Helen O'Brien

“Congratulations.” I said it to Penelope Hayes, my husband’s latest favorite. She froze. The relatives gathered around to watch the spectacle fell silent. Today was a family gathering at the Croft estate. In front of everyone, my husband, Julian, had just announced that the hostess of this year’s Founders’ Gala would, once again, not be me—his wife of five years—but Penelope. All of Charleston society was waiting for my fifth annual breakdown. Waiting for me to scream and claw at my husband like a madwoman over the empty title of “Mrs. Croft.” But I only smiled. Because I had been waiting for this day, too. For five years. My brother, Liam, ever the pragmatist, had made a deal with me long ago. If Julian humiliated me like this for five years in a row, I had to pack my bags and go home with him. Tonight was the deadline. … My composure clearly stung Julian. He personally removed the sapphire earrings from my ears, then turned and fastened them onto Penelope. “These were always meant for her.” Then Penelope, right on cue, spilled a glass of red wine on me, her eyes waiting for me to lose my temper. I just brushed at the stain on my dress and smiled at her. “You’ll catch a chill in a wet dress. Should I have a maid bring you a shawl?” I saw Julian’s face darken. His little game of public humiliation had lost its power over me. He thought this was the fifth time he had successfully tamed the “wild mare” from Texas. He was wrong. This was never a test. This was the funeral I had prepared for him, and for the entire rotten Croft family. … I didn’t wait for Penelope to answer. I simply waved over a maid and even instructed her personally to use soda water and a white cloth to carefully treat the wine stains on Penelope’s hem. When it was done, I untied the cheap silk scarf Julian had tossed at me moments before as “compensation.” “And this,” I said, handing it to Penelope. “This color suits your dress much better.” I smiled, playing the part of the gracious hostess looking after her guest. Penelope clearly hadn’t expected that. For a moment, she was at a complete loss. Julian, however, frowned. His voice dropped. “Elara, who gave you permission to give away something I gave you?” I looked up at him. My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried through the silent living room. “She’s hardly a stranger.” I paused, my gaze sweeping over him and the “real” Charleston sweetheart at his side. “Isn’t she the hostess of the Croft family tonight?” For a moment, Julian had no answer. His eyes went dark, like the currents churning beneath a Lowcountry swamp. I stood. “Excuse me. I’m going upstairs to change.” I could feel Julian’s stare like a nail in my back all the way up the stairs. Only when the bedroom door clicked shut behind me did my chest tighten. After I changed, my phone vibrated on the vanity. An encrypted message. From my brother, Liam. “Five years, Elara. You lost the bet. Emergency plan activated. Come home.” I stared at the text. The nerve that had been stretched taut for five years finally snapped, and my eyes began to burn. I didn’t even have time to reply. A pair of cold hands settled on my waist. Julian pressed himself against my back, a low, satisfied laugh rumbling in his chest. “I knew you were faking it. If you really didn’t care, why would you be hiding in here crying?” I quickly blanked the screen before he could see the message. “I was just thinking about how ugly I’ve acted.” Looking back on the last five years, I had lost control so many times I barely recognized myself. He turned my face toward him and kissed my tears away, a punishing sort of kiss. His eyes were bright with the triumph of a man who believed he had finally broken something wild. “Now you know how you’ve embarrassed me for years.” He seemed to enjoy my vulnerability. His fingers traced my lips, ......

