in. The last thing I heard through the fog was Connor's panicked voice. "It was a joke! Maya, stop faking it. Get up!" I didn't get up. I spent three months in the Memorial Hospital ICU. Machines kept me breathing. But I wasn't the same girl anymore. And Connor? He lost his mind completely. *** That afternoon, the AP Physics classroom buzzed with something electric. Harper, the most popular girl in school, had just finished watching the latest *Terrifier* reboot. She leaned against Connor's desk, all soft edges and calculated sweetness. She wore an expensive Ralph Lauren sweater. Her fingers twisted through blonde hair. Her voice dripped with that fake-helpless tone. Part pout. Part invitation. "Connor, I really want to know what it feels like. Being that scared. In real life." She paused. Something sharp flickered behind her eyes. "Those CGI effects are so boring. Zero adrenaline." Connor sat up. His quarterback's shoulders squared. The corner of his mouth curved into that familiar smirk. His I've-got-a-genius-idea look. "Easy. I got you." His eyes swept the room. They passed over every corner, every face. They landed on me without surprise. I was hunched over my physics problem set. The one for MIT early admission prep. My pen scratched across scratch paper. "Maya!" His voice cut through the room. "Get over here." I looked up. My fingers were numb from gripping the pen too long. I shook them out and stood. I always went when Connor called. Since we were kids. When he broke someone's bike and blamed me in grade school. When I wrote his history papers in high school. It was reflex now. Burned into my bones. "What's up?" I asked. I tightened my ponytail without thinking. Connor leaned back in his chair. His arm draped over Harper's seat. Casual. Possessive. It stung more than I wanted to admit. "Prank idea. You'll help us out. Super simple. Just dress up like a monster and scare someone." I frowned. I glanced at the binder on my desk. "I need to study. AP Physics mock exam tomorrow." "Jesus. Just a minute." He cut me off. His voice carried that entitled edge. Star athlete. Untouchable. "You've always had my back." The football guys in their varsity jackets piled on. Tyler banged the desk, laughing. "Come on, Maya. Don't be a buzzkill." "Connor asked you himself." Jackson chimed in. "It's a Halloween-level gag. What's it gonna cost you, ten minutes?" Harper's voice came next. Soft. Sugary. "Nerd girl, just help us out. I really want to experience it." She leaned into Connor's shoulder as she said it. I looked at Connor's face. That expectant look. Blue eyes I'd known since we played in the dirt together as kids. Eyes that didn't allow refusal. I nodded. Like I always did. I didn't know that nod would destroy every last hope I had of escaping this neighborhood.They told me they needed Hollywood-level special effects makeup. Told me to wait in the drama club prop room. "Go ahead. We'll grab the fake blood." Connor said it like it was no......

The queen bee of our school watched *Terrifier* and got this brilliant idea. She wanted to know what it felt like to be hunted by a real killer. Connor grew up on my block. He didn't hesitate. He grabbed a few guys from the locker room and knocked me out cold. They used fake blood and Halloween props. Turned me into a monster. Their little gift for Harper. "Relax. It's just a prank. She's tough. She'll be fine." "Besides, she does whatever I say. She'll play along." I woke up with my face painted into something unrecognizable. Industrial zip ties cut into my wrists and ankles. Silver duct tape sealed my mouth shut. Then they shoved me in front of Harper. She screamed. Then she grabbed a steel folding chair. The kind they stack in the auditorium for school assemblies. She swung it into me. Once. Twice. Three times. More than a dozen. My bones shattered. My face caved in. The last thing I heard through the fog was Connor's panicked voice. "It was a joke! Maya, stop faking it. Get up!" I didn't get up. I spent three months in the Memorial Hospital ICU. Machines kept me breathing. But I wasn't the same girl anymore. And Connor? He lost his mind completely. *** That afternoon, the AP Physics classroom buzzed with something electric. Harper, the most popular girl in school, had just finished watching the latest *Terrifier* reboot. She leaned against Connor's desk, all soft edges and calculated sweetness. She wore an expensive Ralph Lauren sweater. Her fingers twisted through blonde hair. Her voice dripped with that fake-helpless tone. Part pout. Part invitation. "Connor, I really want to know what it feels like. Being that scared. In real life." She paused. Something sharp flickered behind her eyes. "Those CGI effects are so boring. Zero adrenaline." Connor sat up. His quarterback's shoulders squared. The corner of his mouth curved into that familiar smirk. His I've-got-a-genius-idea look. "Easy. I got you." His eyes swept the room. They passed over every corner, every face. They landed on me without surprise. I was hunched over my physics problem set. The one for MIT early admission prep. My pen scratched across scratch paper. "Maya!" His voice cut through the room. "Get over here." I looked up. My fingers were numb from gripping the pen too long. I shook them out and stood. I always went when Connor called. Since we were