“Congratulations.” I said it to Penelope Hayes, my husband’s latest favorite. She froze. The relatives gathered around to watch the spectacle fell silent. Today was a family gathering at the Croft estate. In front of everyone, my husband, Julian, had just announced that the hostess of this year’s Founders’ Gala would, once again, not be me—his wife of five years—but Penelope. All of Charleston society was waiting for my fifth annual breakdown. Waiting for me to scream and claw at my husband like a madwoman over the empty title of “Mrs. Croft.” But I only smiled. Because I had been waiting for this day, too. For five years. My brother, Liam, ever the pragmatist, had made a deal with me long ago. If Julian humiliated me like this for five years in a row, I had to pack my bags and go home with him. Tonight was the deadline. … My composure clearly stung Julian. He personally removed the sapphire earrings from my ears, then turned and fastened them onto Penelope. “These were always meant for her.” Then Penelope, right on cue, spilled a glass of red wine on me, her eyes waiting for me to lose my temper. I just brushed at the stain on my dress and smiled at her. “You’ll catch a chill in a wet dress. Should I have a maid bring you a shawl?” I saw Julian’s face darken. His little game of public humiliation had lost its power over me. He thought this was the fifth time he had successfully tamed the “wild mare” from Texas. He was wrong. This was never a test. This was the funeral I had prepared for him, and for the entire rotten Croft family. … I didn’t wait for Penelope to answer. I simply waved over a maid and even instructed her personally to use soda water and a white cloth to carefully treat the wine stains on Penelope’s hem. When it was done, I untied the cheap silk scarf Julian had tossed at me moments before as “compensation.” “And this,” I said, handing it to Penelope. “This color suits your dress much better.” I smiled, playing the part of the gracious hostess looking after her guest. Penelope clearly hadn’t expected that. For a moment, she was at a complete loss. Julian, however, frowned. His voice dropped. “Elara, who gave you permission to give away something I gave you?” I looked up at him. My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried through the silent living room. “She’s hardly a stranger.” I paused, my gaze sweeping over him and the “real” Charleston sweetheart at his side. “Isn’t she the hostess of the Croft family tonight?” For a moment, Julian had no answer. His eyes went dark, like the currents churning beneath a Lowcountry swamp. I stood. “Excuse me. I’m going upstairs to change.” I could feel Julian’s stare like a nail in my back all the way up the stairs. Only when the bedroom door clicked shut behind me did my chest tighten. After I changed, my phone vibrated on the vanity. An encrypted message. From my brother, Liam. “Five years, Elara. You lost the bet. Emergency plan activated. Come home.” I stared at the text. The nerve that had been stretched taut for five years finally snapped, and my eyes began to burn. I didn’t even have time to reply. A pair of cold hands settled on my waist. Julian pressed himself against my back, a low, satisfied laugh rumbling in his chest. “I knew you were faking it. If you really didn’t care, why would you be hiding in here crying?” I quickly blanked the screen before he could see the message. “I was just thinking about how ugly I’ve acted.” Looking back on the last five years, I had lost control so many times I barely recognized myself. He turned my face toward him and kissed my tears away, a punishing sort of kiss. His eyes were bright with the triumph of a man who believed he had finally broken something wild. “Now you know how you’ve embarrassed me for years.” He seemed to enjoy my vulnerability. His fingers traced my lips, ......

The pregnancy test came back positive. Maya Vale did exactly one thing before anything else. She called her lawyer and had divorce papers drafted. "Maya, once both parties sign, we file with the court. The judge signs off. The marriage is legally dissolved." Maya's expression stayed calm. "Can I sign for him?" The lawyer paused. Then he shook his head. "No. He has to sign personally. Or through a legally authorized representative." "He agreed to the divorce. He's just too busy with work to come in. You don't believe me? I'll call him right now. He'll tell you himself." She pulled out her phone and dialed Rowan Cross. "Rowan. I have something I need to tell you." She didn't even finish the sentence before his voice cut through—cold, impatient, almost bored. "I told you already. Your life, your decisions. Don't waste my time with trivial nonsense." Right next to him, Piper Lane let out a soft, syrupy laugh. "Rowan, you're peeling them too fast. I can't possibly eat all this." The line went dead. Maya looked up at the lawyer and smiled, just slightly. "See? I told you." The lawyer frowned but followed procedure. He slid the papers across the desk. Maya signed. When she set the pen down, it felt like a stone she'd been carrying in her chest for years had finally cracked and fallen away. She went home. She took out the framed photo she'd kept like a relic and wiped it clean, slow and careful. The housekeeper walked past. She saw Maya polishing that same frame again and couldn't help whispering to the other staff. "She's so in love with him. She stares at that photo every single day. Cleans that frame every single day." "What good does loving him do? Rowan doesn't care about her at all." "Right? Back when Piper was still in London, he used to fly out to see her constantly. Now that she's back in New York, he spends nearly every waking moment with her. He barely even comes home." Their voices carried pity. Maya heard every word. The whispers hit her like water on glass. Nothing stuck. She wasn't polishing a frame. She was polishing her whole world. And in that world, Rowan Cross wasn't even background noise. Because the man in that photo was not Rowan Cross. The man she loved was never Rowan Cross. She married Rowan for one reason. He had the exact same face as Caleb Cross. Rowan and Caleb were identical twins. Maya met Caleb at Columbia. They were young then. Bright. They made plans to meet his family after graduation. To get married. Caleb died in an accident. It happened so fast. He didn't leave a single word behind. She lost the man who loved her like she was the air he breathed. Forever. Once you've been loved like that, you know you'll never love anyone else again. So she wanted one thing. A child who looked like him. Someone to walk beside her for whatever time she had left. Caleb's younger brother Rowan was the perfect solution. After that, she set her sights on him. She did things people called crazy. Desperate. Humiliating. She didn't care. At the time, Piper Lane—the woman Rowan had secretly loved for years—had just left for London. After she left, Rowan fell apart. Quietly. Slowly. He needed someone to prove he didn't care. He needed to show himself, and the woman who never once looked back at him, that he could have someone too. Maya appeared at exactly the moment he needed that anesthetic. He said yes to her proposal. He laid out his terms. She could have the status. The money. The house. Whatever she wanted. She was never to expect his love. The conditions were humiliating. Maya agreed without hesitation. Rowan assumed she was just that obsessed with him. He never thought twice about it. On their wedding day, Piper said she felt "unwell." Rowan skipped the ceremony entirely and left Maya standing alone in the church. She became the joke of the Upper East Side. After the wedding, he f......