kids. When he broke someone's bike and blamed me in grade school. When I wrote his history papers in high school. It was reflex now. Burned into my bones. "What's up?" I asked. I tightened my ponytail without thinking. Connor leaned back in his chair. His arm draped over Harper's seat. Casual. Possessive. It stung more than I wanted to admit. "Prank idea. You'll help us out. Super simple. Just dress up like a monster and scare someone." I frowned. I glanced at the binder on my desk. "I need to study. AP Physics mock exam tomorrow." "Jesus. Just a minute." He cut me off. His voice carried that entitled edge. Star athlete. Untouchable. "You've always had my back." The football guys in their varsity jackets piled on. Tyler banged the desk, laughing. "Come on, Maya. Don't be a buzzkill." "Connor asked you himself." Jackson chimed in. "It's a Halloween-level gag. What's it gonna cost you, ten minutes?" Harper's voice came next. Soft. Sugary. "Nerd girl, just help us out. I really want to experience it." She leaned into Connor's shoulder as she said it. I looked at Connor's face. That expectant look. Blue eyes I'd known since we played in the dirt together as kids. Eyes that didn't allow refusal. I nodded. Like I always did. I didn't know that nod would destroy every last hope I had of escaping this neighborhood.They told me they needed Hollywood-level special effects makeup. Told me to wait in the drama club prop room. "Go ahead. We'll grab the fake blood." Connor said it like it was no......

In my last life, I died in an animal clinic in a remote Texas town. Overworked. Infected. Alone. On the brink of death, I traded my ability to feel love for one chance to be reborn. When I opened my eyes again, I was seventeen. My father, Barton Hayes, was pointing at a frail-looking girl by the door, his voice an order. “Elara, this is Savannah. She’ll be your sister from now on. Take good care of her.” I laughed, a harsh, empty sound. It was her. The girl whose tears and feigned innocence had cost me my horse, my spot in college, everything I had. In the end, she had pushed me to my death. And my father had been the one to hand her the knife. “Did you hear me?” he snapped. I ignored him, turning and heading upstairs without a tear, without a scene. I took out my phone and emailed my admissions counselor. “Please submit my irrevocable application to Texas A&M’s pre-veterinary program, effective immediately.” You want me to make room for her, Father. Not this time. ... Before Savannah arrived, I had always been the one groomed to take over the Hayes family business. My father, Barton Hayes, was a prominent agricultural businessman in Texas. Our brand, Hayes Harvest, was sold all over the state. I had grown up on the ranch, learning to ride, to manage, to care for the livestock and the land. But I had always wanted to study veterinary medicine. It was the only path I ever truly wanted. Then my father’s best friend and business partner died in an accident, entrusting his only daughter to our care. That girl was Savannah. The moment she walked into our house, everything changed. In my last life, I spent three years fighting for my father’s attention. I became sharp-tongued, quick-tempered, and emotionally volatile. All it did was make me a bigger disappointment in his eyes. The breaking point came on my eighteenth birthday. At my party, my father gifted Savannah Stardust, the champion quarter horse I had raised since I was a child. He also demanded I give up my pre-veterinary studies and switch to agribusiness management, so I could one day work for Savannah. I refused on the spot. He cut me off and threw me out of the house. After that, I worked in a coffee shop, scraped my way through a veterinary assistant program, and eventually died in that small-town clinic. This life, I refused to walk that road again. I would no longer beg for his approval. I would no longer leave my heart in his hands. Besides, I had already traded that part of myself away. Maybe it was for the best. A numb heart makes for quick decisions. At dinner, I walked into the dining room carrying a stack of Texas A&M textbooks and my application documents. The atmosphere shifted instantly. Barton sat at the head of the table, smiling at Savannah. She was leaning against the table, scrolling through her phone and showing him photos she had taken for a Hayes Harvest promotion. Sunlight streamed through the window, catching her in a pose straight out of a brand advertisement. There was no place for me in that picture. “Elara,” Savannah said the moment she saw me. She put her phone down, her smile practiced and easy. “You’re here.” I didn’t answer. I set the documents on the corner of the table with a crisp slap against the wood. Barton frowned. “Don’t bring that to the table. We have something to discuss.” He cleared his throat and looked at Savannah, his expression like a king bestowing a favor. “I’ve decided to make Savannah the face of next season’s Hayes Harvest campaign. She’s a natural fit for the brand. You will cooperate.” “I refuse,” I said. Barton’s face darkened. “What did you say?” I met his gaze, my tone flat. “Section 7.3 of the company’s brand agreement is very clear. The primary spokesperson must be a direct blood relative of the Hayes family. She isn’t.” The dining room fell silent. ......