The pregnancy test came back positive. Maya Vale did exactly one thing before anything else. She called her lawyer and had divorce papers drafted. "Maya, once both parties sign, we file with the court. The judge signs off. The marriage is legally dissolved." Maya's expression stayed calm. "Can I sign for him?" The lawyer paused. Then he shook his head. "No. He has to sign personally. Or through a legally authorized representative." "He agreed to the divorce. He's just too busy with work to come in. You don't believe me? I'll call him right now. He'll tell you himself." She pulled out her phone and dialed Rowan Cross. "Rowan. I have something I need to tell you." She didn't even finish the sentence before his voice cut through—cold, impatient, almost bored. "I told you already. Your life, your decisions. Don't waste my time with trivial nonsense." Right next to him, Piper Lane let out a soft, syrupy laugh. "Rowan, you're peeling them too fast. I can't possibly eat all this." The line went dead. Maya looked up at the lawyer and smiled, just slightly. "See? I told you." The lawyer frowned but followed procedure. He slid the papers across the desk. Maya signed. When she set the pen down, it felt like a stone she'd been carrying in her chest for years had finally cracked and fallen away. She went home. She took out the framed photo she'd kept like a relic and wiped it clean, slow and careful. The housekeeper walked past. She saw Maya polishing that same frame again and couldn't help whispering to the other staff. "She's so in love with him. She stares at that photo every single day. Cleans that frame every single day." "What good does loving him do? Rowan doesn't care about her at all." "Right? Back when Piper was still in London, he used to fly out to see her constantly. Now that she's back in New York, he spends nearly every waking moment with her. He barely even comes home." Their voices carried pity. Maya heard every word. The whispers hit her like water on glass. Nothing stuck. She wasn't polishing a frame. She was polishing her whole world. And in that world, Rowan Cross wasn't even background noise. Because the man in that photo was not Rowan Cross. The man she loved was never Rowan Cross. She married Rowan for one reason. He had the exact same face as Caleb Cross. Rowan and Caleb were identical twins. Maya met Caleb at Columbia. They were young then. Bright. They made plans to meet his family after graduation. To get married. Caleb died in an accident. It happened so fast. He didn't leave a single word behind. She lost the man who loved her like she was the air he breathed. Forever. Once you've been loved like that, you know you'll never love anyone else again. So she wanted one thing. A child who looked like him. Someone to walk beside her for whatever time she had left. Caleb's younger brother Rowan was the perfect solution. After that, she set her sights on him. She did things people called crazy. Desperate. Humiliating. She didn't care. At the time, Piper Lane—the woman Rowan had secretly loved for years—had just left for London. After she left, Rowan fell apart. Quietly. Slowly. He needed someone to prove he didn't care. He needed to show himself, and the woman who never once looked back at him, that he could have someone too. Maya appeared at exactly the moment he needed that anesthetic. He said yes to her proposal. He laid out his terms. She could have the status. The money. The house. Whatever she wanted. She was never to expect his love. The conditions were humiliating. Maya agreed without hesitation. Rowan assumed she was just that obsessed with him. He never thought twice about it. On their wedding day, Piper said she felt "unwell." Rowan skipped the ceremony entirely and left Maya standing alone in the church. She became the joke of the Upper East Side. After the wedding, he f......

The pregnancy test came back positive. Maya Vale did exactly one thing before anything else. She called her lawyer and had divorce papers drafted. "Maya, once both parties sign, we file with the court. The judge signs off. The marriage is legally dissolved." Maya's expression stayed calm. "Can I sign for him?" The lawyer paused. Then he shook his head. "No. He has to sign personally. Or through a legally authorized representative." "He agreed to the divorce. He's just too busy with work to come in. You don't believe me? I'll call him right now. He'll tell you himself." She pulled out her phone and dialed Rowan Cross. "Rowan. I have something I need to tell you." She didn't even finish the sentence before his voice cut through—cold, impatient, almost bored. "I told you already. Your life, your decisions. Don't waste my time with trivial nonsense." Right next to him, Piper Lane let out a soft, syrupy laugh. "Rowan, you're peeling them too fast. I can't possibly eat all this." The line went dead. Maya looked up at the lawyer and smiled, just slightly. "See? I told you." The lawyer frowned but followed procedure. He slid the papers across the desk. Maya signed. When she set the pen down, it felt like a stone she'd been carrying in her chest for years had finally cracked and fallen away. She went home. She took out the framed photo she'd kept like a relic and wiped it clean, slow and careful. The housekeeper walked past. She saw Maya polishing that same frame again and couldn't help whispering to the other staff. "She's so in love with him. She stares at that photo every single day. Cleans that frame every single day." "What good does loving him do? Rowan doesn't care about her at all." "Right? Back when Piper was still in London, he used to fly out to see her constantly. Now that she's back in New York, he spends nearly every waking moment with her. He barely even comes home." Their voices carried pity. Maya heard every word. The whispers hit her like water on glass. Nothing stuck. She wasn't polishing a frame. She was polishing her whole world. And in that world, Rowan Cross wasn't even background noise. Because the man in that photo was not Rowan Cross. The man she loved was never Rowan Cross. She married Rowan for one reason. He had the exact same face as Caleb Cross. Rowan and Caleb were identical twins. Maya met Caleb at Columbia. They were young then. Bright. They made plans to meet his family after graduation. To get married. Caleb died in an accident. It happened so fast. He didn't leave a single word behind. She lost the man who loved her like she was the air he breathed. Forever. Once you've been loved like that, you know you'll never love anyone else again. So she wanted one thing. A child who looked like him. Someone to walk beside her for whatever time she had left. Caleb's younger brother Rowan was the perfect solution. After that, she set her sights on him. She did things people called crazy. Desperate. Humiliating. She didn't care. At the time, Piper Lane—the woman Rowan had secretly loved for years—had just left for London. After she left, Rowan fell apart. Quietly. Slowly. He needed someone to prove he didn't care. He needed to show himself, and the woman who never once looked back at him, that he could have someone too. Maya appeared at exactly the moment he needed that anesthetic. He said yes to her proposal. He laid out his terms. She could have the status. The money. The house. Whatever she wanted. She was never to expect his love. The conditions were humiliating. Maya agreed without hesitation. Rowan assumed she was just that obsessed with him. He never thought twice about it. On their wedding day, Piper said she felt "unwell." Rowan skipped the ceremony entirely and left Maya standing alone in the church. She became the joke of the Upper East Side. After the wedding, he f......