Three days before my wedding, I received a shared album. The sender was Sloane Pike, the widow of my fiancé’s best friend. Inside were photos of my fiancé, Ethan, half-naked in our Newport wedding suite. Sloane was asleep beside him. My first reaction wasn’t to cry. It wasn’t to demand an explanation. It was to call my grandfather. “Notify the lawyers. Withdraw our marriage license application and halt the prenup.” “And freeze all joint assets tied to the wedding.” When Ethan called, his voice was thick with indulgent patience. He thought I was throwing a tantrum. He even brought Sloane—that “emotionally fragile” woman—to our wedding tasting, introducing her to everyone as family who needed looking after. He didn’t know. This wasn’t a tantrum. This was a liquidation. And he was the bad debt about to be written off. … I opened my iPad. A new folder sat on the desktop. Inside were photos from the wedding tasting two days ago and the anonymous email I’d received three hours earlier: a link to a shared album titled “A Surprise for Avery.” A surprise. I opened it and forced myself not to look away. Every photo was sharp enough to sting. Ethan, lying half-naked on the bed, his familiar lines blurred and suggestive in the suite’s dim lighting. Sloane, pressed against him like a viper. On the chest of her silk robe, two words were embroidered in glaring gold thread: “Mrs. Ward.” Her future last name. My future last name. I’d first realized Ethan was taking her side two days ago, at the tasting. That dinner was supposed to be my formal introduction of Ethan to the Caldwell family trust committee—the final, unspoken approval before our marriage. But Ethan brought Sloane. Throughout the meal, he cared for her with a meticulous attention that set my teeth on edge. He instinctively blocked the champagne someone offered her, tested the temperature of the chef’s recommended dishes with his own fork before sliding them her way, and when Sloane complained the air-conditioning was too cold, he took off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders without a second thought. The tenderness that had once been mine and mine alone was now being poured, without restraint, over another woman. Around the table, the committee members exchanged subtle glances. My friends fell into an awkward silence. I could feel the blood draining from my face, but I held my smile, maintaining the dignity expected of a Caldwell heiress. “Sloane’s husband—my best friend—his death anniversary is coming up,” Ethan whispered in my ear afterward. “She’s been a wreck. I have to keep an eye on her. Avery, you have to understand.” At the time, I’d believed him. I’d even felt a pang of shame for my own jealousy. Until three hours ago, when I received this “surprise.” In that moment, the world shattered. Shock, humiliation, rage—a bitter tide rose, drowning me. I stumbled into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face again and again, forcing myself to calm down. I could not lose control. Absolutely not. After drying my face, I walked out of the bedroom just in time to see Ethan entering the Newport estate—a Caldwell property—with his arm wrapped around Sloane. I stood at the top of the second-floor landing. I didn’t hide. I didn’t move. Our eyes met. A flicker of concern crossed Ethan’s face before he casually dropped his arm from Sloane’s waist. He took a few steps toward me, reaching out as if to cup my face, the way he always did. “Avery, what are you doing up so late?” I tilted my head, avoiding his touch. My gaze slid past him to the woman standing behind him, wearing my spare robe. Sloane met my eyes with a provocative smirk, a victor’s smile playing on her lips. “Avery, let me explain.” Ethan immediately stepped between us. “Sloane had a breakdown. I had no choice but to bring her here for the night so I could look after her. You kno......

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