The pregnancy test came back positive. Maya Vale did exactly one thing before anything else. She called her lawyer and had divorce papers drafted. "Maya, once both parties sign, we file with the court. The judge signs off. The marriage is legally dissolved." Maya's expression stayed calm. "Can I sign for him?" The lawyer paused. Then he shook his head. "No. He has to sign personally. Or through a legally authorized representative." "He agreed to the divorce. He's just too busy with work to come in. You don't believe me? I'll call him right now. He'll tell you himself." She pulled out her phone and dialed Rowan Cross. "Rowan. I have something I need to tell you." She didn't even finish the sentence before his voice cut through—cold, impatient, almost bored. "I told you already. Your life, your decisions. Don't waste my time with trivial nonsense." Right next to him, Piper Lane let out a soft, syrupy laugh. "Rowan, you're peeling them too fast. I can't possibly eat all this." The line went dead. Maya looked up at the lawyer and smiled, just slightly. "See? I told you." The lawyer frowned but followed procedure. He slid the papers across the desk. Maya signed. When she set the pen down, it felt like a stone she'd been carrying in her chest for years had finally cracked and fallen away. She went home. She took out the framed photo she'd kept like a relic and wiped it clean, slow and careful. The housekeeper walked past. She saw Maya polishing that same frame again and couldn't help whispering to the other staff. "She's so in love with him. She stares at that photo every single day. Cleans that frame every single day." "What good does loving him do? Rowan doesn't care about her at all." "Right? Back when Piper was still in London, he used to fly out to see her constantly. Now that she's back in New York, he spends nearly every waking moment with her. He barely even comes home." Their voices carried pity. Maya heard every word. The whispers hit her like water on glass. Nothing stuck. She wasn't polishing a frame. She was polishing her whole world. And in that world, Rowan Cross wasn't even background noise. Because the man in that photo was not Rowan Cross. The man she loved was never Rowan Cross. She married Rowan for one reason. He had the exact same face as Caleb Cross. Rowan and Caleb were identical twins. Maya met Caleb at Columbia. They were young then. Bright. They made plans to meet his family after graduation. To get married. Caleb died in an accident. It happened so fast. He didn't leave a single word behind. She lost the man who loved her like she was the air he breathed. Forever. Once you've been loved like that, you know you'll never love anyone else again. So she wanted one thing. A child who looked like him. Someone to walk beside her for whatever time she had left. Caleb's younger brother Rowan was the perfect solution. After that, she set her sights on him. She did things people called crazy. Desperate. Humiliating. She didn't care. At the time, Piper Lane—the woman Rowan had secretly loved for years—had just left for London. After she left, Rowan fell apart. Quietly. Slowly. He needed someone to prove he didn't care. He needed to show himself, and the woman who never once looked back at him, that he could have someone too. Maya appeared at exactly the moment he needed that anesthetic. He said yes to her proposal. He laid out his terms. She could have the status. The money. The house. Whatever she wanted. She was never to expect his love. The conditions were humiliating. Maya agreed without hesitation. Rowan assumed she was just that obsessed with him. He never thought twice about it. On their wedding day, Piper said she felt "unwell." Rowan skipped the ceremony entirely and left Maya standing alone in the church. She became the joke of the Upper East Side. After the wedding, he f......

The pregnancy test came back positive. Maya Vale did exactly one thing before anything else. She called her lawyer and had divorce papers drafted. "Maya, once both parties sign, we file with the court. The judge signs off. The marriage is legally dissolved." Maya's expression stayed calm. "Can I sign for him?" The lawyer paused. Then he shook his head. "No. He has to sign personally. Or through a legally authorized representative." "He agreed to the divorce. He's just too busy with work to come in. You don't believe me? I'll call him right now. He'll tell you himself." She pulled out her phone and dialed Rowan Cross. "Rowan. I have something I need to tell you." She didn't even finish the sentence before his voice cut through—cold, impatient, almost bored. "I told you already. Your life, your decisions. Don't waste my time with trivial nonsense." Right next to him, Piper Lane let out a soft, syrupy laugh. "Rowan, you're peeling them too fast. I can't possibly eat all this." The line went dead. Maya looked up at the lawyer and smiled, just slightly. "See? I told you." The lawyer frowned but followed procedure. He slid the papers across the desk. Maya signed. When she set the pen down, it felt like a stone she'd been carrying in her chest for years had finally cracked and fallen away. She went home. She took out the framed photo she'd kept like a relic and wiped it clean, slow and careful. The housekeeper walked past. She saw Maya polishing that same frame again and couldn't help whispering to the other staff. "She's so in love with him. She stares at that photo every single day. Cleans that frame every single day." "What good does loving him do? Rowan doesn't care about her at all." "Right? Back when Piper was still in London, he used to fly out to see her constantly. Now that she's back in New York, he spends nearly every waking moment with her. He barely even comes home." Their voices carried pity. Maya heard every word. The whispers hit her like water on glass. Nothing stuck. She wasn't polishing a frame. She was polishing her whole world. And in that world, Rowan Cross wasn't even background noise. Because the man in that photo was not Rowan Cross. The man she loved was never Rowan Cross. She married Rowan for one reason. He had the exact same face as Caleb Cross. Rowan and Caleb were identical twins. Maya met Caleb at Columbia. They were young then. Bright. They made plans to meet his family after graduation. To get married. Caleb died in an accident. It happened so fast. He didn't leave a single word behind. She lost the man who loved her like she was the air he breathed. Forever. Once you've been loved like that, you know you'll never love anyone else again. So she wanted one thing. A child who looked like him. Someone to walk beside her for whatever time she had left. Caleb's younger brother Rowan was the perfect solution. After that, she set her sights on him. She did things people called crazy. Desperate. Humiliating. She didn't care. At the time, Piper Lane—the woman Rowan had secretly loved for years—had just left for London. After she left, Rowan fell apart. Quietly. Slowly. He needed someone to prove he didn't care. He needed to show himself, and the woman who never once looked back at him, that he could have someone too. Maya appeared at exactly the moment he needed that anesthetic. He said yes to her proposal. He laid out his terms. She could have the status. The money. The house. Whatever she wanted. She was never to expect his love. The conditions were humiliating. Maya agreed without hesitation. Rowan assumed she was just that obsessed with him. He never thought twice about it. On their wedding day, Piper said she felt "unwell." Rowan skipped the ceremony entirely and left Maya standing alone in the church. She became the joke of the Upper East Side. After the wedding, he f......

Three years after I was diagnosed with kidney failure, my husband, Julian, one of New York’s top lobbyists, canceled my life-saving surgery for the fifth time. The reason was always the same: his assistant, Chloe, who was perpetually in need of rescuing from some crisis or another. Her career emergencies were always more important than my life. But I remembered the day we found out he was a match. He had held me tight and said, “Elena, I exist to save you.” It was the cruelest lie I had ever heard. That was the moment my heart finally died. I walked calmly into the hospital and signed the legal document permanently refusing his donation. A few days later, when he finally remembered I existed and called to reschedule the surgery to “cheer me up,” all he heard was the cold, automated voice on the other end. “We are sorry. Per the legal directive signed by the patient, you have been permanently and irrevocably rejected as a donor.” *** Cold fluid seeped through the catheter, drawing my blood out and sending it into the humming machine to be filtered before slowly returning it to my weakened body. This was my third year in the dialysis room at Mount Sinai Hospital. My kidneys had failed long ago. My life depended entirely on this machine and three dialysis sessions a week. The clock on the wall ticked on, each second a hammer against my frayed nerves. Today was supposed to be the day of my fifth kidney transplant. The donor was my husband, Julian Croft. My nurse, Maria, gave me a sympathetic look, then quietly turned away. She knew what I was waiting for. I was waiting for Julian’s call. He was supposed to be on a private jet to New York, making his final preparations for today’s surgery. But now, with only a few hours left before the scheduled time, he was gone. And so was his call. At last, my phone rang. The name flashing on the screen wasn’t Julian’s. It was his assistant’s. I answered. Chloe’s voice came through the receiver, saccharine and false. “Elena, I’m so, so sorry! Julian’s run into a huge problem. There’s an emergency congressional hearing—completely unexpected—and he has to fly back to Washington immediately. Today’s surgery…it has to be canceled.” I felt the thread holding my life together snap. No screaming. No questions. With a strange sense of calm, I just said, “I understand.” After hanging up, I looked at Maria and forced a smile that felt alien on my own face. “Maria, could you take the needle out? I’d like to discharge myself.” “Elena, your dialysis isn’t finished yet…” “It’s fine,” I interrupted. “That’s enough for today.” Maria looked at the emptiness in my eyes. She sighed and removed the needle from my arm. I had just changed and was about to leave when Julian’s video call finally came through. On the screen, his handsome face was as composed as ever. Behind him was the luxurious cabin of a private jet, soft light gleaming on leather seats. He wore an expensive, tailored suit, looking immaculate. But woven into his familiar sandalwood cologne was the sweet, cloying scent of gardenia—a perfume that wasn’t mine. Chloe’s perfume. “Elena,” he began, his tone the gentle, condescending one of a man who believes he controls everything. “Listen to me. This was a malicious attack from the opposition. They deliberately chose this moment to strike. Chloe was nearly destroyed. I had to handle it.” He didn’t even ask how I was. He launched right into his excuses, casting Chloe as the victim in need of a savior. “The most important thing for you right now is to stay calm. Don’t overthink things. Your emotional stability matters more than anything at a time like this.” “I promise,” he said, his sincerity manufactured. “Next weekend. I guarantee it. The surgery will happen.” He paused, then offered the excuse he had clearly prepared in advance. “And honestly, I was under too much stress today. If I’d gone into the op......